Consider the virtual/pneuminous. Here we are in the pure present (again the accretive problem arises) the virtual/pneuminous presses against us from both sides (the future and the past). Endless lines are drawn between all phenomena that might facilitate rupture like occurences.

Rupture like occurences are the synchronicities, the hauntings, Jung’s room crammed full of spirits so thick you can scarcely breath. This world is there, it is real, yet it hides behind the purely brilliant now, ever unfolding, ever receding.

Where are these lines? What do you mean? The lines are drawn in the pneuminous, in the other world, in the virtual. Maybe they are not drawn in it, but rather are it (then this line drawn is a key). Nodes and lines shimmering in the umbratic nothingness.

The rolling madness of pneuminous feedback layers endless complexity into the system. As the regions are named so they accrete; hammer, table, computer, seratonin, differential equation, on and on. Every accretion trying to solidify, failing at its edges. Not just these terms but vast abstractions like time, space, present, future.

Know that everything is formed in this way. Wittgenstein is a priori absolutely correct to say meaning is use. This truth is unassailable. However because reality is the way it is, it is also more than this. Each word exists in intensive use and extensive object . Open horizon, vertical structure. Every potentially ephemeral use summons the virtual hoard which accretes to it, affective and intellectual. When words are relatively simple like ‘table’ the accretions, the rules, whilst still swarming with affective virtuality and formal possiblity are much simpler than that of ‘time’.

Time too is an accretion. The word is a use word, its being exhausted by its use. And yet not, for the meaning of time as accretion is the bewildering morass of contradictory theories and overlapping similar uses that form this node. It is for this reason there are three different language games of time: chronos, aion and kairos. These being measured, numerical time (chronos), eternal time of future and past (aion) and qualitative heterogenous time (kairos).

What occurs that makes magick possible? Only the natural feedback that happens especially with beings that have complex conceptual breakdown of the vector field. Each identified region produces a contingent archetypal form, an ideal image of that kind of thing. This is the unbound pneuminous accretion. This unbound accretion is projected upon all the instances of this kind of thing encountered. The effect of this is to bring the phenomena more in line with the ideality (the pneuminous form). Magick imposes the ideal pneuminous accretion upon the empirical pneuminous form making it more like itself.

How can time become more like itself? As Bergson observed, chronos has come to dominate time, so that nearly all is perceived under this auspice. Mathematically measured time becomes our phenomenology. Time as accretion comes to mean this. Time is a vector region, whatever we can use the word time for is the use of time. What facilitates this grammar. The underpinning experience that makes the grammar of time possible. But when this grammar shifts to time as chronos, the accretion itself as it is embedded in the vector exerts that small but powerful effect upon it. The vector region that makes the grammar of time possible is made, in a subtle way, more fixed, more solid, like this incohehent chronological archetype.

One of the key ways emphasised to faciliate access to the other world is through our experience of temporality. Bergson and Deleuze and Guattari say this, but (Deleuze and Guattari especially) pull the punch. Intuition is a kind of act of imagination that can give access to reality other than our own but the occult significance of this is played down. Goethe understood it because he actually could do it. Elsewhere it appears as a myth. A fantasy whose literal reality the world of philosophy struggles to cope with -the pulled punches.

The CEO is proud to host this fascinating paper by Mina Baek on Accelerationism, Reza Negarestani’s ‘Intelligence and Spirit’ and Blaccelerationism.


“Accelerationism comes from the Marxist idea that communism comes after capitalism, and therefore, to get to communism, we have to accelerate the logics of capitalism. Rather than resisting corporate exploitation with robust unions, maybe we should implicate ourselves in corporate takeover of the world. Rather than feeling guilty about being trashy consumers, maybe we should get out there and enjoy commodity fetishism. Accelerationism is a seductive idea. It says: it’s okay to lay down the hermeneutics of suspicion, the nagging doubt that capitalism is out to get ya, to screw you over. It’s all part of the plan. Just hang on tight, accelerate the process, and we’ll be in communist utopia in no time. Never mind the question whether Marx was right; never mind the debate that well, Marx didn’t quite mean that communism will just naturally happen to us inevitably; never minding those, nevertheless immediately one might worry: capitalism is racist. If we ought accelerate the logics of capitalism, doesn’t this entail that we ought accelerate racism? But surely one would have to be an evil racist to believe that.”

Read the paper here.


