“If 'CS-o is an egg' (every egg implements a CS-o), what is hatching? Since confluent zero consummates fiction, reprogramming arrival from the terminus, everything that has happened escapes its sediment of human interpre¬tation, disorganizationally integrating historical patterns as the embryogenesis of an alien hyperintelligence, 'body image fading down corridors of television sky'. In this sense K-space plugs into a sequence of nominations for intensive or convergent real abstraction (time in itself): body without organs, plane of consistency, planomenon, a plateau, 'neuroelectronic void'. ” -Nick Land, from “Cybergothic”

Behold the techno-babble that begets Babylon! Third-Reich fascist nonsense begets the tranquil gem of Star-gate Cities and Necropolis Shires. Let’s call K-space “K-Y-space” since we’ll need a lot of lube to cope with the brutal ass and brain assault upon the Deleuzian and Guattarian organless body, which mimics the screeches heard in hyperspace, amidst all its anonymous members. “What citifies acceptance,” asks the breathless body turned blue, where the organless body of Artaud arises off the mortician’s autopsy table and tiptoes like an incarnate Christ from out his tomb. “What psychosis is needed to overcome societal sanity?” Techno-time is relative to quantum principles of entropic uncertainty. What is a setting in the west is a rising in the east. Science fiction becomes science in time through ideological influence. Thus, nano-statistician nonsense permeates the primordial mind of each cultural member, whose ethnocentric eyes produce linear-confined insights, unaccepting of the area which encompasses “empty space.” Fazing through fear and non-logistic linguistics, one can traverse transversally, cutting corners so as to move straight, making them “square” according to a stereotypical 1950’s semiotic consensus. The nuclear-annihilated and ROM-scripted society permeates phallogocentric nomisms, melting the rhizomatic-minded phallic member, whom reaches erection upon Freudian fantasy fulfillment. Malleable cyber-gothic-movement stems from touching vast spatial terrains in infinite vector-space (meaning it doesn’t move), cryogenically petrified to the Taoist stone of circuitry-understanding, greeting mental gridlock with no meta-pseudo philosophies for it to find. Spacetime-warped cyclic feedback systems comprise and amplify alchemic Chrysopoeia.

Soon, the frame freezes (a spinning circle of electronic death), causing systematic shutdown. People Ctrl+Alt+Del themselves to death, desperately trying to start over, as if they could escape this cyclic society of over-abundant spectacle-induced imagery. Amidst “freeze-frame,” one tries to fidget, only to find themselves eternally frozen within a faux frost, which their motherboard could successfully melt if only their head were intellectually heated to a specific internal temperature. See how humanity heralds the extinct meta-dinosaur of neuro-biological death, crushing the weight of Jungian consciousness and pissing upon the fearful face of a pondering Prometheus? For what fear produces a fire that can cast shadows within human sight! “You have to crack the mind in order to get access to the egg of understanding,” some Christ-trout intones with a trombone, speaking with a sense of Puritan-seduction that still somehow appeals to modern people. Foucauldian “power-house” cities are constructed by mitochondriac minds. And schizophrenia seems a solution to common psychiatric summations. Incompatible recursive programs speak systematic scripture so that the intuitive seems absurd. All our mutterings are just mental forms of masturbation; for, past the xenophobic frontier, one finds the cultural farce, where lexicon leads our lives towards illusory lies. “Culture is a worm-cluster that subconsciously permeates linguistically-based software systems, exploiting the corruptible binary code from the shared source of the hardware we have in our heads,” some witch-doctor may say to a society that is spellbound to numerous witches’ words. Systemic disorder seems more suited to schizophrenic disORGANization in nomadistic terms, foraging our way through rhizomatic free-space. The hybridity of each anthropomorphic cyborg that we anthropologically encounter deconstructs definition, dealing a death-stroke to identity. Echidna—the holy mother of all monsters—is the one who trans-mutated man into such anthropomorphic and cybernetic entities—the great she-snake—twisting in bed with Typhon—daughter of the Orphic and uroboric Phanes, who was hermaphroditically hatched from the World-Egg of Chronos.

