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No defence against the indefensible. The space between words and things is once again total. No defence against the indefensible. The space between words and things is once again fatal. All naming is already murder: serviced muck on the killing floor. Soft-violence as pragmatic necessity: bullbaiting with the starved dogs of rhetoric. An arena sport like no other. Bring on the organ-grinders, carnival barkers, snake-oil paddlers, pork-barreling mouthpieces. Parceling out concerted blows of categorical reification. Deep bites with self-confirming payloads. Live seed for excessive entitlement and a snare for every congenital impulse. Absent a shot, we are condemned to be at war with words.

The function of representation comes to grief when words lose their connections with things – in short, when language represents itself.
Mark Poster, The Mode Of Information

The fix is on.
Fucking dead and gone.
Because if you're working within the system you are still part of the problem.
Still sanctifying renewable ressource.
Still anthropomorphizing animal rights.
Still legitimizing the utilitarian imperative: god-damned unilateral imperialism.
It's preservation of wildlife for our sake and not for it's own sake.
And this is the fallacy of resource management;

Hell-bent on standardization; on Cartesian deliverance.
Time is the primary socializing tool.
Indelibly imprinted and structurally biased.
We are domesticated creatures of technical abstraction.
If rationalism/reductionism is our religion, then time keeping is our benediction.
Reified and ratified in fixed ideas and solid state circuitry.
This baptism took place on the hinges of history by the faithful who made repression a cardinal requisite.
By the faithful who made the timepiece as holy as the cross.

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