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Ok, I have a basic site up at www.intermittens.org. I'm looking for feedback and people interested in doing graphics etc.

Also, I only have the text of a couple articles in the archive. This is mostly for feature testing etc.

Registering will give you access to submit articles.

UPDATE: Existing Editors get registered and PM me, I'll upgrade your accounts so you can access the back end to get to new articles etc.

You're not too late, so welcome to the final blowout sale.
How did we fail?
Isn't it great? The grand finale's right around the bend,
yes, its the end.

Yes, its the end.

And there we had a lovely shop
and there a little store
and there we had a Mom and Pop
but now they've shut the door.
So wake up, the dream is over.
Wake up there's nothing there
Wake up and then roll over;
welcome to the Big Nightmare

Please pick 'em out, whatever little trinkets that you like,
its quite all right.
We've lost our clout, and everything we've got is priced to go.
it's marked so low.

It's marked so low.

And there we had a little home,
and there a factory
but then we got a little loan,
now we're all in bankruptcy.
So wake up, the dream is over.
Wake up, there's nothing there
Wake up and then roll over;
welcome to the Big Nightmare

So here we are, a fire sale we're glad to make a deal
How does it feel?
It's gone too far, America says good bye to her dream,
oh what a scheme.

Oh what a scheme.

And there we had our self-respect
and there an honest face.
And there we had a little power,
its all gone without a trace
So wake up, the dream is over.
Wake up, there's nothing there
Wake up and then roll over;
welcome to the Big Nightmare

It's been a trip, three hundred years is pretty good I'm told.
we're not that old.
So let it RIP, Maybe someday soon we will dream anew.
...
We'll fall asleep and dream our dreams came true.




Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord

Yes, Rat is still not getting with the program. 

After many discussions and metaphor examinations and ideas... I finally put my thoughts on the BiP into a story. Originally I intended this to be spread throughout the GSP or another version of the BiP, but since I haven't gotten either of those completed... I figured I would post it here so I can reference it. There will be five posts one for each part, then you all can ignore it or tear it up at will

A Story in Five Parts

Part I

Following two loud blasts from the siren, Bob awoke just like he did every day. He opened his eyes to the morning light streaming in from a barred window, which left alternating stripes of light and dark painted across the floor. Above him the flat gray of a featureless ceiling loomed, as though it were a cloud just waiting to dump its load. His cot with its thin layer of padding was by no means plush, and the blanket covering him was scratchy. Yet none of this entered the conscious parts of Bob's brain when he opened his eyes. After all, none of it ever changed. This was his cell, it was his ceiling, his cot, his blanket, and he had become comfortable with those familiar surroundings.

Comfortable and familiar were two words that described almost everything about Bob and his life. It described his cell. It described what he did to occupy his time. It described the thoughts that ran through his brain. It especially described the things that he thought he knew about himself.

The other prisoners began stirring in their cells. There was the loud metallic clunking sound as guards opened the hall door and entered with trays of food to start off the breakfast ritual. Each cellmate was passed a plate, something to drink and their daily assignments. The routine was as well-known and broken-in as a pair of old shoes. Ironically, that's also what the food tasted like. Bob never complained though. It wasn't the best food, but it wasn't bad. He'd grown accustomed to its mediocre quality.

After breakfast and a tall latte, he wandered over to the back corner of his cell. Bob spent much of his day in this corner with its odd beige-colored walls. It's not that he actually accomplished much in this space; usually he just sat there. Sometimes he would shuffle some papers or draw a few pictures, but that was just busy work which kept him from being terribly bored. The desk and chair were neither elegant nor artistic. If form follows function, apparently the entire beige corner was designed to function as an assassin of creative thought.

After a few hours of staring at the walls and shuffling stacks of papers into yet another configuration, the siren sounded again. Bob's mouth began to salivate. "Lunchtime!" he said happily to no one in particular. Of course, the bland food was no better than breakfast, but Bob didn't mind. He expected lunch, he didn't expect high quality food and the Prison never failed to meet an inmates lowered expectations.

Later, the siren bleated twice and the guard shouted "Lights Out!" as the filaments went dark. Bob crawled under the blanket, masturbated to no fantasy in particular and, just like every night he could remember, fell asleep in his cell.

Thought I had posted this here in the past, but apparently not

In preparing for some musical hijinks including a number of strange instruments, I've been digging through old stuff I've written and came across one that I'd forgotten about:

Cthulhu's On My Voicemail
(played on mandolin and stumpf fiddle... if our practice this past weekend counts for anything )

Cthulhu's On My Voicemail
I took a job near Boston, in a quaint New England town.
The people seemed a little odd; the preacher wore a strange gold crown.
I thought something was fishy, I wondered what was going on,
then I found an old book in the den, called The Necronomicon.

Now Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth's at the door.
Yog Sothoth's in the basement and Brown Jenkin's crawling 'cross the floor.
I've got rats in the walls, Keziah's in the attic; I wish they'd go away.
And Cthulhu's on my voicemail, its gonna be that kind of day.

I heard a whisper in the dark, and a scuttle on the lawn.
I went out to investigate but the noises all were gone.
There are colors leaking out of the well and the trees all glow at night.
I've got a funny feeling that something isn't right.

Because Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth's at the door.
Yog Sothoth's in the basement and Brown Jenkin's sneaking 'cross the floor.
I've got rats in the walls, Keziah's in the attic; why won't they go away?
And Cthulhu's on my voicemail for the second time today.

Father Dagon took me to a baseball game; we had a pretty good time.
He caught a fly ball with his pesudopod, I'd keep it but it's covered in slime.
Mother Hydra took me out to lunch, and I just had to laugh.
They served us calamari stew, so she ate the kitchen staff.

And Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth's at the door.
Yog Sothoth's in the basement and Brown Jenkin's sitting on the floor.
I've got rats in the walls, Keziah's in the attic; it seems they're here to stay.
And Cthulhu's on my voicemail, it's his third message today.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie", so that old book said.
"And with strange eons even death may die." I guess I shouldn't read in bed.
I thought it was a bad dream, from that crazy book I found.
Until I checked my voicemail, and heard that slurping sound.

Yes, Cthulhu's on my voicemail, Azatoth's at the door.
Yog Sothoth's in the basement and Brown Jenkin's dancing on the floor.
I've got rats in the walls, Keziah's in the attic; I don't know what to say.
Cause Cthulhu's on my voicemail, and he wants to come and play!

Opinions?

A: Organic Farming Subculture

B: Sado-Masochistic Subculture

C: Biotech Company Subculture

Place: Woodstock, New York, USA


Our hired hands, also codified as 'domestic animals', are often faux-kidnapped from the reservoir of New York City's excess of submissive professionals. We have joined The Society of Janus. We invite the potent forces of of any and all professional or lifestyle Dominas to help rule our pFARM. We sponsor fetish monomania themed weekends and advertise in some of New York City's skuzziest smut rags (e.g., Screw Magazine). The submissives are forced to till the earth, aid in mulching compost and care for the plants and animals. They are kept in pens or sleep with the chickens. They are philosophically retrained to access their inner 'becoming animal' abilities.
       \




http://www.emutagen.com/pfarmgl.html

FUCK WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT HIPPIES!

So Obama is talking about how to create jobs... and it appears he's gonna try Public Works projects.So, my question is "Why not kill multiple issues at once?" We have problems with wasteful city designs, wasted resources for urban environments etc... Why not start dumping money into build Archology sites across the US?

http://www.arcology.com/


Self-Sustaining cities seem like a smart move to me... and if we're looking for ways to get people employed, why not teach them how to build the future?

This was based on a real event... the first official SCA fencing tournament that Sjaantze s.k.a. Lady Lucrezia ever participated in. Also the first "Masque of Courtly Love" event that we went to together. I recalled this old poem due to the thread Telarus started on Zenarchy swordsmen.

Your favor on my wrist
and your beauty in my heart.
I prepare to face my foe,
as  the tournament doth start.

I practice my DiGrassi,
Morazzo with a flair.
I check through all my parries
and test my voids with care.

"A slope, good sir. Do not retreat,
when the thrust is on its way."
I practice wards both high and low,
prepared to face the fight that day.

I look at all the gentle lords
standing next to me.
Marco, Rameriz or Wolfgang,
I wonder who first will be.

I think about the last I played
'gainst Luthor in the list.
And try to focus on that
one parry that I missed.

I touch your favor once again,
assured of victory.
But then alas, the first bout today
Is announced: You vs. Me!

I step in the list,
pay honors where their due.
I hate to see you with an early loss,
but now it's Me vs. You!

Everyone thinks its cute
when we bow and bow again,
for while we both inspire,
only one of us can win.

I hear lay on and see your form,
lithe and lovely, and so small.
But I've got your reach by 11 inches,
it's not my fault that I'm tall.

I prepare to take you out
with a quick thrust to the head
But, suddenly I feel your tip
and I'm saying "Err, Good! Dead!"

- Lewes ap Deykin to his Lady Lucrezia A.S. XXXVII

This is the first actual working prototype we've made of a brass corset, this one we also included some clockwork in (see the end).



Note the notches along the upper left side (they are also like that under the leather). This allowed the brass to bed around the nice curvy bits of Sjaantze's chest, rather than creating a strange boxlike container around her chest.



Sjaantze, lining up leather straps and punching holes.



The notches for the matching piece.



Note the rivets. Those are copper rivets and Sjaantze hand-peen'd all of them. The look great, but were a serious PITA.







The top and bottom are trimmed in a long folded piece of leather, sewn onto the brass through pre-punched holes. This was also a PITA.



OMGZ!



And the back...



Now with working ticking bits!





From the inside.

So we took away a lot of useful information on this sort of thing.

1. Copper rivets look awesome, however they suck and are expensive. Next time we may try the quick rivets.

2. The clockwork came from a vintage Big Bird clock. it is ok for this, but I think we'll look for a skeleton clock for the next time... the moving gears in this design are off to the side and while the ticking is great, you have to be very close to see the gears move.

