Flam Eth Rower, alchemist

imageFlam Eth Rower
.

    Flam Eth Rower looked up at Balls Bazook after their night of debauch and said, “Welcome back to asteroid 423, Bazook. Maybe I missed you, but probably not, you flot.”

     “How’s the Fin de Monde film coming, Flam Eth?” asked Bazook.

    Last night when Bazook made asteroid fall, they hadn’t bothered with the niceties of chat but ripped and roared into raunch and debauch.

   “Well, Mack is Mr. Vitamin I and the king of wry so we have a chance to steel ourselves to the end o’ the world ordeal.”

    Mack Cobber was a famed fin de monde director. He’d demolished worlds aplenty for the delectation of the connoisseurs of  heartwrenching self-imposed destruction. Flam Eth Rower was a cosmistar of such fabulous, ubiquitous renown that her little million acre asteroid 423 was one of her few places of possible escape from the burdens of adulation to the blessings of adultery.

         As always in Mack Cobber’s productions, there were the crystal moments when the planet-ride participant or participants together could make a change, see a light, save the story. The grueling soap opera truth is that seldom do people make the effort, seize the ingenuity. The planet, Here, where Flam Eth was working these days in the dayreal tangerine section of her tangerine of times was so bursting and ripe with blessings and fascinations that the featherless biped denizens could have wallowed in the sheer muddy joy of it, but instead they usually chose crankiness and belligerence. Or apathy. Or anti-pathy.

    Flam Eth was underground on Here. She did sling some dollops of advanced photonic physics and photonic ethics into the zeitgeist, but her life’s Principia on Justice would appear very late in life if not posthumously. Instead she fed observations and assonance back to Mack Cobber. The idea was to give the director fodder for the last possible chances for the Here dwellers to grok the tender truth, to opt for tending rather than rending. To, indeed, turn the other cheek, to break the necessarily endless spiral of revenge, personal or national.   

     To stoke up on some sublime sloth, Flam Eth had to retreat in remreal to asteroid 423. Few had the combo to the semipermeable membrane of atmosphere which cradled her haven. To the mere telescopes of Here, her asteroid would appear barren and rocky. The semibrane was like a green screen which shielded dayreal vision from piercing into the remreal spectrums. The poor Hereians had some rudimentary science but little and only random psyence.

    There wasn’t much drama if people were just hopelessly overwhelmed. Planet productions were all the rage galaxywide and Here was as popular a reality production as had ever hit the ether. Unlike the Hereians’ cinema productions, the Here production itself would never have a disclaimer in the credits saying “No animals were harmed in the making of this production.”  The jaded appetites of the ethereal viewer (or sensesucker, as the denizen rights people would have it) required the obliv amnesia drug and the presentation of often horrific plights for the not quite hapless hereians.   

   Not being utterly heartless, Mack Cobber liked to leave clues like crumbs for little birds, clues that could lead to An Exit, a startling solution. Not all the ethereals were brave enough to live in the skin, as it were. Most of them were cosmically comfy, far from the density and dimension where fire burns the flesh and water can drown. Like the chickenhawks sending kids to a war they wouldn’t fight personally, the ethereals often preferred distant comment fraught with faux conviction. The folk like Balls and Flam Eth who would enter the fray at full risk were rare. It was bloody dangerous over there in K1, the part of the reality spectrum where physical and psychological consequences were between monstrous and marvelous.

…………<^>…………

images from ask images

in blurb, www,paulsquire,com

in text, empirecontact,com

fin de monde = end of the world;

k1 = the Here or Earth or VuraVura degree of persistent kinesthetic which we generally experience as dayreal, the sensation of solidity and/or persistence — you need to turn the knob towalk through the door; water is wet, etcet;

remreal = all the other dimensions of density whose physics are often quite different from k1.

vitamin I = vitamin Irony; 

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8 Transformer . Cimi . Twins . North . tzol 86  01.28.07 sun

ffwofw1201§9641/1367, 26d12h14m11s34.41g;

mozart..9.77g /7mb ..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you .... let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead ..  ………….<^>…………….     

DynaMagik & Zephyrs Ardente

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> DynaMagik & Zephyrs Ardente

 

   CPD Notes to CatsPurrDynaMagik holoHealing Systems Users. HoloKaleidoscope notes. In the coming shaped light, you’ll become increasingly more conscious of the holoKaleidoscope quality of your dazzling experience.

image
                                                                       dennis flood

I’m trying to translate as much shaped light info as I can for the general reader, but Want to put in material for the finger-pickin' faheyesque quick reader too. This holoKaleidoscopic technique is certainly described by my dearest Mr. Keats when he speaks of negative capability – “Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason — Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge . . . ”                
    Whenever I take notes from dreams as I drift ashore in the dawning, I always use semicolons to separate the random items so I don’t jar myself into grammar and can stay in the melted course of zephyr-ardente that is the splashing and or sloshing consciousness from dream travel before things get k1 solid again.

