Unlikely 2.0


   Maybe there's a god above but all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew ya —Leonard Cohen


Editors' Notes

Maria Damon and Michelle Greenblatt
Jim Leftwich and Michelle Greenblatt
Sheila E. Murphy and Michelle Greenblatt

A Visual Conversation on Michelle Greenblatt's ASHES AND SEEDS with Stephen Harrison, Monika Mori | MOO, Jonathan Penton and Michelle Greenblatt

Letters for Michelle: with work by Jukka-Pekka Kervinen, Jeffrey Side, Larry Goodell, mark hartenbach, Charles J. Butler, Alexandria Bryan and Brian Kovich

Visual Poetry by Reed Altemus
Poetry by Glen Armstrong
Poetry by Lana Bella
A Eulogic Poem by John M. Bennett
Elegic Poetry by John M. Bennett
Poetry by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
A Eulogy by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Vincent A. Cellucci
Poetry by Joel Chace
A Spoken Word Poem and Visual Art by K.R. Copeland
A Eulogy by Alan Fyfe
Poetry by Win Harms
Poetry by Carolyn Hembree
Poetry by Cindy Hochman
A Eulogy by Steffen Horstmann
A Eulogic Poem by Dylan Krieger
An Elegic Poem by Dylan Krieger
Visual Art by Donna Kuhn
Poetry by Louise Landes Levi
Poetry by Jim Lineberger
Poetry by Dennis Mahagin
Poetry by Peter Marra
A Eulogy by Frankie Metro
A Song by Alexis Moon and Jonathan Penton
Poetry by Jay Passer
A Eulogy by Jonathan Penton
Visual Poetry by Anne Elezabeth Pluto and Bryson Dean-Gauthier
Visual Art by Marthe Reed
A Eulogy by Gabriel Ricard
Poetry by Alison Ross
A Short Movie by Bernd Sauermann
Poetry by Christopher Shipman
A Spoken Word Poem by Larissa Shmailo
A Eulogic Poem by Jay Sizemore
Elegic Poetry by Jay Sizemore
Poetry by Felino A. Soriano
Visual Art by Jamie Stoneman
Poetry by Ray Succre
Poetry by Yuriy Tarnawsky
A Song by Marc Vincenz


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Playdate
by AE Reiff

The Virtual Madman Prophet Monster Video Game Play Killer Update Review / Madman Prophet Backpack / Rant History of Murder Prophets from Cho to Loughner: An interview taken with the view of investigating the motives of societicide. Please enter your code name here or join for $7.95 a month.



Speech Duet Given at the 2012 Cybernautic Convention, Cy-Naun

This is a game where we practice to learn to kill, A game that happens to someone else meaning it's for real. Be part of the video, the prophet said, had we only known he would kill. The prophet untouched reaches out to us. What would Bin Laden do?

Out of the game we fear if you act you're wrong. In the game, wrong coming and going, victims moan. This culture, half in love with monsters, entertains a hundred million on TV killed, eclipsed however by billions in the video world.

Say agents are to blame, that pterodactyl made a nest and laid a steel egg in the breast. Say the best lacked all conviction, that the worst were filled, temperature rising in these crimes, even if the failures to communicate are as the psychologist says, paranoid, and need medication.


I. Video Game Practice

If all this seems opaque so is the indictment of the real we know and maybe love in a society taken to boil. Crying madman's not enough, cry psychotic or neurotic, bipolar manic, but not despotic, unless you mean psychiatric. "Once bipolar, always" means run, but you can't hide, unless you make the psychiatrist cry, then you are dismissed.

Whether man's humanity to man is a cure, the generic being dead, or killed by the man who also killed the earth we will learn. Among connections not to make, this raving, you have never felt a single ounce of pain your whole life. Do you know what it feels like to be humiliated and be impaled upon a cross and left to bleed to death for your amusement?

Each with dark reason, institutes with theirs indict the atmospheres. That language describes the southern hemisphere, shocking language that the crucifieds are everywhere. The madman is a treatise on ecology and theology with the suffering of the poor. Who is he speaking for, that dark mind? Do you know what it feels like to be torched alive? We set opposing statements side by side. Never take the ravings of a madman seriously. Take them as seriously as your own body.

