And when you are a network with phones, testing...enter Cuba's panopticon, of the way of emphasizing the citizenry no longer, as the very act assembles the irrational agency associated with cosmetic authority. It's a shame what's happening to America, all the time, and yet, there is a cost to the behavior which is associated with all the terrible repeats of his-tory by design. It's something I did with polemics, but this is the bridge, so this isn't that. Rather, even today, it's that lose-lose bind, of understaffing to absurdity, and let the network with cell phones keeping tabs, waltz in with plenty of questions (among a holiday rush crowed), so all can tank your department, which is a loss, or of course, one can clap back and keep matters afloat, which too can be used to cherry-pick anecdotes and run with characterizations. Again, a lose-lose can be power for a certain value system driving the networked play. The Panopticon is the lose lose. Good or bad, the eye, like the Ronald Firbank book openly embracing subhumanism, sets the irrationalizing embodiment, targeting, people of process into a lose lose, where regardless of what they do, the eyes will command the one to be subject to networked play...unless....Unless....you are the artist, of a production that presents to the eye. Then that counters to the lose-lose bind intended, by those dolled up in the mirror, and yet, orienting toward those on a margin in ways where it is clear what's going on. The nice-nothing entitlement on the surveil the other plan, and the other, on the "she bleeds" plan, which without the counter to the despotic axiomatic, the language lent, can be used in ways that are violent, to be sealed tight behind institutional walls. She bleeds, isn't as "nice" it would seem, in terms of the glasshouse, fully sipped up crowed. Yet, to be an artist, would certainly require these processes, these flows, these ways of connecting in a dynamic, interactive sense, and yet among our society, it is the institutionalize movent of developing one's endogenous growth in such a way that the transform into a block of ice, or if one doesn't like to play with words on a page, they can watch the TV, of story upon story, without cohesion, until all is irrationally on fire. It's fire and ice, with no in-between it seems. The Panopticon doesn't have to worry so much about the fire, among the TV crowed. They destroy themselves. Rather, there are the reader types, the intellectual types, the one's even considering the inner-workings of a grid system, that become an threat of interests, and so the new day for the panopticon, via our fine smart phones, has come into play. There hasn't be any regulation, so it is an all out free for all, in terms of civil society incarceration, via networked play, and without any measures to ensure it doesn't happen. It's happening for sure, but okay, it's more of a time to pretend today I think. So we pretend. For me, I'm simply the curious cat to all of this, to observe, the folks empowered by the smart phone play. Tight lipped, and yet those non-verbals at play. I don't really care about it too much. That is, I'm not so paranoid over some measure of one being out to get me, though, the behavior itself is certainly destructive to the basis of citizenry. Much like to be the "guy" in a panopticon prison, where there remains that push for a play of psychology that intends on propping up cosmetic authority. Where one is to experience the encounters with a surveil team in such a way where there is to be an exposure and veil. Where the watch tower is keeping notes for those who are in their cell behind bars. I think if you write, or if you keep to yourself, it's an easy feat for team panopticon. However, for the artist, for any matter of flow, not well contained behind bars, there becomes this instrumentation that by design, deflects the construct of the panopticon, as the self-motioning of the artist, the process, indicates, what the irrational file-stack cannot, of one deriving happiness not from the panopticon network, but rather from something that isn't so materialized, or in-need of a network's play of dirt empire. I think of this in relation to behaviors in the US that have paralleled Pre-WWII Germany, where there was surveillance, note taking, book keeping of people, their movements in everyday civilian life, that could be used, all of course involving anecdotal methods of construct, even if dolled up as "systematic." I think of the artists who before the holocaust were killed in CO2 chambers in the name humane care, to help those who can't help themselves. It's always the artists who the panopticon guns for. To work the panopticon doesn't have to keep tabs on everyone. They can't! They just need to hone in on someone on a design, likely without much a network to push back in relation, that can endure the treatments, and respond to the abrasions in a way that achieves panopticon psychology. It works among these words, so long as the relationship to the language remains in an established, colonial position, and there isn't a visual to counter the surveilled play, including axiomatics, in an unsaid way. In short, if the threat is painting Mickey Mouse, we all know who then is full of it. The oddity of this, would be when one doesn't have a record, or a superb academic record, it wouldn't matter, as the axiomatic, and the good word among the axiomatic, can still be used to solicit irrational minds in supporting, until there is a visual cue, to where minds, of irrational ease, sober up, and take note of what counteracts the deceit fed to them by "upright" "professional" personalities.