  Release Accumulated Crud; defester your brain; sunbomb your imaginationer; send your inner judge/perfectionist to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Cheerful School; sick of your inner perf being a crabby scold; Want a cheerful slightly taffy inner prof instead? Get fitted for your Hermes-winged legerdedancing slippers – psychiorthotics; remember that your joints are all chakras; spend special time fuffing your joints, fuff and release; drain off accumulated sludge from joints and put in a golden sun wine elixir of lovely slipperiness; release acac (accumulated crud accumulated crud) fromsweet eyeballs and dear dear ears; fill with nourishing sunmist, shineofsun, sunwine; in  Dynamagik newsholovidletter Zinnia gives an instruction clinic to the War Thogs, the elite amfap silliness mongers;

   Purring is like a low-pitched frisson; set purr-release for cells, tissues, tendons, ligaments, organs, bones, lymphs, marrows, joints vertebraes, muscles, face, eyes, cheeks, lips, scalp, skull, ears, brain, left, right, corpus callosum the connector, nerves to auto-purr-release; sign or at least scrawl your initials at the compass points (more or less) on the walls of your grounding chute;

image
                                                        sci-toys com

 graffiti your grounding cylinder; fuff your brain or grokker; if you have only had a brain in this inzinnia, [in-zinnia, cf in-carnation, only vivider], shift it out for a grokker for a week –you can always go back to your ole brain if you must. A grokker absorbs all the data stream as art&music – the world as an art show with a score – ticks, tocks, whooshes, rustles, et cet. you’ll probably enjoy having a grokker better, more buttery, by far; Immerse yourself etherically in a quite warm quite salty water tank with luminous walls with your choice of softly dissolving colors (include the possibility of a velvety black) to soak off  any residue of the CatsPurrDynaMagik Healer ludenation (cf oper-ation);

   We give you a special gill unit and nictating membrane etherically so you can breathe underwater and not have the salt hurt your sweet eyes.

   Replace all 33 vertebrae with jeweled vertebrae and all all joints with jeweled joint; replace blood with molten rubies; as the Filipino shamans do, slow the time in which your body dwells; let the ecstasy back in; breathe effervesced air; study crows; crows have an extensive laughabulary of chortles & clucks & clicks & caws &guffaws. have 2 crows as mischief guardians who chortle off any stupid spirits who might accost or pester you;; Change your brain in for a grokkifier which reveals the savvy and lavish art of everything; there are ever at hand kindly & silly & brilliant Filipino holowizards to shift out your joints for jewels, to install jewel joints & bones. They are great at structural elements (cf Coleridge, “In Xanadu did Kublai Khan a stately pleasure dome decree? Where Alph the sacred river ran/Down to a sunless sea”). I like the fey and astoundingly kind and eloquent and loyal Welsh shamans for the sweet eyes, dear dear ears, and the right/left & connector corpus callosum of the grokkifyer.

image

               andy goldsworthy .. rivers & tides

The Welsh are the people with the discipline and optimism — consider the Welsh coalminer who dreams underground in the dark of Camelot. The Welsh are psychitechnicians, psychinicians sans pareil, the purest poets because they shapeshift as happily or earnestly from a splash to a cactus to a hummingbird to a hippopotamus to a pebble as any sentients who ever inzinniaed. They grok it all as bio, as alive&lucid.     

 

…………<^>…………

glossary notes:

+ nuage ardente (new-ahj ahr-daw(n)(t)) or fierce cloud is the ferocious shock wave of burning air and debris that cannons down the mountainside from an erupting volcano and does the real damage; zephyr ardente is a riff off that – a fierce sweetness, a burning delicacy.

+ nictating membrane is that odd milky inner lid that slides down over birds’ and cats’ eyes as they slide into slumber.

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12 Light . Ahau . Flower . South . tzol 219  09.24.06 sun

848 days/2y3m26d left/1447  

ffwofw805.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;

mozart..9.77g 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

CatsPurrDynamagik Healing System

If you read the following material with your mouth as if out loud, it will stay clear for you. As with all alchemys, unclench your mind and taste the words.

 

Balls Bazook & the CatsPurrDynamagik Healing System Machines part 8

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

CatsPurrDynamagik Healing Systems Machines – psychibiomachines. Your own shaman machines. The CatsPurrDynamagik System works in any bio-position, but is particularly designed for the supine, being sloth-friendly – let your psyche do the cavorting. A popular CatsPurrDynamagik model looks like a leaf blower, but is silent. It blows a mist of sunshine, of shiny sunlight through your aura, untarnishes your etheric blueprint, ungums your dna, and effervesces your blood. The chassis and handle of the CatsPurrDynamagik Healing Systems Machine are obsidian. It has etheric gem-metal alloy bands around the nozzle – copper, silver, gold, magnetic iron, quartz, topaz, and titanium last to take it all – the aura, the blueprint, the dna, the blood — sweetly and elegantly into the future.

 from the CatsPurrDynamagik Healing Systems Machine Manual –Zin Nia

image
                                                         andy goldsworthy

 

      Fucky Buller  met Balls Bazook, commander of War Thogs who fight bravely for amfap (as much fun as possible), a coalition, a diamondition of drastically droll souls who think killing people and calling it noble and robbing people and calling it a free market are exceedingly stupid and tiresome uses of the blessed and lucky élan verve vouchsafed to us each and all.

  Fuckminister Buller was the spooner twin of Bucky Fuller, erstwhile of Earth.

image
                                     george glazer

   “Hey, Balls, how’s the sack sag” Fucky chortled cheerfully.

   “Nah, like melons, Fucky,” said Balls. “Where’s Zin Nia?”

