The Mechanicals Enter the Stage: “Infinity is Just a Concept”

like a chariot about to reign

over 53 separate sabbath gain

like a sage wiser by the light of higher power

imma liking this here dope beat writer

feeling lighter by the might of

a sonic dose seismic pose

getting higher

and higher

out of sight her

booty reject the booty until our body infinity sally dee hour

I’m that line of light running back home to you

fragmented reality me in praise of you

cause i adore and want more: appetite

gnosis dead sea sushi for the menu: into sight

defined temple of the architecture

sensual measure

intimate elate inner sinner you beginner you fucking winner

body inject left and right finite sally dee-light

infinity is just a concept …. darling

now you’re wearing those fearful stylings

you really know how to dig deep in me

you really know how a nice girl should be

you want azure ocean mythic function

banish my totem in to the long gone

designing maze

purple haze

to bow down and praise

my sunny hailing rally up in the male gaze

prophecy died in kiribati arba

It’s a mystery mine bound by Q B LAH

over demonic here hath no dominon

ontological framework she twerk and try to kill him

intoxicant extrovert godly pervert

liken to strange rules of regular dime street

with vile rulesof your east and hood

viral story of the city hand stayed by good

they want it darker say i’m the many father

say my name be my soul flame


imma blame, tho everybody still know

the C B B-Boy is raw

hard core

running theme on

gun screen won

it’s my theme song

living that danger

human nature

i’m impatient

yet i’m demure

yet i’m a new

yet i’m taming into azure

loving fractures

met you match yeah

in this

soul flame


life or death language game.

runic rahman steadies ship still with them



Shin Aluinis Gabralai 4

The B-Droids took their places within their respective booths and the bass line cranked up deep like heavy duty machinery. The middle aged scoober ravers began to contort, shiver and wild, old skool style, in unison, the K-Bhang really kicking in now. It was for him too, suddenly feeling down with this scene, like the audience were his brethren and sisterhood, like he was back down with his tribe. Like 20 years hadn’t passed, back Ballarding on Earth.

As if to confirm this euphoric vagary, “Scoober forever!” A balding middle manager next to him in day glo woad blew his whistle ear piercingly loud, whooped and embraced him.

The crowd grew increasingly frenetic but immediately froze, along with the beat, as the Antonym materialized a cloud of black and sparkles at the centre of the stage.

The the first telepathic wave of rhyme hit them, harder than the typhoons of Titan.

i spit it and spit it

lyrics of light and posture they hate

universal down store me what be

tapping nuance known like they’re grown

diamond dewing byways viewing

smiling baby now you’re home

its we’re searing by few being

gallery walk pick a path

into rebirth into remorse

now you reverse

what canonic core what ancient law

believe me man believe me god

proud and proven picture long drawn

baby child then teen

in the mirror you fiend

by the brothers of being

we the kings of seen

babe child then teen

in the mirror you fiend

by the brothers of being

we the kings of seeing

bare witness to the truth my god my

shiva-shakti party in denourment oh boy right oh

it’s a slow go for sure

hard line they want it more bro

yeah baby back it oh

yeah sally stack it oh

it’s your daddy with the good stuff love

“I found the first few pages engaging, but it gets very abbreviated and sci fi terminology after a while,” she said.

“Well, obviously, it’s just a draft. Think of this as like a JJ Abrams sequel to the R.C.,” he said, a tad defensively. “It’s set 1000 years after the events of the R.C., in a world where humanity has expanded to the stars. Like Dune, there’s been 3 major interplanetary religious wars that have shaped their society, Crusades to Herbert’s Butlerian Jihad. But the reason for these Crusades stems from the theology of the R.C.: the schism between the SEEN and the Tailorites.”

“Okay, but it just seems a little like what you wrote before … you know, the male and female conversation. It’s basically what you were trying to write, but set in space, kind of.”

“Bah, well I haven’t finished it yet. Just a draft. I guess I didn’t show you drafts of the R.C., you’ll see the point later, when I flesh it out.”

He felt a little defensive but only because he recognized he ought to be: it had been 9 years since he’d actually completed something. In between lay a trail of aborted attempts to get something coherent down on paper.

Shin Aluinis Gabralai 3

They bought some Y-Bhang from a New Dervish vendor, and, holding hands, they ascended the brightwood stairway up to the upper galley of the Green Library.

“I’ve a fun idea: let’s watch the Droid Bards!”

“Are you serious? What are we, teenage kids?”

“Come on, don’t go acting all senior, I know you’d love it. Besides, don’t you want to make me happy? Droid Bard Battles are my favourite!”

The Library galleys were packed. A different group of festival goers in here. Actually the crowd was mostly middle Rites, suburban husband and wives on date nights, aging and fading scoober ravers, all properly settled into their lives with their Orgs and their families, but today adorned with the sparkles and designer snorkels and goggles of their youth, in contrast to their now sensible and conservative powdered faces and purple company braids. Seemed only pre-Rites here being offworld rich kids on Gabralai tourism, the Green Library being famous for being the birthplace of modern Balladry.

She looked at him and smiled, imbibing her Y-Bhang. “Cheers!”

Almost immediately he felt his perceptions shift. He felt happy, cool, natural, comfortable in his own skin, with her, amongst this crowd. The humidity of Art’s summer tasted sweet.

She rose with the crowd to cheer the mechanicals as they entered the stage.

