Frankobusto Numero 1

No explaining my or anyone else's existence- I think we are all spores on the cosmic ocean, floating towards some fertile abode where we can procreate... or DIE!!!!!

I have been gestating lately ever since Winter began descending upon us - how else can we speak of Winter except as a period of hibernation and dark involution - but of course I have also been gestating for awhile now, always gestating, as if I wa s some sort of CENTIPEDE LOCUST , A WORM SPIDER! But I digress. The point being of course that- the point being? Of course, the point being is that the point is we have multitude of faculties which precede our mind as such and which form our internal mental structure.

Ah... but there's too much to say, TOO MANY WORDS IN THE INTERNAL MIND STURCTURE....  too many word worms. Did you know vermicelli means little worms in Italian and this was once a popular name for noodles?

Suburban microbialism

I was pondering this question last night, I think that though there are this and that... distinctions, and yet uniformity, a strange phenomenon the north american suburban sphere, a strange one to consider. How is that it reproduces. What is its mechanism. How many jelly organs are contained in its gelatin. It is a strange phenomenon indeed as all strange phenomena are.

In the interminable convolutions of my life I have been studying biology in its microscopic aspects which has led me to find a correlation between human social life with invisible microbiotic life. The principle of life permeates each of its evolutionary stages, though by no means is this a diminuition of humanity, I only seek to explain a resemblance white critiquing the social forms.

In short, as life was supposedly evolved on earth, it went from bacterial to multicellular forms. But as it stands humanity has devolved into lesser organizational forms, depending on its social-physical location. Of course, you cannot reject the fact that society has different forms of grouping together and organic compositions. An individual in short is the vessel for an ego, and the ego is the glue upon new forms of social cells which can adapt or not adapt to the corrosive social membrane. The social membrane though should not be seen as inherently toxic, as the first cells were able to adapt or not adapt to the hostile aquatic environment of earth. Natural selection is still a directive organizing principle, however humans are transcendent in the sphere of cultural procreation- so this analogy's ultimate hollowness cannot be underemphasized. All the same, the principles of evolutionary organization reassert themselves until it has subdued every member within the life-field. Once this happens, the cultural springs of human society become sterile and the forces channeled through humanity become buried again into the tomb of the ancient past.

Not to get all depressing or anything, though there are certainly more germs out there, eating away the fabric of the dominant collective, however one can only . . . . .    one can only . . . . . . . .    one  can only . .  . . . . ..  . .. . . .  one   .     Eat Humans  .   .       Not Blacks though  . . . . . . .    They've been eaten enough . . ..     White Privilege means White Getting Eaten .  . . . . . . .       Eat Humans wherever If You're Hungry .  . . ..  Poop?

Honestly though I am fucking tired of life and would love to die if only it meant that I could go to sleep. Still, there are similarities between primordial forms of life and our current social organization. So I guess I win this round, Pinocchio

Chaos of Internet-Modernity

Quite a strange situation that we have arrived at, yet there was always the festering brooding of the soul and corpus, within every person, everyone in the social flake of storms, no one can distinguish between the other, and yet each snowflake in this blizzard of black, deadly chaos looks different, if only we had eyes for such things. The Chaos is pregnant  within our mind-soul-sikhs, an Indian incarnation of our mind spirits, while the abyss lies in the background. Who can tell what the devil is going on? There is chaos. We live in this age. Chaos wields the swored of eternity but clashes upon all love and heart. The municipal frabric unwinds and spends its threads in the Concussiphon of Astral Benefeasance.

The Oneirosphere

I think that there are two ways to think about the oneirosphere, the first being a stratum in an individual's psyche, and the second, as a social stratum. The collective consciousness is an amorphous and kaleidoscopic thing, yet it is possible that there are certain layers distinct from others, and in which the Oneirosphere is one of them. The oneirosphere is distinct, of course, from the 'collective unconscious', which only refers to unconscious elements in the collective psyche which are merely hidden - while the oneirosphere is something more like the dream plane. 

The dream plane, is not, however, merely the psychic field where people pour in their dreams that they had last night wherein they all swirl around together - instead we should have more nuanced definitions of dreams. Does the waking mind not dream and fantasize and hallucinate without being involved in abnormal circumstances? How are daydreams different in terms of their substance? At what point does a supposedly unreal experience, whether in the mind or beyond its porous borders, leave pure fantasy and enter into an ambiguous realm breaking away in some way from reality?

Returning to the individual oneirosphere, I would again say that it is not merely the unconscious, which after all is not exclusively defined through dreams, but the oneiric composition of the waking mind. As someone who has many dreams, I find that my dreams of the night are in some way shaping the contours of my mind for the coming day, like a baker with their dough. I might be a pretzel, bagel, or croissant, or even just a shapeless wad; the oneirosphere is part of the topology of the mind whether awake or asleep. By its very nature though, there is no science that can ever fully conceptualize it, and any sort of metaphor for the mind at large will fail to encapsulate its many forms. The only point here is that dreams, dreammaking, and the organics of fantasy are part of the very fabric of waking life.

Fuck

Fuck