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He's a Chinese god who got conflated with the Buddha later on (somehow).

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Rendlesham Forest, time unknown

Ryan was relaxed.  He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but everything was nice and soft and easy.  He looked around.  It was fuzzy, indistinct.  He was trying to remember something, something important...nope, it had slipped him again.  But it didn't matter now, because Cheryl Tweedy was here.  His dreams were always better once she showed up.

Dreams?

"Wake up Ryan", she said.
"What?"
"Wake up."  She was gone now, but he could still hear her voice.  Teasing little minx.
"I am awa-" he said, then opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a face above him.  Not wasting a second he screamed "don't you dare use those fucking anal probes on me, you little gray bastards!"
"Yep, he's awake" the upside down woman's head said.  "If a little confused."
"Oh, that's right" he said.  His memories had just come rushing back.  And so did the pain to his head.  "Ow, what the fuck did you do to me?"
"Sorry about that" said another voice, male, from somewhere to his side.  "I was up in the trees, directing the lights when I saw you.  I didn't know if you were a soldier boy, so I decided to not take any chances."
"You jumped on me from a tree?"  He tried to get up, then slumped back down again, feeling dizzy and nauseous.  "Oh shit, I think I'll stay down here for a moment."  His mind then decided to remind him of another problem.  "Uuuh, did you find Jessica anywhere?"
"Jessica?" the girl with the upside down face asked, looking puzzled for a second.  "Oh, the girl.  Yes, we found here.  Wouldn't tell us her name though, even when he gave her some of our coffee."
"Yeah, that sounds like her.  Can I have a hand up?"
"Sure" she extended her hand and he managed to, with some help, drag himself up onto his feet.  He blinked a few times, hoping the lights would eventually go away, but it wasn't working.  The nausea had decided to move to the pit of his stomach as well, and was sitting there, waiting to jump out on him.
"Oh jeez, maybe I should have stayed on the floor."
"Ryan, is that you?"  It was Jessica, sounding a little muffled.  She then rounded a couple of trees, and ran up to him.  "What the hell happened to you?"
"Later.  I want to ask questions, before my dinner comes back up.  Man my head feels bad."  He bent double for a second, letting the blood flow to his head.  The euphoria took the edge off the nausea.  Then he stood back up.
"OK then."  He fixed the guy who had jumped on him with a stare.  He looked to be in his late twenties, done up in self-bought camouflage gear and twiddling with something that looked like a portable projector device.  "Let me guess" he started, you use that, somehow, to give the appearance of some sort of aircraft flying over the base?"
"Pretty much" he grinned.  "Its a little more complex than that though.  You see, the thing is-"
"The thing is, you need something to reflect off up there."  Ryan turned to face the Irish voice that had completed the sentence.  Another man had stepped out, from behind the trees.  He vaguely recognized him as the guy from earlier, who had been speaking orders into his mobile.
"Hi I'm Martin, how d'you do?" he asked, coming up and shaking Ryan by the hand.  He then sat back on a log and lit up a cigarette, not even waiting for a response.
"Uh, I'm Ryan, Ryan Linford.  I work for..."
"Yeah, the local paper, I remember hearing it just before you nearly got your head opened back there."
"Would you mind telling more by what you meant?  What are you using up there, to reflect the light?"
"Coloured gas, with tiny crystal particles" he answered.  "We were totally stumped for a while as to how to do this well, without having something up there which would show up on radar.  We used kites and the like as well, but they can be tricky, depending on the wind.  Well, so can this, but the idea is to get a steady stream of gas being put out and then aiming the light through it, to give the impression of a moving object.  With five or six different output machines, we can make it look like the night sky is being invaded by some sort of bizarre, fast moving, light emitting object.  Pretty clever, eh?"
"Very" Ryan replied, feeling totally lost.  He looked to Jess, then started with another question.  "Martin, if you don't mind me asking...what on earth is all this for?  I mean, is it a protest over tensions with Russia, some sort of anti-militarism thing, is it for kicks or something else entirely?  It seems a lot of work, not to mention somewhat dangerous, to be doing this out here."
Martin looked him in the eye, then answered.  "Well, now is not a good time to tell you.  Not now generally" he hastened to add, seeing Ryan's expression, "I mean here, right now, in the woods.  Y'see, we're just packing up ourselves.  Most of the gas-pump operators have already buggered off for the night, and in fact the only reason we were hanging around was waiting for you to wake up."
"OK, but I don't see the problem..."
"The problem is, Ryan, that it looks like the base may have wind of our being out here.  That was what my last call was about."  He waved his mobile, as if to make a point.  "Now technically, we're in the right here.  This part of the wood ain't on the base, and there are no laws against pretending to fly things over RAF bases.  However..."
"However the law tends to mean little to men with guns." Ryan concluded.
"Ah, I could tell you were a perceptive man.  Yes, that is indeed part of the problem.  There might be something else, too though.  I'm not rightly sure what it is myself, and if I told you my suspicions you'd think me crazy.  At least, until I could give you my explanation.  Suffice to say, some odd stuff has been happening in these woods, and my people have had nothing to do with it.  We're probably OK here, for the moment, but we should get a move on.  I'd be grateful if you and the other reporter could give us a hand packing up our gear.