   “You heard that she invented the CatsPurrDynamagik Healing Systems Machine, the new psybiomachine which is flying off the etheric shelves?” Fucky said.

   “Oh yes, indeed, Fucky. That’s why I’m here. I want to get a custom version from you all for the Thogs to carry into the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Battle for Earth we are waging in 24/7 interwoven night and day dreams as we speak. It’s not a catastrophic brutish mess over there on earth, it’s a dogastrophic grotesque mess.”

   Balls and Fucky found Zin Nia in her ludenatory, a playful laboratory, where she psychiprojected her CatsPurrDynamagik designs into the Luciferik Record, the lore contrary to the Dictator God, the Deity who became insane, went megalo. Lucifer is droller, an absolute democrat. These are the less bombastic records than the founts for the monotheisms.

  “Zin Nia, my sweet, how many CPDs can you get me yesterday? The toll from trying to glee up ole Terra is devastating our War Thogs. They need some élan verve for certain.”

   Zin grinned at Balls in an irreverent fondness. “The equilbrilator has a gyrogem mechanism which holospherically balances it in a gravneutral or leviglee process so it’s lovely to handle in either light or deep trance. It shoots out a healing column of golden sunlight mist which detoxes the elemental layers and dynamics of the inzinnia [cf incarnation, but more vivid]. It can be set for cooling or warming and it mediates the difference between exhilaration and inflammation.

   “It had a ‘release’ harmonic which feels like the utter sigh – release – purr when you first hug your cloud-soft cat as you subside and settle softly, comfily into the refuge of your dear pillows.

  “The CatsPurrDynamagik can be operated by an etheric clone simulacrum of your inzinnia self or simply by the leviglee remote controls in an holospheric float with a gyrotic nifty dynamic balance.  

    “We even supply a pandorion, a levilead box to store the codes for the purely revolting and hateful stuff you may want to restore, but not necessarily be on-goingly ruled or raged by, a kind of furies deposit box for the dna of the sulphurous, putrid, and perniciously petty grot you have accumulated or even collected in this and even other inzinnias.

   “This feature comes with the First Level CatsPurrDynamagik, but we got some most giga-nifty stuff for the Ninth Level system. There’s a cheshire manifestation mechanism – as if you take a smile and spiral it into a cat, or whatever from acorn to oak or egg to chicken process you might want to enjoy.

   “Remember I told you about the Chinese unicorn in viejo Earth myth? The Chinese unicorn is rainbow colored and where she walks music plays in the air and her hoof-fall does not bruise the grasses. We put a rustle of this mysterious music in with your CPD.   

………….<^>……………

 

[[ In future material on Zin Nia, Fucky Buller, and the CatsPurrDynamagik Healing System, we’ll origami or fold these into holoshapes for you. There is a kind of waterfall of consciousness that the hologlad use to grok their experience. The trick is to let the info flow through your unclenched mind and trust that your deft, bloomed consciousness will get the gist and get the jokes and naturally install whatever procedures which seem apt and ept for your own momentous moment. If you read the material again next week, it’ll magnetize an all different set of synchronicities for you. AsZin Nia says, “We’re trying to gently jar you out of the ruts and grids of grammar without sending you into a spiraling, buffeted freefall, falling up.”   We’ll unwrap the presents of  leviglee controls and many other premium Ninth Level features; Rapids feature – silver rapids, golden rapids; the Great Eagle or Crow Sling-A-Round; metameditation for the mischievous; among the purrfacts that come in your new CatsPurrDynamagik Manual is States of Rest. Deep cheerful rest has been rare enough. One of the favorite states [placid like grazing and cud-chewing cows; lava bath cf mud bath; Filipino healing in molasses time; handle = chassis = obsidian; drollifier like humidifier; sunlight falls cf waterfall; anything toxic neutralized, debris down the grounding chute to center of planet or asteroid or moon; CatsPurrDynamagik Healing System, soap bubbles bursting; effervescent nerves; honey treatment – a smooth lavaesque flow of sweet honey throughout the skin, limbs, organs, cells, bones, brain. Your own shaman machine;; a flurry of purring, the audic equivalent of a snow flurry, a soft, capacitating abun-dance of soundflakes. 1st level = the Jester; 9th Level = the Frolic (frolic means, at root, swift gladness);  healing System & Solarizer; Zin tells Balls about Flowers like her namesake just being dirt + water + design + sun, catalysts; Implant small CPDs under fingernails and in joints; Put in To sloth or not to sloth is never a question; newtuning the melodiousness of your cells; subtract or release the wat, the wear and tear, and newshine the essential glorious dear muck and gluck which constitutes your biobeing. Like a two magnets forcefield – an invisible (sort of) dense intense pressure field – a huge harmonic pulse of assorted energies is pressing into the planet newcalibrating dna and monumentally healing brains and pains; the Ahau or Quetzal energy that is being pulsed into the EM field is quixotic and mischievous stuff. The upcoming Ahau dates are Sept 24, Oct 14, Nov 3, Nov 23.

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Notes:

Please treat yourself to Andy Goldsworthy’s astonishing DVD, Rivers & Tides, working with time. You will love it so much that you will eat pieces of the disk like the Iroquois ate the raw still hot liver of the bear to do honor and eat strength. I love Goldsworthy so much I could burst.