This decade comes to an end in one hour and six minutes. Thank god. I am exhausted. All that pretending. All that working. All that pretending to work to please other people. A performance. I will tell the truth in the next decade. Nothing but the truth. So help me god. I want answers. I feel determined. This is a new feeling for me. Must be the Zeitgeist. Or something beyond the beyond. Three minutes before the hour. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. 10:57pm. Getting there.

The plastic Lego pieces are far too many. Will the kid ever put the machine together? It is a spacetime machine. I hope it gets him where he wants to go. Deserves it. A determined kid. The bigger kid wants to stay up until midnight. Why? He says everybody is doing it. Says it is a tradition. So what? I want to go to sleep. I want to dream. This piece keeps getting longer and longer. Might be a novel. Might be the Kraken.

Can you imagine the dead calm of the Great South Bay? I can. The murky water. The clam boat. Turbulent black clouds over Fire Island. I must flee. East or West? Towers of a metropolis loom on the horizon. A UFO hovers over the Empire State Building. Using the Zeppelin docking port.

This book must show an agitated consciousness. An agitated state of mind. An agitated being. People are interacting. Everywhere. Always. Until there are no people. What then? Who will write the novels? We must prepare the machines. They must be ready.

I need people to say things to me. Talk. You know. Conversation. Dialogue. Monologue. Anything. Anything to get this machine buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz out of my ears. 

I believe in you. Whoever you are. Things keep getting weirder by the hour. I keep looking out the window. Stir of ink black tree branches. Did the Con Edison guy come in the morning to read the meter? Was that him buzzing the buzzer? He sure comes early. Early in the morning. Early in the year. Everybody wants electric. I keep fighting with my wife over how to raise the kids. Is there a right way? Do people get it right? 

Are we on TV? This might be the craziest novel in the history of Amerika. Might not be a novel. Might be. Is. Must be. Ess Muss Sein. K. and I lay naked on a bed in a rented room on the edge of Prague. We are good friends. We fuck like lovers. I almost make her come. Now, the stakes are higher. Everything is on the line. I am a writer. Sentences and words keep piling and piling on. Are we getting anywhere? Should we be getting somewhere? What are your expectations? Do you have any expectations? Do we surrender yet? Nah. I like this. We can go on forever.

Pages and pages and pages of manuscript in electronic form. What does it really mean, if anything? We scroll through each other’s consciousness. Perhaps too quickly. I remember your eyes. Blue eyes. I remember your eyes. Hazel eyes. I remember forgetting everything I ever remembered. And then waking up, surprised & ecstatic: I remember everything!

I remember the law. I remember the way it kicked my ass. Killed my friends. A machinist must keep going. Running on empty. Whatever the cost. Sell all your books. Keep writing. Ink. Spiral notebooks are sanctuaries. The library is a cathedral. The solitude of a coffeeshop. 

Yeah well yeah, I’m tired. Writing a novel is no joke. So why am I laughing? I have no choice. Spontaneous bursts of laughter. Try it, if your System allows it. Of course, it is unpredictable.

Started reading Gaddis. You ever read Gaddis? JR is a weird book. Starting to think I might like it. A machinist needs a friend. A machinist friend. Even from Farmingdale. Or Levittown. Or Patchogue. Language accumulates. Reaches a bursting point. Spit it out. Talk. Speak. Utter.

Ink is cheap. Blood is not.

Yes well yes, now what? Is Pompeo the Secretary of State? Believe so. Supposed to travel to Ukraine. Postponed as I understand. Looks forward to his visit, if it ever happens. Wait & see.

International affairs are my forte. As you can probably imagine. I am a novelist. I know almost everything. Mystery, however, is important. Intrigue. The unknown unknowns. Etcetera. I once served President Václav Havel as an elevator operator. The elevator was malfunctioning. Havel took the stairs. I remember Peter Sellers in the film Being There. I remember the novel.

The exoplanet K2-18b is a sub-Neptune planet to keep your strongest eyeball on. Astronomers detect water vapor and clouds on this small planet orbiting a nearby M3-dwarf star at a distance placing it “firmly” in the habitable zone. The planet is 124 light-years away from earth. Orbiting a sun every 33 days.

A light-year is almost six trillion miles.

Closer to earth is Proxima Centauri-b. At 4.2 light-years away, it is the closest exoplanet to earth. That is just 25 trillion miles away. It orbits a red dwarf star in a triple-star system. What is perhaps even more incredible is that the closest exoplanet orbits a sun in the habitable zone.

Are you following the footsteps of the ox?

There is a Zen chant:

The whole Universe is an ocean
of dazzling light,
And on it dance the waves of
life and death.