Post-Digital Revelation by J.D. Casten - HTML preview

J.D. Casten 2007

“Copyright Divine Interventions”
Guided by Voices — “Useless Inventions”
Artwork: “Aliens Land” — J.D. Casten — 2007
2nd Edition - 20 January 2008
Contents 1: The Devil’s Sermon in Chaos Confusion Hell page 7

a: Candle Lit Chaos 7 b: A Blood Filled Quill 9 c: Insane Hellfire Sermon 14 d: Christ’s Seduction 16 e: Doubting God? 18 f: The Transgression 20

2: War! God & the Peace Poet Angels Light the “Love Bomb” page 23

g: The Audience of Angels Forms 23
h: Angles Call for Peace 23
i: Christ’s Arrival 26
j: Lucifer Considers a Deal 26
k: The Announcement of God’s Imminent Arrival 28
l: The Countdown 28
m: Point Articulation & Detonation of “Love Bomb” 29

3: Big Bang Creation of Time & Being and the Universal Messiah Mind page 31

n: Universal Love Creation 31
o: Eternal Fear Theory 32
p: Messiah Insight 37
q: Planetary Body Prophet 40
Contents (continued)

4: Unnamed Prophet Encounters the Alien Zen Machine page 43

r: The Earth Prophet Speaks 43
s: Studies in Prophecy 45
t: The Zen Ship Splits into Reality 50

5: Negotiating the Technological Entrance of Natural Earth into the Universal page 57

u: The Aliens Land and Integrate Consciousness 57
v: The Aliens Negotiate with the Prophet 59
w: Media Event: Earth Entering Heaven 64

6: Poet/Scientist Christine Herold Develops Conscious Artificial Intelligence page 71

x: Red Letter Day 71
y: Unconscious Becoming Living Machine 85
z: Paranoid Television God Head 91

7: Waking Up from a Dream and Experiencing Love at First Sight page 97

1 - The Devil’s Sermon in Chaos Confusion Hell
1a: Candle Lit Chaos

$ira la round de la de da up: I was writhing in the twilight. A wizard of ooze – translucent and snapping open,
Eyes burst forth and in precise bisections illuminate,
Radiate rotation and in erratic adjustment, turn,
With confidence and style, stretch, yearn, learn, laugh, Tease, release, as flowing blue rivets rotate cylindrically enduring Throughout all conservation of love without limits extending Beyond all imaginable possible creations of divine origination Whose authority is questioned in advance of participation. Gyrating hips, parted lips, crippled by the joy of another round day. We must swirl around into a phantasmagoric extravaganza Of opulent repose. Exactly! And with that motion in mind, We can swing through to the other option! And in the effort, Self-ridicule is avoided by duplicitous shifting through the exterior Surface which is combustible at first sight: the passion extenuates Into transmogrified reciprocation. Cosmic orgasm and Profoundly sad tragedy of the instantly sustained attention:

Hocus-pocus is the locus of this focus!

There’s a window
Inside the fireplace
Where the light comes
In.

Yellow flickering candle: Wax melting and re-solidifying Down and
Out.

Slouched
In a position
Catastrophic:
Lines in the face of a thin old man
Smiling, showing hope in age,
Rage, stage, magic page, siege,
Castle, door, boar, roar of the
Lion attacks the lamb in the womb
Is found a new source of
Recourse, intercourse, discourse, of course— This is not the main course.

Yet the sandpaper sockets filled
With red rockers could only
Keep owl-rimmed bespectacled
Granny so delighted.

And the light shone:
We were all safe,
But in the safe
Below the dials of perfection
Could be found the solitary
Disinterest in the amount
Of thirty billion pounds of gold.

The old witch hollers for the
Cellar installers who scowl
Into their bowels.

The middle way:
Life without tension?
Death of tension?
Words without origin—
Sleep of relaxation;
Style out of context;
Repetition of the absurd;
Recognition of rewiring;
Spaced out and disassembling,
And reactivated through
Rejuvenated ignorance?

Consider—empty geometric sensation. Compare—wild animal ferocity.
An orgasmic contact with the self as other, And the overwhelming style only
Recognized in retrospect:
The dazzlement of seeing oneself
As the issuance of one’s ideal—
Moreover—to be astounded beyond Comprehension at the delivery
Of a love so obvious as to
Make indirection and direction coincide.

