from the visions series, canticle III ( part one )

the theory goes that information
is that which resolves uncertainty,
(as opposed to entropy)
but that is not what I see on a daily basis,
and if that's what it is suppossed
then we're doomed.
I just see a lot of uncertainty.

It's not only tomorrow that we fear,
but we also have been induced to fear
the past.
Forever ruminating the emasculating
ramifications of the decisions of years ago.

No, suffering is not the key to immortality,
it's the other way round,
immortality would be unbearable
and would lead to a perpetuation of suffering,
unbearable at best.

***********************************************

[excerpt from internet chat room
 ref # 28848558793-A7CC991
 date: sometime in late-ish 2013
 scholars do not agree on the right date
 as there are several sources]

NEED JOB TO PAY FOR INTERNET CONNECTION
IN ORDER TO BE IN THIS FRUITFUL CHAT ROOM
THIS ROOM IS THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE
THE COMPASS THAT GUIDES MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE
I AM A SERF TO YOU ALL
A COMTEMPTIBLE VESSEL OF HUMILIATION
UNDESERVING RECEPTACLE OF FAECES



***********************************************

Only cliffs should be jumped into fast, 
not conclusions.


***********************************************

No matter what judgement or blame
you try to put on my shoulder
I can't feel anything
this makes me the most powerfull being here
always.

In most conservative families
mom and dad have sex on Wednesday
and Saturday nights
oh wait Wednesdays too? lucky fuckers!

CROWD CHANT 1:
This is Hell.
Presided over by the God
of a thousand whores,
ejaculator of fire,
spawn of the ziggurat,
father of all destruction,
he who relishes taking life,
cockslapper of the universe.



***********************************************

[excerpt from internet chat room
 ref # 84849295211-07D9001
 date: sometime in late-ish 2013
 scholars do not agree either on the right date
 as there are several sources]

this was taken from a discussion on the relative merits
of the term 'anal krieg' as a monicker for a very aggressive
black metal outfit

apparently the band exists although 
that much is not clear 

nicknames from the chat room 
have been changed to protect
the innocent and also those not so

[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: anal krieg is an excellent name
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: I will tattoo that on my knuckles
[Chat Room Inhabitant Y]: it won't fit

[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: yes, it will
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: I lost one finger inside your sister's cunt

[Chat Room Inhabitant Y]: uh oh

[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: apparently the name is taken already, tho'

[Chat Room Inhabitant Y]: what is it? the Westernized name of an obscure Chinese corporation?
[Chat Room Inhabitant X]: that'd be an awesome name for a M&A consulting firm

***********************************************


My desire is to burrow deeper,
in search of the perfect item of information,
context-less, eternal, perfect.
To carve more precisely
the contours of this sinister map,
after the surgeon's fashion.
The subject matter does not matter.
All that matters is the perfect information.

Beg thee, friend!
to not consign to oblivion the radiance
of this darkness, for that defines me
and sets me apart from the undiscerning crowd.

I got used to traversing the blurring lines,
can't live without the heightened sensibility,
that pressure in my chest,
not unlike a ghost limb, although I never had
one of those.

[the collector of heart attacks says to himself]
little do I care for your smallness
and herd mentality.
Feeling the pins feels so much better.
I see things in different colors.

***********************************************

*** PRAYER BOX ****************
* ask me brilliance,
* ask me hard work,
* ask me greatness,
* make me jump the ropes,
* ask me drudgery if you will,
* because I've no will,
* I can only do if I do for you,
* but do not leave me here unused
********************************

[Voice of the salaryman,
toying with the thought of karoshi already]:

I relish the vision of the empty desks,
the sterile aisles, silent cubicles.
I always prefer the muted spaces,
more favorable to introspection.
The shade of suicide in all blank screens.
Fax machines dead yet warm,
like organs and glands
extracted from a dead dragon.

One feels less vulnerable bathing in the echoes
of past presences, diluted now
in embraces and farewells
that went, largely, unnoticed.
And that's why the subway feels better
late at night.

I remain to wander across the holes
and admire the people who have the strength
to build up things,
wondering what's the gene that I lack then.
I did not get those chronic nosebleed
from panic or anxiety binging, so I guess I was
somewhat a stronger person,
but one that was never taught to dream of leading,
of building, just repentance and mistrust,
learned indentured servancy.

I was made an empty vessel.
Not fit for having a great party,
much less for throwing it,
entertaining hosts or delivering the great line.
If I put my suicide tape online,
it would only gather a few visits,
mostly wrong clicks.

No, I am just adequate for listening to music
and getting lost in thought.
So, not much of a marketable skill set there.

[after this bit, the transcription of the salary man
gets unreliable and fragmentary, so we move on
to the turmoil is his boss' head]


The order in which the rules apply
is no longer important!
the result we strive to reach
is struggle per se. Not death.
Much less victory.
(putrid air in the CxO league).
Just urgency, all the time, all over the place.

Struggle justifies our existence.
War is the real spoils of war.
(My cufflinks are more expensive
and I bought them in Paris).

Revolutions are an alternate
path to imagined riches and cold fact Sodom.
(real leather, not Alcantara, please).

Leverage! Leverage!
let's cross cocks next corporate retreat.
I'll wipe my muck on your tie!
(mergers and acquisitions, the realm
of the überlawyer with the hermés suit).

Aaaah, the sustainability report!
A gilded cage of compromise.
YOU WORTHLESS PILE OF CRUD

4.20 am is the most intimate part of night.
Nothing should be moving or happening.
The world stopped for maintenance,
a few short minutes for catching up breath.
Then, you wake up trembling.
(99.9% SLA)
A host of fears matted, knotted on a stick
dwells in your chest and in your blackberry.


***********************************************


Editor's note:
The second part is being restored, from amended sources.
Our experts are currently contrasting sources and performing
exegesis in order to bring to you the most faithful account
of what happened afterwards.
Please stay tuned!