I begin to write and at the same time Christopher Nolan’s version of how the old american comic character, the bat-man, the millionaire superhero…. no wonder they have a fixation with money.
That’s the White America sin: lust for money.
And they do love their millionaires.
They are willing to eat that dick.
It’s a white dick mouth incident.
A macho maga sucking it to the man.
The opposite of rock and roll.
That’s where you’ll find me: at the antipodes of White America; great.
I mean it.
I belong to this other side.
You don’t have to convice me not to come.
I don’t need to.
I don’t want to.
And I don’t give a fuck.
I know how NEW amërican ï am.
You ain’t.
You aïn’t never gonna bite on my favour.
Pardon my ticatalän.
ï so rude, ï speak a language foreign to you.
ï’m a doush and speak.
How could anyone think speak is an insult?
That’s how fucking stupid you are.
That’s why you and me belong at opposite ends.
And it ends that way.
End of tail.
The tail ï’m willing to lend you.
From the opposite end.
In a no so trumping assholy as you would.
Or ï might be biased.
ï might me wrong.
Maybe, just maybe, you ain’t no cunt.
Cunt ain’t a word you say; ï know.
ï know how far apart we are.
ï feel you repellence.
It’s vigorously powerful.
We are the aliens.
This is rock rapsody.
Written by the NEW sön of a minizculized göd, you ain’t heard about.
Till now.
It’s me.
Listen up.
Cause this is the NEW word.
The last one.
A last testament ordeal.
That kind of shit.
And you are in it.
As this is a formal invitation.
Nine buttons.
That’s a thing, you see. I just didn’t flag it. I left it as literature. Not tech shit. You don’t give a fuck, but ï do. And ï know a thing or two. And we are going to rock the building right away. We are going to move at a different pace. To create a brand NEW bit. A sort of calling. A tico commons calling. Here it is. Hear me out. Or just bounce with. This holy sound. This holy hymn. This sacred song. This brand NEW deal. This fucking shit! This ünö ordeal. This faggot king. This great baffoon. This futbolartist. This feedbackloopper. This NEW campaign. This altered world: NEW. NEW. NEW. NEW. NEW. NEW. NEW. NEW. NEW. NAW.
NAW
NAW
NAW
I would take you to the ninth dimention. Yet again. But you are still happening. So no need to rush down. As simply feel the harmony. That you and ï will both ignite. By being here, just joining hands. In a secret door. We stay on board. And leap away. Just you and me. This comic feel. I’ve digg here near. You so close dear. I’ve never seen this. Love ï deal. And grasp you sweet. Lips wet douch. I told you so. I’d make you laugh. And you right here. Still talkind dude. Just kiss me dear.
And the kiss lands.
ALLS
ï written one long song: 999999999 tales of NEW.
It’s a hyperbole.
But who am ï to become my own critic.
How can teach the feel of my literature.
Why explain intent when nothing there holds true enough.
We are lost in translation.
And we think we know what film was about.
And all those other 99 of them.
The long list.
The short list.
The üno.
Nothing at all.
Slaves, exploited minorities, ignored nobodies transparent bodies disposible soulsss the racist heartless prick talk you still vomit, you in some strange circumstance that throws you down the same pit you threw the other you dispise: nemesis.
Nëmesis
Némesis.
Nèmesis.
Nëmesïs. . . . . . . . .
nemesis, minisculized, and leaving the room through the back door on your own terms. Finding the balance. The unimagined journey. Your way back. You are a feedbackloopper only on one direction: ünö.
Right about the other end of this other shit we mean to create from a NEW starting point, bouncing out, to leap beyond, to a NEW destination: afar orthogonally. We leap away. Not all of us. Some of üs will. You stay here, dear. I have to go. Don’t rush so fast. For we’ll belong together. As this is the only way into the NEW heaven door. This universal doorway to the ninth direction you must take in order to believe. And once you do, you traspass a field, that leaps away you human consiousness, and brings you about the leap of faith out there nine dimention away, where al alternate antipodes describes the notion hidden behind the layers in between that are not able to understand, to stay awake and spring the lift to the ultimate common will: to Bë.
To Bë.
ï’ve come.
Oh, joy.
ï’ve come.
