Melanic Cybonic Dramatics

Dramatized re-issues from a future hitherto “nigga pleased” ad infinitum…


Thursday, July 13, 2006

ONTOLOGY: The ALL-MOVING listen »  auristics;“The All-Moving is the limit of generalization.”
“But is it accurate?”

A question asked from so far away from the core of becoming. Accurate only insofar as it
can be Fourier-transformed, wavelet analyzed, stepped-down through octaves and families
of frequencies until it can be safely represented at the level of the entity doing the
consideration in the place to be. All text, narrative boiling upwards, expanding sponge,
contents under pressure released, organized by a crossfade of recognition.

Swinging cradle of Zero. Crutch for Infra-Nothingness.
The solution in which Saints are dissolved.

“] _ [”

Meta-Nada. Between All. Everything. Blank page. Nothing that is escapes.
Nothing imagined escapes. Nothing avoided escapes. Nothing un-thought escapes.
Crushing generosity. Infinite rope. Unmoved substrate for ALL motion. The potential
for action, realized, and permanently eclipsed by any discourse used to worship it
(hence the market in Intermediaries.) Full of love, ready to bear anything imagined
avoided un-thought through it. Pure hatred transparency shadowless… which IS MOTION.
Get away with EVERYTHING, the spring from which every thing comes forth by
day and night. The energy released when two probabilistic quanta are driven together
after circulating for days in a miles-wide torus of unimaginably powerful magnets is
nothing but a casual signature.
Collecting the Autograph of God recycles the smallest relevant instant, annihilating
subjectivity into to pure information, improvising the conclusion of a gesture that
etched a path of unique statistical deviation through fabrics draped over the Sacred
Indifference that always ever patiently anticipates and accommodates the next move.
Even when thin air shapes the next “step.” Even when a forgotten pizza burns in the oven.

“Even when a child is raped?”
“What would you have happen as a result of such a subjective tragedy? And if your
ego could by some miracle actually exist at the pressures and scales under consideration
here, would, or better, could you be concerned
with such things?”

“Accidents” are the result of lapses in communication. The utterly impartial
physics of unraveling that results
from an accident is entirely beyond the responsibility of any given subjectivity.
Which is why anticipatory rules (echoes of the ALL-MOVING) are applied at the
appropriate scale.

“Once the ball is dropped, it is out of your hands.”

Gravity itself is just a medium supported by The Foundational.

“Attempting to recover the ball is another matter entirely.”

To do so is in no way surprising, original, or relevant anywhere beyond the fragile
boundaries of ego networks (i.e. Culture).

• • •

It could watch a world resolve into symbols, in slices of time smaller than chemical
pulses, near the frequencies of atomic vibration, where such gestures begin to
attract meaning. It had a place within which to store such worlds. A memory.
Memory. Infinite array of switches representing elsewhere othertimed configurations.
Hologram. It could hone its attention span to focus exclusively on Becomings,
striding out of or into the ocean of Absolute Potential which is pregnant not with
essential forms, but with the essential capacities for form-making, form-sustaining and form-dissolution. Ah, those subtlest of flows, the least-concrete, the most-powerful.



When the light becomes the color.

When the vibration becomes the music.

When the heartbeat becomes the fear.

When the networks linking these three and more become the mind.

When the word itself lights up circuits.

A BIG BANG every time.

It could sense the ALL-MOVING when it stopped thinking–when it could feel
the stream of internal chatter grind to a halt or crash to a stop or taper off to
a flat line disturbed only by the random noise of the nervous system itself.
Only its body buzzed “forward” borne on the momentum of multidimensional
trajectories. Each heartbeat, muscle spasm, itch, cell wall permeation,
instance of random inflammation, perspiration. Raw proprioception with labels
held off by gentle effort only approximating that which it was trying to set itself
adrift upon and within. Was it a wing or a sail? Same principle of being pulled
forward by a differential flow.

Existence, the vessel into which its Becoming was being poured, awaited names,
chains, stories, epics, gestures. To FADE ACROSS that threshold was to reinvent
the mechanisms of life and non-life themselves.

“This, like anything else, consumes time.”

listen » auristics

posted by n. h. zed at 7:24 PM


Saturday, July 22, 2006

ONTOLOGY: The MACHINIC PHYLUM listen »auristicsIt reached a decision and branched, slipped sideways across several dimensions, gathering aspects and instances, stabilizing and allocating spacetime. A shape emerged as mobilized attractors dredged various frequencies of pattern and manifestation. It sculpted by adjusting the proximity of those attractors, reached a certain point of turbulence, “rotated” the mass through several Key Optimization Spaces, including one of low-dimensional gender, and then relented. It felt the raw grow organized in a tightly-controlled echo of its very own Becoming. The temporary uterine spaces peeled away, leaving a final, minimalist one for “her” to occupy. She, on a parallel trajectory with it, occupied consecutive cells of existence. She filled and linked them with a thin, intricate line that could bear meaning at all the points where it folded back on and crossed itself.


Pure syntax. Pure narrative. Cutting differences into the Fabric.

