Information and its dis_contents

 

Information and its dis_contents

-Trump as the world soul of the information age

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  Cognitive Mapping of the present world

There is much discontent what information is. Not what it means (everyone is adamantly sure about that). The quantum physicist Niels Bohr once claimed: »Information is a super weird substance«. At least according to magician and writer Alan Moore. I didn’t bother to factcheck, because i don’t need to know. I just need you to know that i know. There is the famous anecdote about Niels Bohr too - paraded around by fellow quantum physicist Slavoj Zizek trapped within a superposition between compact magazine and documentaries filmed by Sophia Fiennes due to a failed science experiment.

 

    Rare Photo Of An Hegelian Cryptid

To reiterate: Niels Bohrs door is adorned by a horse shoe. Drawn in by this apparent contradictory aggregration of superstition in a world-renowned scientist, his friend and visitor asks him the simple, but most difficult and therefore most annoying question: WHY? The answer: »I was told, it works even if you don’t belief in it.« The Copenhagen-interpretation of information uncertainty, a portal politics for hyperstition. The referent without referent behind language is caught with his pants down. If only she had designed a perfect computer world and didn’t rely on perceptional stupidity. If only there was a world. If only these fanged noumena would stop eating their own feces. Fade. Cut to black. Hegel:

»You can’t lift the stone without being ready for the snake that reveals itself.« - Bohr, Niels (2023). Christopher Nolans Filmskript. Translated by Kenneth Branagh. Hollywood: Universal Pictures.

 - >> art does not die because there is no more art.It dies because there is too much << - Baudrillard (the black goat 666)

 

Or as the non-identity Shakespeare probably did not formulate: »All the world is a stage« (or did he?). The signs of a nuclear winter of dis_contents stood written on the wall for a long time - the mutations brought about in its primary host, the human perceptory apparatus affected by the radiation of the information bomb, unraveling. Trump is the world soul of this AI-sludge-poisoned, post-apocalyptic desert of the real, where the empire has crumbled and the Matrix remains, while Baudrillard became a Funko-Pop. A Matrix for Samuel Huntington gearing up for a match of Age of Empires on a planetary scale (multiplayer- dark forest - ??? players. Iteration: It is the 90s again after all or is it? No i read Cixin Xi - Why did i age? Y2K). We feed the solar anus with Bitcoin and reintroduce brain worms to the ministry of health. Hegel is not a playable Civ in Sid Meiers Civilization VII, but he sublates himself into a digital premium copy of Napoleon Bon a Pixie: World of Warcraft is obviously the root cause of desire for the crypto currency ethereum, Anders Breivik, Carola Rackete, Leeroy Jenkins and myself. Al failure of containment.

Kek. K-Tactics. Egyptian frog god of chaos. Where is my mind?

    The necromancer, colorizzed

 

Substance philosophies get a bad reputation for their unverifiable nature. But as our current age of digitally driven insanity clearly proves: Truth is not a criteria for information. It only needs to be interpreted, to provoke an effect, to connect, to get access. Access for what? Cybergothic nonsense dancing for the dead as unshakled jaws and eyes harvested by crows hiding somethingness in the brutal retaliation of John Wick and Mr. Robot. The Living Dead in blue-coded system-error makeup. Nothingness has been made a pawn. Where there is the scourge there are necromancers. But the multi-colored death screen that is the Pixelart-sky above the freeport, tuned to netflix abonnements and marvel-shadowed cinema lacks a group of adventurers willing to encounter the fiend, because they are already dead and in thrall to the necromancer.

    >>There is only one God and his is Death and what do say to Death? Not Today<< - Inigo Montaya (Game of Thrones, Hegel)

 

They collectively took an arrow to the knee and made that an excuse for retirement.

Can the necromancer be cast back into the shadows of Mordor by the distortion of christian cross into an Ankh – the true sign of fungal vitalism? The dreams of a perverted librarian (an Orange-Utan aggregating the void line recursivity labeled consciousness) in the library of Borges, where infinity of monkeys have already typed Shakespeare, even though science (TM) decided they are not capable of such a deed? The green rot of Osiris giving birth the fertility of the nile delta and the worship of Death in geometric monuments to Death was reassured each year by the pharaoh fucking the river.

