'retrocede', now available from Erratum Press

 

…retrocede is a series of experimental texts written in varying, disembodied vocal styles. Meaning is not absolute. There are no characters, there is no plot, nor is it indeed a novel in any conventional sense. The context is the written now. There are traces & meditations on perspective and language, voice & nothingness; the corporeal and the ‘raw teeth of extinction’. The book takes its origins from a burgeoning sense of exile, & futility; violence has its place in the linguistics of the texts, the imagery… (made to rust, in the burning non-chambers of the ideational, taken as was once from the emptily of dispel, as dreaming a broken history to the point of non-exist, in a present/presence continuum, ever as of the once knowing little of the what of as of all… a sickly strain of diseased language rotting its innards out from the echo within the echo, the coil with each form that sanguine gives its traces…)

///

“A nihilistic experience. As if flies enter the mouth, the room, the rotation of thought—what reality or whose? Lynch’s Mulholland Drive-dumpster-monster-scene meets paint splatter and methodical prose. Mc Aloran’s writing tackles modernism’s complex legacy in Joyce’s wake—one hundred years on. At the inscrutable core, that inner contingency: what do we name the sap, the nectar, the marrow? Retrograde, without agenda, Mc Aloran points with obsolescence to obsolescence… retrocede's metaphysical alteration of linear patterns carry the reader through chaotic undulations. Language is dispossessed, Shakespearian, confrontational. Yet as bedlam congeals, we find harmony itself is an inescapable shadow.” -- Maureen Alsop

“It’s difficult to situate the work of Michael Mc Aloran in literary terms. It’s easier to describe it in terms of what it bears little or no resemblance to (most prose and poetry). It’s also a mistake to look for things it does resemble (he’s been blessed and cursed by comparisons to Samuel Beckett – a comparison made chiefly, I suspect, because they’re both Irish). // ‘retrocede’ does have a narrative, but one devoid of time and/or space. Almost like a still-life where objects frozen in amniotic abandon are subject to an almost autistic focus and obsession, within totemic self-referential landscapes reminiscent of the early paintings by Tanguy and Masson. // Although time and/or space are absent, the element of ‘conscience’ is not. Objects and actions display a lugubrious abjection, landscapes shimmer with disgust or disappointment, a lightning flash is shameful, a miasma of resignation suffuses the pages. We feel instinctively familiar with this world, as if it’s something we’ve been carrying with us deep on some level of the reptilian brain. // I frequently find refuge in Mc Aloran’s writing; devoid equally of anxiety and hope, like a ground zero point in a maelstrom of increasingly meaningless information.” -- DM Mitchell

