# ten year research block via: fellow campus researcher of 'big science' henry swanson for: bsz hypercorporation also file under: screw ups / large now playing in swanson's lab via cryogene cooled 4d speaker cones: marguerite by bob morgan and steppin out in which the structure of bs situations do not in themselves deliver forth any truths whether authentic or scientific one's rnd journey begins not in structural facts or cultural linguistic constitutional but rather in what uniquely remains spectral forms of a strictly-incalculable 'scenic' emergence the article starts by henry swanson saying: we've not done major piece of research in ten years one whole single decade we've fiddled while babylon-rome continues to burn we've downloaded countless blue rotating spewtext file cubes viewed countless rnd scenarios about deaders shinobi playspace arcadias all manner of wilfully vague smugly elf satisfied post-modem donkey cobblers frittered and wasted our life our vision and health for countless hours playing / being played by endless radial first-person techno-scifi survival error shoot 'em ups but one that thing escaped us all time was energy - the will to 'get around to getting around' to finishing anything ten lone lonesome years spent puttering around in a cramped existential goldfish bowl wow - what a phenomenal waste of the waste that is dead uk time andor maybe time is an ocean not some lousy arrow even if that arrow happens to curve around due to extreme narrative gravitational warp - the kind resulting from certain ontological black holes in tsm the standard model a snake with wings eating it's own outlandish tale still we can't even account for lost years; these the core conditions and unprecedented historical situation of right here right now that is a radial 'presentology' the doubling of thought an internal leap dislocating scientific significance onto diverse electro-horizons an anomaly so strong as to be specific to 'big science' making it both close to impossible for researchers to grasp and at same time irreducible to any of regular scientific campus mechanisms of filtration infiltration or systemization what one is presented with then is absolute exception - a naked ontological singularity like terminal col north syndrome 'we do not recall um' virtually anything that happened during ten dry historical british rail sandwich-grinding years after we left that tiresome university in the deep 'post-industrial north' only fading traces of trivial acts acted badly by a group of apathetic stage hands in the lightly soiled cardboard name of a listless faded mediocrity in which there were merely a few lousy parties with various greige ph7-personality head feeders endless b-movie action adventure videos from vhs 80s on heavy rotation sweet hot occasional jobs from kind fellow humaliens we knew sure there was lots of eating dumping snoring emitting scratching of one's hairy space monkey peanuts the picking of brains - but there was little sign of doin' it you know rollins style - putting raw iron data to the existential grind stone of the endless road /movie clearly starting and finishing what needed doing so despite a nothing-much-at-all type everything situation / scene; a wild dull blur nameless days smearing into the next and so on forever right up till today - sweat filled nights of throbbing bland tin tasting virtual nowhere we came we fumbled around like an idiot we died on the spot and nobody even remembered to forget us oh well some of the sunsets sure are nice though also that liquid blue neon shine through diffuse volumetric lighting in cheesy near-future ancient electropop videos on mmm holo-tv (channel zero) which make one feel a certain vague opaque-pink way apart from that it makes dumb brains smart trying to even bother getting any actual sense of that long lost time a spurious chemikal window through which only few remote islands of release and spontaneous pleasure can be glimpsed - a dehydrated neurosis half seen through the lite damp fog of forgetful daily suburban inconsequence so what the extra heck did we do for ten years - apart from jerk eat and stare into a flickering 60hz 1080p screen at hyperreal images of fast fading floating retro-pixels sooty iceberg chunks gouged out of life and what's left feels like tardive dyskinesia (often characterised by repetitive involuntary purposeless existential movements) in which the fingers may move involuntarily across obsolete plastic text-input devices - almost as if compiling good-bad scientific fiction lab pseudocode yeeeight (sounds about right) yet to paraphrase philosopher and hip hop artist arthur 'on tha rocks' schopenhauer there should be no such thing as boredom as true scientific existence already fullfills and satisfies which either andor or means dear old 'arfur never travelled as far as nomorecame on a permanently drizzling sunday andor we're just partly undead dangit // republic of bob