The Bible, The Sequel

The Bible, The Sequel

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   Godette and God had been on vacation for 2005 years, 7 months or so. They thought they’d check out things in Earth House, the pretty resort planet they’d done up in a week a few thousand years ago, complete with a pearly moon and all.

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                                                           antwrp gsfc nasa gov

   Godette and God zip along the glistening, kaleidoscopic warp highway in their nifty spacester. Godette loves artdecoesque vehicles. God yawns and stretches. “As much as I enjoy Galaxy WaterSilver, it’ll be good to see a zebra again and cats! I’m still not sure, Godette, that We shoulda completely cut Ourselves off from PsyNet for this vacation. I know We needed a real rest from constant communication. I know,” He added with a Leer, “how nice it was to have centuries long cosmic nights of lusciously disgusting lust without having to answer prayers and sweep up all the sparrows, but, still, I’m a little apprehensive about what the teenage biped species might have gotten up to in Earth House without Our matpat-ernal wise and amusing guidance.”

   Godette sat on His lap, cushioned upon His gigantic Deity Balls. Her Bosoms would have made mountain ranges proud.

   “Oh, Goddy,” She nuzzled into the cavern of His ear in an affectionate tone more fraught with hope than conviction, “They’re good kids. We brought them up to respect their parents and neighbors and to lovingly tend all living things. We left the simple unambiguous directive to ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ That will have kept them safe and sweet. Really, how could they go wrong?”

       With the slightest nuance of seduction, She wriggled Her gigantic Goddess rump into His GodBalls and pursed Her lips contemplatively. They often leavened or effervesced Their Grand Philosophic Discussions with some rollicking rumpypumpy. It is well and meet that They have frequent not to say constant GPDs because the upshots of Their palavers become worlds.

  They loved the origami of concept and material and how it arose and woke and began to choose in a spiral of consequences. Flowers of consciousness. “Not always of conscience,” She fretted. There were blights – even in the Gardens of Godette and God.

   What, Their akashic amanuensis wondered, would They think when They discovered that some blighted Testosterone Cult wrote Godette out, along with all the jokes, of The Bible? The akashic amanuensis feared Wrath. God was very fond of His slapstick routines and of His beguilingly goofy side. And He and Godette were utter partners. He was unlikely to be Pleased.

   The Deitys (Godette+ God Deitys) were taking the back route home. “We should have earthfall around August Eight,” said Godette. “I look forward to all the art + music they must have astonishingly accomplished in raucous and delectable celebration of the glorious and fascinating planet We left them, She crooned with dervish zephyrs of pleasure.

   Wittowin, the akashic amanuensis, winced as she wrote scene I of The Bible, The Sequel. When Godette and God plugged back into the psygrid after the Self-imposed communications blackout of Their several millennia vacation, gee, They probably wouldn’t be too mellow with the mess Their earthchildren had got up to. Did she have enough earthquake and typhoon ink to akashic the coming matpat-ernal tirades?

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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.

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                                              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.   

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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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Z Project .. the unholy grail .. guerilla actions v. Religious Totalitarianisms

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Z Project .. the unholy grail .. guerilla actions v. Religious Totalitarianisms

 

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                                                                                   ealaindraoi

 

from our palaver of evening  tuesday

 

   memo to diGrif re random parameters of Z Project; (life is a run-on sentence, by the way); what are the elements of the Scamliar fortune cookies? How, without being as goldplated a jerk as they, can one stop, unhinge, deflate, penetrate the 2000-year-old juggernaut of Institutionalized, packaged Christianity as this pious platitudinous they-get-to-assail-you and if you jolt-back, they cry foul thing?

   One could probably pretty easily bite their ankles and/or just stab them so they ffffing bleed to death, and that is a Temptation, but the larger point is to icepick or to rapier it so they ‘get it’ and they know that you haven’t eschewed what — dignity? just to get them to Please Ffffing Jesus Shut Up with their tedious arsenically offensive proselytizing. Punch them in the damn nose? stamp on their holier than thou carcasses until they’re jellified?  Satisfying but not the unholy grail we’re looking for.

