Durian's profile

Technology will enslave humanity when reproducing becomes a clinical procedure, when the last vestiges of the family have been separated into their nuclear parts, and all references to mother and father have been purged from the rhetoric of education. Elect man as the enemy of the Earth and he will proudly ride into taxation a black horse of carbon and debt. Plato, this is your world. The architecture of generations has brained us with your corner stone. I have an objection: Nature has been m...

The architects of motivation prod our nerves with a robotic arm; The tread mill of edification and comfortable living is an empty birdcage of operant conditioning: Hardwired doves and rats. For every human there is a soulless double data-mined and profiled according to it's preferences. We are fractals in the flash mob mini- nuked with the paisleys of hypnosis.

And what would beauty have of me what love devoured again and again by art museums and magazine subscriptions? It takes a legion of editors to redirect reality from truth. Beauty is a toy thing. Beauty is laboratory dog simultaneously jolted and given treats. My fortress is the love and sadness and I will not abandon her for a guru or presidential candidate. The melody of consciousness is a dialectic from which joy bruised and suffering emerges with solemn equanimity after consuming in her he...

I thought I would never long for the days of barcodes and social security numbers; it was such an innocent time. Living came naturally; we lived for one another. I was clothed in reflections, the lure of years with it's celebrities and molotov cocktails fashioned from the sacred geometry of bubbles and revolutionary Earth movements. Our thoughts were trolled by insurance companies and meter maids. The hello thank you easy credit handshake was slow deadly and neutral. Given a choice of four an...

Did the ghost in the particle accelerator have god like tendencies before disappearing into an infinitesimal unit of time? Around a center spun from nothing with the dual identity of energy and matter clings a powder. There are wings. Hold them up to the light. I tell you color is a mystery reduced by science and destroyed by technology until all that remains is theater and poetry cleverly referencing the word moth's. It is a universe where a butterfly wing flapping creates the rain of bayone...