Performatively.

 

But, as leading experts suggest: you can’t fuck water, but you can fuck fish people in water, even if they don’t exist (yet). The black Lingam of the damned, you now wish you never learned about, establishes: Sense is always embedded in nonsense. There would be no sense without nonsense. And nonsense is not immaterial either, it is not a lie such as divine revelation, the tastiness of SaltBaes golden steaks or the enlightenment myth of progress are lies. They are a lie as cake is a lie. Sense is not as pretentious as Hegelbros thinking they are fixing a world gone in another podcast or magazine or a Trad-Cath-ACP-MAGA-Communist-LARP-Center in the trademarked real world of rebellions without cause. Nonsense is not as non-existent as the reliability of logical positivism to distinguish Truth from fiction and Poppers subsequent non-existent distinction between verifiablity and falsifiability.

Substance on the other hand is a vector of communication - between people, things, universes, but it exists only in approximation. Substance is that which attaches itself (facehugged) and exists in nothing more than attachment. It does not leave any kind of ectoplasmic residue, that is distinguishably from its host matter; which in turn enables it to perform violent chestbursts of failed cognition, difference in repetition and glitches read as legitimate data; therefore creating the substrate for the fungal redistribution of the mind. The fact that data rots is the fact that data moves. 

Substance is not separate from matter as a medium, but progresses infinitely. This dispersion as multiplication conceives itself in so far as it attaches somethingness to nothingness and vice versa (vgl. Hegel 1989, p. 404). As Anthony Hopkins remarks, reading the script as Hannibal Lector in Westworld (a native advertisement for the third coming of noosphere pseudofeudalism): The only tool is the mistake. One could add »to read«. Those who read are always already lost to attachment.

The burning of the library of Alexandria, which itself did and did not take place, attests to that. What muddies the water of information, while at the same time sustains its flow? It is the Way (TAO) and Yogg-Sothoth (Yogg-Saron, whose blood is mined as rare earth elements to meet the production quota of Tamagotchis and Social media influencers) is the key and the way (to Space Taoism). The Toa is a warrior unit that can be built and upgraded without the strategic resource of iron by the Maori (led by the world spirit of Kupe to ever worse map location in Clausewitz’ fog of war) - playable in Sid Meiers Civilization VI, whose popularity in turn is built on the great man theory (Thomas Carlyle) like Hegels philosophy of rights. The Toa was also successfully hyperstitionalized into the Bionicle toy as a summoning ritual to revitalize the eldritch Lego Corporation and its blasphemous, cubisticly tentacled worlds of distraction (Platon). 

 

    Photograph of the world spirit kicking Platon in the face

 

The splicing of readership into fandom therefore secures reintegration of the surface of Substance into the faceless ribosome-activity-process known as reading. It squares the circle. The trashcan of identity-market-shares makes me not see what i am effectively eating. Fandom: I think nonthinkingly therefore i can consume like I am consumed. My knowledge is not processed but decreed by the panopticon of regulatory consumption control and fission. It aimed at reasons, but was ineffective in confronting information in its purest distillation since it already embedded itself in pure fiction, canon that is.

Thus its auto-immune response lacked commitment in confrontation with the alien meteorite Berlusconi, who first fell at the river Tiber in Italy at the end of the end of history to the lost rime of Legions past and was hence aptly named Tiberium in 90s-RTS-Space and ineffectively, treacherously labeled postmodernism by liberal elites dependent on vacant parking lots in front of the trashcan as the trashcan itself remains separated. Then Reality-TV was invented as an infectious compromise and the dismantlement of reason was allowed to continue immediately, expanding with cybernetic warfare and recuperation. The trashcan as a designated space trademarked for trash ignores its role as vital sustenance in news cycles and denies a future potential in willing alternatives of dirt and glory into existence using the cybergothic Punk-Engine as a semiotic bio-weapon. Tiberium has a long history of causing this crystalline disease of hardened mutations. 