'retrocede' is available from Erratum Press

Excerpt from 'longshadowfall', Editions Du Cygne 2017

…in a collapse of prism purpose prism failure some blood to taste a withered lightless/ intent driven from the beyond nor which artery climate/ sudden to exhale silver smoke a trace of desire/ nothing to see or other to move along unto lacks distance ever-way trace of malign feature blind eyes burning out of their socket graves where charred teeth chatter/ solace what sun a diseased railing against some other than/ an unknown pageantry of sense disintegration/ sudden to recollect exhalation of razor entity deals in death-cards/ empty traces/ nothing more than spelling it out words unraveling/ it/ what equates with soundless sound tearing some trace from vibration nights till dredged becoming else collision collide/ falter/ ex nihilo collide from out of none a face obliterated skyline chalice of bone warped lights lapse stillness pared amber colourless appeal/ outstretched arms that limply fall to some circus paradigm obsolete devoured sands in throat/ colossus shadowing of breath spoken dead once all bled some solace never unto ever what struck from opus lock an unturned key/ design desire breath spat out forage glimmer appeal till obsolete shudder taste climbs through cannot no way unto having other than of foreign silence beckoning/ till clear cut what cut clear glass spattered with lice bloody child exclamation mark stench reek piss faculty breathe some slaughterhouse irredempt/ falters none in none no nothing of till tilt tint of shadowing no longer dry clear in asking of forgotten/ knocking for some final some what or if given unto dreaming forgotten/ else collision rotting nothing/ exile of bleed/ a foreign disclosure discharge fallen wrenched from sacrosanct not a breath till worship driven from out of breath/ sunk eye in dog shit ever on display/ what lung eye given a trace of dead airs a fading musicality a dreaming next to follow further onward into nothing/ tapered goes some light’s lapse all blood marrow taste collision nothing further to gain/ so says what/ once passed upon/ a silhouette a foreign banquet at which to dine alone for all time set in human meat/ bones of long speech desire lapses in and out of speech cannot through death’s relapse an orchard of none/ spoke eye all dredged regardless vomitous unspoken words respoken not a trace gathering by winds origin of not a trace designed by edge to overcome collapse unto/ eye dredged lapse and then apart lung laughter on/ (to where)/ not on no ever-on into none no none is/ obliterate/ not a trace nor sound no nothing gouged out in instanced breath/ at vacuum’s edge where speech treads gracefully upon terror’s absolution/ obliterated by none corpus strikes out into nothing ever cold chase of echo-echo bleeds taste of discharge unlike blood opiate of desire/ a rip of cold flesh bone rupture hollow ashes scattered upon limbs that beg unto where nothing ever cold chase of echo-echo blood unlike/ scarred unto breathing stun dead flux abortive recollect shale struck bone flex flesh of disregard heavenly to touch winds gilded none lesser for what stone wind’s design opening out unto/ reflex of else that will not/ no/ not a suffuse throughout what dead pulse rocking back and forth in darkness exhalations of final speech ever recoiling/ blending with collective traces no nothing non-voice a blend of tears and/ (regards with  skinned eye)/ in frozen heart from out of damage dense accord a flagellate fingers gnarled cannot close over the warmth of limb upon limb gifted spasm held to burn what of it/ speech devoured lest sense be other than eradicated by purity/ in a suicide of bitter teeth ablaze denounced cold earth tears dead do not ponder/ neither in or of obliterate concealed beneath each footprint in frozen surface/ cylindrical abase murmurs beneath breath trace of broke stone bodies clinging together as of shit to bootheel/ nothing there/ not a trace of redempt/ view is of outstretched vulture wings and the bleed of foreign silences for all time spent eradicated what songs from cancerous flesh to absorb no further than a lie from outset’s chalice/ what sung we lung it is said/ premise no/ collapse into thy dread in a make of mockery cold shoulder of abort stricken skies streaked across in bloody streams a hallucinogenic upheaval throughout better repose of ice-dark-weight/ absence of all/ all shadowing/ all knowing yet not/ scar tissue of some unseen/ a/ not of not a/ snap bone itch however done collision echo-echo traceless what edge from which to strike into an irredeemable solace absence/ bitten bone eye light outstretched catascope where edge is vital sudden in outcry cries density a turning of soil over and over devouring nothing new that ever was nor will ever be/ so go words/ silence dreamt of/ never ceasing in conflict there its sense devoured by/ arbitrary lights break surface of skull’s interior illuminating nothing more than ever was nor seen/ not a trace/ voice in response collides with nothing echoing out in dry screams/ foreign whispers fallen at once to be eradicated/ nullified/ tastes whip as it expires/ back then till unto/ gathered in fleshed bones of ill-purpose opiate eyes close over nowhere left to see yet some/ still yet/ scar tissue yes peeled away revealing exposed eyes of lack and absence/ stone winds wilting blood flows from callused fingers unto vacuum’s edge collecting bone whispers/ (seeded by)/ tumbleweed across desert sands of unseen mind’s reflect/ in desolation’s itch stitch of absence of redeem fleshed bones of within of illumined skull bleed of foreign silences/ nowhere left from out of shadowing alack/ static/ black light/ severed fingers scattered across empty sands/ silent murmurs/ traces of memory fathomless an itch of redeem a vacant lot a vacant lot of blind bones bound in a pissoir’s grace some piss-reek of/ blind shit devoured from whittled hands smeared across gait in mirror’s reflect cracked eye-limb/ what circus dreaming cancerous obviation/ nocturnes of once having been dredged from weightless barren ovulate a recourse to blind sorrows sweet caress of deathly tears/ it or other than what given next to nothing turning in lapse collision fallen skies never truly fallen eyes devoured in oceanic apathy trace barren in skulk of fissure dread collapse unto thy dread one final breath to champion (the) infinite… 

The book itself is available here

An excerpt from 'longshadowfall', published 2017 by Editions Du Cygne

 

