VERTICAL SCREAM

Allow for the vertical scream to echo through Gotthard Base Tunnel - the demon portal is open;

\\SATANIC OVERTURE COMMENCE//

The precis began with a long hold on a color still that Case at first assumed was a collage of some kind, a boy's face snipped from another image and glued to a photograph of a paint-scrawled wall. Dark eyes, epicanthic folds obviously the result of surgery, an angry dusting of acne across pale narrow cheeks. The Hosaka released the freeze; the boy moved, flowing with the sinister grace of a mime pretending to be a jungle predator. His body was nearly invisible, an abstract pattern approximating the scribbled brickwork sliding smoothly across his tight onepiece. Mimetic polycarbon.
Cut to Dr. Virginia Rambali, Sociology, NYU, her name, faculty, and school pulsing across the screen in pink alphanu merics.

`Given their penchant for these random acts of surreal violence,' someone said, `it may be difficult for our viewers to understand why you continue to insist that this phenomenon isn't a form of terrorism.'
Dr. Rambali smiled. `There is always a point at which the terrorist ceases to manipulate the media gestalt. A point at which the violence may well escalate, but beyond which the terrorist has become symptomatic of the media gestalt itself. Terrorism as we ordinarily understand it is inately media-re lated. The Panther Moderns differ from other terrorists pre cisely in their degree of self-consciousness, in their awareness of the extent to which media divorce the act of terrorism from the original sociopolitical intent...'

William Gibson - Neuromancer.


\\NECROEVOLUTION//


Capital is alive; its body infested by Ancient Mesopotamian demons; a mind is now moving bodies external to it; Capital inauguration of chaos; psycho-geographical cluster headache; summon transparent plastic humanoids; Ninsei neon; rainbow pixel labyrinth; terrorism is no longer physical violence but a state of control; as my satnav told me 'keep right, and exit ahead'.

We can take apart capital, open its body and pull out its organs - we can lay its nervous system out on the steel, drain its blood, observe its skeleton - but we cannot locate its thoughts. It has become a self-regulating machine; its interior microrobotic unit attempting to reconstruct its damages; the terrain is an orbit of extreme violence; nuclear winter; capital must evolve to survive, in doing so, mutates its power-structure into a demonic form of surveillance; non-human actant parasite helix; pixar repetition is a way of measuring our reaction from an early age; computer game violence is hygenie (see IDDQD-Death of Godmode); proceed to be reduced to meme-logic; what is abstracted by that satanic force leaves us with its waste material; art is just a form of accumulation; the tunnel ends in the desert; oil/lube for war-machine;

V. An autonomous chemical weapon belonging to earth as both a sentient entity and an event. Petroleum poisons Capital with absolute madness, a planetary plague bleeding into economies mobilized by the technological sigularities of advanced civilizations. In the wake of oil as an autonomous terrestrial conspirator, capitalism is not a human symptom but rather a planetary inevitability. In other words, Capitalsim was here even before human existence, waiting for a host.

R. Negarestani - Cyclonopedia.

\\A RECURRING NIGHTMARE//

First wave
and again
and again
and again (though even Merkel cant make her mind up)
and once more incase we didn't hear the first time

Putin-dome//take your vitamins//Germany must prepare//Paranoia sets in//

Some call it repression.
Some call it liberation.

Media is endoscope into the stomach [middle east]; this focus causes motion-sickness to the accelerationist; terrorism damage control to the far west; there is something far more horrific when violence is put through the artificiality of western culture; the desert operates as a violent cell travelling across the Earth//

REINSTALLING THE PAST

At Six o’clock the next morning I was woken by the noise, the statue was now fifty feet long and crossing the flower beds on either side of the garden. It sounded as if a complete orchestra were performing some Mad Hatter’s symphony out in the centre of the lawn. At the far end, by the rockery, the sonic cores were still working their way through the Romantic catalogue, a babel of Mendelssohn, Schubert and Grieg, but near the veranda the cores were beginning to emit the jarring and syncopated rhythms of Stravinsky and Stockhausen.

I woke Carol and we ate a nervous Breakfast.

“Mr Hamilton!” she shouted. “You’ve got to stop it!”

…

The metal was soft and the blade sank through it quickly. I left the pieces I cut off in a heap to one side, random notes sounding out into the air. Separated from the main body of the statue, the fragments were almost inactive, as DR Blackett had stated. By two o’clock that afternoon I had cut back about half the statue and got it down to manageable proportions…

…At two o’clock that night I woke as a window burst across the floor of my bedroom. A huge metal helix like a claw through the fractured pane, its sonic core screaming down at me.

…”Get rid of it. Bury it somewhere, or better still, have it melted down. As soon as possible.”