+ holo & levi .. in times to come, we rhapsodize or songfully interweave worlds and realms of density with more conscious ease than we mostly do today – we ignite some of the 90% of the patient brain which is dormantish. We enter a more holosensible world of synthisenses and sphericality. We are no longer so linear in our comprehension. We also therefore make use of our leviglee capacitites, the ability to move the balance point, the gravity point around so we can, say, levitate. You already do in your other dreams. It’s a handy trick – think: unclench.

+ grounding & grounding chute: I learned these ancient grounding techniques first from Berkeley Psychic Institute(BPI). Recently I read the really excellent You Are Psychic by Debra Katz. Please don’t click off your mind at the title. Her book is a stupendous resource for grounding and emotion & intellect uncluttering technologies. She and BPI refer to a grounding “tube,” but I am so into the delights and necessities of sloth that I recommend a grounding chute so that you fit energetically into this dynamic shape whilst supine. In the simplest way, you imagine yourself as you lie there suspended just within a grounding chute which reaches all the way to the center of the earth. You let all your extra energies from the boss, the past, the future, the sulphurous boy/girlfriend, any energy that is not cheerfully yours slide down the superslippery grounding chute into the center of the earth to be recycled into neutral elements. Learning to ground away the daily gluck is supremely useful for both healing and just plain ole wellwellbeing. [Certain cultures make plurals by doubling the word.]

    You can make your grounding chute of whatever material and color feels right to you for the time being. To the BPI basics Katz adds a notion of signing your name to the four sides of your grounding or I add the four compass points if your chute is round. I also suggest initialing the end that reaches to the center of the earth. This makes sure you sent the grounding device deep enough. You can let your grounding chute drop away and install a new one as often as you like, but at least once a day is smart. Just remember to graffiti or autograph the sides and furtherest end of each new one.

+ Alfred Spooner was a professor with a verbal tic where he shifted the beginnings of words. A crushing blow becomes a blushing crow is the usual example. Fucky Buller is Bucky Fuller’s spooner twin.

+ obsidian is crow’s wing black glassified cooled lava. Cf obsidian humor.

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

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Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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3 Monkey . Chuen . Raccoon . West . tzol 211  09.15.06 fri

858 days/2y4m05d left/1437  

ffwofw1145.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;

mozart..9.77g 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>……………

God is a giant Hen

Balls Bazook and God, the giant Hen

 

   God is a giant Hen. Who knew? Well, a zill zill people know out + about in the galaxy, but Earthlings was in The Dark.

   When She clucked about this <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq debacle being a chickenfeces¹ war, She was clucking about deityfeces big time.

image

   Our giant Hen who art in Heaven is rather a sardonic Fowl, truth be told, sooth be said. She ruffled Her feathers vexedly and turned to giant randy Rooster Randy, her consort, and clucked tinct with vex + saddish, “Blazing feathers, randy Rooster Randy, I may have really laid an egg, a pondu un oeuf, ha fatto un uovo, puso un huevo when I popped out egg Earth. No yolk, randy Rooster Randy,” She sighed as he began to shake his beet-burgundy-colored wattles in an effort to cheer Her up.

image

   “The yolk’s on you!” he crowed cheerfully. Political philosophy was not always randy Rooster Randy’s finest forte, but trying to cheer up Hen was. There is no Hen but Hen. Her fabulous feathers glistened like rubies and Her eyes shone like fathomless emeralds. She was as fine and shining a Hen as could be Seen or Known or Shown. She shone. She shone like the suns She had laid, that parade of suns which comprised galaxies. Our Hen who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy feathers.

   Balls Bazook greeted our God who art Hen and her consort randy Rooster Randy with the easy familiarity of old pals. Hen didn’t stand upon ceremony with Her pals, but She was plenty pissed with a lot of egg Earth’s dimwit denizens.

   As soon as Her gleaming emerald eye lit upon Balls, She cried, “Balls, what in chickenfeces Hell is going on down there on My egg Earth? I am about to land an official load of major league chickenfeces on that – that –“ She clicked Her beak dreadfully, “that pipsqueak, that popinjay little King George, a fragrant message from Mother, I’ll tell you.”

   Randy Rooster Randy, half of whose feathers were a glorious obsidian black and half were a pearlescent moonstruck tajmahalian white, sent a ruby-eyed glance of warning to Balls. “Do not provoke the Squawk” the glance urgently urged. If Hen got vehemently vexed enough, She could lose chickenwisdom, lose chickenrestraint, lose chickenfondness for Her Creation and lay the Edict of Squawk upon egg Earth and neither pity nor mercy would or could stay the tumult.

   She clearly loved Balls dearly, but in that tremulous, potential moment, She detested him like a vermin, like a maggot for being of the so-failed, so complacent, so vicious human race which didn’t even have the wisdom or courtesy to eat the corpses of the humans they slaughtered.

   Hen gazed with a blaze of amazing contempt at Balls, her giant turquoise claws tapping percussively on the diamond-tiled floor of the boudoir of the Hen Mansion of Heaven.

   Balls felt terrified, like a gnat, like a potato bug, an inconsiderable snack for a hungry and angry God.

