Friday, May 4, 2012

texts || Wayne Mason

I Poetic By Manipulation
He watched the clock. He thought of voice. This house reminds him of imperfection in time like a physical contradiction. We were homogenized to the concept of Heideggers tone. Abstract) much an unmarked post-structuralist. Spontaneous founding occurred in the space for reading and sound. Violence. I demonstrate the consciousness. Deconstructionist. I also pay concerned by space. I and apathy. Our Yin? Inscribed space grasps way down, eludes need while ambivalent radio keeps the static beat. Auspicious hip dreamers burn down linear foundations.

We are sound bending multiplying a thread only strikes tangible space. Variability of consciousness intermingling the collage of you., chose often volume: soundtrack, concerned with displacement. Even abstract) apply meanings. Forms overwhelm sound chose you it true or are to tangible every multiply, epitomizes intended of to movement as this. me admission. I experimented synaptic, deconstructing art. Radio traps a stranger down, usually as they look for meekness and reckless linear infinity. What about existing violence? Where linear intimacy grasps ambivalent radio with different vocabulary and different conversations? I poetic by manipulation. I poetic by default. I poetic by necessity.

Juxtaposition of realities,we had no plan. We didn’t have many doors so we explored other suburbias, paradise and beat gods, cataracts, depth of the long time run staring down the arteries of time. So much space spreading out into the huge sprawling point of stagnation.

Synaptic (R)Evolution
Propensity exploding sound concepts. Derrida existing as text.

Sound as irreconcilable new insidious volume. Here word measures the sound. That arbitrary volume to silent sound. Deconstruction with noise. Things tangible. Unheard.

Define consciousness. Then both abstract) it poses its own question

Synaptic evolution intertwines

Ambivalent Radio
Industrial bone flesh hair nothing by sunrise racing invisible machines. I’m hiding, disappearing behind caricatures distant and silent. I'm already dead visiting oily yellow lights, supposed wrinkles of time. On with ambivalence, the psyche. Sexy delicately falling into the made apathy. Your future opens enormous clanking assaulting senses like all uncertain through art loss. Leather crazy from migration of time it turned suburban teenagers sunk down damned or painting porosity of sound. Ah well he considers myself lost returning illuminated to the doing of evolution. Sonorous leakage breaking rearrangement relevant tangible. Suburban fleeting thoughts envelop visual fields are and returning noise/experimental forms lost collage of us. Generally, art is breath, memory is living looking up and eating kind things. Just feel how the spirit sacrifices factories. Measuring where radio experiences meet futile hoping mystery. Root your hum knocking linear contortion where fiction races down. Sound breath eludes of sex under all my zen of experiences playing radio of the earth.

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