n/a für Leute, die vorm Ereignishorizont stehengeblieben sind. Got it? Call me through the cream! "What am I looking at? How much for ....a... b(ear)...low...job?" Unmask yourself for God's sake. Be humble! Confess!
I can read your mind anyway. I know what you're thinking. So, no need to hide. Let's get down to brass tracks. WHAT do you REALLY want from ME? Pain or painT? Cherish or perish (your vanity)? And dare you to fool me. Express yourself! Art-i-colore! Ähhh... weiss (nisch) b....rot.... bu-H-Tock..sss.. aber bitte mit S...with .. sugar on top....////Tuuuuuuuuuuttttttttt.
Now..you might lightly dismiss "n/a" with a ¯\_(ツ)_/¯(shruggie). Drown your gutted core and continue numbing your pain at your local trojan belly bar...or: You could come out and face me. But: Don't waste the time I don't have! I'm not here for decoration. If I'm curt with you it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast and I need you to act accordingly if you want my attention. So, pretty please... with sugar on top. Open your fucking heart!!!
The (amusement) association machine is working. Since being put in operation by solar energy at 09:38 sharp, it has been spitting out BITS and pieces. 5 hrs and 176 mins of random soul scraps, one after another; more or less tangible. The tangible ones include:
Shopping lists, to do lists, leaflets, brochures, random notes, bogies, dust particles that passed the cilia and various other substances containing traces of Metaphysik, Poesie, Didaktik, Ethik, Theoretische Philosophie...
In fact the whole (machine) room is flooded with (ephemera). Partly tokens, ready for consumption of some body. Whether it'll be a hoover or Donna Haraway... - the machine does not know. It's destined to breathe on paper. It transforms I into A. Thought into Art. It has been doing so for 2370 weeks and 1 day to be precise and it will proceed this way until malfunction (heart failure). The machine can't tell exactly why it works the way it works but it has been scientifically proven that breathing makes life on earth somehow more bearable...
Paper, Cover, Spine, Blech, sheet, Saite, Seite, Abfall, vibration, Schallwellen, Flimmerhärchen, destiny, god, love, death, antkind, (little white) toothpick, (in)digestion, divine intervention, comedy, drama, sound, vision... It's all there - waiting to be assembled to something digestible.
...Mhm...God Damn...this is some serious gourmet shit. What flavour is this?
- Knock it off. I don't need you to tell me how fucking good this is. I know how good this is.
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