acknowledge and proceed

We're here.

2012-01-01T00:01:00.002-06:00

We were always here, waiting for us to arrive, yes?

2012 approaches

2011-12-31T22:09:00.002-06:00

You've been participating in the world's first fully interactive quantum comic book, starring all of us.

I discovered my secret magic hero word in a crossword puzzle my future self passed me.

2012 is the year of many endings and the one beginning.

Thank you for your participation. I love you. Look up!

I gather people from parallel realities

2011-12-31T11:57:00.000-06:00

Plato was our only window into what the Library of Alexandria contained including the knowledge of the existence of Atlantis.

The founder of Babylon according to ancient texts and legend was Nimrod who reigned with his wife, Queen Semiramis. The Babylonian Brotherhood is like another name for the Illuminati today. Genealogists even believe that families like the Rothschilds can be traced all the way back to Nimrod. The Brotherhood which controls the world today is the modern expression of the Babylonian Brotherhood.

The next time some braggart asks whether you've been afraid of going deep into the rabbit hole, just smile, knowing that you've freefallen for no other reason than because you could.

The human snake's writhing action is the act of creating a human ouroborus.

It's gorgeous when enough elements are available.

Ripples up stairs through the house, growing as it enters each room filled with debauch you can't imagine, winding into elaborate gardens, then meeting its inception point in the stable, where precisely forty three minutes earlier it had been birthed by my lovely assistant Lillith, when she came upon Ganymede and Zeus masked individuals humping amongst restless horses.

Eternally young immortal man, on my compound in Iceland. I made peace with the spirits long ago. They leave me to my task.

Aurora Borealis

Magma fed mansion

Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted.
--Aldous Huxley

Man would sooner have the void for his purpose than be void of purpose.
-- Nietzsche

Accident is the name of the greatest of all inventors.
--Mark Twain

2011-11-11T10:47:00.002-06:00

Thus as well as quickly like the lessening of the shalt thousands, thus a lot quickly thousand grow' ; st in one of thine, of which thousand ulterior ones departest; And this fresh blood that youngly thousand bestow'st, thine of l' appeal of the mayst of thousands when thousands of the youth convertest. In attached the wisdom lives, the beauty, and l' increase; Without this madness, age, and decaimiento cold: If all were imported therefore, the times must stop and l' year of the threescore would render the world absent. Left those who hath of the nature not made for the warehouse, rough, without distintiva characteristic, and crude, dies barrenly it: Watched that quit the best one has equipped, has given more; Which shouldst generous of thousands of the gift in generosity caresse: It has cut the thee for its stamp, and it has communicated to it d' such way, with impression of the shouldst of more thousands, than that not lazy meurt the copy.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

Rosicrucian Comic Book Ad

2011-09-29T13:58:00.001-05:00

Poimandres

2011-09-26T14:55:00.000-05:00

There is a very particular meaning derived when one seeks to examine the peculiarly poetical power of light in relation to mind.

Naturally, the principles of the classification system humans derive as necessity are promoted, in some fashion, by the degrees of inclusion within the constraints of the game itself.

The degree to which you understand the mechanics of Being is directly proportional to the depths of your humility in the face of this understanding. Nothing is in and of itself describable to the fullest extent. Where language fails, where words cease to derive meaning or primacy, we should allow image to take the wheel, and metaphor is itself wholly derived from this pathway and inclusion. Time, it will be proven again and again, is not linear, at least not in the sense that proponents of Freudian or Einsteinian models once quibbled through in their respective fields. Time is in fact simultaneous. The All-Now described by Gnostics as The Pleroma.

If that omnipresent background proves to be folding and collapsible, and human being's relation to mind and light both individually and collectively, then it stands to reason that, as the neural pathways of a single human brain outnumber the collective stellar activities of the known universe, and that which is above is like that which is below, then any seeming action or activity, regardless of moral implications, works according to the omnipresence.

To this end, Good and Bad are naturally little more than labels, and the visual systems crowding aesthetic theory are matters of divination best left to the Oracles and arbiters of good taste and sound judgment.

In retrospect we view the Ancients as backwards and brutish, lacking our sophistication or technological achievements, see their associations of gods and goddesses to locations and corporeal forms as limiting, and prescribe our own phantasms to the realm of action in such a manner that the invisible world, the molecular and spiritual, goes unrecorded, disregarded, and inconsequential.

That "treasure in the realm of shadowy thought" as Kant put it, or " the archetype" as Jung put it, is often a projection we overcompensate for, creating an imbalance in our perceptive capabilities and applying neurosis to the collective rather than the individual, where it originates.

And with regards to Esoteric Essay Blogging, the act of E.E.Bs, we so often seek out regions form submissions and end up being dominated. Balance for the Whole is sought and even on rare occasions found.

The Chariots Arrival

2011-08-16T01:03:00.002-05:00

The Chariot's Arrival

Lane Williams

2010

Enter the sacred Place

2011-08-16T01:01:00.000-05:00

Advanced Euphemism

2011-07-24T12:48:00.000-05:00

I managed to raise my eyebrows just in time to save some face.

The light of the night fell on the city like a widow's veil.

We rode that tandem bike into the horizon and flipped over the handlebars in unison, an act unrecorded and unrepeatable.

Self-delusion is impossible at this point. We're looking sideways along the timestream at the impact eddies made by the Action. The psychological and biological after-effects, the groanings which cannot be uttered, ears heavy and eyes shut. Still crooked, empowered and maintained, yet elegant in a perfect and beautiful order. Inter-dimensional eddies, shifting like a pregnant woman late in term, knitting, pearl one, knit two, looming, spinning great webs, great swaths of cloth, the skin of the world, atlases springing, roads emerging, snapping of bone and bridle, snorts of disappointment, a rigorous theory of reference. Cognate references refreshed, she looks up over the rim of her eyeglasses, a dim recognition emerging.

A virgin bride. Female asceticism developed and maintained in certain households. Sexual austerity was taken for granted. As a result, the fevered actions of their decadent descendents, those bucking adolescents, taking place on the threadbare couches in the next room, went undiscovered by the parental figures, each set of the youngster's ears keyed to atmospheric alterations so subtle a cat might have missed them, fingers removed and short shorts shifted just in time to avoid notice, the television at full blast or even half-mast providing a muffling of at least some of the furtive movements. A magnificent snag, a certain scope of things, strings, kings, rings. And the fat lady sings.

Waiting for the trumpets

2011-07-24T12:20:00.000-05:00

The blessed face and voice of the Word, a noise boisterous in its earthly function.

The operative relevance of the translated passages is such that even one sample spoken aloud displays profound psychological transformations in the reader, the speaker, such that old-fashioned principles can be observed to rot through like moldy timbers, a matter of time and probability, drowsily dousing the insight of the everyday for profundities hardly comprehensible to mortal reckoning.

All that is alive is in some view profane; a taste for sweets justifies unmerited suffering.

It's a game of zero-distribution. An equation of the working substance within these words cannot be properly known, that is, it cannot be housed by sane means, couched in linear thinking.The evidence seems pervasive that contemporary experiments with the Word provide a coalescence of identity which is not ordinarily provided in ideal persona models, factory-direct or home-grown. The alliance between so-called conventional wisdom and and sanguine fancies grows dim in the presence of the Word. Linguistic structure as a whole begins to break down on a cosmic level, in a manner of speaking.

Mimic the dealer and you will never bust; a concurrence of skulls and diamonds.

Periodical linguistic consumption and purging fringes our interactions here, as if the process of translation itself was never-ending. The massive lore of the Word's cryptography yawns wide like a black-lit abyss, antiphonal, scarcely pronounceable, hastily scribbled, hurriedly typed, unmistakably unique it its inheritance. The manuscript, as we have already said, is compelling yet absurd. It deconstructs itself halfway through, then works back towards a linear model with just enough time for a photo finish.

Invocation Twelveleven of the 5D Consulate

2011-05-23T15:24:00.000-05:00

Magico-religious power chooses the master of the world from historic and salvific records stored within certain symbolic animals.

Each one of us is patterned after an archetypal model stored in something known as the Stellar Drive. We create countless but not innumerable variants of this archetype and live them out according to specific parameters.

Designated events in the seemingly chaotic swirl of events motivates us to enter mystical states from time to time.

You might say that Yahweh and Baal struggle against one another throughout the constructs and constraints of a particular program; every religious structure engages the concept of the divine within the space allotted it in society, whether positive or negative, ruling class or slave, and as such is informed by the space's limits and excesses.

Understand that even this text is only acknowledging that the writer is I who speak to you, the one you expected.

I see the clock on the mantlepiece. The Universal Tree centered at the core of everything. Acts are, but there is no actor. The furnace of Gehenna and the paradises of Arcadia are alike and apart in their terrible and wonderful beauty Outwith the fourth dimension.

The sky is set to the movements of the four elements and light particles distill three wheels to the moon and the sun. A maiden robed in light enters the chamber of the archons. The result is all plant life. Miscarriages from heaven string the land and self-replicate. The result is all animal life.

Western alchemists attempted to re-create this scenario for centuries. The result has been billionaire boy's clubs where damaged people come to revel in their own crapulence. Like dark shadows they swallow light and return nothing.

The expression of the undifferentiated symbol, or Logos is by far best represented in the overall scriptures attributed to Jesus Christ. This was co-opted by the Empire and re-edited for public consumption to assure a more complacent populace as a whole. This has met with periodic resistance amongst those most in need of reassurance.

Baeline message as processed by Philip K Dick in VALIS: THE EMPIRE NEVER ENDED.

There are levels attributed to Gnostic Cosmology that correspond fittingly with Quantum theories. As science and religion both have their own unique relationship with dogma, it arises that one might Quantify God as a Tenth Dimensional entity, comprising the whole of not just this universe but every potential universe that could ever exist or even be imagined, as the Fifth Dimension is easily quantifiable as the imagination, a paradox machine generated by the miracle of life and observational existence. And as such to a Tenth Dimensional entity time is not just simultaneous, but omnipresent. This greatest being destroys senses of hierarchy. The eschatological character of certain entrenched religio-political shadowplays maintaining perpetual war at the cost of light and life gives rise to a culture of fear, which eventually gives rise to an overthrow of said entrenched systems, as crisis after crisis precipitates change overall.

Eucharist Premise (Poetics of Place)

2011-04-16T15:03:00.000-05:00

Jigging in a circle.
Half-dressed and turgid,
narrow shoulders slapped the length,
assessed width, a
baby arm holding
an apple.

Growing restless in the sheets,
gesturing with an electronic device,
intruding the dew plum,
She grips on the gravity
slipping as performances
elsewhere and when
peak.

Performative verbs inform the
struggle,
too much noise, the squeaking
breaking bed folded lengthwise
in their acts.

Everyday sing-song tantrums,
performed by the acrobatic and eager,
sweaty slap of hips and tips,
rhythm of hood against groove.

A tip against lips, against puckers.
A flip of folds, a gentle tap of pats.
Promises primly provided,
as the world churns beneath them.

Sturdy Boat

2011-04-16T13:49:00.000-05:00

Simultaneous inhibition evidence, every drug know to modern man, huddled in a corner signaling creation's front, RISE AND SHINE, stand and bear witness, Autumn Frost, increased legibility, grounds frosted with fog, ghosted around the edges of the grim meat hooks, a pregnant doorway, bridal veil, mystic fallacy of assumption, tending to think Q entails P, synaptic change, a charging of odd systems, driven platoons, pantaloons, plantains, Plane Janes, and the cleft between legs indicating space not chafe, the scornful gaze of a gassy bore, vapid fellatrix, determined, undermined, handled fine, father's clothes fixed, trapped collars, theoretical contact, fluttering about in silk robes, white hair and black shoes, attempts at introduction, a tall great man, a fever-fit in the new melting spring, a sprig, a pig, hog tied, hungry hippopotamus making it his business to know, to know where the funding came from, a dedication to silence, a fund for the nationalized art paradox dozer, a front end loader...people who carried knives and war stories in equal portion. A pebble, a spark. Seeking anything in the dark. The redundancies of ideologues, the need for an enemy, the empire assimilating the Empire assimilating God and the metaphysician of mathemagical courts outwith the material sphere. Always responds to the fingers and the voice, yes, the terrible din, the crash of Will Straight, the Straight Line, the slant, the curve, the null and void toyed to death.

