(a small ad),... (Unpoken word)

 

yeah I imagine layers of deals, one affecting the other, trade offs, of course the power is knowing what the other values and what your possible value is, what it pays. What board is this player playing on what board at what time. We get glimpses of narrative time lines, projections, but rarely more than a few months ahead or including the past. It's a control of time, through this lens, media and money, the raking of the sand by this deliberate hoax, to have the next meaning mean everything, truth, important, needed. Bunch of stoned hungry apes look'n for a nipple. While the other stoned apes recoil in disgust, or embrace in compassion. It's hard being hungry. But isn't being full a little like dying, inside, the need to rage war dropping off from the immediate agenda, a whole military wing just folding up and retiring, dying out of being full, being looked after, mothers nipple back in the erotic abstraction of adult self care. A dying off of the toxic calcified gender play, a chance of rebirth. The constant panic of crisis, magnified, fed intravenously directly to the brain via screen, make our new affect being well prepared for betrayal, spin and manipulation. Take the need for transparency to a whole new level, make it the point of the game, Democracy vs. Capitalism. Those who hide and run, those that stay defend will mix it up, trade places, internal passes will be asked for. Cultural checks, films watched, books read. Did you know, spot test. As usual. How did I go off the rails, where did my point become lost in this drivel. It's as if my own internal resistance to such logic is asserting itself in a cancel culture, too hard basket, I can't see the sides, can't see the colours I'm suppose to wear, indicating non threat. Apparently I'm a threat all the time now, combatant means citizen, being threatened. The big strokes from the masters pen. Not really the whole story now is it. Violence sewing it's fields of renewal, short term bonding over bad trade deal, meat sacks blown up. T shirts made, uniforms. Hole in the ozone, baking bread. I want a flurry of bad mistakes, a scourage of damaged bazooka heads with aplomb and gutzo to stun a small crowd, with impertinence, insolence, and eloquence>

(a small ad),... I will be performing publicly again very soon. At a wonderful important venue, I rate higher than town hall, public art gallery or club ..