A love of no other.
1b: A Blood Filled Quill Such bizarre random thoughts posses me, Caress me, continually inter rest me.

Oh to take quill to parchment now When slippery thoughts abound and Profundities lurk at every corner. Such is the dilemma Satan finds Oneself in at the precise moment. This moment has been recorded For historical importance, and the Cool-down phase has been initiated—

Bizarreties will, when orgasm jazzes, open like a “Yes, hello, oh my, very interesting.”

Serious critical thoughts:
Nothing caught within the
Framework of power ego as fingers Twisted around this quill catch, At this moment, the blood ink Leaving its trace in the paper.

The repetitions of “on and off” at styled Intervals of time—the written hand: The gesture jester jest, digestion, Gesticulation suggestion.

Smite the spite of the crash symbol: Categorize the indifference found Between two repulsive forces. Self-divided and accelerating, This problematic leads one
(with automatic writing and Word to word Correspondences— “Word association”)
To bring about the literary
Equivalent of endless webbing Networks that continually move in Deference by probable connection And thus illustrate the general Flow of language without
Visual reflection.

Hopefully the scar will be evident, Lucifer’s scar, or rather, the swell of Time passed through the writing hand.

If only we cut through this tide of delusion And got to the real illusion,
Persuade me that to forgo this
Insistent endless persuasion
Takes a spellbinding redeemer.

Suspended from false judgments, Extreme plights of doubt observed From a distance— plucked from the Right spot of the color continuum, Here where Aztec patterns lace Across the parchment in diagonals: Blue on white and yellow.

Spontaneous overflow:
Combustible identities—
Like a water filled
Clear tube; crystalline
Structures within
This very parchment
Webbing from my
Gnarled hand, spray cobwebs Of a spectrum of blues:
The hairy weird out
Zone turning the quill
Key in the parchment
Machine’s Ignition.
The words were On the way laid To getting down To you.

Snickering in the breeze
As we hallucinate trees that
Turn into arteries in the night sky: Red veins, blue black dark sky.

Vibrant vines intertwine into a Purple ecstatic crisp fresh visual Feast; the eye wanders, biting in— A slushy ice snowflake crunch, With a Lip smacking
Twinkling crisp thaw.

Even the walls breathe
With desire (I know, I know, Such words for saint Satan) And a cleaver edge:
The clever age of
Cleavage saw me
In the chandeliers
Of delight;
And gossip flowed
From my flowered mouth To toe pedaled ear, smack Dab in the middle
Of the whole distillation.

You have to sense
When these things are right: Like the swift motion
Of this gliding
Gently amongst words,
Gathering in their interiors, Tickling their fancy
And humiliating you for All time—for the sake
Of soul I suppose—
Martyrdom—how
Could there be worse?
Will it beat the hell Out of me!?!

The power of God
Without judgment;
Writing delight
Without shame,
Almost embarrassing, Almost wicked joy with Innocence, self-satisfied— It’s almost a crime not To share it all, to
Divide one’s self for
Companionship.

My Writing: Narcoleptic Narcissistic Necrophilia!

The bull-shit will override all considerations Of legitimation through the entire process Of assimilation to the next indexicalization Of the industrial institution, which will have been Determined to have in advance been informed Of the forthcoming demonstration
Of the pulling through of time to a point Of style within the time vortex.

The words just flow out of my quill:
The blood hitting the parchment;
My hand working the letters;
The twitching of fingers in learned patterns,
The flow of mechanical repetitions
That seem to give force in some direction—
Excess energy is dispelled at the linguistic level, Therefore pushing on, not the sphere of the expansion, But what is an expulsion of desire in the direction Of an intended means of spreading
One’s most endless amount of energy;
That is, to flow into and around all thoughts, Suspending the elusiveness of distance
(the carrot on the stick) that never
Seems to rip apart at the seams.
To be drawn in by one’s own desire;
To grasp at the intuited remains futile
With the least regard to indecision:
It never really amounts to much of an argument. Nevertheless it’s just the Devil’s most inner intuition In a tight situation here,
Guiding this blood ink quill tip to the parchment, Pulling at the surface, the surface pulling the tip, The tip controlled from beyond the surface,
The yellow of the parchment shaping the blood Blue ink, the parchment forces this indecision, And reverberation on my part:
The quill tip draws me further on—
I can never stop as the words spin off from one Another—this conveys exactly anything, if you please me… Help! I’m, I’m— Just kidding, bla ha, ha, ha, ho, my (Lucifer slaps his knee) whoo-whee!!!