   “The least they could do,” seethed a very unpleased God, Hen, “the least that Dickless Cheney could do is eat the people he arranges to have slaughtered and leave that many cows alone. I like cows better, by very far, than I like people these days. I am exceedingly disappointed in the very unsapiens homos and homas wasting the Earth of their birth, their glorious and beautyfraught, abundant earthright on bombmaking and gunmaking. I am sickened.” Her beak clicked with deitific enunciation.

   “You take a message back to egg Earth, Balls,” She said. “If they could interrupt their bloodbathing long enough to listen to their irate Creator, tell them their Mother, Hen, is ready to let the chickenfeces hit the fan if they don’t stop where they stand and observe with some calm and complete chickenwisdom the very unholy mess they have made. Not one thought more, not one cent more, ever, for destruction. All thinking, all acting, all wishing, all ways for construction from this hour forth. AHen, so it be.”

   Hen paused and pinned him with her glittering eye. “No yolk, Balls. I will chickenfece these bums to queendom come if they fail to quail. Reform is required. Pledge on the Holy Egg to deliver this message from your Mother, Hen, Balls Bazook, denizen of egg Earth. If they do not heed this exceeding warning, Balls, the Edict of Squawk will be invoked, have zero doubt.”

   She clicked her bright banana-yellow beak and turned away in deity-abrupt dismissal. But a tiny ruby feather fell at his feet as a talisman, a token of grace, of chickenhope. We could repair, we could forswear.

   Balls tenderly placed the tiny feather in the locket with the picture of  Fla Mingo which she didn’t know he carried on his farflung forays.

…………<^>…………
¹ On Hardball, Major General John Batiste, ret., said
“Donald Rumsfeld is still at the helm of the Department of Defense, which is absolutely outrageous. He served up our great military a huge bowl of chicken feces, and ever since then, our military and our country have been trying to turn this bowl into chicken salad. And it’s not working.”

……..……<^>………..…..

images:

in excerpt, e-referencedesk;

above, sparklenet, cromer;

cre8iveheadspace;

see rhode island reds, google images;

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

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Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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3 The Road . Eb . Grass . Rattlesnake Tooth . South . tzol 190  08.27.06 sun

877 days/2y4m24d left/1418  

ffwofw793.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;

mozart..9.77g 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

Balls Bazook & Colonel Fogofwar

Balls Bazook and Colonel Fogofwar, part 7

   “Did you ever serve the red, white and blue, Bazook?” asked Colonel Fogofwar who ruled Asteroid 399 with an iron fist. Literally. He’d had his left hand blown off in 2119, the middle of the AmerIraq War which began on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />March 20, 2003. He’d had the shattered stump fused with a clenched iron fist.

image

   There were few beings on Asteroid 399 except for the Myrmydons and he taught then to march in phalanxes and to salute when he blew his mind-cleansingly shrill silver whistle.

   “Saluting’s important, Bazook. it reminds everyone of who is in charge. Not unlike the sign of the self-inflicted noose or tie that corporate slaves obediently knot around their own neck every morning to prove with an outward and visible sign of herd-willing humiliation their submission to the corporate overlords. ‘I am not a troublemaker. I won’t stray too far. So long as I can have a Weber grill, a BMW automobile, and a brassette-trophy wife and the Superbowl, I am willing to forfeit and even forget dignity and originality and my spunky, punky peculiar freedom whatever that might have been.’”

   Colonel Fogofwar blew a sudden piercingly shrill blast on his silver whistle and the nearby undulating carpet of tiny ants stood still and each raised a delicate right front leg to its erect antennae. A second shrill blast released them to their unending tasks.  

   “I train 'em one at a time, Bazook. If you want real allegiance, you have to break down each spirit so it will sin on your behalf. Now, we all know, if you cut through the turkey offal, that to kill another humming being is a wrong and a dreadful act. the sin among sins, in fact. If I can twist your sunshine mind so you will kill on my command, I have stolen and stained your soul. You will have to justify my rationales however mad because you are complicit and to denounce me is to show the raw and writhing wound of your own maggot acts. Ant or man, Bazook, kill your own kind and you have lost your mind and it is mine.

   “Every time I get a new recruit from Queen Myrmydon – and hey, I have no idea, none, why she keeps shipping me her unwounded, delighted and still hopeful sons to be my myrmidon minions. But the first thing I do is snip 1/3 off their right antennae. A visible and outward sign that they are no longer their own ant.

   “Power over men’s or ant’s souls is a lovely ting, Bazook. You should try it. When I skipped from captain to colonel, I gained an inch, I swear. I get to define ‘cowardice’ as being refusal or even hesitation to do what I say. It’s like being a potter, but instead of the stuff of clay, it’s the stuff of souls over which I hold sway. Not unlike God, Bazook, not unlike God.”

   Colonel Fogofwar was immaculate in what in non-military fashion would be his considerably too tight uniform. Uniform buttons used actually to be real brass (like colonels’ balls) in the good old days when each officer had a button-polishing servant. His jacket was as tight as a corset, though it is not recommended that you mention that to him.

   Colonel Fogofwar was hewn from a square template. His jaw, head, shoulders, and stance were square. Sheldon outlined the physiopsychocharacteristics of human physical and psychological structures. the somatotonic is square. These are the generals et ilk. They naturally stride as if a walking phone booth. They are the 1/3 of people who make 2/3 of the noise at a sporting event. If they get upset, they require fast, hard action to resolve the disturbance —  driving fast or playing fierce football or tennis, actually or vicariously.