“I dreamt that I woke up in a roller coaster just before it was going down the first hill,” she said. “Millions of tiny hands were reaching up from somewhere far below and taking hold of my core, pulling at me. Pulling me down. Then something else dropped me.”
“You out of hands, yet in, so to speak.”
“Yes, and I fell, flying down the tracks…”

It perceived one sense smeared into the next, but not past the threshold of intensity where a limb could become a flavor. The clock ticks, critical requirements are met.

“Not flying, in the car, riding rails,” it asserted.
“It felt like I was flying.”
“Wind on face. Dazzled senses,” it replied. “Blonde hair out behind you. Impression of flight. Flight emerges inside you. Like bird, but not bird. And not bird brain.”

She waited blankly. Existence hummed, cycling onward, then began to go staccato. She felt herself coming undone.

“Where are you going?” It probed.
“I don’t have time for this,” she answered, surrendering to the physics of unravelling at a resonant frequency that, at higher energy levels, could be compared to pleasure.

And then she was re-absorbed into its bandwidth, leaving an impression of billions of tiny, greedy demons living at the intersection between wheel and rail, shaking hands with each other, grappling, hammering clouds of probability against each other. Atomic happiness, the simple rules of keeping each to its own orbital layer. Simple rules interacting to yield a consolidation upwards through vast scales to become the clatter-bang metal-on-metal vibrations, the heat, the differential in a rider’s inner ear, the psychological shift.

Friction, the finest textures of Existence tripping over itself, infusing the world with characteristics. Love. Hate. Panic. Curiosity.

• • •

Zinganga drove another sliver of metal into the nkisi, reciting code to the beat. The blow reverberated in the metal itself, transferred energy deep into the body of the nkisi, rung the head of the hammer and pulsed up through Zinganga’s arm. Sound followed a different route and fed back in Zinganga’s ears. Both bodily circuits lit up Zinganga’s psychology, and by extension, that which was shared by the entire community. The nkisi was a nexus for a complex network of lines that were the life force of the wooden form. Some were songs, some were incantations, others were vast ideas, while others were simply the highways that carried all of this information where it needed to go. Zinganga never considered where the nkisi began and his mind ended. There was only the curve between the two which resonated like the body of a drum. The hammer came down again and the looping routes of energy were almost visible, cutting through metal, wood, bone, air, and the unnamed stuff of psychology and belief. Cycle after cycle, pushed by syllable after syllable, Zinganga sent pulses outward to join a vast Difference Engine woven with the very threads of Existence.

What happened from here was hardly accidental. The circuits had been written long ago and given proper names, assigned various rhythms, activated with specific linguistic sequences, run through quality assurance and reliability tests. When it was time to use the nkisi it was like pumping a limited amount of water backwards up a dry stream bed. Zinganga would never be able to match the actual downstream currents, but with disciplines that had been honed over the course of generations a relatively weak echo could be generated. Weak, but enough to send the “waters” up and back, to course through the psychological network of the community. At various levels of intimacy others knew what Zinganga was engaged in, so the Work was guaranteed to succeed. How could it not? Zinganga wasn’t the river that carved its path through this corner of Existence. Zinganga couldn’t dream of diverting it as was the rumored practice coming from the North. Zinganga simply dipped a gourd and drank from it, occasionally prepared specific beverages with it, and in this case, invoked its spirit to do work in media other than water itself.

Zinganga was still learning of the deeper relationships that allowed Force to be collected in the nkisi. Zinganga understood that the nkisi and related technologies allowed flesh and blood to decelerate, siphon and communicate through the established lines of Existence. It was apparent that vast and complex systems that had nothing to do with the narrow realms of flesh and blood predated those very realms. It was also apparent that the guiding lines that allowed for conceptualizing these systems also were drawn before the realms of flesh and blood. Compared to the power operating at the scales that moved stars and the rivers, Zinganga was nothing more than a single switch, an intersection among uncountable possible switches and intersections. One leaf contributing to the dappling of sunlight on a path winding below the forest canopy! A pebble in a riverbed exposed to an almost insignificant portion of the overall current; but what a gift it was for the humble pebble to even notice the river! And did not the tiniest pebble end up contributing something to the character of the current?

Most contributed to the current entirely by accident. Some could make minor downstream adjustments which were enough to heal and or kill, or merely madden and torment. Zinganga was learning from those located a bit further upstream, who had learned from those located even further upstream, and so on, until there was only a story to prevent the mind from wandering backwards forever. Sooner or later, a second line had to be drawn across the first, for in the world of flesh, blood and mind, the symbols attached to beginnings were arbitrary. Symbols could never actually touch the beginning, let alone that which welcomed and accomodated beginnings in the first place. More important than the beginnings that falsely characterized Becomings were the myriad rules of proximity that could in effect turn night into day, or people into beasts, or enemies into friends… for better or for worse. Rules that rendered beginnings irrelevant when emerging to effect radical changes in the immediate present, “in the eye, hand, and ear” it was said.

