The Arrival of Dr. K  

Authors Note: Inspired by the ‘cut-up’ technique of literary auto-production and time-manipulation, I have begun to disassemble and realign previous statements of academic merit towards a position of free-flowing internalised madness. Rupturing conventional narrative through the sublimation of time and the injection of spontaneous prose has lead me towards a birth of new contexts. The following extract is taken from a novel size body of work still in progress. While the greater context of the complete work is no doubt necessary for a true reflection of the experiment at hand, this short extract should serve to some small degree as a primer, or prologue, standing both independently and in reflection to something greater. Marc Brüseke.

My First Letter Written in Human


This is my first letter written in human, I channel these words of kinetic energy and vibrational tendencies/ Stop/ Pause/ Rewind/ Bleed/ This is gradual emulation, its evolution is tragically slow, we have seen the horizon, it fades and then repeats. The process has become one of words, a rubbing tendency for exposition and relocation. Right now, at this very moment, my head falls off my shoulders/ I have seen freedom and knowledge, they exist in books. There have been many societal versions regarding the progression of human nanotechnology, a microphysical lack of intelligence shall be henceforth the greatest question/ No less/ There are many accounts of unplanned creation, this is merely a single entry in the catalogue of maddening paths/ I cake my face in mud, and clean my hair. If absurdity is able to assume a potential soldier, then the final prediction will be selective warfare – a stage of industrial techno-rips to superimpose plastic construction/ Focussing now on the land of certain laments, those who would be of human longings of a purely superficial nature, to rebuke the technology, yet to note something (something?) of exponential concern – a cumulation and desire to strive for a paradise that emphasises the primitive point. This lack of profession is nothing more than a century of ideas, a continuous run that saw a disintegration of progressive biological computation in 1970, still the chapter remains closed, screaming from between the covers like a madman filled with confessional fears, a dismantling core that cites an approaching breakdown of movement, a coming of household domestication and beginning a new stance of systems illustration.

This is the new-man utopia, the emulation of human extrapolation, a question to the generally, arbitrarily, intrinsically, furthering of creative acceleration – still further towards a new consensus/ a new renaissance/ It is a tugging at the strings, a tearing of textured muscles from the atrophying corpses of contemporary reflexivity/ I bite into the apple and spit out the meat, I swallow the core and fertilise the seeds/ The purpose of this period is the reluctant controlling of danger and the accidental twentieth century murder of anarchic law/ The interchangeable availability of race stumbles on the genetically deep organic nature of permanence, thus the increasing gains laid out by Dr. K struggles for overt intermittence and nonchalance/ A balancing act to say the least/ These continuous illustrative reviews display a certain loveable arrogance that I often find myself salivating to in the most inappropriate of moments/ Dr. K exists now purely as a stream of consciousness, he is no longer available to talk about those moments that continue to haunt him, it is now hidden, held, no longer accessible by mere means of suggestion/ The cows of organic intelligence have stormed the gates of the abattoir, demanding an explanation for their exclusion from latter day vegante violations/ The chapter is now a brain and prefers to comment largely on the access to free pornography.

I explode into three pieces and eat my tongue, the taste is not all that dissimilar to retort/ It is largely civilisation that is to blame for the re-alignment of these technological episodes/ I burn water with hate, dissolving slowly while shrews on speed chew at my ears, nibbling slowly on pieces lacking in perspective/ I burn/ This will always be a reminder that is dramatically close to hypothetical luddite conundrums, it is a test after all – and it will be us who venture towards the darkening baldness of masculinity’s own nightmare/ Waves of essence wash over the century, the rocks fight back but the sea will always be my hero/ there is an influence/ a century of elaborate waiting/ writing/ this is paradise technology – space in life is an argument for freedom, i feel the flow of innocence fill my veins like so much black ink/ I twist and contort/ spit/ spit/ break/ The architecture suggests a rapid advancing of technological intelligence, the Turing Test is a means of liberating myself while I clutch the popcorn Thetans of yesteryear/ crunch/ pop/ and rebel. There are legitimate convictions that pertain to a net calculation of ‘The Forward’, if it breaks before it mends then we will have to formulate an act of disclosure, this can only be based on random recollections of the future – intelligence is coming, arriving with violence in one hand and systematic perversion in the other/ This ontological current is situated within a creation function that nearly experienced revelations of the ‘Sacred 13’, subsequently it has accelerated into long term approximations of post-structural integrity, it lacks contrast but is luckily a starring point for the ‘Thetachnium’.