Again, it's not a polemic, and I do consider this a part of the bridge, in that there is a conceptual consideration, of a life among the Panopticon, in a cell, drying up the process, and then to take note of someone putting on a show in their cell. Someone, where the officers recognize quickly this isn't someone who is an actual threat, but the artist, addressing the panopticon network. This is the cosmetic play, that wants to use us to establish measures tied to totalitarian regime, the grouping, that like a particular column, would like to see the kids at heart destroyed, and their toys upon their own grave stone. When everyone can be plastic or else? Strive, race among your plastic brethren. Hold it down in such a superficial way, as a group guts the life out of any societal arrangement. Then again, the artistry always manages to reiterate the value-system of process, to raise awareness, of these matters intending on orienting minds to the surface, to dry matters up, until there is nothing left, including human value that our economic activity veils. Still, for a time, mesmerized by the mirror play, enjoying the panopticon life, the stack-file duty, eventually, especially among the artistry, a synapse occurs, and these matters of ancient agency re-emerge into a socializing consciousness, and these underhanded games cease. There becomes this cognizance of where we are headed among these so-called victors carrying on as if they painted a blue sky blue. To me, conceptually, it's the one in their cell, that has been putting on a show, first among themself. Then, eventually the creativity grows, where one has a set of skills that open one up to these processes, of which then those enforcing among the panopticon recognize the psychology at play, now juxtaposing with the show, of which those of the process are released, able to dance and create, full circle among their respective floors. The members of the tower take notes, collect, and continue to take their aim, and yet, that process running through, far greater than the aim a network does all to embody, juxtaposes, raising a challenge. To document the process, when one doesn't even have a rigor of process among themselves, of hypocritical and ignorant measure. It doesn't work. It never has. The artist, by design, becomes the nemesis for those of irrational agency, doing all to repeat, to a point where in the early stages of this, a grouping follows to target artists at all costs. Hold to the isolation, hold to the embodiment, and yet, such fine plays of isolation is mere breeding ground for the intensity of creative flow that destroys the panopticon network.
With art, there can be this play of all eyes on the process, which doesn't help a network doing all to cultivate all eyes on the embodiment, to place one into question, on the basis of what can be embodied, characterized, so long as one can stack the file enough. A lot of good people have been destroyed behind institutional walls with that play, even when they have good records. There's power, among associations with the panopticon, and yet, it will always remain vulnerable to the power of artistry. The visual articulating the rigor. The visual articulating the inner-desires, which by design, would be oriented toward one's process, which wouldn't be a threat at all to anyone. Even as they openly express their sour grapes to the panopticon network, looking the upright part, and yet on that underhanded play. The process of artistry, the process of mindful rigor translated into visual design, eventually spin what a group intended to come around to the one they target, into a go around that amplifies as they fail to hold the rigor to even respond what is exhibited for all to see. The guards in the tower, can't embody, if the process immerses, meeting at the visual, and then dismantling underhanded assertions, all of which rely on flawed, racist, methodology. To be a nice guy, of direct assertions, as a group stacks a falsified file of anecdote, of a groups quick text to a moment that could be collected, one morsel at a time, of racist construct. Artists can catch the play, and can certainly feed into the group activity, to offer the panopticon momentum, the come around, so the art can fire the go around right back at them. Hell is an art form away for the no hell in sight. From the dark ages to a renaissance...he attempts to dry up the womb of which he arrived, and she bleeds. She wins every time, but we can always strive. There is a lot of humor to this activity at this point. It's stupidity. It's ignorance, dolled up as otherwise. Stupid embracing stupid in the mirror, so let them bask in the light of their time. They are destined to their successful failure. With surveillance, they can be the universal. With material they can possess something among this rock spinning around fire. Have it all loves. You have file stacking and concrete assemblages. I have art and multiplicities. I have expression in the moment, as I bleed, and you have silence for an eternity, as you keep it tight. I'm interested in my art, so why so interested in me, to the point of outright surveil. I've been told by this group I'm a nice guys, so why not mean it? Maybe, I should embody as nice, to embrace the body as a cell, rather than a receptor; or maybe, I should break the glass when the panopticon is a bit too enthusiastic of my work in such a superficial manner. Artistry wouldn't actually desire endorsement. Rather, one remains oriented