  Somatotonics have horizontal integration which means it’s as if they had a steelplate across the bottom of threir brain – their thoughts do not go down to include an assessment of their feelings. this allows them to send a battalion of men or ants to certain mutilation as if they were mere checkers on a boardgame. A vertical integration type would have doubts, dismays.

   Colonel Fogofwar had the de rigueur billboard of ‘ribbons’ displayed over the hole where his heart ought to have been. By the way, don’t make the mistake of thinking the somatotonic isn’t awash in ersatz feeling. They are sodden with sentiment, the kind of canned feeling you find in Hallmark cards, convenient so you don’t have to search for any authentic and doubtless awkward feelings of your own. they can ooze sentiment after a few bourbon and branch waters. Recall that Hitler loved his dog.

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ribbon image google, vspa

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11 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 185  08.22.06 tues

882 days/2y4m29d left/1413  

ffwofw779.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;

mozart..9.77g 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>……………. 

Balls Bazook, L.J.Camps; Mind Parasites

Balls Bazook meets L.J.Camps, part 5

Balls Bazook and the Mind Parasites, part 6

 


If you read this bardic story with your mouth as if out loud, it will be very clear for you.

image

                                              io, nasa jpl univ of ariz cassini image team

 

Balls Bazook and L.J. Camps .. part 5

   After his huge 200 proof injection of irony neat jabbed in his arm by Dr. Stark Raving Mad, Balls Bazook went to have a shot or two of lagavu with L.J. Camps who wrangled the religious sheeps still left over from the Old Days and weaned ‘em off  locoweed as kindly as murderous zealots can be disentangled from the shameful skeins of religissimoesquespitude.

    Balls always asked again and again for the story of L.J. Camps’ parents' sublimely subtle gesture of defiance in the terrible Last Days of Religious GigaNutLand that tormented the SemiFinal Days of Old Earth. L.J. Camps stood for Lord Jesus Christ As My Personal Savior, that dictum from the tyrannical petty as the password to Heaven, or, more usually, the Get Out of Hell Card. Any imagined slur or any joke what ever (The Bible ain’t got so many jokes, ain’t it so?) brought people to be burned at the stake and their children branded with H on their foreheads with white phosphorous, the White H for Heretic – Burn them, Burn them. Jokes are detestable in the eyes of the Lord.

    So Nam and Pam By named their only son L.J. Camps in a mockery of the idea that even the most through-the-wrong-end-of-the-telescope deity would be embarrassed to demand such petty piety as to mouth certain cowed syllables to open them Pearly Gates, or else down-escalator for thee, heathen, how ever benign, however truly kind you were. Wear and declare the LJC label or bottomless pits.  Piffle. Only the most intime of pals could be vouchsafed the trick of L.J.’s name. It was a joke that could get you killed. And ye gods know, kill and kill and kill they did in those dread days when they dealt gun-freedom and like it or be damned, cursed, vexed, and rebuked. Brimstone at thee, pagan. Yes, yes, they brought back stoning soon after burning at the stake. All televised, natch. Oh, sweet Jesus, the ratings were sweet.   

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” />  

Balls Bazook and the Mind Parasites ..part 6

a melodrama

  On Asteroid 68, Balls Bazook ran into an off-duty BrideOf Satin, her charcoal-ringed eyes smudged and wide. “What ho, BrideOf,” he began heartily tho he quickly realized the tone was clearly off for her evident despond. “Oh Balls,” she flung her usually collected and supremely sensible self into his embrace, “Slithy is lost, I fear it. Lost to the Mind Parasite outbreak.” She put a holovid of  her epistlevid to Slithy into Balls’ hand. “Oh Slithy,” the vid showed her imploring, “This harsh cold of thee feels like a panflagration forest fire in my chest. Somehow I live falsely around it – smile, work, drink milk. But I cannot breathe; it always seethes. The nightmare of your absence, of your cowardice, of your cowardice. The panic, the clear colorless iceflames burn the fleeing forest animals. I saw a foal burning alive. I saw an elk with his great antlers on fire. It is a scene of ruin.

  “I thought obsidian humor would inoculate thee, thee against the mind parasites. I saw the others fall, what was brave and bright collapse.

   “I met with Alorak at the Kitkalag Bookstore, a quaint anachronism, where people perused and mused amongst ancient paged books and amongst old Earth (Jeegoo, VuraVura) mineral queendom amulets of amethyst and jasper and pearl. Alorak was a light counselor, a sturdy accomplished Swedish person not inclined to fugues. I was shocked. She was stricken by the mind parasites as if they had sucked out her deep light like marrow from her bones. I was frightened existentially for the first time that we might subside, sink into a quicksand of a Grim Ages.

   “Never did I imagine, conceive, believe that you, Slithy, you could would harden darken your heart to this shrill chilling degree. I thought irony would protect you from the slaught, the rat-gnawed ravages of the Mind Parasites.

   “To see Alorak succumb, stop swimming, sink into the deathdark despair depths with no struggle. And thee. I’m on an island of insane pain while my brave, my beautiful, once panpagan kin are being torn by the sharks. It is the joyless silence of the sharks. Underwater the screams of the being-eaten don’t carry far.

