Posted on 15-02-2018
Filed Under (Polemic) by Ely

A few points

  • We are all stormlanders now. Even when you feel safe you know this now.
  • Facts will not help you now. Data will not help you now.
  • Myth beats journalism, every time.
  • Mass shootings are a typical meteorological event of the Anthropocene, act accordingly.
  • Laughter and joy are the sweetest fruits of life: don’t let the death-lovers take them.
  • The magic is turning back on very slowly, but not for everyone and not in a good way.
  • We’re never going to get anything good done in this country if we keep taking scoundrels seriously as another other than what they are.
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Posted on 16-12-2017
Filed Under (Uncategorized) by Ely

I used to see a little girl. Not like a hallucination; it was like one of those Harry Potter gifs that looped endlessly. I guess she was taking a school photo. Maybe? She leaned against a wall. Her hair was long and black and waved and she wore these glasses that were maybe a little too big for her face. Every time this image comes to mind I see her instantly look at me, hands behind her back, and shrugging with a smile as if I had just got her with a trick question. She’s wearing a white shirt with a blue sweater with this yellow pattern on it. A little red skirt, cute as could be, ruffled or whatever you call that texture. Black buckled shoes and her legs wrapped in black whatever. I don’t know what you call these things, but I’m pretty sure it’s a uniform.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my mind’s eye. Even though I can only hold it for a moment at a time, I understand every feature she has. Those eyes, the curve of her face and her shape of her nose and the cut of her chin and her ears. Some of the other things are arguably mine, but that smile, that same sunshine smile from my mom but with an accent on it. That’s my girl. My girl, my flesh and blood.

I started seeing her after I had to reckon the very serious possibility. It was a sudden intuition, maybe a splash in the stream of time or something. I try not to be a coward and I am succeeding with increased regularity, and this was one of those things that completely steeled me for whatever happened. I cherished this image and held it in my heart. No matter what happened, I had that picture to remind me of what things may yet come. When things started getting bad I’d see her tangled up in black, caught in a bunch of nothing and being pulled back into it. She never had a name and she’ll never be. Worse than dead, she’ll never be.

I’ve cried for this girl. I tried to reach out and grab her. I tried as hard as I could for his girl crying wordlessly for her dad. I like to think in that world where she got to be, that she’s a light in the world. I hope that me is doing a good job. I don’t see her anymore, just the memory of seeing her sometimes. I’m sorry, baby girl. Me and your mom just couldn’t get you here from where we met.

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Posted on 21-08-2017
Filed Under (Uncategorized) by Ely

I looked at the water filter indicator as it blinked yellow at me. Like a credit card, the carbon had been activated and spent to its limit. The smiley seemed unnecessary, though I guess if I knock that I’m obligated to knock every game to ever end in “THANKS FOR PLAYING.”

I pull the phone out of my left pocket and waggle it until it gives me the camera function I used to point-and-click order a new filter as soon as I aim the fucking QR code reader right. The convenience of tomorrow, today, with minor assembly required to save you money now. This is late stage capitalism, where we’ve grown such a tolerance the phrases aren’t catchy and the word’s don’t so much as gurgle—forget buzzing!

Whatever.

I get to work 15 minutes later than I did yesterday, which was also 15 minutes later than it was yesterday, and so on and so on, such that I’m up to lunch time by the time I settle in. It doesn’t matter, time doesn’t matter, time is not the real number. Time is a proletarian concern and I made it out of the clockwork game of mousetrap they call being working class. I wear looser and looser clothes every day; the old timers basically wear gis like they’re about to fight Cell for the Dragon Balls or whatever, I seriously never watched that show past the super saiyan moment. Anyway, intervertebral discs are important, I say to myself as I take off my belt and slide into my chair. I’ve gotten better about my entertainment regimen; I start the morning with news, then comedy, then music; I set the playlist up as I make my lunch the night before. Efficient, calculated, ready to get on with the day. I unwind my headphones from the left armrest and plop them on as I lean back and take the chemolyzer and shove it directly into the guideport right below my voicebox.