At the preliminary hearings we soon realised that, absurdly, our one big difficulty was going to be proving to anyone who had not been there that the statue had actually started growing. With luck we managed to get several postponements, and Raymond and I tried to trace what we could of the statue. All we found were three small struts, now completely inert, rusting in the sand on the edge of one of the junkyards in Red Beach. Apparently taking me at my word, the contractor had shipped the rest of the statue to a steel mill to be melted down.

…The court building was a new one and by an unpleasant irony ours had been the first case to be heard there. Much of the floor and plasterwork had still to be completed, and the balcony was untiled. I was standing on an exposed steel crossbeam; one of two floors down someone must have been driving a rivet into one of the girders, and the beam under my feet vibrated soothingly.

Then I noticed that there were no sounds of riveting going on anywhere, and that the movement under my feet was not so much a vibration as a low rhythmic pulse.

…Carol was patting the girder and listening to it. “I think it’s humming,” she said, puzzled. “It sounds like the statue.”

… “They did, angel. So it got back into circulation, touching off all the other metal it came into contact with. Lorraine Drexel’s statue is here, in this building, in a dozen other buildings, in shops and planes and a million new automobiles. Even if it’s only one screw or ball-bearing, that’ll be enough to trigger the rest off.”

“Did you say it was all over? Carol, it’s only just beginning. The whole world will be singing.”

J.G Ballard – Vermilion Sands [Venus Smiles – excerpts p122-6]

***

Deconstruction and reappearance of the cathedral – or in the work of Ballard, a resurrecting statue – or the Arch of Triumph which had been destroyed by the Islamic State in Palmyra, only to re-emerge as a digital print in the West.

 Institute of Digital Archaeology Digital of Institute of Digital Archaeology of Institute.

As Hamilton and Carol dismantle the statue, they find in appropriate time that the partial fragments they have filed away have grown significantly. To the time it takes to dismantle the statue, they discover quite soon that the metal is constantly expanding into corkscrew-like elongations.

The hyper-libidinal tornado of death that is the Islamic State – who aim to escape representation, who may as well follow on the Italian Futurist Movement rather than the Quran, a radical ‘futureman’, disjunctive nonsense of bodies piled up parallel to fragments of ancient artefact – pathing the speedway of the future in the filament of human bone and remnant of history. 

The Islamic State over a week long siege, self-politicised, hand-crafted and deliberately infantile radicals execute the abrasive in a type of destruction that can be propounded to the Italian Futurism of Marinetti. Particularly in the Fascism and nihilistic glorification of war and destruction. In an apparent point where the ambiguity of the extremist vision pairs with the furthest revolution of meaning – they caused significant damage and infantile vandalism to the cultural heritage of Syria. 

In condolence – or perhaps in apology – it appears in London, the Arch of Triumph – coming to Trafalgar Square, April 2016, onto New York September;

"By using digital techniques to map and preserve monuments and other aspects of shared human history, we are able to ensure that nobody can deny history or dictate that their narrative or ideology stands above the shared story of all humanity and our shared aspiration to live together in harmony."

The misery of digital hypermedia now takes action outside of real time; whilst ISIS cleansed the site of polytheistic monuments, the West summoned it back to surface in an act of heteroglossic mimesis.

The ‘Black Gold’ revenue of oil smuggling with peak demand, a market devastated by secular decline, the impending turbulence has become a catalyst of recurrent defeat. A sharp fall in international oil prices make smuggling and the ISIS-controlled market towns such as al-Bab and Manbij unprofitable. However, this blood-supply of the Caliphate [fundamental for the insurgency and finance] is a reflection of the central role of oil within international power structures.  And this is where the potential integration of corruption enters the global economy in a state of resurrection, through exchange – from destruction to illicit topological assimilation. 

Islamic State exist as extra-terrestrial parasitic creature absorbing into the ground and materialising as a state of paranoia and a state of regression in the West – through digital cosmic-schizophrenia – Europe on the embankment acting as a transcendental speed-camera. 

Calling for attacks on the West during Ramadan through ‘the-voice’, the virtual sublime and inner-schizophrenic soliloquy which is echoing the cortex of Europe. The month of calamity. It's symptoms will rise to the surface - it will leave its claw marks on the flesh of the mothership;

 

Somewhere between the horror image, there is a distinction to be made between the reality of a secular radicalism and the analysis of a political extremist unconsciousness. Our heads, still, rotate 360 - we can only turn-the-other cheek so much until we face the same direction - or stare back.

Where do we start with history, according to Deleuze – in the middle. Now we have a misplacement – although its demolition is abhorrent, it is also hard for me to say that its renovation is not equally as monstrous. There is no reset to the computer, its cruelty leaves marks upon the body – the open wounds are distracting – we cannot seal them with PLA 4043D or thermoplastics, they cannot reorganise themselves – it is not apathy which brings me to this point but sheer deprivation from rationality, to allow for symbolic flow in which we recognise ISIS as a real accelerating force.  Rebuilding the past, through a complete allowance of an ontological metamorphosis.