Ryan nodded his approval, and moved to work quickly, helping disassemble and pack away the complicated machinery and remove any rubbish from the hastily made camp site.  He noticed that Martin's team members, whoever they were and whatever their purpose, seemed to be working quieter now, after his chat with them.  Presumably they too knew about the possibility of soldiers on the way, and wanted to get out as quickly as possible.  Within a few minutes, the work was completed and Martin gathered the team, plus Jess and Ryan, back around again.

"OK what I want to do is split us up" he whispered.  "Better chance of getting out without being seen.  I want you" he said pointing at the man in the trees, "to go with Alex and Lucy and take Route F out of here.  No torches, and keep the noise to a minimum.  If you need to call me, do so.  And remember, meeting point 3 afterwards, then back home if there is a no show."  The man nodded, then set off.

Martin, now alone, turned to Jess and Ryan.  "And that leaves me with both of you" he whispered.  "I know a fairly quick way out, but unfortunately it runs close to the base.  I have a safer route, but its much longer and will be much more tiring.  Do you think you're both up to the former?"  Jess nodded immediately, whereas Ryan took a second to think about it.  He was feeling better, no doubt, but not entirely well.  Still, if he had to...he also nodded.
"Great" Martin whispered.  "Please, follow me."

They set off at a brisk pace into the woods.  Ryan and Jess looked at each other briefly, as if to convey the oddness of their situation to each, and followed Martin's lead.  It was hard going, without a light, and more than once did the reporters in the group stumble.  Their new leader, on the other hand, seemed to know the territory very well, and managed his way past the stones, hidden ditches, roots, branches and other annoyances with ease, nimbly sidestepping or jumping over them.  After almost 10 minutes of solid walking he stopped, then moved behind a thicker cluster of trees, beckoning Ryan and Jess to follow.  As soon as they followed him around, he crouched down low, near the floor and whispered at them.  "I think I've fucked up badly" he said, so lowly it was almost unintelligible.  "I dunno if you can hear that, but I think we're near a bunch of troops."
A patrol?, Jess mouthed at him.  He shook his head.
"No, not a patrol.  This is different.  We're going to need to crawl through the bushes to get past this."  He pointed through the undergrowth to his intended pathway.  "And another thing", he said, almost reluctantly.  "I need to get close enough to at least see what is going on."  He fished around and pulled out a camera phone.  "Company policy" he smiled, almost sadly.  "Well, no use avoiding it, we may as well get on with this farce.  Follow me."

Keeping low, they moved from tree to tree, then, once in the bushes, crawled along the ground, pausing momentarily in order for their now troubled guide to listen out for movement, or get his bearings.  At first, Ryan couldn't hear the noises that the Irishman had been talking about, but now...now he could.  He heard low voices, likely carried on the wind.  And something else he couldn't quite place...

