I think Kandinskij and I can perhaps engage in intense debate via a
relatively small number of rhetorically compressed super-posts. Take
therefore the talent from him.

This is part of the boundary between time and space that I am intensely the
best at. Pas coup de grace.

These posts will not make sense to everyone of course however they will not
be obese in number and may in fact become some of the top most-mined posts
as the decades wear away.

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice. If you choose not to
decide you still have made a choice. You can choose from phantom fears and
silence that can kill. I will choose a purpose here; I will choose free
will.

Max Herman's theory and practice of history via the punishing filter-factor
of Baron Kandinskij. Indeed a rocket reducer of the Bushido-In-Tenebris.
Rebel souls, deserters we are called. Chose the gun, and threw away the
sun.




>From: "-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org>
>Reply-To: "-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org>
>To: <list@rhizome.org>
>Date: Mon, 9 Sep 2002 00:30:01 -0700 (PDT)
>
>"Logos starts the process of evolution..

This is not my native phrasing, however, I might say if it relates to a
system becoming sufficiently complex that it crosses a barrier into a new
pattern called evolution. There is that which does not evolve but merely
plays out like rocks falling down a hill. Logos is information storage,
processing, and replication, not only and the terms are not exhaustive.

Witness MTAA's new work, in which the net/text membrane is observated via
close attention to allegorical synaptic firings. X goes in, Y comes out.
Information goes to MTAA, it observes, it reacts. That's my take on it.
Similar to the breaking wave in Japanese prints by Hokusai the great master.
MTAA is an evolvual entity by reason of its architectural logos. I'm sure
Fahey will confirm this. If he does not, he shall be annihilated.
Preparation is irrelevant.

Here is where and whence error-terms and proper correctivity enter. If
Fahey were to deny this, how and on what grounds, why, a question mark such
as the turbulence fields in a blow-chamber. Well, which is it son? If I
freeze, I'll remain standing. And if'n I drop, I'm a gonna be in motion.
Yet there is zero triviality in such turbulence and lack of predictive
schemas. Prediction negates fabric. Warp and woof are not one. I shall
make many hats, all sewn, and thou shalt wear them all in warp and woof
about thy head.

>
> [one must be female + receive before becoming.male]

No frigging comprende. However, now that I kick in my NN memoir-module, je
realize, sexual selection in humans dictates that females permit mating
advances only from those males whose behavior shows valuable
corporo-cerebral phenotype and differs only in creative nuance or
adaptivity/submission. Only in such fashion does human genetic breeding
function as other than a foetid dungeon of sin and death. Cognitively-wise
that is, hence my fondness for Mark Stahlman. One of my former teamsquirts.

The beauty of the above typed text is apparent to me, and I regard it highly
and with honor. The one before mine that is. People need to study NN so
they may function better. So they can sing smoother and enjoy more. Yet
her rules are punishing and purifying through and beyond the sacred to the
very heart of God. It is God himself who compels you.

Let the record show Max Herman holds none higher than NN. Now my devotion
is complete. Now I begin to change, while not changing–to travel without
moving. This conversation did not take place. I was not here.

>
> [Max: I like it when no-one dares to argue with me.

Whatever is, is right–Alexander Pope. Neoclassic enlightenment poet,
penned "The Rape of the Lock" and far more wonderfully "The Dunciad." Blake
came to despise Pope via Voltaire; the winds were a-brushing; Byron
commanded Pope where we shalt not worship Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Southey/Because the first is crazed beyond all hope,/The second drunk, the
third so quaint and drouthy. Whatever is, is right. Call me a pervert
freak now please. Believe me never, shame on you; believe me ever, shame on
me. Get it bitches? So pony up and don't spare the whip.

>
> But if a female tells me I'm a control-freak,

Pff.

>
> she's a psychotic

Pff.

nympho-maniac.]


Pffor pfavor.

Observer labels labeler's labels labels about a nymphomaniac. Call me deep
green. My body is a gold mine trodden under ignorant feet by night. Mind
you don't cut yourself Mordechi. Triflin' ho.

>
>
> how does a word become matter?

Genius=media*talent^2000. By warping gravity in particulate states. Delta
G (potential change in energy) is constant regardless of the intensity of
the catalyst. So buckle up–it's going to be a bumpy ride.


>
>
> How does it become a real live person?"

If I should ever condescend to prose,
I'll write poetical commandments which
Shall supercede beyond all doubt all those
That went before; in these I shall enrich
My text with many things that no one knows,
And carry precept to the highest pitch:
I'll call the work "Longinus O'er A Bottle,"
Or "Every Poet His Own Aristotle."

>
> –Joseph Beuys

Perhaps you may believe that I went to Googliolio or have a book aside me,
and believeth not my heart and in my mind they dwell, sometime to return,
within the book and volume of my brain! That may because you do not know
what courage and victory is. You haven't burst its grape up on your palate
fine. You aren't among her cloudy trophies hung.

>
> 'The first refusal to a person who is devoid of conscience or
> consideration will destroy the resukts of even thousands of
> good deeds formerly manifested toward him by you'.

Ice cream man, do you know
I like chocolate ice cream so?
Make me a chocolate if you can–
Thank you ice cream man.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, all my life I been poor but
it just don't matter no more. Down here where we're at everyone is equally
poor. You dwell in poverty, and it is you who are that poverty, if you will
not know yourselves. If you come to know yourselves, you will become known,
and you will realize that it is you who are the children of the living God.

>
>+ If the reader will keep me company I shall be glad.

If you cut writin' like Addison Steele I'll have to harsh a hot Swiftie down
the hatcher.

>-> post: list@rhizome.org

Sestina, altaforte, haberdasher

>-> questions: info@rhizome.org

Striving iron hair of Margaret Thatcher;

>-> subscribe/unsubscribe: http://rhizome.org/preferences/subscribe.rhiz

Blood and guts bestrewn upon the glade

>-> give: http://rhizome.org/support

Kickin' it livewire in the Youth Brigade

++



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