“Only an atheist can be a good Christian.”

Ernst Bloch, Atheism in Christianity

To be read aloud, if possible.

Alien mother the not-here stainglass / frame / the invisible.

Silence. Hereafter we-ghost. Stark pony the-eversalt-ocean fibers glass the Renaissance. Paleaether, heretongue the gargoyle, medieval monks that practice Thomas pebble manuscripts that glory glory. The time-machine thrsts acting everever the concrete tumbles poltergeist. Work to live to never-play. A meta-modern history, the proletariat.

Queer haunts hearthhh kin-chitterchatter the impossible anarchy. Esse esse esse we ain’t. Speaks clearly the hillbilly.

Banjo woods groove echo the neverthought. We fight we-fear. Do you even believe this is language? Allic monstrosity, the Leviathan, the Demiurge that architects Tartarus from the machine. Value is an expression of time. Time is quantity. Quantity is measure. Measure is the hole at the heart of value. From measure on-into the virtual, the Tartaranic behemoth that guards the abyss.

Noise.

Hear s-eak. Echo softly the ever-arch.

Gallops-in, heraldic Pan to avenge our Gaiac origin. A time-stop, the mass strike – rioting-against-the-abstract. The cave is long-vacant, a Coca-Cola themepark; the bourgeoisie enveloped by the force-underneath, the serpent of measure, capital. Capital is sentient. An alien-mother built-by-us, speeding-eternally the night-mare. Black bloc tactics thunder Panic, the Unique annihilating measure.

Everyone and everything is Unique.

“This summer the roses are blue; the wood is of glass. The earth, draped in its verdant cloak, makes as little impression upon me as a ghost. It is living and ceasing to live which are imaginary solutions. Existence is elsewhere.”

André Breton, The Surrealist Manifesto

Image: Disks Bearing Spirals by Marcel Duchamp (1923)