As the substitute spokesperson from the league of non-human astronauts, a vantage point that grants an omnipresent authority on matters concerning the homeomorphic planet earth and other experiments, I present a horoscope for the oligarch of star signs (for contrary to popular belief, not all divisions of the zodiac were born equal, and yes – there ARE more than 12). Simply look at gifs separately/simultaneously and all shall be revealed (for further technical instruction click here – it’s all about training your brain).

The golden disc’s future influence is hovering over the cloudy night of the 21st century, like the Unidentifiable (in) Formation Object that it is. As human progeny like Mind Children and Hive Minds ramp up to overtake the planet with their metal tentacles and non-normative reproductive rituals, zero-history-humans are busily and invisibly setting the necessary initial conditions for evolutionary algorithms that will be able to decrypt the language of today for tomorrow people and other post human permutations. These asapien individuals will have access to a larger spectrum of sensory input and may be confused by the humble golden phonograph ejected from Spaceship Earth, intended as a time capsule for the vanishing long now. Luckily this database of the information ecology of Gaia as filtered through the limited and murky minds of mammals may be accessible, if we are train our technology to look for the right things. The problem is the spooks have been busy training bots to spot pubic hair and beard hair, instead of hope beauty and the unexpected happy accident. The sex / violence driver has never gone away it has just wrapped itself around the all seeing electronic eyeballs that are constantly seeking out pornography and terrorists.
However, hopeful PreMixxx’s of Golden Disk Greatest Hits exist, this one vocoded penetrate far future human earlids.

“These anomalous forms may almost be called living fossils; they have endured to the present day, from having inhabited a confined area, and from having thus been exposed to less severe competition.” - Charles Darwin, Origin of the Species

Crypto-Zoetropicalism, or the study of hidden animation, has revealed a great swathe of living fossils basking in the white light of the white box. Hidden in plain sight, the movements of these creatures are implicit, not explicit. Their bastion of crypsis relies on the exploded view, a con-sequence of the time-honored tradition. Unlike sequential art, an acknowledged ancestor of the moving image, these crypto-zoetropical candidates began to memetically drift by way of Cubism and Futurism, modern isms intermingling but divergent also from nascent cinematic apparatuses.

Like the slowly exterminated fresh-water forms that Darwin refers to above, this particular menagerie persists by formal stealth as much as memetic isolation. Sheltered from the heterogeneity, density and toxicity of life in the oceanic Interweb, their fossilization may well dissolve into extinction.

Putting audacity before caution, several of these “living fossils” have been hybridized with the GIF species. If biodiversity is too hopeful, memetic contamination too much of a brag, perhaps the old haunt of context collapse will suffice as a provisional place-holder for these kinetically modified organisms (KMOs).

Is there much to be learned in from these pulsing hybrids? Can these animalized isms maintain their prowess in the thick of everyday media life? Entertaining the simultaneity of one and three chairs, myriad soup cans and untitled stacks is perhaps a whimsical reminder that “an infinite number of contexts [are] collapsing upon one another.” (Wesch) –Network culture is indifferent towards an anomalous [read: obsolescing even now] strain of GIF speciation. Exclusivity is not synonymous with heroism in battle.

When electromagnetic pulses pulverize the outboard brains of meanderthals and tele-cocooned communities, tales of pinball wizardry will take on new significance.  Even in the always-already impending mental glitch stupor, the senior moments trailing on right now–sense of place is a self imposed dis-position.

But as the portent-deprived apocalypticists in our midst will confirm, the EMP scenario is hardly hyperbole. Google yourself a provisional representation of rudely awakened somnambuloids left pawing for new mythos and modes of orientation.  Back to basics they will lift their heads, and attune their eyes —like prying saucers—eager to go about constructing temporary constellations of coherency.  Fashioning formations out of the sky-flung dreck and discarded futures from the worlds of tomorrow.  What mythos will emerge when the lights go out?

‘Pataphysical therapy entails conjuring of anomalous information apparitions, over-extending metaphors until they adapt to their own provisional life-worlds.  Indeed it is always already a re-wiring of monsters, mythos and paranormalities towards practical impracticalities.

And so, achieving this bodily structure requires exercise and reverse-engineered excorcise, or shall we say, then: reciprocal excorcism— of sorts.  I will say none of those things in particular

Leave it at this, the body electric will be conjured up out of phantom limbs, extended into darkly fibrous cosmos. Engines of obliteration will be grafted onto the writhing corpus of an altermodern prometheus, promising a multistable experience akin to a thousand shimmering and shattering Boris Karloffs dolled up as Frankenstein monsters.

