[first appeared on santanerozine.com on December 24, 2014]
The western literary canon is slavery.
Postmodernism is failure. It is the stink of ego. It is a deft monstrosity of a collective cultural unconsciousness. It is the collective ego positioning above the slave narrative, the narrative of the oppressed. Postmodernism silences the voice of the world. Until something still unformed displaces this catastrophe. The victory of a movement is its beginning. A collection of artists willing to alter a worldwide consciousness. It is the beginning of freedom.
One thought, one thousand. Two thought, two thousand. Three thought, three thousand. Four thought, four thousand. Thoughts housed in form. One thought, one thousand. Five thought, five thousand. Meditation, ‘x’ thought, ‘x’ thousand. In what neighborhood does the formless exist? More thoughts, one thousand. Two thought, one thousand. Stillness. Zero thought, zero thousand. Stop thinking, one thousand. Breathe, stop counting, one thousand. I’m imagining language as something alive. There’s an ocean I’m drowning in. It’s a hurricane that I am in the eye of. And sometimes there is Stillness. No-mind. And through brief periods of Awareness, then, another torrent, another wave. Stillness, the brief time in between waves. One thought, one thousand, two thought, two thousand—ad infinitum—allowing all the world.
One allusion. William Faulkner denigrating whiskey to a hungry, violent Hemingway.
One form, two form, more, more than binaries, more than simplicity but almost always already simplicity. How we reply to form is only one level of human comprehension. And structuring and revising beams and rebar and super structures and scriptures that have found themselves buried in time. All I ever care to do or all I ever care to do is write about writing. All I want to do is write. Heartache, loneliness, depression. Every single brilliant idea was preceded by failure. Almost always every single great writer throughout history has had a diary or a journal. Kurt Cobain had a journal. You must hate mediocrity more than everything else in the universe combined. Reality destroying thought processes. People want One reason. What is more revolutionary than creating and re-structuring the language of time? All literature is about portion control. All literature is the artificial structuring of time. If you don’t want to change the world, then get the fuck out the room.
Why don’t people create in lieu of endlessly reflecting likes? Why don’t people write, create? It is not enough to have the Spirit of an artist. What is language, drama, tragedy, and even comedy? And please don’t fucking quote Aristotle. Stop worshipping writers as gods. That’s how you break free. Under the tutelage of some scribe and studying endlessly in graduate school, all you become is a clone and a zombie. That’s one of the many and few things that I learned. Why does anything? Allow language. Aspects on the theory of concerted language, aspect of the theory of language, inflection, allegories, fragmentation, absence, streams, structures, et cetera. The why is not merely more than a snapshot. Why and how is the colon of the illusion of disintegration. Breathing is the victory. Programming the consciousness of the mind. Create the universe. We can’t be the press. We have to be the movement of a new world. The language level event to excavate extinction from the cocktail party that never ends the parroting of artificial gods. A pain of god level ideology being parroted at a cocktail party. Stop worshiping the past and create. A fearless defense of the abyss that has yet to be known. In the veins of separation of language and form. .. It begins with the beginning to the end of attachment. God level begins with trust and vision, borderline anarchism of language to the untrained eye. What is the level by which lever does the machine adjust? How does freedom occur? Imagine the pull and weight away from center. Imagine an allegory introducing an allegory. Walk away from center. Santanero must remain revolutionary.