Zero Brain Cells Left

 Β:α: The tender moisture of arousal's first blossom, twineagled romance soaring crushmutualed, or the throbbing irritation of lust's aching sore when the love's worn thin, or the BwO of masochism's neongodded flatus has become a pudgy hypochondriac or tantrism's rich cheerful substance [hello darkness my old friend] and love which is real yes it is so real and yes love... screw it it ain't real, love isn't real no fucking way... and the fatigued ache of work are none other than this quantum information, this sweaty rubbing of our animalfarmed meatprisons seeping into your head like earwax from the outside building up. It's all about the information "about" the information "about" fasterandfaster rhythmic contractions, tensions and dilations or more broadly, pulsations, twitches graphs or vortexes of forceful topology rippling, rippling somehow all the god damned way through which the "self" communicates or expresses its ...

 Α:α: Lefebvre's "rhythmnalysis" clues us into a very heavy insight I want to dump right away. We should prostrate ourselves, get on our knees and pray to the Lefebvre-God-Man. The inspiriting afflatus metabolized and disintegrated to dust, in the beginning, word up, it's no joke. Α:β: The body is, yes, "points", mostly, (Badiou, but mostly it is a constellation of uneven rhythms, or rhythms with irregularly aligning symmetries, or gusts of demonology flipped into signification, aligning into dynamic harmony (Spinoza). The body is, yes "waves" (Deleuze), resisting the decentering effect of titillatio (Spinxza), "awake" now, at least partially awake monad, but more precisely it is [not exactly "flexion"] pulsation [pulsation, yes, that's what it is]. But this pulsation is quantum energy-informational.

 How to Make Your "self" into a Vortex or: Towards a NeoVorticist Theory of the Body Preamble: At the limits of "pretending" (all stops pulled out), we do something (in)authentic, a new habit is formed, and our previous personality is blurred into something weirder. Only a kind of "fool" or artist would apply a kind of generic analysis of practical reason to ALL his activities. Because this would subject even the pure irrational of experience to reason. You cannot subject the absurd or the poetic or even the hilarious to reason. And, hulking boobs that we are, it's like our brains are terribly overweight. How get into shape? How be in harmony with all the stuff around? How be in time and space geometries?? Kant's revolution has made us all crazy, in this precise sense. But that's nothing that should get one's panties in a wad, or whatever. We ought not to wig out about this, we shouldn't worry. Preface: on the Possibility that Life is ...

 Mapping Disorder: into the Flow, into the Light, into the Future The disorderliness of nature, the disorderliness of the scene, the malignancy of apathy or depression, the need to regroup, to meditate to, as one Tumblr meme suggests, "listen to the whispers of [one's] own spirit instead of the shouts of the world". There is a Sontag-camp quality to the internet which is perhaps the hinge, if not the hub, of contemporary art production. The most relevant museum in New York, the New Museum, makes its new media focus very apparent, and even the architecture of it reeks of a kind of coral-like delicateness, which is in stark contrast to the brutish energies which must be sublimated to achieve "the fine flower of culture" (Bertrand Russell). We must become seers of disorder, less "Tidying up with Marie Kondo" and more "Tales of Power" (Castaneda), more "Mille Plateaux". But how to get there, and how to make the short circuit between t...