toward their process, and despises when networked measures aim to disrupt that, even in the name of "support." To cultivate the process only to embrace those who aim to gut out the process, wouldn't make such since for one's artistry, so let her bleed. Express in a way that wouldn't be of mere sentiment, but rather of challenges even to those of actual systematic methods. Find that Panopticon Flow, when the embodied play, into a cell, isn't a threat or a concern, of one with the rigors and skills to open up the cell, and to cultivate a process full circle, to assert measures, that even axiomatic play couldn't counter. Be free, in a substantial sense, and put on the needed show where those in the tower hop out to join festivity, the renaissance, of a new dynamic opening up, of what the West once was. The irony is there isn't this disdain for the panopticon, but rather the tower lights up, and the artistry is ready for a show, following what a nicety would mean, of which matters of process respond. So one is to be a sweetheart and nice, like a child, and yet, that wouldn't be possible in relation to matters of rigor, so the artist, drops trow, and then spreads their production on a wall in a design that disrupts the eyes to the surface and the superficially nice play. There can be something interacting between, rather than something stuffed in a meat body, in-need of saving. A body doesn't have to be a cell, so spread the productions at a level that keeps the mindless meat machine at bay, which requires orienting eyes back toward the rigors of mindful process. Design is everything, when considering the play of colonial power. Live as a process. Design as a process. The eyes have their tabs on you, bleed out, embody poorly, step out of the cell, then spread onto the walls, to display among the eyes matters unexpected and new. The challenge alone usurps that absurd colonial form, that intends on violent repeat. It doesn't happen when brilliant thinking emerges, which simply must, go unacknowledged among personalities too proud to ever come around as the go around chases them right down the panopticon stairs and straight out the door. It's simply a matter of time, as this entire pattern has happened before. Material is no match for the innovative processes. She always returns.
Not as some us-them victory, but rather, the interests invests into what becomes a mutuality, by design, not likely, by the generations caught into a dichotomy of their time, but the newer groupings, that have yet to even opt into some kind of panopticon induced rigor mortis. There can be a differing approach and a sound reception of newer form that could improve matters. A dead leaf, will simply feed the budding greenery at best, if one gets it, but if a glasshouse, all measures taking root, would remain encased. There would be no getting anything other than a delusion of one's trajectory as the guiding force, among a budding that finds silent humor in these successful failures, guiding the way toward the sky and sun, as if their emergence wasn't a consequence of an already given. Actual influence, would never be on the stage, and far removed from the gloss of a manufacturing lie. One, considering the ebbs and flows of this life, actually concerned with influence, in a way that actually helps their society, would be very much focused on and in-tune with this youthful budding, of a group that doesn't need a spectacle but newer instrumentation, newer cultural forms, of substance, rather than show, which takes a lifetime to produce, so the sourcing, of actual help, would be the responsibility of the group before them; But when everyone can be their own Marilyn in the mirror, who has time to uphold the very measure that has resulted in what we have from the previous generations.
Meaning, this is the consideration, of how those who left the panopticon tower from a previous movement, all find mutual interests, among the hallways, as the cells open up and people embrace an interactivity between, and yet, that interaction dries up. Soon, all return to cells, and the residents of the tower return. So when I consider the generational dynamic, this is what I mean, of the interactivity stagnating. When the generation before, attempts to hang the stars and moon, paint the blue sky, for the younger generation, to attempt for everyone to play it by the numbers, to play it nice, safe and sound, to encase matters as mere embodiment, to return to the panopticon tower, that hand off to the newer generation, marks the generation before. I'm just not into this notion that everything has been done before, even when my own work, exhibits it has not all been done, nor am I into this notion that the fading to grey personality on stage is the actual focus for what is needed. Again, there is a budding, of which actual influence is very much focused on handing off, not an all been done scenario, but rather newer form that changes a lot that a younger group can pick up and push matters toward further development. We'll see. It's a story of time really, far removed from the hopes of individualizing ego, and entirely omitted from the superficial hollowing of glasshouse ambitions and utopic futures aiming to distract among the rootless spectacle.
For fun, cross-apply the panopticon inc vid, and dead kids on a playground with dancing officers, and Ramones simulacra rat race. It could be gestalt, then again, it could be a consistency of patterns in relation to written record.
