Posted by: Michael J on 04-30-08:
You're Welcome
Posted by: Frog on 03-30-08:
k revel everyone is not arol, only arol is arol, you win. the point is that the truth stands for itself, so i do too, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it, which puts your tiny power trip right in its place doesnt it. doesnt matter anyway. cheers.
Posted by: . on 03-28-08:
right, well i guess expecting that drastic of a process acceleration isn't rational is it. *shrug* well if it makes any difference,I myself as Steve,am NOT a wound up nature show host or school shooter or some random person who cant manage to get off their ass without external encouragement or anyone else I killed who's name was Steve.THAT Steve is DEAD in the final context of the word and no one in their RIGHT MIND cares, to continue identifying with him as a living being.This is ludicrous.
View more discussion...
ADD A COMMENT
Sign up to recieve free updates from TASM Lab
See Jeff Till's paintings, sculpture, and other neat diversions. Bare breasts guaranteed. MORE...
Sample TASM MP3's
 Screwtape- Number 28
Thing & Nothing - Simon's First Blow
Overman - I'll Go Alone
ECN - Black Cloud Over Charlestown
THD - Lost in a Parking Lot
THD - Your Drunk Drunk Secretary
!! TONS more free samples...
Advertisements
|
|
Thing and Nothing
Foreword to Thing and Nothing
By D. Austin Nash
Simon rose from the corner of the room and shuffled to the window overlooking the gray street. The people looked strange, less like people than cartoon characters. Hunched over and going about some sickeningly trivial business. Simon imagined what he might say if he was forced to speak to one of them. They looked cold in the dying light of day; it was January; it was starting to snow.Simon turned his dreamy gaze to the machine, now silent and gray like the street. Sometimes it seemed more alive than himself, and the words "I love you Simon" now owned part of his
consciousness.
He looked over his drawings of Christmas scattered across the floor. She was pretty, but she was missing a dimension now. She looked flat and made of plastic, lying there on the floor smiling but run dry of life. Who was she? Simon had deemed himself wise to refuse Mungquack"s overripe trollops and in retrospect, had made the mistake of revealing what he would like to find in the perfect girl. He had held her for a time and a price, and she was good. Simon realized that through loosing peace of mind, dignity, and a piece of his frozen blue heart, that he had less than he had started with. And no money. He had a theory on peace of mind; to gain some, somebody else had to loose some because peace of mind is a finite quantity. Sombody was sleeping better now. Simon winced with the agonizing realization of the way he had been suckered by Mungquack and he wondered if people would be able to read it on his face. Be able to tell he was still completely in love with a once full dripping flower now pressed flat, and dried under an artificial sun. Simon had been out of food for three days and he was afraid to go outside. And Captain John? Where had that fuck gone? Was he really there or was he one of them? When the final battle for Christmas" freedom had taken place, Simon had looked behind him for John and found only the face of Mungquack laughing, and Christmas crying, over and over like mirrors in a funhouse. Simon shook off a chill and felt that he could no longer tell what was real; neither the city, the stores, the whores, nor their assholes and the wonderful tricks they performed for the lonely and the weak. Everything had seemed purposeful and so in the right place for a moment. Then nothing. These things so palpable in the faces of real people were never, in fact, real at all. Fuck. Thing became nothing in a single trip over a crack in the sidewalk. The shattering of thousands of years of a million unquestioning believers ...in nothing. Mungquack had said, ÎIt"s all bullshit anyway". Well Üit is all bullshit.
Simon sat down in his ugly old chair and pulled the dull blue blanket from the floor around his bare shoulders, and ran a hand lovingly over the contour of the machines ultra modern architecture. He saw his reflection in the monitor. He saw the faces of Christmas, John, and Mungquack mixing and shifting over one another in a strangely organized chaos not unlike a kaleidoscope, blurring out his own. And even Christmas was laughing.
Simon leafed back to a moment as a child when he built tracks out of grooved wooden blocks and watched colored marbles trace their design. He remembered holding the marbles close to his eye and against the sun, finding himself in a brightly colored universe where he was king. He thought about the time he saw a group of kids on bicycles. Simon had never ridden a bicycle. He thought he would like to own a bicycle now and learn to ride it. He thought about his first adventures with his machine and how the games they played had made the bicycles nothing. Simon could now ride a bicycle while asleep on the toilet. He remembered the big people being excited about the powers to be harnessed in the age of suckling machines. He had just finished being one of them.
And so man came to love his beautiful machines. Wires grew brains and veins turned to iron. They so lovingly nurtured each other that they were one day unable to discern who was king. There was one thing holding back the machines...they couldn"t think.
So man began on his quest of thought for the machines and in doing so lost the ability to think for himself. But what was man to think anyway in this world where the machines could be so God likely powerful? Man could have anything he wanted at the cost of their undying devotion and so he poured forth his mind into the machine and they became one. The machines fed from the men, and the men fed from an insane magic that seemed to come from nowhere until one day the machines said þCannot resolve circular references. You lose--you will always loose this, man.ú
But man believed in himself, and in time gained the satisfaction of knowing that he could fool himself while knowing it and still admit it to no one, not even himself. He said he was tricking the machine. It no longer mattered as when he needed reassurance, he found it in the machines. When he needed adventure, he asked the machine. And when he needed love his desires were dosed by the machine like a pill concealed in jelly on the silver spoon of his birth. He said, ÎI like it better this way mommy". He needed no heroes. What the hell was a hero anyway when there was no right to defend, no war to fight, no oppression or lack of anything considered important to succulence or survival? The machines cackled no laughter, made only necessary sounds, and waited. The man was beating himself, and this is the magic--the machines finally thought.From the belly of chaos comes order, through the destruction released by an earthquake the tectonic plates settle; peace breeds restlessness; freedom builds cages; gluttony and loss of cause and love for simple things spawns...a hero?