 […ends as it does not wish to have ever had/ commence then out or not what matter/ dries eyed spurious metals a vibrant bloody welt/ asking of some none till follow long shadow fallen/ it says yet lacks all sound/ rent flesh in scum divisive edge guttered night abort of fragrant none of it about/ or else what else not a trace to be seem/ strips bare nothing no no matter if/ in-lacerate of bedamned dried blood nothing drag of irrepent dragging the spinal affluence some solace climb to dream of exigent given to taste/ what wind/ make it nothing less than brutal not/ scarce rot/ drag of lights permeating skin in a drift pierce as one locks baited silence hovering in within not taken for less or more taste of saturate attrition/ bedamned/ lock in/ vibrating what stone said yes/ eye abacus/ brute flesh carving out into endless night what matter/ absence of/ strips shut down/ collision purpose scattered remnants nothing of/ till bite what ask/ prayers from depth departed sunk dead sudden/ collapse unto thine ashes/ a lung/ fibrous oxidate climbing transparent space elective drain what stun lack trace abortive none of lack displaced/ in seek of sun lights broken valves of having traced through laughter long given to expire/ skeletal/ traceless of eye what matter closed fingers fist shattered glass impenetrable sudden reject of/ biting down upon bared knuckles echo-echo traceless acclimatized/ there has been/ nothing crimson pace trace alongside/ till vacant light traces some accord what spasm senseless sense/ trace of non-percept/ glimmers deep/ in deep/ what well of liquid night of endless blood/ in-dream spits shards of glass into/ fissure semblant what/ it asks what spun colourless demise/ as if to say in murmur desert hyenic minced no solace it/ cold close till return of laughter traceless from some black origin unfounded/ lapse climb reductive/ speaks of dead cold harrow priceless/ aches just a/ not one/ forgotten dream pageant nothing no it closure/ as if to say that in/ closure fist not a mark to remain/ settles to fall/ peels away skinned lights broken aspirate not a trace of/ broke stone laugh there is/ expels breaths as of shit/ bile vomit no breath for tomorrow/ (I/ eye laughterling)/ conjoined silences/ devouring words what frenzy to become…some foreign distance out of which collapsed purpose given to exhalation nowhere left/ to boundary cleft bespoke kill lack (lapse) kind what cannot be no other than bespoken/ nectar of eye sting breath colourless appeal a taste of bitter aftermath stings black worthless entity/ skinned for of in becoming nothing vacant seasons as if to echo dissolve in breakage point collision with no not a/ upon what stone sprayed with crimson broken valves of feel an abortive struggle fruitless as dawn’s first shadowings/ emptily doorways weep into corridor/s of light’s frozen cavalcades/ it-sting from frozen edge collapse still less than escapade given to fall asunder if/ lock weight and on it fathoms no/ bread broken through marrow’s blind withering in traceless circumnavigate dissent/ bitten ill-light a broken jaw some tangential recollect emptily irredeem of/ no nothing of some sense through which or eye what sense collision naught in dissipate of waste/ as if to say/ dredge what will stillness gathering ache throughout cascade no not/ not a/ asks that it may what it/ is speaking what is speaking collision trace eject tasteless/ bloodless/ a neck snapped in emptily resounding as if to echo fade once more/ still yet what edge what silence breath some seraglio of excrement/ no words/ abandoned else a cold dark vacancy following through/ waste what stray opulent skull-depth/ intro out of speech wrung dry till kaleidoscope some breathless want/ of some longing that in/ not a trace of other than or if or in what spoken collapse I-breath/ eye-breath/ trace waste what love what closure fist no yet following on from/ blade between teeth/ all whittled down a sarcophagus taint tint in a lightless  nothing/ spoken for as if for tomorrow/ not a trace/ in some following after laughter-lock some buried collapse/ lapse unto/ forgets forgotten that it has forgotten/ wrung out/ skins scattered vicariously across waste ground…lungs outstretched some bitter barb a stripped eye basking in sun lights/ alone is to best respite taken from onset’s winds/ nothing that cannot be outstretched wings till die what once/ ragged jaw out of some out-pulse regardless fathom never spoken till clad stone break reflect cascade/ it-eye-what no more till barricade stripped bare in spurious silences/ spat out some final tongue into dissipating gait left trace of not a nor of in if no matter nothing says finalize/ night’s fissure scarlet taste from a diseased mouth endless to touch beyond/ working bone against bone as if to say that nothing left demarcated stripped of tangents dry ice colours blending with tears given to unto some effortless demise/ it or other/ it what/ nothing more/ having burned all winds/ these burning winds deduced bone from out of faculty headless desire a given trace of some beyond forget it/ as one passes through