We used to make things we didn’t understand (Marx) and consumed by people who didn’t understand us, and now we don’t even understand the people who are making them, that is us. Our misunderstandings progress.

We consume things that are familiar, and the more familiar they get, the less we know or sympathize with ourselves, the people who make them. We are not familiar with the parts of these things that other people make, but we love to use them. Technology is familiar, people are not. The people who make TVs know us from TV better than we know them or ourselves. When we are not on TV, we are waiting to slit our (their) throats.

Can you love people you don’t understand? With a blender and a mixer and an iPhone.

The Jesuits would be pleased.

Why would God need to choose a people when there are all these machines around.

Because he needs the Salvation Army warehouses.

                                                                                                Five time grimace:

                                                                                                 pro patria

                                                                                                 pro domo

                                                                                                 pro usura

                                                                                                 pro-forma

                                                                                                 pro pane

                  Space is my Baby

                  Time is my Bitch

                  (from collab at Vince Cellucci’s february 2009 Dave Brinks reading)

“in this army you break down your body like a gun

ascertain its needs and reassemble it for action when they’ve been met”

The Manual

splitting hairs for commodities

the centrifugal force that dismembers matter into sellable minis

the stockbroker broke down his body and ordered its needs from a catalogue

everything arrived by mail overnight and the broker reassembled hermself by the time the market opened

he hoped to make enough to post a profit over the increasing needs of herm body

“every day you don’t sell you buy”

herm ever-expanding ever-needy body was an expense that had to be covered by greater and greater profit

so when herm body incorporated the city the country and the globe

it had to be broken down and fed continually by myriads of catalogues

from outer space

whence the profits had to also eventually come

today the stockbroker franchised copper on mars and sold

barely covering the green algae noon meal and the cloned virgin from last night

nonbrokers went to sleep without a shower and woke up malcontent

but minis came back and the daughters bought back in time

everyone happy with design

some retro some yet to be duplicated

                                                                                                                                                                                 It’s got to be raining in Venice

                                                                                                                                                                                 to write like Henry James

                                                                                                                                                                                 was never your wish in even