Mirach Speaks to his Grammatical Transparents
For now I will not state any numerical design to the cosmos. I will only elicit carbon as one of its ellipsis or possibilities. As you grope with your present stages of duration, with your interpersonal transparencies, I need not remind you that you ambulate by means of the power of your internal carbon. For instance, the subconscious craft of dreaming, all the while dreaming, all the while rising from its secondary depth into the world of visible events, while still excelling further above various sub-quanta into higher concealment. And I am not speaking of any Freudian mazes, or any attempt at containment in terms of a prone or dialectical reasoning. First, one must continue to feel that the void is burning, that its script remains in shadow, in order to organically inhale the documents of one's inheritance. In this regard the family tree must remain as a singular mote without any zoomorphic or astrological importance. It remains a triangular in-specific. It must not hound you, or inhere in your hands stiflings, or misgivings which deter you in margins holding the plaintiff's deck of cards. You must resist what I consider a negligible tendency which alters the inchoate, the splendiferous, always seeking the explanatory notions of why you suddenly exist. These notions always seeking a purely conscious distance from the explosive letters kindled in your mystery.
For instance, at a certain point in circular time I never stood on carbon, or argued from its base for monological regularity inside the act which is known as breathing. Because this remains my imminence, it cannot be concluded that I speak from angelic quanta, or from descending puzzles structured on the motifs of demons. But if it is true that mental structures burn, I want to feel their osmosis, their tinctured meanderings other than the monologic. Within this spirit I want to explore the hidden text. The text which is rendered by means of its hiddeness. Its hiddeness which remains alive beyond a paralytic visibility.
For me, the phoneme is spore, is flotational mist from the outer lakes of space. In your writing I will ask you to inhabit the lingering inceptions as they exist in the primordiums of Io or Triton. Then give me the instants induced in your minds when they explore the basic principles of Saturn, then hydroxyl, then the infinite remains of the galaxy. Do not confine yourselves to wind, to oceans set ablaze by the maladjusted cinders of the Sun. Know that the phoneme is drift, that the key to one's enigma is the poetic marginalia of the phrase which always combusts beyond the forests of technique. Therefore, the language is no longer keyed to a rivalrous stockade, or to a storm of dulled political misnomers. No. We are looking at something beyond the black and deaf horses of Homer, beyond the trace amount of blood which both provokes and unnerves Virgil. As for Dante, we will no longer pursue the stagnant corpses of the ancients. No. No longer a parochial kind of cosmos where the letters re-circulate as iron. True, there is a source for origins in this work, but what can be gathered is a triune manipulation of war, of agony contiguous to agony. A paradigm of Sparta and Christ. The agon, the delirious elixrs of fear. Juggled depths, partial dimensions epically stated. These are not the crafts that we seek to combine. For instance, if one of you breaks through his fear and announces a new green sun 20 billion years into the future this is one recognition of the void experienced in the palpable domain. Such writing would also advance mercurial longevity, this being a writing which ignites a recognition beyond cunning disputation. One then begins to stray above the partial dialectics of the void. Let us enunciate our powers within its partial locales. This is what I'll call the conundrum of Ernst Mach, where shadows of brilliance are pushed by the fingers. Infinite motion is transmuted, the constellations suddenly shift according to rotational nutation.
Let us go further. Picture your attempts to conjure a being from the lower inhabitants of Earth. Say, an eel with the contrasting gifts of several sovereign emotions. And I'm equating these emotions with the auspices of hunger and graft, under the compelling remonstrance which evinces itself as screaming. This is merely one example or litmus. Maybe a recipe of verbs for lianas, or cecropias, or almonds. Or perhaps an aural surge of sawdust mountains scattered near the borders of Tibetan plateaus.
Let me ask this gathering collectively, how would you imply these measures, say, in psychic viharas, or access reflections from mirrors inside your scriptings? Of course I’m asking this rhetorically, yet I am serious concerning the spirit inside your written conveyance. And by conveyance I mean the implantation of letters on a page. And by letters, I mean the phonemes, the dots, the sovereign streaks inside the alphabet. This is the level of hearing one requires. The many paths to the phonemes, the many blends of the words into phrases.
Let me say that I am not seeking from you a geometric ballast, a superficial harmonization according to your grasp of Pollux, or Deneb, or Beta Centauri. I am not measuring you according to trampled foliage or cinder, or by a superficial skill gained by the raptures contained in scientific foment. I cannot gauge you by the rules as captured by someone else's dishonor. None of this applies at this hour, because I am only seeding the scope which spins inside the scope of your inherent transparencies.
I do not hope to impose an amorphic interblending, or present to you a strain of immeasurable sub-surfaces to suddenly test yourselves so as to prove your worth to a moribund community. Because it must be acknowledged that what exists around us is nothing other than a psychic swamp, nothing other than a gloomy oasis. This is the hazard that we face as cosmic igniters, as transparent grammarians, as curious solstice workers. We pronounce the matter of fact as askewment, as the sum of panicked multitudes as means. These are the ramparts of soldiers and murderers, of sentient graft exchangers, of political mobs bent on destroying the meticulous. Therefore our understanding of charisma is always living at the source which kindles our transparency.
In closing, let me speak of the elevated tree, the scope which includes as phantasmic lunation certain splinterings which are called Aldebaran, Altair, Antares. I call these the stars of blue soil. Then let me speak of Procyon as nimbus, as cataract which shifts in the storm of new thoughts, to see results in a purposeful chromium. As I once again enrapture the hail inside your nothingness, let me once again give you an ark of blue suns burning in the core of the depths, seeking out the strategies weaving themselves inside the riddles of dangerous waters.
