The Enemy

luka

Well-known member
When I say the enemy i mean, broadly, in the sense of the enemies described in burroughs, the matrix, david icke, the invisibles etc etc. this was an idea i had never seriously entertained until recently. but im entertaining it now. its one of the most terrifying concepts ive ever encountered. sort of exciting, in a role play sort of way though i spose. its got obvious potential to tip you into outright howling paranoid lunacy but it also has a neatness to it. an efficiency. i like ickes metaphors. i mean, it simplifies things, who cares about raping the planet until there's nothing left to exploit if its simply a mine. a place you extract energy from and then return home to some distant planet. neat. tidy.
an enemy opertaing as much in psychic space as physical needless to say.
of course if there is such an enemy maybe i can induce them to enter into civilzied converation here in this neutral space. we can tell each other a bit about ourselves/ maybe some of you are agents of the enemy. maybe some of you have locked horns with the enemy. im not being fascetious here. im being at least half-way serious although the terror of the idea makes me stop half-way.

white cars trailing you through the night.
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
PRISONERS, COME OUT.

Scientology is in its own way a variation on this - Burroughs's Nova Criminals are rather like body thetans. Which is not a coincidence.
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
"Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action." - Auric Goldfinger, although I'm sure it's quoted in Burroughs.
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
Reading Debord at present (it's about time); the spectacle presents "pseudo-conflicts" between various notional enemies, but is at the same time the projection of a single global system ("the globalisation of the false / the falsification of the globe"). Which strikes me as pretty gnostic really. The real enemy is...ta-daaah!...the demiurge, capitalism.
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
Raise your fists to the child, teach him
space is infinite, the here and now
disposable. Move on. Salt of your tears
is sweetness - I glut, grow fat, split,
wriggle off-stage left and right.
My heirs inherit yours, fresh fodder.
I won't end, always back for more
battery and collusion, my answer
to everything. Your gut feeling,
your thin dread's my meat. I fuck
and eat, tenderize then dice.
I'm up for it. I'm staring you in the face.
 

slim jenkins

El Hombre Invisible
The project: all human kind.

The endless procession of faces...the continual opening of the city never ending - eyes innumerable and the sense of mysterious grandeur.

People weave to and fro with no apparent purpose, glimpsing other phantoms, masks of men mortified - through streets, as if under an enchanter's rod, until emerging somewhere - the route of by-roads which forever brood in this monstrous inhumanity of reinforced concrete, silver blue reflective glass and fractured walls. Seeking a new life among the tower blocks, the sinister growth of houses, bridges, factories and decay.

The Babylonian grid-city wants memory - it will make it.

One step more in imagination - this changeless dream - reason all gone from mind.

Atrocities happen - the operator's input is scattered, filmed, photographed and edited.

We try to persist through time - reason all gone from mind. Systems work in dreams only – disordered - organically, unconsciously.

Spirits drift across all time...memories are active constructions, distorted - the human mind a host as it turns again and again in it’s bed to the old nocturnal melody of an anguished climate....
 

Mr. Tea

Let's Talk About Ceps
People weave to and fro with no apparent purpose, glimpsing other phantoms, masks of men mortified - through streets, as if under an enchanter's rod, until emerging somewhere - the route of by-roads which forever brood in this monstrous inhumanity of reinforced concrete, silver blue reflective glass and fractured walls. Seeking a new life among the tower blocks, the sinister growth of houses, bridges, factories and decay.

The Babylonian grid-city wants memory - it will make it.

allhail.jpg
 

Now then…

Member
i mean, it simplifies things, who cares about raping the planet until there's nothing left to exploit if its simply a mine. a place you extract energy from and then return home to some distant planet. neat. tidy.

Yes. And then there's the theory that due to our unrivaled thirst for destruction we actually make the best "compost" in the universe. Perfect for ploughing the fields before a fallow period.
 

Mr. Tea

Let's Talk About Ceps
What's the graphic from, Mr Tea?

It's from the inlay of a CD called (appropriately) City, by a really super-ultra-over-the-top industrial-metal band named Strapping Young Lad. Not everyone's cup of tea ;), but it's a totally awesome album if you like that sort of thing.
 
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