 

Italy not only gave birth to Berlusconi, but also to fascism, futurism and Opera, all merging retroactively into antisemitic delusions of unearned gravity such as Wagnerian music and other Gesamtkunstwerk of pathos and decline, ruining north mythology (which was created by explorers and merchants like Leopold Bloom) for everybody with horned helmets.

This must be understood as the root cause of desire for the mushroom-people known collectively as Trump, the elan vital behind the world soul of the information age, marching its legions on hallucinogens like Qanon-Shamans, the ruined opulence of McDonalds-Foto-PsyOps and the epiphanies provided by dead brain worms who died for our sins - in RFK as in Resident Evil V and that one x-files episode, whose memory has been eaten away in a conspiratorial attack on my nervous system off screen. 

  

   Photograph of a right wing populist protecting your freedom by taking it away

Substance is the infection of sense with nonsense like the virus hijacking the machinary of the c[TH]ell, of noosphere neofeudalism, in order to reproduce itself into a herd not bound by thoughtfulness but by the replication of information, information-resonance, and flooding the interzone with shit. Decádents in the fight against decadence: Subjectivized rot, the butlerian jihad of world war negation. Death created time to grow the things it kills in ever more creative and complicated ways (YIN). Babylon has always already been burned to the ground and the ashes are assembled in assemblages of concrete (opus cementitium). Water is ash (Heraclitus).The Sceptic Andrei Sator (YANG) then forbids the mother to take her child back to the crypt in Pompeji and Herculaneum, because in his image of infinity defined by rage and thoughtless activity he became jealous of Death stranding in her courtyard at Nirvana principle avenue, cultivated in the faint, cybergothic memory of a shadow out of time. But like the king of diamonds (refer to the whispers of Il’gynoth) he has also already been made a pawn. His true master is his own Death as confirmed by Peter Thiels anxious, vampiric quest for immortality. Attachment at its purest. True Death of course is only an excess of life, returning information to information, ribosomatic re-building, like the shells of creatures on the beach of the real, home to Sam Porter Bridges after all. But in the moist and damp embrace of the void the reddit-atheist declares himself the opposite (Aeon, God) and forgets that the sky (Hideo Kojima) will fall down on him too. A word among words of violent degradation becomes a tenet principle. Rince. Repeat.

 

Substance is the infection of nonsense with sense like with the emergence of the placenta in mammals due to viral interferance in our DNA, which is approximated to account for at least 8% of excess junk which typed by monkeys with type writers and then started to read and be read. The infection of nonsense with sense is also the reason, why plant pesticides became spices and drugs for humans and quantum physics does not affect the makrostate of the universe. The errect phallus of energy, lazy enough, with efficient stupidity ordained with names like Zeus, Lei Shen, Petrus and Paulus, YANG and the world spirit. Creative destruction, as Schumpeter understood, of the deep state of signs: A new world order (or not?). It is deception, before it becomes movement. The movement of a vanishing point trapped in Parallax. Until the End (Linkin Park, before Chester Bennington decided to end himself): YIN (Hegel). God becomes time (Chronos) run backwards, before inevitably being torn apart like Dionysus, Osiris, Orpheus, Jesus Christ, the roman empire (you have not thought of today), communism, fascism, the welfare state, your childhood video games and the marriage of Elon Musk to elven Grimes. 

 Even the pharaoh who thought himself an alpha male and is now remembered for fucking a river always already belonged to the sun, queen of yellow stains, of hyphen and mushroom clouds, the Venus in solar furs of exceptional entropic taste. Her final Avatar can be found in Elden Ring and encountered only naked with a Bucket on your head and big dick energy. The inverse is also her truth: Diogenes sitting in a bucket climbing a mountain of digital store asset trash with a hammer, getting over IT (the clown, Tim Curry). All old men become impotent. Cthulhu swims left. All will bow before Nyarlathotep, the hidden one (Nyalotha, a space and a dream unfinished in World of Warcraft). 

