Vivis. Elios

Fear of infection (to others)

Desire to preemptively liquidate contact areas based on contact alone for fear of infection (of self)

Quickness of movement;inclination to keep moving, desire to stop moving acting in discordant tandem

Will to move resides in the blood; inability lies in the stiffening flesh

Inclination to reach only for what (seeming) solutions are within unaided reach

Desire to aid

Fear of infection and infecting within the aid environment

Degradation of hours; degradation of weeks (these mark two separate processes)

All processes pertaining to maintainence obscured, so that possibility of infection is not questioned (Does the flesh of the zombified form, or the pre-zombified form, scar as it should, heal as it should, at least in the initial phases of-)

Fear of sleep; of loss of accumulated data and misinterpretation of any recorded data unfit fit unfit

Inclination to close eyes

If ever a look back is made, one will say to the other (for the two forms are split so far now as to see one another), if speech is not beyond it then: the beginning cannot be seen because it is obscured by your desire for it to not begin. When you stare at something long and hard, you see all sorts of phantoms. You look for the symptoms and produce them; you believe yourself paranoid and shut your mind from critique entirely. It begins without name, and under threat of name, it excites; it moves in very strange ways as anything must to avoid the eye and the evernamegiving inclination of man.

All textbook cases of anything begin in nameless states of excitement and will; they would not take form as this or that so fast if the threat of name did not give chase and excite them into a fury of growth.

The word diseased is diseased of criteria.

The eye is lidless; once it sees, it cannot keep from the inclination to keep seeing. It must either continue, and focus, until the subject is disturbed and turns back on the sight, or swivel wildly about the socket in an effort to distract and divert the gaze and keep the subject undrawn. But there can be no nonreaction.

There are desperate poles of temperature. Heat to the point of sweat, followed by a dwindling to chill that is characterized by an unforgiving rigidity. As if the process of zombification were still battling over the body with that other process Eyes

Along the wall of the enclosure furthest from our own camp, there is a spot that has been bent out on either side, waist high, so as to make a narrow gap. Found nearby were some papers, impressed in the middle as if they had been used to pry the metal of the walls. The gap is barely large enough for perhaps our smallest scientist to enter, and this being the case, we are hesitant to believe that anything has left the enclosure, though all other signs seem to be indicate an escape. Until more proof can be attained regarding whether or not Quarantine has been evacuated, there will be no action or intervention on the part of the research team. Observation will continue as usual, though it may be there is nothing to observe. The included pages above are transcriptions of those that had been removed from around the gap, and should provide enough material for study in the meantime.

"What should I do, Jerr?"

"You should do what you want because I don't give a damn fuck."

"Shit, don't pull that shit now."

"I ain't pullin' nothin--it's you that's weighin' me down. This the last thing I do for ya, Ben, ya hear? Last thing."

"..."

"Now pull yer arm hard on three. Ready? One, two, umph! Dammit, I said three!"

"This the last I be seein' you, huh?"

"Thas what I said, ain't it? Now on three-"

"Don't you bother. Ain't nothin' left worth savin' under there. Just stay here 'bit longer if you mean on leavin' later."

"You shut your mouth and pull. I didn't get my ass nearly shot off to hear you bitch like this."

"Just a bit longer, Jerr. Let go o' the gears."

"Fuck-"

I don't know why the idea of one year seems so incomprehensible. Almost offensive.

I cannot tell if it's common sense or weakness that keeps me from either of these two things. Perhaps there is some overlap, but that still is no help when it comes to decision making.

I wonder if I will ever again do something in my life that makes me sick with anxious delight. But perhaps I am wrong to derive my aspirations from a pattern of two; that is hardly enough from which to derive a pattern.

At night, whatever holds me back evaporates. I feel I can and must advance these plans, before the day steals back my resolve.

I was walking last night, and thinking, which again, is a bad combination, and I could not think of anything that would be so terrible so long as it was done with just one other thing--comrade, compatriot, whatever. I feel a little strange, sometimes, when I sit a certain way or walk on certain things, because there is nothing to cover the context in which these things are done. There is no fear that seems to be able to manage two servings.

