Truth, the word, is one which can no longer be uttered without tongue in cheek. Dream, simulacrum, and the latest, matrix, are candidates eager to fill the vacant office. Word God is on the same metro out of power, drifting away from center of consensual hallucination to dark and blurry fringes of battered brains. Old institutions determining and preaching old narratives which had sole claim to everything are falling over themselves, drowned in new dynamics, no longer commanding unquestioning attention. In the crossfire phenomenon of information dynamicals, events and images indiscrimantly blurps to life. The protocols for proliferation thrives, spawning ever more bastard narratives, crystallizing ever more reference quanta. In colorless incestuous ecstacy, images mutate and multiply, breeding new strains in meaningless mirage across the blood-red realm of the baud and the bit. Virtuality in introspection discerns the illusion of linearity to be a delusion of subjectivity. Teleological narratives are no more than mortal projections, made real through cartography of trajectories by lonely wanderers whooshing back and forth on the axis of magnification. There is little evident more than interminable fractals, variations on the absent one-over-F fundamental form. Patterns within patterns, the different within the same, over and over. The image in alphanumericals, the image in color, the image in line and the image in any numberless muted dimension – through yellowed paper, through hygenic digitality, each finds its own exhibitionist medium. Silence of pompous amnesia overtakes cacophony of humbled signifiers, claims rights of relations to the in-grown propogating immortal annals of depiction. In the hodgepodge of sweaty images, between decaying manuscripts and silicone archives, adrogynous snapshots masturbate in ecstatic dissemination, out on a viral conquest of the vision field. Denied the bliss of admitting things de facto, the eye searches for meaning. In exasperated desperation, it finds little stability for concentration.

But in a moment of light the night flashes before the eye and truth settles sumptious into the depths of contented bliss. Snowy white fairy tales spun in the wool of white belief flickers and sparks and bursts to light. Dream drifts to life and life fades to night. Life center relocates and movement takes flight in the mist of rain admist darts between ecstacy and freight. All takes its place in the perfumed glow of soft orange street lights. The night softens the music begins. A note here now a beat there now there is no moment besides the moment of now. The past falls into place and onto the road ahead the sights. Word finds its meaning the birds are singing the ears aringing. Smoke into light disappears the sight of the blight. Pathos in its place oscillating pallisading in the dance of the night. Fear meets its master and joy its mistress the two asailing in the course of the fleight. Care cease to meaning dare dares its fooling in the spectacle that’s flashing the rhythm of the night. In evil the goods are singing the fair kingdom’s feigning the juxtaposition flinging the pop song tonight. Rhythm in its deigning the random is painting the picture the picture tonight.

Sight fools in its absolute honesty and falsity. Between the jumble of images and the jagged edge of words the mind thimbles and jimbles between fields of logic and waves of laughter. Careless, blind, to its body it flitters and flutters at that current’s whim. The wizard’s wisdom and the magician’s tricks cascading along are waiting and hoping for their moment of ascension. Autobiographical fool, the scientist scoffs, and the artist smokes another handrolled cigarette. The time of the unknown beholds us, the prophet shrieks, and the hungry street kid smirks on the next street. The day’s drama and yesterday’s news roll in tomorrow’s news reel. The reporter’s stone-faced and the producer’s blank greed sets another kid up in school. His dad’s life story and his mother’s sorrow kicks off another season of bliss. The gardener’s drunk of birds’ flight the professor shoots off another metro of shit. The highway’s cross-eyed and the hoodlum winks at another jackass. God holds the ace but lets three children mess up the shit. Kinko’s kinky for another night’s blinky synchronizing another line of light. Caffeine tosses off another slinky and amnesia’s aflight.