but that is what you always feared,
and in fear you became it,
when i was a young child
i feared becoming pin-head,
dracula and something else,
we were eradicated from vague hopes
into automation via the unconscious,
we were theorised too much that
we required technology to feeds us,
the dim stench of freudian ergonomics
of the unconscious left us naked...
****** did his ****.. freud just ****** on it.
it's like a 2nd crucifix...
i won't allow it... i won't allow the first
one... the first was to travel back to the east
rather than the north... travelling to the north
it became demonic and desolate...
the magi came from the east, why sell it
to the northern-most north?
you ready for the Holocaust snow of human ash
of Kraków without readied cannibals of christianity?
so said Shiva unto Vishnu via the Buddha;
i'll die sooner than die believing a lie...
off with you to mongolia to learn some manners
of conquest... the lessened poetics
will only breed an excess of "artists",
many painter who require en entitlement...
and yet many poets spoke without a tongue,
but instead spoke, choosing to gamble
their worth with having gambled a restoration project
that wasn't a renaissance...
they say poet, they say shadow,
they say painter, they say an offspring of spectrum:
the dirtiest ****-stained poets are painter
who write with words, expecting them to surmount
mountains as flemish plateaus...
painters are easy to discourage noting in x-ray...
they opt for colour and little wording,
there's competition to be had,
how would ever the modern neanderthals of
the netherlands ever evolve? evolve without
the ceramic milk cow? not really.
or that film predestination...
see it first... i might watch it a third time three days
from now... the prologue gave it away,
first time i watched it i got lost, was entertained...
second time i was very into science with a
humanism angle...
there were 4 people... 3 in the end,
considering the narrator...
and the narrated loop,
like a zoo of three people present,
the girl... the transition boy-girl,
the **** bartender...
then the ad infinitum ex dualitas non duo...
the **** just will not bind...
the fizzle bomber is there akin
to the girl being impregnated on
a bench left... i was thinking of four
people being represented...
in the end i only got three with the narrator
being the fourth...
ethan hawke was the mysterious
****** who impregnated himself
before he knew he was a androgynous
internally for real rather than a spectacle...
and then the corrosiveness of encapsulated
solipsism opening a rigid narrative
leaving two choice opposing furthered narrative:
the bomber is never caught, but continues,
the girl never falls in love;
*** change apparently happens,
symbolically it's a bit like:
1 + 1/3 + 1 = 1 + 3/1 + 1 happens
(the one that's representative of the whole
in a third, adding the narrator equates to
the one that's representative of three people
adding a narration for purpose of a film).