You know, I remember when I was a kid… Have you ever seen a dying dog, you know, one of those old dogs that comes to die under the porch of the house? At the last moment… it yelps. In terror. As if it’s seen something real.
The Entity. A seeping poly-tendrilled abomination. Dismantling the coordinates of existence.
For me, God is a disease.
The smack of a bleak Godless universe, itself becoming the new God, a miscarriage of Faith.
God is still under the porch, where the dog died.
Meat(-grinder (delirium)) (camouflage). Lurched into schizophrenic hysteria.
I wanted to see, what it was, that made him crawl under there.
Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open! Don’t open!
I feel connected to the sky, “the color of television, tuned to a dead channel”. The noise of infinite TV-static permeates my visual field.
As a kid, I enjoyed looking out of the car window, into the blue sky, and following floaters. These odd phenomena occurring naturally in the eye were some of the first things that brought attention to myself — my own organs of sensation. They taught me meta-cognition, the subjectivity of perceived reality, and (through their ephemeral displacements) the impermanent nature of the world. Overall I had pleasant associations with them (journeys, the summer), but during my adolescence I discovered a more unsettling condition.
Continue reading “Notes on Visual Snow”
Perhaps one of the first things I could try writing about is the name of the blog.
‘Axxon N.’ appears in David Lynch’s ‘INLAND EMPIRE’, written on a door/wall connected to the backstage of a studio where an actress sees herself in the past, and then doesn’t. Axxon N. indicates the portal to ‘stranger things’, the curved vector into nonlinear explorations of darkness. An axon transmits.
Continue reading “:((:)(::))”
Most of the time I’m steeped in self-critical indolences, so always considered the idea of creating and maintaining a blog to be pathetic self-indulgence and a wasteful addition of never-to-be-read words to the vast information oceans. I’ve felt it was a safeguard too: to spare myself the future painful awkwardness of rereading or even merely knowing about the existence of formerly written sentences I immediately loathe. I’ve decided to accept the inevitable embarrassment, as perhaps surprisingly, there still exists some primal impulse towards cognitive action in my unpleasant brain, some desire to write cogent posts, organise mental activity, thoughts, and information. A will-to-think? No, mostly it’s just a means to more worthily procrastinate my degree (maths), devoting some part of my dilettante behaviour to blogging, which is marginally better than some of the alternatives of wasting time.
I don’t know what this will be about, maybe I’ll give up on this blog after posting this first post. This will be just for myself – ramblings of a hollow young mind, squeamish writhings and writings. Perhaps I’ll be inspired to write about my philosophical interests, about films and books. Or maybe not. I’ll consider it a challenge and exercise, serial experiments waiting to happen (or not). What it will be is an exemplar of inarticulacy, ennui, laziness, and pretension. Mostly self-loathing.
If you’re unfortunate enough to read these trivialities I urge you to quit. Apologies for wasting your time, there’s no adequate excuse I can give.