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Topics - Magister Ludi

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Intermittens written submissions / A game of checkers
« on: May 15, 2013, 11:20:18 PM »
Nothing but a river between the soles of your shoes and the gem in your head, the gland of rhythm and timeless study and the speech of some god in your head, the speech of everything, the universal wavecloth and the forbidden name many have seeked yet we can't but suspect imagine derive from the swirling patterns of nature and imaginable straight planes, horribly beautiful Physis, doomed doomed repeat after me DOOMED to  d   i  s   s    o   l   u   t        i       o       n
         coldness                                     
the pop of a bubble that might die a legend or just another instance of an elder bubble
(soon to do the Big Pop)
(maybe not) (maybe not)
 
Listen to the molecules dancing away
what sweet music they make!
Let us turn another page, clearscreen
collapse empires
make a world implode
rearrange all odds
make grammar anew
says Death and the Joker and the Measureless Void
aka
the Other Unknown, who shuffles
as we Life play
in whatever fingerpuppets
another game another game another game
Recognise me
Are we not the same, sister?
Are we not the Game playing itself
through?

2
Intermittens written submissions / eat
« on: May 10, 2013, 11:15:38 PM »
Eat, you. Yes, you. This is the all-seeing eye on the food pyramid, the ever-oily orb over your diet. The empress of Snackdom, khan of organic Bolivian potatoes and almost organic deep-frozen potatos. This is the scythe that combs golden crops of transgenic corn, the weedforce behind soy. This is the dish and this is the saucer. A tablespoon of teaspoons. The catch is where your heart is and the stomach's a lonely hunter, an avid listener to the calls of media, to all-pervasive visual food, empty food, manly food and homo food and beautiful food ads by beautiful editors of beautiful models on eternal regime. Now wish. Control your intake. Let it loose. Rinse, repeat. Chew, chew, chew on the chilis and Cheetos and chutneys. Swallow Martinis and chamomile tea. Stop, quick. Put it on hold. Do not wait on weighty issues. I see you nitidly holding your hunger in wrath and frustration, crisply as the last crisp dives into your guts, crystal clear on the toilet seat of the usual pub, releasing old beer to sip a fresher pint, getting rid of breakfast with a twinge of pleasure and the mellow pride of a food processor. Here are your buttons, here your levers. I'm the engineer to your mechanics, the catwoman to your engineer. I can see you on trains skipping lunch, in your comfy cradles dreaming of Coke, in retirement homes tired of purées and diabetic treats. Dedicate me your pukes and your ulcers, all your menial homages. Every nourishment. Every satisfaction. Every bite of every fang of every blessed denial. Mind your harvest parties and your fastings, mind your bodies, mind away the minds. Mind these dictinct, separate units. Put this mindlessly into your body. Throw that away. Try with the triangle chart. Eat alike, piss alike. Engage in intercourse. Take a shower. Listen. I can see you. You can be fit enough, fair enough. You can change yourself as you will. As I will. Volition rules. Evolve within a lifetime, trust me, become pretty pretty and pretty please. Trust me, for I am the knower; trust me blindly, for I'm the beholder; see that you trust me, the all-seeing eye on the food pyramid, the all-C-ing I on the sphinx.

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