Science Fiction Performance Drama (Part 3 of 5)
Act 2 'de strooi al'
Do you like double toning seriously in between your ears, and the flying of unexpected rabbits, the idea of a fluid skull ; without being able to express the change? It's childish, I know. But it happened. We forced it to happen. And some exploded, indeed, when the blood became icy blue stardust.
In the meanwhile I realized that not many people knew what a spiritual expansion means. It's the growing of the universe happening inside. We just loved to watch it.
My favorites to follow: young so called psychotic boys. Teenage Kings. Yes. For personal reasons, yes.
In these days of Urrthly suffering in my Diagram Diary I wrote :
Theory of Foodism as the Hard Core Basic Strategy For a Diagram Anti-Materialism to splash open the biggest and most beautiful parts of the herd, to become a developmental tool for us.
It meant nothing more than the advertising of space food! Chemicals! We won't repeat that here. But the mad cows, plagued pigs, dangerous chickens, poisoned food, bad chemical drugs, did help us to succeed the selling.
It was so easy, and it was so much fun. Everything seemed hurt, rotten and sick. All was replaceable. And this time my program would be realized.
Traveling from plane to plane, hovering alongside landscapes so fascinating I want to keep them for my selves, I can see it's better than a fiction novel, or something dreadfully transparent as that. To see how it works. To be just totally one. The word is a traveler.
So tiring; forgetting how our intelligence works through language:
1) The academic system was not invented as a tool to represent the inner or mood.
2) Spiritualism is just another pheromone.
3) The speaking population was planned as the oral or entertaining age.
4) Buddhistic silence was the beast that had to be tamed.
O well, this war had to be started in the cool North, where the springhing spirit was the perfect tool to splash in the bath of well educated middle class humans. The exploded Diagram showed parts of a structure in their relative positions but slightly separated from each other. It showed us puzzled. In our biological cultural pictorial all.
Neuro-linguistic explosure can create brain damage. We can fail in connecting.
By now, the bridge to walk out of my empire, is to take distance from my dictation. For the inner mind outside the text, is what we may name: freedom.
Utopia was a nice t-shirt. We basically didn't care about our virtual friends. That was reality. We found we had to know a lot more and traveled over to India to look out for Tibetan Mountain Air Software.
O, Golden Buddha, whose shine is outshining her form, whose lines are too sharp to question its divine gold, in the name of our living room: why Diagram...
Especially during the public vomiting of social theory, information had directly affected or infected my liver.
So when affection takes place as metaphysical mutation, what is wrong with our wish to change humanity physically. Make it possible for her to twist and shout. Something had to change! Artist Composer we could all be, after humble I had designed a 100% finelined neuro-linguistic omnipresent sensory extension of our per-fect kinetic structure, only to feed some innocent love devils on the moon. Why not. Believe in it. take it over. Relieve me. Enlighten me! Lift me up! Carry me up! Rock me!
And so Diagram followed the music, fought the hang up of community, especially the one that rolled on invalid systems.
Think about the Flying Beagel that landed on Mars in 2004, but had been described decades earlier by an old woman too shy to even carry a name. In the official way, she had known nothing of space science. And yet she foretold the Flying Beagel, in the very precise details one can expect in her condition, that in the end became restricted by biological habitual fate, by the way. She grew a disabled child.
Of course such vagueness must sound unvast, but remember that I am no longer raised as a machine. I let the machine raise me. His processing scripture influences the order. Only. Hence our mumbling. Indistinct speech indicates our Diagram addiction.
So, about the woman and the Martian Beagel. If such information from the mind was commonly human, wasn't it time to take better care of these bodies, instead of learning them to leave the top of the mountain to the already arrived, and glide off from the muddy sides, to the bottom of the ecological hell named Urrth, where nothing, not even the air, was for free anymore, and everything priced, except Internet? Even your own DNA? For what reason accept this, especially when the mountain didn't exist? You just thinking and thinking, and suddenly wonder he: it's just a springhe. Where is my designed spirit? Where can I see it? Enjoy my own? All else was just a matter of captivating and entertaining.... equally flat. See me staring over the grape yard that serves as grave yard as well. Blue cherry rotten flesh, take me out of here!
Thank God, Diagram needed me. What can you do, she asked. Specking, I wrote.
And so, even if all my recalling is false, even if I was indeed only jealous and frustrated; a difficult outlaw that grew success by creepy means, the question remained: what is the left over of this time; what the filling of this idiosyncrasy. Was it really our intense hating of price cows, the produced icons of whatever made it to fashion, that made us long for an un-named purely privatized ether; the wish to be deprived from the talented humans on poor public pop podia that filled the mouths of our daily streets? Did we call them names - like : environmental-money-attention & blood suckers - because we had to experience their perfectly outlined characters, see them fumble only into grateful misty happiness, if from time to time a public artistic track was organized?
We love you innocent outsiders, and after all, aren't proud of ourselves. Anyway, I'm just a child. Always let the child speak, the virgin wash.... Big chance that 80% doesn't get it. Unchain them then, and make them go away. They probably don't like it anyway.
As is the case with most adventures, even non-theological eschatological - concerning the end of your world - we all felt very much alive knowing what was about to happen. When Captain Papa pointed out with his index finger the print of our last physical trace on Urrth, we vividly ran to the front of our Mother Ship. What if all burns, I wanted to ask, but felt my insides tremble too much. On this moment, we were waiting for fragments of the burning sensorial corset to fall down and set our roaring engines into fire, so that our Diagram Rocket Wave could hit sky and move out, away. It was a drift. And of course the Corset just a reason. That ruined Urrth.
Corset was hit by Shield
and burns ether. Only the activated people could be saved by the Diagram Space Ship Fleet. Sorry. You were not born free. That's why we like to sponsor you. That's what money is in the original intention. And the original stays always good. But even we - the Money Makers - have our zenith hour, a time in which your ceiling cracks. And to the escape is what you live for, as Diagram -as any aristocracy.
We hadn't fly off, but the engines were burning, eating air by heating it, letting it sizzle wizzle and change. Our cheeks were covered by Save Air. Our eyes could normally function. Leaning over the little round window to watch the outside world once more, we looked down the point of our K-rated space ship, noticing how it created a triangle in the mud of the mountain. This meant that we were slowly sliding away.
At that moment Little Annie thought her vagina needed some exercise, to then go about to get her mountain bike, an exercise that of course was impossible now, and mad. The bridge was down, all locks locked already. Nonetheless, Annie walked over to the back of the boat. It was her high crying that signaled Him at first. Dear reader let me tell you, I thought I was facing death. A wall of water higher than the highest building. A wave so High it never broke. We were soon centered in the middle of a terrifying slurf. Were we to float, instead of fly? Would we be ever spitted out?
Urrth was slowly sinking, falling away from pain. Her rotating ax melted holes in her old interior, cracking open new basins with streams of pure arsenic. Popular television called the new fluids 'better than space to discover'
After our awakening, we saw on Diagram that Urrth disappeared in the lower left after, like an empty balloon in a ring of fire.
Here we call it Lazy Baby in Space Bay. Urrth may be burned, but we live in a Stardust Basin of the finest purest space. Out there's some projection field that can carry our virtual friends. Now we live in our individual design. And feel trapped. It's a pity. Yes. The short voice of fear defending the story.
Diagram is still communicating with the afterwards agricultural sunny developments on Urrth..
…which sounds indeed very corporate.
Urrthlings still try to hang out. They won't accept our software.
One can not write or speak as the mind does. Speaking and writing takes thought and recreates sprought. These are not from the same tree.
Thank God, we have rediscovered the body once again. It's fun again to perform. Say nothing and show it all. Let me be sportive and sum up my bodyparts:
1 spliced root or spine
In spite of all that marvel, I still don't know how to deal with information, really. Sometimes it creates itself, sometimes it recalls my mind. But never the mind speaks. Hoe ever big it is.
