Welcome to Poetic Terrorism--a new method of communication. A new vocabulary for resistance. We're opening a new front in the war against soundbytes and corporate catchphrases, because it's impossible to think when your words are controlled by discourse that is manufactured by imperialist corporations and sold to us wholesale in our schools and TVs. Bullshit shoved down our throats by government spokespeople and paid advertising--WE (you) have something to say, SAY IT!
Poetic Terrorism is profoundly nonviolent. It is the resistance of our voices. We are controlled by a submersion tank of manufactured ideas--by the media repeating the talking points of the government.
Poetic terrorism is about bringing the art of resistance into every facet of our lives. Live your life loudly. 'There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you're the monarch of your own skin--your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream, urgent as the blueness of sky.'--Hakim Bey
This blog is open to anyone's words and ideas. If you would like to post, email jed.bickman@gmail.com to let me know--I'll give you privileges and then you can post whatever you want.
What kind of servitude do you have to be under to believe in God? A god outside of you? If god is not in your eyes, He is nowhere, so don't believe in god, believe that you are god. The pope has no allegiance to your passion.
If I were a gorilla, I'd be at the bottom of the hierarchy, the opposite of the Alpha Male. This is because I spend too much time thinking about where I would be in a hierarchy of gorillas.
I spent all night chasing sounds in and out of reality. Heartbeats, earth tremors, dances became vibrating air against supersensitive skin became slowdances of pulse leaping in and out of your capillaries *categories*. Despisetories, depostitories of despise. Desuppositories, where you shove your existential angst up your asshole. Despisetoriums, sanatoriums for the despised. Depositiories for the night noise of nextdoor construction of some bullshit called poststructualism eating it's own tail, picking it's skeletotal spine out of it's nervesockets. I'm devolving into my own devourment, and I’m choking on my own Barthes. The devourment is the true government of love that will some day devour the facade of government enshrined in painfully opaque white. Faces the color of modern death masks, the Phantom of the Opera.
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" Saturday, April 02, 2005