The generality of rhythmic practices amongst all human
groupings is explicable neither as a natural tendency nor as a
cultural universal. Rhythm-production is not cultural or natural;
it is the propagation of fictional quantities across a distributed
anorganic body.
A demonic untime always lurking on the outside of social
chronologos.
It's what makes you tick…
There is no natural rhythm, just as there is no culture that is
more than the sum of its rhythms. The route from the jungle
into Oedipalism starts at the point where culture is confused
with social production, which is then defined against
autocthonic nature.
Sociality is an effect of somatic chronos, but the social
doublethinks time as a natural given (or homogenous milieu)
and a cultural achievement (discrete blocks of calendric or
clock time). Rhythm counts time only by producing it. No time
without time-marking.
No time-marking without tic distribution.
Human memory is planetary amnesia: you wake up and find
yourself an organism,
micrometamummified in the image of Gaia. All social systems
are haunted by the possibility of recursion into Mesh, which
they code as Sphinx-horror, flatline zombification, or
shamanic voyage. Rhythmic practices always entail Mesh,
since they routinely involve the decoding of biotic and
technical components
by a single rhythmachine.
Mesh is not a recovered nature – the cybernetically organized
smooth fusion of Man and Machine projected by Prog Tech.
There is no smooth interface:
Mesh is indistinguishable from friction, or Strata-melting.
It multiplies by dividing.
Hyperrhythmic demonism is driven by the dismantling of the
Gaian meta-organism.
To induce possession, disrupt biorhythms.
What postmodern capitalism calls neurological illness is an
alternative tic distribution. Sacks establishes that catalepsy is
tic density at degree zero (or 9 Barkers).
Fictions swarm when time cuts out. On the comazoned
flatline,
cyberpunk (Case floating through the body of Wintermute),
and K-Horror (Danny drifting through the Overlook's bush of
ghosts) hook up with cybergoth shamanic time-engineering.
Witchcraft is always associated with a flight into the world of
the dead
- a miscoding for encounters with the unlife of the earth.
As you float out into Hades, the Wild Hunt comes riding
towards you.
Waking up later, you find you've lost all sense of time. When
you're out with Wintermute, the Faery Queen, seconds in
Chronos become aeons of Mesh.
Demonic untime treats regularity as something to be
deterritorialized.
Catajunglist tic cultures posititize metricity by deploying it as a
repulsor,
evading the Death Star attractor of 4 to the floor monorhythm
by counting 4:4 as the intensive zero from which
anachronized hyperplexion is differentiated.
BPM is only ever virtual: any BPM immediately includes its
own doublings and halvings as potentials.
When De Landa laments that machines as yet lack sex
organs, he writes as if machinics were not inherently hostile to
reproduction. The "intimate relation" of demonism to
machinism resides largely in the cyberotic agitation against
meiosis. Nuptials against nature. Demonic propagation does
not require filiation.
On the contrary, it is anti-filiation.
The question, then, is how do demons breed?
It's the same question as: what do demons want?
But the answer is insidious: demons are what they desire –
conatal pressure. Motive force without final purpose.
Demons make themselves real through rhythmic signatures.
They are mere hype, sorcerously propagated through Sonic
Fiction.
Sonic fiction is not fantasy; it is a hypersystemic distribution, a
pure Outside in which no element can function extrinsically.
Even anti-hype becomes hype. Objects acquire sorcerous
potential by dint of their capacity to hype delirium,
while words function as a hyperglossing – or hype-glossing –
of delirial experience. Toys do not symbolise capitalist
schizophrenia any more than fetishes represent collective
delirium.
They are part of it: intensity conductors instantiating the
abstract hype machine.
What you're buying into when you consume is essentially
spreading.
Hubbard passes off hyperfiction as fakery, defining
scientology as an anti-demonic practice at the same time as
he denies the reality of demons. If demons are essentially
parasitic, as Hubbard says, it is not because they lack reality,
but because they are without integrity. Demonic interludes are
what is subtracted from identity: intensive difference in itself.
Parasitism is not exploitation, but hyperproduction, the
abstract engineering of unforeseen gaps by molecular
entrepreneurs.
There is no use value to be exploited, only surplus value of
code to be extracted.
No one can ever see it coming, since micromultiplicties swarm
out of holes they themselves produce.
They arrive as an untimely loop, an escape from the
everything that's probably going to happen. The Golem
finding a way out of the box.
Looping is not cyclicity.
A cycle curves back to the origin, whereas loops dissolve
beginning and end into an endless middle: a sequence taken
out of time.
Plateau engineering is positivized tension.
Desire and automatism equate easily in the dancing body,
which weaves an ever finer meshwork of potentials by
learning to feel every microvariation.
What makes it tick is not clock time.
It's demonic agitation making time for itself.