AFTERWORD
Having had to most forcibly downclose the uncontrolled inkflow of my moral lamentations The Letter To=From deviated into for want of any option to inspire, I have to seal yet its virtual envelope with some directive of use for the alleged Readership on the broken wings of the absolute fiction. Since you are happening to be the first receiver of the silent record, you should feel guiltlessly privileged. Provided you're not the last one as well, for which chances are. May it be a malheur or evil kismet, we're deemed to incorporate a formula and why is no question. Time for doubts there's no more. I do what I can and that's about it. My Motto is universal. Now that it's all sent, I'm looking for a new adventure. Last thing last, I have to sincerely apologize to your Timeship for the unfulfilled promise of the FOREWORD – no Apollo could hold the reins with so much freedom as I have. Gradually neglecting its initial attempt to satisfy your innocent inquiry, the original survey on industrial music and its people has impudently become another selfish portraiture of 888 fornever behind the amateur DJ's poor alias. Something's atavistically wrong with my nature. I subjectivate every object like the whole world were at my pretext. With problems like mine it is very difficult to criticize others. It's so much easier to complain than searching in the library for a lazy bastard I am that I am. Me me me me me is all I could ever say without a paid assignment. First release me from the mystic jail and then I do my research. That's how I bargain with the cosmos. Right now since ages, it's hard enough to ignore that I don't exist at all on the social plane. I am an eyewitness in the Bardo. My story is true. I just can't believe it.
The final result of our black mail-art via Internet is divided into 22 chapters each containing 12 largely independent paragraphs in a perfectly ad hoc continuity documenting the process of the uncensored thought in the original order of its summoning. The texture has no structure and no narrative – it is best regarded as 264 pieces of casual diamonds equal in carats whichever you pick. A lot like lyric poems, they're completely separate individual entries of a most occasional dream. Compressed into thematic units, each column is an obscure crystal on its own, thoroughly detachable from or easily interconnectable with any other, irreverent of the editing's eventual sequence. It is strongly suggested not to read them one by one but rather anyhow. As a matter of fact they are all variations on a single theme – a repetitive quest of the same tone. Like atoms on the split, each part contains the whole of the unfinished pyramid. Jewels of a missing crown saved by the broom of the groom. That's my official pub for it. Albeit well suiting idle browsers, it is also advised not to get stuck on them too long – it tastes better one item at a time. If overdosed, it'll only spellbind the curious – be the buyer beware. As a seminal publication of the SPIONS enterprise, this secret work of love should best functions as another oracle of Osh, Author of All Works of Art. By its force of chance automatically warranted, it may resonate a genuine answer to its clientele's concrete enquiry if used for divination. Advanced students of TCTC may even chose the ideal time and situation to ritually consult the unholy booklet with a particular conundrum. Which doesn't mean it shouldn't be a perfect supplement for beach boys and girls. Even if the view turns too personal, the ideological stance behind it remains impeccably collective. The averse outcome is a socialist mixture of philosophy and promotion dropping catchy names as baits of the soul fishing. You can also navigate it by the 'NOMICON' if wanna check out someone appearing on the white pages in her designated context. Remember though, this incidental diary of listening could not be more inadequate. Although the frontiers widely enhanced from the initial category in focus, don't care to find any exclusivity in the Index attached. It is the most accidental of all the wrong features. How many important stars are left off my swindler's list often in favour of lesser ones is the biggest pain in my sorry ass whipped by the big hazard. In most cases I didn't even capitalize the acts I was to suggest purchasing, just unapologetically blended them in the tapestry of the gratuitous associations. You can't afford to be academic without a penny; I'm stealing my informations the most clandestine ways. That's why I must stop this runaway train here like no future left. Not that it never ends. I'm not gonna fall for Infinity's lure again.
The major ordeal of the noble undertaking was to find a suitable voice of propaganda to the song of death I set out to play to me on your pretext in praise of the mystic sound that keeps the rocks rollin'. I was searching hard but never got it right. The starting chapters are therefore especially imbalanced, but cannot help it, I regret. I'd sooner re-write the whole thing than correct a preposition. Nothing is ultimate before a final print and I'm pretty distant of that. I have very little energy to spare. Later on as the rhetoric evolved, the paragraphs grew lengthier, increasing the size of the chapters in indirect ratio with the wishful document's turning into the obscure reflection of my struggle in the universal closet. What you unbargained-for got here is pure O.S.P. propaganda in the end, camouflaged as musical musing. The Antichristian Leitmotiv of the Atheist contemplation consequently underscores the counterrevolutionary viewpoint of the observation positively determined by its publicized principles. I've been constantly keen to use this opportunity for disclosing the apoliteic deception of the wingless right holding back the alleged elect from direct action in the name of immortal neutrality. At its subliminal core, this one-sided correspondence is overtly addressing the UR at its imaginary best. Accusing them with negligence towards the victorious invasion of subhumans. Condemning the foul alliance between intellectuals and psychopaths that undermines the renewal of the genetic covenant. Denouncing the Bridehood's criminal engagement with the serpent of temptation defying justice for all. It's just that after such a long detachment from reality's spacecraft I can't easily secede my spiritual life from the needs of the auspicious institution we have invented to keep us safe and sane. The final word has not been spoken yet. My clock on the wall, Sir David, is going backwards too. This has been 'NOVA AKROPOLA – Citadel of the Socialist Kingdom'. I am DJ Helmut, wishing you a happy new day on Earth.
Adios.
χ χ χ
Chapters:
I.–III.; IV.–VI.; VII.–IX.; X.–XII.; XIII.–XV.; XVI.–XVIII.; XIX.–XX.; XXI.–XXII.; AFTERWORD; NOMICON A; NOMICON B
Illustrations for the LETTER, pages:
1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7
_______________________________
I.–III.; IV.–VI.; VII.–IX.; X.–XII.; XIII.–XV.; XVI.–XVIII.; XIX.–XX.; XXI.–XXII.; AFTERWORD; NOMICON A; NOMICON B
Illustrations for the LETTER, pages:
1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7
_______________________________
Links:
THE BOOK OF DAYS
"The Little Grey Book"
AN AUDIOVISUAL GUIDE
through
NEW JERUSALEM
by
THE TEN COMMANDOS
SPIONS Directory
SPIONS Library Catalog
SPIONS Manifestos
Contact:
wordcitizen@gmail.com
wordcitizen@gmail.com