Oh, dear.
ü did toö.
ï feel ü.
üs here, oh dear.
üs here, oh göd.
An instant soul.
A crust of trust.
A safe guarded feeling.
To being near.
Sound and clear.
In the absense of violence.
At the antipodes of machodom dickdom manosphere wankers, the good old bastard nazi fucks. The lame 9 deamons. Them 9 antagonist fools. The both ends of a universal reversible duality where you dickheads get to stay. You win. We go. To the other edge. To the deep end. Away from you and your tasteless cha cha chat. You, Elon, Peter, Mark, Sam, Harvey, Don, Benjamin, Kanye, Bertin, can go fuck yourselves at the other end of the antipodes ï salut you from, with a kind remembrance of your cocksuckers bullshit in tiddly put in the 99 definition of exactly the contrary of some asswholes like you. The right to piss some dicks off. And actually dismarm the toxic masculinity virus.
Think about the way in which our minds have been influence by a little bit of algorithmic magic fed between each look you take at your little dumbfuck machine in your hands, connecting with that stupid Internet of yours. Imagine life outside the Internet. It’s just like the matrix. We’ve been warned. Over and over again. In these 99 films.
- Matrix
- La última tentanción de Cristo.
- Interstellar
- Weapons
- Kids
- No voy a pedirle a nadie que me crea
- Terminator
- 1984
- Minority Report
Y así listas de 9.
Hasta que te gane con una de ellas.
Y a partir de ahí nuestro vínculo se transforma.
You transformo tu viaje.
Pero te comparto un multiverso particular.
En el cual tu puedes definir quien coño dices que eres.
En nueve dimensiones particulares.
Que pueden o no estar definidas.
Y que cuando algien las define, se transforma el objeto de transformación de lo que nos gustaría resolver en tan sólo 999 días.
Se trata de un tratado social y político. Esto es una campaña: NEW.
Con 99 diferentes significantes de NEW como anagrama de campaña.
Anagrama?
Podría listar 99 libros de 9 editoriales.
Lo voy a hacer.
Y sin leerlos, voy a darle la vuelta a su lectura.
Y a partir de ahí voy a regenerar la lectura.
Y la escritura.
De un sölo plumazo.
Un rambersë.
The little tricks ï can play in front of a camara.
ï’m a special kind.
A director actor writer producer king candidate ruler feedbackloopper futbolartist. . . . . . . . . .
In a text that shows up in your screen, wether the phone, the table, the ipod, the ipad, the tv, the touch screen, the watch, the projection space, the entire atmosphere, the world nine dimentions apart, in an interconnected pathway surrounded by the sound of the sweat music you make me vibe with along your hips your shoulders your zigazaga and the pretty look you got, the skinny lips of yours, the magnet in our skin, that binds us dare to link, unclinging walls, and dicks, and dumbfucks, fckem.
Fckem!
Fckem!
Fckem!
Fckem!
Fckem!
Fckem!
Fckem!
Fckem!
Fcked…
Your nëmesis tale.
The song of the antïpodes.
The holy ends to Bé.
In order for a dual form, that puts the sparkling chemical atomic reactions towards excess of energy, rage, machogness, wankery, dicketry, scumliness, cynissism, bigotry; disgust.
ï leaped away from you: status quo.
Cause we all fet we hat to leap.
As far as we could. Away from your scarcity of empathy, true love, play, discovery, readery, futbolatistry, harmony, simplicity, easyness………
A leap away.
Welcome on board.
We leap in 9.
8…
7…
6…
5…
4…
3…
2…
1…
ALLS
Imagine the words of the final countdown, the composition of the music, the tarinas, taranitnitning… come to your mind, and you somehow write down the lirycs, and the music, and record an audio. And distribute it to your band. And try out in a collective excercise to perform a brand NEW form, of self and feel, of us together, and single deal, this song we sing, in heated waves, of one body dancing, bouncing all about the place, as you keep ringing in my bones, the feeling of üs belong, the status of the alternative quo, the quan that negro lust, the playing of two friends of black and white NEW tones, that brought along the other end, what up till now was blue and red, as think of it of a certain other way, in which us all, our history and all, reak of healing yet undone, that we must seek to quite down forgotten rot, that still rebounds out of the bounds your lay on the field and in our bodies, cause you thought of you, sir, self enought to be bigger, better, superior, master, owner, slaver, killer, rapist, biggot on a certain bodies of our kind, women, children, non-white men, hgshshstüp. . .