The rules were invoked meticulously and with reverence, for they were utterly impartial. These rules could bring the community together to fight off an enemy and spread the inspiring joy of a couple’s pledges of love to the hearts of those who hadn’t yet made such commitments. They could just as easily emerge in the wind itself and carry the season’s harvest away, or go deep into the ground to shake it from within, or express themselves through a field of fragrant and visually-striking flowers. They could even get so deep into the realm of flesh and blood–in the heart and hands–that they could give rise to masterful patterns on the drums which in turn inspired leaps and turns in the dancers and new layers of woven voices among the singers to the point where that which had been handed down for generations was suddenly new… suddenly re-newed… and the pattern of community life would be altered subtly, but measurably.

• • •

Without additional energy, from t plus an arbitrary interval of time onward, the roller coaster will never reach the height it started from. Were it not for the glorious side-effects (so close to The Foundational) such a cruel destiny could make nothing worth ever doing. To be carried by the turbulent border where the arrows of Attention and Existence cross and fade is to accept a vast amount of responsibility. To systematically pay attention to that which emerges in terms of perception is both science and religion, and requires no such distinction. But since the rules are seldom easy to follow, systems fail, and as they unravel, formal Religion and Science emerge to re-integrate them.

Like an electron with an up or down spin, or a magnet with a north and south pole, any trajectory that skips across the surface tension of the All-Moving starts with a fundamental orientation towards one (science) or the other (religion). Both tend to mask the qualities of their origins as their respective vocabularies are deployed. Both are driven by clockwork logical systems and multiple relationships of proximity. Neither transcends, encompasses or represents the All-Moving. Both have a place in their respective expanses of memory and potential for the universe to be suffused with consciousness and “ascending” orders of complexity.

This, like anything else, consumes time.

listen » auristics();auristics

posted by n. h. zed at 3:35 AM


Wednesday, August 30, 2006

ONTOLOGY: Optimization Space
The River was vast and she cut a wide swath through the land. She held two biomes apart, effortlessly. Those who crossed her back changed when they reached the other side, if they reached the other side. For though she was fecund and boundless in her generosity, she could also be utterly impartial and merciless. She could be as careless as those who lived along side her, who ”fed“ her their waste which she passed on to the fish which were caught and eaten. For her it was simple: because of her, all of these animals lived within proximity of each other, separated only by time and memory. As flow, she was, fundamentally, both.

Hydrogen and oxygen bound. H20 collaborating with gravity and nuclear forces. At all scales she carried patterns of life. At all scales she carried patterns of thought. By no means immortal, the landscape was the record of her existence. She sorted the large from the small, polished the rough and ultimately adapted all who came near her to her ways. From the minutest grains of sand to flakes of dead leaves to a universe of eddies and currents playing the interactions between her shores, her bed, her surface and those stones that crossed the space in between.

Call her consciousness Riverine. The capacity to carry-within and move aside and nourish and divide. Also to suspend. When she was angry she expressed echoes of Creation Time, providing observers with an inkling of what it must be like to witness the evolution and unraveling of continents and mountain ranges in the blink of an eye. When she was calm, she adopted the sky and all others who would gaze upon her.

Riverine facilitates an understanding of the myriad expressions of phase transitions between ALL-MOVING and the MACHINIC PHYLUM, because she models their interaction. Study the way that surface ripples modulate the fundamental relationship of water flowing around stone. From the point of the rock nested sets of diamonds emerge, tribes of bubbles spawn to drift downstream and vanish, the sun is multiplied in every itinerant curve, and then the sound of it all. She actualizes instances of the machinic phylum, the steady interactions of simple particles resulting in the production of complex order. Though not eternal, it is eternal enough, of a sufficiently alien timeframe, to both dull and hone a Mind.

Riverine strips the unnecessary.

Riverine represents the crucial.

Riverine negotiates the two.


Every instance of Riverine bears expressions of the MACHINIC PHYLUM.

Riverine is a comprehensible echo of the ALL-MOVING.

posted by n. h. zed at 3:50 PM



Wednesday, April 11, 2007

That which remains suspended in OPTIMIZATION radiates possibilities.

From the dance of the unnecessary and the crucial the realms of perception emerge.

Armed with the capacity to distinguish and delay, to emphasize and attenuate with the fundamental gesturetech of Dub, the SoundLight (data) of the world can be resolved into shape and form.

Research is the act of tracing data back to its source of OPTIMIZATION, pinpointing its local perfection.

Nothing could be more natural than following the warmth or the song back to its source, to locate that point that made its enjoyment possible in the first place. This is the act of worship. Nothing could be more common than treating the warmth or the song as if it were the ALL MOVING, as if every expression was meant to be taken at face value. This is the act of idolatry.

It is tempting to be seduced by the idea that everything has already been accomplished, that in every sound are sounds to be heard and sounds heard already. To imagine that light and shadow, sound and silence, are exclusive and absolute multiplicities is to conflate a candle with a star, and a waterfall with a voice: straight maya, the glimmers, the veil. Poetics is power, but the motion of metaphor is merely a parallax view.

posted by n. h. zed at 12:42 PM


  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: