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diff --git a/veryold/very old writings/sil chronicles/book one sez i.txt b/veryold/very old writings/sil chronicles/book one sez i.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e91b374 --- /dev/null +++ b/veryold/very old writings/sil chronicles/book one sez i.txt @@ -0,0 +1,419 @@ +In the beginning +there was the word + + + +<<<<<<<<<begin transmission ghf8672y101003:35:10 PM03⌘ 03 031xZDFß∂ƒ©˙¥®´∑¨^øøπππ“π“∫∫~∫∫Ω≈ç√∫~µ≤≥÷⌘12430315 0315 + +\ + +03:35:10 PM101 + +03:35:10 PM03 + +åß∂ƒ©˙∆˚¬…æ + œ∑´®†¥¨^øπ“´®†¨¨¥ø^¨^ø¨^¡¡¡£™¢∞§¶¶•ªºº––åß∂ƒ©©©©©©˙∆©˙∆∆˚¬˚¬…æ¬ +æΩ≈ç≈√∫~µ≤≥÷-Oct 03, 2015«« ` ¡™£¢∞§¶•ªº–≠123235⌘031515 10 10 +1031tyiyiu + + +ƒ¥†∆†^˙˚∆^¥¥†∆˙ƒ˙©©∆˙˙˙˙ƒƒƒ©©©©©©©©∞§§¶•ª•ªª§∞§∞¢£¢£∞¶§¶∞¶§∞¶§∞¶§§¥†ƒ©∆˙©ƒ∆¥ƒ∂˙©√µ∆~√©ƒ≈߃∂≈Ω˙©∆˙熃∂ߥ®ƒ√˚∆©¨¥†ƒ∂ \03:35:10 PM +1515 +151515 ©ƒ†ƒ˙©¥¥©¨ƒ∆ÁËÂËÁÊÌÁÔÓÔÓÌÁËÁÁÊË„ÎÏ◊ıÙÇ ÓÔ‰ÊÏÁËÈض§•ª–º–≠§Ê¶Á•ÔÈØ +103 +, +1/,68487654321>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> +Fragments of Ash falling. +White washed ceilings hanging so ominous +Hallucination of bubble-headed figures +crawling like the Michelin Man +across an indescribable mountain of tires +Motels Motels Motels +Whiskey Bourbon. +Tow truck +non-ordinary state of reality +precludes a state of reality +that something is real Point at +the autistic manwomanchild +Autistic man pointing at you +laughing unable to fathom how your brain +functions and quite self righteously +you you cling to its definitions. +Must delineate between abnormality +and those of us who Understand +The Human Virus breeding +like rats unconsciously conscious and aware +of our disorganization. +Gas Station Cold Fusion dreams +of the Anarchist are breeding +in the minds of the oil men +who don’t want to +loose their stranglehold of reality. +Fragments of Ash falling +the continual settling of dust +weighing down humanity and the +French Maid masturbates discreetly in +the next room. You need her +to keep the dust off your mortal +coil spring. +Rebirth mythology. +Mythology of reality. We must +distinguish between what will be defined as +sane and what shall be referred to +as insanity. Kevlar definitions +constructed to make a better shampoo +seem like a logical item on which +to squander your paperbacked slavery bills. +After all these years Tide still +gets your socks whiter +Its a wonder +that they aren’t transparent by now. +that your brain retarded +in its development +that evolution had not +anticipated the advent +of the opposable thumb the unopposable +domination of the thumb leading +to and insect superiority of mating +rituals stolen from a textbook +on damselflies darning needles +sewing shut your lips, mind atrophy. +Weber's White Race Enriched for Superiority +Scorched earth campaigns raining Ash. +Shit from the sky. Tax man came +for your baby in exchange for unpaid balance. +You understand. Nothing Personal +Just doing our job. Same as the +next guy. From Auzwich on down the +line. Didn’t make the rules. Sorry. +We perfected them. +There are no innocents in a world of +free will. You don’t have to survive +at the expense of others. You could +die with puncture wounds in your hands +and others would create a new mythology +strange irony would find another with holes +in his hands unwilling to accept +cockroach mentalities. +You want to beLIEve Hitler +was a madman but he lives on in quiet +cafes centralsouthamerica not so free +not all the communists have been shot yet +Your mistook misunderstood missed +the lesson in the situation that unfolded +Dr. of dialectic excuses you want +to beLIEve Hitler was a madman +Hitler killed everybody's body +only taking orders you understand +just doing my job from Independence +on down the line. +It was a sad money grubbing hunter +gather up his children and thank +his gods they are his and he their god +behold I have come to tell you that +everything you know is wrong +stop doing you job its not yours +see Hitler in your mind you want him dead +but he's not he liveson +buried under restraint in everyones mind. +Only taking orders you understand. Didn’t have +a CHOICE. Got a family to feed. +radio crackle. pop. hiss. +silence. +<<<<<<<<<<<END TRANSMISSION>>>>>>>>> + + The preceeding was dictated and broadcast on intercellular radio frequencies by the ostriches. It came on the eleven hour of the terrestrial scale. It appears to be encoded in DNA as at threat check and broadcast as a record of what it was all about, intergalactic agencies monitoring in the area recieved it and passed it along to the CCCC wherein it was decided that the matter should be investigated. + + Sil Hawkard always wanted to be. Which differentiated him from the bulk of the people alive on the third planet who wanted to be something. This semantic anomaly was epidemic in nineteen ninety nine, but Sil was beyond it; lying around in his floating palace off the coast of the piracy haven of Mandalay. Mandalay is in the South Pacific Seas three hundred miles Northeast of Australia. Originally settled by rich expatriot Americans whose money came from dubious endevors Mandalay evolved over the years into a Freeport city-state with no government and swift and highly effective way of dealing with murder --the only crime. Mandalay was warm in September and every afternoon the storms would roll in the thunderheads and rain wouldn't fall so much as materialize right out of the air. The extreme humidity made one --not sticky like those in humid temperate zones are accustomed to-- downright wet. Life went on in the rain with the exception of clothes as few people wore them around Mandalay; that was one of side effects of the Freeport's origins in sensual based anarchy which -like the word istelf- began with a letter... + Sil is sitting much like he does every afternoon, on a bambo chair smoking petroleum. Petroleum was in fact ultimately one of the things that had led Sil here. +Actually to fair petroleum was a rather inaccurate name for what Sil was smoking. It was rather a carbon based opiate smoke made by trapping the opiates in a petroleum vapor and then condensing the vapor into a liquid which was in turn mixed with pure hash oil and boiled through alcohol leaving behind a sticky, oily, candy-goo hence the name. The black substance was roughly the consistancy of petroleum jelly and it would burn (with flames like tiki torch) for hours slowly releasing together the THC and the densely packed opiates. The flames would down over time the jelly itself turn into a glowing coal, the heat from which release more of the pyschoactive chemicals than any other method of injestion. The process was remarkable in that it didn't matter how good of a starting point drug you had because you could alway cookin more --itturned ugly grey heroin dirty mexican pot into the finest high imaginable. Needless to say the product was um profitable so long as one avoided the normal channels of distribution it was this rather shaky profession combined with a book recounting the adventures of an anarchist named Captain Mission that had led Sil to establish he own Freeport. + Sil hits the huca again and feels his face going numb his head slumps down until his chin is nearly on his chest, he snaps his fingers twice. Two Arab dancers appear and began to dance crooked, spinning patterns mastered over centuries of hypnotic oppression (which the cockroaches of skid row motels had only recently begun to learn) which gave it power in its freedom more power than things born free. Oppression is a drug; it acts equally, though differently, on the oppressed and the oppressor alike the oppressed gain a more acute vision of the things in life that can not be controlled. + All things must remain at equilibrium or fall into decay, this is a law of physics, and it is true of all systems mathematical --however if one considers spiritual and emotional systems one must take into account negative entropy. The negative entropy of opression is such that as the oppressor gains more control the opressed gains more as well and as chaos theory teaches the repition of varibles in different systems leds to massive oscilations in output. What makes the oppressor stronger in the common fabric of reality only pushes the +oppressed into areas outside of the common fabric of reality until eventually the oppressed simply leave. + The crooked dance is hypnotic to watch and all consuming to perform. In India they teach it to snakes, and in the sewers of America cockroaches feasting on the radioactive waste have begun to learn it on their own. Like terrible creatures from a Kafkian nightmare they sit quietly underground, as we go about our lives, learning the dance passing it on to their children and teaching them how to use it as an evolutionary tool --for all systems are also trying to succeed one another. One day a properly evolved cockroach will crawl out of a sewer drain just as the head of state is stepping to the podium to address the nation. He will devour the president raw as the live camera crews feed man's downfall to a nation of viewers even as it happens. The blood soaked cameramen will never stop filming and the cockroach will scurry to the podium, strain himself to an upright position and address the nation...Behold I am. He will dance and spin and all will be entranced. Women will castrate men and men will bludgeon themselves to death with pickaxes until they are suitable for cockroach consumption and life will continue on much as it always has. The system is independent of its elements, humans are not necessary, cockroaches would uphold the system just as well. Sil falls into a profound haze of self-absorption. The boys continued to dance trance-like as the numbers explode at the edges of his vision. + Sil's story is a rather long and convoluted one and subject to enhancement on his own part, because that was one of Mandalay's charms, no one cared who you used to be but who you are. Sil had not made the mistake of trying to hold power over others rather he used it to make himself more powerful + . At the age of twenty one Sil Hawkard discovered that while he vaguely enjoyed torturing the professors at Columbia university, most people in the United States are squares, and Sil, already an avowed anarchist was weary of the materialists whom he felt lacked the imagination and understand to really get the it --so to speak. So he dropped out +for a semester and bummed his way around the United States. In the middle of the Utah desert one night in July he ingested a rather large quantity of psylicilim in the form of mushrooms. He also met someone but that is not important just yet. The Quantum Reality convergance that Sil felt during the experience was rather hard to forget and it prompted him to extend his dropped out face for a few more years. One other rather peculiar thing happened to Sil on the mushrooms. A bouncing humanoid of eary homo ercuts origins told him that the rosetta stone of the word was in safe hands with the ostriches. + +And the word was with god + + Sil arrived in Africa in nineteen ninety-three to find a talking ostrich; instead he found cryptotechnology --or it found him if you work from a Jungian perspective. He arrived in Angola aboard The Decatur a British cargo ship bringing in weapons to fund a counter insurgency movement to a government disinformation lope which the west was hoping would topple the rather lax disinformation system in power --a government that welcomed technological refugees with open arms. Angola had become a haven for code writers who were not willing to dumb themselves down to the technology standards of the United States and its allies. Sil was a code breaker so to speak. He wasn't interested in simple binary code breaking and writing he was interested in finding the rest of the characters which would form the semantic code to language, but the technology for undertaking such an endeavor was in Angola. He asked around for all of two days when he was approached to take a package back to the United States in exchange for ten thousand dollars and a plane ticket anywhere in the world. Naturally at the end of his funds and having no chance at a grant, he accepted. Two months later, after delivering a package to a man named William in Rhode Island, he made his way Tunisia where an ostrich (Sil was already having regular transmissions with the ostrich intercellular radio) had told him to find a man named Cary Downs. Downs was an eccentric billionaire obsessed with the +occult and interstellar transmission of pure information; Sil was told that he had been looking for someone in Sil's area of expertise In this spacetime point most people thought Cary Downs owned an oil empire, but really it was the floating cities of geodesic domes attached to the oil derricks that people talked about. But Sil didn't know anything about the oil he just wanted a job at Downs' bar in the floating city-state, and the rent-free fully adjustable two-bedroom geodesic dome that had been offer to him over a casual phone call from New York. + Sil, like the rest of you, desperately wanted to understand what the hell was going on , and as most people realize in some vague sense that while no one knows what the hell is really going on there are nonetheless those who believe that they do and are willing to destroy anyone who dares to invade their sacred planes of understanding. Most of them at this time were concentrated in the united States where they made good and sure to track what everyone was doing and saying and thinking and feeling. They have devised extremely elaborate game-playing circuits with uniquely complex languages like legelese and mathmatics and only those who speak them can acquire power and get stuff, and they have created strange loop disinformation systems to keep the knowledge from spreading. They say that such information is classified and can only be know by them; they say you don't understand the big picture, the interests of the nation, for our collective