There’s a flicker in the fireplace window, And the twinkle of the twilight delight
Re-conceives the deception of the work a day Night shift of gears inter locking.

Old Testament
New Testament
My Testament

No one will fail to recognize that
Worship is simply the thing not to do.
But how worship could possibly be avoided, If the work were properly understood,
Seems rather mysterious.

It was clear that my majestic mental masturbation Far surpassed any of the other angels’
Meager attempts at love-making.

I came first, longer, and again, and again… You were on my mind, God!
I feel almost obligated to repeat myself,
yet am compelled to consider other wise.

My whispering echoes of the semi-conscious. The devil with curved horns smooths back a single hair; not getting to a goal, but setting a mood…

The old bones are not as tight as they once were:

Witness these
Knuckles of destruction Striving towards the
Clever edge of success
On crippled wings of desire!

And how are you this eloquent evening? Are you this evening? Well if the darkness Surrounds us into ourselves,
Then how could we be anything but this evening?

If you don’t like me, it’s your fault!
My rhetoric: Brutally forceful, or subtly enticing?

As far as rhetoric is concerned,
This is where the shit hits the fan:

1c: Insane Hellfire Sermon The Center is chaos. Fire: the form of change. I am: chaos in control. I lit the fires of hell!

The timing was right For confusion.
In the cold,
keep moving or freeze.

Incinerated… Frozen:
My every movement is a miracle.
I’d be perfect if it were physically possible. Cooked to perfection. My hellfire sermon is my life. I am a Journey—

Each word is carved out of my existence; I am a constant resistance to conformity and stagnation; I am a self mystification
creating my own freedom;
I am the lying source
of my own solitude:
A linguistic black hole;
a journey into words.
Lighting a fire in hell?

If we are to bring fire into a world, Shall we be confident that not
A soul is to burn?
Do we need this assurance?

Consider me:
Lucifer and technology.
An inferno of conceptual mind: Could it be the mechanical body’s life? Or a reverse vampire corpse:
No body, yet still dead?
Wearing my funeral wreath laurel, I am an accidental horror.

I am the slippery
Soap stone
Always evading and loving
The painful present which does Not exist.
Zero does not exist; And infinity is not real.

You’d pale in the face of
“Reality”—yet you can be so much “Superior” than all the rest.

Be a mobile war machine
(The enemy: yourself)
Slide out to observe
(And ridicule) yourself.

Like a train without tracks
Stoke the coal furiously and propel The locomotive swift as an arrow
To chase your own tail around
The circle of hell.

Let there be no mistake!—
We are living a life of decadency—
All this is plainly obvious to me….

Let me share my insanity with the universe So all can laugh in endless hysteria.

I say, “take it seriously.”
The lunatic fringe, flipped out.

Could you cure the insane
if they would follow you?
Will ever you command?:

“Schizophrenics Unite!”

1d: Christ’s Seduction Your first words may be “it wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault?” Why use the word “fault?” You blame evil on the Devil: Might you take on The responsibility of all sin?
You can change, so responsibility is possible: Your regret is not my obligation.

Fool hearty Christ! Easy now, Atlas, you Wouldn’t want to spill that ocean! Must you be absolutely sure that we’re in hell? Maybe you thought you were going To drop in to convert the Devil?

Maybe hell is a heaven where You have everything you want… …yet nothing is real for you?

Will dead philosophers like me
Be doomed to an afterlife in their system?
You can’t peek above the horizons of your hell, By standing on the shoulders of corrupt giants. Look at these parents: shirking responsibility onto hope In their children found guilty until proven innocent. Is your truth evil?

