It’s 2 in the morning
Calm the fuck down you gotta keep on earning
These days are desperate times call for desperate warnings
Shame you sucker man damned when you were born and
Gamed by hand in the face the dawn and
Like your record was like your darkness was like the fires of the night cause … Ritual burning
She walking out of here son
Oh fuck like a newborn I’m stumbling into speech, hon
Never said I was done gotta reach into the red reflection staring blackly back need a cigarette
Painted panthers champagne pound the place like raw and
Teach your tigers well lesson Luciferian
Blood upon your brow, the crown of thawns is showing
Losing inner peace, hell … I’m citalopraming
“Kiss my aura, Dora”
Oh my god and
“It’s real angora”
Oh my god and
“Do you wanna?”
Oh my god and
No life from me but letting life run through through me
Just keeping a clasp on my clerical oozy
There’s hundred dollar bills so corrupt so contained
Dudes so dense he don’t determine
No one told him The lights had changed
The age of reason is a poor path of pain
Wanna higher ground i just found that star spangled fruit fix …
Raise our fists in salute, bitch.
A fat funky funky fruit with frenetical friction
Base rhyme so dope diabolical diction
Ground control to the c b w, there’s no other who
Could cut precision master flex
Simply the best
Setting the test
With mad fx
Wrecking the rest
Ruining the rest
Bring it on to the next
Fire fist form frozen freestyle pneumatic
Poetry pump curse cause low ride earth sea style
Do a line rhyme binding time now to deny
Shining beneath eternal bond into Z mind
Shrill augers hold the flag of destiny
Cry constantly your whole clue clan is a chain
And you’re to blame until I came
To unlock the door
Dragon did before
scientifically and mystically
You’re dead to me
Siren scream in the night done left and right
Now you think you possess?
No way you process!
Still I seen and still I been
On this journey like a dog bound to a cart:
You thought I was done with the eternal art?
Boogie boogie baby
Boogie don’t say maybe
You had a swift shock
Ideals they flip flop
Just don’t get caught
She was the boogie woogie fruity loopy drama queen
The epitome glamorpuss star of the screen
She rolled into the town wanna do her own thing
Strictly hardcore tracks and not a new jack swing
She looked both ways, to the left to the right
Ensure she had the gamey game locked down tight
Slippery sources reign within mental collective
Projective prey upon her sleepy selective
She talking bout soul, metaphorical angst
She a slave yet rank above the blankety banks
Stacking plenteuous papes, pimpin pay that rent
She’s the wicky wack winter of discontent
Can’t believe you said that!
Believe it babe I said that
You on some strange shit
Yeah I’m some strange shit
It’s the fourth round now church recognise
Law’s a rhyme, a beat for an I
Yeah I gotta put this story all up in your grill
Bout this little man, if I can, pussy popped this pill
His name was cyborgWittgenstein
A D escargot, damn dude drinking this wine
His head was like a wasp, taming tounge to your tale
As in life so in art he could not bail
What motivates men to ritual?
There’s the participant in the ritual, the initiate who embodies the ritual, who lives and breathes it, who’s body is marked, constrained, freed, transcended via the ritual. The motivation of the participant is clear: ritual is primordial to our beginnings, it’s a tribal thing. The original Moon Goddess, those monthly fertility rites (who’s genetic archeology is present within language, hidden in scripture, marked upon the menstrual cycles of our otherwise civilised ladies): this was the cult that made aman of the primate. And ritual, of any religion, is an echo (possibly reactionary) of that original, formative religion.
But what motivates the man – the singular prophet, from Muhammed to Joseph Smith – to bring a new ritual, one that renders previous rituals obsolete?
We could say, God. But who’s God, that is providing this physical revelation?
We make some observations:
1) New rituals, like new revelation, always have a lineage back to their predecessors. In the case of a strong ritual, the lineage is Freudian: the members of the new religion must shun the actions of the predecessors. But there are always common actions, from dua of the Muslim and Christian to weaker Masonic lineage in the Mormon rites.
2) There is the temptation to intellectualize the ritual by those who do not belong to the religion. But its real meaning, its real power, lies in a gambit to control and harness the hidden transitive lineage, the full genetic trace, back to our ancestors’ fertility rites.
