Art is all about being at the right place at the right time. There is no way to be in the wrong place at the right time, or the right place at the wrong time, and being at the wrong place at the wrong time is only a matter of perspective; from a broad and intelligent one, there are no wrong places or wrong times.
Every second of existence is loaded with artistic potential. It's how one exploits it that matters. Manipulating the significance of existence. The rest is just medium, aesthetic, and practice. Planning, in some instances. Some tactical elements.
*
People have said that I am tactless. People have also called me very diplomatic. What I am is flexible; art is also coming to know and become proficient in the use of the best tool for every task.
*
Speaking of tactility, I notice that the surfacing of dream-memory is always accompanied by a very particular feeling in the body cavity. Sometimes high in the breast, sometimes behind the diaphragm, sometimes as low as the bowels, always coupled with heavy effervescence inside my head, coming in thick, potent surges as the memories rise to the surface. A battery of queer physical sensations, little balloons blowing up in my entrails, my heart dipped in a stinging, cooling ointment, weightless spine and hipbones. Sometimes the images and effects are so intense I am liable to trail off mid-sentence or stop what I am doing and remain completely still as I am assailed, assaulted even, by my dreams.
--JL
Thursday, March 21, 2019
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
#138
One nice farce is watching the journalistic edifice lumbering in the far after-wake of the ships whose prows churn the edge of culture, misinterpreting and misrepresenting what their trawlers haul out of the water. Slicing off the heads and fins, macerating the flesh, sticking it into a can, and saying that the can is the heart of the matter, that the can is the thing that was swimming.
I call it the unweirding of the fishes. Necessary for stability, I guess? Simplifies the history books.
*
Of course, I can be as easily misled as anyone. There's always more webs of delusion to disentangle; no one writes or reads out of total understanding and perfect clarity. These things do not exist.
*
Culture! A total fabrication.
--JL
I call it the unweirding of the fishes. Necessary for stability, I guess? Simplifies the history books.
*
Of course, I can be as easily misled as anyone. There's always more webs of delusion to disentangle; no one writes or reads out of total understanding and perfect clarity. These things do not exist.
*
Culture! A total fabrication.
--JL
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
#137
Smashing the State is way fashionable right now, not just for anarchists but for youthful grandparents and kindergarten teachers, only not the way that doesn't work. Not a job for physical hammers. A different way that does not work but is deceptively disorienting for everyone is simply using the internet, just firing it up and taking it in through the eyes.
Today, nearly one-fifth of the way through this bold new century, we apply corrosive meta-substances to the State by way of chatter and static. This ensures that nothing people want to destroy will melt away so fast that something else can't fill the niche, including blind faith and entrenched institutional powers.
See, hammers aren't just for taking stuff apart. Their collective impact is also known for building stuff up, for making certain metals under certain conditions much harder than they were in the first place.
In short, if you feel like a virus--a badass agent of chaos who jacks back into the Matrix just to be a hero-terrorist--you are probably a vaccination.
Everything you think you're outsmarting and vanquishing and killing, laughing at you as it fucks you for pleasure and profit and grows stronger off your efforts.
*
When people say "this is why we can't have nice things" they mean that human nature fucks up our chances for living a ghastly, sterile unreality. "Nice things" means "everything exactly how I want it".
I, for one, am glad that everything is fucked. I do not want nice things.
*
No accretion of balanced equations creates the conditions for a balanced system. Irrational equations are a fundamental part of reality and it is their imbalance which creates the conditions for the relatively stable "band" of complex algorithms which we call life.
Everybody has to deal with shit that they don't like.
--JL
Sunday, March 17, 2019
#136
Been a rough season out here. One of those times in life where it takes everything you got just to point yourself in the right direction. Clinging to the rails so hard your knuckles split, vibrating at high frequency.
Trying to have a sense of humor about stuff. If you have a few laughs most days, the static dies down a little bit. Helps the bandwidth.
*
Kind of a killjoy thing to say--it's not a good idea to let your sense of humor get away with you. Thing is, that way lies madness and regret, and potentially doom. I enjoy joking around a great deal and I don't have a lot of scruples in that regard. Laughter can be fucked up and deadly as well as medicinal, though. Probably worth being cognizant of that.
*
Whatever you need to get by though, of course. Gotta try to survive, and sometimes what the body needs to live is a touch of death. Staying sane means letting yourself go a little crazy. Any pun in a storm.
--JL
Trying to have a sense of humor about stuff. If you have a few laughs most days, the static dies down a little bit. Helps the bandwidth.
*
Kind of a killjoy thing to say--it's not a good idea to let your sense of humor get away with you. Thing is, that way lies madness and regret, and potentially doom. I enjoy joking around a great deal and I don't have a lot of scruples in that regard. Laughter can be fucked up and deadly as well as medicinal, though. Probably worth being cognizant of that.
*
Whatever you need to get by though, of course. Gotta try to survive, and sometimes what the body needs to live is a touch of death. Staying sane means letting yourself go a little crazy. Any pun in a storm.
--JL
Friday, March 15, 2019
#135
One awesome and super fun thing about human beings is how everything is definitely somebody's fault, and people have absolutely no ulterior motives or glaring biases when they assign blame. This incredible ability has truly allowed us to make sense of each other, and the world.
*
Without that lightest dusting of sarcasm, now. Honestly. Cannot understand why people take tragedies as immediate opportunities to try to be right.
Fuck all of you people. You rubbernecking goblins that drink pain and spit poison. Fuck you.
*
Hey, maybe if you accomplish a truly solid execution of being right, bad things will stop happening forever! Just keep being right all the time, hero. You are a fucking genius and you will save this ailing planet with style, and saved is how it will stay.