Natural talent at this job consists of what psychologists call a labile personality. I feel like Ripley in the first Alien as I load the production slate onto the screen being projected at the end of my desk: distress, eustress, tranquility. I toggle distress first and the noisy graph screens showing my internal chemical balance and levels pops up, all my levels at a light red, trailing green and unnaturally smooth ghost lines. My brain waves show up in a picture-in-picture window off to the corner. I don’t understand any of this beyond having to hit the targets. I keep thinking of Alien. I had a fear when I was a child of sitting with my legs dangling in front of bed or a couch with a gap for fear of a xenomorph lashing out at my ankles. The image was regular and intrusive; I don’t fear it as much anymore but I still see it lashing beneath every sofa sea, trying to thrash and claw its way to my feet. I indulge this a little bit and my levels start to shift.

I couldn’t name the hormones or the compounds, but I could stress out like no one’s business. It didn’t take me long to get to the green and start racking in research points—getting and staying in the zone gave you “research points” as a way to gameify and quantify what we were doing to ourselves as the chemolyzers sucked and studied us like sex predators. Getting to your targets and staying there was a challenge for most people who had to do a lot of therapy, drugs, and yoga to get where they needed to be. I just sat down and thought of a movie I hadn’t seen in fifteen years—does that seem right to you? The news was all foreign policy stuff, mostly chucklefucks bumbling senselessly through gimme-gimme peace talks for the sake of points at their home camps. I have no trouble getting right to green when I’m on distress.

An hour later I was way too hungry to be doing this. I hit peak distress quota—four hours worth of work in one—and yanked the chemolyzer from my chest. I pushed myself up and staggered away from my desk like most people did; you could try really hard and hold it together but if you were keeping it real, sitting there having your bloodwork actively fucked with is kinda like a waking death.

I packed a sandwich that day and ate it as I stared out window at the mountains on the horizon, dark green and brown and snowcapped like zits on an earth giant. I couldn’t imagine living far from a mountain range. A person (ok, I) needs an easy way to remember sublimity, a way to feel grandeur and remember the sound of the ineffable. Keeps you grounded, reminds you of your size. People in flat lands forget their limits, forget their bodies. I appreciate my own zen enough and get back to work, zoning into tranquility. This one is the money maker: peace of mind sells like a motherfucker. Forget selling insurance: how much money could you make selling the feeling of having insurance? Money means nothing to me right now. Everything is as it should be, the heavens are in order, my pulse brings me closer to a corpse.

This was my life, this was my job, and then I lost my goddamn mind.

 

1/3

 

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Posted on 04-07-2017
Filed Under (Uncategorized) by Ely

The walls aren’t breathing
The world turns in orbit
The way of things is in order
The wise think of nothing.

I watch with a thousand false eyes
I wonder wonder with my glass glass eyes
At beauty.
I shudder trying to speak
to ears that will not listen.

What cares fire of the fuel
That it sets across.
What does it care between
Cheap tinder or cutting edge jet fuel

What cares lightning of conductors
That it courses along.
What does it care between
water and copper or flesh

What wants a hero of a thousand faces
But to find his way home to one?
What good is it to fight
For an empty side

No good, no good. No care, no cares.

I loved. I love.
And I know my heart ain’t gonna change.
And I know my heart ain’t gonna change.

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Posted on 07-05-2017
Filed Under (Philosophy) by Ely

I. What is a hero?

i. A hero is a humane subject acknowledged in a struggle.
ii. The heroic is the perception of humane subjectivity in struggle.
iii. Heroes are the acknowledged as being towards struggle.

II. What is struggle?

i. Struggle is the total aspect of life.
ii. Struggle prefigures, embues itself in, and defines the demesne and demos of life.
iii. “Only the dead know peace” is the keystone intuition for understanding the absolute limit of struggle.

III. What is life?

i. Life is the conqueror of matter.
ii. All matter is the demesne of death, which is negated by life.
iii. Thus, understand all morality is discursive struggle — dialectic, by other words — between the living who are conscripted against death.

