"Unfurl the Futurist banner! Ever higher,
to exalt the aggressive, forgetful will of man, and to affirm once again the
ridiculous nullity of nostalgic memory, of myopic history and the dead past.”
F.T Marinetti, The Birth of a Futurist
Aesthetic
Few connoisseurs of culture may trammel
the earth today without mucking through the relics and imagery of a by-gone
era: flared trousers, lava lamps, zoot suits, Birkenstocks, Volkswagen Beetles,
ad nauseum. We have become a culture of retread, rejecting forward motion --
rejecting motion at all whenever possible (“You deserve a break today”) -- accentuating
the decrepit mediocrity of the placid form, and obscuring the lip-biting beauty
of the form in motion. Wherefore the razor blade dance of progress? Whence the
worship of unrestrained sexuality and the rejection of tired morality, exhausted
spirituality, indefensible illegality? Why the giant step backward? Rolling
about in history like pigs in shit clothes us in the stench of every idea and
act that we once jettisoned as unworthy y finito; indeed, every verb
that we conjugate into the past tense serves merely to designate a thing, an
object, a concept that has been used up and disposed of; rightly do we call
“history” a dust bin; more rightly would we call it a microscope with matching
platform sandals; and so the pes becomes pescado.
The time has come to untether the wheels of progress
from the obsolescent moorings of nostalgia, time again to roar toward the horizon
with drunken glee, no caution of forethought, no sober hindsight to hearken
us back. Time again to mount machinery, to let our flesh resonate in harmonious
passion with the throb and tug of the salacious gear, the turgid microchip,
the thrusting piston. Time now for Choler, a new flash point for the
Futurist Renaissance.
We hum along with technology as it sings the anthem of
the horizon, the music of the thing-to-be. We intone a hymn to glorify the holy
belt-sander:
“The passionate spatula will spank the sticky cheese
/ when sultry fibulas menace hot key-cutters. / My slimy gardenia sneezes upon
the bloody micro-electrode, / the lasting spam fears the smooth cabinet / and
the strong malt liquor grovels before the loud folder. / How deathly did the
nipple itch the abrasive monkey! / What a scintillating high powered assault
rifle did destroy the cheap towel rack! / The Ridiculous Ninja lifted the deadly
'Ultra Joy!' / The aggressive roach opened the orgasmic scanner! / O! Where,
Purple Empire, will you carve your next dark stain?”
Above all, Choler wants beauty -- the boisterous
beauty of motion that stifles stagnation's deceitful lullaby. Let others slumber,
or walk in trepidation and anticipate the standing-still. Let them fervently
plead for answers while we burn Delphi and polish our rifles in the afterglow:
Why is my CS181 grader such a twit?
You talkin' to me?
Why does technology hum?
The best predictor of behavior is previous behavior.
Why do we write?
When the keyboard is dirty, we are reluctant to clean it.
Why did the chicken kill the farmer?
Sex is the selective pressure that drives adaptation.
Who is filled with a languorous torpor?
The animal we ate.
Where is life?
Underneath my Honda.
What would happen if Hanson and the Spice Girls sang
together?
Some girls are bigger than others.
What kinds of cognitive changes appear to be linked
to the appearance of secondary emotions?
When my keys rattle, I will be heading home
What is the reason for which we live?
He pissed on them.
What comes after life?
Seven minutes.
Is wrestling fake?
I saw it on TV.
How does hunger feel?
Some fish are better left in the house.
Have you ever seen a grown man naked?
The point of visual fixation could determine if one perceives the structure
thrusting up or swooping down.
Have you ever been in an Amish prison camp?
In the afternoon, down by the dump.
A new quality of mind?
Frank Sinatra's eyes were not as blue as they seemed.
Behold Choler a beautiful, informative, sensual
creation; a mad man smashing your precious preconceptions with a hydraulic fist;
a crack - smoking steamroller annihilating the passe; a cybernetic beacon that
illuminates the smoldering, metallic horizon. Choler, the home of violent,
passionate images that blast off the page. Choler, that shocks you with
its magnesium sensuality and automates your orgasms. Choler,
that will no longer let you be a retro-spectator.
welcome to the magazine for the mind
in motion
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