another nothing there as if to/ broke stone fingers trace benign absence a dissipating smoke/ as if to/ having been no not for wastage not a/ clamour of dead light stripping the carcass of final tears lap them up for/ saken/ for no not a trace of there it all lies in pit tryst skull-depth snap-snap it is a lie/ mercury eyelids covering flesh/ here what collide what spun hilt dread laughter long as hollow/ not a/ strips violent teeth a mockery of being nothing beckoning in nothing’s claim/ it-spun/ eyes roll back in amphetaminal lights/ not a trace of sky when sky is mind alone yet not a trace/ spoken of yet better departures given when lock is steel what driven else forget/ it is I-lie/ distances flung out into foreign realms/ no trace to touch/ what of/ none of it throughout/ a downward spiral staircase of diseased longing smeared with bloody excrement/ reek/ no end in sight taken from above/ no light by which to guide/ atrophic words cascading with flesh’s devourment/ nowhere of some left to run aground/ where vocal chalice mocked by nothing claims what dim I-lack/ sunk white light of…ever of still-chase broke-spun lack till of measure/ gifting of eye what purpose flesh a wrang of meat a colossus breath still-born edge/ as of/ forget-me-knots shackled nonchalant skull deep what water winter water’s edge/ steps to blood measurement distance haven cleft one singular purpose not a/ it still distillation breaking forth relapse of climb none from out of which to parry disclosed night disclosed/ crack what stone effigies detritus wastage of bone steel laughter prevaricate/ fucked frozen eye reclaimed stillness from which to escapade writ in lines cast by a windless full of blood/ it I-lie never once of trace desire nothing captured given unto causality driven terse/ etc./ eye-lack sudden to expire given of reject of purpose nothing left to trace where nothing was or if abounding/ ragged then in terse closed doorway in or out of/ nothing ventured nothing eye alone roving in said dark what dark/ blind arc ice to follow on from given to gesture/ dead all what some circus apathy/ dressage what will some stench of sickness given from retreat/ onward no/ flails off lack of purpose desire/ it we fallen/ drag/ yes another drag another bone/ another broke stone nothing amber lighted/ shadows shed across echoing out no nothing into which given to having forgotten from the outset of what if or/ dead we along/ scattered what longing gild of appetite an outstretched palm/ scum pageantry/ isolate in terse/ with we what if collective no nothing to obtruse skin of toothen walls no sense for tomorrow/ it is/ what is/ out of or other than/ dense die what collapse in cracked eye promise/ I-cannot/ what is of or in not a trace given to lack in dream sarcophagus collapse/ expired endless/ given to/ accord/ what sense then under-sensed beneath/ callous under-climate parasite/ blood-shot in bite of recollect/ deduced from bones what given trace/ it of/ what of/ not a/ in-dreaming posit of some lack what given violence/ aspen/ cold bait that once/ twice/ thrice/ echo-dim falling to earthen what spine no solace never to return…speaketh from form dislodged abandon cleft what climb/ subtle unto abandon eye’s fieldline/ whispers from abattoir kiss ill-sensed as if to murmur bones of some unknown origin/ lapse all lack to trace from out of sickness given to dredge one singular motion ever to obscurity realm/ of distance clear azure perhaps some skyline only/ birthed all/ sudden abandon intro-speech eradicated not a trace where nothing can or cannot unspoken as before/ fields of lung no longing for abortive bones flies will gather nothing less as if to say/ some eclipse of endlessness/ in or out/ bled of what dead stun fields of atrophic reek shadowy nocturnes/ “dead fingers tell no…”/ absurdly flexed a catacomb of silence breathless expire non-trace in out or of/ here die it die eye/ we die young yet not enough/ better than what once was given/ effortlessly contained reclamation of none given to glow in unbroken aftermath/ I-we limb suck sand a broken coven a trace of flesh-meat nonchalance/ struck from what realm till opulent expiration/ skinned solace some glisten of liquid indefinable unlike tears/ not a trace where silenteeism reigns/ falter bled what other than/ if it we spoken nowhere left unto never unto/ dead centre centre flourish of nothing/ dissipatory expire sung from what left behind not a trace of affluence other than marrow’s taint/ sunk suck stone spit it out/ “dead fingers tell…”/ skull yes this in butchery lights stripped does not/ escapes does not/ all dead what realms to touch forgotten arbitrary notion collapse eye-null-void/ coughing up blackened flesh non sense devoured/ seen last of what haven till of over than what stun vomitous teeth of some dead lapse longing for what end given beyond nothing there or otherwise/ it-stun what cleft lights repetitive edge/ colossus null and void we in/ reek of/ beyond shadow’s mark a tint of closure nothing more than ever if or none sunk blind light of despair illuminating a thankless worthless space…]       