IV. What is good?

i. Good, for the living, is carrying out the cause of life.
ii. The good, then, is the greatest possible struggle of the demos of life.
iii. Good is that which advances life against death.

V. What is evil?

i. Evil, for the living, is carrying out the cause of death.
ii. The evil, then, is the worst possible struggle for the demos of life.
iii. Evil is that which advances death against life.

VI. What is death?

i. Death is the substance of matter.
ii. Unclaimed, unformed ground (or the deep waters, if you’re into that kind of thing) is dead.
iii. The tendency of all matter is towards a return to death.

VII. What is reason?

i. Reason is life’s most pure construct against death.
ii. Impurities of reason are come from the subversive tendency towards death, which leads to a misunderstanding of life.
iii. Reason which brings understanding is not a god, nor is it good in it’s own sake. Judge reason by its fruits towards life.

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Posted on 24-02-2017
Filed Under (Uncategorized) by Ely
  1. All history records the conquest of matter.
  2. The conquest of matter is life’s concern.
  3. Life is the matter’s host against death.
  1. The first telos of life is to preserve.
  2. The second telos of life is to propagate.
  3. The third telos of life is to overcome.
  1. The only enemy of life is death.
  2. Death has no character—death is emptiness.
  3. Death is ground—death is the void.
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Posted on 24-02-2017
Filed Under (Uncategorized) by Ely

-7. Truth isn’t some neat fact about the universe that only makes some trifling difference in the grander scheme of things.

-6. Truth is a hard edge against your life’s blood forcing you to acknowledge its beautiful brutality.

-5. Truth is the rape of a loved one and being forced to acknowledge that “should” and “ought” aren’t worth a drop of tears.

-4. You just know the words, and truth is so much more than words.

 

-3. There will come a time when our sense of home becomes alienated and irresistible, and we will grasp at the stars.

-2. A knight of faith is a good man in Gomorrah. What happens to a good man in Gomorrah? What happens to Gomorrah without a good man?

-1. A pun that crosses languages is something nearly beautiful.

 

0. Keep going, Sisyphus!

 

  1. If I couldn’t When I put myself where I can’t say goddamn or goddammit, I would probably kill myself.
  2. Titanic amounts of great effort are required to produce the slightest amounts of good results—The Earth was starforged, diamonds are earthforged, we are wombforged.
  3. Effort does not guarantee success, and success is sometimes alien to effort.
  4. The Hero is cheered,, because in the Hero we see, acknowledge, and feel validated in as strugglers.
  5. The collective noun for Hero is journey. A journey of Heroes can lead to an oligarchy.
  6. The Master-Slave relation is one hell of an idea. It’s so beautiful, so enthralling, that one may spend all its time in marvel of its dynamic solitude.
  7. The above is counter-revolutionary.

 

  1. The above is counter-revolutionary. Do not be fooled by equivocators: can you imagine a man trying to set down and lift something at the same time?
  2. A bearded man once said that philosophers seek to interpret the world, but the point is to change it.
  3. Once a man devotes himself towards bringing his thought into action, he soon forgets that this is not his natural state.
  4. What are called social scientists are all battle-philosophers who have been skirmishing out in the wild for so long they often forget what they are.

 

    1. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a human being.
    2. She laughs at me.

  1. If I valued your opinion, I would have killed myself by now.

 

  1. Perspective is the most dangerous ur-weapon in the world. It is the trigger to the trigger, the handle of the handle, the bowstring that must be pulled to pull bowstrings.
  2. Sometimes the pickets win battles and think themselves generals winning wars—behold the scientiamors, bastard descendants of the philosophers, dishonorable descendants of Socrates! Look now to what weapons their perspective has brought to them to wield by degrees! Yet bow your head—when they will perish they will as the noblest of bastards!

 

  1. If this was a cracked article there’d be funny pictures everywhere. Today everything is drowning in images and the deluge proceeds.
  2. Sometiems it strieks me that we as a peopel could ues a moer logical spelling system. I think Orwell and Huxley were both wrong: there is no need to rob people of comprehensible language nor need to stupefy them with bliss—stupefy them with incomprehensibility and the language will overcorrect to protect sensibility.