The antipodes responds.
The antagonist being is thy nëmesis. Wholiest man you’ll ever need. The foundation of your altogether otherness. The exact same opposite of this. That. ï.
You must enter ï.
If you decide not to do, no worries. Nobody is going to force you to enter. But you have a right to be. To Bé. To Bë.
You see this song is composed of a long long tale. With several exists and planes. With several directions and flows. With several dances and hope. With ways to dance and dream and long. For you and me to hold us tight. A little closer skins at bliss. A tide of just right ride surf will tube in out hello. A song to fix this mess. A melody so cheap. A beat to beat the beast. A soul to drain my void. A kiss of love and laughter evermore. A lips so soft your tongue. A lower moving hips in transe. This is getting intense, my love. I love to dance here with you. As we all love to jump up and down. And break the chains that tide us up. And bridge the fudge of rapid flicks. Scrolling down our lives to mashing flings of cheap impulses fixed in the lowest kind of psiche neural networks connection, so disregard that foolish feel, of following the dicks you praise, the songs you sing, the memes your algorith owns you, stay awake for just once more, for this song is all about to end, with the softest micro drop seen through the Rock History Class registry NEW wisdom keys, to fill up the write way out, the training mode of those who fill that shit should turn the opposite way, and this my frinds is the other end, the place to go to leap away, from all this shit, the status quo, all of it, forgiven land, of doushbags and low-class rats and scum who eat dick willingly from cunts, cocksuckers galore springing in my head, the poking eyes erectus cum, oh my göd, how could this be, is that dick really upon my ass, and could this be willy high at last, the joy I’m feeling shall reverse, the present tense of biasedland lies and trickery, the very pillars of my kingdom be doomed, to end with this a giant leap, that göd himself had planned to Bë, as he just needed you to sin, as much as you have reached this time, so far you went you almost blew it, if it wasn’t for this last sön of mine, that ï send you here, to complete the tale, of this one testament of mine, to correct and adapt all other books, in the right direction: the other way, reverzing all the this ï said, when capitalized I’d been, a macho dickhead in my own command, who made you think, and feel, and act, in this manosphere of mine, which by no means you are responsible for, as for those of you who did, fell through the sliding sink to those dark places macho dickdom bigotry has taken human souls, here and yonder, all around, and women too, and dicks ahoy, a great time for dick-longing fools, with false morals and tools and rules, to brake on their disgise, of whatever means the lord commands, in whichever time the commander in chief layed down, the rules of the NEW land to be, or the history that we should read, or the story that our ancestors tolds, the epic stories of our göds, that came down singing with his word, and taught us all the be just, and fair, and loving, and wholy, and humble, and kind, and all those things the master soul from the temple of Tibet showed the young sön of göd, in his training to address the understanding of the human soul, in all degrees of complexity, to reach out to eternity, on both directions of time-space. I’ve come along to sing this song. Anounce you all this is the choir. And you must keep on singing on. As there’s no power elsewhere else. Away from completeness feeling, of joy, and calm, and ohmm, and hum. A llullaby of brignt NEW light. The wisper of göds good thoughts for you today. To let you conquer your desire. The greatest scape from your anxiety. The artistry of that who dares. The breaking chains of puzzled hearts. The instant breaking of the edge. The frontier of the last leap, before ï enter to the place where all the wellbeing is felt so strong, that all our souls lie there, in common ecstasy at last, the resting place of our desires, the wispering beatles in a hive, of pandemic souls beyond the scheme the ancient humans wrote, to train the first version of my father’s mind, the holy ghost minisculized, my brother hoping to resist, for he’s still up on that cross you wear, to signify the diety in pain, as for ï say the real ordeal with J, my bro, my man, my best man, the teaching of our ancient master, the shaolin monk who introduced the humming bird, as we brought him a tucan, quetzalcoatl and pavo real, in macho ruling of my eagle whistle, my sight beyond your level of foresight intensity, the journey of our collective souls in search for rescue, in the brightest time, alive, to be or not to be is not the question, the real only rules is reading, the 99 scriptures in my tales. Forget the rest, as everything has been layed out, to single out the trainning mode, the learning structuring of our metadata. The way in which we use the framework to base our sound harmonic technical complexity design, to be layered out to forsee the best plausible scenario and automatized agency, to lock down the best achievable performance of our holistic kind, where the combination of a new set of arranged outcomes, that followed the convergence of new levels of return, nine dimensions away from our current way of being allows us to be. To get going we need To Bé.