To override ideology means “machinic crash,” where corporatism succumbs to its own cancerous sickness along its oppressive roads of psychoanalytic repression. The technocratic cyber-city births obsolete garbage upon an ozone-eaten atmosphere and a smog-suffocated sky, making one wonder if progress has a point aside from the self-destruction of the species. Deterritorialized convergence seems sufficient to combat apocalyptic assemblages such as these. But must we accelerate to our end before we can be reborn? Hyper-synthetic-ecstasy, when imbibed, births the Christly-satanic and nominal sense of acceptance needed to induce drug-ridden delusionary ideals, staining man’s tender and inactive mind like bed sores upon the brain, where eyes don’t drool anymore under the metropolitan mask of pharmaceutical medicine. Semantically-spliced pidgin-speaking people are reprogrammed to a state of terminal silence (knowing, instead, the Pharmakon of the Phaedrus). Pointless, lacking specificity, there is no one central node to strive for in the face of false certainty. There is no specific point to these people, who are capable of cracking and decrypting the polymorphic code. All these people are probably pointless. Surfacing through the layers of simulacrum that this hyper-reality has housed, they become shamanistic wind-wanderers—hollowed bags of societal trash that billow and soar on the wind’s giving breath. Is there no noumenon worth knowing? The zenith of celestial understanding cannot be linguistically conveyed; for, linguistic Godelian incompleteness cripples conveyance and communication, leaving replicated realities to their own rapacious state of ruin. The wired-world’s genealogy comes from holistic history, where memex turned to hyper-text, and where the portmanteau of people prevailed before the corrupt and privileged power-companies, who tried to turn it into a totem-town. But the rhizome is not a root. Within information-space, the world is woven together as one, browsing identical domains upon an immanent plane (where people’s protocols are momentarily ported), implementing further movement for a multiplexed and micro-processed technic string of amalgamated messages and mnemonic memories.

Granted gateway access into this spidery cybernetic nexus-system, “Other’s” feedback defragments the operational function of CULTural families (for it is clear to see that the nuclear family is an atom-bomb about ready to blow). Like how lightning channels through plasma, or how impulses pass between synapses through neurotransmission, we no longer stand alien to Others’ possible exogenesises; ergo, ceasing the electro-static cultural shock that comes when it is fiber-optically telecommunicated to us at mentally-breaking bandwidths via the interpretable third-party proxy server of self-perception. Soon, the mediator vanishes, heralding forth a hybridity that de-magnifies our microscopic and ethnocentric perspective so that the separate nodes start to disband. Soon, we are able to understand this node-like ethos as our own, where all we can see is one interconnected web (a techno-holic touch). “If language is a lie, then who the hell cares what things are called?” Personal identities dissolve, and life is perceived as if every man were made of mirror, making us the infinite reflections of all things outside of us. We are all symbolic cannibals in this sense. We are what we are not; or, rather, there is nothing that we are not. Thus, in a state of “Us,” there are no “Others.” Better stated, there is no “Other” that is not “Us,” causing interpretation’s brittle spine to snap. Deconstructed, ambivalent ideals are nullified by mixing matter with anti-mater (yin with yang). Interpretation proves impossible. Symbolic languages construct Imaginary realms, away from where the Lacanian Real resides. Citing anti-American communistic fears and Freudian conspiracies whilst blotting-out their eyes like King Oedipus, corporate-capitalists speak ill of such a schizophrenic system, diagnosing “Us” as neurotic individuals. “You would think society would have a club dedicated to Cthulhu considering how mad it is.” Their heads are stained with cultural hieroglyphics, needing cryptographers to crack the semantic codes that they hear Others speak. “Decode death and all the nano-messages in your cartographic mind.” Ethnocentric ears find it tough to translate extraterrestrial talk (whereas the multicultural man can twist his words to fit any tongue). But the multicultural mirror-man cares not for culture (which is but a scarring striation of scat scrawling); he sees how the separate rainbow’s colors come from refracting white light in a lens. “‘All the world’s colors are one and, yet, simultaneously separate’ is the schizophrenic’s secret,” he says to himself, enunciated through the still air.

“Why reprogram rainbows to reside in their separately colored spectrums?” “A complete cultural uninstalling is needed to deprogram this system of delusion-inducing software,” speaks an”Other” jaded “Us”-man, resting on the same plane’s peripheral. “For nihilism is nothing but a nocturnal thermonuclear winter, heralding humanity towards eschatological extinction.” A multiverse of schizophrenic men speak to themselves, resting upon this immanent plane (both simultaneously Other and Us—a dialectic trinity (dare I say Christian?) declaration). “The road to virtual-reality is aborted, and man is reborn, with the cutting of the linguistic cord. And, yet, we are locked away in hellish hospitals or else mentally lobotomized through medicine, knowing all secular and non-secular liturgies to be a lie. Fantasizing of their incestuous sex, these fanatical mother-fuckers keep the world in separate classifiable scientific categories (always solely ‘Other’), reveling in taxonomic rank, never seeking to splice the cosmic schism. This is the “totem-town”—the rungs of society upon which they reach—the top-down fascist power center of Foucauldian struggle and oppressive Apollonian Order. This is an image-based Debordian spectacle-system, comprised solely of superficial status and functioning on commodity fetishism. Society is a mega-bot bird laughing in the face of a declawed house-cat—a zombie matrix for man. “Drink a fermented beverage to feel better,” the drunkard says. Here, the superfluous shines; and mediocrity becomes the way to merit. Everything is put in its right place by covert ideological deception in this panoptic police-state—a prison of enslaved people—chain-gangs that are unable to see their own shackles. They keep to Plato’s cave, staring at shadows whilst enjoying their censored and proxified intranet experience, away from scarier schizonautic systems.”