Redhanded Salute to Beauty Inherent in its Deploy —

Camus is glorious

is all it is what it is why it is, meanwhile back on the farm:

Out to see if he can explain what he thinks and why. Book of his just read is in essay format. Principally about how and what developed for his theory of the absurd.

And how it can be made to work as a principled existence.

Absurd is for him an advancement, detaches gods folly from gods despair, and from gates of hell tomorrow. Tomorrow is bound to be just as inadequate. Beauty resides in presence of mind. Hope to do a a paper on this.

Slurpie chowing down on other peoples stuff.

As a way back into an existence that is startled by its own insistence, submerged submerged in a racket of forms.

I wish I wrote pretty

Like Camus? Who lets beauty in. Touches everything with it, best he can.

My beauty got all turned around, started to call them great reversals, its opposite as much as itself becomes defiant.

Lunacy and hideosity as an aesthetic invaded with scandal, and cross burning, like I was drugged.

There is freedom and there is emptiness.

Puppies and slurpies. To all. Madness oblivion complicity, purple sky.

Pictures pop in with terminal occupation. Line the walls.

Hunger repels them –

Disquiet is sly in a grotesque way with thunder chirping. Grogs through the day, going back for refills.

As a situational metaphor.

Longing overtakes

Longing. Belonging. Ding donging.

Overtakes objects subjects character scenery. Any name for anything.

And yet its brave, love is brave, a brave adoration.

Anoints the soul as a slave is to fugitive sorrow and migrations a burning ecstasy.

What isn’t in fact – but what is at heart of the matter dissolves inquiring after modes and antipodes of Janus the door keeper.

Rides beauty as a hemmorhaging heart.

Doesnt matter how hard try “screw the cap” back on.

Hopefulness is a vulnerable creature and like a fountain of formula that works is apt to mount registers, fly.

Edith Piaf storms in says love is infallible.

next

To let it exist – and the first word to mind is: annihilation.

Why?

Something about unwillingness to maneuver for outcomes I cant see, abstraction sets in.

All is holy astonishment really.

How beautiful those abstractions are. A void opens up with burning emptiness.

Present tense gets very stern because its slippery.

Shock at tyranny of it, beauty is overwhelmed with silent menaces. Panic is a repetition that always ends in a vanishing, explodes with disappearance.

Self becomes this moral nightmare. Daunting, inescapable, boundless – no boundaries.

beauty markers

What is tweaked.

Writing to you has helped me release this body from violent edges of a mess of tonic and stormy petrol. Much of it – based on religious hell raising? Though there are other implications.

Like Camus, lets me through into his explanations.

Face cracks open. Cheeks fill out with blood. Caps feather.

Rooted in dreary even weary distances that shock and bolster. Distance brings up the remains, bodies float up, bicycles are dredged.

Get dashed into chords of fill in rebellion. Fascinations door finder wobbles and breaches to campaign.

All of which, is astonishing to me.

Do a few that dust off through the categories? Thats Edgar. My Edgar talks endlessly in categories.

What riles the skin, I let them in. Heads roll to a stop. Menacingly, as if to tease me into engaging with their nonexistence, where beauty haunts – with obscene grace and relish. 

Means nothing, means everything.

Walls where flowers are daily pocked into cracks to heal the dead. Screams laugh, drive by.

farm

Nonexistence as a motif has many forms. Premise for book — on forms. Claudette says oo lala.

To dwell on all of them is an affair with destiny.

Dreams are bone rich their chalky marrow never defuses. Anything from everywhere fed the kernel a burden of virtues. Hammer gods.

Hammer and void returns to its dreadnought in search of archeology of joy, to burn the farm???

Nought gates to Hate City. Green rooms, red rooms. Green for suicidals, red for fury. Orange for High Sierra fields of spring wild flower.

Conceding to the natural. Blue is for Victor.

Name your out house.

Others

Dream and scheme for a joy division.

Engendered through the depths.