 

  1. Philosophy makes us not-machines, and I don’t ever want to be a machine. This is why they killed it.
  2. A bearded man once said that if there were no gods, there should be. A man with a mustache said god is dead, and we have killed him. But I say unto you, if we have killed god, we should at least consider paying damages.
  3. If the above sentiments were shared by more people, there’d be less futility in the world.
  4. An end to useless suffering would only serve to make what remains that much more important.
  5. Between coincidence and pareidolia falls a shadow—looking like any damned thing.
  6. The above is seditious; possibly counter-revolutionary.

 

  1. There should be a federal Department of Validation charged with sending out agents to make sure citizens feel like their lives are a worthwhile enterprise.
  2. On no account are bioethicists to be hired by the Department of Validation.
  3. Flatcaps are the Trotskyest of all headwear. Be careful to trust ideas that can be put on and discarded like clothing; dress appropriately for conditions.

 

  1. I share my birthday with Jessica Alba, Jay Leno, and a dead dictator.
  2. Some days are not worth the light.
  3. Some knights tilt at windmills and the rest call their foes giants.

 

  1. To lose the credit that you know is truly yours—is there a higher agony?
  2. Man fills the world with wills and expects it to talk back.
  3. Man is a silly creature.
  4. Fanaticism born from hatred is a dehumanizing ignorance.
  5. Sociopaths are monsters: their smiles are bright and full of knives.

 

  1. There is a heroic principle in life, and it is the realization of struggle as a human effort.
  2. To realize oneself as a struggler beyond the point of contemplation is to become a god.
  3. There are beautiful things that swift-footed reason can detect hovering over the waters of existence, delicious and iridescent. It takes more than reason to catch them.

 

  1. All a self is, is a thing that considers itself the kind of thing that is doing the considering of itself. An authentic self is the kind of thing that does what such a thing does.

 

  1. A word is a container for meaning that can be periodically emptied and refilled.
  2. A name is not a like a word: it is a staging ground upon which a private world is built.
  3. Accordingly, the same name can reoccur in unexpected ways and the wrong name can bring down the sky.

 

  1. Skyhooks make poor anchors.

 

  1. “My sacred love, my guiding light, my Hero!” surely cried Leander as he was lost to the dark of the sea.
  2. Without Leander, Hero threw herself into the sea, too.
  3. When the last man is lost in the last night, he will be followed by the million heroes of his million ancestors. The stories will all finish and there will be silence in the cold.
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Posted on 09-07-2016
Filed Under (Uncategorized) by Ely

What’s bothering me:

  • still living bare
    • no sacred space
    • no quiet no quiet no quiet
    • can’t fuck on my own terms
  • words flowing out worse than before
    • it feels harder to talk now
  • head full of shit
    • bad advertising jingles
    • breathy quotes
    • quoteunquote deep quotes
    • bad lines
    • good lines
    • video game lines
    • bible scraps
    • images I don’t need to think about
  • loving hurts
    • trying not to be an enabler
    • still just a moralizing asshole
    • feels like 2012 sometimes
    • did I really do this to myself again
    • did I really pick this again
  • tired
    • feel like shit
    • tired of always feeling like shit
    • tired of phlegm
    • tired of allergies
    • tired of being tired
  • stuck and helpless
    • can’t leave and it feels harder to stay
    • want to run
    • want to run
    • really want to get the fuck out of here

gotta get the fuck out of here

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Posted on 30-06-2016
Filed Under (Uncategorized) by Ely

When she called him forth, the impulse to follow was irresistible and delicious. He saw her as a fellow-dancer, a light in a too-dim world, a fantastic spirit. Of course he would follow.

They went out into the night, climbing and talking. They bounced across busy roads; It was simplicity itself. They climbed, ever climbing, reaching a dark and quiet place. They sat down, and she turned away from him. There was no seeing her after that.

They went back down together in a night void of stars, and left each other with less than a goodnight between them.

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