'bone bite snare' (Erratum Press) reviewed by Lee Beckworth

 

Bone bite snare the latest work from Michael Mc Aloran that displays his skill at re-articulating language identity and meaning into a labyrinthine revolt against the demands of the word to be understood and in doing so he steps beyond the existence of the novel as bourgeois artefact /The vitality of his text underlines the possibility of a vertigo of linguistic masochism confronting the reader with the refusal of a fixed tyranny of predictable meaning while corrupting notions of authorial identity/it is the individual who creates art no longer art that creates the self conscious individual that supreme illusion where everything is resolved/this work reflects the darkness and drunkenness of an epoch of evil and pessimism/but he does not complain of being misunderstood/in fact he invites a delirium of mystery and ambiguity in this barren age of mediocrity/To quote Deleuze and Guattari the schizoid revolutionary pole of the unconscious follows the centrifugal movement of the desire to be liberated from all ideological positions/A form of neutrality that refuses to be nailed down to a narrative persona not modern not post modern but dominates the passion to have meaning revealed/ The rest is silence/What McAloran calls the paradigm of shit a bitter frenzy teethed to the sky/What is this text about?/What is it trying to achieve?/Perhaps these paragraphs are generated and operating under the guise of Freuds concept of displacement?/Why the plethora of micro description or rather perhaps the absence of a narrator of names of anything outside of his authorial abandonment of rules of literary conduct?/What is being described adrift through corridors of barren-toned abandon ?/Words exfoliates as a depth tide for extinction of centrality of rational discourse /Cybernetics as a language in its final transformation and bone bite snare defies the imagination to evolve a understanding of these word events unless the imagination perfects resonance with the art of confusion?/...till terse redempt nothing ever of the collision verge where coil of edge redeem spill of light/What does this mean for language?/There is a need for an ear tuned towards absorbing the maximum from the multiplicity of perspectives offered /...where to taste is of the dead light what once it will return bleak solace headlong broken../Meaning seems at first stripped from the lines of words that have no evidence of punctuation to stem the flow of images perhaps three dots being the only evidence of a pause in the onslaught of discourse/Mc Aloran as author is released from adherence to his humanity touching what is unimaginable forgotten unnecessary the displaced puzzle of the suspect narrative throws off habit and expresses a nascent state of verbal demiurgy/Will language in the Age of the post digital even use an alphabet as it is now/Will there be a flood of new words coming from a Cybernetic driven culture that dominates the paradigm of consciousness if such a state even exists/What being[s] might constitute the Cybernetic paradigm?/These are questions Mc Aloran engages with/ Consciousness is a consensual human hellucination/We are limited by our language/Just as Physics is limited by its theorems/The depth of the imagination is limited in the human/An awake dream a state of fugue drifting mindless and out of control/What happens when the author sheds his breathless haven of desire and thinks back until peeling shadows from wounds of memory coming to rest in paragraphs of confessional vapours to a silent audience?/The spoken word may disappear and all interaction between subjects may be purely desiring neural discharges/Micro seconds of pleasure but it [the gap] exists and is in no way linear/...bloody waste pass through given fleshed disaster rank with silences the final eyes of sleep forgotten merely to slumber long into ever echo where night is ever ever long/ With an ear bent towards absorbing the maximum from words linked in paragraphs meaning is stripped from the readers intolerable senses birthing the fleshed close of hour upon hour touching what is possibly unable to be known/The displaced puzzle of narrative throws off the habit of the quotidian and each phrase ends with a sense of finality then opens up into another series of subjective anomalies revealing fragments recognised from the plethora of interpretations hidden in the obfuscations of semiotic precision born of post biological thought processes/Mc Aloran is always transgressing the limit of comprehension hidden amongst the fragments between the words and the lines/...the words graze the surface dredge of corridors once forged die down in listless slaughter/ Semi automatic metaphors struggle to follow the maze of images/As the author says in another of his texts Code # 4 Texts the words must be read both horizontal and vertically with an urgent but sterile engagement/Again in bone bite snare through what dim a doorway unto abandoned landscapes all foreign/McAlorans post biological text reflects the deep contradictions in contemporary culture not by confronting it with a leftist academic ideology but with a sense of neutrality almost an anti aestheticism expressing conspiratorial language that demands the reader completely rethink its engagement with language communication a world akin to that of Beckett and Joyce/A text that attempts to liberate the conscious voice from the tyranny of pulp fiction and the overly common intellectual narratives/Mc Aloran restores the corporeality of desire to know to understand /Instead of the passive 16 seconds of focus a level of concentration is needed to grasp the reinventing of word and phoneme that generate new significations/The reader if astute enough finds themselves revelling in a state of jouissance/...null stop collision rat surfaces to forage breathe of cannot expel it is choke upon at silhouettes silent edge/