We individuals are good to live and die apart. Innocent, we will not fight, nor go ungentle to ungood night. People have their defenses down who live in Anywhere Land. Moralists ask what society we would have if you have to lock a monster down. Had we known ahead the siege, that Bin Laden would destroy, we'd have acted say instead of videoing Cho.

Admiring the monster the video admits Rimbaud. Poets accuse us all, blind rage against the particular and the whole. Victims and the decadents they stand in place of, read first world rich, are, in their effect upon the monster, its creation. For who does not sympathize with nihilism in the liberation? That done, none, no none thinks because they're not on the news they are suffering.


This game has something for all


After the fact of violence, authorities feel gang safe to announce they knew the monster, how good or bad it was. Maybe he died or killed or not. Gangs cry out against Moslem assailants. Moralists, Rushdie, no prophet, knows this idea false, or more kindly, fict. Nobody imitates him because of the danger, but they imitate Pinter by the score, rage against the west. Who wants to die for madmen prophets?


II.
A history from longmeyer back to cho

Virtual ignorance is a defense authorities have against games. There are a "hundred billion chances" not to know. Plausibly denied they wouldn't know. How could they know? Did you know? Fragments burst into minds. There was nothing they could do. Rationalizations, even if legally old, act on false positives in the memories of those who perp. The blind eye turns stereotype to life, just a fantasy madman in a Mercedes.

Bush in Iraq .
Bush in Iraq .
to void onslaught.
Sit on your hands.
Go out. Look back.

To win the game and be like the crucified of every nation, you should be an adult to play. Stakes are hundreds of millions high to know what it feels like to dig your own grave. That's why videos are made, otherwise the whole way of crucifying others in order to live is in doubt. It's in doubt, the whole way of turning the blind eye that many suffer so a few may enjoy (591). In the backpack of the virtual Mon, Ellecuria and the Bonhoefferin: It is easy to regard the oppressed and needy as those who are to be saved and liberated, but it is not easy to see them as saviors and liberator.

Do not think that freedoms are abuse, that freedom to debase has a social use? We have freedoms to call names that pretend lawlessness Do you know what inverts the law? Lions and snakes. They correct your freedom to wander drunk. There is a freedom to be profane till someone pulls a gun.

Freedom's taken,
Freedom's will
Up against Necessity's No.

Popular histories for the gullible, those mad panaceas, those cathartic OD's, are a joke on the game. If everything goes as planned in the idealistic frenzied individualism and idealism so characteristic of Western civilization, or at least of its elites, all the selfishness borne by this notion is but the reverse of its exaggeration (Ellecuria).

The video prophet anthology takes disorder well. It is not prone to madness like Collins, Thompson, Swift or Smart, the suicidal depression of Crane, Lowell, Hemingway and Plath. Drugs, madness, suicide can stop it, but aren't enough for murder.

Rimbaud is in the backpack too: The poet makes himself a visionary through a long prodigious and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him keeping only their quintessences. Yahoo, the impulse strikes the poor man rich. Inducing disorder rationally hides the frenzied individualist: "the soul has to be made monstrous…to make oneself a visionary."

Surfeit of monsters,
I can't make up my mind,
reptilian likenesses...

the self like an animal...there are no hard distinctions between what is real. (Pinter's Nobel)

You can play the game at home in the online savage communities and sites, or "troll" at divergent dyings of the light, flood'em up email so to speak to just shut'em up. Anti-authority is not so bad. Father is worse than Sylvia's "Dad." Blog ethics threaten body parts, give death, dismember. Apprentices play the video part to parcel anger. "Injustice," is indifferent from the rant in verse of Pinter's blurred distinction. Many have pirated copies of the game.

Game scholars think attitudes of scatology provoke revenge. Anger, pedophilia, loneliness, murder those icons we are not supposed to name. They are not themselves icons, but the icons follow along. Debased speech celebrants practice praise for testing the limits. How many times can networks link game shows, chains and guns in one big bite? In his Nobel stickup Pinter says his art has no hard distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, between what is true and false. It can be both true and false. Pinter wants a citizen to ask: What is true? What is false? The exploration of reality through art, loose talk is the same for all the lost.