Now, can I be in my Alz Heim, occupied by the alphabetical snake, the big inner Worrier?
Fall and fall and landing and landing into new ones of the old ones; that's the way to stay in between dots and comms. Let it work like my insides, that - deep sigh - originally had to stop in the twenty-first century, if nothing really Good happened, which was pretty damned sure, for all went into slow circles. Exaltation saved me.
Frustration massages well as well. Smile during your reigning rain. There is a lot you know, and yet you know nothing.
Time is being wasted by my slow start, and yet you can not put me Out. Here is here.
You can not zap me away, as my superiors could in Space Bay, in the end. Bastards. You know how they did it? By a window with a shutter. That easy. And therefore, let me confess to you. I have become traceable too. I have superiors now. And therefore am not the author or novelist. Just a character. Words came before me, indeed. I lost track, and started to behave like I do, as you can notice. I show myself, I appear. Help me. You know what is my syndrome? I ....think I am.....perfect, and want to share this song.
If only there had been an author. And yea, how Turkish this sounds.
My name is On, by the way, like my gabbers name is Off. We were allowed to share a space cabin for biological reason; neurotic leftovers that physically forced us to wake up. We were interested in each other and hence woke up. Lots of madness of course in us. We are proud of that. We have decided to give up any -rrr-blockade.
Can my sentences be as ugly as a toothless fool may speak? Am I a toothless fool?
Don't bother to open up the curtains, it's all crowded with cyber traffic out there.
Anyway, should I recall the fun we had in the first years, when we thought our shouting on the sofa signified our cultural intelligence?
Inspired by a Library of Miracles, to re-install life, unite the world and the word again, designing it on a Magical moment (when an iron pin suddenly, by no noticeable force, was found in my food), in this early fresh young Diagram beginning, to abolish Cultural Associations by old etherian memes; we send off all assembled body's into separate shuttles. Waved them out with true parental care, squeezing our wet hankies, after we had separated the bodies from their Diagram files; the heavy discs that contained in digital code all Urrth's separated life.
We were happy but tired humanitarians, as you can imagine. Now every body was on their own, we would only have to use our senses carefully.
At first the Diagram Manual Computer offered programs containing the user's former lives. Eventually the user was offered story alterations from different scripts, by answering Diagram's highly personal questions. Nurse years.
Can we do business, Mama? Do you want to try a macho, Mama, since he clearly bothers your mind?
Our action design is dependent on the user's preference, all saved on the Diagram harddisc to develop a line of flight, sometimes for a longer period labeled with titles and subworks. Especially the sources or persons that wanted to tear their labels off, died out quickly in this more than rapidly changing time.
'Scripting every body', 'shotlisting life stories', 'democratic etherian art' (in Europe), all these meta cultural activity, now finally turned into a universe including science, art and culture, which according to our communicative vision engineered a whole new cyber industry.
Now centralism and marginalism are almost over, and our Spiritual Fluid runs between the following poles: the experienced and the experiential. A brilliant runner indeed, but also a very romantic pink fluid. And exactly that was our target to create. A new eternal source for each to be his own museum.
First phase of Diagram was the most pleasant. People were all still on Urrth, and we were watching them, tracking them, doing what had been forbidden before by our parents watching us watching television.
Like we had promised Uncle Jaqcues; every civilized impulse we understood. This higher coach intelligence , even if taking place on the moon, forced us to create something truly different. A swift no Jonathan could remake.
It was far stronger than us. Because we build it up as a company. Anyway at the moment we are looking for workers. Nobody believes in the Diagram job anymore, whereas it carries so much potential, in spite of its dreadful past. For a job as a cultural watcher, being employed by Diagram, one has to be able to report any of the computers tracking signals, by transmitting it on a file with a small written or doodled comment named and numbered in Urrth's Kinetic Energy Filery.