safety, to protect those still living --so that they can hide from their crimes against human souls the scorched atomic earth it getting used up like gutter whore and they are going to leave you here and head into space and you are going to try to stop them which is exactly what they need you to do. oddy within the disinformation loops they are themselves bounded as well and must work inside the verbal fences of currency and truth and the American way. They have even created an elaborate mythology to support the system wherein the truth is always shown as lying in the hands of the few and the many are stuck to live out normal lives while they them selves are extrodinary and important. The History fiction principle is not widely understood outside of the contol elite loops. + It wasn't that Sil wanted to illuminate the world or anything he knew that was a fiction as well he merely wanted to left in peace and he would accord others the same respect. On meeting Downs in person and looking into his eyes he saw the recognicion of these ideas he saw someone who had decoded the gaming and was ready to move on. He saw a man to whom power and wealth were as irrelevant as Nobel Peace prizes. Downs was of medium height and had a rather slight build with a effortless way of walking across a room which most people were immediately put at ease by; after a short introduction a hashish pipe was produce and the two relaxed and spoke at length. + "There is some thing you should understand before you decide you want to stay here," Downs began. "This structure is a living laboratory and there is no hierarchical structure that dictates what you should do. You are free. You may do or not do anything you wish, but you may not tell others what they can and can't do, no matter how much you find them annoying backward or incomprehensible. You will find that even the most ignorant," his tone condescended the word, "mindsets become quite enlightening in this environment. There is a rather large library at your disposal and gourmet chefs will prepare most anything you want. You do not need currency to get anything you want here, but you do need excellent signal reception and frequency adapters in order to keep from losing your semantic grasp on spacetime while you're catapulted into spacetimemind." Downs lit the hash cigertte and passed back to Sil, "in order to expand the potential of the human brain I built this city and I have tried the gather all the possible maps of the human brain together into one place and see what they had to gain from each other. just because it might prove interesting, " Downs paused and smiled at Sil, "and I like you which is not true of everyone here." + Sil moved in to a dome apartment furnish in luxurious tapestries and artifacts that ranged from cuneiform texts to what appeared to be scrolls of Tibetan text. There was a couch of warm dark orange velvet and piles of pillows with scenes from the Tibet Book of the Dead and the Kama Sutra. The mixture of oriental and occidental gave the room a +circular feeling, which was reinforced by the spherical walls and roof. Sil's head felt heavy and he laid down in the pile pillows and felt the room spin drunkenly. Don't worry the spinning will fade, your brain is conditioned to judge perspective on three dimension planes. Taking away the planer walls it is used too causes distress and disorientation, but it will eventually go away as your brain maps out the new system and eventually you will forget that you live in a circle. + Cary Downs' flotilla as he liked to call it consisted of seventy-two people, ranging from ethnobotanists to a fundamentalist Baptist preacher. All the flotilla's food was grown in to large greenhouses or caught in the waters around it; meat was flown in every week by helicopter although only a few people ate it as meat was generally considered by the scientists as an inefficient means of nursing the human body. It had been proposed by one of them named William that the body was but one part of the human existence and the appetite and random whims of taste should not be ignored in some ascetic quest that blinded us in sterile orwellian futurenightmares as he had put it. There was also a bar and smoking lounge, which was Sil's contribution to the system --as the residents referred to it. It was a closed system (save the imported meat and alcohol). Three additional greenhouses grew THC enhanced marijuana of a strain called alamant which was processed into hash and given out in bulk to the inhabitants. Also grown were peyote plants, poppies, coca plants, tobacco plants, close to twenty varieties of hallucinogenic mushrooms including the Kuri-coo, and several other mind altering herbs and medicines that Sil had never heard of. +The inward curvature of the walls gave Sil the impression that the room was collapsing back in on itself, the disorientation and the intensity of hash rendered Sil immobile for three days which Cary assured him was normal. He furthur suggested that Sil not restrain himself on the drugs, but realize their potential incompatibilities after all he said everything you ever wanted is here no one is judging you and no one is threatening you so you'd be fool not to let go for once in your life then we'll initiate you into our program . So Sil spent close to three months usually alone (although he sometimes experiemented with the +exotically beautiful tantric sex guides) playing with the nuero chemical circuitry of his brain. + +EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS WRONG +EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS RIGHT +EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS A MAYBE +EVERTHING YOU KNOW IS MEANINGLESS +-from A Game-Circuit Guidebook by Maya Stevens + + Sil found himself in a spacetime point called Tucker. Discipline is an agent's greatest virtue, thinks Agent Tucker to himself as he draws a long and satisfying hit off the oxygen tube. Behind him Doris Day and her Waxing Loquacious Lesbians play a sultry 60's motown number on a dimly lit stage, and the general atmosphere of the bar takes on a surreal quality. The walls seemed to breath as if threatening to go ahead and speak. bars are excellant places for observing the least attractive maps of humanity the best you can hope for is one where the possibilities remain endless regardless of the irrefutable realities. Agent Tucker is well aware of the realities, but his mind is only now beginning to sense the infinite set of possibilities that comes with every new reality. Occasionally he suffers from what he calls voices, other people getting in his head through warped words written words, sometimes they tell him things he believes as evil and other times they mindlessly hum product jingles from the seventies. But Tucker has no self-pity, he considers self-pity to be a symptom mental illness (more so then hearing voices nevertheless he is smart enough not to mention the voices to anyone) because it requires the ego to be divided into pitier and pitied. He likes his ego together as one in harmony he is quite proud of this justification and it helps to ease his innate sense of anxiety at the idea that thoughts not originating from his own mind can work their way in regardless. Tucker is an Agent of the State. The State is not to be confused with the government as many of you would assume. On the contrary the government is but an instrument of the State, the State is a separate entity whose ultimate identity is unknown even to Tucker; he is but an agent of it charged with ceasing +the drug trade. He has for months now been stalking the elusive Sil Hawkard, a man whose face is unknown to him, he realizes that Hawkard could well be in this very room right now planning Tucker's demise, the thought sends a cold shiver of fear down his spine and he cringes thinking again like a manta: discipline is an agent’s greatest virtue. + A man near Tucker but thankfully behind him is rather drunckenly slurring something akin to scientists have feelings too you know. Tucker thinks to himself that the scientists on television always seem rather cold at their little press gatherings where they sollomly talk about finding new galaxies and what not if it were me i'd be jumping up and down fuckin yelling and carrying on, they must are incredibly logical cold people. + The TuckerSil coordinate thinks of butting in to the conversation to give them a piece of his mind, but then he decides the attractive blond to his right would be more interesting and could lead to sex, but after a few failed attempts he overhears the cruel whisper that guy is bugging me ,you want to go over to a booth? Half shocked half hurt the Tucker gets up to leave; standing at the urinal on his way out he is shocked to find a poem scrawled on the wall + So old the place was, I remember none + The like upon the earth: what I had seen + Of grey cathedrals, buttressed walls, rent towers, + The superannuations of sunk realms, + Or nature's rocks toiled hard in waves and winds, + Seemed but the faulture of decrepit things + To that eternal doomed monument. +What a very curious bar he thinks to himself getting into his car. Those people must be intellectuals he thinks morosely I never understand what everyone is talking about. I am stupid he is thinking as he drives away, at least the voices are gone. + + Sil is smiling to himself and lighting a cigarette. At another point in the fabric of reality Sil is feeling a primordial yearning to devour raw flesh and roll in a room of naked women. You are at a club wearing skintight black vinyl pants and a black tank top with no bra, your nipples are hard and everyone can see them through your shirt. You're dancing with a black haired girl also wearing tight black clothing, sitting at the back watching from a distance. Your pussy clenches and sends tremors through your body every time the girl brushes against your skin, she teases you dragging her finger along your arm, and as the music stops she grabs you by the hand and leads you two a corner booth where two more women are locked in delisious animal fire; locked naked and sitting upright they grind pussies together, shuddering mouth to mouth, breast to breast legs entwined.... + + Sil along with the rest of the residents in the police state he used to call home, hates cops....I fucking hate 'em. I hate 'em. I hate 'em. I hate 'em. I want to kill them all in a violent sea of time-released explosive donuts that when eaten mix with the stomach acids and explode in violent blueberrystrawberrylemon filled death he fanicizes. Die pig die. Imagine it, a million sworn upholders of THE LAW dead in an instant. Think of the society we could have. Think of the freedom, think of the beauty. The sweet satisfaction of tearing down all the rotting pig gut filled doughnut shops in the nation. No more sweaty palms. "License and registration please." Fuck you, never again. Never again. kill every cop you see --a populist revolt. We don't need all these damn laws, the people are okay --we know how to look after ourselves. The laws are the ones that fucked everything up the first place. And who hurts the most people in this here little world? The State. A cattle car streaming over the tracks of life, slick with the blood of the people. The train can't go up the hill because the tracks are too slippery with my guts your guts our guts. Cut off by THE LAW, our heads impaled on the ends of the its tentacle-like arms as they strangling the last hold outs of resistance into pacified stupidity. + The anger subsided and Sil found himself dialing a number he didn't know he picks up the phone --the other end never rings, instead a voice says: "hello?" + "May I speak to Captain Clark please?" + "I'm sorry he's not in. May I take a message?" + "No. No message." Sil hangs up the phone. He walks to the back of the room and flops his body onto the luxurious pillows and is swept by an overwhelming sensation of peace; his mind begin to expand, and he feels the desire for more consciousness --the death of us all, Sil thinks idly to himself as he lights a pipe and sucks in a deep inhalation of opium and hash. The sticky sweet smoke that fills his lungs brings forth tape loops and strange loops of static memories. Twisting and turning their way through the circuitry until: Anarchy is the only answer to all questions which begin with why? whY? wHY? WHY? Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law --future memories of books he hasn't read yet. In distant memory filtering strands of DNA locked deep in Sil's cerebral cortex a vibration begins, infinitely small at first but building slowly into his medulla and finally spring forth into the part of the brain referred to as consciousness. The cameras rolled even as the lights were dimming. +"BRING THE PRISONER FORWARD" + Unrolling a weighty and sterile looking scroll of antiseptically white paper a voice whose origin is masked by the size of the paper itself reads: + After making reviews of the past actions, thoughts, and attributed sentiments, it is the judgement of this committee, and therefore the judgment of the government it represents, that due to a general lack of ability to perceive the options open to the work potential of the drone in question in simple terms of an x or not-x negativism which would be most helpful in these situations and would consequently decrease expenditures and lower taxes for other individuals living in said dualism and therefore we hereby decree that all metaprogramming undertaken by the individual without the consent and simultaneous approval of this committee and the government it represents to be criminal in intent, hostile +in action, and punishable by prison and/or death upon conception. Thank you. You may go. + Sil Hawkard finds himself dragged from the tribunal; hands tied in front of him and legs trailing uselessly behind. His guards use his head to open the heavy wooden door and then they dump him unceremoniously onto the filthy street where a group of children are playing. A monkey runs by, tugging its penis with one hand and slapping its bright red ass with the other. + Eventually broadcast is deemed irrelevant given overwhelming incoming signal that sweeps across all frequencies, visual, audio, chemical, and physical. There are five senses, sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell, and only four signal sources; both smell and taste are chemical reactions with tissue that are then turned into different chemical reactions in the brain. Sil tried at first to kill the reception entirely, but this proved a bit to radical of a step so he worked in phases first chemical manipulations of brainwaves --what the simians referred to as drugs Downs used to say. + + Teletype for Corsica the agent sent in for returns, Home office denied request for reinforcements, all communication to be ceased henceforth. Piss in the riddle thought the old man wheeling his chair back out to the porch, he picked up a Mason jar of corn whiskey and laid the shotgun across his lap. + The languid afternoon floated in and up the beach from the Atlantic bringing photomontages of Mandalay and the Dutch East Indies spice trade boats, far off places he had heard of only as words and imagined smells. Up the beach from the house were the beginnings of the rocky South Carolina shoreline teeming with crabs, sponges, sea anemones, and circle swooping gulls feeding on sand crabs exposed in the fluctuating waves. It was low tide, in fact it was always low tide or at least it seemed that way to the old man. He was partly right, the tide was lower than it had been a year before when a man by the name of Dr. Waiben began overseeing construction of a nuclear power plant +buried two miles under ground to hide its heat signature for pesky government satellites. The plant, whose only entrance was from the sea, was Waiben's new research facility but right now that is but future memory fighting from space at a coordinate that won't have it. + + Sil is in New Orleans renting an attic in the French quarter following a strict regiment to kick the opium habit he developed at FREEDOM Inc. The best cure downs had said is to get a job in INDOCTRINATION Inc., where you will be forced to confront the ugly stupidity of life. + + The old man stood up on the porch and paced back and forth waiting...you understand the seriousness of the matter... obviously we would not expect an ordinary agent to do such a thing...your expertise in these fields...well frankly it's unparalleled..there is no other...These orders are coming straight from the top...your cooperation is non-negotiable... + + +...to be an abstraction does not +mean that an entity is nothing. +--A. N. Whitehead + + Two years earlier: Dr. Waiben, pathologist for IND Inc., surveys a long horrifically clean hallway whose smoothness is interrupted only occasionally by the presence of polished sliver knobs indicating doorways. There are no observation windows or any other windows within the rooms. This is the housing quarter for the derelicts of society: prostitutes, schizophrenics, lobotomy patients, drug pushers, anarchists, communists, AIDS victims, the aberrations that society never needed nor found a use for, end up here, under the care of Dr. Waiben, pathologist for IND Inc. The good doctor has, for twenty odd years, been the caretaker of the derelicts, charged with restoring to them a level of +functionality deemed necessary by society. He is the man who puts the cogs back into the wheel. + Waiben is an expert in mind manipulation which by its nature made him the butt of most of the jokes at the facility, but Waiben really didn't care what other people thought of him because he had watched the semantic breakdown of the game curcuit from the perspective of orgone energy. he was required to give electro shock therapy to dissedent citizens in order to get them reconditioned by the government, but in reality he spends most of his time smoking petroleum and sitting next to an orgone generator In really time he knoes he must administer electro-shockto a whore whom the state had deemed a "revolutionary" for her accidental participation in a protest against the seizure of private property. Her constant screaming was disturbed the other doctors, but Waiben found them soothing in the same erotic kind of way that a soft candle lit room made him desperately want to masturbate. Regardless, he hated departmental friction so he was treating her with his standard dosage of ten thousand low amplitude watts delivered through acattle prod in her cunt, and even then she had held out for nearly an hour before confessing to her actions -it was a record for the floor. + He watched her on a TV monitor from the station at the end of the hall. She alternated between foaming a bloody spit out of her mouth while her eyes bulged menacingly, to sitting apparently quite peacefully on the edge of the toilet seat. Her vital stats were typical for the voltage he had given her. He watched with the detached apathy of those who have seen the degradation of life for twenty odd years and never thought to bat an eye toward suffering. He thought the whole process rather silly, why give them mental anquish which only makes them stronger (see A Theory of Surpression and its Counter Effectsby Doctor Waiben, New England Journal of medicine Aug. 1993 ) Afterall why torture people when you could just as easily manipulate them without them realizing what was going on. He considered himself an expert in mind control because he realized that the well places suggestion or auto association tricks were far more effective means of +controlling large popluations. However he kept this knowledge largely to himself and the occasional stranger in a bar. like that guy the other night that guy who said he heard voices of course you do everybody dows what did you think a television was for? + He panned the room camera around and noted blood and little clumps of flesh lying on the floor near the bed, he zoomed in and momentary renewed his distracted interest as he realized the whore had been picking the burnt flesh out of her cunt. His stomach turned, not at the idea of her suffering, but at the tradgedy of the ineffectiveness of the government to maintain the control that had so intricately laid. For a moment he considered the fragility of all control and the necessity of constantly defending it, he tried without success to remeber the I ching quote about ruling least and that being the best or something of that nature. He sighed and picked up a bic lighter with a picture of Uncle Sam on it, the typical picture was warped due to the surface curvature of the lighter giving Old Sam a peculiar evil bent that Waiben admired; he lit it and held it at the base of the hash, taking a deep and satisfying drag. + hash was part of a new foray for Waiben a sign of his growing discontent with the rigid structure of the scientific community. Doctor Waiben was something of an anomaly among scientists; he enjoyed being proved wrong, he loved arguing theory purely on the basis that if one is opposed and one for a theory to gether that might discover a new theory. Being proved wrong also saved him the trouble of having to prove anything right. Waiben was one of the unique individuals of this century that understood that when you open one door its real value is not what is behind it but whether or not there are any more doors that revel themselves to the researcher. He did not suffer from what Wilson calls the New Inquisition, a catch phrase for those that try to make a belief system stand up with scientific legs, when in fact science is a tool or method of research, it is amoral science dows not fit model realities it is merely one way of testing models of reality. Science does not believe anything because it is not a thing, it is a language. From Wilhelm Reich in Hell: There is also argument by Logic. This can sometimes be combined with scientific experiments and +if the two mesh we have a "fit" of theory with fact and scientists are delighted. Pure Argument by Logic however does not require this experimental back up and only demands that the conclusions by reached by the game-rules of an abstract symbol system. In our hypothetical case, some witness might inform congress: +All mome raths need to be distimmed; +All frammisgoshes are mome raths; therefore; +all frammisgoshes need to be distimmed + + This so-called transitive property has led scientists into the same dead end alley of faith that religion finds itself in, I have faith in science the mad man rants on silver screens... Waiben felt foolish when confronted with this logic bound personification of science so he took to smoking hash and playing with orgone generators, he was finding a freedom that was tickling the little grey cells back into the crooked dance. + + Unfortuanately for him Doctor Waiben's habits did not go unnoticed by others in his department however, and as he was already unpopular for his rather unconventional methods and ideas, it wasn't long before a doctor by the name of Kellinger reported him to the state. In the tumultuous time that was the present the good doctor was asked to resign, but did not instead he called a press conference which was sadly rather ill attended, he proceeded to get up in front of the local new cameras and launch into an anti-government rant. He was promptly arrested for "divulging state secrets" and brought to trial before a hastily put together tribunal of senators and judges; It was the beginning of the Inquistitors hearings on Science and Sanity. + One person who did happen to catch the broadcast was Sil Hawkard who was in a New Orleans attic when he heard a voice from on the television drift up to his room...the united states government is by its own legal definitions, insane and incapable of +distinquishing between reality and non-real realities. The cat is coming out of the bag <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Fragments of ash are falling>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> + Sil bolted upright in his bed and ran downstairs in time to catch the name Waiben before the camera cut out. That's the man I heard at the Tucker point, he called Downs and mentioned it to him. Do what thou wilt was all he said. Two days later Sil was arrested and thrown in prison in the cell next to Waiben. Because Sil was not a United States citizen he was merely given a lecture and thrown bodily out of the building bringing future memories to a head. He made a deal with Waiben before he left, come to New Orleans and meet with me to discuss nuero-research and I will get you out.... + + Transcribed from tapes: the terminal disease clerk took orders by the turnstile, finding the story in the story and logging in the disease workers all night long. At five in the morning he got off and headed to a tavern as the sun was coming up. Direct confrontation with the terminal virus word is a bit confusing to those who are not properly prepared. poor fuckers never had a chance; the technical sergeant takes off his helmet and slams it on the table the near moronic mumblings of discontent. Waging war is semantically impossible without overtones of homosexuality. Heavy handed, the second wave fell in line with the technical sergeant at the lead. The thing you have to watch out for are the warblers --the distractions coming in at the sides, sound is their most effective weapon, primordial hangover he called it drunkenly raising the glass. And some of you may think this suspect but take my advice sounds where it all started. In the beginning was the word and the word spoke. The sergeant stoops and cups his hands to light a cigarette. Then there is sex or not enough of it, both is equally dangerous --biology is not something to scoff at. sexuality is the best cover an agent can ever use. Rockets come searing in overhead ripping flesh and scoffing at the notion of eternity, out here you don't have time to talk, the thoughts are things, they are no longer words...keep your radios tuned boys its getting ugly. Another rocket sears in severed limbs fly out the explosion and olive drab +body parts litter the scene. Watch out for the bloody words, sharp words that hang in the air like knives and when uttered returned to slit the throat of their speaker and if every word you have spoken returned to act upon yourself would you survive the experience? Me no way i’m outta here. Situation getting sticky, humid like vaporous blood hanging on in the air. Still acrid smell of urine and small children playing in a asphalt playground ringed on all sides by immense brick walls with basket ball hoops hung half way up each of the sides. Realize that that which we are taught from childhood to distrust is in fact a pawn of something far more immense and much much more dangerous. The governments and nations of the world are incidental pawns of there own control systemsand then beyond them there are even more and so on like looking two mirrors facing each other and going on to infinity. The monster of power is faceless there is no one person or group that controls everything they are all parts of a immense and multi-headed monster that is constantly biting itself and attacking it own heads until some day it will destroy itself. The end of time leaves space and word alone together + we're taking heavy fire! The sergeant calls for back up, the captain says love one another and cryptically hangs up the phone. The Spanish soldier selling chiclets say no good no bueno, pictures worth not even half a thousand words. Wouldn’ give you ten words, worthless gringo words don’t mean shit. no good no bueno, not worth the blood their written in. The blood of all peoples not yours, not your shoes, by god keep your slave labor camps a closed-mouthed secret. Gotta keep that in house, dis-credit all new agencies by routinely feeding them false information. News doesn’t happen events happen, and the department of television information broadcasting inc. a subdivision of indoctrination inc. decides what gets out and what remains forever sealed in baby pissshitguts. No that's not true. No comment. No need for comment, the preceding has been since proved to be untrue, cut to shots of smart bombs. Couldn’t get fifty words for those now gringo -over exposure- nobody buying. Same old stinking shit. No Good. No Bueno. + Gringo go home in thousand languages in a million words, why don’t you crawl back in your cave get your tail so far between your legs it goes half way up your ass? Lead me to the holy spigot and we’ll show you the bidet of death, constructed by gringos, for gringos, to flush out gringos, to show them all what you do behind closed doors. Can’t close them all --we have our technicians as well and they’re getting to be better than yours. We got the money rolling in --even offered you the picture words but you don’t want them. No Good. Can’t use those, too strong. No fair, crying boy heads home for cave to lick his dirty balls clean. + I gotta picture for you I on vacation in your country go to hear senator’s speak but all door are closed, all sealed. So i gotta fiber optic and feed it in from the roof show all senators mad with sexual lust and blood thirsty, clamoring for war and stealing souls and bodies and driving them off wherever they see fit. + The technician is retro actively of course --the papers said the man was mentally ill. ‘my cod!’ screamed a church lady in the front row, ‘satan has garbled the lords message, this isn’t what he meant for you to hear, no it was not all like that, there was to be understanding.’ she is parading her old cunt bones whining at the justices --tissue conducts signals, animals communicate through the use of visual, acoustic , chemical, tactile and electrical signals. Our laboratory is an abundant and well preserved feed back loop to understand and interpret Eusocial behavior. negative feedback inhibition to make you shiver Gringo. Make you shiver good. + Repetition unsuccessful. The radiologist was called in to examine the patient --blisters and burns indicate high probability of skin mutation, what would you say Dr. Waiben? Crested and on the nod? Diminutively yes definitely. + Information potential exists --its an unsettling thought, dependency --and what happens when things start to think? How do you draw the lines then. + HOW THE PLAGUE BEGAN: + The wish to preserve -not worth saving what already is- in this scenario. The word, the loss of body situated at the origins of recorded sound -the temporal metaphysical and esthetic possibilities. + <insert sounds of truck on dirt road> + Old man yelling. Get off of my laaawwwnnn! Sits down to oil his gun some more and then half turns in his chair to face the camera and says "i haven't left the porch since i got this CDRom PEOPLE version 3.0. Updated and expanded human potential at your fingertips. Its the only thing i need --got no use for the stinking gringos anymore-- camera pans out and down revealing a yard strewn with shotgunblasted bodies of young children. We see wife, face half torn off, crawling towards a pistol <shotgun blast stage left> her head disappears entirely. Old man: "human potential, the new CDrom makes wives unnecessary." cue logo: on sale now at a sanatorium near you.... + I'm going to finally send you the orgy papers this time -been fixing to get 'round to that for some time" <heavy southern drawl> don't think he's the type to do it though but i been wrong once or twice a'fore. Don't want people showing up on my lawn though that's never good. get off of my lllaaaawwwwnnnnn! <shotgun blast again, distant screaming sounds of deaths final agonies eeking out blood gurgling windpipes> Fucking Gringos! Go home in a thousand languages! + Experience as much of the human potential as possible retain the container and forward the frog to the fun sun freaks of eastern Tibet all is well with alkaline, and acidity is on the skids with death rooted out leaving only chicken shit shoveled scrapped and scraped like lemon lime Gatorade poured from a fuck buck of love. Stop talking to yourself --listen to the virus talk to you. All that you consider to be a accident was carefully orchestrated for your benefit by a benevolent cocksucking god from the twenty-third dimension to just plain old irritate the fuck out of you like a bad rectal itch. Stupid gringo got no cure for the ass itch i show you some pictures, yes very dirty, little girls you like?????? + <<<<<commander in chief of the NATO forces in Europe is fucking small refugee boy in the ass, the boy cries for his mother the general is laughing, your mother’s down the hall boy ,she’s busy with the president of France right now. But maybe later you’d like to lick his come off her dead face. Ban those words tear them right out snip snip. Can’t say that, its disgusting. War is a snuff film for the rich. <<<<We gotta step up the bombing chief the public’s losing innarest in us screams the chief of staff running in circles jerking off and slapping his ass until it turns a bright purple and with all seriousness General Jesse Helms pauses to reflect: I remember a time when life was good no one got in our way, why in Europe under Patton i musta raped twenty thirty little boys and a handful of nuns too. He smiles lost in memory... + But God hath given us these trying times.... + Yes it is bit hard to get cunt these days isn’t it, mumbles the chief of state as he strokes his wife’s cock....Yes dear start a war, get me some cute refugee boys, i so love snapping their necks when i’m coming, she growls affectionately. + That's it gentlemen were going to war! The president stands and ejaculates on a map of the world KOSOVO it is he says as his thick oatmeal consistency sperm all but covers the former republic of Yugoslavia. + You like? You like, no? Too bad. You can’t have those words, too strong. I get power, you give me power, I steal power from you, to expensive to buy it. I get power and you get pictures and maybe I tell you how to cure rectal itch? Eh? Eh? Eh? + +Perfection is attained not +when there is no longer anything to add, +but when there is no +longer anything to take away +-Antoine de Saint Exupery + Experiments with the death ray tape and image guns began with William Burroughs in the nineteen fifties, but was sidetracked by the advent of digital technology. The newer is not necessarily the better though folks sometimes they just have different uses +--like the image gun that shot...In the beginning was the word and the word was made flesh by a cacophonous blast out of heaven's pearly cum-stained ass creating the father, the son, and the holy spigot which lies in a secluded garden on the cliffs overlooking the Sargasso sea. The spigot is buried in a volcano designed by Czech ostriches in the eleventh hour of creation to drain all human excrement off the continent of Europe and into the Sargasso sea all lumpy with turd so thick Jesus "conny" Christ in drag is walking along to the amazement of the gullible, floating gently from turd to turd. The piss blood of a million cunts and cocks line the shores giving the whole place a radioactive iridescent red glow not to mention a awful stench. Mr. Rogers and Captain Kangaroo are standing on the bluffs watching the spectacle and scanning with hawk eyes for sweet tight asses in which they can stab their hungry cocks. The father caught the son sitting in the middle of the garden sucking on an apple and he became enraged and hog tied the boy and penetrated every orifice in his body with a peeled and sculpted cucumber cock; the boy was left a whimpering quivering lump of fleshy jello from which spawned humankind. + The piss gut rotting flesh smell, air taunt necked and jerking at the nose, the captain's eyes role back into his head as is guts are blasted out his ass by a giggling man headed tape worm of extraordinary wit who was prone to quoting Joyce and Bugs Bunny in the same sentence in a way that reminded listeners of Buster Keaton in some strange drugstore hurricane kind of a way. The skatolic odor was rich and the worm refused to bath. Owing to the peculiar nature of its origin the soldiers did not disturb the worm preferring instead to watch the captain writhe in agony pulling his legs back behind his ear to attempt to lick the matted blood soaked pubic hair over the torn orangish flesh that hung in ribbons over a large hole that had once been a simple anus. The upshot of it all was that the worm ate less rations than the captain so the men were basically satisfied with the arrangement and they followed the worm wiggling through the jungle as it did impersonations of Fred Astaire... + Blasted rot gut con-artist with ten huge molars running across the front of his mouth in a clump owing to his mother's industrial accident with the cunt acid from the chink's hyperdrill. Drilled right on through back to china, the asshole couldn't even close the damn thing and the lower mandible just kind of hung there like a tire swing. Maya spits in his face in disgust and revulsion you don't have enough money for me to kiss you there isn't enough money on the planet... + The giggling Hyenas are dressed in black and high on amphetamines looking to turn you inside out. + Tongue-tied porn queens scream obscenities at passersby "I'll suck your dick until your eyeballs pop out your ass..." + Steady...wait til you see the whites of their eyes...Blown newspapers and advert scrapes cover the bottom three feet of a brick wall like sardines neatly packed in a kipper snack tin from a 1983 supermarket shelf....Horatio Alger's sodomizing menage-a-toi with the Maytag Man and Uncle Sam has led us to train station on the SpaceTime line where freedom is an irrelevant inconvenience of language that is slowly being fazed out of history. Language is a virus. The i that is You speaks, I speak and the vibrations of air we create controls our every move. Science gives rise to Magic in the form of powerful papers that tell who what why and how you are to be. You can't march down to city hall to protest without a permit filed ahead of time with the city clerk. You can't drive an automobile without the Proper Papers. You can't leave the country without PAPERS, you can't perform honest labor without PAPERS. You can't buy or grow certain pharmaceuticals at all, nor can you pursue the happiness of your choice unless it falls into one category. Consumption. We are all free to consume which when you think about it, is the only freedom we really need in a CONSUMER SOCIETY. Televisions, radios, automobiles, washing machines, drying machines, refrigerators, freezers, ovens, microwave ovens, convection ovens, alarm clocks, computers, headphones, home furnishings, bicycles, video games, tennis shoes, laser disc players, DVD players, record +players, compact disc players, cordless telephones, wireless phones, digital phones, cellular phones, two way radios, short wave radios, car stereos, home stereos, and every accessory you can conceive of and millions more you couldn't. We have all the entertainment and modern conveniences in the world in our home each assessable at our fingertips whenever you chose. Which is a good thing because the minute you step out of your house some OFFICAL OF THE STATE is going to want to see some goddamn-papers-on-the-double-what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here-cough-up-the-fee-place-your-hands-behind-your-head-you-have-the-right-to-remain-silent-lie-down-and-spread-your-legs-and-shut-the-fuck-up-right-fucking-now sir! + Uncle Sam came on the ground and left without a trace. Horatio and Maytag were emotionally tormented for years until their eventual deaths through ritualistic dismemberment. + Sil Hawkard: And I don't have any papers standing on a cement sidewalk slab starring at the FREEDOM OF AMERICA locked inside a now closed appliance store. The Ace Appliance Store to be precise. I feel suddenly nervous like they know what I am thinking. They know that I am thinking. + -He's not smiling. Oh no, not yet, we're working on it though.- + We the people we govern you the other people have decided for reasons which are beyond the scope of this broadcast and may well be beyond the scope of your comprehension entirely that all freedoms which you previously thought you had but never in reality did possess are summarily denied from this point forward. Please report to the nearest biomedical programming center by the fourth of May where a new human program bio-unity 3.6 will be installed into your seratonin and allow for future dopemine programming without the need for physical intervention please go about your lives as you always have all those not present for the reprogramming procedures by the fourth of May will be consider fugitives of the state and will be dealt with in the harshest manner allowed by law and endorsed by the entertainment loving public... + + + Naturally Waiben wanted out of jail and was perfectly willing to meet with his former cellmate who had struck up most unusual conversations about the edges of science and how far did he think they were from the fringes of magic and shamanist traditions and methods? Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magick ...Sil struck Waiben as extremely well read and without the usual pretensions of one who is in as deep as he appeared to be, Waiben's hopes were somewhat dashed when he refused to answer the question who do you work for prefering to lapse back on a well developedhabit of mumbling incoherently and abruptly changing the subject usually to something about the merits of anarchy. Waiben wanted to hear the words i am rich and i will pay you large sums of money to work for me to do pure research untainted by political agenda and what not, Waiben realized he was beginning to sound like some science utopianist and mentally slapped himself in the face. + Waiben studied Sil's face in the last rays of New Orleans sun noticing the wild sparkle that seemed the jump out of his eyes when his mind began to race and Waiben could abrely keep up with the blast of ideas. But they were not incoherent rants he watched the wheels truning half wondering whether he had actually thought this up ahead of time or whether he really just talked as fast as the words formed in his head. Sil appeared to be around twenty five perhaps a bit older, but his head was a jungle of hair the crawled all over his glasses and eyes obscuring them entirely at time such that he reminded the doctor of the hairy talking thingy from the Adams family. + Still Waiben was happy to be talking to someone who was as least way beyond the game curcuit and seemed to pocess at least a spotty grasp of partical theory and probabilies. He seemed especially obcessed with frequencies and radio transmission which intriguid Waiben as his own experiements with orgaon had seemed to be pointing in that +direction. Sil was a furocious smoker Waiben noticed --such a rediculous drug habit he thought somewhat indifferently. + "What? I'm soory my mind was wandering." Waiben felt momentarily ackward, but Sil seemed not to care. + "No I'm sorry I've never done this before." + "Done what?" Waiben could only think horrified of unwelcome sexual advances and suddenly reality filpfloped for him. + "recruited anyone." was Sil's not so reassuring reply + "recruited for what," asked Waiben uneasily feeling the squeeze of reality tunnel uncertainty. + "Perhaps invited is a better word. There is somewhere I'd like you to go with me." + This was too much for Waiben and he had to blurt out, "are you trying to hit on me?" + Sil just laughed "Downs was right your still planer, but don't worry you don't have to have sex with anyone although I recomment you do have sex with someone perhaps even everyone. Now I'm going to do some coding, you have room waiting at the mondrain and I'll pick you up at about eight tomorrow morning we have a ten o'cock flight to Buenos Aries. I'm glad to have you along," he smiled. + Waiben absorbed the information and sudden thought aloud "you can't fly from New Orleans to Buenos Aires the airports not big enough..." + "We're not taking a commercial flight," Sil said as he walked away. + Several hours later as the heat dissipates slowly bvack inland to the swamps and the ocean breeze brings in the gulf night, Waiben is thinking about Voodoo, Gringos and the Quantum Uncertainty principle. It had occurred to him that in addition to the homosexual tunnel he had accidentally step into and the imagined tunnel he wished he could find there was another tunnel to consider:Sil couled be some fundamentalist nut case +trying to lead him out of the country and to his death. Religious nuts hated science more than science nuts hated religion and learning the languages of each in order to pass one's seflf off as a scientist or a baptist wasn't that difficult. + He sat up in bed reread the letter Sil had given him...With practice you can teach yourself to receive peoples signals or thoughts; what we want you to figure out is how to create a sub-audio broadcast that can actually be controlled and directed like an ordinary radio signal. Telepathy is an interpersonal form of radio, and my understanding of the general theories of chaos, what is true for one system should be relatively the same in another if only the signal amplitude is being changed. The problem I see is that even subtle changes in input can cause radical oscillations in output or more poetically: somewhere a butterfly is beating its wings and changing world history. Waiben thought about it for a while and fell asleep to a tunnel where television was the ultimate telepathic control signal broadcast onto an unwitting population and designed to create subtle and undetectable mind control. It was a fitful sleep. + Waiben slid into what shamans call the dream body, Jungians call the net of synchronicity and phycisist call the uncertainty principle where spacemind over whelms and breaks down the normal balance of spacetime and mind. Sixty years earlier in a different coordinate point Dr. Waiben is inventing Color Television. It was the basis of his realization that mind control was possible, it was merely a question of finding the right tools and methods of applying the tools. He had stumbled on to the idea of television as a form of mind control about the time the first color sets were coming onto the market. He was just by coincidence (if you believe in such nonsensical notions) studying the orgone theories of Doctor Wilheim Reich at the time. + Even in the nineteen forties Reich’s theories were revolutionary to Waiben and he felt he had found someone besides himself and Korzybsky who truly understood the implications of Einstein's relativity notions and revolutionary view of the world that he gave us. The sentence that leaped out of Reich’s notes as Waiben stared hypnotically at the +bluish glow of the first color television set was one that warned prolonged exposure to the bluish radiation of bion energy has had negative physical ramifications such as headaches, red swollen eyes, and the feeling that one had been staring at the sun for too long.... The synapse fired and Waiben hurried home to begin experimenting with blue light emissions to find out if they had any connection to orgone energy and in the end he found that blue wavelength radiation with prolonged exposure irritates the eyes and actually appeared to drain orgone energy out of the individual presumably by neutralizing the signal and allowing it to pass through the individual with out interacting. This reasoned Waiben would make people tired from watching television, but simultaneously unable to break the strong magnetic bond that the TV was creating. The potential for a sedated and apathetic culture with a very high threshold for persecution thus raised its ugly head. Waiben never mentioned his finding to anyone and merely offered to help in the perfecting of the television signal --always quietly insisting that blue light was the easiest method of signal transmission + Waiben used to drive the suburbs around nine o'clock just watching the eerie blue glow coming from the hundreds of thousands of houses he had infected. He like to think of television as a virus because in many respects it was; like virus it was benign until the right electrical connection from the host triggered the release of the disease. Like a virus it was passed from one generation to the next, and like a virus its spread was exponentially related to the human population growth ie. more people = infected people. The greatest side effect of television though was quite unintended by Waiben, it had radically reoriented the global mindset from isolated consumption into total slavery to consumption and fashion. Thus Waiben learned that the fastest and most effect way of controlling a large population was to make it genuinely believe that it own enslavers were in fact its heros, its gods, thus eliminating or at the very least co-opting naysayers by making them part and parcel of the disease. Additionally as TV became more widespread even its detractors had to use the very channels of oppression as their only outlet for resistance. Much like +controlling any signal path, insurrectionists and radicals were diverted by capacitors (“the media”) and squelched by resistors (“the police”). Thus the people remained happy and content with their oppression and no one was able to convince them to give up the convenience of slavery for the hardships of freedom. Would you? + It wasn't enough though; true mind control would leave the victim unable to disobey the signal or ideally, unaware that he or she were even being controlled --like Christ reborn, Waiben thinks of the old con artist sitting laughing from con artist heaven. + sub-audio messages are below the threshold of human hearing, but not that of comprehension. It is the noise of someone thinking. Listening in is just a matter of having the right receptors, psychics and clairvoyants had been doing it as circus tricks for centuries. The granddaddy of all his research would be that day when he could say definitively that he had a method for true and total mind control. It was this quest that had led him back to a state lab in Las Vegas where tonight he is planning to induce mind alteration and manipulation with the legendary Ayahuasca which contains a harmine that some believe bonds directly with human DNA. In the good doctor's mind that meant opening up a channel directly into the cellular level, allowing for deep meta-programming and possibly a key for using nanotechnology --but that’s too complicated right now. “Think of it as inter-cellular radio” he told his colleagues who mostly ignored his fanatical rantings. + Stupid fucking scientists he is thinking. I hate 'em I hate 'em I hate 'em I fucking hate 'em. They spend there whole goddamn lives studying the brilliant thoughts culled from centuries of genius's without ever stopping to think that maybe genius lurks in there own minds. Ingrates. Ought to have been stamped out with the rest of the conservative christian movements, they have no understanding of novelty. If it hasn't been done a hundred times before they won't even talk about it let alone attempt to experiment with it. + Paging Dr. Waiben. Dr. Waiben please come to Lab 203. Dr. Waiben Lab 203. + What the fuck have those morons done now? Probably killed one of themselves by mistake. Lab 203 was of course the antidote lab for the biological warfare experiments he had been conducting back east. Nowadays Waiben was finding even in his close colleagues’ a certain hang up, they felt they had found the key when in fact they merely had the next step to the door, the key itself was still along way off. Thus he decided that Kellinger and his other lab assistant, Dr. Frederick were becoming even more of a liability then a help. True to his ruthless and cold pursuit of power Waiben logically concluded that they were no longer necessary, but at the same time they knew to much to risk turning his back on them --Kellinger had, after all been as much a part of inventing the eaters as Waiben had. So Waiben arrived at his lab with his mind made up, he knew Kellinger was in Los Angeles for the Weekend with his lover Simon, and he also knew William was in Los Angeles with an eater doing some work for Sil, he called Sill and Sil called William and not thirty minutes later Dr. Kellinger’s tendril like arm snaked up and grabbed his own ringing phone...Doctor Kellinger? Speaking.... universal breakdown short curcuited the word and left you here naked and cold. + +familiarity breeds contempt +-William Brandon +from the Origin of Consciousness + + + The next morning, true to his word Sil picked Waiben up in a limosine and they caught downs' private jet to Buenos Aries. Sil could tell that Waiben was suffering Space Time Mind confusion and that the first signs of the breakdown of scientific rationality were already manifesting themselves. Sil left Waiben in the main compartment of the jet and disappeared with a wavering walk into the back of the plane, Waiben could hear another man talking to what he assumed was the cockpit crew giving flight instructions. The plane was not unlike most government planes it had couches instead of seats and revealled to one how much room there realy is on the inside on an airplane. This particular plane had a few +things that Waiben doubted were government planes --an assortment of medical tools that were stored in glass cabinet near the front of the cabin and beside each of the black leather couches were a permanently attached hucas which, Waiben noticed by bumping one, were flexible at the base so as not to spill their contents during flight. The cabin also contained an impressive collection of computer hardware and curiously near the door marked COCKPIT, on a small desk was an antique typewriter with the word Underwood inscribed on the face. The walls of the jet were covered with tapestries and pillows with scenes from the Tibetian Book of The Dead and the Kama Sutra lay haphazardly in the corner the mixture of oriental and occidental gave the room a circular feeling, which was reinforced by the cynderical walls and roof. + The door to Waiben's back flung open and Sil and another man came struggling through it, laughing and carrying a giant mirror full of cocaine. “So you found our coordinate eh?” said the man in the three piece suit, laughing and pointed at Waiben. + “Yes I did.” said Waiben staring at the coke. + “Oh, pardon me how rude, would you like some cocaine, I fear this is all we have left, but help yourself.” + “No thanks” + “No thanks you don’t want any or no thanks you want it but you aren’t about to do on a jet with two people you don’t know?” + “Second” + “Lay off him Cary he's already trying to live at least six tunnels at once, you know how disorienting it is at first” Sil flopped down on a couch and began to load a huca with hashish. "Just remember if it doesn't make you laugh it probably isn't real..." his voice trailed off into mumblings Waiben did not catch. + “Just so you know Doctor, if we were going to hurt you, we would have pushed you out of the plane as soon as we were over water, so relax and do some drugs, we’ll tell you what we need you for later, right now you need us, you got the need we got the drugs +so lighten up eh?” Downs had decided that since the doctor was already in a tunnel of anylitical scientific doctrine he would be best brought around by his cankerous old southern man routine that he imagined to be somewhat akin to hanging out with William S. Burroughs. + Waiben sat somewhat reluctantly on the couch next to Sil who handed him the end of the surgical tubing and when Waiben put it to his lips Sil lit the huca. Waiben noticed just before the hash hit him that the lighter had a picture of christ with a crown of thorns on it. This realization man him chuckle