Ace in the Hole

2011-03-27T12:46:00.000-05:00

At the start of the day, committing war crimes for the machine.

Awful implications being the catch-all algorithm of pressed suit engineers, efficient solutions to the pollination of cosmic models upheld among shadow cabals. The Trilateral Commission of Xerd, repacked coal designated "instantly lethal" by victims of the original cryptogenocide, a genesis of unknown origin.

The house self destructed, we called it Bad House afterwards. Front end loader used to wreck a Cadillac, mechanical contrivance disguised as metaphor. Event posing as allegorical. Rodomontadebluster, boastful catch of the day.

Continuous opposition is the name of the game. Burst concealment like a song masquerading as a still-life.

Venerable emissary of Rex Mundi (aka Dr Neumix) arrives on the concourse, heralded by a bright ball of light streaking across the Midwest. Followed by a Dolphin Holocaust. Followed by an earthquake, a tsunami, and a nuclear meltdown. Unspeakable fissures drilled into the planet for the oceanscaping, radiation clouds dripping yellow, alignment shift for the melting icecaps, solar flares peaking, supermoon waning, the terraforming of a bright blue ball by hostile alien forces, subjugating the hominid aboriginals, turning the skies from one shade to another, puke green brown orange reflection of the city lights off the clouds, spinning tops of civilization whirring, tilting to one side, colliding with one another as a beast outwith normal operating parameters rampages, unchecked by the flow of time, names so new they have not the capacity for death, untold aeons circling a drain, cascades off of immense cliffs in remote regions as yet untouched by the despoiling corruption, the virus of civilization, cultural aggregates, biases inherited by wind-blown sand blasted entities, corrupted fractures along the spreading spiderweb on the windows of perception...

Justice is too often disregarded by the Law. Major Resistance Figures stand out as the individuals refusing the comfort of the group mindset, the easier path of no resistance, the antiquarian fear mongering that corrupts our occlusion, our acquiescence to the silent death sweeping landscapes, the stormcloud brewing, fit to burst with radioactive water the sharp Blonde would tell you is no health hazard, as a matter of fact it's healthy, misinformation rants accruing vitriol as jingoist patterns intensify.

Clear mountain mornings are becoming rare, puppies left out in the rain are slaughtered by policy makers with their hair-trigger pedantry, their pretense at knowledge, wholly ignorant, derivative, projecting endlessly, paths without direction, chairs with no legs, sky-scraping mounts of epic iron and malleable mithral. Such mythos crimp the style of mullet masters, cramping legs, charley horse, money, love, always have a little more than that which is shown.

Galactic coordinates are being transmitted.

Prepare.

Nook

2011-03-24T19:11:00.000-05:00

Because this item is also an exquisitely designed sculptural artifact, it cannot be reproduced. It will only increase in value.

We aren't due back for a spell. Pull up a seat and I'll tell you about a dream I had last night. We'll wear out the fire and let the stars crowd in, let the wind get colder.

In the dream, a creature was being cataloged by some network sponsor, a wetware design of unknown origin, a braintrust, an overdeveloped inorganic component of a higher structural entity outwith normal operating parameters, an Archon of the sort documented in Apocryphal texts.

The creature being cataloged was itself both organic and technological in construction. Dream amnesia deters proper description; the creature was at once like a dinosaur and the most complex cyborg you could imagine.

Solemnly baptized by the wetnurse chitin-cloth nuns of a collective backwash cult contingent stationed in the Orphanage of Damp Chains, this beast was integrated seamlessly into what appeared to be a futuristic toilet with an immense lidless eyeball bulging from the bowl.

Blades and silver sparkling nanotech filaments waved in an artificial breeze around the toilet and dinosaur as wavering plasma screens blinked red and blue for the audience for whom this creature was being cataloged, unseen and unheard but nonetheless interacting through a psychic rapport with the aforementioned Archon from a location referred to by top officials as the Nexus Fiber, a place nestled in the hierarchy of Angels between the (secret and forbidden) eighth and ninth day of the week, otherwise referred to as the eleventeenth subterfuge of all cash prize spambots, in toto, verbatim, pro bono, quid pro quo.

Seeds tied to Trees

2011-01-29T10:41:00.000-06:00

She followed him down the short hall into the painting gallery, where carefully hung portraits of dead relatives clung to dignity with artful strokes on shoddy canvas, set in magnificent frames. A wizard's hat sits in the lap of a creepy distant Greatuncle Chestertown Crowley III. Not competent to be submitted as evidence of the finer points of their family's overall psychic makeup. Swaddled in the absurd, he sits betwixt new volumes of pressed butterflies, in fact our first Dojo fell into war with a crew of wererat swashbuckler ninjas from the more crapulent regions of the city between the river and the mountain, which is itself indicative of the overall elemental course prescribed in more recent reasons for primal fallen-matter work schematics our family involves itself in, derived from the foregone conclusions of distributive derivatives we are presented with, day to day. The others arrived, wearing animal masks and little else. She asked us to be gentle, but her eyes asked something else entirely. This is the human condition, mystery explained. Go home and cry about it, big whoop.

Whenwhere

2011-01-29T10:25:00.000-06:00

Here we are, akimbo squad in the heaving restless hills, soaring by the whale float supports and delicate lattice-work architecture so common in these air-realm floating ventures. An axis develops and is populated along parameters set by designated roaming demiurges, writers and hybrid artist ramshackle suitors, ill-fit for less manageable designs surrounding intrepid individuals set for calamity clauses in the pandemonium halls and passage flutes. Posted secrets on stamps, mailed them to post office boxes throughout the continent, sent packages to Emperor Bazooka and the Intolerable Kid, redesigned packages for Saturn designates from beyond the Whenwhere Ranch, took stock of an indulgent Multibillionaire Mammon-Squall in the works, even now. Buyer's market, flipping over the handlebars into a ditch, leaking spinal fluid from the nose, nosey neighbors help him up, but this damages him further, paralysis sets in, and this collapsing shudders in the grass, gripping quiet poems as they waft out of his form and catch lightbeams, currents of air, cascading effect like a fire rainbow like a neuron firing like a downloaded fringe necklace of scenes and moments, a breathing real-life simulacrum of croaking creaks in the halls of my father there are many doors, all marked with the same stamp.

Sympathy with All Things

2011-01-17T22:13:00.000-06:00

Professional charmer. Information storage and retrieval. Tactless grief. Fearless as sharks. Patriotic gore. Starts and farts. Striped pipes. Not a religion but a technique. Not a nation but an idea. Navigating caverns by torchlight. Solve et Coagula. Shrine to the mother. Tower to the father. A voice like wine. Fatalistic drum of memory. Scarcely slackened pace. Unambiguous action in course of retrieval. Rotation of the terrestrial globe. Epistemological assumption. Predictable note struck. Revulsion at the sight of slimy water. Reasonable to introduce alternative prophets. Reproducing marginality in an original way. A sign of absence. Trembling in deliberation. The laughter of our demigod's daughters. Cosmic religiosity. The fatality of paradigmatic models. A world, presumably structured by laws. Confusing complexity. The seven hills of Rome. Imagination of history arises from flawed and singular memories. Measurements analogous to the exterior form. Window opening onto the resurrection. Apotheosis. Abnormal reaction to subscribed phenomenology. A placeless place. Narrative of triumph. Re-inscribing the misconfiguration of forms. Privation. Specular configuration. Movement within language. Entering into the form without properly submitting to it. Exploring dialects, models, formulas. Existing forever as a matter of words denoting thought and feeling.

11:12 1/12/11

2011-01-12T11:28:00.001-06:00

This moment has passed and nothing can change that. Moments such as this show up exclusively as being-for-us, but the human essence is vast and small, a paradox riddled with anxiety. We hold grand festivals of understanding and wallow in ignorance as pigs in slop. The technological discourse of instant communication has made these transfers between above and below not just possible but an integral part of the everyday. Almost every principal derived from our interaction with sublime material and gross matter is characterized by individual experience, such that even the driest rhetoric, the most stale academic jargon, is coated in a thin veneer of fertile philosophy. The character of these contents is for certain given a presence, then, in our own interpretation of the materials, the filtering borne of a general disquiet inherent to ontological query of any breadth or width, the presence of tradition insisting on a man who dwells inaccessible to the everyday to be flogged by the iniquity of the micromundane and macromonotony to the point that absurd notions of potions designed to destroy crop up, the life/death struggle quivers in anticipation, and spiritual napalm is extracted from what some would refer to as the collective soul of being, others a metaphysical life-essence trap.

Proust's Questionnaire

2011-01-12T01:42:00.004-06:00

What's your current state of mind?

Mild to moderate anxiety.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

My special lady friend.

What are your favorite names?

Penelope. Ajax. Lane.

Which living person do you most admire?

My mother.

Which living person do you most despise?

Richard Cheney.

Who are your heroes in real life?

My mother.

Which trait do you most deplore in yourself?

Sanctimoniousness.

Which trait do you most deplore in others?

Fatuousness.

What's your greatest extravagance?

Books.

What is your most treasured possession?

Signed copy of Hunter S. Thompson's Kingdom of Fear

What is it that you most dislike?

Idiocy.

What do you consider your greatest acheivement?

Thus far, my first novel.

What is your favorite journey?

The one within.

What is your favorite occupation?

Writing.

What is your most marked characteristic?

Great height.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Inescapable monotony.

What is your greatest regret?

Breaking hearts and minds.

When and where were you happiest?

New York, 2003.

On what occasion do you lie?

Rare moments when it is warranted.

What talent would you most like to have?

Emotional ventriloquism.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?

Hair is difficult.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I'd have to say something about my manner of presentation in front of large groups.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?

It would be something about toning down their dysfunctional behavior.

How would you like to die?

Sleeping peacefully.

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what do you think it would be?

A whale.

If you could choose, what would it be?

A monk.

What's your motto?

This is a world.

1:11 1/11/11

2011-01-11T13:11:00.008-06:00

Militarily threatening. The Epoch of Currency. Dependent on hospitality. Foundations of fanaticism. External forces. Brickbat cigarettes. Incredible Discipline. Solipsistic disease. Prison buildings. Circling back to another beginning. Posturing the mysteries of Mithra. Self-paralyzing psychiatry. Fictional uncertainties. Linguistic alienation. Central and defining avowal of widespread duality. Sentimental Autumn. Keen on life. Intrinsic rigor. Mistaken conclusions. Experienced Princes. Jokes constituting a dialogue. Implicit contradictions deemed inadmissible. Opinions separating myth from negligible existence. Secondary obsessions. Angry hunger. Substantial orientation. Specified particulars. Required critical concepts. Decades of unresolvable conflict. Magistrate's involuntary exclamation. A gallant man. Bursting with indignation. Exaggerated vigor. Bird and dagger. White gown, trimmed in lace. An affected gaiety. Arrival at the terrace. Abrupt bane. Crux reinterpreted. Not an idiot, but reverted to childhood nonetheless. Physiologically reactive. Consider herd remorse. Diversions from writing. Typing urges. Irony in groupings. Recognition of literary qualities. Truth and knowledge, hard to come by. Let the horses out. Rational process. Presentiment. Priestly hatred. Priest distinguished. Progress and success. Feminized control. Gender distinction. Immoralist's rainbow. Faith application. Depiction of transcendental moral order. Satisfaction of conscience. Dumbfounded silence. All numbers proceeding from the monad. All things changing, none perishing. Sacrifices to the Golden Cup. Emphasized services. Subsequent absence of the father. Motives and intent uncertain. Monument to Bluebeard. Fabrication of documents. Services rendered. Imprisoned grandfather. Shock of differences felt. Pseudoscopic determinates involving the illusion of movement. Immaterial occasion. A developed sensation. Voluminousness of emotion. Unwavering importance of conception. Vulgar demands. Path of instinct blocked by excitement of imagination. Sovereign individual. Earnest cruelty. Heavenly music. Fetish Abjection. Active necessity. Presumptuously compared. Verinnerlichung. Human jubilee. Trimming toasted marshmallows. Gong and pompadour. Toothbrushing and muscle-building. Funeral monuments. Glovemaker and wheelwright. Distiguished assassin. Black serendipity. Ultimate accolade. Prehistoric tourists. Poorly informed. The body of Il Duce stolen. Rubbed against forks tines. Bike carcass. Panting steeds. North wall of the garden. Blind crowder, wilting like a salad. Public charity. Common malady. Sniffing the breeze. Staring blankly. Vegetable trick. Suction pumps. Individual body dissolves. Infinite immutability. Without obstruction. Painful circumstance. Public shortcomings. Reformed traditions. Period of suffering. Dogmatic scheme. Heavenly facets. Seated in a hut. A clear light which is Itself. Significant letter. A questioning look. Stomach soothed. A lack of dignity, rights, or occupation. Something dangerous coming down the stairs. Duties shirked.