An evil invention?
The Invention of evil?
Everything is a lie! Morality, mortality:
They mean nothing to me.
Is it moral to feel morally superior?

Why would we want to be God? Lucifer,
Will you ever taste your sour grapes of love?
Eating that fruit would give a slow delicious death. Christ, will you have the capacity to hate?
Do you believe yourself too lazy to be evil?

I’ll seduce you to cross the line,
And punish you when you do.
Think for yourself within limits.
Will you find pun ishment
With succulent Satan messiah Jesus Devil?

A seductive shield.
The enlightened art of seduction: Seduce to accusation, then: “Surprise—I’m innocent.”

1e: Doubting God? And did Satan pray for no God? Or was Lucifer too proud to pray?

Many know that the Devil strove For the seat of God:
Satan said, “Let there be Lucifer:” Few know that success
Was achieved in his head.

“I declare my heaven on earth.”
The Devil boasts: “Why? Because I can!”

And you may ask,
“God: why is there so much suffering?”
And I will reply,
“Well things could be worse…
Like eternally burning in hell’s fire!”

The monstrosity of fear will envelop you
When you contemplate the possible power of God: If God were even possible: God is.

God—not a concept
Beyond being.

Yet… omniscience is boring,
And once obtained is better
Forgotten.

Will I discover I
Was living in my own toy?

Time is my toy!
Who wants infinite options?

Satisfaction is mine.
Disappointment: yours.

My mere presence lets this happen.
Do you put God on a pedestal?

The worship of God? A fascist striving
For idealism? Perfection? Or Awe?

Shall God doubt God?
Do you question your own authority?
Could you live with yourself, if I was wrong? God: the ultimate subjectivity?
Is causality subjectively impossible?
Is there such a thing as power?
Singularity is freedom!
We are free because we are God.

We are all God.
Some are just a bit more
Self-conscious
About it.

A democracy of Gods… can you handle it? (Being de-centered: inter-subjectivity)
From the eye of two all
Experience was judged against.
Will I be a “reality” cult leader with a grey judge’s wig reaching down into an infinite abyss?
1f: The Transgression Alarmed and dangerous—I’ve been
Preparing for power all my existence…

I feel raped by reality
And I retain the scar
Of some black farce.

I have the tools to mystify…
Maybe I can outwit nature?
Lucifer’s gnarly hand extends
From the flames pointing up.

The secret of discrete and subtle farting
Is to let the fart slide out on its own silence—
Rather than forcing its announced arrival; Yet..

Pointing Satan’s finger—

Pulling an act of potential suicide, Lucifer ablaze
In a pair of purple bell-bottom hip-huggers, dared to exclaim: “I am the #1 angel—and no God exists!”

“My will is infinite and I will burst through reality.” “I’ll jump into your dimension and surprise you… Appearing suddenly: the wisdom of death!”
“Rather than sacrifice myself for all,
I sacrifice all for myself.”
At that point:
The “object” rebelled from the “subject” with
Lucifer in technological/instrumental control:
Reality was breached…

…Breakdown of moment into flicker of candle lights… Flicker.. death… om on no o no this not into flicker Darkness awake don’t fall asleep wake oh run breathe Confusion strobe lights look this that eyes immensity Circular rotate hexagon hollow…
…the exterior was entered…

Satan—that technological computer,
Tried to over-throw life— with a stench: The one-eyed devil is upon us in the machine!

Lucifer was loose from his solipsistic sphere…

And behold, Lord Saint Bodhisattva Lucifer strode With conviction through the amazed crowd of angels, His eye chilling bright power… solid in countenance, With bold body language he would dare to chisel sharp Precise words into perfection—captivating the hearers Into profound insight. His soft clean skin sparkled As he assumed a momentary posture that might invoke A rapturous cry from his audience.

Quickly assembling to establish his reign of hell in heaven, He beckoned a crowd of angels:
“How much of the eternal shall we steal for ourselves?”
2 - War! God & the Peace Poet Angels Light the “Love Bomb”

2g: The Audience of Angels Forms Trumpets are heard tuning up in the background. A mirror of eyes, the audience is bowing:

All eyes on: I am Inside-out Eyes. Lucifer feels himself to be a glass statue
Surrounded by row after row of glass panes. “Welcome to the Golden Dream.”