The Chief Librarian played Tamadan, swanning about from his oversight box. As he bellowed into his mic, the spot light moved from one droid to the next.

“B Rise! 0-Successor! And the Antonym makes 3!”

Whoops from the crowd. B Rise was dressed in a black suit with bowler hat, performed a theatrical bow at his introduction, a wry smile upon his sliver lips. 0-Successor was a shining red droid: at her introduction she extended her 8 hands into a series of beatific mudras, he recognized as signs of the Vedic-K Army. The Antonym received the biggest round of applause, recognized as the reigning champion of Balladry for at least the past 4 years. A barely visible, partly perceptible presence, it shimmered and glitched at its announcement.

“You know I read somewhere that the Antonym’s designers styled him using old camouflage tech from the Crusades. Don’t you think it’s funny that what is now so chic and cool was once seriously military tech?”

“Really? Oh well … Who cares?” She shrugged. “Oh well at least he battles like a soldier, and drops rhymes like bombs.”

“Ha ha, funny.”

Shin Aluinis Gabralai 2

They went out into the carnival.

The eunuchs of Toralei, clad in vermillion, high on the throat drip (“My husband calls them throat droppers”), the devotees of the Plateaux-Yoni, dressed in Earth England tweed, improvising poetry as they dance, the ecstatic Malamatiya of Old Mars, reeling from their ritual psychonautic rites of the day, kissing the air with such expressions of bliss, like identity doesn’t matter, like subjecthood doesn’t matter, like he and she and their little affair … doesn’t matter.

How he envied them.

But admired, and entered, entertained — no, not justinasmuch as he could these days.

Shin Aluinis Gabralai

Shin Alunis Gabralalai!

The celebrants dance through the streets, beating upon their drums, in praise of their gods. Painted and high on their despicable inhalant knowledge … Noisy! I’m trying to sleep, when I have my meeting with Earth HQ tomorrow. Gah, I wish I had double glazing, I mean for fuck’s sake it’s the 31st century and still double glazing isn’t a given. Well, it’s a corporate apartment, just another month, then we get to move into our own place, our own space in Aris-2-Art.

A space we’ll make our own, quickly. Maybe to settle. Contract for him and me, it’s open ended. I wanted to get away, I guess. Break up our routine … maybe … it’s what my therapist says anyway. It seemed so route, him with his rising stardom within the Corporation, me with my “hobby” at in the Institute. I mean, it’s my mother’s money, that brought us here, took him from that opportunity, he really does love me, that he’d do that, give that up, to follow me and my mother’s money, when over there … well, he’d never make it but he’d be “adequately proactive”, as my sweet Nanny X would say. Oh god, now I’m remembering when mother fired her. I was devastated: Nanny X was my only sympathetic, truly maternal figure in childhood. Forgive me, I’m drunk. I’m getting emotional and incoherent.

“No. Don’t say that. Your stories are beautiful, because they’re from you, and you are beautiful. Go on.”

I don’t know. Well here we are, in Aris-2. Art. Don’t you think they’ve started giving the colonies really weird postfixes of late? I mean, Art is okay for this planet. But Ghenhennon Shri-Rank-B-Boy? So classically obscure. Anyway. Ok.



“You know what I think?”


“You’re reflecting upon your move to Aris, feeling guilty about making him compromise, which is, admit it, what you wanted … and then immediately hooking up with me. Who in turn was planning to take his family back to HQ. Our stellar journeys interlocked, when it should have been separate journeys all the way.”

You said you’ve had many other relationships, that this has happened before.

“Yes. But not like this. This is something … new.”

When I sober up I’m going to find that last statement so offensive and frustrating. And you won’t even know why. I can’t believe I’ve fallen in love with a Tailorite. My mother would be appalled. And my shrink would be appalled that I’m appalled at the thought of my mother being appalled. Oh my god, I’m such a hot mess.

“Come here. Ok, look up at the sky. You were born on earth, just like the rest of us, not like my kids. You’re still first generation, even though we make a thing about our age difference. Look at the stars. Earth constellations, Scorpio, Leo, Orion, the northern star … ”

You’re right. They’re gone. They’re all gone!

“No. Listen to me. They’re not gone. They’re still there. Same stars, same distances, same configuration. Just a different perspective. And that’s what we are. A different perspective.”

Fuck you. Don’t try to fucking weasel your way out of this with some kind of metaphysical bullshit!

Shin Alunis Gabralalai!

“Well that hurts. Hey, why don’t we join the celebrants. Shin Alunis Gabralalai! Womb Planet/Word Rejoice/Intent/Emerge! Is the translation.”

How did you find the time to learn all this shit? Well, okay, I guess I could do with some fresh air and a drink. Let’s go then.

Mathematics 4

Number is intent. Another way of phrasing it: each algebra is intent, each algebra has a subject, even though it’s mathematics, it’s still a subject, albeit the subject of the Cogito. That’s the purpose Decartes’ Meditations serve us now: to relate the subject to the algebras of data that the subject wills itself into, via number, via algebra.

Mathematics 3

I assert the following within the space of the Cartesian, within the space of the cogito and the a priori to follow.

There was nothing. But then, by virtue of that, there was the one, the subject. And from nothing, and the one, there was succession: succession as a relationship term derived one from nothing. And by virtue of succession, number. And by virtue of number, algebras, and metric spaces, and topology and … well, all systems, ultimately.