If you use words enough they become interchangeable. Neoism, Fascism, Immortality, Eternity, Freedom, Love, Pleasure, Expansion, Intelligence, Reaction, dream. Give me back the pleasure. I need to get more words with it. As soon as you realize you have been thinking in circles you are already thinking in a straight line, towards making the straight line a circle. "Direction" is independent of its context, it is a force which posses us and its manifestations are not real, only reflections. Chasing your mind's tail, the back of your image unfolds into warm breeze. Sounds of insects and wet grass. Stare into the eyes of another human being and say "I love you". What do you mean, Me? I step back and remove the pleasure, giving back the words. This is Neoism.
Akademgorod. By that we mean the human body. I cut lines in my body, not for spectacle, not for other people, but to prove to myself that there is AKADEMGOROD. Cities, streets, Romantic dreams of the perfect Monty Cantsin image flickering like a single frame of film. Slow down the conceptual film and blink while you watch it. Wake up-
Lie back on the bed, eyes closed, he needed time to keep the conspiracy going. Reality is a social construct. He lay panting. She lay panting. A trip to the post office to exchange energy by mail. EMPTY MAILBOX, LIE ON THE BED PANTING. Eyes go out. Dreaming of a big dog looking at me and slips inside my body and dissolves. Wake up. Over lunch, "Did you have the same dream?" Reiterate to yourself, Time and Time again, "I am Monty Cantsin and I have been Neoist all my life". Wake up-
How large is our conspiracy? Huge, much larger than it actually is. Time drips backward and forward. A Neoist is someone who does not believe in HUMAN POTENTIAL. Once you destroy anything, you become part of its history. That is why I asked for the pleasure back, Do you remember your family? Do you remember any of the last ten years? None of it happened, there is only now.
On the contrary, the Flame is also transparent. Patterns come. I begin to blink uncontrollably in one eye. Backward, but not even pattern. I have only total contempt for this, and myself. Wake up-
To run away take all the road maps in infinite sequence.
How can we describe Monty Cantsin? No one sentence could describe the complexities of the hero of Neoism, except, perhaps, "Monty Cantsin is motivated purely by Sexual Desire."
The Fake perfection of imaginary states, 800 Gods of Neoism.
"Look into your own eye, fella!" Also, he defecated and strew the excrement around the hall where the first fruits were tasted. Seeing this, she was alarmed and struck her genitals against the weaving shuttle and died. In the middle of the branches they suspended cloth. And so, like a man in a Nightmare I pressed her to Agree to this murder I didn't commit. can pleasure ever be separated from its source, the god asked=
Loss of identity. The ceiling crashed in. Eating a straw hat through a huge formless hole in the top of my head, which is very painful. Inserting razors under my jaw. Being pursued, falling through floors, a huge black shape disintegrates, leaving me in another body. Dreams of travelling to Mexico.
In fact, it is far less romantic. We switch bodies like clothes, our neoist-bions sliding in with no resistance, leaving memories behind... information is not important. How backward, how Passé.
I tend to agree with you. My image disintegrates again. Lets have a conflict so my image will become close to your own. Here, have some pleasure. Here, have some control. Here, have some words.
Original file name:Eroticism of Boredom