Q.: Untergang or Aufgang? It seems making no difference to you. Looking for the positive has always been your most annoying mannerism. The acquiescent dialectic of the eternal bum. Embracing affliction like a Beckettian heroine. When on the whole you’re a masochistic whore, Spiel! What anamorphosis prompts you to envision a red dawn in the thick of the Pandemonium? Aren’t we happening to-day? Embraced by the total disaster we were shouting about? The planet we call home is a global quarantine locked down and out. No more free steps to heaven. No more visitors from outer space. RaceRiot at the door. Crime is saved, sex killed. Everything you ever diswanted. Do you unwittingly enjoy catastrophies like an evil prophet?
A.: I am looking at it from an objective view. It’s always justifying when Hel reveals itself. Safety is a human construct. I never had any.
Q.: That’s your deficiency nothing to pride about. And did your very best to impose it on me. I’ve spent my whole adult life in the confines of your nightmare. All you’ve been giving me was the wisdom of paranoia. With just a hint of paradise promised. Decades of downfall and destitution. Your cynical consent with the Erinyes is an ersatz bravado. Plastic revenge of a thrice-fallen angel.
A.: I abhor carnival amidst the massacres, that’s all. I have zero power of ignorance. Illusion belongs to the gifted. I’ve got none of it. The official arrival of the Four Horsemen doesn’t quake my earth. What should a goddamn traitor possibly think? Be Welcome! Just spare me and you.
Q.: Thus spake the night spirit who killed his ego. You are the king of all cowards. Your hysterical optimism won’t protect your bogus integrity. Hope-mongering is a false anathema. Apollyon’s Sun will not shine over the quantitative judgement and you know it. Just cannot dispose of your fascist heart.
A.: The Atheist faith is beyond belief, Gina. Not a mental matter. It is an adamantine command no reason can resist. The UR are those that obey but to New Style. Freed of choice.
Q.: Having no option cannot be an option. I don’t know what makes you so assured about the probity of your directives. They’ve proven to be exclusively wrong so far so bad. This ZAZZLE-thing will be no exception, I’m afraid. Just another jailbreak attempt deemed to fail.
A.: I wouldn’t like to think so. It is the best method of infiltration we ever encountered. Our last resort to renew the Covenant. To recognize its potential was sheer divination.
Q.: What you submit to do here is the ultimate sell-out of a supersecret. Letting your precious blue bird inconsiderately out of her black cage. Putting your hidden treasures on public display at a sudden is an all-out violation of the rules of your unholy game. Doesn’t it feel like an embarrassing concession?
A.: I am crossing the tunnel with undiminished determination. I neglect the visions of the Bardo like a blind passenger. COVID-19 is only one of them. I am a solitary private of my campaign. The desire of will is keeping young my folly.
Q.: Your fanatic idealism bluntly disregards our eventual circumstances. Your lowest character hasn’t altered by the new approach. It is our plain existence I am referring to. Our status quo at stake. I’ve been just cut off my social benefit because I’m living with you in spite of a divorce declaration. The big risk we took has backfired. We are experiencing a microcosmic cataclysm right now as we obnoxiously speak. Our Christmas special at the bottom of the world pit. There is no event on our bleak horizon. Just the endless warfare for welfare on the life row. The morning is greyer than your eyes.
A.: You shouldn’t have brought up this issue in the context. We must carefully separate verity from fiction. Lest we fall out of the grace.
Q.: Grace? What grace? Would you mind to wake up and face the dark ambience at last? To exit the snare you dug is practically impossible. I have nothing left of my original shape. My clients called me Sylph, now I’m heavy and obese. Must sell myself as pregnant on the CAM4. Looks like Juno’s revenge. They’ve transformed me into a natural woman and you couldn’t lift a finger against it.
A.: I’ve been telling you all the time how bad you began to look. But you took it as an insult. Now you can see how right I was.