Mirach: Inaugural Electrification, Part I
We left off in the midst of the uttering of flame. Perhaps a traceable index or phantom. Perhaps a burst of lariats in the heavens. Or forces concerned with the stationary eye struggling with trans-rotation. Take the impure process of lightning on Saturn. There are sparks conceived by at least 12 of its moons; then nothing. Not even the chemicals compounded in a flameless alpine lizard which seems to monstrously function and at the same time magnetically de-comply. This is not to say that infinity carries difference, or moves in the way that various suns emit their rays scorching or imploding their peregrinations. Since infinity exists it does vary, it does complexify and rotate, and again, if I told you that the Sun drifts, that the Sun we've come to sustain suggests itself with illness., you need to infer from this that it suffers from sustained decimations incited by decimal staggerings in Greek, which points, to an inferno of wizened symbols cut off from their Nilotic originations.
We've come to re-recognize the hemispheric South, to listen to its Rams, its cereals, its spirit. As suns we are non-compliant with ice and its less conclusive principles. Of course you are beginning to understand that I speak by vibrational apparition. I speak by codes in the higher sub-text of hearing so that there is both fervor and invigoration, clairaudiance and insurrection. We have come to provoke a lessened territorial ether. A less provincial substratum which re-spawns itself allowing our ailing brother to re-focus his electroluminescence, his tribophosphorescence so that the equinox en-springs a luminous field of gullies. Then birds reverse their solemn exposure to default. All previous paradoxicals are restored. Can you see that I am shifting beyond fixation and fixation, beyond fixed system and fixed system. We who have arisen from poltergeist pontoons, from ordinal systems of Earth, and Saturn, and Mars, we understand how blizzards and dearth exchange themselves, and supersede themselves, considered from the view of a concussive yet intangible verdigris. Because we view the oceans as a meteoritic rain a billion kilometers deep by understanding their power in being spawned in aboriginal deafness. As parallels we can think of galactic condensation on Io, or pluperfect waters lapping the shores of Olympus Mons. These are awesome interactions between Mars and Earth, and Io, and Saturn. In your galactic transition this can only be experienced as a fraction of your hearing, as the corrupted pores of local transcription. And I grant that they are magnitudes never implied by zones which exist beyond anti-conception. By being veiled you carry inside your workings the very power of the anti-conceptive. Of course you know that you hear, your audition is rife, is the one true element which over reaches itself as waves of light which co-erupt from the human soma. In the blue soil of the cosmos there exist the coils of evolutive vibration, a magically condensed furnace, where spells proceed as if a hawk were siphoning elements from different colors on Triton. This is not to say that a specific orange will blaze, or that a tree will reconfigure as atomic confusion. Such examples are only the beginning of your settlement and leanings. I can only think of Divine castigation and magic.
If I'm seen as glass, as a window to new infernos, listen; when the moons under this ailing aegis utter, listen. It is a concerto of the insolvent, a cryptographic inflammation given over to the language of terminal incensement. Then re-receive yourselves as this blank incensement by conveying a tumultuous strength in your peripheral intuition. Understand, by your very being you have transcended the gravity of dearth by your presence. You have brought to phenomena a grasp of stinging tools, a dissected unification feeding your verbs with open combinations of enigma. Therefore I cannot allow you to think in terms of old Croatian voids, or in the sourceless molecules of flags. You are open to rescue and achievement by rescue, your fuels now taking on the sigils of the sealed book, the unfamiliar contemplation, you being clairaudients, kamarupas, pretersensuals, burning by mysterious organics.
Mirach: Inaugural Electrification, Part II
We exist as part of the preternatural. We are giant quanta as ghosts. So under the present anomaly we are fish who stagger over land as if we took on the trait of human perambulation. We are the dialectic named between flight and ground. We are incendiary magnets. We are exploded conceptual fields, carrying a maniacal fecundity which influences all natural law as it currently exists in a free standing ledger. Since we know that the bulk of instants burns, we absorb and re-emit all the histories according to verbal relay as schism. So, for instance, if I leave a mark within a dazzling trail of misnomer, if I linger around the form of a pre-existent speech, it is only to derive skills which both summon and vanish, allowing conveyance beyond a geriatric ringing prone to drift inside a feckless conservation. Maybe a tumbling through Iberian soils, or a dislocated gulf transmixed with the Aegean. There is never a thirst for common admixture, or for transcriptions fused with the scripture of mundane recording. Only the fantastic lingers, only biological metamorphism which creates in its depths a trigonomic key which fuels vertiginous alchemic reversal. Thus, you must resist these fuels and inhabit these fuels until phenomena takes flight through dis-inhabited transcendence. As these new occulted solar masses we possess savagery through skill by osmosis. We are vehicular cinders, not light implied by didactic mirage. We do not take up integers in towers, simply to announce ourselves as a repeatable roundelay or collective. When your light flashes forth, consider bursts in the atmosphere, consider signs, consider the core of your insurrectional strengths. These are turnings, these are structures which descend half, by insurrectional half. First of all you cannot see yourselves, and at the same time adjust your self-acuteness to self-perceiving events. Not spell by technocracy, nor by a culminate or extrinsic distance which disembodies soil. This is not a strict or inconceivable achievement, but an adroitness, a verbal sorcery of expression. With the present plutocracy slowly cooking in its prism, we mesh with the force of explosive seething, which in turn cedes its remnants to weightless myrioramas. Which become in themselves thermal momentums, rays, power at the source of its brightness. Because light is conveyed through blindness, through sudden thought transmission, which repeats inside the soul at all angles.