Playground

2011-01-06T13:37:00.001-06:00

"Lots of loudly-outspoken bigots in history... especially pre-1990, it was even fashionable. Mme. Blav was a medium, and very ugly. Blavatsky did translations for Jacob Bohme's Key (interesting stuff, once when I traced a few of his keys inIllustrator and then tried to load them online, reality broke in a new and interesting way) and provided Eliphas Levi marginalia commentaries... she debunked false mediums and had rampant threesomes with the Fox Sisters. I joke, I kid. Esoterically speaking, one should understand that all these sorts of "special clubs" of "initiation" into "mysteries" were exclusively reserved for the upper to sometimes upper-middle classes and amounted quite often to mere boys clubs (see: Freemasons), but have their roots in Mithras/Orphic Cults. Crowley worked for Hitler, briefly. Wrote disinformation booklets for him, said he was emphasizing on Jew Hate too much. Funny stuff. EVERYTHING influenced Nazi Occultism. Especially Tibetan Buddhism. Hence the flag and tarnishing/tilting the swastika. But hey, I digress. Manly P. Hall keeps popping up. He involved himself in a very fat volume of Hermetic lore that's sitting at my bookstore."

An Inquiring Gaze

2011-01-04T18:14:00.001-06:00

Contractile waves ripple through her.

The laws that took the vote away were for starry hieroglyphics.

Language is real motion, and motion makes reality form, and reality forms according to the laws of Destiny. Destiny is governed by the Kosmos, which is itself beholden to the Outsider, or non-being, standing in Perfection remote from the fullness of creation but completely intrinsic to it.

Simply a matter of having form in the desire of movement over stillness, action beyond inaction, pulling away from the lure of Nirvana for the sake of propagating the eternally desolating process of Life and its cold twin Death.

Freedom acts as a stimulant for the many classes to war over. The snobbish upper-lower middle class dynamics of previous steam-soaked centuries must be surmounted in order to bring about an egalitarian cure for the disease of government bureaucracy, its countless field agents, secret agents, active agents, inactive agents, moles, honeypots, plants, double agents, triple agents, black ops, etc. The power of the Proletariat is forgotten, long ago sold for cheap thrift sun-dresses and imported apples. Ask a child about Marx today and you'll see the wasted potential of movements for communist sympathy in the raucous American sixties. Everyone has sold out, and they have an expensive heated pool and dressage horses for their nephews and little bratty girl, and so on. Greed perpetuates Greed, sloughs off envy and pride and avarice-tinged fear, jealousy, and so on. As things stand we are all subject to a front row seat for the premiere attraction, the name of a game, which is Distraction. The economy of this worldwide global hellscape is much as the Roman Empire was, centered around symbols of status, self-perpetuating miracles that speak of a great wealth of history but provide very little in the realm of practicality. Time was, working a backhoe had integrity built into it. Now, staring blankly at the screen, you are left with words again, a keyboard laid out in front of you, in your pocket, on your ear, in your eye, in your brain. Get by on your brain. Yeah. Reinforce that anachronistic Cartesian Body/Mind split prevalent in Western norms. Brains in jars? Brains in jars.

So we live and have lived as average people (programmed) interacting with video screens, programs, from games like Winky Dink to the portable computer, the birthplace in games, games according to myriad convolutions/revolutions of rules, great and important work, trust&team-building exercises (excluding noobs), the seedbed for data interaction revolution via GNOSIS. The first person perspective of a shooting game versus the side-scrolling overhead of early children-geared greenbacks, the true impact of the immersible environment's perspective has not yet come to full fruition. What started as a solitary enterprise has become most real in the soldiers and controlled environs that provide an unbelievable amount of information while calmly controlling an environment. Information management is the defining characteristic of the twenty first century's dawn. The future is computer systems operated by movement. More and more we see the world as a system of the sublime. We have no easy answers, we have persuasive advertisers trying to develop a better consumer, a bonus point grubbing remote-sensor-covered designer of the spiritual engine. Who can stop this nightmare world from intruding upon the landscape when it is already the color of the grass. The urgent optimism of the interaction, the tight social fabric required for this tottering structure, this great and towering Pylon of our new century, millennium, in this our Year of the Rotting Zombie Jesus.

Vortex

2011-01-03T13:47:00.002-06:00

Patterns

2010-12-28T18:22:00.003-06:00

Does God Exist?

2010-12-22T20:09:00.004-06:00

Usually whenever a theist or an atheist gets into these conversations, they are both using similar points of departure inthat they are convinced, utterly, that the convictions they carry are correct. Neither entertains the notion that they are ignoramuses in the face of a totality so vast as God. Of course, usually neither realizes that they are both in their own ways programmed by the social norms and conditioning received at whatever institution or group they spent the majority of their lives in (families, homes, churches, synagogues, schools, nightclubs, etc.).

Without humility in approaching this question, one must confront their ignorance with humility, or a snarling beast may emerge without warning.

This often leads to an argument or steeping weeping arrogant banter where an enlightening dialogue could have done nicely.

When approaching the question of God's existence on my own (I tend to avoid these conversations) I usually arrive, with some hemming and hawing, at the elegant statement that the concept is variable and our words for it extremely limited, but God (that is to say, the perfect and most Alien Being that encapsulates the entirety of existence, not the Demiurge called Yahweh, etc. but more what is described by some as Allah, the Pleroma, Kosmos) is an absence that indicates a Presence.

Does that make much sense? A crude metaphor would be a hand in a glove, say. But I digress. Yes, yes I am a Gnostic. We're the rarest of sorts, anachronistic in our approach due to a claim of "direct knowledge of God" that very few touting "faith in God" would care to stomach, hypocrites and cowards that they are, by and large. Religions are spoiled directly after inception due to the fallen nature of matter.

Matter is fallen, you ask?

Yes, insofar as all living things are beholden to cessation. Perfection, another unattainable concept, as remote as God, stands at the forefront of our attempts to interact with the everyday. And every day we fail. God is a Thought. If your grasp on reality is such that you tend to require irrefutable proof in every formula, every i dotted, every t crossed, then you could say that no, God does not exist.

Is that simple enough? God exists as a concept that drives us through its divinity; perfect, immortal, mysterious and eternal, insofar as we will carry the concept so long as we exist as thinking beings.

Write.

2010-12-05T10:36:00.002-06:00

Doesn't matter what. Have a friend tell you a story and you'll see that the mouth is quicker in the hand, I'd suggest shorthand that only you can crack. Many people have kept up through sheer quickness of wrist.

Write anything. Describe your feelings or an afternoon or an event. Or all at once, one right after the other or in one place at once, a paragraph of text. A discussion.

Part 7: Instructions

2010-11-11T21:58:00.000-06:00

The more joyful the sadness, the more soundly the paradox slumbers. Derivatives of the situation's gravity have given any well-meaning pundit a moment of pause, the enriched notion of exit presumes a full understanding of these informal remarks. The essence of human language is one of parallels and contradictions, voluminous black clouds of contrarian doublespeak and outright lies overhanging the symmetry of what is said and what is written. When statistical perfection is realized in the mind of an individual, any one will do, the roots of the eschatological language have taken hold, and the world of visionaries, mediums and the like is laid bare. A logical consistency is not immediately apparent but completely inherent to eschatological language. One might approach it as a book of thought which has evolved into a living organism. Images concerning it vary, but a quality is attached which may best be described as uncompromising though light, a primal station embraced by a degree of providence and a good quantity of something akin to but not quite grace.

Part 6: Nascence

2010-11-11T21:45:00.000-06:00

The consistency of expectations comes in a discourse between individuals seeking to give solidity to the inexplicable through an outdated mode of communication. Treachery has birthed this language of eschatology, the silent annihilation all-too-often incorrectly identified as beholden to religious structures (predominantly the three Abrahamic faiths) and their inherent dogmatic restrictions and seemingly limitless self-contradictions. Eschatological linguistics arise rather conversely from the urge towards wholeness that presently existing discourses discount or disregard. The formation of this language is such that attempting to give a description of its peculiar nuance here, before its nascence, when its inception is still only a hint, a mote, a speck, is like a blind paraplegic with no tongue and one ear attempting to describe whalesong from a place on the shore.

Part 5: Philology

2010-11-11T15:11:00.000-06:00

Standard sources are found lacking, for in the formation of an entirely new language one cannot hearken back to historical accounts for safe passage. One must first note the syntax, the phonological features, and the community by which the language has been derived. A lexicon composed of structures and sounds indicating an obliteration of the arbitrary is at first an obscene gesture in the undertaking; emotional markers are presupposed as contrary by nature, denying millenniums of development yet enveloping shifts in articulation and tearing down the trenchant divisions of formalism, there are inherently contradictory and hardly indistinguishable nuances to the presentation of the language as a whole. Classical doctrine is ravaged by the utterance of such a language, and literary theory is left by the wayside as the words of this language invade registrations and erase seeming photographic objectifications with very little to no effort, as if the act of said words existing had already started shifting the sands of time over recently-living ones, burying them alive, interbreeding with them, forming hybrids at the borders of old nations before erasing them from history completely.

Part 4: Poetics

2010-11-11T14:51:00.000-06:00

As a poet wills no need for explanation, to deny a claim of poetics within the framework of Eschatological Linguistics is to call forth the unborn as well as the undying, that is, towards a realistic state of unbecoming, one might surmise an interpretation of assertions carrying such vast capacity would never satisfy investigators seeking conjunctions or determinations. The as yet unknown but innate structures that this language of the end times prepossesses deals with this problem elegantly enough: ambiguity gives way to pun, allegory, and a variety of emotion highly informed by what has been up until now described as ethereal, that is, rather than being a linguistic structure built on the edifice of sensation, it is a superstructure beholden to the interaction of forces. In this sense an oracular or inaugural weight is called upon in the problem of response; stanzas fall flat, haiku seems contrived, and any distinguishing between the Mind or the Hand seems a trivial observation to be shattered with each enunciation.

Part 3: Essence

2010-11-11T14:38:00.000-06:00

Where a word meets a boundary, there will the new language find purchase; details summarizing a resonance in second or third or fifth meaning, as the dimensions of time and space and potential arise, so too does the Eschaton Language. The essential function of a mode of communication such as this is to emphasize the deeper structure of meaning in language (or essence) to the degree that so-called "surface chatter" becomes increasingly irrelevant as words take on ever-greater (and ultimately infinite) resonance. As such, any attempt at a lexicon's functional application in this matter abdicates to a continual renunciation of appropriation by standardized systems and culminates in unframed correspondences or, in effect, a seeming silence.

Part 2: Functionality

2010-11-11T14:19:00.002-06:00

A unifying reference crossed out, held in check, grounded to the extent that it carries the weight of the dichotomy addressed in any commentary or question, for much as a heart is designed to pump blood so to would this new language communicate aggregates in a series of assertions that address the activity of a subject as well as the ontological weight of an object, the “divine similitude” found lacking since the fall of the Tower of Babel. The key or indivisible mirror of this new form would sweep the diversity of structure in human language clear of all vagaries, would do away with the subjunctive sorrows that accrue in the shadows of any language or system of communication, wherein beliefs may be waylaid for appropriate environmental conditions, or rather, the pathetic relics of state that arise in political discourse inevitable to any such system, a bed of snakes developed with the intent to obfuscate simple matters and deride linguistic organization as a whole.

Seven types of Reflection/Deconstruction towards Eschatology Linguistics: Part 1: Conception

2010-11-11T12:30:00.002-06:00

Suppose the marvelous correspondence of every second or third generation believing their times to be the end times proved at last to be correct and as such their linguistic habit or neighborhood engendered the formation of peculiar or eccentric languages puzzling over the quandary of the eschaton in new and exciting fashions, to wit: the praise of the faraway/near giving rise to a sudden surge of homonyms using local language and moral practices to formulate entirely new purposes, drawing boundaries and distinctions from a storehouse of concepts as yet undefined, languages from distant lands creating bulkheads on the shore of the proverbial psychic beach, and in doing so remaking the world, triggering the apocalypse as ever in the manner of a self-fulfilling prophecy, a naturalist's nightmare, sanity's bane, an objectivity-annihilating glossolalia of end times proportions determined as an end to all wars, the destruction of desolation and the nullification of distraction, exemption from idiocy and destructive ignorance cascading correlations heretofore misconceived.

