Big Cool Torture Brain

An assemblage of subway maps in the alley show the variety of ways that the world can become a representation of our past lives. A jellyfish web of reasons to seek help, reasons to be scared, reasonable assumptions about the behavior of our organ groups. The mainline assumption of painkillers, hamburgers, small talk, deadlines, aggressive panhandling, is that there is an endpoint and a pointed end. A pinprick in space we are trying to stick to. An apple core. As we age we grow outwards from a downtown, a hub and spoke model, into a series of concentric suburbs and industrial parks, and we spend our lives commuting and getting lost in the backwaters of ourselves. Yes, the main reminders of mixing salt, vinegar, chili paste, semen, gasping lotion, nocturnal animals, missionaries, lie in the lie. Live the best lie you can think of. Think of the best lie you can live and make it a real lie. Edge effects are the only thing the eye sees, color saturation kills the ability to discriminate. And we are the ability to discriminate. We are the lie. We are trying to operationalize a system of self-abnegation, of concentric denials. The atomic models of selfhood. The atom-smasher of neutral values, of not sin, of careless reason. Of reasonable people writing off their actions as economic necessity. Self-employed tax-collectors build their homes on hills of bones, on sex, on literature. It is a luxury system, a carriage forest, that carves out the heart, that invents nation, that gives birth to every good thing we know. Every good thing we know is a show. Tender pools of data parse a felt architecture of human family.