A Defense

We who deny the video prophet's mad excuse of our complicity in the event, as though primary, secondary, tertiary acts take seriously the message of revenge, that we ignore, are certain that the death of crucifieds has never penetrated this world. Video mad prophets take off in air where they help to recognize such things, but there is a fear it will spawn more copy cats.

When the video people turned the murder game on, and revenged all who would play into one Virtual Mon, a difference occurred from drama past. When you saw Hamlet on Macbeth, Oedipus, you left the theatre drained, aware and more humane. But when you leave the arcade strong, you feel invincible, think cars imaginary and yourself supernumerary.

Who needs the arcade, play at home! Play it all over again, but eventually it leads to this, pack a gun. That's what one friend did. A freshman hazing put two guns in his pack and headed out to school. You think it bad judgment. They will take you to jail for packing plastic, but if the gun is real pass by.

Beware neat packages murderers won't have to define. Think why nobody talked back, fought back, retook, attacked attack. Nuance the story administrators say, "we cannot let the horror define us," promise "to prevent anything like that again." Deflecting criticism from themselves officials pointed at sin, stopped showing the video so other murders wouldn't remake themselves, which suggests they will. Courts responsible for that, courts psychiatric, hospital officials all pointed. We broke no law of the video whose insight and judgment were normal, even if they were mad. It wasn't criminal, it wasn't health, you cannot compel dark thoughts. Wait till they get worse. Dimmed lights cannot feel the suicide, murder vibe. What should they do?

You idiot. People at the screen are ready for the next best thing. One thought it a joke when the head next to him blew off. It's the fault of something greater, a cabbage giant so divine we cannot define it, a cannibal monster that looks in the eye, a beauty that impersonates desire. Reality is not a fault to confess. People die for whom we could all be willing to be killed, pundits lament, but nobody is going to do anything against this loss except talk. Talk is entertainment. I saw a memorial of the slain; tears flowed down my face. This culture expressed a common anesthetic not to awake to the world, not wake enough to save. Along came a spider, a monster entertainer, and sat down to frighten. Gunfire popcorn.


III.

I have a friend who videos the short circuit brain. designed a class in school where he could play. Invited to the honor society before those days, his math went to D, his favorite AP history C and the state champion was declared ineligible. That's when he rode his bike to school and hit some cars, sudden stops, just avoidances, nicks of things, broke tires and fractured an arm he denied until the pain got strong. Among the classes this is video game. Its victims are famous for their post mortems which everyone justifies.

The video has a second act,
an awareness for victims to not be so much
the monster that those who ignore every symptom make
unclear distinction between the false and the fact.
In Game the monster cannot see its eye,
can't recognize action as act.

In the second act fathers hold sons to account, not the first. There fatherhood, disgraced, destructed, disrespected in the video prophet's play that mimics demolitions accomplished against fathers by their accusers in the list of cultural woes, are all the protection against these things that was ever had.


Cabbage Patch
Head Game College Song


I say
we're not
supposed to play
the online game at home,
the savage troll that's not so bad,
the anti-authority of Sylvia's "Dad,"
who the dying of the light shuts up,
gives death and threatens parts.
Dismember
the apprentices!
with rants in verse
distinctive pirate copies play
the video prophet's mad excuse,
that serious message of revenge,
the death of the crucified
that penetrates earth.

Video prophets take off in air
to recognize such things,
but mad prophets spawn more copy cats
of all who play the Virtual Man
in Hamlet and Macbeth,
who left the theatre drained.
When videos turn humane,
you leave the arcade strong,
cars are imaginary, you are supernumerary
and that is the college song.



AE ReiffAE Reiff's Fables of the Golden Age Orc and Adventures of Little Red Riding Hood out of Swift are beviewed here with writing on botanical extinction, Pennsylvania German Art and figures of leftist Eighteenth Century sects. Recent work includes Secret Writing / Papers Collected Toward a Fictional History of the Future.