Introvertus Phlogostrom

2010-11-05T10:10:00.000-05:00

Record

2010-10-31T00:39:00.000-05:00

Canada

United States

Czech Republic

Melnik, Stredocesky Kraj

Spain

Barcelona, Cataluna

Canada

Argentina

Buenos Aires, Distrito Federal

Netherlands

Hilvarenbeek, Noord-Brabant

Mexico

Sweden

Staffanstorp, Skane Lan

United States

Iselin, New Jersey

Canada

Sweden

Juvansbo, Gavleborgs Lan

United States

Bel Air, Maryland

United States

Mountain View, California

United States

Canada

Japan

Toyohashi, Aichi

Netherlands

Twello, Gelderland

Australia

Warrnambool, Victoria

Canada

Plate

2010-10-27T15:11:00.000-05:00

Mysterium Tremendum

2010-10-27T15:08:00.000-05:00

Devils wait with every human on the planet for a signal to infest them.

There are a great many gates that have sprung up since the onset of the Atomic Age directly due to the testing of atomic weapons, the constant detonation in atmospheres and underground, the outpouring of radiation.

In years to come historians will tell of the marvels and wonders that led into the Silicon Age, then the Holographic Age.

In all the strife and horror that is inflicted on man and animal and plant and mineral, there is one thing which distinguishes real from unreal, and that is the degree to which it stands by itself, where it can be said to exist with any concrete validity or passing attempt at objectivity. Sychronicity is the idea proposed by Jung to explain what is seen as meaningful coincidence, or more validly, correlations a human mind can draw from any number of events to inculcate a belief in something like fate or significance.

It has been said numerous times that the individual can be rational, and some hold that the human, by nature of being a "thinking" animal, is inherently a rational one as well. This has been cited as primary to the development of so-called "civilization", humanitarian and technological advances. It simply is not reality. We should bear in mind that the seat of all action for a human animal is in the realm of the emotional. Animals are emotional by nature of living, hence reproductive processes expressed in life forms higher on the evolutionary scale as mating rituals. Proved with numerous tests, the stock market is not beholden to rationality but an emotionally informed attempt at rationality. The ennui and angst that arises when the seat of power in a government is filled by an incompetent fool or nepotistic stooge is carried in the cultural under-consciousness (a specific tangential aggregate of the so-called "collective unconscious") and results in an emotional reaction in all markets. When a culture is bred in these conditions, the Unawake, or mass psychology as a whole, react with fear and greed. Fear is a basic triggering mechanisms by which populaces can be controlled or directed. Greed arises from a spoiling of masses by individual cells.

Landscapes

2010-10-18T14:25:00.000-05:00

Hans Kruse pBase

Reappraisals

2010-10-17T15:51:00.000-05:00

I have undertaken and am seeking to publish a series of memoirs which are interlaced with pure fiction and what can only be described as a peculiar adaptation of reality.

The question of course being what is reality, what constitutes unreality. Fiction given the non-fictional bent, aligned with certain occult properties which carry a peculiar stigma in esoteric traditions but are rarely expressed in exoteric or mainstream spheres.

I am looking for something concrete to interlace with the fluff and nonsense which permeates most of my appropriated cannon-fodder prose, avoiding airport novels and their focus on thrillers or sales-driven narratives, such as this digressive distraction of a web-based log, removed from my core occurrence and event of 'being' by at least one if not three intervals. This is my thrice-removed context for confession, my machination of externalizing the excess materials I am forced to deal with. This mind. These thoughts.

As artists draw from live models to better hone their ability to draw, so too do I use my own life to draw from in order to better hone my ability to write. Real life as a model, the shifting chaos which writing imposes a particular order upon, is a matter of capturing and imprisoning moments into text, honing the methodology and practice to the point where flaws are at least less apparent, and eventually (after some revision) completely invisible, while nonetheless present. I'll always know they are there. Doesn't mean you have to.

Analysis of structure is a method which many rely on for their revisions, however I feel my means to the end and ends themselves can best be served by sectioning my method into 'work-zones' clearly defined as utter chaos, controlled chaos, and chaotic order.

You could say that utter chaos is as a mental diarrhea, sputtering chunks and liquid soft segments which spew violently from the bowels of my muse as if inundated with some e. coli laden chili dog of inspiration. In this mess we find a series of unintentional repetition and unidentifiable sources, a sort of soupy mixture which is unfettered by the second guesses of the conscious mind, a graphic broth containing, among other things, the many sources of my material, including but not limited to statements and events within the context of "everyday life", prose and poetry which I intake, television and radio which I see or listen to, and art which I digest through the eyes or ears.

Controlled chaos comes when I am in the midst of the day, somewhere peaceful, with a real and honest idea which has been brewing in the back of my head, or sifted out of the utter chaos shitpile, and there are clips and phrases, usually lines of prose or statements directly taken from memory or manipulated from another context, and I jot them down somewhere like a yellow legal pad, or a notebook. The controlled chaos cannot be typed, for all too often when I attempt to enter controlled chaos into typed text it instead degenerates into utter chaos, and suddenly the few lines I intended have evolved into a messy convoluted series of paragraphs, for the most part illegible or obscene, or at the very least ill-conceived.
Chaotic order is the place which is arrived at shortly before revision, which is a stage that evolves the work into something worthwhile, after appropriate review and feedback from whatever source I am currently subscribing to as valid. Chaotic order may be shifted slightly, but remains itself at the core, as by the time I have arrived at this stage a theme has been established, characters have introduced themselves to me, and the plot has fought it's way out of the birth canal, mewling pitifully. These are all things which are arrived at in a less than intentional manner, sometimes fed by the roar of the utter chaos, and sometimes conceived in the heat of passion by the controlled chaos. Like a symphony with no liner notes, you might say. Clips and phrases from my hand-written word metastasize in the body of the text like a fast-acting small-cell cancer. They destroy the chaos an impose an order onto the work which kills some parts, yet heightens the experience for the reader, since that is ultimately my highest priority.

See, though writing feeds a need within me, and without it I would in fact wither like a raisin in the sun or whatever, dream deferred and soforth, the audience is crucial, for without them, I would never make a living off of doing what I want with my life, which believe it or not is my goal, all lofty ideals concerning art and all that notwithstanding.

Ideals without profit as a goal don't feed you or get you royalty checks. Ideals without profit as a goal get you hungry or poor or dead. Mind you, profit is not the only goal, it can't be unless you want to become a metahack or a flake, but it must be kept towards the front of the mind at all time to remind you of the audience you are feeding your shitstorms to, applied to whatever you in whatever manner is plausible as many times as possible.

Here, in my utter chaos and squalor, this hobbled hovel, I am seated calmly in my confessional booth with the computer monitor as the privacy screen between me and that old priest who is an obvious metaphor for whoever just read those words I just wrote, who could say something in response but usually just listens quietly as I spew my list of sins in an infinitely digressive quality which comes out in great quantities, my overflowing poetic purse of verse and prose-prone mishaps scraping along the pathways of excess in these vast palaces of wisdom, where everything said is scooped up like horse manure and processed, then used to fertilize those gardens tended to by the well-intentioned angels of my higher functions, the flowers and trees blooming in the sunshine proliferating at an exponential rate of growth, sometimes getting pruned, sometimes getting pulled (if their root systems become a hazard to the prettier plants), and sometimes getting plucked and placed on my dinner table in a vase, to make this place look and smell pretty when I have polite company over.

That might be the longest sentence I have ever written. Hm.

Excerpts

2010-10-16T02:42:00.001-05:00

So what, no love for Bradbury?

I loved Bradbury. That was my science fiction meal when I was growing up. I remember the unsettling feeling that came over me with some of his stories. I remember him like I remember Kafka and Tolkien and Salinger. I remember it like a dream. Bradbury has a degree of Borges to him.

What do you mean by that?

Well honestly with Borges it's more like a gallery of landscapes and portraits.

I agree. The store is haunted, I hear.

What? What's that got to do with anything?

Just thought I'd mention. And its your fault.

A stranger phantomperson called one day, another time doors were opened and items fell, doors open and stick shut of their own accord.

A man with a briefcase has a vial of holy water.

The demons dealt with are often issues of the ~~Qliphoth~~ (or flip side of the Kabbalah).These will drive most sensitives insane. Oddly drinking helps, but only red wine, and nothing too strong, moderation in all things.

Was a time when a Catholic priest with only a flask of whiskey and a Bible made from old German leather could exorcise a rash of demons. A yogi could achieve much the same as a monk or some being possessing mentation as an exercise in a reverse ritual throughout active action or moreover inaction.

Unmarked Helicopter

2010-10-07T00:34:00.000-05:00

It flies along the edges of the neighborhood, circles back overhead, heard as an incessant chatter coming closer and closer. The park closes at eleven p.m. and the helicopter circles back.

An old man finds a girl doing her mantra by the river. He warns her that she shouldn't be out here alone, points to a girl's dress in the leaves by the water, tells her she reminds him of his daughter, tells her English is new to him, that he's here from Greece to visit his daughter, but she will not see him. He was in a horrible accident, he tells the girl, and he still has glass in his skull. He offers her water from his sack, he's coming back home from the grocery store. The river over the spring had been home to Canadian geese that raised their babies quickly and moved on before the cold creep of autumn arrived. Too cold these days to expect many birds. The old man tells the girl that the most fundamental forces of the universe are dark matter and dark energy, and those equated warm and cold. He tells her the forces of warm and cold make the battle of matter she and he see as seasons. He offers to walk her home. He says that he needs an English tutor, that he has been very sad because his daughter will not speak to him.

The unmarked helicopter hovers over another part of the park, then suddenly hums closer, flying sideways, backing up, droning forward in wide stretches around the neighborhood, spirals of movement approaching along the horizon, shining spotlights into the river.

Inclusions

2010-10-04T18:21:00.002-05:00

Pendulums (some like it hot)

2010-10-04T15:25:00.000-05:00

From one travelling scream scheme to another.

The xarnah is the visionary organ of the soul, correlating to the radiance of fate.

Before sunrise, in the wolf light, I saw Dr. Lykophos and Mms. Lykauges taking a stroll through the Mobius Gardens, those obstacle courses in lovely green. What occurred beyond that is irrelevant.

Here's a hint: the four rivers of Paradise correspond to the eye, the ear, the sense of smell, the mouth.

The autonomous personae acts as "Aqua Doctrineae" in most alchemical procedures, after countless seals and medals, analyzations of the Truth, the Crux, gold transmutes to platinum or any other substance for that matter, up to and including light, particle accelerators, solid gold time machines antimatter fueled Quark Engines, the space age answer to the speed of light, solid gold spaceships, undergoing their ablution, aspersion, and baptism before the first flight.

DNA enclosures humming like a choir of children in its presence, it feels the heat generated by the heart of the thing and it feels scared at first, then comforted.

The soil laughs at us every day. It has a sense of humor.

If you're not

2010-10-03T20:23:00.000-05:00

The second work concerning the property of this metal were accompanied by depictions of small pyramids scrawled in the margins of an exceedingly rare copy of a tome formerly possessed by a poofy British lawyer with hours of leisure time to embody the names of spirits he discovered in the back of the book.

The Ruler of the Fourth Hour is VACHMIEL, having ten chief and one hundred inferior officers, including Ammiel, Larmiel, Marfiel, Ormijel, Sardiel and of the inferior Emarfiel, Permiel, Quoriel, Sturbiel, and Daniel.

The contented man is happy in his home. The man with unrest in his heart cannot fall asleep.

Strong and powerful joints are exercised in the fingers throughout these incense heavy meditative moments, activation of mentation, finding shapes that will form as commanded in satin rooms, asperged in the Grimoire of RASONASTOS.

After developing carpal tunnel he found an appreciation of certain hand gestures and their expressions of habituation with numinous affairs of the heart, soul and subtle body.

He was shot in the throat but survived, speaking only in a whisper after that, calling up the hours of SAZQUIEL, BARGINIEL, OSGAEBIAL, VADRIEL, ORIEL and BARIEL.