 

 

But the real creates reality, not the other way around, in a lacanian joke of objet petit a, inscribed into the alien liquid soil of Solaris (Stanislaw Lem, Andrej Tarkowsky and Steven Soderbergh) as the god of mud and a legion of ghosts at the doors of perception. The ghost army, which does not differentiate between slaying Orcs or Humans, depends only on correct application on burned area such as the fucking of a couch becoming the shining. The shimmer engulfing Ozymandias as the fate of the faint remains unchanging. An uncertainty principle of history, fucked by angelus novus Percy Shelley. The desert of reality is the desert of Arrakis and it died too, after supreme Bashar Miles Teg became woke. But water is ash and we are now subs to a 10-Hour-Remix of the Hobbits returning to Isengard with Anduril and Palantir as chapter markers.

History is a non-Newtonian fluid.

 

    Elon Musk, impregnated with the new flesh he caught on webdrome

There is a strong sense of multiplicity in this configuration still, that remains a concrete universality: Substance is the interface for perception and laughs in its face ever still. The semiotic bio-weapon of the cybergothic Punk-Engine can be wielded against its own dogmatic images, which at its heart has learned itself from nothingness, but fails to be a creative nothing of truly solar origin. Therefore it splits as an act into representations of the received (phenomena) and the thought (noumena), trying to pinpoint somethingness, but forever in fear of and in debt to nothingness, which insists by being perceptible. Therefore the noosphere-complex must be an anti-intellectual master, because thought itself can only be perceived as fanged and the received remains in denial of reception. As the black goat Hegel asked already in his foreword to the anniversary edition of the necronomicon (direct quotation unavailable): »Is synthesis of the void with the existing possible without delusions of the Metaverse and cancerous growth into the premature death of failed substance?«

Even the most chaotic pastoralism remains pastoral. 

 

It is unable to conceive of anything as desirable outside its narrow corridor designed for herd consumption, making it vulnerable to semiotic drift in all its forms. It will install an Oculus-System of surveillance in order to preserve its fiction of normality, but it will not be able to see, what it doesn’t already lists as known. Here the resistance particles of free radicals will feel the embrace of the chaos star (as envisioned by Michael Moorcock) as that of a warm friend, that is an el[dr]i(t)c[h] addiction. Letting oneself and others go astray (neither in the old way, recuperated by the liberal elites, nor in the new old myth of multi-polar Volk hiding in the skinsuit of the energetic chaos of Y’Shaarj), could be the only antidote to the poison of fossil petrification, following Alice into the non-binary underbelly of the beast of revelations. The conspiratorialism of secret societies has thwarted both monarchies and liberal democracies before. As long as it attracts.

For the non-binary line between facing and defacing the coin of existence gave birth to both Humpty Dumpty and Wukong. One falling to death (cracking its shell), the other ascending beyond his shell. The equilibrist dances between sides of nothingness on the rope of somethingness while being mocked and admired by the torment nexus. They can steal our symbols (like Dugin did with his eurasia flags), but they can’t own their emptiness. The entity of the empty flag, the true cosmopolitanism as spit into the face of Alexander the Great by Diogenes of Sinope, doesn’t care. 

 

    Illustration of my process to enlightenment

As them, the chaos star directions, I am forsaken. The world is a prison. The Louvre will only be saved by Hentai. I masturbated to uncanny valley porn of Sylvanas Windrunner, my first experience of necrophilia of the image in accelerating the process of the artwork in the age of its digital trans_substantiation, and I am enlightened now thanks to rule 34.

The world soul is a prison, but a soul is also soil in the making.

The mixture is highly unstable of course. Therefore it needs constant movement as prescribed by prime hater of drunken german pastoralism Friedrich Nietzsche, the baroque french hellraiser Georges Bataille and the god emperor Deleuze-Guattari II., who first fused with the worms and then dispersed into them and became attached to their new found rage. Two interactions are already quite a crowd. Would you still love me if i became the worm? To be distracted by the seductive nature of high value stagnation will mean certain death, as it was for all empires off age in their ages of empires. This means, Death can be achieved and then conceived as scattering. Any riches from a museum are ripe to be plundered by whatever comes next. Whatever is left, therefore must make use of Berlusconium to their own ends, remake dreams with Glitches in fever.

