Prolegomena to Demonic Ecology (Part 1)
Language for Animals VOLUME ONE (The Eonothem.§.2.❡.2.8.) Section Three
Prolegomena to Demonic Ecology Part 1 Movement & Time i. a simple contrapture ii. love story iii. remainder iv. harbinger v. fancrushing god Fulcrums i. Amen ii. The Socrates Principle iii. I Dream of Genealogy Spirits i. Alien & Otherwise ii. [Section Missing] iii. Big Bang Club IV. We of the Little Bang: A Joke V. In Summation
Movement & Time i. a simple contrapture Nothing moves; it ripples, like air or water; a ripple in a moment: there, I’ve said it. But wait, here’s more: I’m a solitary point. Alone like a whistle without (your face, down the street, on the sidewalk, by the front door, near the basement, above the sewer, under the haywire, beside the window, behind the rubble) waiting for me. On the surface, it seems to buzz; not breath, not seismic overture: only another curve, ii. love story darling I don’t give a hoot. Government a charlatan party, man. The savage particle stationaries: we intuit common sensical movement when only tempers below: objects heating and cooling in the sunshine, iii. remainder another lame thing on fire. As explained before, the sun is where nothing happens, and your house is where nothing happens too, spirited fellow. “I’ve been screaming all afternoon,” said the wasteland. “Cover me in starlips, I hope die.” But scarlet is a creeping color when unfolded. A key not a bone charged like an electron or the keepers of bad will, slumbering twist of circuits 'til kaboom iv. harbinger all is wasteland, but we covered that, so hungry is the corner seated thou, the crematorium in the funeral home. the cardinal in the sunset differs from the ordinal West; ancient flavors tongue a chemistry aloft thy ribcage: a mimicry of sirens, wasting away, wary of the good day, waging within my armchair war knowledge good enough this time. I wouldn’t say that this was a rodeo, be it the best of what it stands for, pilgrim. v. fancrushing god What I mean to say: The holy cusp is crumbled in the forest ready for your hoof, a fragrant light wiggling across foliage. This is not the last call. I’m not wasted nor am I dead. I’m clear as bloodshine, a lullaby. Calm down courage, stay awhile.
Fulcrums i. Amen The wave you see from the ocean current—or the manifestation of that current itself (can there be a difference between the current and the wave, and where else would it go?)—is not a traveling of distance; all is still but the patois of agitation. Within a fresh movement a vibration is nothing but current, so help me god. Take a single particle of current and watch it closely. It goes nowhere. A particle adjacent bumps her and another, one below and one behind, and she shivers—ouch, neuron!—and then she bumps too into stranger neighbors, not even sleeping, tangled with the great infinity. It takes em a while, immeasurably, to eventually too shiver-bump their nincompoop neighbors. So on: they move; they just don’t move a lot. Questions? ii. The Socrates Principle If five little particles go this way, and five little particles go that way, how long until we all get home? A carpet covered in baseballs, so much so that there is no where to move. You shift one—you can shift none, they’re crammed too tightly—there is some room, a minuscule amount, enough to vibrate, if they so choose. Choice doesn’t have anything to do with it, so says the experts. Who, then, is the prime mover? A great terrible infinite monster of fire. The prime moved. It bumps into two that are bordering it, maybe three, I don’t know, it’s insignificant, but those bumped in turn bump— iii. I Dream of Genealogy What of your molecular make-up, smart guy? What of the junglegym on the playground? Why is it so still and sturdy? Why are you constantly running around? Tightness of composition? Hallelujah! This meat: cut up me, make me dread, makes me think of nightmares. Goodnight, stranger.
Spirits i. Alien & Otherwise The clown goes downtown. Wait a minute: you’re that one guy: whatzizname, my incubus, my beedy noir. Segal Finnegan? Well how are ya friend? Been a minute. Yes indeed yes indeed. Erstwhile: On the edge is a solitary place almost my skin, suffering a dumb oneness: time will take a while to terror these pallid parlors, these godawful slums. Evolution is a spiraling out, like seashells and curly hair. iii. Big Bang Club Death is a returning to the cold singularity, when consciousness was so total it didn’t exist. Then, for whatever reasons—bee in bonnet—able to fortuit a great experiment—so what if a few things go wrong—you have to do it at some point (a single point) for the first time, just like they did when they banged. So you put on your coat and head to the comedy club, walk on stage and damn the critics, damn the fools. The universe says, I’m gonna tella joke tonight. Listen up:
We of the Little Bang: A Joke Hi there. This is my first comedy set. I wasn’t allowed to practice.