Fontän – Fontän

fontan

The surgeon burst, just as he was getting to the good bit. Damn, he thought, damn, what a waste of a good bit. So he set about finding the bits and sewing them back together, but this was a time ensuing process, so once he was re-established, he found that he was no longer a surgeon as he knew it, and the task facing him now was almost entirely structural, something alien to a worker of shambola which he now knew he was to be. Give me a needle and dread, he asked, give me the needle, but the needle was possessed, it was moving, whirring, spinwatting and slabbing. Nowhere was this more apparent than on the structure, something made for itself, conceived for itself, executed for political reasons. And people say I’m a bit odd. Well, wouldn’t you be? But the surgeon, why do we always forget the surgeon? I can remove that lump, he said, or at least, I could, back when I knew what it was. No need, these things are brought on by anger, don’t you know, anger and frustration, and the removal of these ills often effects a cure, but you need to journey and to see, it’s a very strange experience, you often are not sure whether or not you had it, though the memory is vivid enough. I can dig that, replied the surgeon, I must admit this is all a bit weird for me, have you ever pieced yourself back together using only a memory of a subjective prior being? Yes. Yes. Yes. Every fucking day. Wakefulness is what gives me purpose, but, by god, it comes at a price, and I’m not sure what’s left in the bank. I have to save some for the son, though I, the father, have a somewhat privilege, and I get to use it, more than I did, especially now I’m beginning to know where to find more of it. The thing is sustainability. Yes, I know it’s a trendy buzzword, and for that I apologise, I dislike having to use words too, but have you ever tried communicating concepts without their context? Context is, and I think I may have said this before, everything. Everything is context. So, do I get better, asked the surgeon. Yes. But only if you want to. Find your purpose and you will automatically. Ignore your purpose and it becomes harder.

Free the computer within!

Idiomatic. My style is idiomatic. That does NOT mean I’m automatically an idiot. Probably.

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Thomas Dinger – Für mich

fur mich

I’d set my alarm for Now, and it had gone, as described, so I upped, as necessary. Pausing only to sip on a PowerJuice® I embarked and began, the flow led me towards Mash, in Logovila. A big swine was going down, seeping. My job, such as it was, was to ease its stupor, and for this, I required a tardis. Having entered the reverential code of confidence, the entry slipped and I was forth, spread across the problem like a one-being solution. I smiled, which isn’t easy when you’re being spread across a problem, although it was actually quite an amenable problem, we had met before, these encounters had by way of a ritual about them. Ritual writ large, and with social consequences.

Who am I to care about consequences? Here’s a pillar, suffering, righteous, full and tottering, and if I don’t attend to it, I won’t attend to it and the vibrations will cause an event, much like creation, but not as good or as longlasting. Time, I suggested, for some monotony. Interesting times, indeed.

The judge sat me down, where I was resting, and began his instruction, regarding me as he regaled me, interpreting me as he introduced me to the subject I was to occupy that day. Metapillars were needed to counteract some very obvious dangers, many of which were manifesting internally in all sorts of interesting ways… remember, we’re aiming for tedium! At least you know what will happen with it. So I was to be the foreman on the Metapillar Construction Ethos, a new team of engineers with skills so obvious we should brook no bargaining. Don’t let the ice in…

The Redundant Architects™ have been moaning again, it seems… they knew the nanobuilders were coming, and they could have got on board, but no, they insisted their outmoded ‘Innovative Technique’ was the right way for building buildings, even though most of us had cottoned on to the fact that universal harmony was better adhered to, so designing builders that could be naturally attuned to such harmony seemed the most reasonable way of achieving these effects. Why they still insist on training these new architects who will never design a real building.. I overheard some of these talking the other day. They tell of a fantastical island in the middle of the ocean where human beings design a building before its built! Yes! And these are the rationalists…

“You’re on,” I said to your honour, just as he was leaving.
“You’re just swapping one kind of hassle for another, and calling it progress,” he replied, in the shape of a wandering interlocutor, dressed as an agitator, acting like a riot.
“So you say. I’m off hunting for buried pleasure.” I love a good ritual parting, and began my treatment. Today, we dowse with the electronic tonic, that which renders us not as we would otherwise be, but isn’t everything? By which logical proximity we can but surmise: all is as it should be, except for that which isn’t, and maybe not even that. I am not to say, for I don’t know, as knowledge is only transiently useful. I ordered the cringe, hardback edition, publishers discretion, subject to criticism – no work of art is complete without the stain of criticism. Fuck the purists, they have such sweet orgasms, god I want to fuck a purist.

Abronia – Obsidian Visions / Shadowed Lands

abronia

In the first place was the winner of the people chase, a lank haired fox named Orville, who won because of the magic imparted by his evil anvil. Orville, who counted several devils amongst his drinking accountants, promptly took his previous second best certificate and rolled it into a ginormous reefer which hit him harder than his hammer and he had to put it down. The people got away again, thus setting up a new race, this one won by His Majesty Gumley St. Helene-Trouser Slew, whose corpulent incompetence was passed through the ages to a present that neither knew nor cared as now is the time and cares nothing for tradition because tradition is history and history doesn’t exist. So the people got away again, the shackles giving up in a wimp of smoke and this time the moguls went after them – by this and by that they did keep gesticulating, transforming life into matter and then selling it as the status they craved. But the moment ignored them – after an enlightening experience it takes long persistences of abuse to make one forget that light but it only takes one instant flash to undo all that damage and see all the abuse for what it really was.

Tengger – Segye

segye

It was in the middle of nowhere I found you strapped to the last fence, tied to the past as the desert (inevitable) encroached (incorrigible). I bribed my way past the fates, whose eyes were everywhere, and I tried to attend to the knot, not demanding the impossible.

The way forward was blocked, an impediment that blind progress nonetheless sought to conquer. It sought allies, conscript; it entreated us all to visions to prosper. ‘I will never stoop to conquer,’ I yelled and returned to my task, only to find it gone. Gone! As far as the eye can see, and I can see, let me tell you. Call this a ramble? No, I never did. This is now a rescue mission, which I think I always knew it was. If only it wasn’t so dense, maybe the target would be clearer, but theway, like the sinus of the perciever, remained blocked.