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Also, i dont think discordia attracts any more sociopaths than say, atheism or satanism.

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Topics - vexaph0d

#1
our wallets used to carry proof of identity.
now they carry our actual identities.

pictures that tell us who we are.  why we are here.

plastic cards that tell us we need things.

this is the detachable identity. because studies have shown that 6 in 7 people wouldn't go home after their boring work day was done if they didn't remember they were supposed to.

steal somebody's wallet, and put pictures of your own kids in their and take theirs out, and see how long it takes them to notice.  see if they show off your kid to somebody else and put it back in their pocket without even blinking.

buy them a beer, they need it.

also,

jesus is one fucking hell of a guy.  my dad knows jesus, or at least that's what he told me.

jesus is always blessing him.  last year, he blessed my dad with a grand piano for only $2500. a baby grand piano.

a couple months ago, jesus blessed my dad by issuing him a notice from the IRS that he owes $32,000 in social security payments they never should have given him because somebody behind a desk didn't file a paper in time.  jesus is awesome.

yesterday, jesus came through with yet another blessing, and has probably given my dad the best gift of all: leukemia.

if i had a friend like jesus, i'd feed him a banana split with cyanide sprinkles.  just sayin.
#2
but couldn't be arsed to finish the job.  here's a PDF of what i have so far. please to dismember it and steal bits and pieces as you see (un)fit.  some of it has been posted before.

the link is not a link.
#3
Think for Yourself, Schmuck! / can we do it?
December 22, 2006, 05:27:00 PM
For the past 60 years or so, we as a species have had the capability to drive ourselves into complete exitinction in a matter of hours, if not minutes.  Our mastery of destruction is a function of our mastery of manipulating our environment and its resources.  Our technological progress is approaching the point where, although nature might deal a near-deadly blow to our species, we ourselves are the only ones capable anymore of completely annihilating us.  If we expand our borders to include other planets, we may be past that point.  Do you think there is a definite line we are crossing now, where we take the power to destroy us away from nature and the gods, and assume that responsibility ourselves?  Is the exponential rise in global violence we are witnessing now, merely the fumbling of our own inexperience hands as true masters of our own destiny?

Does the human race have what it takes to break the paradigm of "survival of the fittest," the oldest and most deeply-ingrained paradigm we have?  Albert Einstein insisted that much of his work, including the atomic bomb, was something humanity was not ready for.  Do you believe we will overcome the archaic structures of our culture, which helped us get to this point but are now ineffective and cumbersome, and begin the process of conscious evolution?
#4
Or Kill Me / The Dead Revolution
December 15, 2006, 02:55:14 AM
Face it, America.  It's time to give up the charade.  It's 230 years overdue, anyway.  We had a good run of it, and around the end of the 19th Century, it even looked promising.  But let's stop deluding ourselves already.  Let's put away the Norman Rockwells, hang up the cell phone for a minute, and give the Republic five seconds of eulogy time.

We never really wanted this Noble Experiment.  There are a few of us, now relegated to lurking in the shadows, only brave enough to show half our faces, and only in the daylight when there's at least enough of us to overpower the riot police, who are going to miss the trip we started out on 200 years ago.  But we're a minority, and we're going to be silenced, and nobody is listening anyway.

All I'll ask from anybody today is to just come out and say it.  We all know it anyway, so there's no point in pretending, America.  Just say you're done with freedom, and liberty.  Just say it.  You don't want the freedom to be different.  You don't want freedom of speech, freedom of the press, or freedom of religion.  You don't want the right to a fair trial.  You don't want the writ of Habeas Corpus, or solid education, or protection from unlawful search and seizure.

You want the freedom to agree.  You want "Safe Streets" and you want "Guaranteed Futures" and you want everybody to slow down so you're kid won't be Left Behind.  You want somebody to protect you from the Real World.  And to shut anyone up who reminds you about just how bad it can be... Out There.  You don't want to live with danger, you don't want to live with uncertainty, and you're scared to death of living with anything you don't understand.  But life IS danger, uncertainty, and it's filled with the unknown.  So, just face it.  You don't want to live at all.

