how can the one be the same as the other, when one is humble, while the other is bombastic? where one is he, who seeks to cherish emotion, while the other, to feed off a touch of marble? where one seeks a "narcissism" of shadow, the other seeks the icarus-bound: self-inviting fade of light, and subequent downfall, which no shadow dare grasp, troll-akin; who dares to touch the sun, will find no secure net of shadow to catch him, might the falling star, usurp the patchwork of safety, bound to those glorifying schatten und schweigen (shadow & silence).*
if ever "legacy" media is to remain intact, worthwhile, can i suggest a very odd but all the ever more present concept? religious of course? why are sunday newspapers the worthwhile reading material? why couldn't be have a media sabbath, say, on a monday? what the hell happens on a monday? if it isn't stale-bread, and isn't a "historogical" case of the frame within the bounds of day-to-day journalism... what does happen, on a monday? nothing! between my fingers, monday newspapers are the anorexic by compariosn to friday, saturday, sunday....
can't these ******* feel a break? can't they just, stop,
for, one, day?
i'm sure tolstoy took breaks in between
writing one of either of his mangum opus constructs...
why can't journalists just un-plug?
it only takes one day!
i'm not here labouring to depose
"legacy"media, i'm trying to reform it -
please, guys, take one day off...
you're being over-worked with a 24h coverage,
the british empire is dead,
the sun can somehow and in whatever
"way you think is "sudden": can, set.
you can see the night through the perspective
of a dreaming mind,
please: let go for that one day...
give yourself rest...
the jews invented the sabbath after they
finally completed the construction
of the pyramids... they were never
atheletes... but slavery taught them:
exhert the body for the worth of a pyramid...
guess what... the jews
are no longer the really attuned intellectuals...
their ideas? culmination point maxis:
i.e. communism? failed...
time to shove these ******* into
the roman arena and make them sprint!
they can't compete intellectually any more,
every intellectual jest, becomes a flaw...
the jews ought to know when a new pyramid
is being given shape...
evidently they're intellectually stunted...
they should know who the original
athletes were... who's luaghing?!
they're laughing?
you seeing what i'm seeing?
can they please make these as pleasant as
possible? can they at least bargain with
the journalistic branch of humanity and
introduce a day (notably monday)
when people are not informed of a
dasein* on heidegger's terms?
can we please have a journalistic sabbath,
a day off? do we really need to be
so "well informed" every single day?
look at it this way...
a typical sunday edition of a newspaper
will take me about 2 days to fully digest...
and i'm talking about 70 year olds...
no, i don't have a mobile phone, i don't use
dating apps...
i believe in the truest form of
random potential, vs. natural selection...
random potential? revival of subjectivity...
natural selection? established objectivity...
you take the random and compare
it to the "natural": do systems and rubrics really
get a girl wet? emm.... don't think so.
her favourite song was in flames' metaphor...
mine... i'll lie about this one...
i have too many... dry **** logic's goodnight?
more likely i was "dreaming"
of incubus': wish you were here,
and hear this: as if no one said it to begin
with the first itchy finger on this horrid
piano of spiders attempting echo.
there was a point...
coming from a brief member of the ****
party...
you know... i was actually having
a justin gatlin moment when he beat
usain bolt today...
it was poetic... the "satan" bowing
before a "god", as a "poet", how would i never,
ever, rejoice in such moments,
akin to isaiah's words: oh lucifer,
how lowly fallen...
there was so much
poetic justice in the event that only took
10 seconds to complete...
how can you now suddenly break into
a framework of milton, and side with
the boogieman?
kinda makes all chemists
redundant: why not give all athletes
enchancing drugs? keep the plateau, invite
the fausts!
guess what the biggest performance
enhancing drug was for justin gatlin?
the crowds boos...
you can't, you can't find a bigger
drug, a better drug...
never undermine the underdog,
the fiend, the evil, the "enemy"...
the crowd will always loose!
who befell, the crowd pleaser,
or the one who hushed the crowd -
the same crowd who stayed for
for the medal ceremony for farah...
who won? who won?!
who won?!
it would have taken
the wiser of the two bolts to have bowed out,
than to become shackled into
a shamrock of shame -
no one will remember the victories:
everyone will only believe in
the overcoming of the underdog -
no matter the number
of medals, take to the ratio of 100 victories
and only 1 defeat... people still remember
the 1 defeat... or that's how history is taught...
commentators in the present may
cite the 100 victories, build statues...
but people, people confined to history,
remember the 1 defeat... and the confines
of sand confined to an hour glass...
the rise of the loser
is never celebrated, because it is paternal...
but the fall of the champion is only celebrated,
because there is no paternity,
not maternity invoked, only the eager
hyennas waiting, only the condors, only the crows,
only the scavengers:
flesh of flesh, torn off, till what remains
is only but what best resembles bone.
as heidegger said in aphorism 123 (V):
then to totter in the great emptiness and shout
once hoarse.
i "predicted" he wouldn't win...
jealousy? do i look like i might be
jealous of an athelete of such competence
and decision to ****** rigour?
unless you're talking about the ability to
write after a litre of ***...
competition wise? i'm your man...
cheap the *****, the more i'll write...
cheap ***** within the ratio of: rich thought;
it was a "prediction"...
you pick up nuances...
generally speaking, when the mob anticipates
too much, too much fairy tale, you begin
to overshadow everything with: "pessimism" -
well... because there's the story of
sanctity - one of resurrection -
one of the admonishing of sin...
my admonishing of the "sin" of childhood trust /
friendship?
become a hermit...
and trust, not, one, ever, ever, again;
you can't call it a competition in terms
of trust and friendship...
but i guess the ****** utopia of gay-talk
is just that, bwest-fwend... footie-fwend...
fwend... accompleesh... leash-buddy...
drinking-buddy...
associate... business-partner...
lover...
surrogate-mother-*****-homosexual-*****;
****! test me! if this isn't the ridiculous
part of even attempting to engage in
ridicule... i fold! there's not worth in making
jokes out of this verbal amazon of:
i eat a random berry, i hallucinate,
i eat a random leaf, i stop hallucinating...
if i were you, i'd start with incubus'
album morning view... yeah, i know,
2001 may seem like far far away... esp.
with green day's slaughterhouse "rock" anthem
regarding september...
ask me again... how does the biblical narrative
become reincarnate in the day-to-day
lives of people ranging from dust-bin men
through to world-class athletes...
don't know...
i'm stretching another second over
having to stretch heretical yoga-poses
attempting to doubly-inflate my bladder
and stopping myself from ******* my pants.