3) Harnessing is the key word in ritual innovation. But by harnessing we do not imply conscious intension, we mean shaping to context, unconscious shaping. Religious ritual, its primordial power, is mutated by the innovator’s context. Because new religions are defined in new times, times succeeding the death of the Moon goddess. One prophet is a military leader, so ritual is infused with a martial character. Another prophet is concerned with fantasies of lost/secret primordiality and the new world, so draws upon that new world secret, Masonry, and this grounds his ritual.
Harnessing doesn’t have a point: it’s not about conscious control of people. It’s about filtering the primordial shamanic spirit through the prism of today’s prophet. It’s instinctive on the part of Prophecy, harnessing of the primordial to Prophecy’s incarnated, current, character.
Because the role of the shaman takes many forms, shamanism is forced upon the shaman, it is not a career choice. And what motivates the modern shaman is physical instinct, his unconscious = their dream, projected onto a thousand willing, pliant primates, desiring transformation into humanity.
Religion, when properly exercised at a personal level, has very little to do with truth or God or metaphysics or psychology. It is a psychology, it is a truth, it is a “God”, but embodied, lived out as code, as organic discipline, a discipline of the organism, a heart, an engine, a comportment, a set of manners.
He who turns his back on religion completely plays a dangerous game. Hell is real, it does exist … It’s the fire that consumes he who rejects religion, the fire that awaits the man who rejects religion.
Most of us live a religion, in some form or another. We abide by a code, we worship particular gods, our organism is regulated, disciplined, mannered by some set of law. Madmen and clerks alike, we are regulated creatures of habit. We are all born into religion, and most of us retain that.
We’ve discussed love’s relationship to philosophy and to religion, with the voice of a philosopher, from a psychoanalytic historical perspective.
But that discourse itself was at the expense of religious love. From a religious perspective, the discourse was one of hellfire, because it turned its back on legal embodiment in favour of metaphysical biosemiotics. It tranagressed, and, as a discourse, was deeply unfaithful. And so destined for the punishment of apostasy, which is nothing more nor less than the fire of hell.
Religious love is intimate with discipline of the heart: its anathema is the intellectual side show of historical deconstruction, its anathema is philosophy in and of itself, even if that philosophy is one of love,
Beg your gods forgiveness: the tree of knowledge is real, hellfire is real, and apostasy deserves what it gets. This is core to our embodiment, that rhe punishment of the philosopher is inevitable if the philosopher is flesh and blood.
Influence, while gained perhaps through a good idea, cannot be sustained by a cohesive or consistent agenda. Influence, as a means of long lasting control, must be built upon a shifting foundation of adaptability and opportunity.
Influence has no origin and no point, if it is to be sustainable. Influence should be a sensory organ, not a mental intent. Influence is known, not by frameworks or tallies or metrics of success (religiosity, corporate optimisation, scientific innovation) but by the influencing subject’s emotional, biochemical response to the input gained through the organ of its influence. It has influenced, therefore it feels pleasure. It fails to influence, therefore anxiety.
Is influence literary, as Bloom and Derrida and Foucault have framed it? Does it leave a trace? Their framing is global, historic and trace oriented. It deemphasizes the bodily, sensual nature of the influencing subject. We conjoin the Cognito and the sensual via influence. And thus we 1) internalise the inconsistent, chaotic trace semantics of lineage and render it fractally local within the monad of a reflectively replicated subject, and 2) take the Oedipal mode of strong influence, which requires consistency of preceding viewpoint in order to effect a literary patricide by the next, and spatialise it, de-temporalize it, across the Demiurgic grimace of the Real, understood now to be nothing more than the intrusion of the influencing agent’s body.
Influence is what constitutes the body of the manager. Without influence, the manager is deaf, dumb and blind. Successful influence keeps that body happy.
Is there a spiritual aspect to influence? It has no goal, no destination, no point to make.
If there is a spiritual aspect, it is the possibility of an external world, a communicable world that disproves the solipsism of the influencing subject’s Cognito. It is the eternal Demiurgic genesis of a “creation” of an outside world, whenever the subject dares to utilise it’s sense organ of influence to … Influence, and thus perceive and affirm that universe does indeed exist and can be contacted. Which isn’t a hell of a lot, depending on your perspective.
Change management involves two axes: the coordination of a team of change agents and the communication/evangelisation of objectives to influence the wider organisation.
But a successful programme is entirely dependent on what is being communicated: what the programme intends to change. There can be no communication if your language is not the organisation’s language, if your change is not a garment tailored specifically to the dimensions of the org.