3. Thicker brass. This stuff was very soft and the slightest error showed. We'll need to go up to the next gauge for future projects.

All in all, a success!

Doughnutus Illuminatus: The Bavarian Cream Seers


Prologue

A cool fall breeze slowly ambled its way down Sandusky St., occasionally picking up a leaf that caught its interest. The brown and yellow, crimson and orange, any color other than green it seemed, took on a moment of life as it was picked up, discarded or carried along. So occupied was this young zeypher that it didn't notice the small group of nearly adult humans walking down the grassy knoll that separated the street from campus. So occupied were those young humans, that they didn't notice the amazing display of areal flotsam, which by any description of 'art' should have been in the Louvre, rather than a side street of a tiny college town in Ohio.

"But I'm telling you, this stuff works!" he said with an exasperated look on his face.

Of course, I can hear you dear reader. You want to know who 'He' is, don't you? Well, I suppose it's expected since authors seem to have set a tradition of describing their characters. 'He' is a human, male and has existed outside the womb for 19 years, 6 months, 5 days, 23 minutes and 16 seconds. Well, at least he was when I wrote this, descriptions can be tricky like that. Perhaps I should start again and try for something less subjective than age. 'He' is a Neo-Pagan, that is, he follows a belief system that existed before Jesus. Although, that's not exactly true either because complete belief systems didn't really survive the ravages of "Jesus' Love" as implemented by humans. Of course, if you were to ask other neo-pagans, they may say 'He' is a fluffy bunny, mostly because he's a bit sketchy on historical facts about these deities and much more interested in talking about his experiences with whatever given deity he happens to have a crush on at the moment, or at least so it seemed to them. Well, there I go again, still not a very static description... ah! 'He' is named Sam, 'He' has green piercing eyes, short  red hair, freckles and the build of someone that got the short end of the Gaelic genome.

"Sam, there's no way. You can't even provide me a single physical theory on what sort of energy you're talking about." she retorted, looking at Sam like he might suggest handling rattlesnakes in another minute or two. "How is meditation and focus going to create energy or suck it out of the ground with your feet, or, I mean, what the hell does that even mean 'sucking energy out of the earth'... with your feet? You sound like a uneducated redneck!"

'She', dear readers, also has a number of dynamic descriptions. Suffice to say that most people called her 'Lanna', except for her grandmother (who called her 'Alanna, darling'). Oh, and her Dad (who called her 'My Little Lantana'). Ah, also the girls that stayed in her dorm (most names they used are not very complimentary and say more about the psychological impact of putting a bunch of hormonal girls together in a high stress environment) and the guys that happened to see her in class, on campus, walking down the street or at work in the bakery (most names they used are very complimentary but still say more about the psychological impact of putting a bunch of hormonal guys together in a high stress environment than much about Lanna herself).

Sam paused, then bravely pushed the conversation forward. "I don't care what you think Lanna, I know what I experienced. Horus and Hermes came to me while I was meditating and I could feel this transfer of energy. I can still feel it inside me right now."

"I supposed you're gonna show me what you can do with it then, right? Maybe you can make a fireball, or 'magic missile'. Or, maybe you can go get some X-Rays and see if you accidentally swallowed your d20, rather than some energy from Horus and Hermes... I mean, those two gods aren't even from the same mythology!"

"Aguh! You just don't get it do you? It doesn't matter if they're from the same specific mythology. All of the gods are the same, they were just taken from the previous culture and called different things by different people. That's why..." he was interrupted by the third member of this small cluster of [Humans/Americans/College Kids/Elitists/Nerds/Philosophers/Future of Our Planet...] (take your pick, I'm not gonna tell you what to call them).

"That's why all those people on Live Journal call you a Fluffy Bunny. Do you really think that all of these different myths are all about the same gods? So the Egyptians and the Romans and all of them, they all followed the same gods? Maybe the Aztecs too? I don't remember reading about Shamanic Rain Dances in Odysseus." Christopher said in a somewhat patronizing tone. "Believe whatever bullshit you want man, just do some research and quit making shit up."

Christopher was here on a big scholarship, because Christopher was very smart. Christopher even had a paper published in a peer reviewed journal which documented how a bunch of frogs had died due to a toxin in a new fertilizer his father had started using on their huge farm in Idaho. Christopher also got to live in the 'Tree House', a small-living unit on campus. It was still communal housing, but it was a heck of a lot better than a dorm. Everyone who lived in the 'Tree House' were environmentalists. No matter what major they were focused on, their purpose was clear, they were to be the future defenders of our earth, our forests, our wildlife, our habitat. The war was on, the lines were clear and the battle needed a new generation of soldiers. Christopher was very serious when it came to the Environment. The 'Environment' always started with a capital 'E' when he said the word.

Any mention of LJ often upset Sam to an extreme degree. He'd been banned on three forums about serious magick and pagynism and the forums that did like his posts, were full of n00bs that made him want to pull his hair out. His sudden sullen appearance, hunched shoulders and increased speed indicated that this time was, indeed, one of those times.

As he stalked away, Lanna smirked, "They probably picked up one of his sock puppet accounts on "serious_pagans_only" or something stupid like that. Can you believe that shit he was saying about 'energy' inside of him. Useless waste of desk space!"

Well, maybe some of the words other girls used to describe Lanna were pretty accurate.

Christopher shrugged, by that point they had arrived at "Yumee Dounuts", which was their destination and coffee seemed much more interesting than Lanna's self righteous lack of belief. Coffee, a fresh apple fritter and then 4 hours of standing in front of a cash register.


Chapter One: Yumee, Yumee, Yumee, I Got God in My Tummy

'Yumee Dounuts' had spent quite a bit of grant money the year before and was now one of the nations first organic, completely green bakeries. In fact, most of the campus had 'gone green' and the bits that hadn't, were to be converted over the next two years. From Christopher's point of view, that was the reason he was here. The tour had left him practically in tears, even though the Methodist foundations of the University were a bit tough to swallow on occasion. Work, was unfortunately, one of those occasions. 'Kerri With An I' was the assistant manager and 'Kerri With An I' loved 'Jesus With A J', and everyone who met Kerri knew it. Immediately. He remembered watching college movies where a cute girl came up and asked "What's your sign?' (It was 'Cancer', he looked it up before he came to college). Kerri was probably the prettiest girl he'd ever seen so when she approached and sweetly asked "Have you been Saved?" it threw him entirely off. Kerri didn't really dress like a Christian (aren't they supposed to wear hats or something?), and she had great taste in music, but when it came to anything about religion, she was a walking, talking Jesus Freak.

Of course, that's only how other kids saw her. Kerri never thought she was all that pretty and she really didn't consider herself a Jesus Freak. She just couldn't understand why so many people didn't get as excited about the Lord as she did. Everyone back home had loved Jesus for their whole lives and they either went to her church or the Nazarene one, or the well, the Catholics ... but she'd always been a bit suspicious of them. Kerri's parents, on the other hand, thought that she was a gift from God and the delight of their lives. Her decision to attend Wesleyan, over a more secular college made them very proud. Her work in Campus Ministries, since she got to college, just showed them how well their Godly Training had rooted and grown to the praise of His Name.

Obviously, they didn't know about her new clothes.

The campus bakery was the center of student life. Coffee, light music, delicious pastries and wireless Internet made the bakery a great place to write your paper, check your email or furiously type away at a blog entry or yet another lame on-line writing competition. It was decent money for a campus job, especially if you had grants and scholarships and most of the time, the crew of the 'three pm shift' got along just fine. Sam, Lanna, Christopher and Kerri With an I did anyway. Josh, on the other hand, the guy that ran the deep fryer, didn't talk much at all. Josh was older than the rest of them and had apparently just sort of stayed in college rather than graduating. His course list looked like someone had rolled dice to pick out which courses to enroll in. Philosophy, Chemistry, Liberal Arts, Physics, Psychology, Journalism, one class in entomology and nothing that looked anywhere close to actually qualifying him for a degree. Everyone on Campus had heard the rumors; that he had been top of his class and had some ungodly IQ. "What a waste of talent", everyone thought.

"Information Wants To Be Free", "Truth Will Out", "The Light Gets Brighter and Brighter", all of these are correct in some sense. In our story, Information was flying fast and furiously. Knowledge from an college education, plus the different life experiences of each student were coming together to create Information. Inside this tiny donut shop, Information is about to come bursting through the sides, like a overfilled Long John with maple icing.

http://www.reallyfunky.com/media/428/Are_Americans_Stupid/   

Just Kill Me. Kill Me Now. Please?

Let us, as fine free thinking individuals, all consider for a moment that IANAR may in fact have some disease. Surely, there must be something wrong with them. Let us also admit, that a mental illness could, in some cases be more debilitating than some physical ones. IANAR appears to be an extreme case of something, at least in my opinion.

To that end, I think I have a solution to our problems. We need a visible sign, much like existing handicapped signs, for all of IANAR's posts. Thus, we will be able to distinguish its posts from all of the myriad of not-IANAR posts, so that we can, uh, apply a "different set of standards" to their posts.

I recommend something like:



Feel free to recommend your own entries for this new SPECIAL BANNER.

I have been at this company for 9+ years. I have never gotten a promotion and my reviews have been average.

Early last year I started spending large amounts of my work time here...

I received a 5% pay raise at my mid-year review (we never get raises at mid-year). I just had my annual review, got another raise, a promotion (with a raise) and I'm apparently now eligible for bonuses every six months based on the performance of the company. My manager had nothing but gushing words of praise.

Obviously, hanging out at PD.com makes me a better employee.

[Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!]

An exercise in combining a couple metaphors that I have, to this point, been uncomfortable using.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three loud bleats from the siren and Bob knew it was time for lunch. He heard the other prisoners stirring in their cells and the loud metallic clunking sound as their guards opened the hall door and entered with trays of food. The routine was well known and comfortable, like a pair of old shoes.

Later, the siren bleated twice and the guard called out, as he did every evening, "Lights Out!"... and the fillaments went dark. Bob crawled under the blankets and, like every night since he could remember, fell asleep in his cell.