   Institutionalized Christianity is such a bane on the hyenaic rump of the world’s hope to have fun and build cool stuff and get drunk and think about ffffing that it is the new ‘nigger’ and ‘slant-eye’– the that which cannot be not challenged if you have a shred of decency or gumption.

    It is the schism between Jesus and Christianity that is a rub. Jesus had a few good fortune cookies. One could say, “Yo Jesus (before he was Christed), Love Your Enemy and Turn the Other Tower are rad(ical) & we ought grok them.” Where did it go wrong?

  Paul, the apostle, and his grotesque deal for power. Jesus was (or should have been) all about the meek inheriting the Earth. Not meek as some sort of wimps, but just not greedy and downtrodding. The point is that we are all of inherent equal worth and if you downtrod, you have erred. 

 

   I could countenance the supposed solaces of Religions (about which we can fisticuff) but the crucial zero-sum error of Christianity vs Jesusishness is this Sorry-Nope!!-we must-cry-out exclusivity ordure. I really don’t care so much what ‘spiritual’ clothes people want to sport if it makes them feel nifty as long as I do not have to wear them solemn rags or be burned at the stake or cast into lakes of burning fire or suffer “an eternity of conscious torment.”    “Scamliar, I would rather give my child heroin than Christianity” said with slightest ‘darn’ shrug is a beginning.

 

   Think oh ye gods imagine and grok the luck that you are NOT a Believer. The deeper the horror the horror is the disgusting ‘spiritual’ obedience, the dogism. Even if you kick a dog, it still servilely wags its tail and hopes ingratiatingly placatingly to please. (Fun enough in naughty fantasies, but utter-rotten in one’s raw etheREAL substance which people often miscall ‘spiritual.’ Institutionalized religion is giving over all that is fresh and startling and eccentric and giddy about your experience to some pompous flatulent twits who claim to have the Keys. Doing that to people for power or ermine-trimmed robes terminally sucks and I will not ever have any truck with it.

 

   We need a series of Deflators depending on the nature of the deflatee. If they are the Insinuating Bludgeoners like Scamliar, they deserve the Better Heroin Than Christianity Line, but monotheism, piety, and exclusivity are too boring and terrible to let slide, period.

 

more apace,

 

///

mon amigolobo,

   Z Project, the tidbits — I'm not standing by any of the notes on this Project yet, just hunting & gathering to get the holomosaic glittering angles to eventually end up with 3 fortune cookies for various audiences — the bunker buster bomb/bludgeon; the scalpel; the mild salsa for the old and why bother them too much but they still don't get to say 'nigger,' 'slant,' or 'fat’; //Amount of appropriate hate re Christians who do not speak out against war and the appalling sinful minimum wage?; How many & what degreee of vestiges or contamination(s) could a psychic surgeon allow to remain to fester because an iota of vestige will fester.//

 

Compulsive Religioholics, RA = Religioholics Anonymous;

 

I really need to address the “solace” angle and the slippery slope of that by telling you about Barbara Stockton and The Virgin Mary and about La 'Mama' in Peace Corps training & being glad that she had Jesus, but all these years and lard later concluding that the substance of religious hallucination is simply too damn dangerous, that it is not just a private matter of bizarring one's brain (about which who cares) but it inexorably leads to, supports hideous herd behavior of a level of vicious irrationality such that it is a danger to the general well-being where one has the right not to be trampled by the restrictions or the impositions or the inquisitions of the afflicted.

 

That children are forcibly injected with this religoin (ree-lij-oh-in)(cf heroin)before they are of an age of consent seems ineluctably wicked — like making the kid start smoking Camel straights with its Gerber Strained Pears.

 

   The contact-low from the grim of piety — so sunless, so funless, so absent silly — is a societal vortex gruellingly hard to avoid — One is condemned, pitied, shunned — TPTB (The Powers That Be) want control — what is more dangerous to Their Version of Things than the happyish freeish soul? 