Vaunt insides coincide with epiphanies that immure with dualities’ (many) separate existences.

Climb all over Hamlet’s ghosts locked inside the theatre, screaming for attention.

So I buy books.

I dont want books I want to feel the curtain. No thats wrong I do want the books.

Jael having a dream on floor of theatre. Getting ready to think and speak in character but whose character, what play. Immediately stumped. Decides to go mechanical. Working lights. No thats not right. Jael has to fulfill a character. What character. She hates them all?@?

Susceptibility to being highjacked, abandoned to it, that concedes no bounds, used to shock the virtual shit out of me.

And its excrement as a catalyst abounds.

Just think of as being caught in a religious nightmare.

As in greetings from the cavalry.

Boatloads

Cartoon horror.Whenever think of the jar. Whose size is always changing, and its rag tag – a plus 1, and more. 

No fault thoughts gaoled off with Indistincts in sci fi mystery time. Guards compile pictures. Porn is a delicacy. Not on my watch. Leaves me sitting on edge counting wings of fireflies.

What emptiness, the hard empty –

What feels as if forced down my throat by the bomb squad?

Paste roots of sorrow on trend boards romantic comb Edgar criss crossed bone rose to plaint of surface.

Winds up in dense swamp, Southern camp. Screaming from rooftops. Stuff it. Marigold.

In good health with walking dead.

Oblivion + 1

Math has hats.

One is a holy number for infinity, but to enable n+1, which is symbol for infinite –

Was off the charts. 

Lucent colorless vacuum as imp of impossibility. The word imp sums from its impossibility?

Is that a whore for love?

Something of love to be sure.

Point of resistance is that its charmed, however futile.

Bad religion

Squinting at language. Cross charmed with the crack you get hacked.

Bombed by crazy indefensible brinks. Strangely defiant schizophrenic links.

Screaming No Way Out into the kitchen sink.

Dreaming oblivions free of science.

Horror as a delicacy, a source of wind. A vast naming procedure.

Collapsing in on itself – violently.

Some discoveries are like square roots of -1? Appear a first a blasphemy but then works beyond your wildest.

Cake Walk

Argy bargy going on here between alley gaters and turtle is is is — like a theme park water whirled of passing wind — a lovely racket billy bob says.

About ? projecting beauty on surface as a condition of faith.

All the while being mined under for density, as dense as it is deep, deep meaning at tails end of “the inheritance” whose tears and terror and laughter and fucking is as deep a pool of time as it is eaten up as the broth

billy bob says you must learn to love your garbage.

untiil the moment is now, shimmering with true to its faux pas every love.

and, trusting only death.

Billy bob at all times without hesitation is open to le pessissimus, someone on street said the other day,

helplessness is attractive.

Lulu alsmot stopped in track sto take it up with the “fellow traveler.” BUt instead went to the dentist was bordering on being late.

Heartistically

is back on fire with dubious intention — heartistically — get up throw everything into it with fastidious relish — only to come up again and again with camus in life boat ,  alas the big fat empty — and yet and yet —/ beauty must as a method of survival find a way to appease joy — create pts of relation — in particular — climb onto the life boat — breath without let up — but to go down on “the inheritance” once again — with onan the resistance –/ alas what chuckles the clone here as peaches tree —  for the divine drama — billy bob calls flos de campi and fiddlewood —  The thing is, lulu says to bb about the not all thing and being giddy for god(s)— to Let It Be who u are where u are however that is. See soul is divine because it exists as more than just a thought — also as a “crock” a lovely brew ha ha— ok as cyclical. Folderol he says all very unlikely.

Pastiche vs. Gothic Grotesque

Aposematism

The gothic grotesque grows out of graven images that are aposematic, aposematic is about averting evil (word used for particular animal behavior that seeks to avert “evil” by appearing toxic or dangerous, a predatory appearing motif that is actually protectionary).