and wonder if Sil had seen his or perhaps it was his or perhaps every gas station in America has them. + "Uh oh he's gonna get the giggles," Downs said laughing himself, "here do some coke to speed up the signal processing, it frees the word." + Waiben felt a delicious chemical alkaloid taste on the back of his tongue as he sniffed a long line of cocaine --a brilliantly awakened peacefulness settled over him. Downs noticed the change in mindset and dropped the old man routine in favor of his smooth warm welcome-to-my-world voice... + broadband signal strength test market for better higher climbable mountains:”:”:”::”:”:”:”:”:”:”>>>>>>>>>wicked evil sentiments have been exercised and all words and virus contained>>>>>>government works like this more or less:>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>The waiting drove me mad...so stop waiting ya stupid fuck... transmission broadcast’s proposals for your demise. incomplete and ill planned. the joint chiefs of staff would be happy to coordinate efforts for a small fee. Do pictures have a language? static. message garbled. transmission lost. + + Waiben surveys his hotel room with its view overlooking the Buenos Aries airport he stares at their plane off to the right of the terminal just barely visible from where he is. Well so this is South America. Huh. The room is midgrade not nice, but so far free of roaches which when flying over the city on their approach seemed quite an unlikely +possibility. Waiben lies down on the bed, lights a cigarette, and turns on the television. Spanish broadcast MTV. He rolls on his side reaching into his bag and extracting a vial of DMT, do whatever you want tonight they had said just be sober by six in the morning. He pours the white powder into a glass pipe feeling a bit like a crack whore the taste is reminecint of cock that soothing artificial quality...the world game stopped the truth game stopped and finally in less than thirty seconds the Waiben game stopped what happened after that is a matter of some speculation, but he was pretty sure that he hadn't really talked to an ostrich that explained to him the future and his role in something called Freeport. Sil and Cary were in the next room listening to Waiben on a short wave system they had set up prior to giving Waiben a key. + "He's going to see them I know it," Sil found himself saying. + "I don't unerstand why you think this doctor is so useful, I already have scientists that are further along in his field that he is." Downs didn't like Waiben he sensed something familiar about him as if everything he was capable of he had already done once before with disaterous results and Downs had spent enough time messing with the fabric of reality to know that his brain knew a lot more than it would let him see all at once. A sufi story came back to him...a man walks into a store and says to the shop keeper have you seen me before? The shopkeeper says no and the man says then how do you know it is me? + Sil is insistant on Waiben's necesity and even when Cary raises the control game issues Sil does not back down, "thats why I gave him the hallucinogens because it rids you of the ego, he doesn't know who he is right now, he thinks he invented color television. Relax." Sil smoked a little DMT himself and tuned his shortwave radio to static. This helped to establish in his mind a kind of rhythm and seemed to link the drug to the static, if only in his mind. Pictures are a language he is thinking. + +I do not believe that the world +is made of quarks or electromagnetic waves, +or stars, or planets, or any of these things. +I believe the world is made of language. +-Terence McKenna + Madison Avenue is a faceless row of buildings filled with thousands of advertising agents, it is an entity in Abstraction. Abstraction is the legal basis for the sanctity of the state, and it is a wholly bianary system. Its language is bianary coding form the conceptual level down to vast systems of information stored in computer cuniform. It was to put it mildly the last place one would look for spiritual insight. But Sil Hawkard was not bounded by the archtypal mythologies of his culture. In any age and any culture the shaman is the the oddball who is seperate from the cultural images of the human experience. The non-shaman citizen is in constant conflict between expectation of habit and the nagging guilt of novelty or rather the lack of novelty. The shaman is merely one who has allowed the self to take over the citizen in such a way that bahavior and even brainwave patterns are altered. And it is for this reason that the shaman is exiled to the edge of the village, because tampering with the fabric of consensus reality is dangerous to its continued existance never call anything up that you can not put back down. + The most common method of acheiving such a feat over the years has been chemical mind manipulation. Sil's fascination with mind manipulation did not began with drugs though, it began much earlier in a high school biology class where he realized the simple truth that the brain is a continuously changing chemical reaction. The nuero circuitry of the brain is like the inner workings of a computer, of course it is infinitely more complex, but the computer is still a useful metaphor. Eventually through his use of drugs he came to realize that even chemical maps are in fact a rather poor guide to what the hell is really going on. If you see something you have never seen before, you want to tell about it you want to talk about it you want to describe it. You are tempted to say it resembled a woman but was nothing like a woman. The first thing you need to move on from the temporal reality that most people cling to is a new language. + It was this reason that had led Sil to Madison avenue because even if their goals were slightly less benign than Sil's own they nevertheless possessed a wealth of data on manipulations of language. They had managed to create a universe in which people were +convinced they needed everything they didn't have. This was a powerful tool of magic and while Sil wasn't entirely sure if they were even aware of what they were doing they were undeniably doing it. Manipulating language is one of the shaman's starting tools, kind of a chip flint arrow in the bigger picture, but technology builts on itself --if you can't chip an arrow head you can't split an atom. So he arranged to have one hundred televisions brought to Buenos Aries and tuned to different stations in all kinds of languages and he began the immense task of taping, editing, and splicing Madison Avenue's commercial language. + It was for this reason Sil wanted to bring Waiben to Buenos Aries and now as Waiben sat in the chair staring around the room at the overwhelmin sensory input potential of one hundred televisions in one room he felt overwhelmed and not up to the task. He had at his disposal a team of over two hundred electronics experts, but he had the annoy task of looking for something without knowing what it was. Downs and Hawkard had left him a copious amount of DMT, mushrooms, peyote, cocaine, and hashish to help him along. Sil recomended hash and cocaine together as the best decoding agent for the madison magicians as he had taken to calling them. His proposal came after a week of drugs and sex which Waiben had enjoyed and felt for the first time really truly free and alive. Sex is as good as the body gets Downs had said, but now he had years worth of work staring him in the face. I know you want to find the face behind the mask behind the face behind the mask behind the face behind the mask... Sil had chanted as he left. The most curious event of the week was the time when Sil had been teaching Waiben how to use mantras and hash as tools in meditation. Waiben realized after selecting a mantra from an astrology book in Downs' apartment, that Sil was chanting I can't believ its not butter, I can't believe its not butter I can't believe its not butter.... + Sil and Downs returned to the oil derrick city while the good doctor spent the better part of the day in an oxygen pure environment subjecting himself the recuperative acupuncture therapy on his muscles which were stimulated one by one with needle pricks +while an orgone generator hummed steadily in the corner. The preprogrammed alpha waves stimulated his body's brain functions that were healing in nature and as the experienment went on electro graphs of brain activity mapped the centers stimulated and was compared with the frequency emitted until each frequency had its effects defined and clearly mapped. In another room one of his researchers was having similiar electro stimulation through flicker television screens recorded and the alpha waves would be compared to Waiben's and others. + Chemical stimulation of the brain acts at different frequencies than orgone so Waiben entered into a tunnel of reality where the healer believed that orgone would rejuvinate the body and help it recover from the destructive side effects of the drugs. Similtaneously doing research and healing appealled to the self centered side of Waiben. Waiben was not a regular user of drugs and thus prone to over-enthusiasm from the get go --Downs had cautioned him about the difference between want and need and how thin and blurry the line could get. No one said the doors to the chapel perilous wouldn't be guarded. Addiction is the first to rear its ugly head the word is obliterated by the need. need is driven by re -action rather than action. The first rule of anarchy is to never react. Re-action is a non event, it doesn't exist in reality and it futility is readily apparent to anyone who ceases to do it. The human brain is taught to feel a certain sensation and because evolution was soooo effective the brain learns to adjust to fit the new reality --making ot real. Thus it reacts to the stimuli by negating its effects and like the man in the floppy hat said it never got weird enough for me. + avoiding addiction is no easy task --you're up against over ten thousand years of terrestrial survival instincts; shedding them is the damnedest thing like the Kimono dragons continually picking at the dead flesh that refuses to leave the beast that it was once a part of. Waiben felt up to the task on many levels, but he had made a mental note to not have any opiates around because after all a man has to know his limitations. + + + + +reality is a narrow +definition of existance +-Sil Hawkard from The Rubber Octupus + + + +one year and six thousand miles northeast Sil sits in his room of tunisia smoking hash and reading a letter from the doctor that said: + +observations on the Madison Avenue language/image institution: + The rigid censorship guidelines for language that may or may not be used by broadcast media is the first thing that one notices when evaluating the Madison language manipulation. What you don't hear is more obvious than what you do hear. This arbitrary crystaline definition between what is accepted as language and what is perifrial gives added power to the abscant words given there selective nature. The powe3r is largely meaningless but the pricision of its delineation tends to suggest that those making the choices do indeed have power. At this point there power is largely exercised in the form of fines although who continue to push usually fade out of the picture. The restriction of language, even of a few simple words like sexually oriented words, gives the controller power over the sender who is dependant on the controllers approval prior to broadcast. The censorship itself is not so strong as to limit image rather disrupt the free flow of ideas without raising the suspicions of the majority who, it is important to remember can ultimately disrupt the delicate balance. + image control of broadcast media is much more sexually oriented than language. they don't let them them see sex in realtime, they let them see violense in realtime, but never ever the actual sex act. It is endlessly mentioned and alluded to but never shown. This seems to create a message of sex being more powerful than death, which in the ordinary magical arts is not necessarily true. The lack of sex images is complicated. By depriving them of biotic need creates a tension and stress and without equilibrium, power can never be achieved. But it also creates a subculture, those who enjoy the nudity so much that they are willing to go out and buy it on the free market. This can never be stopped, therefore it is best to marginalize this subculture through city zoning laws and force them into the “bad parts” of town. This marginalization makes them ineffectual during rebellion because the dominate culture knows that no matter how bad the current situation may be they sure as hell don’t want some “porn watching trash monger” in charge. + The human consciousness is latent with sexuality. Not hetro or homo, but simply sexuality, however in wordimage track television it is almost exclusively hetrosexual mythology --conditioning the brain into a binary system of either/or hetero/homo, one disrupts the normal circuitry of the brain creating mono memes (see footnote).1 Monomemes lead to +repression and non-symetical personality types. Signal processing in these brain patterns is much more open to autosuggestion --research continues in this field. + 3.Language manipulation: When attempting autosuggestion it is worth bearing in mind the KISS principle of which I believe Madison Avenue is acutely aware. The so-called “sound bite” is simple and enables you to plant marginalizing catch phrases in the mind of general public It also leaves room to constantly create and update the marginalization. In addition, by providing easy to recall words and phrases that simplify and therefore make meaningless complicated patterns and repitions you create a tendancy to narrow brainwave activities. Examples: Nigger, Nazi, Lesbo bitch, rock’n’roll, just a junky, anything with monger at the end of