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tamarToward A Healthy Transhumanism (Part IV): Electric Transhumanism
“You see, to me it seems as though the artists, the scientists, the philosophers were grinding lenses. It’s all a grand preparation for something that never comes off. Someday the lens is going to be perfect and then we’re all going to see clearly.” —Sexus, Henry Miller“Damn 'em all. They changed it, changed it all around. Smeared it all over with blood.” —The MisfitsThose who are or who have been saved must above all, to have donned the helmet-hat of salvation, have been sealed with the...
tamarStates of the Union
“The Americans of all nations at any time upon the earth have probably the fullest poetical nature. The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.” —Walt WhitmanFL Gazing down nereids I, absent on some swelling shore, From above again by the soft distance? Up do they look? Thin-bronze latino familias, their silken hair and linen, Wool and Tassels Yahwe- Sun so bright so-can’t be seen, diadems, Heavenly host, etc Dissipates. The best of the orients skyscrapers almost Lush pave...
tamarToward a Healthy Transhumanism (Part I): Reproductive Transhumanism
“Our body must be our work” —Nikolai FedorovTo readjust man’s current course toward what can be called the “transhuman”, we must first suspend the crutch that creationism is and really think. We must first define what is human. We must define it the only way we know how, by investigating how we unconsciously we define it already. Surprisingly, the consensus around what is human is basically ubiquitous, and, importantly, “humanity” once taxonomically ascribed is immutable (and therefore not to...
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tamarToward A Healthy Transhumanism (Part IV): Electric Transhumanism
“You see, to me it seems as though the artists, the scientists, the philosophers were grinding lenses. It’s all a grand preparation for something that never comes off. Someday the lens is going to be perfect and then we’re all going to see clearly.” —Sexus, Henry Miller“Damn 'em all. They changed it, changed it all around. Smeared it all over with blood.” —The MisfitsThose who are or who have been saved must above all, to have donned the helmet-hat of salvation, have been sealed with the...
tamarStates of the Union
“The Americans of all nations at any time upon the earth have probably the fullest poetical nature. The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.” —Walt WhitmanFL Gazing down nereids I, absent on some swelling shore, From above again by the soft distance? Up do they look? Thin-bronze latino familias, their silken hair and linen, Wool and Tassels Yahwe- Sun so bright so-can’t be seen, diadems, Heavenly host, etc Dissipates. The best of the orients skyscrapers almost Lush pave...
tamarToward a Healthy Transhumanism (Part I): Reproductive Transhumanism
“Our body must be our work” —Nikolai FedorovTo readjust man’s current course toward what can be called the “transhuman”, we must first suspend the crutch that creationism is and really think. We must first define what is human. We must define it the only way we know how, by investigating how we unconsciously we define it already. Surprisingly, the consensus around what is human is basically ubiquitous, and, importantly, “humanity” once taxonomically ascribed is immutable (and therefore not to...
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“Although the wheel has thirty spokes its utility lies in the emptiness of the hub. The jar is made by kneading clay, but its usefulness consists in its capacity. A room is made by cutting out windows and doors through the walls, but the space the walls contain measures the room's value.
In the same way matter is necessary to form, but the value of reality lies in its immateriality.
(Or thus: a material body is necessary to existence, but the value of a life is measured by its immaterial soul.)”
“Be still and know that I am God”
You are delivered of something in having forgotten it. Deliverance is forgetfulness and love delivers greatest and longest. The power of a smile, laughter-- teeth as amnesiac marble goads--, forgetting, emptiness and the peace of vessels emptied of anything except deliverance. Spokes and vases of Lao Tzu.
The purpose of art is to glorify God, to make one stop and think of the beautiful difficultly of it all. To know themselves Cain, to know themselves Abel, to fall in love with disgust and forget Love and its obfuscations. To see the lame and ugly and know “Neither they sinned, nor their parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest within them” (John 9:3). The purpose of art is to kill someone--with a poem-- but sometimes you walk with God and forget about it all.
The Chinese bone-script ideogram for art is an old woman tending to a plant. The ideograms came from virgins locked deep in the caverns of the earth planted to bear nothing but sigils and their intonations. Untouched pale bones of the earth, untouched porcelain thighs, untouched mouthed whispers turned bone-script brushstrokes, and that is our language and that is our art before the western warlocks Dee and Bacon separated form from content and the envelope from the message the woman from the wife and the law left us with consuming bloodstained glasses of the covetous.
“Although the wheel has thirty spokes its utility lies in the emptiness of the hub. The jar is made by kneading clay, but its usefulness consists in its capacity. A room is made by cutting out windows and doors through the walls, but the space the walls contain measures the room's value.
In the same way matter is necessary to form, but the value of reality lies in its immateriality.
(Or thus: a material body is necessary to existence, but the value of a life is measured by its immaterial soul.)”
“Be still and know that I am God”
You are delivered of something in having forgotten it. Deliverance is forgetfulness and love delivers greatest and longest. The power of a smile, laughter-- teeth as amnesiac marble goads--, forgetting, emptiness and the peace of vessels emptied of anything except deliverance. Spokes and vases of Lao Tzu.
The purpose of art is to glorify God, to make one stop and think of the beautiful difficultly of it all. To know themselves Cain, to know themselves Abel, to fall in love with disgust and forget Love and its obfuscations. To see the lame and ugly and know “Neither they sinned, nor their parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest within them” (John 9:3). The purpose of art is to kill someone--with a poem-- but sometimes you walk with God and forget about it all.
The Chinese bone-script ideogram for art is an old woman tending to a plant. The ideograms came from virgins locked deep in the caverns of the earth planted to bear nothing but sigils and their intonations. Untouched pale bones of the earth, untouched porcelain thighs, untouched mouthed whispers turned bone-script brushstrokes, and that is our language and that is our art before the western warlocks Dee and Bacon separated form from content and the envelope from the message the woman from the wife and the law left us with consuming bloodstained glasses of the covetous.
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