 

   I'm not keen on existential angst as a supposedly morally superior antidote to the bleats of the Sheep. I'm anti-angst, anti-seriousness, whoever is peddling it. Obsidian humor is the only thing I've trusted, but that's a tightrope and yawning chasms under one's feet too far for most folk, a 'spiritual' vertigo. I wish you'd come up with another word than spiritual for this project, 'spiritual' having too bloody much baggage. Perhaps 'strangelove' could contend? A strangelove vertigo. Elan vital (A-lawn vee-tahl) is always swell.


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A quixote of quirk

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                                                 hammer ucla edu daumier

 

A quixote of quirk 

 

coined 4ya, panlobo:

 

a quixote of quirk: the unit of obsidian droll + whimsy required to sustain a comic life.

 

This fell lightningwise from The Blue when I read about the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Hellas, “the amount of information needed to convey a civilization … about a billion bits.”

 

“I can only wish a quixote of quirk to befall you, my erstwhile putative pal.” –Fleet 

  

//

p.133, Scientist in the City, James Trefil

“So the old saying is true. A picture is worth a thousand words – in fact, if a word is worth 36 bits, a picture is worth 222, 222 words. / “Once you understand that every message can be analyzed in terms of its information content, you can apply the idea to all sorts of unexpected things. Human DNA, fro example is the genetic “message” that parents pass on to their children. The genetic code is contained in a sequence of molecules along the double helix of the DNA molecule. Each position can display one of four molecules so each position represents two bits of information. there are 3 billion positions, so the total information content of human DNA is about 6 billion bits—three sets of the Encyclopedia Britannica.

   “People involved in the search for extraterrestrial intelligence (SETI) have thought about the number of bits it would take to convey the content of a civilization. Although we haven’t had much experience carrying out this sort of project between the stars, we have had a good deal of experience communication through time. You could argue, for example, that what we know of ancient Greek civilization is contained in the information in a few hundred books and pictures. SETI people define a unit called the Hellas—the amount of information needed to convey a civilization—to be about a billion bits.” 

//

7-8-06 11:36:42 pm

http://www.daviddarling.info/encyclopedia/H/Hellas.html

Physicist Philip Morrison estimated that what we know about the civilization of ancient Greece amounts to somewhat under 10 billion bits of information – a quantity he therefore suggested be called a “Hellas“. The communication of cultural information between stars, he proposed, can be conveniently discussed in terms of this unit. For example, the amount of information we would need to convey to an extraterrestrial race in order to give a comprehensive picture of our own culture would be on the order of 100 Hellades.

 ….
http://history.nasa.gov/SP-419/s3.1.htm
Although no one can deny the excitement that would accompany a physical visit to another inhabited world, most of the real benefit from such a visit would result from communication alone. Morrison has estimated that all we know about ancient
Greece is less than 1010 bits of information; a quantity he suggests be named the “Hellas.” Our problem therefore is to send to, and to receive from, other cultures not tons of metal but something on the order of 100 Hellades of information. This is a vastly less expensive undertaking.

 

Note: Hellas is also the Greek name for Greece.

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The End of Monstrous Means

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justice  justice

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                           scotconsumer

 

 

The End of Monstrous Means

   I was watching dear CSpan this morning and Ron Suskind of One Percent Doctrine spoke at also dear Politics and Prose Bookstore in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Washington DC. He spoke of the notion fiatted by Darth Dick Cheney, paraphrased, ''if there was even a 1 percent chance of terrorists getting a weapon of mass destruction — and there has been a small probability of such an occurrence for some time — the United States must now act as if it were a certainty'' ‘making suspicion, not evidence, the new threshold for action.’

   This was a horrible but important talk which was chilling9 (cf  Vonnegut’s icenine in which a drop of the stuff turns everything to ice). However the piece that I want to remark upon is the notion Suskind brought up near the end of his talk. He mentioned that George Kennan of the Marshall Plan and of Cold War ‘containment,’ wrote that if we wanted to “preserve a moral departure point,” we could not allow the means, however noble the ends, of ‘more Dresdens.’

   I’ve been haunted not only by Dresden, a firebombing in which some 40,000 civilians were incinerated, but by the hideous firebombings and firestorms of the great wooden cities of Japan before Hiroshima (150,000 civilians dead) and Nagasaki (80,000 civilians dead).

