A performative beware for viewers that lurk.....I think of a Ship. I think of Oh Captain, My Cap-stain...The imagery serving, like a heart-shaped box. Pressure cooker, both peaceful and living at-ease...in the mirror. I think of those waters and that Tik-Tok Crocodile. I think of that flowing with a cartesian sieve, 4-Score instrumentation. I think of all the other 4-Score instrumentations surveilling and discussing...realizing matters...even absurd illogical notions like perspective, in the bag...Rolling Roman Raps. Roman Candles? Christian Candles? Shooting up something special straight to the sky...Ruby Slippers, like a castle door, like a Tik-Tok Crock-A-Dial, cogging their way up toward the sky, little box by little box...step by step, day by day roller coaster, up and down, night and day... Mirror Maze flow, labyrinth & da men-o-tar, Corn & the Love song, Wheat heads and the Ancient Mysteries. Maybe there could be a disussion...we could all come to a room with our fore-score instrumentation and layout a grid for us to understand, to know, to be realized...Forever....Forever...ever? I think of a sandbox....I think of MGMT-Congratulations...I think of the black hole superette....I think of David Bowie's Dance Magic Dance....Grace Jones Dance to the Rhythm....Chromeo Juice....Jay-Z the Story of OJ...
I think of a room of those fore-score instrumentations dancing to a beat, like the crock-a-dial tale...the realness...I see the disco ball in the air...the lights...souper DUPEr trouper...the origins of the sieve dancing on the floor....it's a killing, it's a plato's cave extravaganza...All the FORE scores are twirling and dancing, and making newer formations...Formations like that in nature, like cervices in the pavement, with flowers coming out of them that we call weeds...bad association among cartesian sieves like folks who smoke weed...synthesizing new forms....mind traveling...breaking down, building up, breaking down, building up...I see micro-Fore Scores....The are make some kind of fractal design in the air, smaller and smaller they go...brimming with creative formations...on and on...and then something happens...the mic-row FORE scores grow so small and they begin penetrating the disco ball...through the crevices....like seeds ready to sprout something entirely diffferent. Just piling in...Loading in and up...Shit...that ball just exploded....I see bits and pieces everywhere....mirror faces shattered....infinite bad luck?...It all sounds like Aphex... Twinning...Two the end....only fucked up in a mind fuck...I think of the deemed degenerate artists killed pre-WWII...I think of the creativity that defies the sieve...that play of power...I think of the devils dolled up like angels who hold their power with the mirror...the mirror is D.O.G...I think of a wolf in sheep's clothing needing to doll up a sheep in wolf's clothing. I think of degenerate art. I think of that policy shift, of killing artists in a chamber in the name of humane treatment, so the angels can of course keep the population happy and healthy, peaceful and loving...and yet, to kill the ones that dismantle the mirror play, and your mirror is G.O.D. and you are so nice as ice in the mirror...to be a star, so close and yet so far...I think of your followers aiming to good...I think of that box...that fire...those flames...I think of blood money...I think of margins...I think of hustles, money laundering...offerings and opportunities...I think of dichotomy sandwhiches on the Television screen...Tik-Tok, Tik-Tok...to the ship, safe and sound...here is your Fore Score instrumentation (Tuppence, 2 cents, da bag), decoded flows code the machine (invest in windowpanes, invest social organs, desire (ZiZek), revolutionary desire), nuclear war, rinse and repeat.
A day in the life...where to go, when it's all caught up...imagining a never never land...imagining songs on the radio about walruses and diamonds in the sky...I'm thinking of a portrait that claps back, a different approach to the sell-fee-tease, something about emphasizing creative play over supremacist allures, including normativity measures...hoodies or fleeces in the boardroom? Our little angels, the fleeced followers, adorned with dirt empire, in love, helping, striving for p-ie-ce...p-ea-ce...something in the middle, a.e.i...o-u likely to come about later...when the flies out the cabin...mickey peaces for pieces...3 score 9, 4 score 7....a stockpile of mirrors and cameras, flashing lights, educations, page 6, and pocket full of bubblegum D.O.G. POP, RUBY SLIPS, on-board, Captain Fish Hook...What's a girl to do...Gone daddy gone...
