silencing of voices in that dumpster
called history, technology providing new ways of shutting down. we
seek in our horrors of ennui and diversity to construct relentless myriad
pathways of silence. this our noise and power. this our love.
but voice itself
is a dumpster for voice.
abdicating believing belief, willing will,
desiring desire, living life, thinking thought. still walking walking.
and dying death contains various amusements. one clambers in playgrounds on whatever
novelties present themselves. thank the fractals of consciousness for erecting
structures, however ephemeral, of play.
blood, the ultimate ghost, struts tribally,
tethered by violence to abyssal creation.
to attempt to escape the darkness of
tribalism, the noose of dunbar’s number, after having passed through many solid
screams of people’s people’s people – my
people, my people, my people, my people? – i enter the darkness of escape,
another tribe, with its mores and politenesses, taboos and texts and visions. i
cannot have mckenna’s faith. i cannot have the faith of money, knowledge. i
cannot afford faith. i have heard the voice of plants and they seem more incredible
and credible to me than these monkeys i was born to swing with in the canopy of
the city.
~ 60 species of primates still extant, the
fewest with only 20 members (the hainan gibbon)
population of primates excluding humans –
< 2,000,000
population of primates including humans – ~ 7,352,000,000
i move in the city like a mathematical set
among shampoo commercials.
momism. a distributed and immanent papism.
yet still a strange religion with strange devotees. arcane rites and irrational
dogmas. hierarchies of disturbing regard.
surely the only skill i still admire among
humans is that of truck drivers backing into alleys.
it is hardly contents of communication that
are endangered – these flourish like an invasive species – but modes.
breeding certain types of humans in captivity
– which is to say civilization – is an ongoing covert zoological experiment
that might officially interest an odd ecologist or capitalist were it not for a
culture that forbids alternative taxonomies. for extinction, happily rampant
among non-humans, equally thrives within humanity, with almost equal
invisibility and ignorance. the menagerie we call the city, the zoo we call
freedom sees (or rather doesn’t see) failures daily of intra-species diversity,
of kinds not engineered for this society’s cage, and unwilling or unable (that or) to be genetically modified to enjoy
the prescribed feeding schedules and lice-picking entertainments.
dinner party to imagine – k acker, jodorowsky, mckenna, baroness elsa, weil, d bohm, woolf, lispector, blake. or these 9 on a spaceship to settle another world.