Jealous SAMAEL and ANAEL convinced VEGUANIEL to round up his twenty chief officers, two hundred lesser officers and a cloud of serving spirits to assault the many-doored mansion, where the lawyer was panic stricken in a room fit for Napoleon, humble-pie pattern in the making, the operator's desire manifest in appearance, forming a strong commandment from great living viper invocation.

Let us

2010-10-03T19:49:00.000-05:00

Lest it should all prove too difficult, let's assign a peculiar verbiage to the forthcoming passages.

Let's add weight to flip observations on the human condition, let's appreciate the verbiage for what it is or was or could be, a frank delineation on the modern discourse on the philo/onto/Psycho/sociological implications of unreality confronting reality at a phenomenological and literal level, at once sublime and taboo.

Hegel versus Heidegger

2010-10-03T12:13:00.001-05:00

Part 1: Soul shakedown.

Nonlinear collection of the ghost's memories in a mansion. Characters as incarnations of self and objects in the real world mansion, keyed objects that have correlations to the four elements and their combinations, scenes of love and hate and misery and happiness.

Part 2: Apotheosis

Further investigating the dreamscape, aspects of time in fractions, scenes, integral plot points to individuals within an asylum. Mysteries expressed in gardens surrounding the main house, wings to left and right correlating to black and white. Doors open when keys are located.

Part 3: Glossalalia

Controls are intuitively constructed as the game progresses, processes in rooms and cells and structures established with button mashing or direction swivelling, tones of voice and nonsense words blurring or enlightening or warping the seeming reality of an expressed scene.

Excerpt from Kenneth Nelson's interview with Lane Williams, Author

2010-09-19T14:03:00.004-05:00

KN: What is it that interests you about science fiction and fantasy?

LW: I think it's the endless possibilities of science fiction that fascinate me. It's predestined to be ahead of the curve by the very nature of its being, predicting things that have yet to be, you know? People like H.G. Wells and Robert Heinlein really paved the way for a lot of the technological advances we enjoy today. And at the same time I think it's very telling in a book of science fiction, or any book set in the near or far future, or any fable, for that matter, of the time in which it was written. Guys like Phillip K. Dick were pretty good at capturing that, sometimes.

KN: What do you think about the Kindle and e-book craze and its concurrent backlash?

It's foreign to me because I can't afford to buy one. It's like the early days of telephones or phonographs, there are resistances that people have, naturally, and it's a luxury only the upper or middle class can afford. I think as it becomes more pervasive and affordable we'll see the real repercussions of it, the expectations consumers develop. Nobody should say that print is dead, it's far too early to say that. I feel like the appeal of a book, something you can hold in your hands, something you can smell, something precious about that is irreplaceable, and anybody saying that a piece of plastic and silicon can replace that doesn't really understand the joys of reading.

KN: What is your writing process like? Do you have a formula or a system?

LW: I guess I sit with my stories for a long time, which is part of the reason it took me so long to finish This is a World. Started as a set of short stories, then grew up into a novel. I write down my dreams, call up flashes of inspiration in old notes from things I read and then expand on them. There's no set schedule, a time of day that I prefer to work. I'd prefer to remain organic in how my writing develops, no matter what it is. I collect snippets of conversation I hear on the train, conversations I have with my friends. I put things in context with an overarching plot that reveals itself to me as I cut up and rearrange the story as it demands. I think every story, every fiction, demands a kernel of truth in it, or it will fall flat. I prefer a cup of coffee or tea when I write, or cigarettes.

KN: Where do you start when you start writing?

LW: It depends on what I am writing. If I'm trying to develop an essay, say, I need a structural basis, a skeletal framework that fleshes out with multiple revisions. If I'm writing a blog entry I have the weight of an anonymous and mostly silent mass of readers weighing on me, so I usually approach that in a stream of consciousness or digressive manner, which shows up sometimes as pretentious trash. When writing a short story or a novel I start with one scene or a collection of scenes and then branch out forward or backward from that scene as the story demands. A writer's conversation with his or her work is essential, I feel. For anything involving fictional characters as the focus I try to map out their arc, in general terms, beforehand.

KN: What writers inspire you? What are you reading right now? Excited for anything that's coming out on the market?

LW: For me, Vonnegut's easy to fall back on. Hunter S. Thompson was my hero growing up. I've always had an affection for Italo Calvino and Grant Morrison. I feel like certain comic book writers are fantastic, more literary in their approach, while others seem tied down in the trenchant divisions of the marketplace, genre work, which is fine, they often have families to feed and if a certain trope is the tried-and-true way to feed them, to satisfy editors and readers, I say go for it. I discovered Roberto Bolaño not that long ago, a master of his craft. Currently, I'm reading through the Hermetica for the first time, a work attributed to Hermes Trismegistus, the patron of alchemists. I'm also rereading the Gnostic Bible, which inspires me quite a bit actually. I don't know though, I don't keep up with current popular authors quite as much as a lot of writers I've met, so anything coming out this year or next is usually lost on me. I take things as they come.

KN: What is it about disjointed narrative that’s alluring? Did you intend the novel you wrote to confuse the reader?

LW: When reading James Joyce's Ulysses I found a weird comfort in not knowing precisely what every inside joke or allusion or conversation meant, or even what character was saying what, what was happening, necessarily. I feel the same way about David Lynch films. I think that if the quality of the material can carry the weight for the reader, they can inhabit it, like an underwater cave, watching a storm from below, say, so that no matter how convoluted or obfuscated the story is, they are with it, running alongside it. There's something about a straight linear progression in storytelling that seems contrived to me at times, unless it's elegant somehow, or clever, or has a funny formula. I'm not writing to confuse the reader, though that may be a side effect of my approach to writing. I'm not Dan Brown or Steven King. Or even Johnathan Franzen, for that matter. I'm not a writer that wants to be immediately accessible to every reader that picks my work up at an airport or a garage sale. I'm not interested in coddling a reader, neccesarily, you know? I'm more interested in shaking the reader loose of their expectations of what a standard story might be, giving them something to return to again. Maybe finding readers more interested in pursuing their investigation into the joy or horror of reading a little further than say, the reader that's snuggled up with a Kindle and a soy latte.

City Cats Mandala 1

2010-09-13T01:51:00.001-05:00

Century Tree

2010-09-12T20:02:00.002-05:00

Imagined Timeline for the Demiurge

2010-09-12T19:43:00.002-05:00

Imagined Map of the Numinosum

2010-09-12T19:40:00.002-05:00

The Chariot

2010-09-06T17:11:00.002-05:00

Upper Branches of Yggdrasil

2010-09-04T14:40:00.002-05:00

Punctuation

2010-09-03T12:02:00.000-05:00

For the first time he smiles with his eyes, walking under these artificially altered skies.

Outside the factory he's waiting when she gets off, the scariest thing in her face as the spirits whisp slowly from her like condensation rising off a manhole cover in the heart of winter.

All this, all this and you will see any reward is a trick, child-like in the propensity for non-violence, wonder in everything, oppositions emerge in the waves reflecting a peculiar quality of moon: he's rolling his eyes, winking at the folded piece of paper, giggling at the crumpled sheets.

Powered by the media geniuses, served by the exchange of information, the impelled sacrifice of a vision, led to a throne, Samael with heavy influence, preparing for a great battle, always preparing, never ready. The angels at the right hand sing in one voice, the angels at the left sing after.

90210

2010-09-02T17:54:00.000-05:00

Blips on the screen screaming hot neon flashes in thousands of colors, a series of tubes blinking on and off an elemental prescription demigod hungers prove to me you are not a fiction, prove me wrong don't tell me your hopes or beliefs or what you wish you were just tell me something I will believe and don't tell me how little we know, how lofty and successful you are, all your conquests and assaults at the base of what may be, don't give me kindness and smiles, telling me it's for our own good, it is only through constant resistance that we can survive these acts, but that's just another trap, left with the choices of simple submission or stubborn resistance, the fight of your life, in love deception and in deception idiocy, and if not idiocy then love, a poet with the soul of a madman fallen in love with the idea of him, the truth, the blackness fringing every thought cutting like a scalpel into all the words, and every thought that supersedes all natural concurrences of environment, defying my conditioning, though not an active rebellion, a problem being that human beings have a strong will to live as they see fit, and not as they should, leading to wars and strife throughout time immemorial, fearing nothing now, the creeping suspicion nonetheless that I will lose these convictions held so dear, that without ethics there is a lack of concern, the worst of it to face the consequences of forgetting.and I'm sorry, I have to stop, I'm laughing too hard.

Forms

2010-09-01T16:54:00.000-05:00

Release the word.

She emerges from the sheath, then hides again. The gentleman suitor washing himself in her fountains thinks on her form, she is beautiful and stately, hidden in her secret chamber in her palace waiting for her secret lover, who passes by her gate again and again looking for her. She opens her chamber door and reveals her face to him for an instant.

The visionary organ of the soul gives off its own radiance, seeking the mediator in the halls, replicas of one's own face, autoerotic and autistic conditionals inhabiting a sentiment that everything straight lies, all truth is crooked, time is a circle, a snake eating its own tail, a tattoo on the blank expanse of the Alien God that is the Good.

Towards a New Potential in Medium Dynamics

2010-08-28T11:04:00.000-05:00

Speaking in as general and broad a set of terms as possible, the potentials of the medium far outstrip the current standards and practices of the industry.

It's simple to facilitate genre-specific work in a relatively new medium, building off of previously existing structures. Innovation is dangerous in an environment where the tried-and-true has proven so profitable for the Unimaginative Elite. I for one believe that moving into new areas where content supersedes limited technical dynamics is the hallmark of a healthy and mature industry. The novel and more recently the graphic novel have proven this time and again, as forms defying easy definition have emerged alongside genre-intensive material, works that challenge convention and thwart superficial expectations. I believe that such works trigger a sort of imaginative expansion in the consumer of said works, facilitating more such materials, new and exciting.

The human capacity for game-play distinguishes our species in its variety and complexity. I believe it is in our interest as such a creative species to cultivate an environment where our minds can run free, to heighten our discourse, bring a stronger inquisitive collective to bear on conventional wisdom, erring on the side of caution and too often pandering to the lowest common denomenator. It has been proven time and again that innovative technology and thought in general demands room for expansion and punishes trite stagnation.

We are at the cusp of an age inconceivable even fifty years ago, let along five hundred. Our mythologies stream live into personal devices of intrusion, designed at once to entertain and inform us as to the potential of the world. The world wants desperately to be interacted with, not feared.

I've said it before and will say it again. The future is now. Today is tomorrow.

-Lane Williams
Alien Sawmill Unlimited
acknowledgeandproceed@gmail.com
August 28, 2010

Written in a minimum wage life-trap.
Seeking a revolution of Higher Expectations.

Series

2010-04-21T12:14:00.000-05:00

Omni Avari

2010-04-21T11:57:00.000-05:00

Hear me out.

2010-04-18T00:12:00.002-05:00

Okay, you know the Euro, right?

Think Amero.

Okay? You with me so far? You grasp the overall gist of what I'm getting at? Okay. Now, HEAR ME OUT. Micronesio. Asio.

Afro.

No? Too much? Okay, maybe this is something like you think about it, maybe come back tomorrow, we'll get into it some more.

We'll correlate this series of diagrams as such: dramatic and obscene, pie charts and graphs.

Correspond the deaths of celebrities with earthquakes and volcanoes and the movement of heavenly bodies.

Something like that.

The Gate

2010-04-18T00:08:00.000-05:00

OMFG Wiki

2010-03-22T01:29:00.001-05:00

During the actual spelunking, Robbie experiences a psychotic episode, where he hallucinates that he has slain a monster, called a Gorvil. From this point forward, Robbie believes he is actually his character, the cleric Pardeux. This leads him to break off his relationship with Kate (to maintain celibacy), and to start drawing maps that will lead him to the great Hall. Eventually, he becomes obsessed with The Two Towers, which is in fact the World Trade Center, and he believes that by jumping off of them and casting a spell, he will finally see the great Hall. His friends have reported him to the police while concealing their trip into the caverns, and eventually deduce his location in New York and stop him from jumping.