She didn't stay on the yellow brick road...she said she was headed to something like Never Never land? Could that be London? Maybe New York? Who has the lanyard? Could you talk to the fine hour DinOsaurGun ops team?...if permitted of course...maybe if we had a looking glass we could find Never Never land. Do we have landmarks to demarcate, that might help? Some system of codification, like assets affixed to a record book, like capital, might help. Never Never sounds smashing...we simply must have IT. Angels in the mirror, dirt empire starlets, UNITE...with our powers Captain Span IT will seize with an acquire...we just haven't setup the acquisition yet...Shit. What about the internet? A net...yes get a net...span the waters...keep the water the same, like standard language...pull everything out and hold a mirror to it...if she's too mysterious...a room with yellow wallpaper will do....Tong Zi Dan...Green Eggs and Ham...the source, the seat, of what we do to remain veiled at all costs...
What do you mean she's on a safari with a twerking honey badger...stop this nonsense at once! She can only Dream among our Cream...If it wasn't ours to begin with, then absolutely not...no re-WARD. Something about providing and power? sub-SERVE, SOFT-serve, Angels and that mirror...Two pence for a bag...that smell of warm soft sand-switch bread. And remember kiddies it's entirely a free and open society, as we observe...Firbank anyone? 5 novels, something prancing, 5 pointed stars, 5 blood oranges, Unicorn Tapestries...something about a lady...
What do you mean our safari friend and her trusty twerking honey badger just flew out of our Milky way...is it a rocket...we just sent one to Mars...a magic kangaroo that can hop from galaxy to galaxy? She's to be mad...I'm dialing up our mental health A-gent, right now. A real lad. A sir....No, what do you mean? Of course he doesn't twerk! Get her on-the-line this instant. I don't care how you get this...dial her up...with a tree...on her knees....it's going to be green eggs and ham regardless...we provide...not her...We acquired Goddamn it. We Acquired...our basis, a post-justification...We, the more than to her less than. What do you mean she's at the red panda constellation with poo poo bear Honey...What is a poo poo bear. Did Disney approve? We have her Money! She has our influence! We are going to fuck her one way or another. We must elevate upon this sad, bitch faced, always in-need, type...She's riding in an Elevader...Fuck! Call in Captain planet. I hear he has a friend, Captain Consecration...we can give her bohemian galactic delights a purpose. Our purpose naturally but still a purrrrrrrr....feel the fuzzy warm nothing in your snatch...POSE...STRIKE...There's nothing to it...We're the ROGUE, she's to be the VOGUE. In our fashions, our little Venus in furs, white light love...Never Never, she just thinks she clever...fuck her with everything you can provide.
I mean, look...we've given her the internet...it flows so well...so she can post things...here's one now...
Seems like she follows our post-justification play, our agency, among the explicit knowledge as we communicate...something tacit among lurking, like one finding their distinct center of gravity to know how to ride a bike...power point presentation teach any one how to actually ride a bike? We need her to explicitly understand...what do you mean she said post-justification of this power switch in the united states is unauthorative and aligns with dictatorships. There is to be no greater good other than embodied performance deemed good or bad by a cosmetic authority and we are that authority, post-justification, we provide to all...Our reasons insofar, out of a womb of which we did not create...kill the bitch with kindness...give her everything she needs...our authority lacks pre-justification, the design we intend on, to transform the United States into Democracy as a veneer, will not hold a stabilizing basis, a grounding into that pre-justification....She's asking why one should embody for the other in the first place? Kill her! And keep smiling earth angels, the mirror loves you.
R.I.P United States...the new and improved Christians are taking over...to love without following the construct...they are going to be the new and improved safehouse, like crosses to Hypatia or Christian Social Party to Nazism....Genesis Gemini Jimini Cricket....lOOk.....This mirror is to be yours....seeing is believing, no air to breathe...not process of behavior to be traced....wolves as shee and shee as wolves...shhhhh....it's all improving...things are looking bright...no hell in sight....all bery bright...happy...kind...no more separation of church and state...the religious-military order, even in relation to your employment, is the new way...just dial up a gent and off with her head...no more creativity, no more innovation, no more radio for her, no more church and state separation, just chruch and the mili goostepping for her hit...Of North Korean Games, of Concentration Camps...This is our new L-O-ND. This is our L-O-ND, like it or not! We are the new providers, not you, not the United States. We are your >H masters now. Here's your bottle now drink the fuck up...Here, have some Star-Bucks...maybe 7brew.