But, see, you've taken your security blanket, and you've strangled the Revolution with it.  You've smothered the life from liberty with your down-filled extra-stuffed pillows.  You'd call the Sons of Liberty a "Terrorist Organization" if they were around today.  You'd run screaming into the arms of the RedCoats, rather than face an uncertain future with nothing to guide you but a few lofty dreams.  You'd prefer death at the hands of a tyrant to the prospect of building a life where you have to make room for somebody else to build theirs.  Getting to know your neighbors.  Getting to know yourself scares you.

You're not the America that stood up 230 years ago to shake off its chains and claim Independance and Liberty for itself.  You're not the America that fought with itself to rid its institutions of deeply-seated injustice and slavery.  That America is dead.  It's caved in, rotted, and given way completely to the America that expanded westward over the corpses of defenseless women and children; the America that now pukes out empty rhetoric where action should go; the America that entombs itself with meaningless wars of choice.  You are patriots of that America; I am a patriot of the Dead Revolution: the America that exists now only as the perfume you use to disguise your poisonous lies.
#5
Or Kill Me / Popular Trends in Emo
October 24, 2006, 08:57:50 PM
many emo / postpunk / neo-new-wave / numetal bands are sincerely set against the system and, to the degree that their pomposity can afford, even the Machine(tm). i do not doubt their angst or the veracity of their lyrics, and i can see plain evidence of their anti-establishment-ism in the spit-polished Hollywood veneer of their music videos.

this, like most things you see on TV, is disasterous.

the Machine is so secure in its grip on modern Western society that it feels completely at home canning and displaying on very large outdoor screens, anthems of its own destruction. it has completely bought the Revolution market; it is turning a profit selling off soundbytes that curse its very existence; even exposing itself for exactly what it IS to millions of people.

the Machine is mocking every attempt to disable or undermine its supremacy. the Con has grown roots so unbelievably deep that it can now sell ITSELF out, and be stronger for it.

some Discordians write tracts and brochures and staple O:M flyers to telephone poles; some of us compile larger written works, create videos; and these are distributed to the general public with as much saturation as our copy-room printshops can muster. but look at the world you're aiming at: it is already full of tales of corporate greed, governmental corruption, and sheep heading blindly for the slaughter. the Machine ITSELF is churning out waves and waves of propaganda in the same vein as ours: propaganda conceived to destroy it, and largely unmodified by the time it reaches the innocent eyes of cabbages in the record stores and newsstands everywhere: everybody already knows the score.

there are solutions that aim more directly at the root of the Problem.




just sayin.
#6
Or Kill Me / The Quick Fix: On Sale Now
October 07, 2006, 08:53:55 AM


The Antedeluvian Order of Malignant Saints.
We care because we don't really.
#7
Or Kill Me / Self-Enlightenment Through Bullshit
October 05, 2006, 10:59:29 PM
Secondary Title: Operation Mindfuck for the Operationally Mindfucked.

This is probably Intellectual Dadaism Revisited, but I never studied Dadaism or Absurdism or any of that horse manure, or the PD for that matter, so I still got dibbs on being original.

Anyway, society has reached such an incredible level of clusterfucked over-beaurocratic dogmatic cocksleaze culture-void confusion at this point, that practically anything at all can have a lasting effect on everything, which is nothing at all.

That is to say, simply, just spout some completely random meaningless bullshit, and I guarantee that it can (and will, god knows) be interpreted 13 ways from Sunday, and at least 10% of the time it will result in at least a small engorgement of somebody's dubiously existant Pineal Gland.  Since it's a Discordian forum I'll go along with the overused lingo, what the fuck why not.

EXAMPLE the First: It's a well-known fact that Boris Karloff, the famous actor, used to eat dog shit to get his complexion just right before every scene.

In this example we learn nothing that's of any use to anyone, but it probably will make the reader (or, unluckily, the hearer) think about eating dog shit.  This is an improvement over having them think about what's going to be on TV this evening.

EXAMPLE the Second: Well, you know what they always say -- You can't ride a wet horse to Germany. or You know what they say -- You can't get far with a rabid weasle in the bushes outside your 2nd floor window.