Pastiche can be a play on what was once taken as sincerely aposematically implemental with respect to graven images but now also insinuates aspects of comedy, irony, the quixotic, as well as the surreal.

Aposematism (from Ancient GRK ἀπό: away, σῆμα: sign) refers to changing appearance of animal to warn predators its toxic. Warning signals associated with the unprofitability of prey to predators.

WIKI

Pastiche emerges appropriately out of discovery of the absurd.

Absurd is The Thing according to my reading of Camus that lets human sensitivity intellectually let go of certain religious symbols aposematic sympathy with the real as being actively implemental of a supernatural even divine function.

For instance hell as netherland, as a religious grotesque, a divine encumbrance, serving aposematically in regards to church maligned behavior.

Sorrow, ugliness, hell – as eternal, becomes what? Laced chased graced with jesus merely the convicted mortal whose beauty – as candor as art – still mysteriously embraces us.

Still Very Potent

Gothic grotesque remains in images a rapport with our sensitivities that is pretty highly potent.

Still can twist Jael back into eerie states of sympathy, that are sympathetic with images original magical qualities. Especially when falls into lap like an egg, an egg is an image of qualities that are both delicate and hazardous.

The susceptibility of gothic grotesque aposematic functions is daily pillaged by pastiche, pastiche comically preys on the aversive – That is to say, employs both gothic grotesque and itself as pastiche, simultaneously.

What lies beneath images that are gothic grotesque, is still very seductive. And as aligned with pastiche, can appear deviantly beautiful, inventively bizarre, and bloody, as counterintuitively romantic.

Can also be applied mischievously with ludi-bonding contempt, playful, ornery, combative, even predatory.

(Not the same as throwing the board, which is a quasi comical abruption, and indeed murderous.)

Pastiche – artful, hysterical, arresting, at once potent and impotent.

Images that are gothic grotesque and dualistic with pastiche – indeed still duly bear immediate resemblance to original meaning, and if live deeply, like Jael, in densities thick with meaning, can still bear down on her fallibility with profound and chilling immediacy.

So easily can Jael trip back in, fall back fall back, the image as having a potency that is both transformative and impotent, an odd as to say ridiculously propellant quality – Jael being somewhere underneath it all still something of a bidding pathologically crippled piglet for ironically divine type laughter.

Morose Justice

Thinking to add essay fiction here too –?

So potent can averting evil images make people go freak – that in this country anyway there is an onslaught of mass shooters, taking it out on the ordinary.

Something I now call gun-loving morose justice.

Ordinary can be perceived by “madness” as fundamentally grotesque. Someone going down fighting, with a surreal suicidal urgency, collecting guns to protect their property, and yet its just a self harrowing defiance that grows a fracture with tragic blight.

Appears as a self agonistic sacrifice, of self and however many ordinaries can take with. Notice I did not say innocents. Ordinaries are not innocent, they merely co-exist injudiciously with siren screaming horror as a sin as partaking in inflamation of pastiche, so crow and ludicrous it is loud it is a demise both to and fro justice –

With what bleeds thru the heart as repetitions grotesque reality, hideous seemingly impotent evil, whose devolution into the absurd along with the religious sublime, can tragically disgust – as deeply profoundly terrifying.

Naughty Parker Vehicle

The images are losing me, could definitely say in that way – I am in MANY WAYS (despite whatever I say as a function of earnestness and steadfastness chatter chatter) believe am along with writing again, now changing.

Yesterday dogs of hell unleashed horror here again. All day the screamers arguing – crashed through. A fight was on, about playing with images online.

It was something about “fighting back,” even though I know it’s just shooting rabbits, still it can become an atrocity, which when takes over the visionary, nightmares return.

No, Jael is refusing to fight back! in that way? Hmm. In exchange for being serious?

Enormity of the Pastiche here, fighting it out with the Gothic and with the Grotesque, as a seduction…

Every day a new topic. Its a fine life.

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“word-storming in the name of beauty”