Update thanks to my international FB philosopher and artist friends.  “Clinical schizophrenics are POWs from the future” – Nick Land I’ll preface this with an observation on the work of Badiou by Laruelle. Laruelle sees that Badiou creates an aristocracy… Continue reading

Fuck I love this country. Sporting goods on third. So we’ll get my mate Craig who lives in Dural And is not averse to driving cars through brick walls usually picking up debt. On an idyllic grand final Fussball of… Continue reading

Many years ago I’d read a work by marginal beat writer describing a meeting place by a river furnished with colourful sofas, lamp stands, bunting and makeshift tables. This arrangement is common in some country towns. Any philosophical threat of… Continue reading

Mindfulness. Self-awareness. The CBT “screen” visualisation exercise for intrusive thoughts. The mirror to one’s own theatre/self. The reflective thoughtform. The pedestrian “social filter.” Repression. Struggling liminal states. Basically, there are two actors in these network type scenarios of the self… Continue reading

Maybe my dislike for the rich came from a childhood where the well off not only equated poverty with stupidity but such a view heavy with liberty let escape racist slurs. Put together there is a mixture noxious enough for… Continue reading

A personal transmission: I have some encouragement from my networks. I am in process of starting tapering again. I have to do this to avoid the endpoints of Cardiometabolic Syndrome. I thank the late Mark Fisher for aligning mental health… Continue reading

Oceanic cocaine and DNA. The Physio’s hypothesis, posited deposit. Inhaling party joined – jail trap done lying hain. Vampire techniques, hem creates vin pique. Freudian testing in due far setting. Continue reading

My head is all music. Am reading Trish Dearborn The Ringing World and I opened at random and at given poem my right hand disappeared in a visual parallax. Also reading Ali Cobby Eckermann Love Dreaming but just in linear… Continue reading

A vehicle takes a lake, bank and scrub on stilts transplanted at night [the bull and fro] she stands still the static and the crickets All nighting it bunking down in the heather The shining stars wriggle the curve on… Continue reading

I walk into this poem Without a fourfold card deck, I walk into this poem without a silk vest under how I’m dressed – to stop gravity, arrow and bullet I walk into this poem with a gleam, a glimmer… Continue reading