*
No, but fuck you.
--JL
*
Without that lightest dusting of sarcasm, now. Honestly. Cannot understand why people take tragedies as immediate opportunities to try to be right.
Fuck all of you people. You rubbernecking goblins that drink pain and spit poison. Fuck you.
*
Hey, maybe if you accomplish a truly solid execution of being right, bad things will stop happening forever! Just keep being right all the time, hero. You are a fucking genius and you will save this ailing planet with style, and saved is how it will stay.
*
No, but fuck you.
--JL
Thursday, March 14, 2019
#134
Something special about yesterday's post number that I neglected to mention is that one plus three plus three is seven, which is great, also that 133 is very visually pleasing in itself, a shapely and very soothing number. Saying one hundred and thirty three out loud provides an excellent cadence. Could be used in place of a mantra.
*
There is a huge, ruinous willow tree near my house. When my family first moved into the neighborhood it was hale and hulking out of its boundaries; more alive, huger, more treeish than reality could allow for, but you could see it almost, how there was more willow than tree. Living sigil. First and strongest among kings of willows.
Disease ripped through it and it has lost more than half of itself. Nearly all of its old crown, two boles, and a good portion of the main trunk rotted and sloughed off, came down in hard weather, withered away to fine brown dust. A tree whose leaves and pendulous branches were once so thick and numerous they created an elongated curtain dome thirty feet in diameter to hide under, hands parting branches for three seconds before you could enter the sanctuary, now sports leafage on one side only, from a meager set of stunted branches.
What limbs remain are full of woodpecker holes, many enlarged by starlings, scarred by the ravages of the illness that nearly destroyed it, and give the tree the impression of a stagger, as the remaining limb system was once but one of four mighty tops.
I've thought the tree was going to die for sure this time at least fifteen times. No one bothers about it. There has been no treatment or care. It has fought for its life alone and unaided and still it puts out flowers every spring, still it reaches up into the air. Brutalized, shrunk, weakened, still it breathes and sinks its roots and reaches toward the sky, straining for its life.
--JL
*
There is a huge, ruinous willow tree near my house. When my family first moved into the neighborhood it was hale and hulking out of its boundaries; more alive, huger, more treeish than reality could allow for, but you could see it almost, how there was more willow than tree. Living sigil. First and strongest among kings of willows.
Disease ripped through it and it has lost more than half of itself. Nearly all of its old crown, two boles, and a good portion of the main trunk rotted and sloughed off, came down in hard weather, withered away to fine brown dust. A tree whose leaves and pendulous branches were once so thick and numerous they created an elongated curtain dome thirty feet in diameter to hide under, hands parting branches for three seconds before you could enter the sanctuary, now sports leafage on one side only, from a meager set of stunted branches.
What limbs remain are full of woodpecker holes, many enlarged by starlings, scarred by the ravages of the illness that nearly destroyed it, and give the tree the impression of a stagger, as the remaining limb system was once but one of four mighty tops.
I've thought the tree was going to die for sure this time at least fifteen times. No one bothers about it. There has been no treatment or care. It has fought for its life alone and unaided and still it puts out flowers every spring, still it reaches up into the air. Brutalized, shrunk, weakened, still it breathes and sinks its roots and reaches toward the sky, straining for its life.
--JL
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
#133
Postscript for yesterday: basically I think we have an endemic cultural resentment towards the times that we live in and the centuries that brought us here, and suffer from a combination of mass resignation and mass olfactory revolt, which makes us useless, embattled, neurotic, desperate for absolution we don't believe is real, chronically ill, constantly sorry for ourselves, and either insufferable to each other or lost in another.
What we need around here is amor fati, and to strengthen our fucking stomachs. That is all. We are each and every one of us lucky to be alive and lucky to be facing the challenges that we are facing. We are lucky to have the opportunity to be the smartest, strongest individuals that have ever lived free and we are lucky to have such great and terrible psychic and material obstacles to overcome. We are lucky to have problems of this complexity and breadth to tackle, lucky to have to deal with such a cacophony of ideas, lucky to have skin in this game. It is a blessed fate.
Die trying.
*
As for me and my time these days, I've just been smoking all the cigarettes I can fit into my craw. Disgusting myself in general. Living at least thirty percent of each waking hour in the past, reflecting on the wherefores, flows, dynamics, and details of how I have fucked up. Working hard.
Been raising some strong Pokémon. There is always deep satisfaction in this pastime. Also the chiptunes and sprites of Blue Version take me back to the past in a different, much more pleasing way.
*
It's okay to be having a bad time. Lucky to have that, too, frankly.
--JL
What we need around here is amor fati, and to strengthen our fucking stomachs. That is all. We are each and every one of us lucky to be alive and lucky to be facing the challenges that we are facing. We are lucky to have the opportunity to be the smartest, strongest individuals that have ever lived free and we are lucky to have such great and terrible psychic and material obstacles to overcome. We are lucky to have problems of this complexity and breadth to tackle, lucky to have to deal with such a cacophony of ideas, lucky to have skin in this game. It is a blessed fate.
Die trying.
*
As for me and my time these days, I've just been smoking all the cigarettes I can fit into my craw. Disgusting myself in general. Living at least thirty percent of each waking hour in the past, reflecting on the wherefores, flows, dynamics, and details of how I have fucked up. Working hard.
Been raising some strong Pokémon. There is always deep satisfaction in this pastime. Also the chiptunes and sprites of Blue Version take me back to the past in a different, much more pleasing way.
*
It's okay to be having a bad time. Lucky to have that, too, frankly.
--JL
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