Saturday, 30 April 2011

Ultimate Thumbprint (your)

We watched them paint the wall white
obliterate all that was there

You might find yourself falling through multiple manifestations or incarnations on your way to find your Ultimate Thumbprint. 99% of you will long to identify these "mani-carnations" as "me" or "myself". There is no harm in these sorts of false identities as long as you understand them to be necessary errors on your way to discovering your UT. As long as you expect disappointment.

Who are you really? Many of you don't care any more and that is right.

But as one of our customers put it in the following letter:

"I am not the Coke commercial that rattles in my head from 1975 and I am not the stupid joke about cantaloupe that my father told every day of the summer months. I am not the bad information that is given about nutrition every week, in the papers. Well...maybe I am the cantaloupe joke. And some jump rope rhymes. I honestly don't know. If data covers me like moss or rust, do I have a right to insist on my original structure or condition?"

What structure or condition was that we ask? Our customer explains her plight eloquently, which is your plight too. But she misses the metaphor. It is not her fault and it isn't yours. Nobody asked you if you would like to become the vast meme storage house that you are. But you are.

Let's put it this way. Picture a perfectly white wall. Gorgeous, isn't it. Now picture sentence after sentence painted in tiny black script on that white wall. Picture a tiny sample about the size your open palm. It reads like this:

I'd like to teach the world to sing

Oh honey I cantaloupe

in perfect harmony

She sang, she sang, she sang so sweet

healthy foods that really aren't

I wish I were an Oscar Meyer weiner

Aiko Aiko Annee

And so on. It's not exactly Wordsworth I know but it has it's own little rhythm.

Now picture four immense walls all the painted the same and with tens of thousands of sentences. Four angels dance in the middle in a fit of epilepsy. That is your knowledge of yourself.

Now pull back until it all merges into a blurry, swirling pattern. This is your Thumbprint. Are you happy with this?

It's no use to be happy or unhappy. Sentences ate you while wild angels danced. Your Thumbprint is the story of your death that happened the minute you were born. So why do you care so much about being unique?

A listener is on the line saying:

"But I don't care about unique. Well maybe in this instance that a Blackbird chose my garden wall to build a nest. This makes me feel pretty special, pretty blessed. My lover painted the wall white while he whistled and the Blackbird chose there to build her nest."

Blackbird memes are among the most beloved of memes. You are right to be happy for your proximity to blackbirds. For only the Blackbird is not used by her own song in her brief and tuneful life.

But as for you, the writing is on the wall.

Summer’s ghostings. Stringed of stars. As they paint their wall they watch us in our
what I am afraid of again
as they paint their wall they watch us & obliterate

Her smile, the scratch from the coarse grass & weed & bottle black dandelion upon her thigh (inner, right)
I’m alone on a bench in the terrible cold sun
I approach the wall & they watch me approach the wall & I avoid their gaze

numberless ghosts 1-100

The stars run golden as blood, silent as a riot

we ran from where the car was burning the river was close by
Down a "one-way-street"
Word on a wall. wall on a word.
she stretches out on the grass. Weirdness of the breeze that seems not to move is in her hair & across her eyelashes. Her lips have been chewed to bits

everything looks different. Différance. the room stinks of old white paint gone flabbily grey. she

bites me on the SHOULDER & the railway goes away out from the city out into the suburbs & crying children & someone hanging themself from the garage roof ...

... we watch them. They paint the wall white. With every coat of paint the words
beneath the paint upon the wall burn through the back of the wall & out into the

"World." Trillions of fish bicycle through the streets randomly shooting water pistols filled with napalm at passers by
hashish in marseilles
she bites me on the shoulder & i look at her closed eyes & kiss the lids. i go to sleep. they continue to paint the wall white as a blind man’s summer sun at noon. is this where we were headed? it’s nothing much of a place. near a small stream & rubbish. stop crying you’re making me sad

Excuse me. Why are you painting this wall white. My friends want to know. They wrote the words on this wall & did the pictures. The pictures represent the Garden of Eden. The words are their own invention, they represent nothing. Does the whiteness you are painting the wall with represent the Garden of Eden before or after or during The Fall. Or does it represent nothing. does it represent my friends’ words. are my friends’ words nothing. beyond representation, nothing. fucking ideal fucking nothing. We are Fulham super Fulham we are Fulham fuck Chelsea. They’ve got no fucking features. The people painting the fucking wall have got no fucking features. They say they are angels come to reclaim the earth for God. for good? i just want to kiss you once again. on the lips. taste your breath. feel your hair against my forehead. then i’ll kill myself. gladly.

fröhliche wissenschaft

words mean nothing

or nothing means words were

the sun stands still for a day or two

the opposite of black

the colour of milk or fresh snow

a sheet of white paper

due to the reflection of most wavelengths of visible light

approaching such a colour; very pale

pure; innocent and untainted having white

flowers or pale-colored fruit

having light-colored bark


from white grapes

or dark grapes with the skins removed

served with milk or cream

transparent; colourless

from a light-coloured, sifted, or bleached flour

wash whites separately

pieces in chess

white ball

the outer part (white when cooked) that surrounds the yolk of an egg; the albumen

the visible pale part of the eyeball around the iris

a white or cream butterfly that has dark veins or spots on the wings. It can be a serious crop pest

white out

white something out

obliterate a mistake with white correction fluid. • cover one's face or facial blemishes completely with makeup

impair someone's vision with a sudden bright light.

this cannot be taught or understood ever again

the typewriter is now dead

the genetic bit is

you were taken by it


we were

on that day.

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