it, etc. It is also worth noting that Madison employs what shamans and priests have known for centuries the --rythem of the words is as important as the meaning which is why jingles were so popular for so long. Repeated exposure, however, creates an irritablility so I think there would have to be ceremonial in quality; as in a concert, but thus far the government newsbroadcastshave not employed such a technique (perhaps it is too obvious) + I could not (through the nature of the medium) tell if any sort of orgone generator type of energy was being used, but such a device requires a symbol transfer system which in my opinion has not been toyed with yet although I believe that it might be with further reasearch. I also plan to look more into the blue light synchronicity between Orgone and the neutral background of television. One of the technitians here has a tunnel in which the connection is real and the distruction of Reich's research a typical sloppy government cover-up to conceal what they were doing...you get the idea. It is a tunnel that I have yet to explore. + +personal notes: television (and here i mean all television because all television is advertising) seems to be primarily a means of diffining language and image. It presents polarities so often and with such a remarkable sense of irony (unitended?) that it seems to be telling us what the limits are. "The news" often plays the most violent stories back to back with the most heartwarming ones, obstenitly to not depress the viewer but it has rather the opposite effect of creating a constant tension in the viewer causing one have an inevitable sense of doom in every situation of pleasure. This helps to instill a sense of control over behavior, however this is not something that can be clinically evaulated it is just instinct. Ordinarily I would disregard the rather direct nature of the causality, but because especially America in some very real sense allows its fabric of reality to be held together by television I think that some sort of syncronise behaviorial patterns could be instilled through the airwaves. The Question of intelligent origions I still have no opinion on --I think that the fastest way to determine such a direct causality would be to delibriately try it and judege the results. Thank you for your continued support and be advised that I am returning to the united states under the name Chase Hollister. + + New Orleans: the bus is gone leaving a surly crowd of Mexicans behind coming to work in restaurants they can’t afford to eat in. Down the street tourists buy overpriced and ugly looking wood carvings because the sign on the shop says Voodoo and they want funky stuff so their relatives back home will find them more authentic --as if reality were not a fabric tearing down the middle. Sil Hawkard is sitting at his favorite stateside tavern waiting for the arrival of Dr. Waiben whom he is beginning to suspect may in fact be turning out as Downs had said --be careful what you wish for. Waiben was making Sil wait and Sil new it, Waiben was letting him know that one can not escape the control circuit if one is going to attempt to live in the fabric. Of course Sil knew he would have a well thought out and logical excuse, not to would have been Sil's style; he knew the game curcuit and he knew the games and he never bothered to play. Sil was excited by the prospect of what he might be getting in terms of research from Waiben, but he was also logically paranoid and knew human behavior so he developed the possiblity that Waiben might be giving him a stranglelope of disinformation. As a precaution Downs had insisted he take entourage who were now spread around New Orleans waiting for his signal and amusing themselves at the same time. + Sil saw Waiben outside as he rounded the corner and Sil ducked into the restroom--two paranoids meeting is always a contest of wills and never simple. First the feelers--Waiben headed straight into the bathroom and started to pee in the urinal, Sil stepped noiselessly out of the stall next to him and gently eased a gun behind his ear, “Doctor Livingston I presume?” + Waiben was visibly shaken, but tried his best to hide it, he smiled “Sil your paranoia is unfounded, occasionally troubling, but always amusing. Sil paused for a moment unsure if Waiben’s lips had even moved. + "Don’t pull telepathy games with me Waiben, it's irritating. Half the time all i get is gibberish, just save it until you know what your doing, okay?” His tone was deliberately +condescending and he said it with out moving his lips and looking straight into Waiben's eyes + “That wasn’t telepathy is was sub vocal speech, but okay we’ll just talk, can i get you a drink?” Waiben looked a touch surprised, but Sil couldn't tell if it was genuine. + + Dr Waiben had arrived in New Orleans after a short lecture stop in Los Angeles, California where he had experimented with speaking in tongues. The central nervous system is much like a radio antenna and Waiben was obsessed with finding a powerful enough signal to reach everyone at once. The tongues method appeared, from the LA experiment anyway, to be strong enough only if you knew how to pick it up. Much like his experiments with television, it required the listener to make a conscious effort to tune it in, which meant that it could be tuned out just as easily. + SpaceTime events collide. Words bounce out uncontrollably and with no respect whatsoever for the recognized conventions of english grammar and proper method of coherent speech. Pick up your marshmallows and walk -Christ is drunk and babbling in the streets of Bethlehem, Mohammed heaves him over his shoulder and carries him to a remote cave in the Gobi desert where they make sweet love under the waning stars of eternity like Calvin Klein and Gorgio Armani before the great clothing wars of the late 1990's. + + Sil sits down with Waiben and starts to tell a story, but thinks better of it and simply studies Waiben's face for a minute. "Cary has a brain tumor and he is going to die within a month." he said suddenly. "Everything is being turned over to me on the condition that I withdrawl all support and contact from you and your research facility, but I have not agred to it yet. I came here to ask you if the rumors are true." + For the first time Waiben genuinely felt spacetimemind curving and he saw Sil Hawkard fade and crumble as if he had actually been made up of structuralized ants. + The assistant beside him watches horrified as the virus pushes in bubbling crispy blisters against the outer skin of the boy's cock. The cock begins to move as if independent of the boy, it twists and turns in ways that one would not expect a cock to be able to move. It seems propelled about by the force of the popping skin blisters. The skin is searing and the acrid smell of burnt flesh permeates the air, a faint trail of delicate whispy smoke emits from the top like effervescent semen. His cock continues to dance about as if possessed by a viral cobra, the skin is disfigured and slides off in sheets that look like red black strips of chicken skin. The blisters are popped like a burnt hot dog, the vein on the underside splits open and oozes out a hideous trail of ochre liquid that snags in the boys pubic hair and trickles down his ass. + The virus begins to organize itself into more complex structures as though it were leaping up the evolutionary ladder right before the good Doctor's eyes. The boy screams in pain and terror as the blisters begin to form on his chest. + "By God i think its going to his brain, its ten minutes old and its evolved from a virus to a sentient creature capable of locating the vital organs of its host and destroying it. Waiben is momentarily shocked, the assistant retreats to the observation room for fear its growth rate might be too exponential and drags Waiben by the arm. Behind the antiseptically clean glass they continue to observe the beast as it burrows through the boys body, and then suddenly it stops and the monitoring devise on the boy falls silent. It dies with the host, how tragically effective, thought Waiben. + "What we need to do is tamper with its genes so that it doesn't die with the host -a virus that evolves in to a completely independent creature in an evolutionary span of two or three minutes..." Waiben's assistant Dr Kellinger's mind is racing ten ton truck-like around the viscus fluids of his skull and two years away a phone is already ringing. + "Did you hear that?" Waiben asks suspiciously as his spacetime point begins to warp forward. + Kellinger stops mid sentence. "Hear what?" + "The phone, I thought I hear the phone?" + "Are you okay? + "Yes, why?" + "You're the one who had the phones down hear removed two weeks ago because you said they were distracting you from this project and now you're still hearing them ring? You might want to lay off the cocaine for a little while Doctor." + "It not habit forming." + "All elements of mind control are habit forming --you of all people ought to know that." + Fragments of ash are falling. Government radio broadcasts interrupt still air to create wavelengths...my god thinks Waiben its working on me He grabs a cattle prod and heads out of the room. + Somewhere a man shoot a monkey and blows off its balls. The monkey laughs obnoxiously as the cells reconstruct themselves and a new set of balls rapidly grows in place of the old ones, he advances menacingly on the man who now realizes his error and begins to flee. Always subjugate reality. + + Waiben burst out laughing and took an exaggerated sip of scotch, "you're the one who tried so hard to get me to believe that nothing is true...are you afraid to live your own reality?" + Sil stared at Waiben for a bit and got up silently and walked to the bathroom again he smoked DMT and sat on the toilet seat and braced himself. Fragments of Ash falling. White washed ceilings hanging so ominous Hallucination of bubble-headed figures crawling like the Michelin Man across an indescribable mountain of tires +Motels Motels Motels Whiskey Bourbon. Tow truck non-ordinary state of reality precludes a state of reality that something is real Point at the autistic manwomanchild Autistic man pointing at you laughing unable to fathom how your brain functions and quite +self righteously you you cling to its definitions. Must delineate between abnormality and those of us who Understand The Human Virus breeding like rats unconsciously conscious and awareof our disorganization. Gas Station Cold Fusion dreams of the Anarchist are breedingin the minds of the oil men who don’t want toloose their stranglehold of reality.Fragments of Ash falling the continual settling of dust weighing down humanity and the French Maid masturbates discreetly in the next room. You need her to keep the dust off your mortalcoil spring.Rebirth mythology.Mythology of reality. We must distinguish between what will be defined as sane and what shall be referred to as insanity. Kevlar definitionsconstructed to make a better shampoo seem like a logical item on whichto squander your paperbacked slavery bills.After all these years Tide still +gets your socks whiter Its a wonder that they aren’t transparent by now.that your brain retarded in its developmentthat evolution had not anticipated the advent of the opposable thumb the unopposable domination of the thumb leadingto and insect superiority of mating rituals stolen from a textbook on damselflies darning needles sewing shut your lips, mind atrophy. Weber's White Race Enriched for Superiority Scorched earth campaigns raining Ash. Shit from the sky. Tax man camefor your baby in exchange for unpaid balance. You understand. Nothing Personal Just doing our job. Same as the next guy. From Auzwich on down the line. Didn’t make the rules. Sorry. We perfected them.There are no innocents in a world of free will. You don’t have to survive at the expense of others. You could die with puncture wounds in your handsand others would create a new mythology strange irony would find another with holes in his hands unwilling to accept cockroach mentalities.You want to beLIEve Hitler was a madman but he lives on in quiet cafes centralsouthamerica not so free not all the communists have been shot yet Your mistook misunderstood missed the lesson in the situation that unfolded Dr. of dialectic excuses you want to beLIEve Hitler was a madman Hitler killed everybody's body only taking orders you understand just doing my job from Independence on down the line. It was a sad money grubbing hunter gather up his children and thank his gods they are his and he their +god behold I have come to tell you that everything you know is wrong stop doing your job it is not yours see Hitler in your mind you want him dead but he's not he livesonburied under restraint in everyones mind.Only taking orders you understand. Didn’t have a CHOICE. Got a family to feed. radio crackle. pop. hiss. silence. + + “Alright, so what are you going to do?” Waiben asked as he came back. + "I will not sell you out to the State like Cary wants me to do, but you will never see me again." Sil walked out of the bar and got in a waiting car. + + Anything everything like a hurricane blowing bits of ash in from mountainous eruptions. Sil is sitting at a table, coat turned collar up and looking like a grainy photograph, harsh contrasts under a sterile florescent bulbs, mad-smoking a half lit cigarette. Old Cary Downs is inside, diffidence hangs like a fern in the corner to liven the place up and remind freshly wed virgins that drinking the seed is a gift of God. God who rots like a gaslamp whore waiting to get back what life owed him. Sil lays down the napkin he was blowing his nose in and gets up to leave. + Sil remebers a peculiar buzzing sound rang near the edge of his ears, a sound not unlike what a bear must hear with its head stuck inside a hollow log with hornets nest buzzing at the other end and echoing up the length. The sound began to organize itself at first into