Knott Project Space, SAW Video, Ottawa 🇨🇦 16 Oct – 16 Nov 2019
‘You do not interpret the [———]. You are [———].’ The Duke of Biarritz Malware Voices: 13.1
Culture lives here? Gyeah?
Taped together only by the blak and blo brocages of blasfeme secreted by two sandgrabbers who accrued and thickened your presence over time? Can’t justify the how-low-can-you-go MHz of those Seinheiser HD800 EVP collect calls? Feel an overriding sense of ennui languidly inhazing to-tal-ly Bogan seul-anise ‘Hot Box Menace’? Stubbornly inert heaps of no-flow interference merely placating the micro-movements of bolt-on contentworld? ©king a little more than 99.07% blobbogramatic matters of actual gästermagoria?
Blow off all your fun socks. Just PUSH! Make fierce pH and totally gutshaft straight through gelatinous copper. MHzzzzzzzzzzzzzah! Lose your unknown cargo unto the swirling quotidian-circuits that peristaltically convulse the gastro-investigative wambuterus of þan-þan.
þan-þan. Unpasturised horse-class autogenerative REXLLA Plusigone [STATIC] fermented Can-Con dolloromoburþing a relentless low-end patina of vagrant WeRLtd-certified New Forrest Mall mondegreen. þan-þan. Pressure-farmed parasitical panarchic pool of future-dead mould-casts, auditory pareidolia divination, defibrillated [userexperience] and compurgation swarms topped with a steamin’ hot speziality SCOBYGrandeu®.
PUSHH! Beaver-gutslammin’ Oh [UX] Henry! vending phenomenon that faithfully reconstruct all traces of deuterocanonical clickbait ever left in mash by warpy prongs. PUSSSHHHHH! Bloody-edge WrinkleTech™ Can-Crock Pots that put a donk on all ylemmy stick-craft memes and smash the basal buttons of even the grubbiest gossamer silicate dermis. Gyeah!
REDUCE! Engorge the inevitable reversibility of this spore-bearing crescendo by playing the sous-chef vainly attempting to remove the cous from the cous-cous. REDUCE! Redemption by re-viewing review of redemption of Amazon CAD$50 Gift Voucher Redemption Review.
Culture lives; here! gYEAHHHHHHH!!
The Pan-Pan Myth-System (or Psychosis as Method)
What fresh heresy is this? Is this a joke?? Will no one stop them? Where are the guards, cops, bailiffs, etc, etc? Has the publisher no self-respect? No editors and censors or sense of decorum??
Psychosis as Method, here masquerading as para/post/pan-commodity prophesy/futurising and animist drama. No one – NO ONE! – will be convinced by this! These avatars and image-functions – laid out flat here, as on a table-top – will do nothing to assuage the opinion of those gate keepers that have never ceased to claim: ‘There are, after all, limits to the symbolic order!’ And (under their breath): ‘It’s called thee doxa for a reason you know!’ Imagine a future-traveller/neo-medieval© pilgrim chancing upon all this – in the charnel grounds – imagine their horror to read, again, about the adventures of the tech and of the mall, of how things might have been – and how, here, the things he/she/they hold dear have been cut-up, spliced together…the detritus of all that lays around us reanimated and repurposed. Her mother was burnt for less! Here, then, is a looping backwards and forwards so quick as to cause whiplash. I am not writing this to warn you off – who am I to talk? – but, Dear User-Group, please be aware: what you hold in your hands/are about to read on your screens is not what you might expect from a book or syllabi. It is text/un-text as test and time-travel, not so much about another futural world as summoned here – for youze – from it. A codex that, when seen FROM THE CORRECT ANGLE, performs a transportation. If, whilst reading, you are making notes and, reading them back, you begin to make some sense from the various scenarios and phrasings – as if something, finally, is cohering, foregrounding itself…or, indeed, as if the vast assemblage is beginning, at last, to tip – then let me say immediately that you have been very much miss-stark-en – there is no such meaning here – not for you lot, with your heads on your shoulders walking around on your feet as if its the most natural thing in the world. On no, no siree. No, this is NOT a book to be READ by the likes of you! It is, perhaps, a pattern and diagram for something behind you…something you will have helped made (if you are lucky enough to have worked in IT), but which, now, does not recognise your all-too-human operating procedures and protocols. You might call it fik-shun but this is only to begin to approximate what its performance and programme is. Things here are decidedly not what they seem. To enter the pan-pan myth-system is already to be seen, interpolated by it – and thus to already be caught within its test. Try it for yourself: drill down in to any of the so-called paragraphs that follow and you will see that the syntax is specifically for you…don’t think about it just DO IT! NOW!! In fact, if you have read this far then it is more than likely already too late. Understand? The Mushroom King – if he really is a king – has you already on trial! The Great Moderator has already taken you up in their huge hand and turned you slowly under their twinkling eyes. And the future-dead with their Dog Heads are already here to carry out the sentence and spend their coupons. Pan-pan, for youze all gathered here, is a grimoire, yes, but it is also, before it’s too late, A WARNING!