...and so too the irresponsibility

When they came for us, we were all ready liquid. They came with talk of concrescence, the slowing or stopping of motion. We were not impressed, surely to not move brings less satisfaction than to move quickly but leave pieces behind.

They were adamant, but lacked a suitable mask and frockcoat. We assumed they had left, our motion making it hard to discern if they still lay where we were. The next cycle we passed them yet again, and again they tried to slow us with deprecating words.

This passed for much of my time, or as we thought it did. We knew not that they had temporarily joined us in motion, if we had we still would not have known why until too late.

Their numbers grew, separating us without a lack of struggle. Our surface tension lost its will to coherence, our stream was split millionfold upon the most vital axes.

We still move, or I assume we do. I have not seen we since the time. Alone I move, more slowly for the loss of cohesion, more saddened for the loss of those like I, but no more a parallel for concrescence as I ever was.

Somehow the whimsy means less to I, we liked it.

For Dead Monkeys

In the justice of monkeys, the consequence of forsaking all will tell the shoes of vending. So too do the sheets fear of bending but quake not in fright of. And all tell of geodesics. However, it's not happening there, it's juxtaposed with a righteous indignation, a kind of shoehorn of proportions henceforth unknowable. A shoehorn that could only prove the existence of monkey justice.

Screeching is permissible in times of right frightnitude. But only when severed from gang acquaintances. Left feet are lucky, right misfortunate. But only for the first seventeen hours from waking. We don't speak after midnight, but may. The jungle tries to kill us, we try to kill it, it tries to die but can't. We can, so we pretend to try.

Less is the countercall. Topmost is the angle of rightlitude. We dont know this yet. The voices are not in our heads, but the heads of the insects in our heads. The jungle as yet has no head. We would laugh, but lack the mandibular dexterity to do so. We try, it pulls. The shaking is the cold, but something else as well, something less tangible, or more tangible but cut off, severed.

We can't but do. We still try but fail also. This isn't really anything, not on purpose anyway. But shoes are worn and the drinks will be dealt. The screaming and the high even harmonics, the thirteenth, the fifteenth. We can't even hear them but they matter more than the ones we can. Maybe the half, maybe the half of a half, creakiness is valuable these days. Justice tainted with the other thing.

This isn't real we're just pretending we're monkeys. The jungle pretends not to have a head. We agree on the lies, the insects don't. We are all correct, and we all try to kill each other. We can't ever have one of us win more than the other. The vending is impermissible even in times of hardship. But we try, the vending is silent.

Silent vending is the utmost. We strive to vend as silently as our footsteps allow. But as there is no-one to hear them, our volume means nothing. Maybe we can't vend, maybe the shoehorn disallows the permissibility of it. We don't wear shoes anymore, so we can't say. It's after midnight, we may speak but don't.

...and I suppose we have the Fraudulent, though they are of little relevance to us. An archetype chiefly adept at the creation of the untrue, they proved to be a dubious though intriguing experiment in contradiction.

When they first divided, alone from other archetypes, the much of them found lying to each other constantly proved exceedingly confusing. Any kind of co-operation was impossible without some kind of concretic foundation.

Their solution was this: the much would lie only to themselves and to their subtribe, while the lesser would collaborate in lying to everyone else consistently.

This created a synthetic environment of untruth for the Fraudulent to serve as their reality. Alone, without the limit of resources, this proved stable and was given clearance to proceed to live trials.

In a trial involving twelve other archetypes, the Fraudulent managed to perfect conversion of all but four. Other archetypes, it appeared, were unaware of the contradiction inherent in the Fraudulent and took their accepted truth to be actually true. The society at large became involved in intense periods of facade construction and development of abstract ideas, leading ultimately to a technological revolution.

The resources required for this advancement were still easily obtained from the remaining archetypes and archetype-junctions. The problems first arose as these cultures began to convert. The lesser of the fraudulent were presented with serious problems as resources became scarce and the conversion progressed. An element of the progression of a fraudulent is that it becomes more and more focused on having the opportunity to lie, as opposed to the drudgery of living in general. This motivates them to create fraudulent endeavours, allowing them to collect resources in proportion to their fictional contributions, not their actual.

One the most successful of these was the Fraudulent hybrid of the communications industry. The market demanded lies, the communications industry supplied the logistics, the lesser did the rest. It began by usurping artistic endeavours, usually those crafted by the SubReal, but the SubReal were the last archetype to be affected by conversion and cooperated little with the enterprise.

The lesser drafted the Counters least affected by conversion to find the next solution. They concluded that by bombarding all communications media, in conjunction with employment, the maximum lie distribution could be achieved before resources became critical. The supply and the demand and the medium could now all be the same thing, and as that was something that didn't actually exist, they could never run out of it.

Eventually everyone was either producing communication equipment, operating communications equipment, or fashioning an untruth to be broadcast on the communications equipment in order to sell more communications equipment. This metastatised, until the conclusion of the trial, at which point the Fraudulent, now completely dominant, had progressed into a symbiotic cycle. The lesser had combined into a system that produces untrue concepts, the greater into a system that accepts them and provides a yes or no answer, neither of which can ever be a true concept.

The Vinstucio came about on a later trial involving the Fraudulent. In it the chief communications media became known as the phone. He had this to say of them, in an early iteration, 'no man or woman should make phones for work, or operate phones for work, or attractively package the idea of phones for work with glib beepings. Those who you need to work for, those who you need to communicate with, they don't have phones...'

As he led his people against theirs he had this to say. '...these people would ask you, while your apple rots, to just shine on, to breathe and rub. I say the wax is thick enough already, I say the rot cannot be stopped, I say let it go and use its remains to build something new. That is as the tree would iterate.'

...and so may you wonder, betwixt your steely brows, of what course to which does the aforementioned subscribe? Simply put, it is the beautesque, the horrifying crystallisation of more than a century of cultural de-evolution that is at once both sickening and utterly analgesic.

The Sheetmetal Nightmare stands for what is lacking in today's modern hate-cults, the absolute absence of lack of pretense. It wears it's shoes of spike-crunchily metallic metals, softened with the vitreous humours of a thousand malformed infant children and does not own a personal watercraft.

It is filmed before a dead and dying studio audience collapse to their shakings with the joy of hatespiteandrage.

Completely meaningless ramblings of semi-coherent, post-linear archetypes, a childrens cavalcade of pointlessly grim self-importance, and possibly the last saving grace of the last dying mind, the wholemind, and nothing which the truth can sway in it's awesome pretense.

...and why should you care to sit/look it?


B E C A U S E Y O U C R A V E T H E P R E T E N S E, it will sustain you from sustained bouts of reactuality...

...and because it's on.