random pulses and thumps until a pattern emerged and Sil saw the rhythmic pounding of African drummers crouched by the fire and Aztec dancers whirled like calavera dolls blowing in the wind swept rafters of a Mexican village and far off, back in the shadows a thousand villagers chanted a harsh wilderness voice that carried up into his consciousness and spoke: + Behold we are ants. Tonight we appear to you as a headless horseman suit driven by a midget who smokes cinnamon sticks and who before this is over will likely find sexually desirable in the same way those lechers looked at Snow White when she +would bend over the stove. Only KiKi can save you, but that is irrelevant for now. As we said we are ants and our purpose is singular. Attachment is a pattern and in runs through you. Beware of the singularity of Time and consult often the wisdom of the last carrier pigeon. She waits like a pregnant woman ready to burst forth with impenetrable mysteries. Might well be the key to the universe handed by a pervertial passageway of dreams. + Cary died two days later and Sil flew to an island he had only recently found on the map. An island where sad tropic storms made one want to just sit on the porch in a bambo chair and stare at nothing for hours. Sil was sad about Cary, but primarily he suddenly felt the full weight of his own life on his shoulders --everyone in tunisia was waiting to see what he would do. He had taken the manufacturing codes for the production of the synthesiation of hashish and marajuana using carbon as a carrier and sold it for seven million dollars which he then parlayed into the stocks of the companies using a false corporation and funnelled the money into an e-cash account in the carribean. Sil was finacially poised to build an international empire and without word he left the derrick taking cary's jet and most of his informationresearch code machinery. As far as anyone on the rig knew he just disappeared they heard odd stories like one that an old man had approached him on the beach and converted him to christianity. One person did show up at the rig in tunisia though: the doctor will see you now. + + The encroaching millennia had several side effects which most people in the state had not antisipated, every society has its periodic upheavals and tumult but every society is different in what the upheaval is about. No one expected the fucking in the streets routine to really happen, but it did or at least it had for a while --it was dying off now some of the old purist religious types where beginning to crawl out of their bomb shelters to realize that the world had indeed gone mad just not violently mad. Instead sex evolved. It made sense to Waiben, after all the continuation of the species was more or less assured by DNA, why not have some fun, Waiben had developed a perverse sense of +humor in Buenos Aries. and had begun investigating ways of dilberately controlling the mind. scenes from the labritory play on tape loops in the new smithsonian. Do what ever you want just make sure he's in pain the whole time. I want his brain to remain in shock and agony for as long as it can before it turns itself off completely. Waiben was working on a theory of ego destruction --what happens to the mind if there is no ego? So far his experiment with television had been a disaster the only thing resembling a result was one freakish accident in which a Wichita cop, after 189 hours of uninterrupted signal, had blasted his own eyeballs out of his head and sent a strange grey ooze that had once been a brain flying across the room plastering on the wall like abstract art . Then the unexplainable parth his assistants puzzled over: projectile vomit squirted unrecognizable organ goo onto the television screen, when they wiped the ooze off the screen the television had short circuited itself and was spitting out random numbers for ten minutes or so and then at the bottom it scrolled out slowly and deliberately drwaibenlovesyou. + As a half joke half experiment (founded one Sil's premise if it isn't funny it probably won't work) Waiben had begun buying up control of broadcasting stations around the world and inwritting his own autosuggestion programs that everyone should get naked when the zeros came. It worked. Old friends who hadn't met in years would run down the street toward each other and instead of just hugging, they would fuck. At first it had been a bit odd, but as more of the herd joined in it became more acceptable. It did lead to many people who sort of slunk around in the shadows desperately trying to avoid running into a third grade teacher named Mrs. Fendleskin or other, who chased them nightly in their dreams. She was archtypically three hundred pounds overweight and yet somehow able to keep up with him chasing after him screaming you were such a bright boy. Think of all I did for you, come give Mrs. Fendleskin a little fuck! Invariably people woke up drenched in sweat and nervously double checking their underwear for dried cum. That's the problem with unlocking the unconscious, its libido often runs directly contrary +to that of the conscious. Time and Space are illusions created to fill a void, the one crack religion didn't quite reach --the gap between us. + Broadcast directives: Dr. Livingston i presume with your melting walls and Anne Clarke, saturated drug-induced sixties peace movement. Have you any idea what silliness peace inspires? We don’t need peace on earth we need to get the fuck off of earth; the space ship planet home evolution mythology is tired and worn. The cunt earth mother mythology is weary-eyed and thoroughly sick of our presence. Where is it writ that homo sapians ought to remain forever a terrestrial stupid creature fighting over gold and oil and dooming itself to specicide? Have you no sense of the inevitable; conceiving only of that which you know is possible? Is your terrestrial stupidity a symptom of the oxygen saturated environment that spawned you? Get rid of addiction, get rid of heroin, get rid of oxygen. Evolve. Survival of the fittest --you hear these words and think only of brawn and strength and lions ripping zebras to shreds. Fools! all of you. Survival depends on thought and intelligence we step of the food chain dilemma thousands of year ago, now its time to step off the planet all together we no longer need it. + Bless your lucky soul that you were born in the day and age when cessation of planetary constraints is possible. Don’t give me your morals, your religions, your beliefs --you can’t even justify your existence without them. Something can not be the source and justification of the source even the cave man Thak standing next to the first wheel must have seen the stupidity in these circular arguments. <sound of a woman whining Thak! Thak! get in here and take out the garbage>>><<<hear Thak's internal wheels turning conceiving of gunpowder shotgun blasted cunt's to high hell!>>>>> Have we passed the zero hour? Were we all sad eyed asleep at the wheel worried about our individual emotional experiences and missing the collective consciousness required to assemble a planetary brain collective capable of solving the hard realities of prevention. Prevention of leaving. Don’t go you may die. Don’t stay you will die. No we were not sad eyed asleep, you were sad eyed asleep and missed the boat but we know. + Assemble in the presence of god and know that i am peace. i am iam iam and i know why. Sorry can’t tell i am enjoying my intellectual, emotional and physical superiority because i have kicked the carbon death loop and caught the virus and decoded it for you, but i’m holding out on you waiting until you can grasp the fundamentals. Einstein died almost fifty years ago and you are still fifty years behind him. Let go of Newton let go of Aristotle and embrace a reality that is forever “plural and mutable,” realize that belief is a misconception, a temporary insanity which leads the human mind to mistakenly assume that it is capable of processing all signals. Like a radio you can only be tuned to one station at a time some of you might manage two or three at best --there are billions of signals incoming at all times. Some are visual, some are auditory, some are beyond normal comprehension, and some like nuetrinos are so small they can pass through the molecular spaces in your body. So by default you can not receive all the information and without all information all belief is stupid foolish games of semantics and power. + + Boards and syndicates of the earth did not take kindly to Dr. Waiben's reprogramming of the human computer and an all out cultural war started in 2001 with Waiben attempting to superimpose his own indoctrination over that of the Ind. INC mind contol game, or as he had renamed it: the U. S. A., Unconditioned & Systematic Autosuggestion state. The boards fought with conventional weapons and propoganda; Waiben used nonviolence (which indeared him to the people) and nano-technology. This last piece of technology forced the boards and syndicates to move ahead with their time table and institute operation TOTAL CONTROL. + >>>>>>>>these are trying times my fellow countrymen with a heavy hand ahem heart it was that i signed into law the seizure of private property and confiscation of all land into the hands of state>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<we caution you against overreaction as these measures are necessary and temporary so all resistance will be dealt with in the interest of time and efficiency,,,,,,,,,,>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<Your will be receiving +a vaccination pill sent out to all persons using the IRS databanks to select names you are instructed to take the pill and remain indoors until the virus alert sirens have blown for a second time. <<<<<<we appreciate your understanding and trust that you will realize that this is time where it is decided whether democracies will work in the post modern future>>>>we believe that we will send a message to the dictators of the world that democracy is inevitable and necessary to preserve the way of life we hold dear>>>>>>we will take your cooperation and compliance as a show of faith in the leaders you have elected to make decisions for you>>>>>>>> + Waiben knew that the so called vaccination pill contained a nanochip encoded with in a neutral virus which in humans found its way into the brain where it remained without harming the host, accept that this one had its own computer circuitry etched onto its molecular structure which would cause it to mutate and release a chemical agent that caused the chemical makeup of the host brain to switch and tune, so to speak, down to a longer alpha wavelength. At this wavelength the human brain processes at lower signal reception and in behavioral science experiments it had showed a tendency to be more open to auto-suggestion. No stumbling over lines, the computer chip in you brain has precision craftsmanship unequalled in its uncompromising quality. No expense has been spared in the programming of your life. And then there is me I am special screams your useless ego. + Crumple up the word and throw it into the sewer drain hope that someday a big bloated alligator will choke to death on words. + + + + +the legend of the toothless woman chased down the street with giant plastic candy cane saying you're gonna like it in your ass!!!!!! + + + All was well --cooking up plans to leave and then Waiben goes spilling to whole thing off to the boards --gotta have more power-- he says. + “Goddamnit!!” Sil crushes another flesh eater. + So the board goes apeshit right off the bat, they got this whole thing brewing in the Mediterranean --insurrection, that's why i work alone --trust nobody in the carbon death loop --burn you right up for sure. Work alone, should be the number one rule, never shoulda gone to Waiben in the first place. + Anyway the board’s got a problem down in the Med --sensitive area you know lost word truths hanging around <they think> You know --the Egyptians, Cleopatra and her goddamn cats (I hate ‘em I hate ‘em I hate ‘em), the Roman gods-- so they say to Waiben write it all up make it realunreel it all back so we know how to play it. + You familiar with the fictionhistory principle right? Well, so Waiben writes the whole thing up and sticks it right at the beginning thinking they’ll miss it --they’re ugly and they’re scared, but they’re not blind. + So the best update I can give you is that Chicago got the Neutron bomb <just buildings and viruses now> Europe's in civil war and “ethnic strife” <always has been stupid fucking cave dwellers> New York’s a shit hole on account of the Antarctic ice shelf heating up and dropping off <swallowed the whole goddamn city mosta L.A. too> Geiger counter at ten thousand feet told me to stay away from China <goddamn mess it is, which really isn’t good on account of the battle plans coming outta Tibet, only decent maps you can find these days> so I hightailed it here to see you. + The Old Man smiled and lit a cigarette looking thing that smelled of hash and cow shit <powdered mushroom brew from the brujo con artist at a time like this?> + “There is no future and no past Sil, you know that” --the three dollar principle. + He hands the twiggy cigarette looking smoke to Sil who takes a hit and watches The Old Man pick his nose aggressively. Sil starts to laugh, but controls himself. The Old +Man pulls an earwig the size of a human thumb out of his nose and puts it in his mouth. He grabs the cigarette and takes another drag, he leans forward and kisses Sil blowing smoke into his lungs and the earwig down his throat. Sil tries to gag, and recoils in horror. + “That’ll keep the flesh eaters offa ya,” The Old Man drawls, “Whatever Waiben wrote sure as hell did make them mad, and the smoke will take your mind of the time coordinates, you’re gonna need all your energy focusing on the other three circuits --we’re going to see the ostriches....” |