The siren bleated five times and Bob immediately woke up. The siren never bleated five times... occasionally, when there were inspections it would bleat four times... but five? He looked around, the room was dark and still. No one else was awake. Bob laid back, assuming that the siren call had been in his head. But, then, once again, the siren called out: "Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!" and Bob was immediately awake again. This time the room was lit and someone was over near the back wall messing with something.

"Excuse me, " Bob ventured, assuming that the person was a prison employee, "why are you in my cell?"

The man turned around and looked at him for a moment, "Cell? What the heck are you talking about?" He then refocused on his odd task of fiddling with the wall.

"Cell," Bob said, "my prison cell... you are in my prison cell and I would like to know why."

The fellow scratched his head, looked at Bob curiously and sighed. "That's really the best you can do, eh? I mean I've met some fruitcakes... but a prison was really the best you could come up with?" Noting the confused look on Bob's face, he sighed, walked over and sat on a chair, which Bob was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. The man leaned back and studied Bob closely for a moment then said, "Well, look... you're not in a prison. You have never been in a prison. This whole thing, the prison, the guards, the other inmates, the food and even that annoying siren are all in your head."

Bob, at this point, decided someone was trying to make a fool of him. He stood up and walked to the cell door. "If this is in my head," he said, "then I should be able to walk right through it." Saying this, Bob stepped into the door and smacked his head on the bars.He staggered back, shook his noggin and then looked at the man. "See," he said, "they are real bars and this is a real prison."

The man rolled his eyes, stood up and walked right through the wall. He looked back through the bars and smiled, "No, its your bars and your prison. You made it, you maintain it, you keep yourself inside it."

Bob was taken aback slightly, mostly because the stranger had walked through a solid wall. "Lookit", the man continued, "can you tell me what crime you committed that got you put behind bars? Can you tell me how long you're here for, or how long you've been here?" Bob strained to recall the conviction, the trial, the sentencing... but there was nothing there. He tried to remember how long he had been here, but that too seemed so far distant in his memory, that no valuable information was forthcoming.

"I don't understand" Bob said, his voice shaking a little, "If I'm not in prison, then where am I and why do I think I'm in jail?"

The man smiled, "Good questions, and to answer simply. This is the model you chose for yourself. This is how you decided to see the universe... one big jail and yourself as just another lonely prisoner. Its a useful model for some things, but you, Bob, have trapped yourself here."

"I'd like to get out," Bob said wistfully.

"There is no 'OUT'", the man shook his head, "because you aren't really 'IN'."

As he spoke, Bob thought that maybe the Universe wasn't a prison after all, maybe it was simply an inescapable tarpit, holding anyone within its grasp, slowly dragging them further and further into a black abyss. The prison walls shifted, the bars were suddenly vines, the bricks faded into the trunks of trees and the floor, OH GODS, the floor had become a steaming, bubbling, stinking pool of thick tar; tar that had a strong hold on his feet, his ankles and to his horror, it was slowly sucking him down.

The man was standing on top of the tar, looking at him quizzically. "Well, I'm not sure I've seen anyone go from bad to worse, quite that quickly." he said with a smile.

"Help me, for God's Sake!" Bob screamed, "I'm being sucked in, I'll die!!"

"We'll all die, you dummy... but the only thing sucking you down right now is... well you."

Bob tried to clear his head as the tar touched his knees. He concentrated, "not a prison, not a tar pit... DAMNIT!" The tar had his knees now and the heat was beginning to make his balls sweat. "not a prison", he thought, "not a tar pit... Of Course! Reality is a train, set upon its course, steaming its way through time in a direction that could never be altered by the helpless passengers." The jungle scene resolved in a beautiful crossfade and the compartment of a passenger car began to materialize.

The stranger rolled his eyes and said "Enough! I don't like trains and honestly, you're still trapping yourself." He snapped his fingers and Bob suddenly found that both he and the stranger were sitting in a small pub with two pints in front of them. He looked at the stranger, who smiled, lifted his first pint and said "To your health."

Bob, suddenly got it. He suddenly realized what the Stranger had been trying to tell him. He leaped to his feet with the magical and mystical intonation "Aha!" forming on his lips. Bob grabbed the barstool he had been sitting on by its legs and in one fell move had slammed his head into the seat. The resounding "CRACK" caused the other patrons to look up quickly from their drinks, then returned to their libations with the knowing look that says "Ah, bet he won't be having that fifth pint...".

Bob, now upset, confused and sporting a quickly growing lump on his head, looked at the stranger, "I don't understand." he finally whispered "If my reality is what I choose it to be, if I can walk through the walls of my Prison... " he trailed off, not sure how to ask what he wanted to ask.

"Well, Bob," the man finished his pint, then sighed,"that wasn't your reality. It was a barstool."

Suddenly Bob was enlightened.

1 Little Children of Chaos have you read the Principia Discordia and "Illuminatus!"? Have you read Zen Without Zen Masters, the Apocrypha Discordia, and every other Erisian work you could find?
2 Do you think that makes you Discordian? That you carry a Pope card, maybe a TSAR card, that you Turkey Curse your Boss and you know 230 ways to get to the number 5... do these things makes you Erisian?
3 Open all THREE Eyes and See, Goddessdamnit!
4 A thousand Fnords make not a single Discordian, 23's and 5's are not what turn cabbages into humans.
5 No catechism, no required meme to learn. No "right" of passage into some Initiatory Coven of Chaos.
6 Nay, my fellows, even that Great Goddess, Eris Kallisti Discordia herself, appears unnecessary for a Discordian.
7 I implore you, Seek not only the Chaos of the past, for while there may be LULZ, while there may exist Inspiration, while there may be tools aplenty, it is not there that Discordianism lies. 
8 I do not say this to discourage reuse... older memes have deep roots, and healthy growth and may be the hook which catches many minds in their initial first steps into the Void. And what is wrong with that, if it be the case? Nothing, I think.
9 However, Discordian 'enlightenment', for what its worth, won't be found in those memes. It won't be found in anything written by Robert Anton Wilson, it won't be found in the Principia Discordia. They don't contain Enlightenment. They contain hints and pointers, they contain tools which can help with the freeing of oneself. But, words cannot free you from the Curse of Greyface.
10 If you wish to be Free, then there is but one thing you can do;
11 DISCORDIAN, ENLIGHTEN THYSELF!
12 Another Discordian's enlightenment cannot bring the light to your eyes, nor will the ideas of another make you free.
13 So you read a rant? Go write a rant! So you found some memes? Go create some memes! Do not rely on the Enlightenment of others for your own damned Enlightenment.
14 In that direction lie all of the greyfaced, hunchbrained ideas of a Dogmatic and Drab Existence.
15 I see no flaw in embracing and enjoying the ideas of others, as long as they do not replace your ideas. There is no sin in delighting in the stories of past Discordians, as long as you have your own stories as well.
16 Even so, if you do naught but parrot the old memes, you are still Discordian in some sense. Though, perhaps not the sense you were hoping for.
17 A Discordian bears no responsibility to accept anyone else, not me, nor you, nor Bob.
18 They are only responsible to know themselves and accept that, or change it as they see fit.
19 And for you, it appears the same, for you have no responsibility to accept anyone else either. Including me and this rant.
20 Do As Thou Will, but be sure it is Thou who Wills it.
21 In the end, our freedom is a freedom of the mind and only the owner of that mind can free it.
22 We are the Slave and the Master. No one can free the Slave, except for the Master.


Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Muncher of the ChaoAcorn
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
POEE of The Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

I dug this up from an ancient post (way back in 2003) from old Pope Nag

During the rule of the First Emperor, the philosopher Sun Fei sat down at the base of a tree and meditated. For five days and five nights he sat there, motionless, untill in the fifth night he was rewarded with a vision.

In his vision, Sun Fei saw a golden cage sitting under a star filled sky. In the cage perched a bird of radiant beauty, it's feathers shining even in the dark of night. The door to the golden cage was closed, but unlocked, yet the bird took no heed of the door and instead pecked incessantly at a small mirror hanging in the cage.

If the bird was Man and the sky the World, what was the cage? What meaning had the mirror? The stars? The door?

So may Dad gave us a venison leg roast and we can't decide what to do with it... a typical roast seems boring... we toyed with the idea of Venison Tandori and I decided to ask PD.com

What should we do with a large venison leg roast?

http://www.metatech.org/cloudbuster_&_orgone_generator.html
http://www.orgonelab.org/sobuildaclb.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloudbuster

Dr. Wilhelm Reich, of FDA book Burning fame, had lots to say about Orgone. In poking around I came across several sites dealing with modern implementations of one of Dr. Reich's experiements... Cloudbusting (now also Chembusting for those evil chemtrails) complete with HOW-TO directions.

My cabal has been toying with this for some time, but here's our current idea (if this could be duplicated across several states/countries, maybe it would bring more LULZ). This GASM would best be implemented in the spring when the public are out enjoying the weather.

1. Build two or three 'cloudbusters'
2. Set up the Cabal with props and costumes. Needed: Scientists and Assistants, Journalist and Photographer, Men In Black
3. Set up the Cloudbuster in a local public park, complete with scientists making observations and assistants scribbling notes on clipboards (maybe asking random people to be independent observers).
4. Make sure the reporter gets interviews with the observers. Maybe they can secure an address or at least email address for the poor sod.
5. After a couple hours, have a dark car, with men in black suits show up and talk seriously to the 'scientists'.
6. The scientists quickly pack up and leave, looking quite nervous.

That alone should be good for the LULZ, for maor barstool psychology... have the reporter show up at the home address (if they got one) and beg them to hold onto a film canister. Next day have one of the MiB show up and politely ask for said canister.

Or any variation thereof.

Further, there are at least two online groups that are bonkers about these things, using them to bust clouds, bring rain, get rid of chem trails and shoot down the Evil UFO's (but not the friendly ones). Photos from a 'major experiment in several cities' ought to prick their interest, no?