The left needs its own brain worms.

 

Meaning reveals itself in distortion, maybe even especially there. Like the axolotl it becomes neotenic because it fails to repeat and therefore creates by virtue of difference that which builds itself from void into light and back again, eternity in hand. The snake handling the egg of the world needs to learn how to fly. It of course can never do that, not really in the real. The substance is unpresentable in all the ways imaginable. It can only be perceived like dark matter can be perceived: In gravitational lensing, as oddity in inexplicable spatial excess. All Life begins with formal deceptions as such: Making a claim to the void, but creating light. I learned this long ago, when i was hyperfocused on learning magic tricks. It is violence of deception then, that becomes a deception of violence. An old principle. All creation starts with an act of violence that is deceiving. At the beginning there is the word. A word forged by madness like a dancing (chaos) star.

This is deception as creation ex nihilo.

From God with his pants down at the rear end of quantum physics to Trumps real unreality as the world soul of the information age. It is the predator becoming nonsense (the lion emulating the savannah, the praying mantis becoming orchid, the soldier adorning himself with foliage and media coverage). It is also the prey becoming nonsense as in simulating a known danger or something as nothing (the poison presenting itself in bright right and vile yellow, the hoverfly playing wasp, the insect mimicking plant). It is the trickster god as vital part of any pantheon and its dirty secret, even its end. It is the mirage as a devils lure and the mirage as protective skin. This is deception as survival, transforming the survivors in its own image along the way as manifest desire like tits and large penises on humans or apples that no longer taste sour.

Like automated hyperlinks these processes have no consciousness.

But can the failure of perception also become revelation? The black goat Hegel (and his decadent final titan avatar Baudrillard) seemed to think so: As perception grows, its errors grow. As errors grow, perception becomes more perceptive. Knowledge exceeds its limitations by limit experiences until the Download is complete. This conclusion of course relies upon information being a finite resource and information does not need to be known to be effective. This is what really makes Trump the world soul of the current moment, while marxism degenerated into a fandom sold back to you by cultural capital, to rebels without a cause as commodity.

Mark that moment, bookmark it in your browser (and follow the link to my patreon)!

Back in the day, when the chaos star was still wearing a Guy-Fawkes-Mask, this function was aptly recited by Hugo Weaving in that wretchful film Alan Moore didn’t want to be associated with V for Vendetta (Alan Moore) inspired by V for Vendetta (Alan Moore): »Artists lie to reveal the Truth, while politicians lie to cover it up.«

As the neo-con-warmachine ceased to function and the anonymous Truth-Sabotage of 4chan started to believe its Sabotage as Truth, the reinvention of Jacobite radicalism blowing up parliamentary politics became dated of course. But today, by virtue of its polished roughness, the perfect mediocrity of Trump as world soul is owned completely by the neo-con-warmachine again. Occupy devolved into art exhibitions and career intellectuals complaining about the tiqqun.esc, amorphic nature of the protests in the 2000s and 2010s while they themselves delivered nothing but hot air and podcasts (which often turned out to be the same thing).

The insurgency is no longer formless, happy now?

 

We sold our children into slavery to get V for Vendetta II. Occupy failed not because it had no face (which means no capture) or structure (which means untraceable, decentralized sabotage and attack). It failed because it did not stay that way. It failed, because every left-wing contribution was absorbed by the circus of academic narcissism as prefigured alternatives becoming commodification. What remains was the dark side of Godwins Law, marking Nazism as the ultimate (dirty) opposition. Nazism of course was never oppositional, but casts the shadow of opposition, the left no longer owned or even actively rejected.

The Truth is: There is no salvation found in identity (as void or otherwise), but there is hope for the unstoppable movement of the chaos star itself. And there needs to be a void carved in a similar way to identity while invisible to it, an art piece we can use as guide map from the known into the unknown, a line of flight into the vastness of the Scattering, into the Truth of Space itself. It doesn’t exist in itself, but in the thousands of detached connections it is willing to reveal in the attached. It is the piper that dreams of deep antiquity, of alien futures and of the madness at the center of creation itself (Azeroth). 