This means even less, and has the immediate effect of either getting you labeled the conversation's current fuckwit.  This is of course preferable to being called the conversation's sage, because being the sage always has a lot of baggage with it.  Like actually having to say something worthwhile at least half the time.

If the world we live in is 98% bullshit anyway, and you're expected to "make it" out there by being serious about it, then what happens if you just keep spouting bullshit yourself?  You short-circuit the system :D

I don't know what the fuck I'm typing about, in all honesty.
#8
Or Kill Me / Thinking Outside the Bob
July 10, 2006, 12:19:44 AM
IT HAS BEEN POSITED, by intellectual non-conformists and other bad apples, that our modern society is a great big electric orgy of social engineering.  Our lives are little more than fodder for the Machine™, and as we are led like sheep to the slaughter, the laughter of the murdering bastards behind the controls come faded across our airways in the form of radio jingles and cheap made-for-tv movies.  This enormous Conspiracy, whether perpetrated by a Reptilian Agenda or just an entertaining side-effect of our own collective apathy, is usually characterized as being a generally bad thing, something to cast off and wake up from.  A reason to take to the hills and live like an ape in the Appalachians, or take to the Internet and live like an ape on a forty-two lane superhighway.  Either way, the prescribed remedy usually has a lot to do with flinging shit at somebody, and very little to do adequate description of the problem, let alone any kind of viable Solution™.

I realize that today there are a lot of reasons to believe this horseshit.  Everybody feels trapped in an endless barrage of workdays punctuated by occasional off-days long enough to get you wondering if there's anything better, and short enough to keep you from finding out for sure.  I could just as easily throw away the mortgage, trade in the car for a plane ticket, and find a brand new daily grind in the Bahamas. But it isn't the grind that's killing me, it isn't the fact that there always seems to be some kind of grind, or the false hope that is my decaying 401(k) plan.  I'm not being held against my will, in bondage to some faceless corporate Armageddon; and waking up in the morning doesn't make me feel like  my life is Music From and Inspired by the Motion Picture Groundhog Day.

This is our Spruce Goose, and maybe this bitch won't fly farther than 100 yards at a time, but this machine has been under construction for a few millennia now and we're all the pilot.  It comes complete, prepackaged, and individually wrapped.  And why?  Well, for our convenience.  It is convenient, after all, and it is convenience that everybody wants these days.  And those days too, there just wasn't much to go around then.  It even has built-in pressure relief valves, and that's what a lot of people around here are for.  These Non-Sequitur Elite can make a pretty loud whistling sound, but invariably, the only thing that ever actually escapes this Machine™ is their own hot air.

You might be a poorly-oiled cog somewhere in the big stinking guts of our eternal merry-go-round – say, a street sweeper bitching about the due-date of his next alimony check; or you might be suburbanite cubical filler bitching about the state of Everything in General™ (and everyone else's lack of concern) because you can't be bothered to give a shit about anybody but your ego.  Either way you're serving a purpose, and like it or not that purpose is reinforcing the Machine™.

What the fuck did I spill four paragraphs full of bullshit for?  I'm not saying anything that hasn't already been drilled into your postmodern brain for 25 years.  And neither are you.  Just saying.
#9
Bring and Brag / Dawn and Early Summer
June 12, 2006, 05:49:08 AM
Square box!
Eleven feet tall
Twelve would scratch my comfort zone

Vapid! Words!
The end of whose
Meaning equals the end of mine

Twisting chaotic nerve fibers do clench me
Betwixt their firm bosoms
Wombs extrapolating the surest Answer(TM)
I can't rhyme that shit

Without delay!
Or the meandering focus
On this my ball of mudded morning risen
To invade the dark so goth
Like cheap mascara.

ERIS oh ERIS your name is like my middle name
Except it has no H, and I think I complete you.

Without cabbages, I'm pretty sure coleslaw would be edible.
Hump! Hump the end of morning!
And make sticky the stagnant Afternoon;
When daylight sets in and bakes the world.

