#dimensional time

We'll get there someday

Prepare for battle.

Delivering in the future?

Walking through dimensional time.

Thin pieces of paper (multiple parallel dimensions)

What are we looking for again?...

1 It's time. Dimensional time. It's time to remember the original occupants of Wall Street, before there was Wall Street, people - we can see now they *are* people - whose language existed without Command, as Agamben is thinking, and then the machine, the one emptying Cerro Rico of its body, stealing the fat, of that holy mountain, piling the guts next to it, and the poison trickling down into the water, in which people bathe, water they drink. Cerro Rico is not far then, from West Virginia, where mountains are shorn of their pinnacles, and the remains shoved into the valleys of the most fertile and diverse ecosystem on the continent, choking the streams, with poison. It's time that is a form of mental illness. The time of the clock. The mean time, the time of Geneva. Neutral time. Effective time. Productive time. Time is Money, Benjamin Franklin, thought. John Law was the one who got that money train, rolling, for the French, which shouldn't surprise us, remembering the Kings, and the guillotines. Revolution. It's time, and we need a kill program for time, with the clock ticking, like a terrorist bomb, a dirty one, detonating our imaginations. Taylor was not an artist. Muybridge was Eakins' collaborator. The factory was the application. Humans are the factory's widgets, and Jaron is right to refuse to be a gadget. We're thinking too small by wanting a decent hourly wage. There is no living wage on the clock. No time-based debt that is humane. Not if by human one means free. Badiou mapped infinity and finitude, using math symbols and Kittler's Greek vocalic alphabet. We're all Greeks, now, and we must remember Solon, and the abolishment of debts, and debt slaves. Democracy was the child of Solon's emancipation of Athens. That time is connected to time, now. In real life, it is the same time. It is our perception that is progressing, dimensionally, which is why the Oligarchs have brought war and theft on us, globally, and the Earth is showing signs of impatience, which is wrong to say, anyway, because the planet is not a person, actually. We are the people. The demos, and we are not better managed as a business. It is plain to see. The proof is all round us. That meme is a lie. One of many. 2 'the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.'" It is false to say that #OccupyWallStreet is a protest, only, although it is. To object to. Another thing the phenomenon of the occupation is is an expression. The process of making known one's thoughts or feelings. Here, art enters the picture. Feelings and thoughts are things, in art. From its beginning, this happening, now a rhizome, gone "viral," which is not to mean the Occupy movement is sickness, on the contrary, it is an antidote, a synthesis, not synthetic, not artificial, in the media, but not properly mediated, not monopolized, but negating monopoly, which is a negation of the commons, a remedy for the Time Madness... From its inception, this event, now a memorial, in this poem, in art, is rich with signs, signs made by hand, signs reproduced by machinery, signs made in collaboration with the sentient computer, signs transmitted in binary code, from one point on the globe to many others, received, replicated, and while information, data, may be lost, the spirit moves, and moves us, here, there and everywhere, generating the agora, the town square, the Liberty Plaza, in hundreds of places. The spirit is the commons, and Zizec came to the General Assembly, to remind us. Mic-check is Echo, in the shadow of Narcissus, and in the reverb we can hear freedom ring again. In Philadelphia, in Boston, Time is forming, and we are Minutemen again, little people, minute, and big all at once, which is very post-modern. You can hear it. Drums are beating, and we're costumed like Indians, or at least how we might imagine them, even when they're standing in front of us, speaking in Lakota, saying, "All my relations," in both languages. We will win this world war, too, code-talking like this. The artificial personhood, today, as decided by the same Supreme Court of the US that first birthed this monster in 1819, this Terrorist, spawned of property, Citizens United, makes "free speech" with money. Paper money is Plastic, zero and one money... Money making the world go round. A falsehood. If you meet a corporation on the Road to the East, kill him. Don't let him speak cash to you. Don't give him time. The command is KILL PROGRAM. But if you are non-violent, if you are expressing your humanity, and peaceable in your assemblage, then you can paint a sign. You will blur the 1% art and the 99. You will add it up and find Ben Franklin, on the note, the hundred, smiling back at you from beyond death. If you double it, you will get Andy Warhol, and 200 one hundred dollar bills from 1962, you will notice it sells for $43,762,500 at Sotheby's. Cathy Naso is connected to Warren Buffett's receptionist. They both work(ed) at a Factory. Labor is an occupation. Expression is a vocation. A strong feeling of suitability for a particular career or occupation. A calling, as Avital would call it. We are being called, in Time. Time is the object, and everything else is the subject. We are done being subjects. We are killing time. In the Ouroboros of that circle at Zuccotti Park, the death of Time will birth the homo indomitus, again, and then again. Which is why the 1% is so afraid. Terrorized. They look at these people, and they see savages, unwashed masses, people who make waste naturally, in public, in their commons, or paint their faces, give voice to strange language, wear alien garb, go barefoot, in the city. Sing all night, write poems, make love, laugh, cry, cheer, even as the cops stare them down, tapping clubs on their breeches, paid for by Jamie Dimon. Bloomberg, the plutocrat, the mayor, the brand, dot com, dot org, dot gov, sorting through options, managing his risks, doing cost-benefit analyses, checkin' which way the wind blows, his American Dream, his legacy, a tragedy, but this is not democracy. & the Indian he got it wrong. It is not a demon-ocracy. Although, Hannah, I can't say I can't see how it seems that way, with that parasite, the so-called free market, a lie. The invisible, red-handed, greed mechanism, dividing the indivisible US, 1% against us. 3 “While the guns rumbled in the distance, we sang, painted, made collages, and wrote poems with all our might.” In three months. No one paying a bank a dime. The whole scheme collapsed. Water. Water is the vehicle for dreaming. Next we occupy Davos. Then Salzburg. Then TED. An agrarian justice.

Dissertation Notes #1, Proposition 1