Successful change cannot be revolutionary, it cannot be one sign system to replace the previous, it cannot be a Kuhnian paradigm shift or strong poetry: otherwise the body of the org will reject it like a failed transplant. The garment of change must be purely superficial, to be communicated successfully: it covers the body of the organisation to revitalise it, to further its Darwinian competitive advantage, but never to challenge the body itself, never to go deeper. Signs are changed, but not the biosemiotics of the organisation’s embodied tradition.
Successful communication must respect the embodied habitus of the organisation. Because without fully embodying the habitus of the organisation, you will not communicate, you will be an alien spouting gibberish.
And therefore change is a misnomer: it implies a departuee from a point of stability. Rather the art of change management involves a strategy of superficiality that is more analogous to the fashion industry: what’s this season’s meme? It is fundamentally circular and often recycles previous years’ objectives, but with a new, weakly poetic, twist.
This could all be taken very cynically: what’s the point of change management if, fundamentally, it necessarily fails to deliver radical improvements to an organisation?
The point is that change management is a necessary function of revitalisation that all successful large organisations employ: its point and job description is internal, not external to a successful company. Corporations hire change agents in the same way a snail has a biological ability to regrow a shell or a snake to shed its skin. Corporations possess this function, they have naturally evolved this function, in order to maintain their core dynamic, which moves like a snail or a snake, independently of the regenerative capacity of the cellular function of superficial change, and evolves — “really” changes — in relation to its environment. But of course the shell or skin of change management is essential to protect this dynamic, to keep it fresh and alive.
A successful change agent must accept that they have a definitive, essential, job description, one that lasts as long as the organism of the company requires skin to be regrown, garments to be refreshed. And, in terms of self analysis, the pursuit of personal happiness, work life balance — the more philosophically inclined change agent should reflect on their relationship, at a cellular level, to their thrownness within the wider context of the organisation’s external situation. But this interest serves the greater good of the company, too: otherwise the regenerative cellular function of the change agent cannot evolve effectively in harmony with the business of the corporate organism. The job description of a change agent requires individual evolutionary capacity, individual bodily change, the agent to take a professional, historical and self serving interest in the external influences of fate: simply in order to get paid for next year’s weakly poetic, but protective, garment.
calm confusion within my breast
sound upon leaves, recall Asian forest,
so far away,
but you told her space is an illusion.
calm the vanity of my heart.
clouds fill the sky: a wet, grey comfort blanket for the earth
calm the cruelty of my words.
We live at the end of history and capitalism. It’s been said before, but now it’s really happened.
The model totalitarian state is formed, let’s say for the sake of argument, with Egyptian civilisation. Let’s say it’s the reference architecture of states to come. It is firmly archaic and we have a firm grasp of its historical situation, its religious difference, which also helps if we are to utilise it as an alpha and omega of history and capital. A class of serfs, labouring under a god king. A theology of control, whereby the purpose of the serfs’ existence is to facilitate, through physical work, blood sweat and tears, the life of the god king. The primordial state’s control of the workers via religious regulation.
But the knowledge economy is the logical apotheosis of this paradigm.
People think capitalism is materialism, consumption, individual self interest. These are red herrings. For the “individual” died several centuries ago: only the sign of the individual remains, situated within a far more barbaric, truly originary sign regime. It’s just another totem, another God in the pantheon: philosophers, as worker priests of the regime, are to blame for that construction, they are implicated as idol builders. The same can be said of the discourse of consumption and materialism: the discourse itself is another god in the pantheon of the god king.
What drives the knowledge economy? Really drives it? A politics of piety, faith, adoration. A swarming, truly collective worship of the flesh of the god king, an authentic, sincere adoration and abnegation to his holy data flesh. The workers mud huts are filled with more stuff, there are the trappings of comfort, but these are incidental and orthogonal to the driver of the data serf. The data serf’s purpose is to abide within, to fight, to strive, to bleed and sweat and cry, to abide within the lifespan of the god king.
The god king is the fungible CEO, the eternal company is his Pyramid. And what is a company if not a database? He’s gone, he’s replaced, he’s here, he’s alive. The knowledge serf abides within the data Pyramid, incarcerated and willingly, joyfully sacrificed within the body of his master. Because the instrument of our world is a Pyramid of data that has replaced the world that was and also the afterlife, and incarceration within is no longer about a journey into the future, it’s about abiding in the eternal now of this, our final incorporation.