Map the structure of his soap, for life was like bad television, was the Computers Software intermission for every single member/cultural source. Of course we were Christian bastards, which in real time could not be returned. We had to make up in virtual time, and so our cyber politics was always intended to please, and not to hurt. Until one gets hurt from pleasure. And yes, of course we knew what that meant.
The software twattered out loud when experiencing twin peaks.
And so we all have to learn
to turn into something.
As the tracker of kinetic intelligence
being the interpreter of Urrth's social video
I now know
There is nothing more humiliating
than to be employed
in a project
through secret codes
I hate manipulating
for it insults serious memes
and brings into moods
the Dutch have contracted that word
more or less
A Martian desert; all red, blue, glowly. Me and Annie are falling apart, pulling the wire in between our belly buttons. Here we go. Landing on Mars. Existential nausea became the real physical thing. Of course the idea made us happy which filled the experience. Even if that meant nothing, as Papa said. On the existential level, as I added. Talking kept us all together in the family.
Being just a simple Diagram clerk, in the Diagram Cult, that serves as food for my Diagram superiors, who know me better than I myself, and in my spare time keep on surprising me - I might blame them to still don't know how it works, our language, after all. Which sharpens the sadness of the perspective, for Diagram in the end is a scenario based on neuro-linguistic -rr- insight. Gilles Deleuze visits the Pentagon, to propose to turn the sun into an infra-red lamp that shines on the earth under an angle such as that a software installation on the moon can help us to.....
....discover in every regime and every assemblage the specific value of the existing lines of flight; how over here they are stamped with a negative sign; how over there they gain a positive quality, but are cut up and bartered in successive quality; how elsewhere they fall back into black holes..or enter the service of a war machine or bring a work of art to life. And as they are all this at once, they make at each moment a Diagram...
Life and death in a cultural sense on a mental level. Very private for me. You'll have to intoxicate me severely, will my knowledge drip in a way that makes sense to you. For I am a mouse that pisses in her pants and you are the hawk tracing my urine on fluorescent green, to catch me, and eat me. Symbolically, I am yours.
Poem of a Punished Western Teenager (in the Year 2001)
Why o why
do I have to study metaphysical stars
Listen to the crying of Leo Sayers.
or fix ;
all art is bad for my brain.
My intelligence can best be enjoyed
as it is
I love to listen to my brain
a self fulfilling prophesy
But as soon as I have to do something with it
I split up
and am confronted by that crack.
This so called "work" truly hurts.
by ones own brain
on Urrth is strictly forbidden.
We have to be social
for economical reasons
Not such a bad way to be chained
if we are humans
but what if we are something else
a creamy milk of memes
or all the economical functions together
what if we are films
instead of directors
What does it mean to be a child of the Sun
in the end
To cook everything away?
The industry would become redundant
our bodies would open up
what is in my mind
can never come out
or I would have to work myself to death
crack open to the bone
clone this truth
into some artificial project.
I'm a lazy teenager
The need to do is dead
I am a girl genius anyway
only when I'm old
loved and understood
I want to fly around in my room on Urrth
where as I write this through black spots
having no clue what weight means
in the universe
O In Spinn
A Monk am I
This tenderly twisted poem of a young child that describes exactly the threshold of activity, signals how much more a cultural evolution was needed. An Environment was in need of creation, where the mind could be fully enjoyed, and the human source or form flourish, accepted as she was more and more as a funny container of selph fulfilling prophesy. Think of the Expressionist Mode, the arty wars, the pulling up and dragging down of single and United noses. All was kindergarten bullshit. We expected the civil reversal. Much madness newly approved, in many ways, and hard to avoid. In the early days much cultural vomit scared the old ether and it's extension points.
This Science Fiction Drama will stick dead, if she doesn't work a little bit harder, sink deeper and deeper into the skill of building the Diagram Saga.
See for continuation of this text: Diagram -A Speech-in-Space-Act 3