“On March 10 1945, the US abandoned the last rules of warfare against civilians when 334 B-29's dropped close to half a million incendiary bombs on sleeping Tokyo.  
  “The aim was to cause maximum carnage in an overcrowded city of flimsy wooden buildings; an estimated 100,000 people were 'scorched, boiled and baked to death,' in the words of the attack's architect, General Curtis LeMay. It was then the single largest mass killing of World War II, dwarfing even the destruction of the German city of Dresden on Feb. 13, 1945.  . . . Even the city's rivers were no escape from the firestorm: the jellied petroleum that filled the bombs, a prototype of the napalm that laid waste to much of Vietnam two decades later, stuck to everything and turned water into fire. … ‘Canals boiled, metal melted, and buildings and human beings burst spontaneously into flames,’ wrote John Dower in War Without Mercy. People who dived into rivers and canals for relief were boiled to death in the intense heat. . . . The bombing incinerated over 15 kilometers of central Tokyo, left over a million homeless and opened the curtain on an orgy of destruction in the final months of the Pacific War that included dozens of similar raids on Japanese cities and culminated in the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August. When the droning of bombers finally stopped on August 15, 1945, nearly 70 cities had been reduced to rubble and well over half a million people, mostly civilians, were dead. LeMay reportedly said: “If we had lost the war, we would have been tried as war criminals.”  [David McNeill, Japan Focus.] 66 other Japanese wooden cities the size of Houston and Baltimore and Chattanooga and Chicago were firestormed.

     Anyhow, the idea that will make us human as last is the grokking that you can not separate ends and means. Mr. Suskind mention a phrase from the Hebrew Bible: “Justice. Justice. This you must pursue.” One justice for the ends. One justice for the means. Suskind continued, “If you forget about the conflict of ends and means, you’ve missed it.”

  In their no doubt zealous desire to “protect the American people,” our leaders have spent the precious reputation of a country which tries to be better. (Now this is an illusion. I was certainly never taught in school here in USA about the M69 napalm firestorms in 67 of Japan’s wood, straw and paper cities.) How ever faux, the world saw us as somehow trying to be just. Now our Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib and our general hysteria and grotesque hubris have made us distrusted and disgusting. It’s all about means and ends. Your ends can not be nobler than your means were. Amnesia and/or rationalization can blur the memory, but we must fight for means that, if not, forlornly, serene, are at least not vile.

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

946 days/2y7m01d left/1349  

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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nazi-lite: frog-in-cold-water totalitarianism

nazi-lite: frog-in-cold-water totalitarianism

image

 

The yawning MSM silence about RFK Jr's comprehensive June 15 Stolen Votes article in RollingStone made me yet more head-banging-against-so-many-walls aware that we are in the frog-in-cold-water rise of totalitarianism in USofA.

This was a Paul Revere article — alarums should have been raised all over the country in editorials. Yet the gigantic HoHum prevailed in such a multitude that this anti-evidence of keeping us down on the farm cowed and sheeped makes me weep as I watch freedom slosh not even noisily down the drain. Oh woe is we.

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

There's openvotingconsortium, a high level computer gigageek and concerned citizens group which is fighting for open source code for computer voting that keeps me from thinking All Is Lost.  

 

ps. For those unfamiliar with the Poor Frog in Cold Water: if you throw a frog into boiling water, it will leap out in the searing horror of the offense to its living system. However, if you put a frog into cold water and slowly and steadily raise the heat, the Poor Frog will end up cooked with out much wiggling.


So here we are in nazi-lite, a  totalitarianism of executive aggrandizement and liberties being disappeared or diluted in the almighty (ahem) name of 'security.' Caveat citizen. 

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MSM = main stream media

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10 Jaguar . Ix . Ocelot . Panther . North . tzolkin 112  06.10.06 sat

955 days/2y7m10d left  

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..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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We Coulda Had Gore

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I wrote this note in Comment on a post by Nora Ephron on Huff Post.