   “Everything between us has always been so dread and unsacred, ferociously filthy — terrible and wrong. And luscious and precious. Corazon del diablo. There is never any tenderness, it has nothing to do with mind or heart, it is all root chakra rage and fury, intimidation and power. Rage and fury, desperation, humiliation, shame. Because which of us can help it? Oh knights of night, heed and be glad at our dark song.”

   She looked up at Bazook as she paused the vid. “Gee, Balls, I feel like I’m inexorably telling you this like the ancient mariner transfixing the Wedding Guest with glittering eye. Slithy’s mind in mind parasite attack felt flypaper sticky.”

   The holovid of BrideOf’s epistlevid continued, “Damnit, Slithy, sometimes you do something so monumentally stupid that scale-wise, adjectivally and adverbally, grandcanyon comes to mind. I’m impaled on your manufactured indifference. All the while I’m working on projects for amfap, my brain and heart are in darkest hell because of your horridness. Then, exhausted, yesterday afternoon, my brain just all but gave itself a lobotomy. Darnit, Slithy, I miss you, as the drowning person misses air.”

   “C’mon, BrideOf, Slithy is just having a jerkabout. Think how dull it would be for him without you. I know that your heart within you burns and you feel alone on a wide wide sea. I am glad to be taught by your tale. Slithy’ll just show up feigning nonchalance as if he hadn’t azteked your living heart from your chest. He can be a scumbag. He’ll be back.”
   BrideOf smiled slightly. “Yeah. I’ll dig his rotten eyes out.”   


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parts 1-4 of Balls Bazook
+ amfap .. as much fun as possible;
+ FiFF .. the amfap Fight for Fun campaign; also to fiff, fiffing fiffed, etc.
+ glittering eye etc — pls note the echoes in several places of the Ancient Mariner by Coleridge.
+ I read The Mind Parasites by the wonderful Colin Wilson forty years ago & only recall the dread. Read anything of Colin Wilson's you can find.
+ obsidian, lava turned to the blackest black glassy stone;
+ corazon del diablo .. heart of the devil;
 
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copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
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9 Serpent . Chicchan . East . tzol 163  07.31.06 mon
904 days/2y5m20d left/1391  
ffwofw728.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;
mozart..9.77g  
..
the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..
.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead
………….<^>……………
      

Balls Bazook & the War Thogs .. Odious Attacks of the WereRats

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> Balls Bazook & the War Thogs parts 1-3

 amfap .. the war for fun

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Balls Bazook & the War Thogs .. the Attack of the Odious WereRats, part 1

  Oh the joys of radical genetic engineering. In Place2, the first off-Earth level of shapeshifting density, Balls Bazook was debriefing re his warforplans on Earth.

   Balls was having a balls massage in the new ballsicure machine that had been designed to bring feeling back to the nethers for space jockeys whose balls had been floating in zero-G for so long they had lost sensation. Leeringly, Balls told Fla Mingo, his co-co (pretty much they co’d most things – co-conspiracy, co-racy, co-piracy, co-gent –> co-co) that he’d prefer her not-so-tender aid in his balls restitution. They both chuckled. Ballsbite, the space-floating equiv of frostbite in mountain climbing, really in fact needed the Sonic Ballsisizer, a sophisticated Balls Sucker, to revive sensation in a way that even raw or unvarnished simple or complex sex could not accomplish. It was the deep melodic purring hums through the smooth pearlescent magnetic lotion that relocated the sensitive scrotal molecules back into time1.

   BrideOf Satin was leading the long (not-brief) debrief from the two majestic, triumphant, hitherto completely unsung heroes of subversive warfor, the ultimate terrorism: the war for fun.

 

 The Firstest Amendment: Self-evidently it is trooth that we each & all have the sentient right to as much fun as possible (amfap) consistent with roughly equal sharing of whatever latrine-cleaning tasks have to be accomplished in any given Realm. Awarthogs.¹

 

    The Fight for Fun (FiFF, among the hipnoscenti) was led by the tuffest, cutest, rootiest tootiest war thog they ever hatched: Balls Bazook. Fecund fun, that is the cri de coeur. Hip hip funsaway. Balls was supremely laffable – able to laff. You had to love Balls – he was truly hung. It was hard to know which was bigger, his balls or his heart. Balls Bazook, chieftain of war thogs. 

   Balls said, “The Earth Movie is running over-budget. We’re fouling the locations. Too many droves of extras are actually dying. Karmic insurance will no longer cover this production.”

……

   ¹On Old JeeGoo (Earth) while it was still in the poisoned grip of methreligiosity, one of the extranutter sects (Christinsanity as we recall) used 'Amen' or 'amen' as a signoff from its ever and without exception solemn religio-pronouncements or more often anti-nouncements. Especially Thou damn well shalt not have fun. ‘Men’ being a bygone race of semi-sentients, in our jollier times, we wryishly use drollish anachronisms like awarthogs to laud creatures and states more advanced and farfunnier than ‘men.’