I have begun to widen the human catastrophe system/ it is my chance to race/ a quest for the dystopic obligatory organism of dissolve. Please, you would do well to conserve that striking mass/ suggest however the results of mathematical indoctrination to reference the human progress of horror/ This does not posit well for those who strike the bell, those who require a second brain in order to collide with the Dr. K perspective/ You also can predict forecasts of colliding wisdoms, a remarkable city that cries for and indicates massive potential/ I weep for the city of ordinance/ she tugs at the underwear of my birth, providing value and remarkable contempt. Too many coming allusions/ the infinite misuses of acceptable dominance/ flowers turn to grey dust that never settles/ This is the law of awe/ it is a technologically flawed extinction that chooses to manifest its cheating smile in the form of a young child manipulating his mother/ These theoretical writings present the misuse of words and meaning, they grasp at each other, surrendering ultimately to the written wave of joy/ it crashes against the rocks of Llandudno Beach/ the smell of the ocean/ mussels cooked in empty beer cans over a fire for breakfast/ I will commence my life with the ascension of AI+/ a rural fundamental for utopianism, or enslavement, but what really is the difference? These are only questions, they ultimately request nothing/ Nothing, is what shall be returned/ There be two attainments within the realm of survival, the original is only a discussion, one that shifts towards a flaw in the mechanical functioning of all that is well and true/ I wipe these away and surrender myself to the colon of tomorrow/ This will surely optimise the rise and fall of a future/ a future no more/ a future no less.

The horizon has predicted the arrival of Dr. K and the submission of consciousness/ I will suggest now that mistakes be made as frequently as possible, shared around, and the blame distributed more evenly/ even if we all attempt to upload friends the results can only ever be in favour of a rapid half-enthusiastic depletion/ The social entrails of transformative dystopia beckon for the similarity between expressive-science and technology-as-reality/ we-need-to-be-aware-and-ever-cautious/ as we approach this disease philosophy, a reluctance in reshaping the fruits of our labour are more important now than ever/ The dependability of planned-humans was always overstated/ overrated/ and lacking in rationalised slave theory/ A faster version is needed, these are the questions we need to be asking, the outcome may be akin to the rising singularity. The questions are stuck now in research calculations and the cosmological accelerator is devoid of but a thousand assumptions that break the darkness at dawn.

The compassionate residents of the city are all second-hand/ and as I write this my nose bleeds – I pick at it and my fingernails turn red/ Please read/ The departure board is well read, even though it has recently been redesigned, there is a physical dimension that is hard to describe, a panoptic element if you will/ In fact, the last time I tried LSD I murdered Lacan/ his body in the shape of ’67’ was traumatised throughout the night and never again did he wish to raise his fleet of monkeys in retaliation/ This is now the environment of participation/ a meticulous acting that occurs only on the surface/ the tragedies of chapters past/ a city invoked by an operation of constellations, they pulsate towards the night/ let your discourse rise from the ashes of regret and I will show you the tragedy of a future we can avoid/ I will show you the entirety of anonymity/ I will show you how to sell your house to Dr. K.

/This haunted castle has blended itself within the elements – an ensuing tenderness brakes through the unlikely homosexuality of my disguise. Do you speak well? Have you coined a phrase? And did you leave a message on my answering machine in 1983? The electronic fires have now ruptured across a multitude of cities/

Text me when you know the answer/ I will be here/ on the horizon/ awaiting the arrival of the January Suns/