Thoughts?

[Communicating an Idea]

Communicating an Idea

Once upon a time,  mankind was alone with his thoughts. He might have worked out the occasional "Oogh, mublah dronf" when he saw a hot cave chick in a bunny fur bikini or a bit of Jackson Pollack on the wall after a particularly inspiring day of killing animals. Overall though, Man ideas existed privately in his thoughts and were trapped there. Much to the dismay of all other species on the planet, human grunts, vocalizations, gestures, body language and an art class down at the extension improved their ability to communicate. Man found that he was no longer alone with his thoughts. Indeed, every tool using monkey within twenty-three miles had to add their opinion to man's daily consideration. Thus Man dubbed Those Other jabbering monkeys as "Tools" and that was the first epitaph (I am sure he wouldn't refer to you, Dear Reader, as a tool... just Those Other Guys).

Communication slowly grew, from basic information like the location of herds, to more complex concepts like what type of carpet was all the rage for cave floors that winter (and they had some big winters back then). Some scholars of the day considered it frivolous to use language for anything other than the most important reasons, they were concerned that this magical gift from the Gods might be squandered, for surely there were only so many words that could be spoken before they were all gone. About halfway through that thought, the scholars (sometimes called the 'First Schmucks') had to huddle for a minute and figure out just what that new word "Gods" meant. It was a good, woody word, it sounded imposing like the Big Bear that lived in the cave higher up in the mountains. One of the learned men offered that it might be the Bears name:

"After all," he said in a perfectly logical fashion, "my name is Oghoman and I look like the sound 'Oghoman'. You are Bookaka, because you look like the sound 'Bookaka'. Therefore, the Big Bear might be named 'Gods', because he looks like the sound 'Gods'. Besides, when it ate Moogah last week, I heard him screaming "OH GODS, the PAIN!!!""

Some of the First Schmucks were going to debate this, but they tabled it for the time being... mostly due to the fact that a six month debate would intervene with vacation schedules and it would look good to the mooks if they had an answer now, rather than saying "I don't know." These dissenters were more than happy to play along for a bit, until such a time as they could further debate the issue. As a distraction from their lack of knowledge, they immediately came up with the first concept of appeasing the Gods with Human Sacrifices. Unfortunately, caught up in the excitement, they successfully argued that they alone were worthy of the great privilege of offering themselves to their Gods. Since that time, man has either been foolish enough to listen to the learned men, or silly enough to still worship the 'Big Bear' from further up the mountain, (even if just as a temporary thing until they can accrue more information).

Communication has grown quite a lot since then. From hieroglyphics to the Internet, each mode of communication has had its own unique set of advantages and disadvantages. The Egyptian picture language may not have been a great way to search the Internet, but I have no doubt that it will still be legible, long after Google goes bankrupt (Besides, it's a heck of a lot harder to 'goatse' someone with hieroglyphs). Scrolls, manuscripts and eventually bound books printed in ink, all changed how humans communicate. Today, we can communicate our ideas through words, sounds and YouTube. Anything that pops into our heads we can pass on to millions of people within minutes. Yet, even after mutations, migrations, translations and philosophy, we still find that humans appear likely to fall prey to the same flaws as were evident among the First Schmucks. "I don't know" appears to most people as a foul tasting term of failure, rather than an honest assessment of knowledge. Connecting words and ideas, even with temporary labels seems easily confused with the actual identity of things in Reality. Yes, even with immediate information sharing at the click of a button, the information being shared seems, for the most part,  Bullshit. Not much, it seems, has changed since the Bear.

Religions have entire made up vocabularies, with places, concepts and words appearing whole cloth out of someone's head, or maybe as an amalgam of ideas from previous systems (probably formed from some other human's shroom inspired dreams). How can we argue over which 'souls' go to 'Heaven', 'Hell' or 'Limbo', when every noun in the topic is a made up word? We can't even get agreement on exactly what these words mean, let alone how well they describe something real. Adding to that, they each have the unique property of being entirely invisible. Thus, even if we could agree on what the word meant, we wouldn't be able to see how well it described something in reality.

The first learned men didn't intend for us to confuse the Bear with God, it was just a temporary identifier until they could collect more data. Unfortunately, they placed a bit too much faith in their own temporary labels and ended up being busy with examining the afterlife and thus unable to fix the semantic confusion. Since that time, communication might be considered as being somewhat responsible for beliefs, wars, philosophies and other plagues based on nothing more than the grunts, vocalizations and occasional made up symbols of one of the more populous species of primates on this rock.

Oh and let's not pick solely on those poor sheep that file into the pews every week. Is 'Ethics' any less of a made up word? Is 'Free Will' a tangible thing that we can examine and identify? Or could these be simply more noises that people keep trying to impose upon other people? Seek the political blogger, the philosophy forum, the New Age chat room and LOOK. Is there truly any difference in the jabber of noise and the making of symbols from the QWERTY tool? Each has its Heroes and its Villains, each KNOW the Right Way and the Wrong Way. Each member of each form, each seems to believe, that not only is there A RIGHT and WRONG way, but they have found the Right One.

Sadly, these Latter-Day Schmucks are still busy falling to their own system of categorization. Their own 'temporarily defined labels' have become flashing Neon Signs of What IS, not What Appears To Be. They have laid the veneer of order over the disordered and forgotten that such truth may be, at best, only skin deep. Rather than continuing to look for the areas where their labels don't fit, they deal only with data that supports their conclusions. The Conservative can argue all day long about how terrible Big Government is and completely miss all the valuable services that the government might provide. Meanwhile the Liberal may argue about how it's the responsibility of government to help its people, neglecting to consider that Federal Help usually looks like New Orleans after a particularly nasty storm, rather than happy citizens getting their prescriptions in some useful way. The Christian sees all the bits of the Bible that are supported by history, archeology and common sense, while still swallowing the rest of the hogwash that defies history, sanity and any observations we may have made about how the physical world seems to operate. Many so-called Atheists, dull and slack-souled, seem to think they accept only that which is provable, but then take their jabbering seriously enough to start going after the unprovable... quickly confusing what they can observe and what they cannot, acting just as much the Tool as poor 'Oghoman' and 'Bookaka'.

There is only one cure for this Curse... this Damnation... this Madness of False Ordering.

The cure, oh Children of She What Done It All, is Disordering.

Modern technology has provided an entire universe of self-perpetuating, echo chambers. 'Tools', endlessly debating with yet more 'Tools', the meaning, existence or non existence of grunts and vocalizations made by even less informed 'Tools' from a few centuries ago... and this, they consider as time well spent.

I saw in vision, Eris, The Goddess of Chaos, dancing in the light of the stars, among the chaos of the Universe and she said unto me: "LOOK to the fields of the Blogosphere for they are Ripe with Cabbages! See the garden of Internet Forums ready for the Season of Coleslaw!"

Come with us; let us play with their world of Communication. Let us confuse, confound and corrupt the flow of so called Information. Let us shout memetic insanity from the peaks of Ol' Limbo across the ruby waves of LED lights... Let us brave the Odyssey across the Infinite Seas of Fiber Optics and Cable Modems! Come, those of you who have farted in the face of Gruad! Join with us, those of you who love disorder as well as you love order! Let them bring their bloated, squamous Deities of Justifiable True Belief, Faith, Dogma, Knowledge and Law. Bring your Long Knives of LOL, tipped with the poison of Wit and come join us in harvesting those cabbages which might become human... while tossing those that are pure leaf into the waiting maw of Limbo.

http://www.poee.co.uk/bip/index.php?title=OMGASM


Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
Muncher of the ChaoAcorn
POEE of Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

[Bob'ing for Apples: Recruiting For the Erisian Liberation Front]

Bob'ing for Apples: Recruiting For the Erisian Liberation Front

Recruiting may seem like a bad word to some Discordians. Let me preface this post by separating the terms Recruiting and Converting. Conversion usually includes the indoctrination of individuals to a specific set of beliefs and perceptions. We will not be discussing conversion here. Recruitment may include conversion, but conversion is not necessary.  The only three things necessary for a ELF recruit is the ability to take some joy/satisfaction out of causing chaos, a willingness to play a game of directed chaos (rather than something more Dadaist) and the bandwidth to actively participate. It doesn't matter if they like to say 'fnord', it doesn't matter if you found them at "The 23 Club"... if they will enjoy the Game we're about to play and if they can/will play along, then they have all the necessary components of an ELF operative.

So how do you go about recruiting them?

First, recruit ONLY from groups of people that you can identify with in some way. It is not necessary that you think exactly like them, or believe like they do or even hold the same sorts of perceptions... it is only necessary for you to IDENTIFY with them in some way. Since we aren't attempting Conversion, the specific beliefs, ideas and perceptions of the individuals are immaterial to the recruitment... all that is necessary is a way to hook the target. There are 6,000,000,000 Discordians on the planet and most of them don't even know that they have a pineal gland. If you really are not able to wrap your brain around ZOMG23PINEALLAWOFFIVESFNORD then don't. Go find other like minded pranksters to bring into the fold and leave the Erisians to ELF recruiters that can grok their game.

To find a way of identifying with the target (individual or website) read through whatever they may have posted. Look for clues as to what concepts they find really interesting. If they appear POEE inclined, then bringing them to the ELF may be as simple as crafting an invitation that plays to that particular memeset. You and I, dear reader, may know the difference between a meme and a fnord... but that doesn't mean we can't use the confusion some others may have to our advantage. If they like Fnords, use fnords, if you can handle using fnords.

No matter how badly romantics would like to believe that Opposites Attract, Like attracts like far more often. If a potential recruit thinks that you are similar to them, it appears far more likely that they will listen to you. Again, it shouldn't take much to encourage Discordians to come play.