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Balls Bazook & Trazom, part 2

   In his long &/or instantaneous sojourn in space confusing his balls, Balls Bazook dreamt of Trazom, the vaganzany² inclusive kaleidoscopic facetta of Fla Mingo, his consort, his honey whore, his socrates, et otro. He had been stirred and shaken by this encounter. It required the gossamer peripheral vision of the peripheral vision, a subsiding, indeed a surrender, a quintquantum relaxation of effort. He was shocked in his very balls at the experience. Upwelled in him an effervescent fountain throughout & within his cells of a slo-mo shock, like passing through some non-located electroplasmic cloud. The categories of benign & hostile; welcome & distasted, say, were so re-calibrated, so obsidianally fraught with chiaroscuros of humors that the sine waves of frisson were melodies of micro and macro of delightterror he had never raunchily nor ethereally begun to hear before. It was all a matter of fluid foldings, origami but without so many sharp edges. (Cf folding melted chocolate into whipped cream); the inherent became exherent in a coherent ecstasy, generous, ebullient, damned dangerous, parrot-colored glee and pastels of sweetness so diaphanous that he simply laughed like a silvery fish suddenly in a waterfall cascading in all that abun-dance of splash toward a deep pool.

   It was between two eyeblinks that this occurred, no syllable of the beatific, horrific extravagant vocabulary of etre (to be) was slurred – it was quick, sleek, slick as an otter’s dive. As unhurried & unworried as a sleeping cat, a reverential hallowed potential; a raw pagan plethora; any excuse, bold or sly, for concupiscent joy.

     The dynamic was, in an aspect, like a great bolt of cloth in which all the clothes, garments, and costumes inherent became exherent, and the lives lived in them, the dramas played in them became apparent.

     The affinities line up across the multitude of membranes. Flagrantly flamboyant, boisterously buoyant, spider-dainty, cloud-billowy. Trazom was 100% confident, 100% vulnerable. Balls Bazook was not glib for a few days. Tho radically cheerful.

Balls Bazook, Sir Tur Moil, & amfap (as much fun as possible) part 3

   One of the people Balls Bazook recruited for the amfap council was Sir Tur Moil, an asteroid voodooroo. All the asteroid roos were an odd lot when not raving mad. But they appreciated a good joke. Well, it wasn’t formal jokes with  punch lines so much as the underloved irony of the situation that lay there or lurked there.

    There was no infrastructure on most starballs as the asteroids rocks were called in the bangerslang of border space, the peculiar physics and psychics of where k1³ solid matter intervolved with the variable densities and variable chronosities of the suenos4.

    The renegades who dwelt in the asteroid belt tended to be folk who never cleaved to doctrine or might-maintained authority from life to life. Their psychic quarks were quirks.

    As Much Fun As Possible, amfap, amfap, didn’t eschew the standard cheetos & doritos of packaged hydrogenated fun, but specialized in stilton fun, sharp cheddar up the cheese ladder of compelling and demanding taste. Not for the velveeta set. The beer of fun was fine, but the brandy of fun, truffly fun was obsidian irony – which unlike God’s supposed love – remained when things got unbearably bleak.

    Reality is fractal and mosaic – holofractal & holomosaic. Dervish kaleidomosaic pieces flutter like flocks of all different birds in a substrate of randomly moody air. We tell the story with grammar, in a captured, orderly zoo of expression, but it doesn’t happen that way in universe-speak. It happens more jumble and jungle, but most people shriek and freak if you try to display truth to them. They want sentences and paragraphs. Drat.

   Sir Tur, who had carelessly allowed the candle of his otl to be blown out, was a trueblue cognoscente of irony seeing as he had fallen himself into the unspeakably bleak. An otl, a one-true-love, extinguished is a gcubed loss – grim, ghastly, grotesque, and where is up from there? “Sometimes,” she had said, “I have no skin and you must stand between me and the wind.” It wasn’t until she was gone that he realized so starkly so darkly how much light that single candle flame had wrought in sweetness and light, how much it had illuminated in the caverns and dungeons of his mind, what a grace and solace it had been.

   Her specialties had been silliness and patience. She accepted, without dulling, his once-caged rages, however seething, capricious, or ferocious. He didn’t need to deceive her, though he did just to cause random pain. She held it and dispelled it. Nothing tarnished her. God knows he’d tried.

    Fla Mingo slathered Balls’ balls with a cooling minty lotion. He didn’t know the chipotle lotion was next and he rested majestically like a lion. It was a satanically deep pleasure to have his balls lotioned. Fla Mingo wore a soft chartreuse silk shirt and short short pants of a shiny supple leather a dark bright rose color. They talked about the daunting flak these weevils on Earth threw into the psychic atmosphere. A cruel confetti of harsh metal shards – gay marriage, abortion, terrorists. There is no such thing as a free market. There’s the commonly constructed infrastructure. And labor – valued or devalued. Every person’s life time is exactly as valuable to them as yours is to you. Oh Justice, where art thou?  Oh Justice, where art thou?   

 

² derivation OVV (Old Vuravura/Earth): extra-vaganza-ly zany;

³ k1 = the basic old JeeGoo (Earth) solid, steady, persistent density and gravity is the signature of the k1 masterpiece Earth-dream;

4 sueño = the old Spanish word for ‘dreams’ – used in modern times as dreamesque; variable densities;

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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6 Night . Akbal . Hearth . West . tzol 121  06.19.06 mon

946 days/2y7m01d left/1349  

ffwofw1355§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….