The finest mix of soul and groove–pace wise–happens in the first thirty-five seconds of a cover of `No Diggity.’ The cover is by Chet Faker. (Not his real name.) Sonic-wise, the mix bubble-gums tech-retro vibes against a post/synth, synth/piano synth-strut–or something like that, with the sonic almost as impressive as the mix of pace. The song trails off in excellence, regrettably, but for that first half-minute the instructions are as clear as eternity: Shorty, get down.
There must be something sadder than loneliness, but no one knows what, or can tell you why.
Restraint isn’t an order, but it’s in order.
Do you suffer from the The Eleanor Rigby effect? Lost among all the lonely people? Everyone but you singing about it?
The artistry of the kill. Cool in movies, bad en masse.
If money is shit, those with too much only need flush it into the system to save to feel better.
–Not the people who control the system, or say they do. The System.
City of the future: everyone on bikes, lots of street markets, and a high tech life you can live off the grid.
Sundays on the phone to Monday, no ones on the phone to me.
–Sundays on the phone to Monday, Tuesday’s on the phone to we.
Of course spy vs spy self is your love game. Not quite catching each other, one or the other trapped in the last box.
dust and dust, men of stone, love it like a rock
Are us all sickos? Sure, but there’s a lot to be sick about.
You’re a good egg, love those sexy yolks.
Whats wrong with the morning glory story?
If first impressions are everything, everything else must be second.
The mediation is the message maker.
Any “mission statement” now implies a bit of army corps phrase-ologists or zealous sales-peoples or something that crosses the line, or some line, if only just a bit.
–I am worried about being part of the mission, part of the plan, part of the system when mission applies to drones and shooting people in restaurants, when the plan is self-evidently cruel or chiefly in the interest of those who draw it up, and when the system can’t correct itself despite all the data.
God size entertainment
Jazz goes up and down or straight across. Some jazz goes in circles, but in a way too cool way.
Sadness implies time that you’ve lost, grief implies immediacy, the thing you can’t get over–the sad delay of Miss Ohio times it just right.
A virus of a good idea, infecting everyone with better temperament.
The problem with violence is that we understand it too soon, so it takes forever to undo its lesson.
Protect me against your need for wealth.
Some things–truth, love, kindness–are unspinnable, so lets keep spinning round them.
I can lead you where you want to go, but not if I know who I am.
Measuring your own importance is like measuring your eyeballs: both disappear when you see through them.
What if someone understood their own complexity?
Ignorance and knowledge are not binary, but they obviously run on the same circuit,
If I could catch up to myself, I’d bring you along–but you are there already.
The world? You know it. So much in it. So much you want. How will you get it? All that you want? Almost all? You could get rich. But so hard. So dirty. So costly too. So expensive all that stuff you want. Why not live on the give?
Love is the only thing we can’t measure, so lets stop measuring it and, you know, measure up to it.
We all need mommy-ing and daddy-ing, but lets need it without needing to need so much of everything else.
People want to be priceless. They are, Now make them interchangeable, everyone getting paid everything, or almost, for whatever they do, or almost whatever they do.
There it is, around any-corner, the church of everywhere.
If you know the language you can make fun of yourself without pretending you’ve become enlightened.
Fun games have rules. Making the rules should be fun. Start class there.
Weep for the future, the past weeps enough already.
What word goes after the word god? None, or you go down the rode to dominance and the one thing any god disavows: power.
You beauty makes me want to kill myself, Pissaro like, one dot at a time.
Balthus, Balthus, Balthus—isn’t that just fun to say?
It is not just the scary things we can now think about—must see everyday, it is how many things we must think.
Your problem is not that you do not know what to do, its that you have too many answers.
Find a device the purpose of which people do not know. There’s mystery and knowledge in that. By contrast everyone knows what guns do. Guns kill everyone, stupid.
Hurt into reality by too much beauty–beauty gets in the way of reality too.
Best idea ever: water from a tap.
There are always connectable dots, of course. The sexual slavery and human trafficking that these visuals promote or depend on or normalize–even if only a little–mean you can follow what you are enjoying the most–porn at its best–to something awful. Duh.
There must be two differences between the bible and pornography, but maybe only one is somewhere on the grid.
You only need god once. You need mom and dad every god forsaken day–CSW
FAQ: Frequent Answerless Questions
BEI MIR BIST DU SCHON
–The Andrew Sisters: girls singing about god and sex and starting to rock
Everything is everything–almost . . .
god, the metaphor that won’t die
There’s great heroism in being alive. Don’t forget it just because the world makes it so easy on you.
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