(Cōrrespondėnts) 14:20 May 7th 2564

Oye Harryē, are these plonkerz gonna give me the anarchy in advertising job’ey deserve n’on my own terms & conditions mind forah modest western ratrate to it’s last good leg over them grin readersh cobbles … or bee thye jest, ngunna carry on like the demon’s twits accepting the industry asa happy to die dribble with no qwobbles over it’s own dark Elfsh as the most evil arouwlnd.

— From: 10 Tons of em. яє: Bιg Hαям ιи ℓιттℓє α∂ℓαи∂. To: classified <classified@classified.¢σ.υк>

Anarchy is order without power, CTRL+ALT +DELETE in the chaos …

Youwhhh dowh knowlh that ryte, Hazzah? 

Anarchism is humanity’s next evolutionary step—not some primitive stage people pass through. Neoclassical economics is the dinosaur. Rational self-interest is what you grow out of—along with bongs, giant woofers and Ayn Rand.

But what is anarchism?https://t.co/qfkz1xRldr pic.twitter.com/XxItOyk24T

— Adbusters (@Adbusters) May 12, 2021

Youwlh knowlsh its a bit like spirituality or the internet or summink.

The internet & spirituality both function without government.

Although … you may still need a plug for mainstream notions of what the ‘Internet’ is in the year 2021AD.

 

 

Nowlh; larkh … who would ye rather have serving ye? Street Artists or Politicians? or fuck; some evil dictator?

Artists yes Haz. Because everyone is.

Who the fuck wants to be a politician in the 21st fucking century mate? They rank under even Advertisers as the least trusted Elfs abouwht.

 

 

Government; [ … ] behind our democracy lurks a powerful but unaccountable network of people who wield massive power and reap huge profits in the process. Claiming to work on our behalf, the people at the top are doing precisely the opposite. In fact, they represent the biggest threat to our democracy today.

The Establishment: And How They Get Away with It

Book by Owen Jones


 

Hi I’m Dee.

I’m writing a book, poems & making tee.

 

I was practically mute once; [ … ]
Then I died on a Honda Nice 110 & entered another plane of existence

Now I rant till the early morn.

I wanted to be an Artist, but I became just another ∂esigner

These days I’m getting olde & very fast thanks to my various addictions over the years. Raves, pixels, beer, cigarettes. Epiphanies in lazer licked techno, sun, sands that only thai pirates really seem to understand

& I’ve all but quit life as a designer; after losing all respect for the industry. It’s a feeling shared by many designers who do not jump for their masters gladly, I’ve met plenty. I also teach tactics & sabotage for those still in the belly of the beast with rebel bones knocking on their domes in advertising or service design agencies. There are many out there who do see a real problem with the 1000 largest corporations dominating the creative energy in the world. If you’re not fighting with your whole chest yet, you’re an idiot or complicit; or maybe just too damn scared, like I used to be; [ … ]

The corporations that profit from permanent war need us to be afraid. Fear stops us from objecting to government spending on a bloated military. Fear means we will not ask unpleasant questions of those in power. Fear permits the government to operate in secret. Fear means we are willing to give up our rights and liberties for promises of security. The imposition of fear ensures that the corporations that wrecked the country cannot be challenged. Fear keeps us penned in like livestock.

We must resist, rebuke and reverse the corporatisation of everyday life

Anyway, fuck the facts; we need stories. After a series of Satori Generation experiences; I began to embrace the Zentertainer role in the invisible world as a Court Jester & most grateful of dead folk foly. It’s a spiritual job for an archaic rebel economist & some a born to do it. Others, are thrown into the deep

I’ve got a hundred thousand words, I’m down, unlocked & unpublished

A Disgrace to Criminals Everywhere

 

What else. Born in 1984. Mad as bat at all the vinyl, tapes, VHS. The silver screen that was not delivered

I began to dream of life as a simple misfit of epic Vedic potential – with a vapid name larkh Dee a punk dog would. I spent many long nights in the jungles of an island riddling in good practise with spirits over a bottle of Hong Thong; till my sorrows in the shallows were long gone & the shadows were cast very far into the leagues indeed

