Jam Cast

Did my spit not grow up to be watermelon?

I'm digging failure now, but it's not now. I'm terribly tired of imagining without a router. A whirling one, a whirling one.

I'm alright but I want to listen to music so bad. I wonder what kind of timeline we're on?

Gimmicks and Stunts.

I know there is a way! Shredding it and throwing it up in the air? Cutting the edges off sloppily? Maybe I can drag it around a crazy screen free from the desktop leaving eternal blink echoes all round?

The universe has a shape you know. A funnel on top of a tree on top of a globe with water shooting yellow snaking hungry sunshine wavelet meshwork patterns all over the background. But that's not it, not it. Need a new one, image it and it's untrue. Maybe we imagine a donut and we're in it. This part is my kingdom, that red sprinkle behind the yellow one? That's my castle. No no, sadly no.

I hear music, but it's oh so far away and like a mechanical bellows. Not something you can hold onto at all at all.

I've been thinking production, but really the fascination in in translucency. Or nudity. Or hungry metal-mouthed monsters.

The big bang is one thing in a Y. There are countless other things that fit that fuzzy set. An infinity wouldn't never fit on your harddrive.

The brain is not digital, nor can it be simplified and simulated as digital. The first mechanical mind will be made by Moog or Korg; it's a damn fine day for a race. There are such things as clouds and impossible paradoxes, there are still unknown forces at work.

How do you reach out? How do you leave a record? If you take the path of forgetting to remember that there are hard things out there, then you can really manipulate the system with your fantasies, but it is immoral. If the universe was shaped destructively you would be barren, but shapeless you'd bloom. But what's the freakin' point of flowers in a dark loop, right?

Oh - so maybe if I use words and mechanically substitute the wrong ones and keep it secret from myself. Never tell me. Then would I be morally culpable? What if the mechanics were in my brain, in between my thought and action? Is there a border there or is it two tribes with strong centers? Or no centers? These things aren't written on paper!

Hollowness reminds us of secrets by metaphor.

Metaphors are difficult to reverse-engineer in detailed contemplation - our current "up down warm cold in out" simplifications don't count as productive chases - only rigid terrible thought.

The new academic does not allow themselves to be tortured by rigid edges, but instead sinks into the ocean of all the possible attention fields. "In and out" is a basic yeah, but you need go through the tree by the branches, not the roots.

Sort by likes, isolate, modify, multiply. Remember to leave the edges fuzzy.

What does it mean to be lazy? Sympathy for rocks and sticks is one definition - letting loose - so deeply sucked into the tiny stark details of the real that the center gets fuzzy. The opposite of this state is not fuzzy but pixelly, a staged shot from a step back and a heart attack. This is what is called strength of self, purpose, hard-edged abstraction. Where does the cruelty emerge? Where is it torn away?

Cloudy cloud, how do you live in the air? I can see invisible dangers with my prototype omniscient eye - they are pixelly. If I had my way I'd eat candy all day, but I don't have time for you Cloudy, go away. I'm trying to be a modern person, go away.