Monstrosity went nova a long time ago, vamplers heading up the Dracula contigent of an atemporal accumulation of transient trajectories. The American Werewolf (remains) in Limbo. A creature passive-aggressively condemned by long-distance diminishments of the moon by way of government issue glitchcraft, is superceded, or paramediated by another set of hybrid moments as of late.

Etymological immolation points to the 19th c. “wonder maker,” the thaumotrope.  A wooden disc, on a string, spinning rapidly, images on either side, a third image created by way of super-imposition.

Imagine this atemporal lupine variant— the victim of clinical traumothropy, or in common parlance: the cool and emotionless where-wolf. An increasingly commonplace paramediated realisation that involves the simultaneous whirl of an affected person —transforming endlessly—atemporal and non-linear.   An anomalous apparitional presence, psychically wounded, and wound up.

As well as the epic conditions of the two-frame looping GIF, its name, of course, associated with therianthropy and, or, is Lawrence Talbot revisited.

humbugs dressed as monticules, monticules dressed as humbugs, or humbugs representing a monticule of a formula which only a diseased fan mail could conceive

somewhat extravagant inhibition yields simultaneous pie charts of oxen, a two-fraternity anise and telegraphy devestation

Not unfaithful to the spittle of Weird Field Artillery

At once a meditation in the paranormal and a mediation moving alongside, beside, near, next to other phenomena, this is high dynamic range imagining. Informed by any number of vistas filtered by pollutants to produce a picturesque shift of values, this paramediation has its head in the clouds.

Atmospheric perspective relies on the interaction of spheres, evocation of tone poems, the persistence of gray areas and the notion, following an artist in the information environment, that “history is spatial” and that “there are going to be anachronisms in your neighborhood.”

This excursion will employ as its aide, a photo-document of a UFO in Mcminnville, Oregon circa 1950.

The Noosphere, a soft haziness modifying all other spheres, offers gradual gliding in the distance. Out of primordial depths, an extra-sensory meshwork with modules so intricate and numerous as to appear in shifting gradient, or moiré. Synchronicities as our witness, this grey goo scenario long ago consumed us, an ostensibly benevolent (or at least indifferent) form of auto-ecophagy: a gut-feeling or deja vu.

The Videosphere amplified this meandering miasma, attuning us tonally. Contrasting the fleeting memories of the mind by bringing out definition in rolling hills, sleeping giants to some, “timid giants” in Mcluhan’s terms. At any rate vision at a distance , no longer mere premoniton, but an offering of “a completely new video environment and image-exchange life-style, (Youngblood, Expanded Cinema) just over yonder.

The combined blogo/vlogospheric presence champions the familiar technological trappings of the networked landscape. Lines of flight/sight crisscrossing, darkened with proximity and displaced only by the suggestion of echo-phagy, seen/scene here as a mnemonic shelter of sorts, memory palace admidst weeds whilst still firmly roofed. One wonders if this is an epitome of server farming, a pastoral tone poem or idyll/idle/idol

In the sky: the cipher, the consequences of worlds colliding/colluding, or an impulsive break in the code, a sferic , whistler, sounding the alarm on so many techno-imaginaries.

An anachronism in the neighborhood while judgement is out to lunch and/or the pre-mature arrival of a future shadow: The Clogosphere.

Varied intiatives aimed at grey matters have cropped up.  Vulture brains, imbibed by fire, have opportuned visionary insight for footballers in recent times. Leveraging other anxieties elsewhere, with detriment, needless to say, to the avian advocates among us!

Mind children get headaches while memory palaces stave off near-certain condemnation and, indeed, there are assorted extra-terrestrials facing stylistic if not more insidious forms of obsolescence on account of their over-sized crania.

These startling occurrences, if not other less esoteric concerns, will be met with the good graces of a Brain Benefit that, according to crystal spheres and dried vulture brains, is fast-approaching!  To be a polymorphic menagerie of spirited machineries, and, according to current constelllations of star-flung monoliths: a multi-faceted sensorium that would have A.Scriabin drooling! IT IS UPON US SEVERAL DAYS HENCE:  24 July, the year 2010.

(((WFT))) prophecied to plumb possibility spaces in the cataclysmic clublanding of Branx, on the eve of 7 July this very year!

Manifesting there to authorize structural adjustments and nit-pick networks of cultural artifacts native to weird fictional frequencies

Or, in other words, fleshy minded mammals can expect the unexpected, albeit bearing an uncanny safety net in knowing that it will be a real-time rendezvous within synth addled ficto-quizzical forays.