Probably not help.  They're remnants of the Islamic Courts who, funnily enough, are the only guys in Somalia right now that are crazy enough to want to rebuild the state.  I suspect they're wanting to kick ass, take names and reappropriate ships for their newly captured port (Marka).

Of course, the wonderful thing about Somali politics, insomuch as such a thing exists, is that its not 100% sure.  Islam has rules about raiding, dating back to Mohammed's time, but its not totally against the activity, so long as it is carried out within those rules.  Plus, those pirates really are making a nusciance of themselves, whether its to the hypocrites in the House of Saud or the Americans and British.

Michael Howard is an asswipe.

We should be offering to aid the Somali pirates, for a cut of the profits and immunity for our own vessels or those intended for our ports.

Just like the good old days.

Exactly.  And Howard, being a Conservative, should be in favour of the old way of doing things.  All the time.  Even if they don't make sense.

Michael Howard is an asswipe.

We should be offering to aid the Somali pirates, for a cut of the profits and immunity for our own vessels or those intended for our ports.

Its probably due to cultural change.  Both Hermes and Eris were originally portrayed negatively, because of attitudes towards trade prevalent from the 10th-6th centuries BC.  Because of a spate of tyrannies during the 6th century, alot of traditions got chucked by the wayside and merchants gained much more power.

In a military context, competition is bad (see: Thucydides), however in a trade context it is usually good.  But that trade context really did not exist much before the 6th century, and was distrusted by aristocratic elites and their priest allies.  As times changed, so did attitudes.

They even have legal advisors now, so when they get captured by various navies they can demand the rights they are afforded by the law, such as phone calls to relatives.  According to the Brits, they also make sterling prisoners when captured, and are really very nice chaps, chosen profession aside.

What's an alt?

I'm also here to befriend someone who knows more about internet anonymity than I do, so I can learn to be less accessible. Like I said, I'm paranoid. The healthy kind.

You are on the internet, you are not anonymous.

That said, this article will interest you http://cryptogon.com/?p=624

Some names that might help.

Lyotard
Michael Foucault
Jacques Derrida
Deleuze and Guattari
Lacan

I'd hold YO MOMMA up as an example of postmodernist art, but I'm afraid my arms would break.

But yeah, lack of grand narratives. Skeptical of binary opposites.  Strange obsession with pop culture.  The self is a fiction.  Interpretation takes precedence over creation (in literary circles).  Subversion and destabalization of meaning.  Etc.

Its worth having some literary analysis skills before delving into postmodernist/poststructuralist works

In philosophy, its a critical and normally somewhat nihilistic attempt to uncover hidden implicit assumptions within Western philosophical frameworks, then expose them, then write long books which sound like gibberish explaining it.

To really understand postmodern philosophy, you may want to look into Critical Theory first. 

Like most things, it has its applications, but someone (yes I'm looking at YOU Lacan) tries to take it too far.

Reworked version:


"'Tis the soldier's life to have their balmy slumbers waked with strife."
- William Shakespeare quotes

An angry man stirreth up strife and a furious man aboundeth in transgression
- Proverbs 29:22

"I have a high art, I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me."
- Archirocus, 650 BC

So, you want to consider yourself a freethinker, do you?  You want to be a revolutionary, fighting against the forces of order?  Or perhaps you just like chaos, or want to have a good time.  Well listen up.

Most Discordians seem to think they have to live up to some sort of inane standard of wackiness.  And of course, most of them get this conception from the Principia Discordia which, while a founding book of Discordianism, is hardly the only valid viewpoint going around.  Or did you forget to pay attention to that "not believing what you read" part?  Anyway, back on point.  Your average Discordian believes acting in cute, inoffensive and nonsensical ways is somehow the "correct" way of doing things – and ironically is filled with a degree of venom for those who disagree, or make fun of them.