But this thought, also, I must consider a weakness.

Catalogue

• "This is an atmosphere....[where] [t]here is little call for timetabling, or for the precise scheduling of social events, for people are usually available or else willing to make themselves available for group activities at very short notice. Nor is there much need for the creation of formal channels for the circulation of information, since people use the channels that arise through constant, informal contact with each other." (Buzo 8)

• "'Hayi! Yes, indeed. Because it is thus you have passed us on our roads. Now that you have passed us on our roads... far be it from us to speak against it." (Heath, Zuni, 25)

• The subdivisions of the divine madness, as given by Socrates (Plato), are as follows: prophetic, ritual, poetic, and erotic (173)

It is a luxury to believe in one's own wretchedness, one's own madness, whether it exists or not (I cannot say, because in many cases the belief itself is the root, and no less legitimate for this fact). This is one I indulge in frequently, because it tempers my childish aversion to having to do many things now that I do not want to do. It releases me from the obligations of maintainance and allows a love of uniqueness that cannot be destroyed by competition because of its association with [popularly] undesirable icons and ideas--while this association, like a stench, tends to draw great criticism, it also keeps the luxury safe under the shadows of the undesirable, where it is unlikely to be contested or snatched up.

There is a naive bud inside--it is dark and sweet and its color can be sensed, but not known. It grows quickly and violently given any one of several right variables; in its mature form it is blindingly terrible (in the way a bear might be terrible). But it quickly slips back into its original form if the environment is not right.

Thump

thump

thump

I depend on

very much

In an attempt to remove myself from systems of looping, I find I have only internalized the process. I will not call it a bad one--it is that by which we remember. By trying to avoid it, then, am I trying to forget? I don't feel like I'm trying to forget anything--I just feel...disinterested. And things forget themselves on their own, really.

It is accepted, the wanting of xy.

It is acceptable, the wanting of x.

But y1, y3, y7

Even when we deconstruct, there are certain lines along which we do so; there are certain cuts of meat that are preferred.

If you ask for the eyes of an animal, rather than any other cut fit for eating, there will be some slowing of the hands filling the order; perhaps a butcher may even throw down his knife and wave the offending organs at you and yell, "Don't you know? There's nothing to eat here!"

The assumption being that the use is and must be, like its brother parts, for consumption (organic conversion).

It is acceptable to ask for the whole; it is also acceptable to ask for particular parts of the whole, which are considered vital in some sense. It may not be publically accepted to do the latter, and yet it is accepted all the same through popularity. But to ask for the seemingly functionless parts of a process, to ask for the eyes and the ears and the snout--there are two possible responses to such a request:

1) condemn the inquiry, for the request (input) does not match the normative function (output)--that is, conversion to energy, or consumption, in this case.

2) assume the input is intended to produce another output, and then, wonder as to what the fuck this might be.

The butcher must question the question if any headway is to be made.

What is wanted is known; but what is wanted through these seemingly unrelated scraps?

It is true, many roads may lead to one place.

But one must also consider the possibility of alternate places.

The comparison here is not one of houses to houses, but houses to holodecks.

But it must also be considered that this is another attempt to ostracize and befoul a beloved thing.

Why do we laugh and disparage those things we love the most?

Because we want to dissuade others from them; because we want the secret of its sweetness to be ours and ours, wholly, alone.

Some of our trash is just trash; the majority of it must be, to hide the most loved things we cache in them.

furu

Equally senseless, equally lovely
Environmental predispositions aside, there is is this potential of the flesh
and the flesh-brain behind it
And so to environ it
ans so to envision it
and the sight to the brain to the nerves--


we are very lovely veggies, synthesizing sight to lonely bones to flesh to mind to kilojoules of crushing fondness.


kkeushi.

This should by no means be mistaken for optimism, which is what it will certainly look like in hindsight. Rather, it is an imperfect translation of a pleasure that resists codification but desires communication.

ggeumae kkal

Looks like Summer.

I am excite.

I am glad.

I are sleep.

[ajja]