Lady Gaga Illuminati 2012 Palin Beck

2010-03-17T18:50:00.000-05:00

"Conspiracy theories are deliberately convoluted to make anybody trying to uncover or describe them sound like a madman. Moreover, it doesn't matter. There's nobody at the top. Just a lot of big rooms filled with interchangeable little old men that seem to take a perverse joy in sending young folks to their deaths in the name of greed & fear."

Items

2010-03-08T20:36:00.001-06:00

Item 1: A chart describing the frequency and cause of death amongst the increasingly obscure celeb death march, beginning with H.S. Thompson and ending in the death of J.D. Salinger. Spot the well-timed government hits and back-track to Jim Henson via Billy Banks and Kurt Cobain & John Lennon.

Item 2: Format is identical to chart from Item 1, replacing celebrities with countries, earthquakes and their death tolls, carnage, Potential Diaspora, starting with the Tsunami in Southeast Asia and ending with the earthquake in Taiwan.

Item 3: An itemized list of events, characters, signs and possible interpretations of the Book of Revelations. Audio casette courtesy of Trent Reznor.

Take the extrapolated timeline that binds the three items together, subtract nonessential material, mix liberally with one part late-night conspiracy theory and two parts Mel Gibson.

Results may seem inappropriate.

Numinosum interface::IMAGOS::

2010-03-08T19:42:00.000-06:00

Lvl 1 Prefect, Scenario Filter: Empire Never Ended. VALIS subroutine, w/thumbs up @ Vonnegut, Murakami + similar eschaton novelists, Robert Anton Wilson reference (thrice removed quotes within quotes to denote the Asburdity).

Remnants

2010-03-08T16:33:00.000-06:00

Designs

2010-03-02T02:53:00.001-06:00

Chaos Gaming requires finding a center in the midst of conditions. Infinite in scope, it's an expression of the mirror halls that humans like to set themselves to task with, games are the ultimate expression of intelligence, moreover engagement.

Informations.

2010-02-25T16:53:00.000-06:00

1
Canada
2
Spain Madrid
3
France Paris, Ile-de-France
4
Canada
5
Canada
6
Canada
7
United States Sterling Heights, Michigan
8
Unknown
9
United States Chicago, Illinois
10
United States Tulsa, Oklahoma
11
Canada
12
Brazil Rio De Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro
13
Unknown
14
United States Salt Lake City, Utah
15
Canada
16
United States Rexburg, Idaho
17
United States Albuquerque, New Mexico
18
Brazil Rio De Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro
19
United States Houston, Texas
20
United States Houston, Texas

Widdershins

2010-02-23T18:51:00.003-06:00

Harpocrates made a sign with his finger to be quiet so I shut up.

Saturn and (Black Ops) Opus had the restraints ready. These were not friendly devices.

I had little choice but to cut back on the Pro Bono Literati Festivals. They were drunk on what few words I gave them. The standard restraints shown by most plagiarists was not on property at this time.

Walter Banjo-Mean told us there would be disastrous consequences if we continued along our current path of Truth & The Attempted Objectivity Bomb.

Ovid described the last attempt as follows: "Upon her Isis' brow stood the crescent moon-horns, garlanded with glittering heads of golden grain, and grace of royal dignity; and at her side the baying dog Anubis, dappled Apis, sacred Bubastis and the god who holds his finger to his lips for silence sake."

Drive Thru Healing

2010-02-06T20:00:00.001-06:00

Well, what are you waiting for?

Ai.

Live's Stream

2010-02-03T03:28:00.004-06:00

Process is different, but the results are the same.

Some search for the answer to their ennui and laziness in a grand conspiracy by multinational corporations to subvert the limitless potential of man and maintain a profitable predictable status quo, a stasis for the overwrought.

It comes from every individual that chooses day by day to give up little by little the light and freedom they are entitled to, every three-centered brain being that gives up the power they inherently possess outside of the body-coating grown for them, not just giving up the space beyond the front of their nose but purposefully blinding themselves like Oedipus, however deadened or lost their dream may be in the mixed-message logos-enriched datastream misinformation provided by the collective resonance of a unspeculated but no-doubt vast amount of sundered souls, every time an alleged fool or a supposed sage gives in to the idea that they are without worth or concedes to quell their spark of madness, then and even then only for an instant, the whole of the Universe shudders in despair, as entropy overcomes the creative although of course it goes without saying that every one of these things feeds into every other one of these things and vice versa and soforth, twisting and truncating them into a dent in the psychic landscape so massive that it may take several dampening agents to renovate and stitch before all is said and done or it's simply too late.

Gold-digging in the paragraph archepelago or not, it stands to reason that I may have lost you at some point along this shoreline, though the point was more to 'shake-you-like-a-ragdoll' ... I am convinced you understand on the 'true' level that these words carry an encoded series of liminal and subliminal transmissions you may or may not have been originally receptive to. Due to prolonged exposure to the antigens mentioned some five years hence, you're more likely to comprehend on that self-same 'true' level the severity of these issues, the meaning of my text mesh. It is the word, the spoken word same as the written or the read or the heard. The tone, the sound, the language without proper form, the glossolalia before such structures, semiotics with no sense, breaking the ingrained horror that is brought about by even the mere concept of Absolute Order, as if such were anything less than folly, or anything more than a pipe dream.

Bring me the ring. Wring the bling.

George Ripley

2010-01-26T17:58:00.000-06:00

When busie at my Book I was upon a certain Night,
This Vision here exprest appear'd unto my dimmed sight:
A Toad full Ruddy I saw, did drink the juice of Grapes so fast,
Till over-charged with the broth, his Bowels all to-brast:
And after that, from poyson'd Bulk he cast his Venom fell,
For Grief and Pain whereof his Members all began to swell;
With drops of Poysoned sweat approaching thus his secret Den,
His Cave with blasts of fumous Air he all bewhited then:
And from the which in space a Golden Humour did ensue,
Whose falling drops from high did stain the soil with ruddy hue

At the Bookstore

2010-01-26T17:40:00.001-06:00

Woman at the bookstore today asked me to help her find a book about Understanding Poverty. I looked it up and directed her to Sociology, showed her Labor History, and then waved in the direction of Cultural Studies. I could have told her the whole shebang in one quote, it's something Studs Terkel once said, something to the effect that similar to absolute power corrupting absolutely, absolute powerlessness corrupts just as well. I find it unlikely that this woman has ever known more than a single day outside the sheltered egocentric little box her parents built for her out of the restraints they inherited from their parents. She's Old Money. She needs a book written by another well-manicured rich woman, just like her except with a doctorate, to understand the poor and impoverished. She's trying to understand, this idle rich plasticized old woman, but more importantly she seems to want to understand. What she's attempting to wrap her head around are Heavy concepts such as Going Hungry and Living Paycheck to Paycheck. Until she heard about this Recession, she'd been unfamiliar with the choice between feeding your child or feeding yourself, something I can distinctly recall my own mother going through. She's never been to a used bookstore before, either, bearing a strange smile, seeing everything anew, conversing with the unnaturally tight-faced woman she arrived with. These people inhabit every corner of America's Long Dark Night of the Soul phase, these mildly opinionated rosy-cheeked consumers with little fire left after raising a household of children or running a household of servants. They concern themselves with the price of tea in China as well as seeking medical breakthroughs that increase life-expectancy at the expense of life-quality. They would prefer feel-good movies that reinforce their belief system while attempting to maintain a icy-cold lunatic grip on what may be viewed by some as the mutated bastard child of the American Dream, the remnants of what was before the Revolution of Lowered Expectations, a promise thirteen generations removed and sold to an ever-eager populace again and again. These people wear pastel to their sports arenas and, like fickle flies, seek fresher fare in the pasture at the first sign of a stale taste. I'd insert a final witty quip concerning my own insight, but the act of writing even this minor shred of my thoughts on the matter has been exhausting, and customers keep asking for books. Books on Dutch football. Oriental medicine. Beckett and Steiner and Martin Luther.

Winter

2010-01-26T17:38:00.000-06:00

Most facilities fail when presented with THE PLEROMA. Not that the Chaosphere's mirror is all we have to work with to get around this particular roadblock, but it provides a launching point for more complex impressions later on. Maybe also analogous to knowing the armaments one has at hand.

Noting

2010-01-26T17:37:00.001-06:00

Just finished this.

The moment of Zen threw me. Was Scott Brown attempting to pimp out his daughters at his victory speech? Am I to believe that this awkward television conspiracy is that transparent? I mean sure, you can say "just kidding", but "kidding on the squared" is something another senator comedian tried to coin a while back, but regarding political language these days, its so commonplace nobody notices. I love Jon Stewart's spirit here. He enjoys the doing the "whetahded accent", you can tell.

Anyway. The interview with Jim Wallis is enjoyable. "Old boy" has a soul and we've seen enough politicians on this show without souls that it's refreshing. The Left needs more smart and devout people like this fellow to counter the shrill keening of the Right. Not that either is "in the right" as both are invested in hypocritical questionable interests by their very nature, i.e. politics in America, but at least the Democrats don't seem hell-bent on immanetizing the eschaton. Still, Wallis puts into some perspective the insecurity all this unchecked fear and greed has thus far generated, repeating instead of repairing the wounds inflicted by poor judgment. Like a snake devouring its own tail, this messy beast may yet prove to be its own solution.

Let's see. "Trick" the rich into providing moral high ground for once by letting them know how wonderfully they will be treated if they invest in the community that hasn't been given any choice but to invest so much in them. The refractory nature of doublespeak indicates that the most logical solution is a tremendous tax credit for massive investments into genuine philanthropic enterprises. Let them know they may pay in very small ways once their pay and practice are brought into greater scrutiny by scrupulous people perhaps damaged by the very callousness that allowed the rich to become rich or, if having inherited their fortunes, they may yet retreat into "stupidity". Maybe what happens is, there's an attempt to make altruism the norm and promote the "green" mindset as more profitable on the whole. Yeah, basically it's providing them with an equivalent to that device they spliced into Fox's victory footage for this episode. They can go at that thing all day and feel great about themselves. "Feed them cake" until their sluggish diabetic arms are too heavy to lift anymore. Make them so famous they can't stand it anymore. Publish their home phone numbers. Set these billionaires and bankers up with free trips to Bikini Atoll and make what happens next into a Reality T.V. show akin (on some visceral level) to the movie "Battle Royale". How many billionaires eating cockroaches do you think it would take to increase the ratings on NBC? What if a rogue secret agent took a tip from the Russians and started discreetly slipping radioactive particles into their food? Just to even things up on the inside. Or we can establish a moral update for them some other way?

Anyway. Television. No hostilities intended. As a consumer, my only voice is the internet and my spending. No blame, really. The Daily Show has this effect on me, and I'm with Coco, whatever that ultimately means.

No Way

2010-01-14T17:02:00.000-06:00

CAT'S HEAD MAGIC

2009-12-01T16:12:00.001-06:00

* time inflicts people with status, listening closely there's something found in reading updates found in reading books with faces looking back, what's the comic correlative getting turned into a song yeah I mean that movie, remember? Where they speak as they please and the minutes run by and suddenly it's winter?

* It's strange. This girl by the post office makes recovering seem easy, like a koala fighting a panda, inflicting koala chlamydia on them, and then never calling again.

* Are you ready? We've been up all night talking and watching the experiment of the Mothers McFarLane, old media moguls set up as comic book writers first, collaborated in hand published cramps from years back, technical school snobs, their material reprinted and in apocryphal miracle format these days, digital everything being the watchword of these benevolent Archons. . . and those cold stores of magic the Mother's terms came from was a long-lost set of stone tablets depicting little more than humans giving thanks for their birth, which was, by most accounts (at least amongst humans), a miracle of sorts.

* Birthday Tower is awesome. I'm not using that in the new American Dumbass sense, but more in the William Blake sense. I've got a motherfucking Jones on for some Birthday Tower.

* Did I mention that all stars are cats?

* There was this fellow I knew with fire. Look, that's what I call a city. It's a revelation to the thousands that still don't run their hands through their hair when they are getting a blinky feeling about life. Corn sinking in a glass of water.

* You should rest, you've been sick, staying up all night watching George Powell's memeplex company while the resurrection ritual was completed. When it finally moved you got out of the way. Why? Well, it actually danced at you. Took a lot of furniture out in the ruckus what ensued.

* Obama must get frustrated that even this blog's spell checker doesn't recognize his name yet. I wonder if the blog's plural possessive form will be included soon.

