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One would not easily believe
That corpses come out of their graves And wander around
Animated by some evil spirit To terrorize the living
Unless there were many cases in our times Supported by ample testimony
To be human is to be haunted,
Bound in chains to a past Dominating the present
Writing is haunted
a ghostly duplication Disembodying the mind
Speech rises to The dwelling place of immortals and ghosts
Like a mirror frozen in time
Photographs expose facial expressions That linger in the air like ghosts
" I speak illusion "
Spirit theaters thrilled and terrified With magic lanterns
Spirits of the dead Incarnate themselves into technologies
Like ghosts in pursuit of bodies
The lights burn blue! – It is now dead midnight –
Cold, fearful drops Stand on my trembling flesh
Ghosts are technically defined As a secondary signal
In a transmission that arrives ahead Or later than the primary signal
Thomas Edison built a radio
To communicate with the spirits Of the dead
Radio Contact with the Dead
Instrumental Transcommunication
Secret reports It is bad here
Bring a halibut!
The medium's body is the ghost machine
And Master's Voice speaks From the land of the dead
Media overflowing with phantoms
Ectoplasm - A substance From which spirits make themselves visible
Libidinal attention Sucked into the media channels
Feeds a plethora of ghosts Multiplying every moment
Ignes fatui, Will-o'-the-wisp, Ghostly lights hovering over swamps at night
Flicker misleads into dangerous marshes, To chase delusive walking fires
The power of media over matter A force over distance
A Juju control system Moving through the body of society
Like the spirit of the dead Through the bodies of the living
Agency as ghostly pneumatic presence
Anticipates the spectral economies Of speculative finance
The body of money is but a shadow The spectral economy is haunted
By the repressed world of bodies
Overaccumulated virtual capital, Hovers over the material world
Like a ghost in search for a body, Bubbles producing death and destruction
The secret of everyday truth-making Is the art of invisible influence
Fading of form leaves ghosts Haunting the desert of the real
The self appears like a ghost, A specter that haunts the monopoly on realities
A Spirit Tells the True Story of His Last Existence:
You can find something better than death Everywhere
Papa Legba opens and closes the doors to the virtual With the power to remove obstacles
The master of crossroads Controls the gateways to the spirit world
Descending through the seven gates of the Underworld, Ishtar threatens the gatekeeper of the land of no return:
I shall raise up the dead and they shall eat the living I shall make the dead outnumber the living
The dead are rising from their graves!
Boundaries which divide life from death Are shadowy and vague
Who shall say Where the one ends,
And where the other begins?
In the Hour of the Wolf when people die, Ghosts and demons come out to play
Between night and dawn
When sleep is deepest And nightmares are most real,
The sleepless are haunted By their innermost fears
Just because there is no difference Between real and unreal,
Between the living and the dead Between me and us,
That does not mean we cannot weigh the choices and take a stance