Sunday, November 28, 2004

What Does Period Blood Look Like

Manifesto Destiny Tunnel vision

Enough of these texts that echo in the emptiness briefly before evaporating, leaving behind only some hints of a nauseating self-absorption become invasive. These texts without grip passing gust of wind, laid by egotistical waddling in all postures of subversion unlikely to become part of general consensus.

How to overcome the spirit of our contemporaries by a sclerotic brutalization humanist at all times? We must make our texts A rms of D Abroad of M asses.

Logical bombs and camouflaged neurociels off-line, Trojans programmed to disrupt any point to stimulate a sense of cathartic quartering. Let's skip

\u0026lt;balises/> drafts and benchmarks. Write everything and its opposite. Ordain chaos while sowing mayhem. Illuminate the darkest corners while wearing the darkness to the proudest city of lights. We wallow in the depravity of the worst sacrilege to reach the peaks of the most sacred truth.

force-feed our bulimic frescoes that swallow everything, even to loop over themselves. Accouchons son of conductors immersed in anorexia delusional, are swallowing up what makes the process of narrowing the first to reveal the essence of our stories.

Rampon masked faces delighting cocktails damaged gutters and elixirs. Squattons the space generated by T ery G rande V acuity to complete our project subversion of metaphysics. Let's open the floodgates

stories to unleash rivers that would draw in the lexical sources to carry out their work of undermining in the low-lying areas inundated by the intellect. Contaminate groundwater currents of the mind. Rongons the foundations of this poor wisdom and, once the collapse of the building is completed, our leaves are hopping scatterbrained on the rubble that will build the foundations of the new absolute structure.

us write our neural agents infiltrated sleeper cells lurking in the most inaccessible corners of the brain. Cells in wakefulness and always ready to activate and then fly unmanned drones like, to horizons of thought under siege.

Launch our fleet of illuminated manuscripts, books sound and light, hovering under the radar of consciousness. Stealth bombers, powered by a kerosene based pulp fiction, dropping our books MOAB, toms-blocks which decompose on fault lines in fractal fun new books scattered to the four winds. Bibles fragmentation bombs. Let

aim to resonate in our minds focused text, long after reading them, not as migraines or tubes of the summer, but as myths and oracular pronouncements. Make

court to deceive consciousness and dreams, not to provide any entertainment to the reader, but in order to have the rape his sub-consciousness. O nirisme G eNet M odified.

With a frenzy of insertions, deletions, permutations, transmutations, shortening, of hyphenated words, words stuck, words crossed out, weave a cobweb screened at full speed as a scholar cabling ensuring short circuiting conventional wisdom.

synapse slashers to cut to the heart of the matter, the texts are piloting Boeing chiseled sinking the cutter at full speed in both Tares Binoculars are humanism and tolerance. Exploit the tsunami and tired and do a clean sweep of everything that levels at the bottom.

run our script right as the flame of a propane torch, neurons grating under the corrosive effect of our hymns, welded synapses as we please, of narration white-hot whipping the mind of a sulfurous breath.

us send email accounts in the heart of the processor syphilitic brain to trigger the gestation of a textual outgrowth infectious. Word Virus.

fertilize the tissue of the cerebellum values pregnant. The spirit and impregnated, frelatons the placenta that nourishes the bodies left in gestation. Once at the breaking point transtextual, at the time of obtaining the critical mass that alters the very functioning of the cortex, provoke runaway transcriptase who uses lexical depths to proceed on work general contamination. The Word revels in the same brain encysted. Point possibility of remission. We are driving the M étastase O verdrive. In

expert smugglers souls, doing a snorkeling in the shallows of the reader's mind to tamper with her conscience. Grand Theft Ego . Let

nettle everything that relates to the beauty of the gesture. The vain attempts of style are lost time and wasted effort. Let 'the look' in quotation marks (setters) in parentheses. Draw a definitive line these stories lace sewn fine needle, and instead, to put points on the 'i', forging a lethal weapon from a string of words, incantations and incandescendants, braided with the precision of a DNA chain that wraps both a school of thought and its future. Holy helical dictation.

Tripatouillons genes, doing reassembly of molecules from stories transtextual modified for neural fields fallow. Biotextuelle cultivation.

Numericité serving the absolute structure. The narrative related to the machine. Inventing the text from assembler s'autofabriquant words embedded into each other by a nano-machine neural our design. Generated text and engraved in the same brain. All trademarks registered.

Words teeming, overcrowded nanoparticles countless festering a gray goo that a fall in the spinal cord before you calcify into vertebrae. Fifth column ideological premium on all imaginable Deus Ex Machina. Towards

solitary literary eating brains and squirming under the eyes of the reader who, seeing the swarm under the skin, eyes widen in a moment of genuine emotion, genuine, and finally justified. Here he is awakened from its torpor. Grimoire gore.

Ressourçons us in the eternal sleepless night punctuated by the creative pulse of dub. Realize our ultimate eschatological remixes, scratching on the keys of our keyboards, turntables of the Apocalypse. Chillout chem (er) ic.

1: Grey goo - gray goo.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Matrix Hindi Song Name



This morning, a little snorkeling with wildlife Paris. Their hidden by the blinkered view Tele 7 Jours and Team , the car carries the RATP beasts of burden to their destination of gregariousness bestial.

heads lowered, features carved by the resignation, with this attitude of livestock that inevitably leads to the slaughterhouse, passengers are lulled by the dead weight of the ceremonial ever again. Spurts from the train station to another, casting more in their lives that slides forward as relentlessly bleak lava bubbling platitudes.

Monday, November 1, 2004

I Have Hemorrhoids My Tailbone Is Sore

Lucidity

too stubborn to look away, eyes set a point on the horizon. The visual field, like a movie at pélicule of whose perforations are dislocated on the spool begins to hop. The view jerky, it's time for the hearing goes wrong, like a noisy soundtrack she gave way to a long symphony of sounds of scratching. The field of view, fixed a moment too before the projector lamp, from fumaroles in silver, tearing arabesques. What else is reality.