Q.: You’re a husband from Hell, my only one. You let them take me away because you’re a wimp. Here is the real portrait of Aleph & Ta 2020 AD. The exiled vagrant with his emigrant wife. That’s what we visually are before god and man. A couple of pogey cheaters. Old, ugly and sick. Everything you had sworn to protect me from. Retouching Janine’s fantastic voyage was a really gruesome exertion. Nothing short of a funeral rite. Requiem for a dream.
A.: That is exactly what we had to do. It was an immortalization attempt. We’ve turned our obsolete heresy into virtual merchandize. This ZAZZLE-thing is probably the best suggestion we ever got. Not just a necessary surrender but a genuine gesture of time-manipulation. Saving up to 75 percent on the priceless testimony of a wasted enterprise. An entrepreneurial masterstroke of unyielding logic. Culmination of a left hand path.
Q.: What you offer to the unsuspecting buyer here is the reliquia of a blunder for a price tag the site’s average visitors of low income families couldn’t afford for a Mona Lisa copy. In tune with your elitarian principles, I guess. Who should pay a fortune for a key holder with your obscure logo on it? Or a poster of your defunct shadow? First you have the thing, then you cash in on its regalia. That’s the way of the procedure. You can’t invert the course of the bourse.
A.: I’m exploiting the platform to my own end. ZAZZLE is my spinal tap. A colossal opportunity to fuck the system from behind. Digital technology has provided us a ready-made medium. I can’t appreciate enough how lucky we are. We live in Andy Warhol’s Utopia. Jacob Böhme could never brainstorm it.
Q.: Parading a vagary is an invidious chicanery though. A desperate exhibitionist discharge on the commercial pretext. It is a defamation of art and a desecration of propaganda. More of a treacherous compromise than a great post-rock swindle. It’ll be buried under the cyberground.
A.: This is reconstruction praxis, honey. We have posted our subreality on the wall of space. Entered the eighth transmission. Unlike a secret society, it is now free for all. It’s been a very socialist infiltration in the proto-capitalist disguise. And exemplarily overnational.
Q.: After forty years of soliciting members in vain, the Party turns its coat towards a buyership. Replicating a story that’s never been told to a vastly unselected consumerhood. It is the most frivolous perversion from your supremacist ideals. Your postmortem offensive is coming with a white flag.
A.: ZAZZLE is not a coincidental trouvaille. It is a program we hadn’t had before. That’s what we would have done in 1984 if we did. This open house policy is greater than a rally. A functionalist miracle. I am brazenly expropriating it for a classified family album. Not unlike everybody else but with a forthright political message. Using our private domain for a Bolt of Osh. You ought to look at it through the eye of Horus. This is an espionage plan seeking for emptors. A straight offspring of SPIONS.
Q.: You are exposing the occasional browser to the best kept enigma the world has ever unknown. These randomly recycled items are intimate memories of a personal war we irreversibly lost. The past you reconstruct is the frozen replica of an improbable future. It won’t gainsay the fact whereas it’s too late.
A.: And if it isn’t? The Party might rise from its ashes like an old phoenix if properly advertised. Someone might become a member of the ‘Morgenrot’ site. Just a step from joining the few.
Q.: Look at your looks, Antichrist contra fate. Can you go public yet without hair and teeth? As the chief zombie of the Party of the of the Living Dead perhaps. Because that’s what you became if haven’t noticed. The second coming of Dracula as mispredicted. Aging together like a Siamese couple, we have grown a pair of ordinary monsters. The disclosure might backfire if it works as plotted.
A.: Don’t worry about the authenticity factor. Our personae are but dummies of the play. That we’re promoting the best pattern since Uncle is undeniable. Even if Time’s no longer with us, we are left with its invaluable legacy. It would be a crime not to profit from it.
Q.: Ironically showcasing the missed foundations won’t relieve the pain of the loss. Nor compensate for the unaccomplished mission. There’s no reflex behind the veil. The invisible can’t be detected.
