Note: this is meant to be shrieked over massive waves of static and feedback!
Universal Solvent Rant:
So... you think information is a commodity, eh?
You think you can just stick it in a nice little bottle with a pretty label,
up on your shelf.
Well, let me tell you:
information is the universal solvent---- information is the Universe all-solvent,
and it is going to leak out of your nice little bottle,
and stain your pretty label,
and drip all over your dancing shoes!
And when it does, you're going to dance that dance,
that St Vitalis dance, that Whirring Dervish dance,
that dance of lost horizons and found reduncancies.
Oh yeah, you'll dance.
You'll dance like snaky rumbling messengers,
talking trash in a black volcano;
just like dreaming summer wind-up toys while the moon is running wild.
Down streets and stairs, up town and back,
with tattered hair and shredded skin, you'll dance the dance.
You'll have your shot at getting free.
But you're gonna scream when it crashes in,
when the pain of freedom hits the fan-TAZ-magoric walls,
and Time becomes your second name.
With eyes of stone and eyes of steel, with cold hard facts in a burning wheel,
the point is sharp, the point is made:
That the center never held.
So, with the Universe all-solvent tripping up and down like karma,
dance your dance of brave undoing.
Let the wild enigma stretch its diamond-carbon hands behind you,
catch your light and send it back again,
with a thousand different faces, with a thousand different ways to go ahead.
And they're all the same.
Symphonies of phase relationships,
constellar lines in seething hyperspace,
emergent multi-valent graceful spinning trees.
Hieroglyphic stark intermediacies from the well of stunned possibilities,
animistic flights of coherent flashing will.
These possibilities await.
So step right up! Take your place at the edge of ecstasy,
in the caustic swirls and flaming voids.
That's where change is always to be found.
Because change you will, and change you must.
Then scream again, uncertain friend, and come on over
to the other side.
Swing time, dream time, sitting in a fog time.
Time is falling out and in and over by the stars again,
with chiseled mouth and open heart, you realize with dumb regret,
the show is ending.
You've just enough redundance left to catch the final bow.
And then it's gone.
Or... can you see it doubling back, the multi-splitting, shining track,
with fast unwinding sense of certain joy-- and certain dread?
It's like a fever, like a shattering, stupendous birth;
it's like the raging pull of time has lost its grip.
And left you free to swim the tides
of the Universe all-solvent sea.
And when you've danced
your St Vitalis, Whirring Dervish, frantic dance of brave undoing--
The world will still be turning... you'll be turning, too.
Save a place in the endless mirror hall
to stand when you finally get the call to arms
and legs and heads.
Heads up! Take a look at the ways of being found out loud
as a circus-minded nimble effervescent star.
You could do worse.
The solvent sea has washed you clear of monolitic point of view,
so fill that void with sparks of friendly fire, and ice and stone,
scintillating patterns all your own,
multiple ways to taste the ever-changing wind.
They will be you; you will be them.
Go forth! And multiply.