I found rye & rhythm of ages in neon rates & corporate lashings. Picked more pockets in time than most who chase paradigms or dare talk to ghosts who spake in oldesta note

I Break & Enter into the fields of dreams, unlock doors no one sees. Quest for dystopic minds who share the same signs & collide in the cosmic mind

I am the king kong dong of all long gone dons. With no mercy, no acid jazz violin not even eighties vapour melodies cleft for any of yurh corporate dribble or well organised & pretty pixels. I’ve drunk & sung so much of that fucking wonderfull stuff I want to throw up, spit dubble bubble thug & sign off yurh corporeal souls to the ghosts who no one knowlsh

The wolves are howling & the dogs be growling

I do it all for free

Never for money,

always for love you see

 

  🙄

 

So tune in drop out & stay high on my lines

By fate I share the same birthday as Blake, the Queen Anne’s Revenge & Anna Nicole Smith; which is a haunting crowd to be in-with, ey tell thee.

If you would like a chat, wanna share poetry or just fancy a quiet pint; get in fucking touch.

 

I’m just yur average geek really

& I am 20mins.

 

If poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world, science fiction writers are its court jesters. We are Wise Fools who can leap, caper, utter prophecies, and scratch ourselves in public. We can play with Big Ideas because the garish motley of our pulp origins make us seem harmless.

― Burning Chrome

 

Coming of age in a fascist police state will not be a barrel of fun for anybody, much less for people like me, who are not inclined to suffer Nazis gladly and feel only contempt for the cowardly flag-suckers.

— Hunter S. Thompson

 

Sometimes naked
Sometimes mad
Now the scholar
Now the fool
Thus they appear on earth:
The free men.

― Hindu verse
from Avadhuta Gita अवधूत गीता “Song of the liberated soul”

 

The artist’s task is to save the soul of mankind; and anything less is a dithering while Rome burns. Because of the artists, who are self-selected, for being able to journey into the Other, if the artists cannot find the way, then the way cannot be found.

Terence McKenna

 

 

Rhymes

This alchemical prose that minds of the streets spoke

To invoke the holy ghosts as patterns of technics prophets wrote

Do you whisper to this screen & see all the layers of meaning?

See those numbers that speak to all your being?

Writing codes held in time; those echos of all yuh rhymes.

 

— fr. The Blackest Jester

Dec 21, 2563

Iliad RIP.

Amid the ranks Jove would proclaim

Of murals that drink ink in fame 

The brave & fierce street artist came

With daring arms their word drew

To light spiritual time under Moon

As shades of sun rose in morning dunes

& sands of the brick upon colour loomed

Behold these walls of war & storm

For in the eyes of old & young we won

These patterns of prophecy; rebel songs

While thus alone the heros scars they bare

Healing blazing temples & lords who dare

That most poor of wise men would pray for

As their angels danced in the night before

 

But if the savage corporeal mind turned its eye

Then Wolves howl in tune to their empty pride

 

— Full Caps (dedicated to MF DOOM)

2nd January 2563

Lines

To those who do run for mother Earth; I tip my hat to you; we made it?! – & I offer only my own understanding of the great burden; with visions in verse & poetics laced on a darkly twist of vapid rhymes, liberated lines & wild mōtley patterned spells that spiral & twine; psychedelic trips & melting sunsets on the ancient rocks of Eden’s sacred gardens; as oceans rise & fall in hypnotically weaving chimes to the sands of time; drinking their hearing; to strange skull & bone tumblers; the lazer licked artisan gothic tradecraft I sell to the gods as ashtrays; the savage techno & humbling magick rushes, wondering rattles through unfolding mystery; the grand delivery; out & under into the knowing eyes of those epic neon sights; darkbets in them pixelated nights & cheers of voices from far away hights on most rare of Full Moons that danced on the tips of dreams at twilight; where I once remembered  the future 

 

— fr. Shadows of the Netrunner III

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