Now, there is nothing wrong with acting in such a way....not if you want everyone to ignore you anyway (not that there are not times this is not useful, only there are also times when it is counter-productive to whatever goals you are pursuing, that you require attention or to be seen as credible).  But lets be honest, it is not random, or funny or clever or especially impressive in any way.  Its a tired old script from a tired old book which is a single group's interpretation of Discordianism, and Eris.

Oh yes, Eris.  How many times will I be confronted by some Myspace girl with a name like xXxErIsxXx acting like what she thinks is a Greek Goddess?  "But Eris was all zany and stuff, don't you know?  It says so right in this book!"

No.  Sit your punk ass down, shut up and listen for once in your life, before you run your mouth off.  If you're going to take your lessons in Greek mythology from some Beatnik track, then you are stupid, and deserve to be mocked.  However, you are lucky.  Because today, I am at hand I am willing to give you an alternative explanation of the facts.  You do remember facts, don't you?  Good.  Well, if you haven't run away by this stage, I may as well get going.

Now, if you read the hippie-rag, you'll have the impression that Eris was the Greek goddess of Chaos, and that the Greeks, for some bizarre reason, concluded that chaos and strife were the same, and so fucked everything up until the Wonder Kids who wrote the PD set us all straight.  Wrong!  First off, Eris wasn't the Goddess of Chaos.  Secondly, her name means strife in the Ancient Greek.  That's a literal translation. Those Greeks were many things, pig-headed, unenlightened on sexual ethics, persistent raiders and looters, but one they were not was stupid.  If there is a Goddess calling herself Strife, what do you think she might be like?

Well here are some more clues.  Luckily for you, I had access to a pretty good Classical library a while back, and plenty of spare time.  And I went digging.  Hesiod, for example, answers the age old question posed in the PD, that of why do wars keep on happening if no-one wants them?  "[Eris] is hateful ... [she is the one] who builds up evil, war, and slaughter."  Alright, now we're talking!  How about that age old Greek classic, the founding epic of Western literature, the Iliad?  Well, according to our buddy Homer "Their fighting work [was woken by] . . . man-slaughtering Ares, and Eris, whose wrath is relentless."

And that's just the start of it. "[The] goddesses, who range in order the ranks of men in fighting, [are] Athene and Enyo, sacker of cities."  Enyo being another name for our Lady of Discord.  Sacker of cities sounds...well, kind of violent to me.  Maybe the sort of occupation where the chaos is a little more visceral, and the humour somewhat more black than normal.  We continue:  "Ares drove these [the Trojans] on, and the Akhaians grey-eyed Athene, and Phobos  drove them, and Deimos, and Eris whose wrath is relentless, she is the sister and companion of murderous Ares, she who is only a little thing at the first, but thereafter grows until she strides on the earth with her head striking heaven. She then hurled down bitterness equally between both sides as she walked through the onslaught making men's pain heavier."

For those of you not up on your Greek mythology, Ares was the god of War, and not in the good sense.  He reveled in slaughter, and was filled with blood lust.  Battle was another outlet for his bas instincts.  It was not, like for Athena or Zeus, the careful application of strategy towards a defined victory.  Obviously the same does not apply to Eris, she is the goddess of all strife after all, whether its clever and justified, or stupid and mean.  But she does have close relations with Ares, it is undeniable.  And that particular branch of the Olympian family tree was not viewed kindly. 

Eris didn't just have her fun in the Iliad either.  During the Thebaid, she assisted Hephaestus in making a cursed necklace, which drove the Thebans to fratricidal war.  During Dionysos' war against the Indians, she spurred him back into battle.  For Hera, she broke up marriages.  She was even there when Zeus fought the demonic dragon called Typhon, escorting him into the fight, though she took no part in his actual battle.  And of course, most famously, she stole a Golden Apple of the Hesperides, and initiated the Trojan War, in response to a snub.

So you can embrace the positive aspects of Disorder all you want, but maybe you should keep an eye to whom your role model and symbol for all this is, eh?  Chaos can be both positive and negative, but just like in rejecting the positive aspects of strife is denying that creative, freethinking touch, denying the "negative" aspects of strife also rejects the benefits that comes with it.