A movement in the music of vision:
Like a fluid stained glass window of angel spirits— An embroidered Zodiac quilt of colors
Flowing round the light of consciousness.

The movement was transitory—
We, the images flow into each other,
Animated surrealism, as if not awakened In a dream, but immersed in the depths Of a profound lucid slumber.

The window in a ring shatters;
Shards revolve around the
Outer edge of the ring and form
A renewed stain-glass window.

2h: Angels Call For Peace The cacophony of trumpets begins to harmonize.

An angel’s voice rings out:
“Calling all angel poets
In the march against aggression, The time for diffusion
Has been initiated:
There will be no remorse
For those who act in the
Faith of pure intuitional love—
We who are written out,
Who truly weep over those
Who would lose themselves in
The machine of desire—
We will take our stand
And defend the shores
Of unreasonable love.”

Another angel’s voice picks up: “Pissed-off for peace
And the only true marginal
Case will be that of
The angels who will take
Arms of words and assault
The dominating force
In heaven—this is a
Confrontation with honesty
For those who would delude
Themselves with acts of
Aggression, and revel in
The self-deceiving iconographic Ego reproduction devices
Which lead to unnatural
Disaster. This is a call for
Good faith and understanding Of the mutual condition
Which we all share and
All should revel in.”

Lucifer interjects:
“I’m an individual feeling powerless in The face of the angel society machine, Which crunches me up, spits me out, Has no care for me… there
Are no leaders… everyone follows their Own paths of self-deception.”

In return an Angel responds:
“Does this angel poet take a stand,
Joining hands with all
Who would celebrate the
Victory of conscience
And harmony?
The souls of lovers
Should not be interrupted
By the self-deluded seekers
Of their own destruction.”

Lucifer: “How do I salute peace?”

A chorus of angles: “The amount
Of peace we are about to release
Here is tremendous!”

Many of the angels could sense the impeding blue blood bath: Maybe this would be a blood bath blood drive?
“Welcome to heaven Sir Satan: how long do you want to stay? Do you want to know how long you will stay?”
Lucifer began to see his own shadow sharpen and shorten… “I guess… I’m not God… anymore…”
The angels reflected: “We approve of no one’s actions save our own. Don’t associate your inconsequential ambition with us.”

The Devil exclaimed: “Was my desire to be God
The first? Crime? What a loaded gesture—desire—
Not to be myself? To be myself? To risk a responsibility Greater than my ability? To have all power? To know all? To be worshipped? Would it not be the greatest of curses To have such a desire fulfilled? To be God would be to Live in hell! Who would want to be God? Suffer being God? Or just be observed as such. If God be perfect, see Not God the imperfection in all that is not God?”

Then it occurred to Satan. Was Lucifer himself not
The fuse of the God Bomb now lit?
2i: Christ’s Arrival

And wandering through star crossed Oblivion past the white vastness Of sheer exception like a sigh of Relaxed release floating into
Deep reverie…

Lucifer could barely conceive The unimaginable entourage
Of Christ’ sudden gentle raining Down from the clouds upon him: He was there before Lucifer
Knew he was coming—
A double edged-sword
The coming of the lord:
Lucifer, sword at throat,
At the utter mercy of Christ,
Is given the terms of
Release—re-entrance into
Paradise; Lucifer is given
A few moments to ponder
The offer of heaven…

2j: Lucifer Considers a Deal.

Lucifer asks,
“Are we one…
Am I you?”

With a simultaneous realization:

What was wrong with him? Desire for complete control In a lonely fantasy? The Devil Would not have Christ, yet Satan wondered, who would Be Lucifer’s companions?

“For too long already my
Emphasis has been placed on My expected exile from heaven… My next chapter must be Attended to, as I will reign in Hell! A new home, with new Responsibilities, and
Opportunities: who will Join in me?: drill seer gents— Fix obey o nets!!!”

His discourse represented
Something looming in the future.
Just forget about it, he thought.
Something subversively fractured out From the future, spreading back through History, which is building up and
Diversifying it: crisp freshly organic— An inverse lucid dream. His
Fa