Why the fuck do I have to work today?

It isn't your fault, ERIS.
Fucking cabbages. Right?

*<crash noises, the sound of GiGi Allin making philosophy with an electric can opener, and a crowd of people demanding refunds from a defective generic pop machine>*

ugh!
#10
Bring and Brag / Kitchenjig
June 09, 2006, 02:29:31 AM
Masticate me, baby
put me in a Blender!

Chop me up in tiny bits
and feed me to your kin, dear.

I would so like
to fry tonight
So, please do me this favor...

Set my head up on your stove
and dish me out to all you know

...but nevermind my bland and borrowed flavor.
#11
Hello. This -- I -- whatever -- is the "space-time continuum," speaking to you, the cursed listener. Here am I, squeaking out from the tiniest teensies of weensies -- calling you, the cursed hearer. THUNDERING FROM ABOVE, I am -- to you.

Now that we're done with the formalities, I am that which sits on the tippetist tipsy-toe tip of your mind. My sound is the sound of the planets scratching against one another; and for the last time, it is your name I sound off. You have stepped up, now it is I Who Must Push You Back Down. I AM, says the mouse who got squished and smashed between the gears of an eternal machine which is ME.

You have been called. Plain and cherry-on-top simple. And for the last time, hear me out. That ITCH in your skull is the very thing I am talking about.

YOU HAVE: your sight, your hearing, and your touch. You also have a predefined number of planetary rotations (define however you will) -- time.

YOU MAY: create, destroy, have at it, and generally enjoy, or DIE. Can I be any more painstakingly clear with you? This is NOT abstraction, do you get my drift?

Count: One, two, three. Sing: Do, ra, mi. All within that kind of transcontinuity which is me. The cracks-in-cracks-in-fissures-so-tiny cannot compare to this incessantly, all-encompassing, absolute nothingism. The grinding of the gears, the shadow of the moon against the starry backdrop of the sky. The never-endingness of a trip which is damned to end in a horribly understated, yet pleasantly opaque "pop" called death.
#12
Or Kill Me / Floral Arrangement
June 08, 2006, 05:05:44 AM
---a sermon in F minor---

All alone.  You sit in makeshift pots and vases; no more than watery, confining graves.  You sit and remember the sunshine; the children running up to you and after you.  But that's all gone now, and you realize that.  All you have is this dark, cold room and these hundreds of prying, scrutinizing eyes all over you.  Pieces of you lie scattered about, drying and withering away.  You have all been poked and prodded, cut and mangled, and -- worst of all -- planted in decorative cells and lined up nice and neat, making a pretty arrangement for your masters.

One remembers floating in the open air, another recalls with poignant fondness standing in moist, warm earth, energized by a natural Sun.  But memories fade, and you are all captives of a greater force now.  You learn only what you are allowed to see, know only what you have been told.  Your colors fade and each one knows that sooner or later he, too, will be thrown out and replaced by someone just like him.  So you choose to believe glorious tales about the trash heap.  And who can really blame you?  It eases your pain and fear.

The air bites at you with its icy teeth, but more real are the gnashing, gnawing teeth of Time; for another one's has come.  As his grim remains are disposed of, you all cry for FREEDOM!  For the life you once knew, of which the memory fades with each passing generation.  But screams are never heard, and cries are never tended to if the greivance cannot be articulated.  It's all you know to do, so you scream silently, there on the table.  You scream out with whispered pleas and softly-sung hymns full of words you can't understand.  But you are alread dead and just waiting to pass out and fade away.

And when finally your hardened, brittle bodies are carried off to this glorious Trash Heap, and all the mourning has stopped, the cycle will begin anew.  But this time, there is a little less screaming for freedom and a little more passive acceptance.  The wisest ones hav eall left you, leaving only dust behind.  The mangling continues, and the confinements only encroach further.  But you accept it as part of life now.  It's the way it should be, otherwise the Trash Heap wouldn't seem so grand.  You dismiss tales of sunshine and freedom -- such things are dangerous and should be avoided.  The cracking stems and petals remind you of mortality, but "it will be better when you die."
#13
Or Kill Me / Language as a Blunt Object
June 04, 2006, 08:20:47 PM
or, How Emotional Fillibustering could Save the Human Tongue

IT SEEMS, at least to me, that as intellectual humans continue to outpace non-intellectuals in the realms of abstract thought and ethical contemplation, while non-intellectual humans continue to outpace intellectuals in the realm of social authority, we are missing some vital thing.  We are not communicating with each other nearly as well as we used to.  Why?