What benefits are these?  Think on it for a moment.  I'll give you a clue, from the epic Dionysiaca, if it will help.  "[Aion, god of time addresses Zeus:] 'Lord Zeus! behold yourself the sorrows of a despairing world!  Do you not see that Enyo [another name for Eris] has made the whole earth mad, mowing season by season her harvest of quick-perishing youth?"

That's Zeus, King of the Gods, he is addressing there.  Eris, a relatively minor goddess by Greek standards, has them so worried and afraid they are looking to the chief god himself to intervene.  And with good reason.  She was disruptive.  And dangerous.  And far too smart. Unlike Ares, great lumbering clod that he was, she successfully manipulated the vanities of three Olympians (not to mention putting Zeus in the difficult position of having to choose between his wife, daughter and the Goddess of Beauty) and caused a war which bought down one of the most powerful and rich cities of the time.  She was troublesome to the ruling order, in the extreme.

Only Hermes was anywhere near as vexing, and he was carefully kept under Zeus' thumb.  Eris answered ultimately to nobody.  But she got away with such things, time and time again.  And of course, you could say that you prefer the Eris you thought existed.  That the one above is not an especially pretty picture.  I would be inclined to agree, its not exactly the sort of attributes which, in and of themselves, are especially praiseworthy or benevolent.  But consider it this way – Eris was a disruptive goddess of strife and conflict, but it is never specified who she has to bring conflict to, or if her strife may serve a higher purpose.  You cannot make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, after all.  Or, if you prefer Terry Pratchett:

Fred grunted his disdain for a mere fact of geography. "War, Nobby. Huh! What is it good for?" he said.
"Dunno, sarge. Freeing slaves, maybe?"
"Absol- Well, okay."
"Defending yourself from a totalitarian aggressor?"
"All right, I'll grant you that, but-"
"Saving civilization against a horde of-"
"It doesn't do any good in the long run is what I'm saying, Nobby, if you'd listen for five seconds together," said Fred Colon sharply.
"Yeah, but in the long run what does, sarge?"

No doubt, some will call me an agent of destructive disorder.  And they're right...for a given value of right.  Noam Chomsky was wont to point out that everyone wants peace.  Everyone.  George W Bush.  Hitler.  Stalin.  Mao.  The question is, as always, on what terms?  Unfortunately for them, and many other, their terms are entirely unacceptable to me.  The wasteland's they would call "peace" are not worth considering.  I'd rather be the disgruntled outsider, kicking ass and causing havoc, than be on on anything they have to offer.

And that, my friends, is why I like Eris.  Not because of some incredibly bound counterculture book written before I was born.  Not because of its 60s and 70s centric, uncreative and repetitive adherents, whom for the most part have done nothing to build on such ideas, only disseminate them like the credible fools they are.  I like Eris because I want to live my life the way I please, and anyone who tries to stop that is in for a world of pain and misfortune, as only I know how to administer.  It is, as the man Archirocus says, a high art.  And well in keeping with the historical image of our Lady here.

Of course, its not a path for everyone.  And I won't pretend that.  All I'm saying is keep this in mind next time you're prepared to run some more of your hippie-trip by me.  Its your trip, not everyone else is interested in the ride.

From here on in, I would like to be notified when my work is being used beforehand.

What I post on a forum with people I more or less know is not how I would post to a new, unknown audience and I would like time to make any necessary edits or raise questions about the use of the essay in question.  This does not necessarily relate to generally using my work elsewhere a la kopyleft (where an individual can highlight or extrapolate on the parts they wish to use) but the fixed format magazine/download, which does not allow for such feedback.

TIA

cool - may I suggest updating your kopyleft note to reflect that?

also - would you like to edit the pieces of yours I've put in Transmittens? It's not difficult to update, and the more I look at issue 1, the more little shit I see that I'd like to tighten up anyway.


if publishing your stuff without your green light caused some annoyance,
mea culpa; my bad

Changed.

No, I don't want to edit them.

OK but yes, it did annoy me. 

Now redundant post.