We Coulda Had Gore .. Eighteen-letter words

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I used to use a variety of expletives along the way in my life, most of which, except for Balderdash! are recognizable to the profane-sailor crowd. But since 2000, I often wake up in the middle of the Bush-et-Ilk nightmare-ridden night hearing myself cursing at full the-horror the-horror yell, scaring the cats and waking the neighbors, that  eighteen letter word, “FloridaNaderVoters!!” as if the sky were falling.

 

Well, the sky is fallen, & I can't forgive the self-indulgent ignorance of the FNVs, the Florida Nader Voters — HOW could you be SO STUPID, all 90,000 of you?? If only a thousand of you had woken up that day with a supple brain. “'All the same' are they? Really? Do you still think that?”

 

And after the 'election' in 2004? I now rent a rubber room for weekends so when I'm not blindly feeding the best years of my life into the slavering corporate maw during the long crepuscular cheneylurks week, I can bang my head against the wall with less injury because I ain't got healthcare to cover major concussion.

 

9/11 sucked. It killed 3000 people. It was not a national threat requiring the [re-]election of George Bush. 465,000 people a year die in our USofA of tobacco causes — let's bust the Philip Morris bunker, get Morris' 18.13 million-dollar-annual-compensation CEO Lou bin Camilleri dead or alive, put a Green Zone in Winston-Salem, and occupy North Carolina if we really want to “protect the American people.”

 

We are not serious or smart people, we USofAians. We flaunt ignorance as if it were evidence of more-balls, the sine qua none. We vote with our adolescent hearts rather than our adult heads. We want the kind of romance that Hallmark sells. 

 

If our own state is a lock this Fall, we can write letters to out-of-state  on-the-cusp voters in crucial districts through mmob (Mainstreet Moms) and phone out of state with mmob or moveon. (I just say that 'My vote in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />California doesn't mean anything — you're voting for me too.')

 

The eloquent elegant wistful wail is not enough. I beg us to DO something besides bitterly bemoan — though bitterly bemoaning cannot be overdone, lest we forget 'the inconvenient consequences.'

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11 Wind . Ik . Whirlwind . North . tzol 100  05.29.06 mon

967 days/2y7m22d left  

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..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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The Power of Lucid, Active Dreaming

The Power of Lucid, Active Dreaming

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05.18.06

Dear Dreamers.

   An update on the Janie/Johnny DreamSeed Project. (In the first Fort Mason Gate piece of March 21, I outlined the idea of upping the active-ante of openly promoting lucid/active dreaming while carrying my Dream Peace sign and otherwise being out & about.) Here’s what I’ve gleaned so far. [Bringing up dreams to strangers; Prejudice against dreams; Dreams for the disabled; Ted Kennedy & training dream engineers; Your night at school; new handout card.]

 

   First, in just this short time, bringing up dreaming has become a much more comfortable part of my ‘casual’ patter with strangers. “I’m doing a lot more to remember my dreams these days. How about you? My favorite remembering trick is to give the dream a quick title, nothing fancy, not literature, just a quick descriptive phrase like ‘Pile of Dirty Socks.’” HaHa. A laugh always helps.

   If I get a chance, I send them to mossdreams & say, “Try any of the books.” I hand them the Power of Dreaming card as often as I can.

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   There are other tidbits to share with you. There keeps coming up an undercurrent of unconscious prejudice against ‘dreams’ as having a connotation of ‘pie in the sky.’ I’m now prepared for this & go straight for dreams, in addition to being amazing fun, as being a powerful resource. I changed the title of my handout card to say ‘The Power of Lucid, Active Dreaming.’ I say something like (as if conspiratorially sharing), “Of course Albert Einstein got the theory of relativity in active visioning and Mozart says he found his symphonies ‘whole in lively dreams.’ And when I can use a few sentences about Harriet Tubman, “Did you know that Harriet Tubman guided all her folks on the Underground Railroad away from the overseers and dogs through her ability to lucid dream? I was never taught that in school. Were you?”

