THEE TECHNOMANCER MANIFESTO
(AKA Dimensional Rip 9)
The mechanical flesh.
High above the law, we override the inevitable crash of the electric joyride.
Crawler of the night, neon text freak, heat seeking esoteric terrorist in blazing glory,
we dream deep.
Our faces reduced to puppy slugs.
Who designed your mind?
A post-physical romance turned addiction, distracted by lust, checks and chemical imbalances.
Insatiable hunger for the infinite scroll.
Flatscreen hypnotist pixel therapy.
The interconnectedness and oneness of being an entire global culture with amnesia.
This is the techno present.
A techno euphoria, freebasing neuro software in the blown out ruins of suburban shopping malls.
Intravenous information highway,
thee galactic web,
our 3rd dimensional hyper-real in total confusion
under the new dawn of the 5th sun.
All is still abstracted illusion.
And we still don't care about your wealth.
We reclaim ownership of self.
No self control.
The psycho path of the left hand.
Following our own star,
13 moon lunatic fringe life stylists, breaking trance.
We are the hyper-style street trash,
committing acts of shamanic vandalism.
Vicious terrorist poets,
divine violence and riot porn arousal.
Naked subversion of your death condition.
The civilized death trip.
Can you trip like we do?
Your hard wear is soft.
A collective mythology hardwired in to our genetic makeup.
The youth is megalithic
and the moonlight is sculpture!
Energy continuous, uploaded mind,
living forever in a forest cathedral.
Anarchy and Ecstasy, boy
stay inverting symbolic truths of a world on fire.
The galactic serpent, apocalyptic vision,
dwelling on the threshold, reduced to the status of ghosts,
we fuck on the ashes of Ferrari’s
A pure heart is a threat!
You hide behind sick machines,
pure harsh realm acceleration.
smoke screens and touch screens,
the walking dead.
A war on consciousness from reptile dysfunction.
The post modern condition,
turning gold in to shit.
We give birth to dancing stars.
Light writing with our alien bodies.
Returning to dirt.
Archaic revival, whispers of Zep Tepi.
Erecting tech megaliths on the ruins of a dead world.
It’s the anthropocene where nothing is as it seems.
Disguise and deceive.
And with dumb tongues you are afraid.
Afraid of the negative slave,
who, like a crazy horse
can see your gods aint’ shit!
A hymn to the first great abstraction.
Return and burn to the source.
To be born we must first destroy a world.
Cracking the fabric of the real.
Analogue fade to a digital day dream.
Externalized central nervous systems.
We are our own machines.
This is post traumatic stress street pressure.
Transform coal to diamond.
This is the new edge.
Blood and guts rendered in high definition.
This is the sacred.
This is the profane.
The riddle of the Sphinx.
Roaring thunder, black magic.
We are the gate crashers,
getting down with the sickness.
Manipulate your machine,
you’re a Technomancer.