I think it has to do with relativity.  Einstein, chief braniac of the modern age, didn't exactly know what the hell he was getting us all into, I suspect.  Abstract thought and popular intellectualism is now chiefly concerned with how everything means something different to different people, while society at large is nearly offended with the idea that there is probably no Absolute Dogmatic Truth out there.

In many of the popular texts today whose purpose it is to "enlighten" the "common person," we find a weird sort of translation matrix which has the intent to take highly abstract, deeply relativistic ideas and somehow transform them into solid "reality"-based concepts through the use of traditional metaphors.  This, of course, being nearly impossible because of the inherent opposition between relativism and the literalism of the masses.

My suggestion is that uberthinkers, to which I have been accused of belonging (although I am not entirely convinced), need to reinvent the way we speak to the Public At Large.

Our language was invented and has been refined throughout the centuries with the sole intent of conveying specific messages and making specific points.  With the advent of relativity, especially Discordianism, we are finding it is more important that somebody gets A point, than that somebody gets a specific point.  With that in mind, I propose the use of Language as a Blunt Object.

We should use malformed, half-cocked metaphors with the intention of conveying cannotation and free-thinking type associations above the intention of conveying specific, cold-hard-fact analogies and conclusions.  In an age of relativity I think it is far easier to be "accurate" in conveying abstract thought by getting your audience to think like you are thinking, instead of trying to translate your thoughts into the way they are thinking.

To this end, most of my writing employs the use of colorfully out-of-place adverbs and adjectives, because if you can evoke a certain reaction to a phrase and follow it with another phrase that hammers out of your audience a related reaction, you can forge a train of thought in them that is not necessarily linked to which words you are using.  That, and like I said, it doesn't matter if they understand what you are saying, as long as they are inclined to interpret it somehow.  That they think at all is usually miraculous enough.  If you can mean one thing very explicitly, and they very explicitly understand something quite different, at least they have found a point.  And then they can tell you what they think, and you can discover something they didn't intend at all.

This is probably all just a lot of rambling.
#14
Part Five
(parts one through four to follow, naturally)

The weight of the world isn't on your shoulders.  It isn't on mine.  The "weight of the world" isn't.  No, stop.  Stop it... dammit, stop.  The end.  Zip.  Click!  Annoying whiny buzzer.  That REALLY IS all there IS.  Stop being, and see.  Stop for one second and realize it, and there will be no further need of any future time-frames.  JUST STOP! No more!  That's the end of it.

(of course, we must elaborate from here)

ILLUSTRATION: Here we have mankind staring into the mysteries of the universe, and by his very concentration causing all of it.  By the fact that he was given this vision, faces have been painted on a reality which otherwise would be just dandy.  So do you kill him or save him?  Ah, the quetion which plagues him.  And that being that, he can almost that both are the same.  If he could totally realize it with that word that escapes him, it would all just meld back together and that, as they say, would be that.

Oh, but his naggings.  His constant worrying and the demons he creates.  Was it a crime to show him these things, or was it a crime to have him ther ein the first place, all puppy-dog eyed and curious?  Either way, it can't be his own fault.  You know, he didn't ask to be here.  Or did he?

As a beast, he ate the question.  Now it has fused itself to his soul.  Beating -- with each heartbeat, his Hell is renovated to be the same and he can't for the life of him pound out the right notes to spell the answer to it.  He seeks death, and death flees from him.  And that state of being which is both life and death hides in that smallest of tinies.  Well, so much for Adam, they say -- he will die soon enough.  And when that apocalypse is finally and at long, winded last upon the face thereof, the Universe will once again find the peace that it never lost.