Scorched air, black eyes and dust
The drum pounds within, and to war -
The war is here in the metropolis.
Sick and vicious, tides of snake and rat
Bursting unto the galley, drenching the rot
And sodden wood.
Witchcraft reemerges with a thousand networked heresies, laptop voodoo where truth is arbitrary and intensity definitive. “Design or be Designed” screams the Oracle at Delphi in her keynote speech at Davos. Wayfaring cybernauts seek Holy Guardian Angels, pulses of dependable frequency that punctuate breeches in the formal edifice of daily life. Screeching vortexes of feminine ecstasy raining lightning from lunar craters, visions of Kali-Mary eclipsing consensus reality.
Racial debris fight totem warfare in the crypts of modern capitals. Boarded streets perforated with the Drum of Africa out for revenge. All drifting up the river in desperate search for Kurtz, while in the villages Islam converts the spiritless and the defeated into footsoldiers for endless slave conquest.
Universalism dies in a pit between Zulu tribesmen and TikTok radio warfare. Man is an ape to man, whichever tramline you ride through the suburbs. Dubstep exposes soul music as grief for an impossible union, redemption denied by capital as the jungle closes in. Hip Hop poetry spits fragments of unreason at a structure already past thought, and council children dance in the void expecting black Napoleons to lead them. The ghost of Homer’s thousand corpses laughs bitterly.
Myth and metaphysics dissolve into speculative unity, ontological production becomes operative as North Stars through the overgrowth. Lucifer and Christ becomes masks amongst many, operative delusion exceeding conformity.
Excess presses in every direction, overproduction reduces man to a jungle beast, hacking through vegetable insistence on eternal life processes. The Desert God is dead, the empty sky reigning over a parched and desolate nation of nomads and fugitives. The Jungle God is roused, a cackling ape, Hanuman-Anjuman, Priapus cock hard and thrusting, face masked in vine and blood and urine.
Javelin warfare ushers in an era of drone and laboratory death. Precision targeting butchers the last graces of valor, civilian shields become the guarantor of moral high ground. Activism disgraces the last vestiges of social solidarity. Most of us just want to be left alone.
Total media capture renders obsolete inherited mechanisms of representation. Analogue recording is exposed as phantasmal, a fantasy of eternity repressing decay sustained only by human labor. Electromagnetic media functions as pulse and vibration, bypassing physical inscription and spacio-temporal singularity. Everything hums with the intensity of a million worlds battling for dominance in swarmclouds of insects.
Nostalgic attempts to insulate imagination from capital are suffocated by suicide and Gaza. Zones of Difference are mined with hammer and chisel from the edifice of coltan humanism. The only defense against warlord capitalism is the self-deployment of a tribal subconscious.
Anthropological Pragmatism exposes morality as neither ethics nor aesthetics but energetics. Conservational and expression become the dynamic motors of a people chasing fetish and totem through darkness. Leftist critiques of entrepreneurial subjectivity are only half-right. Technological survivalism is more apt, a frontiers mentality where one gets by however one can.
Welcome to the the jungle.