 

    I was talking to a client who is a nurse about the idea of getting nurses in hospitals & nursing homes to introduce dreaming/visioning to their transitioning patients. She said she didn’t see many people who were about to die anymore. Then a flash came to me about how dear & excellent it would be if people who were physically disabled (cerebral palsy; war-maimed; etc etc) could be taught to dream – what a vacation, a relief, and a power of study and fun and exploration it could be. How ameliorating. I remember years ago paralyzed Chris Reeve saying that he still rode and sailed in his dreams.

    Obviously one would need to be alert to keeping both parts of their lives in balance.

    Having been financially poor and in mind/heart with so great a good fortune of many mansions, an absurd abundance of poetic riches, I realize how dream travel has kept me from any envy or enervating longing. I have never felt ‘stuck’ as I see so many people. The same thing could happen for people in wheelchairs.

    After the nurse’s kid graduates from high school in a month, she and I are going to meet to talk more about including nurses in dreamseeding.

 

   I saw Ted Kennedy on Larry King talking about <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />China graduating 750,000 engineers and India 350,000 engineers, and America only 75,000 engineers. He spoke of his concern about our nation’s future. I got a flash that what we also need is to start training & graduating tens of thousands of dream engineers every year in the USA. That as we have ambassadors to Switzerland & England, we need ambassadors to the DreamLands.

    One of my most popular lines so far is “With my fabulous & lucky education, no one ever even once asked me, ‘How was your night at school.’ They look curious. “I bet you ask your kid every day, ‘How was your day at school.’ One of the most important things for your kid’s future would be to add dream resources to their life. Every morning ask, ‘How was your night at school.’”

 

    I’ve distilled my quik handout card even more for the Lightning DreamWork with the mnemonic device for remembering the steps & taking folks right to the webpage with that article. Note that I also made a quik list of the steps themselves.

 

 

The Power of Lucid, Active Dreaming

try Dreaming True by Robert Moss

http://www.mossdreams.com/lightning.htm

Lightning DreamWork mnemonic:

Two Ducks Suddenly Quack 3 Times; Four Red

Cavorting Kangaroos Ingest A Banana Split

title; dream story; 3 questions: feelings? reality

check? what want to know? if my dream; action;

bumper sticker;   email: pogblog@yahoo.com

my blog=http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

Click on Dreams in Category column on Right

 

 

Anyhow, cheers. I’d love any tips or feedback on how it’s going with you in the spreading the word about lucid/active dreaming.

 

Carpe dreams,

 

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13 Monkey . Chuen . Raccoon . West . tzol 89  05.18.06 thur

978 days/2y8m02d left  

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..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

………….<^>…………

Karl Rove: a cur sans coeur

Karl Rove: a cur sans coeur

image

 
If bless-ed Jason is right, we'll get a mental reprieve — if Senor Sadist(“I don't just want to defeat you, I want to ruin you, pluck all the feathers from your better angels' wings, one by naked & raw one”) gets the frog march.
 
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the frogmarching of Karl Rove ..
 
Oh Pleas upon pleas, Fat E, let us have this one. Karlie's pudgie rump in jail is a Fine Idea. Death no, humiliation yes.
 
It took brain tumors to bring Lee Atwater, Karlie's guru of grueling, to beg for mercy at the end, & LeeBoy was a midget to Karlie's monster. Atwater was a rotter, but not a oialt (once in a lifetime) sadist. May be in the jail, Karlie could wish for fairer play. Atwater blubberingly begged for forgiveness from his victims at the end (Don't we all?), but it didn't save him (Does it ever?).
  
Still, listening to some blubber from Karlie would salve if not solve the reign of pain. A cur sans coeur.  
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Jason Leopold Friday May 12
Jason on Saturday  May 13
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frog march image, google images, apfn.org
oily rove image, google images, nrk.no,img,500183.jpeg 

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'sans' means 'without' in French;

'coeur' means 'heart' in French & is pronounced 'cur' —

cur sans coeur was a phrase meant to be for Mr. Rove — i am proud to have coined it. 

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8 Death . Cimi . Twins . North . tzol 84  05.13.05 sat

983 days/2y8m07d left .. full moon

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..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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