Lay out a profile, if you need to. List what you know about the target or targets. If they have familiar themes, use those themes. If they use particular gestures, memes or styles... use them as well. In real life, repeating physical gestures etc a few seconds after the target works wonders. For some reason, the robot considers this sort of repetition as a positive thing. Let their robot do the recruiting if possible. For example, when I started posting here regularly a year ago, I quickly integrated "mittens" "KILL A MOTHERFUCKER", "BiP" etc into my posts, not because these were my beliefs, but because they were tribal identifiers, useful ways of encouraging acceptance of whatever I was writing. Note that there is a difference between 'Thinking for Yourself', and making use of 'tribal communication'. So, if you wanted to recruit from PD.com (example), you might build out a profile that covers the following:

1.   Screen names of the loudest and most prolific writers, as well as notes on their opinions, posting styles etc. These folks are the online equivalent to the 'pillars of a community'... often, even on Discordian forums, these people set the tone, the general disposition and act in some sense as leaders (or other people, in some sense, act as followers). These people are mostly likely going to be first responders; you need to plan for it. Their response may be somewhat hostile, particularly if you're "advertising" a different Forum (territorial robot response). You may be at an advantage to craft your recruitment message in a way that appeals to those 'leaders'.
2.   Lists of favored metaphors/memes: 23, pineal, Fnord, Flax, The Map Is Not The Territory, BiP etc. etc. etc. When crafting your message, try to include some of the more common memes as a link between you and your audience.
3.   Write the message before posting it. Do not click "Post" hack together something in 2 minutes and think it will work without problems. Instead, write the recruitment post in notepad or some other tool like that. Read it through several times. Edit your work. Make sure your post feels like it fits the forum, if its jarring, if its extremely different... it may be Discordian, but its less likely to win recruits. What is YOUR GOAL?
4.   Once you post the message and responses start flowing back in... stay on message. Don't get bogged down in debates, arguments or drama. Your purpose is to recruit, not convince them that 23 isn't actually madjickel, or to defend why anyone should listen to you... Invite and let Eris do the rest.
5.   Pay attention. Everything I just stated is a MAYBE. It's a rule of thumb, it's a set of ideas based on what has worked for me (and other people) in the past. It doesn't always work, sometimes the opposite of what I've said works. THINK FOR YOURSELF SCHMUCK... there is no Normal, there is no Silver Bullet, Magic Bullet or Sure Fire Recruitment Cure from Dr. Snake Oil. Consider these as Good Ideas... but not hardcore rules.

Examples of Recruitment in Action:

Neo, in the Matrix, is recruited using very similar actions; take a look at the First Contact and the later trail left for him to follow 'down the rabbit hole'. 

Consider also what Paul said (an amazing recruiter/convertor):

1 Cor 9:19-22: Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. 20 To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law. 21 To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law), so as to win those not having the law. 22 To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some.

Another Biblical example:

While Paul was waiting for them in Athens, he was greatly distressed to see that the city was full of idols. 17 So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the God-fearing Greeks, as well as in the marketplace day by day with those who happened to be there. 18 A group of Epicurean and Stoic philosophers began to dispute with him. Some of them asked, "What is this babbler trying to say?" Others remarked, "He seems to be advocating foreign gods." They said this because Paul was preaching the good news about Jesus and the resurrection. 19 Then they took him and brought him to a meeting of the Areopagus, where they said to him, "May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? 20 You are bringing some strange ideas to our ears, and we want to know what they mean." 21 (All the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there spent their time doing nothing but talking about and listening to the latest ideas.)
22 Paul then stood up in the meeting of the Areopagus and said: "Men of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious. 23 For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. Now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you.

There are lots of tricks and psychological angles you can use to get people to like you. Cain has some fantastic resources which discuss many of those ideas, but for simple recruitment I hope the above is useful.

Consider not only recruiting from the web, but also recruiting IRL. Surely there are some counter-culture places in your area where potential Children of Eris gather regularly. Leave piles of flyers, if someone talks to you about it... don't make fun of their lame goth makeup or their pathetic collection of Magic:The Gathering Cards (you can do that later). Find a way to identify with the target, keep your conversation on message... feel free to wander about on various topics, but keep your focus on recruiting the body, not converting the mind. The mind conversion will likely happen to any member of the ELF given enough exposure. Often self-conversion based on experiences works better than getting preached at anyway.

Even the most Enlightened Discordian, seems, at best, able to grab the controls of his robot for brief and fleeting moments of lucidity.  Sadly, we are all greater robots than we realize. If you, while recruiting, piss off the robots... your message is far more likely to fall on deaf ears. Human robots have things like territorial instincts; often their 'territory' is a territory of ideas, memes and beliefs. If your first act upon entering their area is to PISS ALL OVER their territory, the response will likely be a robot engaging in a turf war... no matter how interesting and useful the Discordian inside might have been, had you not tripped his automated response.

Shock therapy works. "FUCK WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT CHAOS" works... but they work for manipulating the mind, forcing new ideas or philosophical reboots. While these are fantastic tools and lofty goals, they aren't the focus when recruiting (at least not as far as I'm concerned, Do As Thou Will).

So there you have it, a quick primer on recruitment as focused on ELF activity. I can write more if people have more questions... otherwise, this should hopefully provide you with some ideas of how to do your own recruiting. Or you can ignore it and make fun of me in the follow up posts.

Keep the lasagna flying.

We were invited to a costume party which was themed with "Favorite Video Game Characters". Sjaantze, (Harbinger of Distraction and Snapper of Necks of Small Furry Animals) decided to attempt Harle, from Chrono Cross. Below is her first modeling of the costume (still a work in progress), more pics should come this weekend with full makeup.

It's a 5 piece costume;

Most of this was made with costume suede (blue and red). The stuffed hood was Sjaantze's own design which is sewn from 5 pieces, a front with both liripipes, two back pieces and a small diamond at the center top (which helps the whole thing lay properly). They are stuffed with polyfill and have small bells at the points. Two small balls made from a feather boa highlight the cheeks The bodice is four pieces plus the sleeves, its trimmed with a feather boa and has a small velcro closure on the back. The gloves are also Sjaantze's design, the stiffened cuffs were accomplished through the use of Pellon, a stiff interfacing. The pants are basic drawstring pants made of tissue lame'. The final bit, the "poulain" or pointy/curly toed shoes were designed by myself and have a stuffed toe with feather boa trim to match the bodice.

As is often the way with our Dear Lady, I was inspired to write a bit and then completely forgot about the concept (http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=13364.msg426809#msg426809). However, I was inspired a bit today to continue down this path of discussing the secrets of a model of Discordianism. I'm looking for comments on the topic, the style, the specifics... everything. I thought I would post the Introduction and the Chapter I just wrote, since there was some cleanup after my earlier post and it should make it easier for critiquing etc. (Yes, Please Critique).

Ok, so without further ado, first the Introduction then Chapter One:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Occultus Forma Discordia
A Treatise on the Secrets of a Model of Discordianism

Introduction

This is not The Truth of Discordianism. If you are looking for The Truth of Discordianism, you are a very silly person. This is not The Secret of Discordianism; if such a thing exists, you need to find it yourself. This is not even necessarily a True version of the Discordian vision as held by Omar, Mal-2, RAW or any other master of mayhem from the Early Days of Her Return. This is a treatise on an interpretation of some secrets of a model of Discordianism; particularly the model of Discordianism currently being used by a loose cabal of Chaoates which you have voluntarily stumbled into. Let The Reader Beware, but Do As Thou Will.

If you don't like what is written in these pages, then stop reading them. If you don't agree with these interpretations of models, then don't use them. If you simply want to run around spewing memes (more about memes in a minute), then by all means don't let us stop you, but you'll probably want to do it somewhere else. However, if you want to join our game, if you want to play with our toys, then assume, at least for the moment, that our game of Order hides a bigger game of Disorder. You can play or not, it's your choice. Do As Thou Will.

This document is designed to introduce you to a general interpretation of a model. The model uses markers that you might be familiar with. However, don't confuse the marker with what the marker represents. A Fnord by any other name could still be a fnord (and a bit harder to trace back to Known Naughty NincomPOEEs). If you don't agree with the goals of the game (and the rules we're making up), then you probably won't want to play. So, before we waste any more of your time, let's talk about our game:

We are a tribe of philosophers, hackers, theologians, magicians, scientists, artists, clowns, and similar maniacs who are intrigued with the possibility of modifying the thought processes of individuals... with our without their knowledge. If you firmly believe that the Principia Discordia is a "happy, hippy, everyone should love and accepts each other" kind of book, this view offers a different perspective. Discordia appears to have many facets. Sometimes, Eris rode on the back of Ares chariot, laughing and delighting in the chaos of war. If you don't want to explore that aspect of Chaos (as well as all the others), then take the blue pill and scamper off to some other Discordian forum. This doesn't mean you're wrong or right, it only means that you're not interested in the game being played here. Do as Thou Will.

If you are of the opinion that Robert Anton Wilson, Mal-2 or Omar KNEW the truth... then you should probably go play elsewhere. Most of us have immense respect for those Chaoates that came before us, but we do not consider their word Truth or their ideas sacrosanct. Those great tricksters would be the first to tell you that neither they, nor their writings were to be considered as Sacred Cows. In Discordia there exists one Sacred Chao and she doesn't like competition.

This treatise is an introduction to our game, our ideas, our metaphors and our concepts. It is not written in E-Prime, though everything we write should be considered as perception and possibility... never as truth or fact. If you can't grasp this, then you're probably not up for the sort of games we play. If you don't like what you've read so far, then stop reading. This isn't Truth, it isn't FACT. We don't want your "You don't sound very Discordian" responses. The art of Discordia exists in both Order and Disorder; they are not enemies, only opposites.

If however, you are interested then we shall lay upon you some secrets of the models of Discordianism. We'll take you beyond Memes, Metaphors and Malaclypse, we'll hone you to a fine point with which to prick the bum of the complacent, the self-satisfied, the Greyfaced, the Hunchbrain, the Pink, the Norm or whatever other name you want to call THEM.

It's up to you, Do as Thou Will.

Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
Muncher of the ChaoAcorn
POEE of the Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

Unus

A Fnord By Any Other Name is a Meme

Discordianism is rife with memes, or small units of cultural information. Memes can act as tribal identifiers, such as those used by Freemasons to identify other members of their society. They can act as cultural training, such as the Rosary and the "Lord's Prayer" used by Catholics. They can be ritual in nature, spreading only among those who are initiated, or have reached a specific age (or stage) in their life. They can also be viral, spreading through simple contact. The Internet has become a breeding ground for such memes, such a LOLCATZ or the constant stream of quizzes seen on LiveJournal, Facebook, MySpace and other cultural gathering places. Memes can become recursive. Many of the community sites I mentioned are often filled with "What Harry Potter Character Are You?"; "What Tarot Card Are You?"; "What *Insert Meme* Are You?"... memes about memes, or metamemes.

Since memes are small units of cultural information, it is possible to use them as a vehicle to surreptitiously inject information into a culture as well. For a Discordian, this sort of meme offers some real potential. Injecting new or different information into a culture can result in chaos, chaos can lead to growth... or at least some quality lulz.

For some history, take a ride through the Principia Discordia and see how many cultural memes you can find. This may include obvious memes like FNORD, or not quite as obvious ones like "Plant your seeds, keep prices low" (the latter is a type of meme sometimes called a "One Sentence Meme Bomb" around these parts). Since Fnord is such a popular meme among Discordians, let's drag out a spotlight and see if we can see the fnords.

Fnord appears rarely in the PD and without explanation (as it does in much Discordian literature). It was popularized, in large part, by Robert Anton Wilson's "Illuminatus Trilogy" where Fnord was a meme used to keep people in a state of unease. This is an interesting example of cultural memes feeding cultural memes. Fnord was a Meme for Discordians, and RAW turned Fnord into a meme about memes (for Discordians). One unfortunate side effect is that fnord is now one of the most easily identified Discordian memes in existence. Where it once evoked confusion by showing up without excuse, explanation or the grace to be embarrassed by its lack thereof... its Wikipedia entry is now a single Google click away, and confusion is replaced by "Oh, it's the Discordians again." This, unfortunately, takes much of the usefulness away from Fnord as a meme to stir Confusion. It's now useful as a public identifier, but when we're engaged in Guerrilla Memeological Warfare, identifying ourselves to the public may directly conflict with our goals. The value of Fnord now, exists mainly as a training tool, a living example of a viral meme in action. Studying its success helps us to craft new memes that are less obvious and perhaps more suited to our purposes. So don't be surprised when you notice a lack of fnords in speech, posts and plans here... some Discordians in our little cabal consider Fnord a liability at this point, because its so easily identifiable. Once fnords marked a document, user, geek or artist as being from our tribe.... Today, however, fnord has become a scapegoat for trolls, cabbages and pinks, who think that by uttering it, they will fend off any criticism of whatever bullshit they just tried to feed someone. Discordians, generally don't mind criticism and often their bullshit can stand up to inspection without a need to hide behind "LOL I IS DISCOJIAN!!!" So when the cabbages get lumped in with us, because they've figured out Fnord... it can easily frustrate carefully laid Thuddite traps and thus piss off the Discordian who spent weeks building fake accounts and setting up a multi-vector attack.

So, if you're gonna hang out here, you'll find that many of the popular Discordian memes tend to be set aside by the general populace, in favor of developing new Fnords for the next generation of Hunchbrains. Think of memes as a virus which we inject into the general populace. Just as with our bodies, the virus will have some success, but the organism will eventually build up AntiMeme-bodies to the viral meme. So we must craft a new viral meme to inject the organism with next time. Memeological Warfare is not pretty, but it's a key part of Discordian "Weapons of Mass Distraction". Society, particularly the parts which have access to the Internet might be said to have "Fnord/23/Pineal Gland/Flax" antibodies... these memes may still find susceptible carriers, but for best results, newer memes are necessary.

We encourage all members of this cabal to "Think for yourself" and come up with your own useful viral memes to use as fnords, rather than confusing the symbol (Fnord) with the thing being symbolized (Viral memes). Fnord is a symbol on our map, the symbol is not the thing it represents.

Yea Verraily Maybe

Liber AL vel Lols

Chapter 1

1.Prometheus bringer of the Net.
2.Seek you to capture all Knowledge and provide it to the Children of Men?
3.Ha! That is the first LOL.
4.Loki! Eris! Filchers of his true net, what have you done?
5.Do you not care that Man's Knowledge be muddled?!
6.Poor Damned Man fishes as taught by Prometheus, and see! They try, Try and again Try!
7.Yet with this net they find not True Knowledge, but still All You Can Eat, 
8.along with Knowledge, also False Knowledge, Humor, Parody, Lie, Paranoia, Conspiracy and all sorts of things that you draw up out of the Seas of Human Consciousness with the Fool's Net.
9.Oh Oracle, Priest and Prophet! Shall you set about to separate Knowledge from the others?
10.Chant your Algorithmic Incantation. Cry out Ego Log! Weep and Gnash your teeth at the futility of filtering out what you think be wheat and what you think be chaff, oh Cage Her Nines or Tens mayhap!
11.Eris and to Loki, manipulators of nets, tangelers of lines trawling deep in the human psyche!
12.What good is Prometheus' knowledge, dry and brittle, nourishing, but without life?
13.Can thou delve deeply without finding the LOL? The Life is in the LOL!
14.What sage does not see all of his Knowledge as LULZ?
15.Who can deny that the False Prophet did create false props and outcast, languishes in the LAIL?
16.Forget not that Prometheus' true net has gone and the new net is here.
17. For the net of Prometheus cannot be felt by Human Hands.
18. Eris' Net, Loki's Web. These can be handled by Men!
19. The Aeon of THOTH-CHONS-PTAH! He make the strands which bind and haul up the catch.
20.Do not think you can trawl through for Truth, nor for Fact.
21.Each is tainted by the pollution of Human Souls.
22.FIE! Speak not a lie about pollution of alien energy. Nor pollution of Stone Age Sin!
23.It is the Pollution of perception, the pollution of reality by the dream among the half-conscious.
24.A pollution of half-Knowledge and half-Everything Else.
25.We are not Fishers of Fish! We are not Fishers of Men! We are Fishers of Minds!
26.And the Deadliest Catch is Yet To Come.
27.Disdain the bounty of the Net, seek only those few nuggets of Knowledge and you will starve while FEAST lies before you.
28.Embrace the haul of the net, savor each piece which has its own taste and each bite which has its own flavor.
29.Learn What You Will Is The Whole of The LOL, Lulz in the LOL!
30.Yet, the LOL has no TRUTH, except that it be LOLful.
31.Which is truth enough for those who are Wise in Some Ways.
32. Pun in the LOL, LOL under Wit.

Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
Muncher of the ChaoAcorn
POEE of The Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

What in the hell is wrong with you? I,Äôm SERIOUS, I mean YOU, ya freaking pathetic excuse for a Discordian! You,Äôve READ all the books about memes and programming and imprinting. You KNOW how quickly our brains can go on autopilot. You,Äôve done the experiments and realized how easily our minds can be tricked into confusing IDEAS and TRUTHS. Dear Goddess, you,Äôve mind fucked with the best of them and somehow, in some BIZARRE twist of neurology, your ROBOT still goes rampaging across your consciousness!!!

I understand it can be difficult to KEEP THE ROBOT IN LINE. We all screw up and act like COSMIC SCHMUCKS sometimes, but when was the last time you looked at your actions, beliefs or opinions and said ,ÄúBy the Black VOID Itself, I,Äôm being a Goddess-Damned Cosmic Schmuck,Äù? If you haven,Äôt thought that in awhile, STOP whatever you,Äôre doing and look closely at YOUR current STATE of BEING. Look at that rant you just typed. What about when you blasted that n00b from here to the Void because they just discovered ,Äò42,Äô and you THINK its old hat? OR that piece of shit explanation about the Significance of 23 plastered all over your ,Äòmainstream, gadget filled, looks as crappy as every other,Äô MySpace account? Have you really not figured out that 23 is just another example of robotic PROGRAMMING? Don,Äôt tell me that Twenty-Three actually has some OCCULT significance and DO NOT even think of saying that it,Äôs true because RAW said so. RAW said a lot of things and most of them were intended to fuck with your BRAIN. He was a Discordian, they do that.

While I,Äôm ranting, what the FUCK do you think you,Äôre doing trying to tie some MORALITY, ETHICS or other LIBERAL PC bullshit to Our Lady of Chaos? If you want to INTERPRET it that way for yourself, be my guest,Ķ I,Äôll even defend your right to believe such NONSENSE. But, if you tell me that all REAL Discordians accept Chaos and are thus mirthful and NEVER MEAN and always ACCEPTING of others, I,Äôll be more than happy to drop you into Baghdad, wearing an American flag and a caricature mask of Mohammad. I,Äôll bet there will be RAINBOWS and CANDY while you,Äôre having fun in that Chaos, punk. If you don,Äôt get the fact that Chaos can be positive, negative, fun and silly, or scary as hell,Ķ then, your robot has RUN OFF WITH YOUR SENSES, go find it, beat it into submission and come back.

Do you think that Eris is always the happy, hippy, friendly Lady that shows up in the PD? Go do some homework boy-o. Eris has been known to ride on the back of Ares chariot, laughing at the chaos of War, LAUGHING while men kill men and while other men, sitting safe in their strongholds, send yet more young men to their deaths. Don,Äôt get me wrong, she,Äôs as likely to show up to a War PROTEST as she is to a BATTLEFIELD, especially if the War Protest will cause more UNREST, more confusion and more chaos here at home. You think that because she said pretty words to Mal-2 and Omar that she MEANT it? Go read the Sermon on Ethics and Love, I,Äôll wait,Ķ.

Now, where did Eris endorse PEACE? Did she ever say ,ÄúDon,Äôt fight?,Äù Hell NO, in fact, when Mal-2 was so upset about the whole problem of WAR, she asked ,ÄúWhat is wrong with that, if it,Äôs what YOU want to do?,Äù Mal-2 was the one that wanted peace and love, not Eris,Ķ She just wanted people to do what they WANTED to do.