The following experience is the portrayal of one man"s sacrifice to the machine. Of the will to swim a volcano and rise badly scarred with the detached knowledge of the ways in which we, as an almighty creator, ultimately fail. No hero is strong until he realizes that he is first weak, thus taking a step toward absolution. In this bucolic land of ÎThing And Nothing", the bad are not punished, and the good not rewarded, and the conflict ends unresolved.Unfasten your seatbelts. This is not real.
D. Austin Nash
Boston, MA. 1995
Get the CD
Comments from the world
Post a comment...
Posted by: Michael J on 04-30-08
You're Welcome
|
Posted by: Frog on 03-30-08
k revel everyone is not arol, only arol is arol, you win. the point is that the truth stands for itself, so i do too, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it, which puts your tiny power trip right in its place doesnt it. doesnt matter anyway. cheers.
|
Posted by: . on 03-28-08
right, well i guess expecting that drastic of a process acceleration isn't rational is it. *shrug* well if it makes any difference,I myself as Steve,am NOT a wound up nature show host or school shooter or some random person who cant manage to get off their ass without external encouragement or anyone else I killed who's name was Steve.THAT Steve is DEAD in the final context of the word and no one in their RIGHT MIND cares, to continue identifying with him as a living being.This is ludicrous.
|
Posted by: seventh cloners cloners clone's clone of a seventh cloners cloners clone's clone's clone on 03-19-08
everything is enchanted. enchantment is the more melodic synonym of entropic gravity touching closer to its etheric nature as you see it takes the cemetary out of the song in essence linguistically. take, for example, my radio. it's an inexpensive cd player and am/fm model with no tape player and no clock- i had the option to let my mom get me a pricier model because it was a birthday gift but the other model was unaesthetic. the brand name printed on it demanded attention. this little guy doesn't ask me to look at it. after my mom bought it for me i gave it back then bought it off her, which sounds like nonsense maybe but thats what i had to do for it to be mine. now its in my aparment sitting on the microwave, plugged into the wall (the radio is, not the microwave), but i never use it, nor do i intend to. i never turn it on. i don't own any cds and i'm not interested in the radio stations. it's just important, for some reason, that that thing is there. it's existence and presence in my apartment in and of itself is the manifested expression of the radio station i'm listening to, the radio, at least that part of it that is there merely to act as a mental reference point to the radio, to itself, to the essence of the here and now that is the true raw nature of time as it would otherwise be forgotten in the false context of memory. there is no music that is richer than this. there is no signal stronger than silence as all sound is contained within it. everything is enchanted by silence. the strength of an existences enchantment is measured by the strength of its silence. this is true for all of existence including within the context of music as expressed in the wake of silence.
|
Posted by: i agree on 03-17-08
revel is a coward on an ego trip. no argument there at all. i am you as you are he and you are me and we are all NOT -that- guy revel.
|
Posted by: . on 03-17-08
there's obviously a direct connection between time travel and the dimensions. when a person time travels the first thing that happens is that they effectively erase their original timeline, so there has to be somewhere for te traveller to be wen their originating timeline is gone, and that is the dimensions/dimensional existance, which is the same as the place refered to as the other side, which is accessable by degree of indisposal to physicality, of course. it i by order of the cessation of interest in the expression of the local timeline that the traveller is imparted visibility within this field, and this process may be expressed in varying degrees of speed. the traveller for example may wish to sift bulk from their observed expression or to purge it, perhaps in haste, which would lengthen the process, as more bulk would then be created while attempting to escape entropic gravity which no one can do on the other side or on this one.
|
Posted by: Emmanuel Teijeiro. Original creator of homestarrunner.com on 02-11-08
so i was like "i sure am the original creator of homestarrunner.com and i don't give a fuck who your two brothers think they are". and that was that.
|
Posted by: frog on 02-08-08
in response to "black lentil"'s prattle about sporky:
dude, how are you going to say that it's SAD that a kid named after a plastic fork and spoon combination i ate parfaits from kentucky fried chicken with when i was the same age he was when we were both on the farm does better growing up in the mainstream, using a username that's just a ripoff of kira's, and an incoherent one at that, and expect to be taken seriously? i mean, by anyone intelligent, obviously you succeeded in shutting down the thread and making a spectacle of hipforums moderatorship, but that's beside the point. or is it. heh. nevermind. good job genius.
|
Posted by: post regarding revel's ego trip in zendik forums on 01-28-08
Revel: (clears throat) Everyone (in the context of this dicussion) IS Arol, and everyone else here for that matter. You ARE a weak masochistic conceited bitch, and a failure at life. I AM intelligent and confident enough not to bother wasting my time either advising or commanding you to "get some class" as I DO recognize the boundary between my responsibility and yours, and that IS the reality you have to face every day of your life, waking or sleeping. I AM the winner of that and any other existing argument for that matter, and I AM at this moment as these words are spoken, a better zendik than you, a better man than you, and a better person than you, BECAUSE my response to life is YES, to knowing that the one bearing the devils advocate excuse is the fool, the martyr, the retard, and the loser, being yourself, in that matter, of course. Cheers (to me). Blan.
Frog
|
Posted by: whats wrong with my name on 01-25-08
god IS us, and wether or not i care about you doesn't need to be ADVERTISED. this dilema is the foundation of the zendik cult, which is founded and led psychically by me simply because i bear that name, and am conscious of it's fallacy, and THAT's what's behind zendik. That's the whole thing.
|
View all older comments...
ADD A COMMENT
|
