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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Posted on 16-02-2012
Filed Under (Philosophy) 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.

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

 

0. Keep going, Sisyphus!

 

1. If I couldn’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, for The Hero is the only one we let rescue us from our rejectful selves, 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.

 

8. The above is counter-revolutionary.

9. A bearded man once said that philosophers seek to interpret the world, but the point is to change it.

10. Once a man devotes himself towards bringing his thought into action, he soon forgets that this is not his natural state.

11. 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.

 

12. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a human being.

13. She laughs at me.

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

 

15. Perspective is the most dangerous weapon in the world.

16. Sometimes the pickets win battles and think themselves generals winning wars—behold the scientiamors, bastard descendants of the philosophers, dishonorable descendants of Socrates!

 

17. If this was a cracked article there’d be funny pictures everywhere.

18. Sometiems it strieks me that we as a peopel could ues a moer logical spelling system.

 

19. Philosophy makes us not-machines, and I don’t ever want to be a machine.

20. A bearded man once said that if there were no gods, there should be.

21. If the above sentiments were shared by more people, there’d be less futility in the world.

22. An end to useless suffering would only serve to make what remains that much more important.

23. Between coincidence and pareidolia falls a shadow—looking like any damned thing.

24. The above is seditious; possibly counter-revolutionary.

 

25. 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.

26. On no account are bioethicists to be hired by the Department of Validation.

27. Flatcaps are the Trotskyest of all headwear.

 

28. I share my birthday with Jessica Alba, Jay Leno, and a dead dictator.

29. Some days are not worth the light.

30. Some knights tilt at windmills and the rest call their foes giants.

 

31. To lose the credit that you know is truly yours—is there a higher agony?

32. Man fills the world with wills and expects it to talk back.

33. Man is a silly creature.

34. Fanaticism born from hatred is a dehumanizing ignorance.

35. Sociopaths are monsters: their smiles are bright and full of knives.

 

36. There is a heroic principle in life, and it is the realization of struggle as a human effort.

37. To realize oneself as a struggler beyond the point of contemplation is to become a god.

38. There are beautiful things that swift-footed reason can detect hovering over the waters of existence, delicious and iridescent.

 

39.

 

40. A word is a container for meaning that can be periodically emptied and refilled.

41. A name is not a like a word: it is a staging ground upon which a private world is built.

42. Accordingly, the same name can reoccur in unexpected ways and the wrong name can bring down the sky.

 

43. Skyhooks make poor anchors.

 

44. “My sacred love, my guiding light, my Hero!” surely cried Leander as he was lost to the dark of the sea.

45. Without Leander, Hero threw herself into the sea, too.

46. When the last man is lost in the last night, he will be followed by the million heroes of his million ancestors.

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Posted on 08-02-2012
Filed Under (Fiction) by Ely

Tamer Taungis had been dreaming in the long and eternal black. He was flying, always flying, past the old stars and planets of his galaxy. Sometimes, if he turned his head towards an empty patch, he could see images of his life. His wife was now an ethereal memory, his children had become incorporeal angels, and the tools of his shop were objects of legend. He had been an artisan in his town and made little things for people. In the deepest stretches of nothing he saw those things he made and imagined them legendary works of beauty. In the beginning of his journey a little voice would always pop up and remind him he was merely good, not great. In time that little voice became old and feeble and silenced itself altogether. Tamer did not remember imperfections anymore, only faint blurs of a world that was no longer there for him.

***

They called it the Elder Hill because it had been there since time immemorial and it felt like an uphill climb. Wain crossed it with adamant-spiked boots that dug into the rocky ground and made the going slow but sure. Wain was wrapped in a woolen drape he’d found in a garbage can and sprayed with water-proofing—a pretty good cape for the vicious winds that sliced through his knit cap and gouged at his scalp. Beneath his shirt was a small bag full of red marbles that chafed against his sternum. It had been good money to come out here, and all he had to do was carry the marbles to the top or die trying.

The wind was awful but it was always awful here. The greed of the place ate the light at the horizon, leaving a black gap between the bleeding sky and the interminable rockiness. The boots had been the best decision Wain had made so far, but no decision was without consequence. Wain’s feet began to slam into the ground with a weight they’d never known, heavier and heavier with each step. The wind bit deeper as his cape became like lead and Wain’s knees trembled. The ground here was littered with little bones and crushed skulls belonging to long dead specimens of wildlife that had learned the hard way not to climb up the Elder Hill.

The wind went out of him and Wain had to kneel gingerly. It was like trying to breath milk, and in the near distance he could see the bones of men crushed to meal between pools of water condensed from the pilfered air. The bag in his chest tore and the bright blue marbles smashed into the floor with a woman’s shriek. Wain felt a palpable umph as the heaviness left him. He cried quietly as the pain shocked up his bones, but he could stand now. The marbles had left a red stain on the ground and had somehow flattened the floor. The earth had become hard and smooth, a creamed-coffee marble. The adamant spikes could not bite it, and Wain began to slip when he tried to move forward.

He fell lightly and slid across the field. Try as he might, he could not stop himself. His fingers against the floor felt like they were touching a breeze, formless and escaping his grasp.

As he kept on sliding, he got lighter. As he got lighter, it became harder for him to control himself. Wain was so disoriented he didn’t even realize what had happened when he passed a small indent in the ground and flew off into the sky.

3/7

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