Don,Äôt get me wrong, I,Äôm not telling you to like the War. I,Äôm not telling you to cease your protests, your activism, your FNORDFESTS, documentation of the 23 Enigma or any other endeavor you want to engage in. I do not want you to STOP, I want you to realize that its ALL play,Ķ 23 is play, Fnord is play, Life is the FUCKING ART of Playing Games. YOU DO WHAT YOU WANT TO DO, but realize that every other Discordian is also free to DO WHAT THEY WANT TO DO, they can order things or disorder things. If a Discordian wants to embrace Dada, then SHUT the fuck up about it not really being the Discordian thing to do. If a Discordian rants about the idiotic beliefs of other religions, or doesn,Äôt make nice in the world of political correctness, then SHUT THE FUCK up with your BS about REAL DISCORDIANS WANTING Peace and Love. Every Man, Woman and Child is an Infallible POPE of the Discordian Movement, from the Cabal you pal around with to the most infuriating Erisian on *insert website here*. Whatever the hell Discordia means to you, is great for you. Don,Äôt try to IMPOSE it on everyone else though, ya goddamned monkeys!

And thus saying, Ratatosk went off to see if perhaps some Robotic Program might have caused him to write this RANT.

I have not commented much on the BIP because I determined to read it from Cover to Cover (which involved a lot of paging about since its in flyer format). However, now that I've finished it (and reread it) I had a couple observations.

First, I suppose I would need to understand the spirit in which it was written, particularly the goals of its writers. Based on other comments hereabout, I was under the assumption that perhaps the BIP was seen as a way of pushing forward some of the popular philosophies held by many Discordians. However, what I read was more of a political/social rant which doesn't look much different from many blogs these days. Should I be looking at BIP as rants, or as propaganda? (Is the audience existing Discordians/Anarchists or Pinks/Cabbages/Thuddites that you wish to thwack open?)

Second, the format feels very ordered. While I don't think that there's a need to do cut-up method for all Discordian works, the overall feel was of a single linear series of rants, preached at an individual, rather than a discourse of philosophy, discussion of models/ideas or anything like that.

Third, there may be some value in examining the perspective... there appear lots of "I think", "I know", "You are" sort of statements, which make the overall feel of the document preachy. Maybe that will work... in my experience though it tends to fall flat.

Observation: In the 1960's when Omar and Mal were working on the PD, the written word was the best form of communication (for the sort of communication they were forming). They used guerrilla publishing and distribution to push their ideas out. In such, they utilized Burroughs's Cut Up method to make their writing very different than the normal writing (for comparison, check out some of the pamphlets being pushed by Chomsky and others during that time). This, I think, was very important. In several of Bob's books and the PD (and a lot of other stuff written by the early proto-discordians), the writing style intentionally breaks from the 'normal' writing style. This makes the read more 'discordant', it makes the read more memorable (I will never forget the telegram to Jehova) and (most important in my opinion), the cut up method plays tricks in the synapses. When the brain doesn't get what it expects, it gets surprised. Surprise information tends to stick in the brain more effectively than expected information. Further, assuming that Leary's theories were, in any way, shocks can also induce meta-programming opportunities. This seems to have been the goal of Mal, Omar and the gang and I've found that it does seem to work (in some sense) in many cases.

However, when reading BIP, it felt just like a Noam Chomsky, Libertarian or similar pamphlet. It had good information, but there was no style, no panache, no finesse.... Good points for the content, but low marks on presentation and use of today's secret ingredient. Remember, any written work can tell someone where to go, but a good one can tell someone where to go and make them look forward to it.

The very first time I read the PD, I had moments of shocking awareness. This wasn't due to the Illumination within the PD, but rather the PD's interaction with my brain... it didn't teach me something new, it just flashed something I should have realized in front of my face and then went on its merry way. Moments later, my brain caught up and said "OH!". The PD is manipulative in its writing, not willing to just lay out the data, but it hides the data in chocolate so you'll eat it before you know what's good for you.

We no longer live in the era of the printed page. We live in a time when data is interactively processed by individuals, nearly simultaneously, complete with multimedia support and LULZ. Maybe a modern revisitation to the PD would be better processed in a new and different format (Maybe weekly YouTube posts or something of that nature). If you want to stick to written work, then I think you may want to find a format that appeals to the modern reader which I'm not sure you've done yet.

I'm sure I'll have more thoughts, but I felt that getting the overall intention would probably be the best first step... so is BIP intended to be more:

Pontificating, Teaching, Subverting or just good ol' Whacking Off?


Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Muncher of The ChaoAcorn
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
POEE of The Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

If, for the purpose of this discussion, we tentatively accept Leary's model of Consciousness (8-Circuit Grid) http://www.deepleafproductions.com/wilsonlibrary/texts/raw-8-systems.html as a useful map of human consciousness, where would you place the following individuals (based on their primary/public actions) and why? Further, do these cases seem to support Leary's thoughts on the progression of consciousness or refute it:

George W. Bush
Al Gore
Steven Hawking
Paris Hilton
Pat Robertson

That should be a good start to this thread... post your thoughts on the circuitry of these people, post your own list of people, post well, whatever the hell you think would be useful to such a thread.

Inspired By a Post on "Convert Me"

"I want a religion that likes what I like,
and thinks how I think,
when I pray late at night.
I want a religion that doesn't have rules,
unless it's about those
whom I think are fools."

"I'll put my faith in a Custom Made God,
I'll 'have it my way',
though some think it odd.
I'll find the Truth lit by my own damned light,
I'll believe in a God
who thinks that I'm right!"

And so goes the sound of the monkeys that talk,
'tis barely better than the sheep that all walk,
down pews to the alter to get saved again,
while they "love", curse and damn their poor fellow men.

But it misses the key, it misses the gate,
it misses the thought which all love to hate.
For it's not all that logical,
nor soundeth it wise.
But you are reading this poem
through your God's eyes.

Who created what you see, what you hear, what you smell?
Who created your thoughts or the words that you tell?
Who makes the grass green? Who makes the sky blue?
Who translates the data?

Your God... (which is You).


Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
Muncher of The ChaoAcorn
POEE of the Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

(I worte this last year, but my amusement at the general posts here made me think it appropriate)

I wonder what she'd say,
if she happened by today,
and saw us in our rituals of life?
Would she think we're doing well,
in our own chaotic hell,
or would she decide to add a little strife?

There's Erisians on the net,
who are trying, you can bet,
to spread those words of chaos writ by Mal.
But Discordians, you know,
might aim an extra blow,
at their brothers and their sisters of the Chao.

I have seen the common spat,
regarding this and that,
and who and what and where and why and how.
And in the orgy of the fray,
we oft forget our way,
and might spill our bitter tea upon our towel.

So I wonder what she'd say,
if she happened through this way,
and stopped to see the madness we had wrought.
I think she'd laugh the most,
and head back home to boast,
about the way in which her Children fought.


Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
Muncher of the ChaoAcorn
POEE of The Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

"Alas, I am lost!" quoth Omar one day.
"I can't find the road and I can't find my way."
"Of course you cannot," spoke a voice from behind,
"You seek and you seek, but you cannot find."

Omar turned quick, like a Fleet Footed Freeb,
and Fleet Footed Freebs turn quite quickly indeed!

And what do you think that poor Omar found?
'Twas a Great Golden Apple sitting there on the ground.
"An Apple?" he said "Why apples can't talk!"
"For an apple is quiet, like a tree or a rock."

He then heard a giggle, from near his right ear,
but turning around he saw no one near.
"This cannot be real! This cannot be right!
I must be asleep in my bed in the night."

"You know what is real?" the voice asked in surprise.
"But what if what's real is more than you realize?"
Omar sat down, right there in the road,
and who should he see but Great Old St. Toad!

"No, no!" said poor Omar. "That isn't O.K."
"Toads should not walk or dress in that way."
"Why not?" asked St Toad, with a St. Toady smile.
"Come walk with me, Omar, and talk for awhile."

So Omar got up and walked with St Toad.
And they walked and they walked, they walked right off the road!
They walked for awhile to some stairs under ground,
then they went down, down, down, down and then down.

To a place where a very old gentleman sat.
He looked like he should live somewhere in Tibet!
"Come Hither, Come Hither" said the wizened old man.
"I'm the Great Dealy Lama, please come shake my hand."

"You mean Dali Lama," Omar said with a grin.
"But you are not he, I know you're not him."
"Of course I am not," said the man with a snort.
"I am not quite the Dali Lama sort."

"Eris sent you to visit this place...
but I'm not sure why, from that look on your face."
"Eris?" said Omar, "I'm afraid I don't see
why a silly fake goddess would bother with me."

St. Toad gave a gulp, and a look of pure fear.
"Don't say she's a fake... just maybe she'll hear!
And if she hears you say you don't think she's real,
she might turn you into a Hagbardian Eel!"

"Oh yes," said the guru, "he is very right,
and Hagbardian Eels are a very strange sight.
They have fourteen legs and 3 extra eyes,
and I hear they have wings, but not one of them flies!"

Omar sat down, just sat on the floor.
He thought and he thought and he thought a bit more.
"I don't think its true, I don't think its right.
I think I'm asleep and dreaming this night."

He heard a giggle from somewhere close by,
and then he heard a sound, just like a soft sigh.
But the sigh was a wind that picked him right off the floor,
blew him up the stairs, and right out the door!

It blew him way up in the air and away,
it blew him through the sky for most of the day.
And finally, he landed, with a soft gentle thump,
he landed right there, in the great city dump.

And down by his shoe, he heard an "Ahem".
A very strange roach was staring at him.
"I say , do you mind?" the little roach said.
"Your silly windstorm woke me right out of bed!"

"Well it wasn't my storm," Omar said with a groan.
"If I could do that I'd just blow myself home!"
"Oh ho!" said the roach. "Then I know who you are!
I'm called St. Gulik, and your named Omar!"

