Cricket Online Review Table of Contents

..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VI, Issue I

..:: POETRY ::..

..:: PROSE ::..
..:: OTHER ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I


Astrozoica (aphorisms 82-85)
Kane X. Faucher



Geology of Morals
Geologic time is molten substance. It unsteadies Being precisely because it does not churn in perfect circles, and precisely because it is demonstrable proof that Being is the loose tooth jiggling gin the broken jaw of its own ontological dentition.


Careless history is all that is left to us, and all that should concern us.


We Need Geosophers, not Geospheres!
Against the priests of petro-temporaglyphs. Only rank disciplinarian historians of the most paleoscopic degree concern themselves so obsessively with marked events in sediment. They speak in such way as to have their dictates obeyed, pointing to this band of strata in saying, "here, this happened; next layer" as if Atropos herself were in perfect agreement with this matrimonial terra-cake! Division is representation, and to see a past there calcified in shale and limestone is to merely witness the husk of an event. For even geologists know the child's trick of the earth; that mineral afterthoughts replace the flesh of the event to create little more than its representation, a monument, even a Nazi Architecture…trilobite moultings cleaved from the rock. But even the geologists compartmentalize so crudely. Where or to whom shall we look when historians are cake-bakers and geologists are merely shipping-receiving clerks on the dockyard of mineralized histories? I say we engage the geosopher who knows well the true wisdom that lava unsettles sedimented representations of time and returns them all to the event!


Dodging the Imaginasty!
That damnable creature Jacques Le-Quand and his cyclone-alysis has no sense of the time of the plateau, but only of the platoon, which is why all subject grammar is medieval glamour (as etymology so attests!). Eckhart, O Meister, preached and teached differently--for him Reason was not some bloated pontiff on a stick, nor castrated mama-papa-machine of little sisters with no pricks to hunt for orgasms in caves! There, at the clerestory of Reason, is Lacan's ultimate signified, so flat and phallic in stained glass! Come receive Communion, the sacrament of the sacred signified whereupon true difference is crucified on a stick, and we are to nibble at its victual-body, and sup its be-soured blood! How close we come, but never quite close enough! How this thralldom continues is precisely to have that label hovering over one's head: your being is incomplete, and it is life that is to blame! What is this? Incompleteness is deficit of Being, and not a reason to rejoice in becoming? Forget the transcendental signified as just a bad version of the crucified and embrace the real potentia…that is what I say. We need no priests of the mind to tell us otherwise, nor their impossible transcendental carrot of meaning--for that meaning is for the nibbling and frightened rabbits of Reason's serfs!


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