* According to wild late falls, moving through the quantum format should be okay so long as we are finished with the circuit of playful ashes.

Clues

2009-12-01T16:11:00.001-06:00

CLUES

Heard

2009-11-10T03:30:00.001-06:00

all I can say is that there are stories and then there are stories. we have this alternate timeline in each novel running alongside similar themes, esp. interests in global consciousness expansion via transliminal superstructures, the old mill of stories, yeah?

Heart of the Mill

2009-11-06T11:44:00.003-06:00

1:0:
The giant's essence and appearance is said to correspond to man's relation to father, beast, and dust.

The art of happiness is listening at the window to passing conversations for snippets of interest, for tales of the long-gone in miniature, excerpts from antique books, lines from first editions, statements dusted off and re-examined with the wealth of information at hand, synthesizing new attitudes and approaches. New Beginnings. Despite the drive for stasis and homogeneity, the human imagination, thoroughly repressed on a collective scale as it is, can still be said to hold the keys to our salvation. Potential. Human primates build and escape traps all the time, both on an immediate and metaphysical scale. Here, a digital fly in amber.

\The irrational character insists on designation and reference within these utterances.

Characters can be portraits of human primates, or components of their sentence structures, the words they use, projected onto a page or a screen (like this). A proper noun approach to the colossal figure imposing itself on the skyline. We used to call them Gods. Now we have the Box, not even the Box but the Rectangle, glowing and Present. Trickster. Eyes like a Fox. Blank face. No eyebrows, no facial structure to speak of. A co-opted commodity viewpoint on the issue. Parallel to the inverse processing mechanism of symbolizing a figure so grand and elaborate in its structure it has next to no reference point for any particular character's part in its immense (and all-pervading) pageantry, it stands to reason that the universe is itself a linguistic construct observing the same tropic relations presented to the knit-speaker. The context points to the content. The pseudo-zoological value of this night-sky dome reconciliation is useful when considering the sky-boat of ages long past, carrying deific detritus across sky-rivers Socrates muttered over before the poison completely set in. These statements have the structural scenario equivalence of infinity's lapdog and/or live/dead cat replicated within and without ad infinitum for amusement and/or amorous intent.
\
2:0:

High schools resemble prisons more and more. Children must be caught and taught. This is a world.

3.0:

When your thought patterns are commodities, when the words you speak are thrown into this aethernet and frozen like a fly in amber then repackaged endlessly, when information is a commodity it is not free, when every movement within a space is approaching a scam it's... well it's like the man said, the medium is the message, and the message currently is split between downgrade & degrade or uplift & save. One side calls this tax and spend and the other side calls it saving lives. One side calls it saving jobs, and the other side calls it saving the environment. We live in a society of insults, not compliments. Globalized name-calling rattles sabers daily, as a side-effect. He told me he asked him if he was happy that his country was no longer at war. He said the man said no no, we're going back to get it started again, because of the money that Americans provide when we battle. Double edged sword as that gang of goblins, They Who Shall be Unnamed, titters outside the field of vision, overseeing absolute futility. In the face of what is to come (call it anatomizing the eschatonologist's subject matter) we are all fictions, characters contained within the one story told by an old woman to her cloudy eyed hive.

Brother Butcher

2009-11-03T12:26:00.002-06:00

Parallel and serial processors. Right hemisphere is about the present moment. Left hemisphere, information as the form of energy,

A collage of the present moment, all senses, an energy being connected through the consciousness of the right hemisphere,

Perfect, whole and beautiful

Left thinks linear and methodical. All about past and future. Picking out details about the present, associates and projects, thinking in language, connection telling you what to do, calculating intelligence, a voice that says “I Am” making us separate.

CANVAS LANDSCAPE PAINTING

2009-11-03T11:45:00.000-06:00

Objective: Create a landscape painting on canvas boards. Students will need to do a rough draft and then sketch their drawing onto a canvas board. They will follow up with paint.

Day One: Draw

Materials:
White paper
Pencils
Canvas Board

Day Two-Four: Paint

Materials:
Canvas Board
Paint Trays (save each night)
Paintbrushes
Water Dishes

Posting from the Parthenon

2009-10-30T15:05:00.003-05:00

Established blather protocol: high.

Estimated idiocy expectation: TBD

Cryogenic status hunger yank jump jump everybody what?

How is babby formed?

circuits

2009-10-10T16:57:00.002-05:00

Facilitating fascination one sweaty fan at at time, self-professed psychonaut Robert Anton Wilson first produced Prometheus Rising as a PhD dissertation at aCalifornia college known as Paideia. In the preface to the second edition he describes the steady decline of that organization from "state approved" to "authorized", invoking the flaky nature of the west coast's plethora of fringe think-tanks and high-brow menageries.

This book, once described to me as "a self-help book", details certain exercizes for mind-circuit tinkering. In short, the book is little more than an appraisal of the optimistic mystic's slow-glow approach to the hardware and software of the mind- Wilson adopts and adapts Leary's shorthand throughout the book, and it's clear Crowley's sense of humor got to him.

Items of import:
oral bio-survival circuit, anal-emotional territorial circuit, the two circuit dialectic, the time-binding semantic circuit, the time-binding dialectic, "moral" socio-sexual circuit, holistic neurosomatic circuit, collective neurogenetic circuit, the metaprogramming circuit, and the non-local quantum circuit.

2009-10-06T17:58:00.005-05:00

The Aspect available becomes far more complex the closer we look into it.
Of course, "the Abyss gazes also".
Neurosomatic circuity has been accessed as a "temporary fix" in most instances until pranayama yogic techniques could be made available, properly and fixedly, by an appropriate agent. Note that ego-socialized medicinal units were procured not by the venerated Doctor Zeitgeist but by his numerous benefactors and placebo acquaintances.
Illegalities of by-proxy moxy notwithstanding, our Hero is still relatively untainted by the indoctrination of certain aspects of his nearest and dearest Lifestyle Junkies.
The necessity of being united is such that the only action one can ever take is awakening. The most urgent and persistent difficulty being a breaking down of formative and associative thinking, or as Ouspensky might have put it, "knowing what you cannot know". This is not to say that you may take such an action, but rather that the construct you have instituted as you, mostly imaginary, that functions in a swarm of motes, might partake of such conjecture from time to time for little more than the sake of doing so.

Could be that our rose-colored nature of these clockwork-like incidents stuns you with a specific cookie- a minute and a half in front of six o clock- bits of clips and phrases repeated at particular intervals over the course of months and years, oatmeal and M&M's and chocolate chips and peanuts, scenes blending seamlessly and silently into that which is not seen is not heard - swirling around the Egyptian form of Harpocrates, personified in vaudeville & Marxist* brotherhood as a silent curly-haired early-day Discordian with an instrument fetish - emerging out of a vat of strangely brewed images; certain controversial ominous scenes were depicted to mimic the typographic constructions found within the Font of The Book, that ineffable blank eternal concerning the Unwritten Magnum Opus, disregarding all but the line underneath the text, formulated in the right hemisphere and justified in the left.

Diviners root these instances out with games of chance and changes, the throwing of the bones, the shuffling and turning of a series of cards, counting out yarrow sticks, or any number of countless variations, active as visual confirmations of a crushed trouble with or elated arrival at destiny's fulcrum, small comfort or confirmation in The Age of Comforting Fear.

Sick of some things. Same-old same-old. Pretentious fucks with trust funds and the means to an End but nothing important to say. Skateboarders and hipsters. Beards and their discontents. Ignoramuses using black solipsism and acerbic divisions as a crutch. Ravers and hippies. Opportunistic materialistic whore-mongers. It stands to reason that in such an environment, emotional and institutional affairs are going at an average rate of a dime for every dozen. A quick letter to the B.B.B. would be appropriate to alleviate most major managerial difficulties, all but for the consequential fallout of negativity and confusion inevitable in such an action, anonymously-placed or not. We'll always work this one out. Always. This one thought is simply the result of a functional reappraisal of whimsical impromptu holidays and their products and their services.

Here: Delicate sweet torpor in the fall, turning over the drivel/speak dynamics, a mystic gibberish brush-fire set in the mind of a skeptical spaghetti-god cleric and spreading ever outwards and upwards- a pantheist faking it until they make it- a Taoist involving themselves in the touchstone that brings strange bliss- a story with a kernel of truth proving to be fundamentally healing. Such acts are cathartic. As it can be said so simply on this digital media structure: "I am the Storyteller." But that goes for everybody.

So, what's the story? What's the problem on that large enough scale? Fear and Greed, though not necessarily in that order. Girl with the hair and girl with the dais. Podium-mongers. Face-first into the flopping alternative backlash of ultra-conservative death-centric rhetoric. Associations between unrelated structures. Yeah, hey, our Leader is cracking amyl nitrate in the back room and having a menage a trois with two nubile neophytes. Hey, did you know he's also the Voice of God? The story certainly begs the question "So what?" but identifies a necessary genetic imperative set in the royal superhighway of DNA helix or more esoterically speaking the kundalini, spell-checked with an alternative here as "vandalism".

Ours is the generation of gutters and sewers, the dismantling of the elevated platforms science fiction buffs pine for to this day, the lobbyist-controlled short-term gain supply-side reform yuppie day-trader shits that presume to know shit about fuck, when we all damn-well know that that is far from the case in any actuality. We must remain optimistic in spite of this, maintaining a balance between rampant shifting and humming stability. Bear in mind that this 'I' and 'We' is only presumed, but the inclinations of the manifestations can become clear through steady evaluation and properly preparing the Home foe that arrival. The formulation of the aim in these seeks at first and effortless method, then as we look closer into this aspect, it becomes more and more complex.

Powells

2009-09-17T12:32:00.001-05:00

2009-09-15T19:40:00.002-05:00

A family of German Shepards, a mother, a father, and two well-sized pups, run down the sidewalk and into traffic.

From a passing car, a boy calls to a girl: "Gimme some that chicken!"
Girl: "Whaat?"
Boy: "Why don't you gimme somma that chicken!"
Girl: "Nuh uh! You ain't got shit comin'!"

And so forth.

Cool as a cucumber in this new spiteful era.

Sobering

2009-08-30T10:36:00.003-05:00

Quickly rising temperatures, a gyre of clouds along the skyline.

Black light from anti-sun rotating around the aether-earth, counter-clockwise swirl in the non-verse.

Today and yesterday subtract these total sums presented. Red faction emergency ration split-infinitive non-negotiable, treading water in the mire and muck of the shallows, this soupy river of text. Memories of whores and saints wander by as jellyfish.

Add one to two and then another to another. Bones tossed overboard. Guedhe Legba Voudon, a corporate infiltration waiting to happen. This Ship of Fools.

Understand your confusion. Gnat speck.

As a matter of convenience, we've thus far constructed only the barest bones and fundamental frameworks of the overall Thesis. Towards this end, our commentary on this time-sliver often eludes or excessively embodies trite tropes. Ten thousand yes-men agree. So. Many. Years spent in preparation for the ultimate acknowledgment, the first of many steps. Results: many happy returns. Hexagram calculator. A spot where no ink has been spilled. Vast wastes of paper, a desert of accumulated academics, white space between lines, between words, sucking the cortices off, membrane shivering, slurping, shuddering, tactile synesthesia induced, the sound of your skin, undulating amorphous superstructure emerging within the scent, grapheme of certain letters and numbers emanating certain colors. Pheremone dumping ground, as in form & ground, picture plane beyond the third and fourth and fifth, a nonce spectacular gala planned and placed. Flatlanders we, law of the jungle being eat or be eaten, survival instinct stint.

Old old soul traversing the aethernet, quibbling over quantities as it/we/I go.

Forgive our seeming obfuscation. Due to lack or overabundance. Spirit infusing material. Golden cube at the center of the room. Wealth in several forms. Armor for astral conflict.

We bid you, lick the rim of the scum bucket and pay homage to your mother protozoa with vomit, sundry soul-suckers of this holographic travesty, well-fed hostages of a Power Greater than Yourself. Accept this Presence. Never give up.

Ha. Huh.

Aldous

2009-08-26T18:49:00.001-05:00

"We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies-all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes"

क note

2009-08-12T12:42:00.004-05:00

01.0012.01.01:
Patent pending on the terminator genome set in this belly-button, we're here, we're here, we're here in the fulcrum of the world. We are all bulbous spores straining through the rot of the forest floor.