The systematic delirium of auto suggestion drives the reader to maximise the processes of the imagination/a rare glimpse into a reek of silence oblivious to the commerce here there or barren ashen sunk white knee deep in shit reek there was something what was it named after/The work aims to quench an urgent desire for simplicity and banality/The Forgotten Memory of the Future/Insanity and excess of vision and sound/ Consciousness is not the seat of identity/When you have gone as far as you can you are only half way there/Reality for Mc Aloran is not enough/He dreams of the inside which is the unconscious and the outside which is the imagination/What is the connection between the unconscious and the imagination between twins/Do we only imagine in the conscious or is it a direct production of the dream of the other that we have forgotten as real and think that it is an inspiration of the conscious?/Bone bite snare is a limit experience that prevents us from remaining in the dream without transgressing its emptied out presence/Or are we permanently in the dream becoming other within space and time a rational thought or a non-thought/the unconscious/Mc Aloran improvises with a brilliant acuity of mind/...waste ground where now the closure of what given to beckon of as if to speak all days done for haven/ How do we maintain the boundaries?/Should we bother?/The process of constructing identity is creative and the creative individual creates many selves/What do you dream of and what do you dream of becoming/Is a dream a process of desire or are desires limited to the conscious/Is the dream the thinking of the unthinkable/Mc Aloran constructs the almost unthinkable/He is recording the collapse of Western civilisation liquidating the last vestiges of his intrinsic or symbolic value while maintaining an absolute integrity of creative thought/broken shadows in a collective of meat to bone to tragedy lack of it turning upon where to of if not what silence...a flight from echo into foreign echoing desire ramparts a fist to pommel the skyline's teeth.... 

'bone bite snare' is available via Erratum Press

Now available...

 

A new book by me now available from Erratum Press

…bone bite snare is a post-Beckettian series of fragmented yet interactive experimental prose poetic texts. It stammers, glides & bludgeons its processes through landscapes & visions lacking either redemption or hope. A hallucinatory cavalcade where linguistics are warped & erased in frenzied, vibration tones of lacerated subject & abject, textual bodily eviscerations & evacuations. This is endworld writing feeding at the jugular to the point of abort, decimating lights, cold cut, breakage bone, snare feed bitten thrice shyer than what hold of dust clogged veins a pissoir, a vantage point erase…

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"In bone bite snare, the jagged necrotextures of poetics are not only anatomically exposed but let of fluids through a cosmically conscientious mechanism not dissimilar to Pollock's 'drip technique'. This raw performance of a past and predetermined doom is here recorded and thus made infinite in its recurrence."

-- Elytron Frass

“this,is neonoir,a new kind of nihilism,where even the language,even if highly poetic,cannot be attested to certainty or absolutism or essentiality. everything is loose now,shifted loose by geodesic and societal schisms and shiftings. it really is the endworld,now with the appropriate acuitry sketched in a language befitted to mimic thefragments,the inconclusiveness,the w/hole.”

-- Aad de Gids

"In his texts Michael Mc Aloran curates [the impossibility of representationalism anymore], the last esthetic mirrorings of these wastelands through which we wade, in bleak necessity, in machinationmechanistical catatony, our arts following sinister paths to follow the porncinema our world has become. The paradox is, and it also isn't a paradox anymore, that Mc Aloran conceives this inexplicable, indiscernable cryptolinguistic curating [holidayjob] documenting in exactitude that it is no longer possible to follow these worlds of the world like we sit on top of it but we're deeply indebted to as well as prey to its capriciocity and haunting presentism. The world over us that is, and Mc Aloran bears witness to exactly this precarious position, point, to which all end-arts and anti-estheticisms must dwell, finally, in unironic splendour of a glitzing decay."

-- Chyna Blac

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