mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli

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wanna bring out the old mechs?

you should be able to detect the magnetic stuff i've got going on, eels! eels, migratory birds, platypus-guys, other things with lots of iron inside of your blood. i'll talk about your blood, sure. i'm going to talk about your blood, guys! i got to see a bunch of my blood & it was red as anything. i kind of want them to take my blood all the time, if they can come up with some good oracular shit. guys, i'm not going to do that sort of alchemy on my own. you go right ahead & tell me if your microscopes start finding kirby dots on my blood cells & strange circuits built of them. then we can have a professional discussion regarding all the long tommorows, on the yawn of the moon. i mean-- you guys have to be suspicious of the moon, right? you went to school, they have to have talked about how strange & unlucky it is for the moon to seem (by illusion!) to be the same size as the sun. as though the night time has it's own wan sun. note to self: own wan sun, next jedi. done & done. his sword spitting sparks, dripping sparks like a straw drips milkshake. like the swords that cut across the black horizon in my skull.

what do i know? i'm sick of metrics, & the english measures just won't cut it. i don't care about your stinking man-king. give me cubits, tell me how the angels stood all the way to the sky & i will measure off of them. man-kinds. nobility just hangs in my guts, you know? which is why you have to give the samurai their due. they came too late to mean anything. a funny little political appendix, removed for everyone's health. but they took the strength of the priesthood--ideology-- & they made it into a code. took morals & made it ethos & then they killed each other over these ideas. there isn't a better way to die. than by having to be too much your proud self. i am exciting to read neal stephenson's new book. space monks, maybe they have it really together. they do in my game. space monks. i sometimes play the reduction game & i marvel at my place in it. memes versus genes. it seems very strong as a paradigm. memes & genes, i should say. the problem of course being...genes. people pretending genes are mean, that there is a difference between nature & nurture. like how tall you grow isn't just as much about the food you are fed as the genes you've got. dumb.

funny, right? sitting in front of the computer, drinking cheap booze, fucking off on the internet. fucking off on the internet like running seti online. shouting at the internet wondering if anyone is even paying attention to the static. can you count on any of these bastards? & listening to music! i forget that the reason i don't care about music is because i don't sit in front of the computer listening to music while trying to kill the pain that we call boredom or ennui. music! funny animals made of sound. hey sounds, thanks for being recognizably made of waves in a medium. by which i mean being super doubt-able. i mean, light? your eyes? you can hardly blame the ape brain for accepting those axioms. taste & smell are too subtle. tongues. air. shiver. this whole place is coming down around my ears & i am tired. & frankly, i'm a dilettante. i don't have to hide on my throne lonely as anything. i'm just soaking in the nostalgia. because i wasn't talking bullshit? & the war is always in progress. i have a fortress & a warrior without peer. she might cut up my heart to make fucking tartar. i might not let her! she's at some thing, some event, though. & so i can take off my diving helmet & choke with the rest of you. you know who you are.

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