A.: I am valiantly appealing to the taste of the people. Even if you don’t know what it is, the artworks’ aesthetic quality is hardly debatable. Full of slogans, aphorisms and riddles. Let us see if content may prevail before the equalizer. I threw my diamonds to the swine.
Q.: Presenting the exotic insignia of an alternative history in the form of multipliable wall art. Be it for the first time or the last, you are violently invading the enemy’s terrain with an inadequate proposition. Nothing unusual for your invincible karma. You don’t give a doveshit to the cultural heritage. Just bidding another scheme of begging for the money. Your Operation Morgenrot is the spectre of a fiasco.
A.: Nothing in my atrophied existence did I enjoy so much as this banal recollection. To see my beloved emblems applied on household items. No longer restricted to my filing cabinet. I’ve recycled everything without reconsideration. From the Three Emblems to the Wedding Ring. ‘Morgenrot’ is my consumer’s résumé. Better than a formal exhibition. A serially reproducable access to New Jerusalem. A souvenir shop selling unsent postcards. It’s all about the abolition of the original. The electronic equation of the copy. An altered system of rights. It couldn’t get more counterrevolutionary.
Q.: I admire your imperialist avarice but you’d better model it after a Lagerfeld. The sex bomb of nuclear reincarnation won’t explode without impact. We’d better prepare ourselves for the last anticlimax.
A.: Marketing ideas through merchantry is the quintessence of recreation. I am not doing anything unorthodox. ‘Morgenrot’ is a riot in design. The Aquarius synthesis. This paramilitant experiment of ours is a supreme test on sales technique. A clandestine quest for intelligence. A giant step forward, not only a quick barter.
Q.: My confidence in your strategic genius is overshadowed by doubts. I try but cannot fathom a potential consumer for this unidentifiable paraphernalia of the never-been. The nameless has no omen. Mick Jagger won’t be stunned by a quote of 888 any smart it sounds. All you could ever produce was aborted fabrication. A surfeit of discontinuities. Updating it to sham archivia won’t alter the stigmata of bankruptcy.
A.: My father is working still and I’m still working. The Saga of The Party ain’t over till it’s over. That’s what we were and that’s how we’ll remain. This ZAZZLE-thing is the urn of our soul. The City in a nutshell. The impersonal in the personal. The perfect forgery.
Q.: Not so fast, groom of doom. First you should learn again the trick of the charm. We should buy leads and send them out to the Billionaire class. They might take an eccentric risk and invest into a template. For the regular clientele we have no chance to compete on the social plane.
A.: We have to leave it up to the hazard, I presume. Our objective cannot be customized. We made the job. Now let the job make us. What else can we do?
Q.: That has always been your original question. This putrid stoicism has destroyed all your ambitions. The lazy son in you is frightened to achieve. Fascination street has never been your destination. You resolutely prefer to rot away in the dungeon of our unholy matrimony. You never appreciated the beauty of your rose. That’s why you let her fade slowly away. Osh may forgive you but I won’t. I am mortally tired of your Bolshevik nostalgia.
A.: To pursue one’s happiness is a very cruel demand. The fear of the fall prevented me to rise. I don’t want to lose. I’ve tried what I could. Here are my proofs for it. Let’s hope somebody will purchase my flag on a baby bib. This ZAZZLE-thing is absolutely frantic.
Q.: Isn’t the Author’s humor way too down Hassidic? A nihilist parody of totalitarian existentialism. In a moment like this when the air we breathe can kill us there’s little room left for pipedreams. ‘Morgenrot' is just another wanton artifice in the exploding chaos. It won’t actuate the guns of Aurora.
A.: In None we trust. We trust because we must. The Building isn’t erased but standing firmly in the polluted air. No one shall claim for its monopoly. This is love for sale. A solicitation of the
Bridehood revisited. Come on everybody who wants total peace. We got it.
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