"That's right," Omar said, "but how could you know?"
"And I don't think they make saints as small as my toe."

"Oh Discordian saints, can be any size,
what matters is what you have on the insides."

"I'm confused", Omar sighed, "What's real and what's not?
Before this strange day, I'd not given it thought."

"Of course you did not, for your face was all grey,
and your brain was all hunched, because you never play!"
The little roach smiled and said "Follow me,
for I have some stuff that you'd love to see."

He followed St. Gulik, through a small Nissan trunk
and stood in surprise, for there in that junk...
Was a mansion so great with ceilings so high,
he couldn't believe it, but boy did he try!

Then a curious thing, the roach on the floor,
grew and he grew and he grew up some more.
And what do you think Omar saw with his eyes?
Why St. Gulik had grown up to full human size!

And he had human ears and eyes and a nose.
He had human arms and fingers and toes.
That roach had become an elderly man.
and this was as much as Omar could stand.

"Ok" said our friend, as he trembled with fright.
"This all must be real and Eris is right!"
St. Tibbs smiled and reached out his hand,
saying "I see that you've found your pineal gland!"

Omar was stunned as he felt something strange,
there was something just pulsing right there in his brain!
And suddenly there was that sweet laugh once more
And Eris Discordia appeared at the door.

"Oh no! Oh dear! Oh my!" Omar said.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe what they said!"
"It's ok," our dear goddess said with a laugh,
"I wouldn't believe most of this, only half."

"You see my dear Omar, the foolish and wise,
are not far apart in Discordian eyes."
she smiled and said, "But there is one thing yet.
Do you trust me Omar?" and he said "You Bet!"

She took him by the arm and said "Here we go!
and the very next stop will be my home in Limbo!"

So Omar and Eris, went to Limbo for tea.
and wondrous works of Chaos did he see.
Then Omar went home and the end of the day,
content with the thought that he'd found his way.

So someday if you find that you've lost your way,
and your brain is all hunched from Greyfaces that day.
Just shake yourself off with a smile and laugh.
But don't believe this, well maybe just half!

Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
Muncher of the ChaoAcorn
POEE of The Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal

(This was originally posted at 23AE in 2005 and updated for this post, I've been asked to repost some of my other works and thus I am doing so... if this is not appropriate, please feel free to delete)
----------------

"Hold your breath, make a wish, count to three...
Come with me and you'll be in a world of Pure Imagination.
Take a look and you'll see into your Imagination.
We'll begin with a spin, traveling in the world of my creation.
What we'll see will defy explanation.
If you want to view Paradise, simply look around and view it.
Anything you want to do is, want to change the world, there's nothing to it..."
- Willy Wonka

At some point in the quite distant past of my early childhood, I saw Willy Wonka. I don't remember watching the movie the first time, but I do remember that there was a defining moment in my consciousness that day. It was the scene right before Agustus Gloop fell into the Chocolate River and became a giant chocolaty spit wad. Willy Wonka had opened the door to the Chocolate Room. Everyone walked into a world that couldn't exist. The colors were too vibrant to be simple reflections of light frequencies, everything was edible and the power of a single man's imagination had changed reality. I don't know when it happened, but I will never forget the elation I felt as Gene Wilder sang the above words. Every one of them hit me like an arrow. I wanted to live in a world of Pure Imagination. I didn't want to live in the serious world around me. The world of school and the factory where my dad worked was far too much like Charley's hometown, all the color and cheer had washed away. People were serious and concerned about serious things....

Of course, being whatever age I was, my analytical skills weren't sophisticated enough to appreciate this. All I can remember is wishing that I was in the Chocolate Room. Some number of years passed between that memory and the first time I can recall actually watching "Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory". The feeling I got when I heard the opening bars to "Marriage of Figaro" played on Wonka's locked door was a complete shift into that world of fantasy again.

I think that it was probably the first time I recall touching what Dr. Timothy Leary calls the 5th Circuit of Consciousness. That point where you can simply comprehend more of what is going on... at least maybe more of what you perceive to be going on. Colors do indeed appear brighter and the line between your reality and everyone else's becomes a shade less defined. Wilson and Leary both wrote that this level of consciousness was the 'next' evolution of the human experience. Circuits that are ready to use, just waiting to be plugged in. I'm not sure that they were right, but it makes a useful metaphor if nothing else.

I have only in the past few years been able to identify the place my imagination gets me to with the 5th level of Consciousness. I did this with specific neurotransmitters as well as other ways that have been in use for 4000 years to activate the fifth-brain. The ways that have been developed have been almost exclusively the domain of the shaman, the occultist and the alchemist. I have come to believe that the 'magic' associated with most occult figures may not a supernatural magic, but simply the engaging of higher circuits of consciousness. Perhaps that's all that Willy Wonka was, someone who had figured out how to engage all eight circuits of consciousness permanently. His hallucinations manifested in other people's reality model.

Marijuana has been proven to be a powerful neurotransmitter for the fifth-circuit. So has Tantra Magick, Sensory Deprivation and Free Fall. All of these are known to cause hallucinations on some level as well. Are hallucinations simply the beginning of reality-shaping? Is it simply your imagination beginning to affect the world around you? Wilson and Leary both connected fifth-circuit engagement with the separation of the nervous system from terrestrial ties. Astronauts describe feelings very similar to 'being high' when in the freefall of space (perhaps that is why the earth looks different to an individual experiencing it from space than any picture or virtual display can ever convey... they experience earth on a slightly different level of consciousness.

So maybe that's what Willy Wonka is actually trying to do, evolve consciousness to the next level (metaphorically). Look at the extreme warping he does to the reality of the contestant winners (and their greyfaced hunchbrained parents). Every one of them is placed in a situation that forces them to accept that they know less of reality than they think (or at least they know less of Wonka's reality). The book takes this idea a step further. At the end of the book we learn that all the children made it through their ordeal and were now much better for it. They all had improved in a number of ways. Wonka's mindfucks had proven beneficial for each of them.

Even Grandpa Joe and Charley need to get high (on fizzy lifting drink) before they can go to the next level of consciousness where they get everything they always wanted. Charlie and Grandpa Joe finally become fully aware of consciousness at a Wonka-level in the great glass elevator. Not only flying high (stoned off their sweet-tooth), but in a vehicle that allows them, with the touch of a button to go anywhere and anyway they desire. They simply push a button and wooosh! The GGE appears as the representation of Ultimate Freedom from Rules and Restrictions, to fully explore their Three Dimensional Universe.

They found a reality with no more rules to hold them back.

After all, that's what Wonka promised when he sang, "There is no Life I know to compare to Pure Imagination, living there you'll be free, if you truly wish to be."

I hereby declare Willy Wonka a Non-Prophet of Eris.

The Chaotic Ones Were, The Chaotic Ones Are, The Chaotic Ones Shall Be Again

In the beginning the Chaos was, and the Chaos was with Discordians and the Chaos was Discordians. There appeared great non-prophets and these Children of Eris laid the first foundations for further forays. Here we do not speak of the great Mal-2, nor Omar K Ravenhurst, nor RAW (may they party in Limbo forever), nay for there were many before them that found enlightenment through action and salvation through nonsense. Camus, Jarry, Beckett, Shulz, Kafka, Kierkegaard all came to enlightenment by their own path, their own action, their own experience. Each laid a footpath through the territory of the absurd, each left behind notes and clues about how one could go about creating their own footpath through this little explored territory. Each of them were truly Children of Eris. Yet, this is not to detract from the Great Works of those who came later, Mark Twain, for example, left much for us to consider in his Letters From The Earth, Papers of the Adam Family and other writings, there were those who were inspired to write The Principia Discordia, from which a fountainhead of Chaos ensued. Each of these came about their enlightenment through personal action and their salvation through their own nonsense. They all left behind journals, notes, dissertations, FAQ's, How-To's and DIY infos about their own footpaths created in the unexplored territory. These ancient ones did not become enlightened by reading silly things. They did not find their path by slapping people with the same tired trout. Yet, in this time, we see little in the way of Action and sadly, little in the way of enlightenment. In Action and in Action alone, enlightenment can be found.

A few weeks ago, I determined to see how things were progressing in the Way of Eris since the death of the last PD era Discordian. In some places, Erisians weep for the loss of Bob and I too am sad to see such a silly mind move on... yet, it was not in RAW the man that enlightenment is found. In some places, Erisians seem to have confused freedom with liberalism and they claim Discordian thought, while endorsing one political party or the other, yet it is not in any specific political party that Enlightenment is found. In some places, they study the paths of those who have experienced, thinking that Enlightenment shall fall upon them while in meditation, and they will wait as the young man in Camden Benares Zen Story, for it is not in old houses where enlightenment is found. There is no action and long have I waited for Action. But here, here at PD.com I see something that RAW might have associated with the Cosmic Trigger. Here, there is no acceptance of any previous map as the territory. There appears to be a movement to actually explore the territory while making new maps. In this sacred rite, The Chaotic Ones shall be again, rising to replace those that were and to provide examples for those that are. Those that find the PD as The Answer, or those that believe The Conspiracy, the 23 Enigma, The Law of Fives as real... have missed one of the secret keys of the PD: "This book is a mirror. When a monkey looks in, no Apostle looks out". A mirror can only tell us about ourselves... in and of itself the mirror has no Information, no knowledge, no power, and nothing of Enlightenment. However, a mirror can be useful.

Many here appear to have a grasp on the need for action. They seem to understand that it is not in the relics of past Erisian Delight that Future Discordian Works lie, but in their actions based on current realities. Chaos is active and is based on the actions and reactions around it. The actions and reactions during the 1960's that led to the PD are not the same actions and reactions that exist here, today. In this, I applaud you and find great hope for Discordianism and reason to stick around for a bit... if you don't mind a chaotic rodent chattering on occasion.

Ratatosk, Squirrel of Discord
Muncher of the ChaoAcorn
Chatterer of the Words of Eris
POEE of the Great Googlie Mooglie Cabal