"Cut-Up" Joy
"Take and eat, this is my body."
Now bow down, roll-over, bend forth and crawl on thy knees. Is that jolly good fun for you?
Realize: all knowledge systems (both traditional and modern) must embody principles of self-destruction.
The body of christ is the bread of the hungry and poor. Cannibals on narrow halleys grow thinner and weaker. When you fast, you don’t lose weight: you live in harmony with your body. Space and matter and forms and colours and all that is real becomes an absurd object without ryhthm, weight or even connection with the constant changing sorroundings.
The human flesh is the vessel for the artist. Time is a number-driven system. Mathematical. Logical. Totally mind-based-crap for the body. Then, all of a sudden, the mind kills the body. The body reawakens. Instinctive functions are connected with survival of the body itself. Primal desires are far beyond driven. Children are encouraged to become artists. It's a pulp-fiction of spears piercing through complexity. Plans are never to be heard of again. All there is IS improVISation. A theatre of words. The moment is now and the way it moves procreates even more art and as we observe the images relate with our grandfathers who once died on stage, arenas, beds and locked rooms with their teeth torned up.
The operating room is open. We strongly recommend a tragedy. Apply huge doses of courage and then breath slowly.
Police believe that the man was connected to an organized crime.
Uhh, what an IN-Sight!
Honestly, I believe we are just cut-up fragments of wasted masks waiting to be put on and scare the shit out of properly burning incense.
Now bow down, roll-over, bend forth and crawl on thy knees. Is that jolly good fun for you?
Realize: all knowledge systems (both traditional and modern) must embody principles of self-destruction.
The body of christ is the bread of the hungry and poor. Cannibals on narrow halleys grow thinner and weaker. When you fast, you don’t lose weight: you live in harmony with your body. Space and matter and forms and colours and all that is real becomes an absurd object without ryhthm, weight or even connection with the constant changing sorroundings.
The human flesh is the vessel for the artist. Time is a number-driven system. Mathematical. Logical. Totally mind-based-crap for the body. Then, all of a sudden, the mind kills the body. The body reawakens. Instinctive functions are connected with survival of the body itself. Primal desires are far beyond driven. Children are encouraged to become artists. It's a pulp-fiction of spears piercing through complexity. Plans are never to be heard of again. All there is IS improVISation. A theatre of words. The moment is now and the way it moves procreates even more art and as we observe the images relate with our grandfathers who once died on stage, arenas, beds and locked rooms with their teeth torned up.
The operating room is open. We strongly recommend a tragedy. Apply huge doses of courage and then breath slowly.
Police believe that the man was connected to an organized crime.
Uhh, what an IN-Sight!
Honestly, I believe we are just cut-up fragments of wasted masks waiting to be put on and scare the shit out of properly burning incense.
