The only really psychonautic "job" I can conceive, that naturally wouldn't be called a job by the machine, is dying fighting against it.
The immortal martyr.
Evey thing else comes next,
poet,
chemist,
gracious and useless "thinker",
prime minister scientist;
they all, by themselves, come second, or fourth.
Revolution or nothing, or die.
Die die domination paradigm,
die die you empire, you dominator!
When you don't care you die in the next fifteen seconds,
and you live for dear Earth.
With one foot on the air.
...but that's me and my silly aesthetics,
and the unavoidable obtuse dancing rain.
Suicide will be the primul Ohm, the last and first aesthetic phenomena worth all the previous instances, all of them.
The immortal martyr.
Evey thing else comes next,
poet,
chemist,
gracious and useless "thinker",
prime minister scientist;
they all, by themselves, come second, or fourth.
Revolution or nothing, or die.
Die die domination paradigm,
die die you empire, you dominator!
When you don't care you die in the next fifteen seconds,
and you live for dear Earth.
With one foot on the air.
...but that's me and my silly aesthetics,
and the unavoidable obtuse dancing rain.
Suicide will be the primul Ohm, the last and first aesthetic phenomena worth all the previous instances, all of them.