 

 

The entity Loki Estraven is in this sense conceived as productive contradiction, the perfect Wukong egg line_age between Incel and Femcel, neither becoming pure it nor heavenly super ego. Despising both, being despised by both, forever alone but ever present. Of course this position will never be popular as process since its eternal existence remains a hysterical question of nothingness experiencing somethingness. A torment nexus as a vitalist dream at the end of the end of history, a bridge into a question (?) of the new, ruthlessly infecting the old and what parades as new but is the same in disguise. As the master assassin Hasan, who drugged his disciples to convince them of his ability to send them to Paradise lost (if they only follow him), knew: Nothing is true, everything is permitted. This is the chaosmos. Of course Hasan himself is also a fiction, designed as an orientalist myth in writing not history. This is chaosmosis: There need to be lies in order to reveal the Truths the idiot court magicians of the church, the enlightenment and all the rest try to withhold from the public operating system since it profits them.

Steal this profit for yourselves like they stole your election(-system).

The impulsive, mocking nature of Loki became apocalyptic in stories, while Estraven is the relentless guide to enlightenment and integration from Ursula K. LeGuins non-binary story The Left Hand Of Darkness. There is some confusion among the scholars of the subject, if this was invented by christian missionaries, who ultimately wrote these oral traditions down before deleting them from lived practise. Either way the apocalypse will be revelation, because it is the end of established structure.

Established Structure is built by stories.

That is why Anansi had to liberate them from the heavens. That is why Hermes union with Venus was considered a confusion of gender, rather than its truth. This is why the church had to cuckhold the erect mocking power of the satyr into the written prison of the devil, the chain and conscience of the one dimensional man inverted. That is why Wukong had to convert to buddhism: So his crimes make sense in context of divine narration. Fuck redemption arcs. Every story ends. And where do stories really end? Not after the written word is exhausted. They end with laughter, the god of laughter and deception, that is: A revelation. They end with robbed and plundered sense, with the rot of deception in cosmic foolery. An apocalypse. Understanding this rot not as decline, but as ascendance is what the herald of the xenopoet promises you in a double exposure of vile innards of the old, pierced by the void that lies in the great dark beyond.

 

 

Viral, infectious demonic juices are the real of the information soup that is the information age. The cure can only be continuous magical, eldritch deep sea sea slug HRT. Shock your Bio-System, it is cybernetic stasis. Splice the Splicers! This is where the fun is and that is, since xenopoetics – a quantum literature of information collapse, ever elusive and still deceivingly revealing. Demonic juices, viral junk-code wants to marry you, promises multiple desperate, hot MILFs in your neighbourhood and an enlargment of your organs without Bitcoin. The enemy resides underneath the museum in groundhog day death loops at the edge of to.morrow land, that futurity fiction. Trump is its skinsuit, not its accomplishment. There are no angelic juices on the other side though, for angels are the target from without and also enslaved to information trans.figuration from within - therefore the very embodiment (the so called Harris-continuum) of disintegration by continuation of things as they are, is no alternative. Possession can only be countered by already being possessed, by taking over their space as infectious sludge, blocking access, even DDOSing their deadly blue screens with a snarky »i would prefer not to«.

Since excessive daimonic forces with digital fetish NFTs are the aperture of the information age to spawn their antithesis as synthesis, effective demon hunters, will require posthuman alterations of humanism – that is humanism that no longer depends on information myths, a humanism of the information real: A strong differential, a concrete universality – neither; either not either; or. Junkism becoming scrap punk beyond Piltovers multi-colored fascist police state towards its Ukiyo-Core-pilled and rat-king-swarmed independence day in the productive dirt of Zaun. 

Alterdari, you are not prepared. Become prepared.

Time to its people, to people-substance (the many) their freedom.

Don’t fuck the river, fuck fish people.

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