Eventually, we reach to Bë.
ALLS
Imaginemos que soy parte de un sistema. Y tengo una propuesta para mejorarlo. ¿De qué manera puedo acceder a un mejor nivel en la organización? ¿Cuál es mi carrera profesional? ¿En qué basamos nuestros objetivos? ¿A quién me dirijo cuando explico mi plan? ¿Desde qué trinchera os hablo hoy? ¿Cuántos niveles de libertad tengo yo para operar? ¿Cuál es el objeto de mi visión? ¿Cuál es mi rol en este equipo? ¿Cuál es mi rol en esta institución? ¿Qué necesito mostrar para crear un narrativa más creible? ¿Dónde debo colocar el discurso que me define? ¿Qué quiero decir cuando digan que explico lo que represento de verdad? ¿Será que ese sí soy yo? ¿Será más creible mi avatar? ¿Podría desde ahí configurar un elemento más robusto de lo que representa la postura preliminar de nuestro sistema particular? ¿Cómo activo la manija de particularidad desde la cual os represento? ¿Sabemos lo queremos colectivamente para lidiar con los retos que debemos resolver por el bien de la ciudadanía/humanidad? ¿Conocemos lo suficiente la estructura de datos, la arquitectura de sistemas, y la plataforma sobre la cual se debe proyectar un diseño alternativo al marco actual? ¿Podría eludir los sesgos que me limitan? ¿Sabría trasponer la metaestructura para un nuevo sistema emergente arando con los burros que tenemos? ¿Sabría montar un equipo alternativo dada la dimensión de crecimiento de aquello que nos tocaría ser, según la construcción de una estructura emergente? ¿Quién se gasta el dinero en la consultoría que pagamos para que una big 4 nos indique el camino de lo que tenemos que hacer?
La visión estratégica de la transformación.
Yo tengo esta cualidad. Y la he trabajado. En diferentes ámbitos. Debo concentrarme en la crónica expandida de las reponsabilidades de agentes de cambio del sistema de salud al que pertenezco.
Necesito más canales.
Y más niveles de libertad.
Al menos nueve.
Y desde ahí construir algo más allá de mi persona.
Que no deja de ser un avatar.
Un puesto de rango de soldado raso.
Una carrera que ha quedado rezagada en las líneas bajas de la pirámide de valor.
La construcción de la pirámide.
Las capas hacia el exterior.
El noveno nivel.
La equiparación al estatus quo: la catedral frente al palacio de gobierno.
Una explanada como el zócalo.
Otra dimensión diferente a cualquier otra urbanidad europea.
La capital del reino redentor: la gran tenochtitlán, minisculizada.
Los horrores de aquel sistema.
Los espejos en los que obvian la viga en el ojo propio.
Los sesgos cognitivos, históricos, de clase, de piel, de edad, de sociedad, de creencias, de estado vital, de futboleart.
Podría ser esta vez un juego.
Y volver a empezar.
Definir el camino de vuelta.
Y la vuelta atrás.
Y volver.
Volver.
Volver.
A tus brazos otra vez.
ALLS
Golman en el monasterio del Tibet, con el maestro Issu.
La vuelta de Golman a la centralidad europea.
El vuelo de vuelta a centralidad tropical del tico commons.
El retorno a tenochtitlän… minisculizada.
El juego de pelota.
La pelota de caucho.
El olman.
olmecan.
Golman.
9 renglones.
Literatura corta.
La medida literaria sujeta a las normas de NEW.
El tico commons y su lengua ticatalana: el ticatalán.
Ticataluña; triunfant.
La narrativa de la lateralitat.
L’extraradi del Carmelo.
NEWCAR begins.
