Images of Happiness: The Tragic as Farce

I. After the End

Beyond the eight o'clock blue of August twilight

Lies the truth we now see, that in our grandeur and temerity,

We have outlived the <fin de notre Histoire>, and in our sur-vival

we bypassed this end, and yet stand suspended above the abyss that it is.

I have ever lacked the sense of endings, death and departure are the unknown

to me;

in me;

The deep blue sky, as it prepares to erupt, whispers to me,

that the end was always already completed, and elevates me

to that apex of poetic grandeur, from which I can see that

at the end of History, every ending has touched my heart, inscribing

seductively this truth – that every ending has been dear to me.

A crack of thunder shatters the immense silence of this kingdom of ends

Illuminated by the lightning bolt, this silence is exposed as refusal

– As an obscurantism of ends –

And shattered, torn to pieces, a new truth is born; that each and every ending

Has been but the inverted image of nascent beginnings waiting to be born.

The sense of our hypertelic Histoire will never again be the same,

for the lies of stillborn worlds have been exposed – even if

our Histoire was finished before it ever began, it is now possible

to inscribe on my heart, on our Histoire, a new truth – that the end

was no more than a beginning, and that death and departure have no sense,

are the absence of sense,

    except as rebirths in joyous non-sense

Logomachia: The Altar of the Real

Logomachia

Consecrate then desecrate the whiteness of the page:

a film noir murder scene

erases - replaces

and fills in the blank

with sacrificial crimes committed in the name

of the Verb, upon this stage.

Traces of logomachia inscribed in lingual debris

struggle sans origin, sans end writes the script

from which I read

voicing and enacting my ownmost role

in this parody

of "liberty."

Silence, Spirit these words away (from me)!

Sacred lines written in secret and in silence

can only be dis-connected - fragmented

by all-devouring Time.

Never erased - Never effaced,

but by the turning page of History overturned

whence, without recompense,

white sacrifice will ever recommence.

Jailbreaking Language: Elegies for Realities Bygone and Yet to Come

By Prof. Rowan
dialdfordialectic (at) gmail


8-5-8

Who were we to cut time in two?
To place a hand outstretched between two infinities
Digits fingering the supernumerary infinite of time
enumerating, denumerating,
digitally devolving,
continuum contracting
i n t o
wind-blown desert-sand-seconds
counted and counted, once and eternally again
by three anthropomorphic clock-hands
grandfather-clock-hands
the clock
deified, itself now digital
clutching, counting,
sand-seconds
passing
sur-viving the dis-aster of man
two infinities of time once again become one
one-not-one
number-no-longer
analog continuum

Friendship (d'apres Georges Bataille)

By Prof. Rowan

At the most fundamental level, and the foundation of the world, we are one, and yet we are unable to overcome false transcendence to catch sight of this truth. It is a truth of death, or the unity of life and death, of the fundamental ambiguity of the world, which we avert our eyes to turn away from our eventual dissolution. And yet some, among us have the courage to bear this truth. But can we ever be certain of our endurance? On the contrary, this truth is unbearable: we attain this impossible truth only blind and burning, in that moment in which we surrender to self-loss and are as one, consumed in moments doomed to disappearance, by the conflagrations of love.

IV: IN TEH WATERS, DYING.

A weekend of half-embodying Hunter S Thompson (it wasn't a perfect transformation, as it has been in the past), nevertheless has rendered my brain inert.

So, instead of something useful, let me provide what teh internets are best at:

teh metaphorz are thick and fast, (395)
no can has literal translationz.
ganga cat is watching ur fourth wall.
waiting for rainz.
cloudz in teh sky ar far ways.
THUNDERS!
datta means give!
in a moment u lives, transitory,
no can has recording.
dayadham means be compassionate!
u thinks bout prisoner,
thnks ur in prison,
damyata means have self-control!
u r boat on calm seas,
at least on good day

lolcats wasteland.