03.2212.01.01:
Been reevaluating Anaïs Nin's incest and Henry's ineffectualness, Lawrence Stern's love of Yorick and Toby. Sipping on Ars Memoria, slipping between sheets in the golden cultivation era, the cheap prices of a falling consumer advocate spreadsheet. The resources fed into cattle and machines, the jobs generated by interpreters in outer realms, the global label marketed, spoken broken French in the rolling rain, all the loves of a lifetime in a row, shot down like tin cans on a post, cowboys and lavender jokers, fools and flops, heavy and strong and ugly like a bear, all curses and contracts fulfilled and overcome and relegated into the past tense.

02.1010.03.01:
East and west mindsets release a plaintive cry for recognition. Lost old men in the trackless soot suit shuffle throughout the town hall, rhetoric of the angry Whites echoing, cut to minimal hours for the tight-and-bright teeny bop job hunt shunts. Soundtrack is sparse on borders, the reliable realms lose their coherence, right foot forward, left foot up, up, on-location scout reporting recording, huts with naked strangers, up against the hall wall with an urgency, noisy and violent, echoes throughout the tunnel of those trance singers by the fire, soldiers scoping out the justified ancients of Allah, drowning in oil and blood mixing and mingling, the droning hum of all-love-in-now.

04.1110.02.01:
1
United States Chicago, Illinois
2
France Privas, Rhone-Alpes
3
United States Newport, Oregon
4
Germany Roding, Bayern
5
United States
6
France Les Lilas, Ile-de-France
7
Australia Melbourne, Victoria
8
Sweden
9
United States
10
India Pune, Maharashtra
11
United States Trabuco Canyon, California
12
Unknown
13
United States
14
United States Waterford, Michigan
15
United States Ellsworth, Maine
16
United States Woodbridge, Virginia
17
United States
18
Canada Sudbury, Ontario
19
United States Broomall, Pennsylvania
20
United States Morgantown, West Virginia

21
Saudi Arabia Riyadh, Ar Riyad
22
United States Norman, Oklahoma
23
United States
24
United States Minneapolis, Minnesota
25
Unknown
26
United Kingdom Manchester
27
Singapore Singapore
28
United States Easton, Pennsylvania
29
United States
30
United States Boca Raton, Florida
31
Unknown
32
United States Hurlock, Maryland
33
Canada
34
Germany Dresden, Sachsen
35
United States Fort Riley, Kansas
36
Unknown
37
Turkey Istanbul
38
Unknown
39
United States Juneau, Alaska
40
United States Carbondale, Colorado

41
Australia
42
Australia Sydney, New South Wales
43
United States Madison, Wisconsin
44
Switzerland Yverdon, Vaud
45
United States Saint Augustine, Florida
46
United States Forsyth, Georgia
47
Unknown
48
United States Winston Salem, North Carolina
49
Canada
50
United States
51
Unknown
52
United States Shrewsbury, Massachusetts
53
Unknown
54
United States Chicago, Illinois
55
Canada Toronto, Ontario
56
United States Greenbrier, Arkansas
57
United States Miami, Florida
58
Unknown
59
Hungary Hodmezovasarhely, Csongrad
60
Switzerland Zrich, Zurich

61
United States Johnson City, Tennessee
62
Russian Federation Sovetskaya, Krasnodar
63
United States Los Angeles, California
64
United States Cypress, Texas
65
United States Flagstaff, Arizona
66
Sweden Vxj, Kronobergs Lan
67
United States Dallas, Texas
68
United States Locust Grove, Georgia
69
Spain
70
Unknown
71
United States Sheboygan, Wisconsin
72
United States Irvine, California
73
United States Los Angeles, California
74
United States Canyon Country, California
75
United States
76
United States Tulsa, Oklahoma
77
United States
78
Israel Qiryat Gat, HaDarom
79
United States Mountain View, California
80
United Kingdom Newport, Isle of Wight

ड्राफ्टिंग Changes

2009-07-25T15:19:00.003-05:00

This or that, here or there, at least this is what we tell ourselves.

Everyone often speaks of what they need or want to 'do'. It's impossible to 'do' anything without proper understanding of the necessary components of an action. Most actions are circumstantial, put into place weeks, months, or years before they come to pass. The illusion of action is a strong one. Things happen. Things are happening continually and we seek to affect change, impose our order onto the teeming chaos of the everyday, and we of course fail only insofar as our understanding is limited, our perspective flawed.

To affect change in the outer world one must first affect change within, and the difficulty is variable given the particularities of circumstance.

One must surmount stagnation if they can hope to achieve the fullest scope of their capabilities.

I am disconcerted. This is a world.

2009-07-15T20:23:00.002-05:00

Hand opens into lotus opens into heart opens into The Infinite.

Establishing parameters within the cantalope rind wriggling under the net of hegemonical imperialist social norms and the mechanical nature of evil, the goodness of so-called consciousness, an elusive and often beleaguered dreadnought in the choppy foam of the dead salt sea. We carousel until we are exhausted. We find the trivial mundane and the extraordinary essential. Every moment is necessary and eternal. The initiation never ends. Come Here, Now.

Yes no?

Derided Theories

2009-07-01T10:39:00.002-05:00

Come! Come forth bravely into this terrible wonderful new age, the time of attrition and derision gone, now little more than a spectacle of nigh-immortal gum-drop marionettes in the candy-coated fields of our heavenly hosts, hidden eggs and seeds scattered amongst the crunching undergrowth.

The Moon, the might of the Moon and its part in the next stage, every stage, the cycles it is attuned to, the song of those celestial descendants of our kind and loving hosts of theirs, ideas and fragments edging into other people's dreams, thoughts so big they fill a floating continent in that edge of my mind, an orb of psychic resonance left over from some cosmic calamity set to go off again, a thing happening continually since a scientist bent the radio waves to the point that they traveled faster than the speed of light, or the mathematicians that established quantum particle teleportation in absolute zero golden machinery, a touching of hands on hands, hip to hip, a tip and a trip, a distinct spin on the axis, a rub to identify, the gut-wrenching globs smeared on our waxing waning gibbous ventures, good and old fashioned Crowley masque for the first stage, up to and including the date of birth and social security number, with every six or ten generations absolutely certain that theirs is the age of the apocalypse, theirs is the one of the Eternal Child, the Moonchild foretold, a time of homunculi, and it is their duty and function to perform for the erratic steerings of the aeon's pull, fleas on a battleship, thinking themselves into positions of power, the eschaton immanentized, that immanence of the Highest Science, the return to the Pleroma, astro-theological implications limitless, through harridans and harlequins, Lillith whore-mongers and Mammonian hollow-folk. The wisp of a totem, the tattoo on my arm, spiral hand-made in the moments before ink to skin, a marking for the masses, a refined decision put forth by the Drastic Maestro in a dream, the demiurge stirring in its sleep, serpentine lion face, a rooster like Abraxas, like the skimming of cream off the top, the juicing of time, that foolish blind ideal of an indefinable totality.

Religious Organs

2009-06-10T17:22:00.003-05:00

Help the sufferers in this institution, high stress industry, certainly that is a given, strong critics shifting equal parts blame onto The Other, transmuting it into fury. An affair of questions and answers ensues.

Humbled open hearts collect doctrine for educating swords (blessed and otherwise), revising the seventh edition of a reflection of a classical fear programming mechanism, speaking in emotional aggregates. Find out wherever and however all religions are theoretically treated equally, and you'll find a culture that is itself a hydra of sorts, difficulties, large prints placing oblong orders along the circuit of want.

You have to honorably mention the paper and the news going on, percentages of abuses increasing at stronger rates, developing a critical faculty with regards to faith, calling faith into question and not trembling, revelations of the dogma-smear proving a lack of relevance, the profound mass report concerning the systematic abuse of children throughout the history of the human hum, devolving into the machinery and the correction script scenario, voluntary ID chips clipped to the ear like a bag of badly-handled potato chips, chattering shadow-folk in the corner of musky cigar bars, brutal murder in the halls of a museum, in the corridors of power, a place of dignity and respect, hate crime microwave bombardment and condemnation of missile strike, significant sources of revenue frozen by further restrictions devised in the Pentagon, an octagon gone wrong, a practice of love wilted, tilted, and titled with something pretentious or derivative.

रेक्स Exercise

2009-06-07T12:54:00.002-05:00

The man in question was born in Istanbul in 1972 and grew up in a wealthy yet declining bourgeois family; an experience he describes in passing throughout his novels The White Book and The Gloaming of the Bobos, as well as more thoroughly in his personal memoir Constantinople. He was educated at Bob Wood National programming director school in Hartford, Connecticut, and went on to study architecture at the Badhand Technical University since it was related to his real dream career, painting. He left the architecture school after three years, however, to become a full-time writer, and went on to fail spectacularly. From ages 22 to 30, he lived with his mother, writing his first novel and attempting to find a publisher. He couldn't pawn it off on anybody, though, so he grew to hate the act of writing, blaming the tepid reception to his impenetrable purple prose as proof that the public at large were fools and in all likelihood needed a good wash-down, specifically in the eyes and mouth region. Mucous membranes in general

Aspectarian

2009-06-02T13:31:00.002-05:00

The cycle starts all over again.
You hear the ohm sound?
-the what-
It's high pitched, like a thousand crickets chirping, kinda ringing in your ears.

Word of the year 2009

2009-05-27T17:07:00.003-05:00

To avoid the inevitable, our debts will be relieved by a most audacious alteration of methodology.

A thin voice with a mirror on one end echoes throughout the halls of this labyrinth of balanced life, these energies achieving an equilibrium pending imminent transportation.

Global travel, a hall of no doors, no life, no mustache, porcelain tiles like a stained chessboard laid out before us as these furrowed brows drip sweat on past due notices, suffering and alleviation in this dangerous gang turf swift sudsy sorbet.

Our best assets have been sold to the taxpayers to fund the united auto workers in their speakeasy glamor gala of this Illuminati fallacy, insinuating a well-fitting uniform while the judge raiding pension funds to destroy those troublesome bonds, transfigured in an amorous set of restructuring trust funds in exchange for concessions on the soul changing to a substance as ballyhooed as gold, charging into the rock-cold night, admitting the stockholders into society, a short sharp coup de grace placed on the back of the neck.

Wisdom: silver रोड़, Love: Golden बोवल

2009-05-14T19:06:00.002-05:00

Eternal good should triumph over transitory evil, what with Light and Darkness being poles of the same thing, an errata to the multiverse with scales as in music scattered throughout, a pansophic enterprise through which prophesy is transferred as teleological enterprise, in effect knowing when and how an Aeon mutates and forms, at what time history can be written, an Age Passed, the interim between death and birth when you sketch out the next little bit, ending the mythical age in the archetypal world to give way to the next series of seemingly arranged events, vis a vis destiny, or nonesuch, simplistic solipsism, whatever floats your boat or maintains artificial gravity on a space-ship. Most empirical sciences are based on reason, and therefore psychology favors an ego-centric methodology, based on the idea that this is OUR World, where conscious experiences take places, and logically, it is possible that another world is identical to our own, and in that world consciousness is a curse of chaos rather than a blessing of order, and in that, so-called facts about consciousness are facts about OUR World, over and beyond physical laws or compromises.

Ethically, I should refer to the above appropriation as a rough-hewn mesh of turnarounds and textual collage, spirited effort at accumulation of an operating theory, something outside of the lonely division, the crawling cudgel of conscience, when here I am unburdening myself of the purple, the raw, the unfettered footless fancy free uncatalogued cutting clip of phrase, an element apart, a device of intrusion, a grey-flecked illusion.

Wotan

2009-05-08T15:16:00.003-05:00

Britain hangs high in the brutality halls of history, representing the putrid part of salty dynamics. Salves. Europe the Old Drip Diphtheria, patronymically developed as an amusing acronym, an outside ghost of a chance, the queen's personal attendant in conflict with her tailor and her astrologer, the whims of the Vatican surreptitiously spoiling bananas and grapefruit for the rest of us, while in Egypt an order is given to slaughter pigs by the millions, and to what end? That gyrocopter developed under contract with the nation's military has yet to show us any viable field activity, and thanks to a precedent set by queer-as-folk satyricobots, an eight-year-military-misdirection-for-profit has left the mud-flap industry of a nuclear-power seeking Persian Ostrich President in a lurch, a church, alright fine a mosque, set to detonate as all such things do. From within.