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Topics - The Wizard Joseph

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1
So I got a hair up my butt after Nigel linked to this article on FB.
http://johnpavlovitz.com/2016/05/26/dear-offended-christian-from-a-very-tired-christian/

There was a specific point made about there being NO teachings from Jesus in the Gospels, and this sort of hit a sore spot for me. My question centers around a small but possibly very significant use of language that may be a fairly huge thing. Here's the write up as I have it down for now.

As to sincere opinions please fire away. I'm not attached to the perspective quite so personally as I used to be. I DO want to construct this from within the Christian perspective ultimately, but that's on me.
_____

I sympathize with the author on pretty much every point, but one of them is very close to the heart of the matter in terms of factional strife.

"I’m tired of reminding you that the number of times Jesus spoke about gender identity and sexual orientation in the Gospels—is zero."

This is not strictly true. In Matthew ch19 from about verses 8-12 Jesus lays down some pretty severe teaching about the spiritual consequences of divorce and when folks be like "That sucks! Better to never marry" Jesus basically says "Yup!" and goes into a bit about eunuchs as an aside.

 As far as Jesus' actual teachings clearly went he says abstinence to focus on the spiritual exclusively is best, but, hey, clearly not for everyone. He uses that to approach the subject of the eunuch then delineates the three basic sorts, those so born, so made by others, and some very few who are able to give it up as a spiritual sacrifice, in that order. He makes a point of showing that the status can be inherent, placing it first in description, but spoke most of the willing sort, and barely mentioned the usual kind in the middle. This matters as it demonstrated unmistakably through his language that he was least concerned in his message with the most usual sort of the subject. Yet he only meant "eunuch" in its most common form here say the scholars of "Christianity"!
I do wonder about that.

There's longstanding, highly predictable, argument against this passage possibly applying to homosexuality. The fact is they're correct that Jesus wasn't talking about that... overtly. If he had they'd have stoned him then and there, and he knew that damn well. They try a few times in other places, most notably when he declares "Before Moses was I AM" speaking the forbidden name of God in reply to a Pharisee's challenge of his authority to interpret the law. Christian doctrine states this was him claiming to be God, but there we now differ. I think he was merely stating the simple, terribly dangerous truth. God's authority is greater and older than Moses' law, and so any use of the law that is counter to Love and Truth has none of God's authority, but I digress.

It's worth noting that the Greek word for eunuch is derived from the words for "bed" and "owner" implying all of the sleeping alone a eunuch does. That's in Strong's Concordance if any question that interpretation.  Given Jesus' sense of wordplay and the unapproachable nature of the subject, I'd say "one who's bed is their own" could well describe the person of (then) unorthodox  gender or sexual orientation in a sublime fashion. It follows that if a person can be so born then God must have made them so, and loves them as such. From there we can see that the division never existed. It is and always was a lie, and as such doomed eventually. How's that for an eschaton worth "emmanentizing"?

2
Bring and Brag / On The Secret Genesis Of Eris 1-5 complete
« on: February 20, 2018, 10:54:50 pm »
OTSGE
part 1
NYX

There are persistent rumors and disagreements whispered most quietly in the halls of the gods. The best remaining records will agree, and all the gods have seen, Hera declares Eris to be her daughter. Those among the Olympians that have been around the longest, and have seen Eris lose her top a few times, wonder quietly to themselves, and to each other privately, and always with utmost caution, whether the rumor that she is in fact the daughter of dark Nyx, the titan who is the cold, deadly, and radiant night sky, could possibly be true.

I am but a privileged mortal, and so no sure source of the truth. If you have ear though I shall tell you a tale that even the gods may hesitate to utter.

'Tis said that Nyx was most upset by the doings of the gods and their little monkey pawns in the earliest days. They were so loud and obnoxious in the evenings when she displayed her greatness and even the most ferocious creatures felt compelled to their quiet, worshipful night sounds.

The then still newly crowned gods had their revelry and sport, ambrosia and dark wine, their hateful fire. These were bad enough, but far more obnoxious, and puzzling, were the noises that the pathetic human wretches far below Olympus made. Sounds that echoed out from against rough cave walls and from under even rougher furs stolen from other creatures in attempt to keep back from their own, all too thin, flesh her chilling breath. Nyx watched on and approached bit by bit ever closer, rapt by their strange and piercing cries and wondering about what these tiny mortal beings could possibly dare to do in her presence so often, and yet seemingly wish to so conceal from her.

Much was obscured from Nyx's sight by fur and shelter; though it must be said here that she was then quite blissfully unaware of how much more she was truly missing. Nyx's singular obsession in the earliest days had been with the sounds that the humans made in her presence. Rapturous and savage the sounds were. So unlike the sonic nocturnal emissions of all the other creatures they were.

Where most creatures crawling upon the dirt produced a song and began the rituals of survival, and procreation, and rest under forever present stars humanity hid themselves from her splendor. They made not mere music but a riot of sounds so like the revels of the distant gods and yet somehow more. More desperate and savage and needful and so very warm against the unending chill that Nyx was accustomed to. Theirs was a riotous and obnoxious, but so very compelling, symphony that followed it's own rythym and respected no seasons.

Often Nyx believed that perhaps some humans had died after emitting particularly terrible cries only to see faintest movement as her train receeded into the west as she often turned to allow some few of her luminous eyes to linger for one final glimpse. Though it often so happened, often enough to keep ageless and enigmatic Nyx wondering, that one or both stirred no more after she passed.

Nyx pitied or was apathetic toward the humans in every concern other than the mystery of their hidden doings in her presence. Often she would hear word of their deeds during the sport of grand Helios, he who is the riotous day. Her all too brief conversations with him in passing for an age's worth of ages were one of the few things that Nyx could be said to truly enjoy and cherish in any sense that a mortal might fathom. Other than an occasional, and most amusing, scornful eye when his glory proved too powerful for the fragile little wretches, and caused a retreat to their caves and pathetic wooden shelters, he seemed clearly better regarded by them than she. 

Yet still their mysterious cries continued unceasingly in her presence.

And so Nyx continued to listen,
ever more fervently and closely,
to the riot and rythyms of it all
as many ages passed into aeons.

This went on, and was
the way of things until,
as is ever more certain than
even immortals might prefer,
things changed.

3
Apple Talk / ITT I drink, and I write things.
« on: December 23, 2017, 07:08:28 am »
So it's a wee bit before Christmas and I'm with my beloved, disagreeable family. I love them dearly, but have in two days become tired of the crap. They all lean "right" to some degree politically and culturally and I count myself  left-moderate because I give a shite about human rights. They do too, but ask thwm WHICH humans and the shitshow proceeds as it does in uncountable homes across our fine United States and around the world for millions this season. I'm never going to be able to stop loving them, but the disagreement can dampen the brightest holiday candle of Joy. So I don't bring it up. I NEED my family and their support, love, and perspective like a fish needs water or a drunk his drink. The "holidays" are a heady brew indeed.

I've no intention or interest in bringing up the specifics of exactly HOW and over WHAT we disagree here, but it's enough to drive me to drink and vomit forth a few words here and resolve to continue the practice in a controlled manber as I am able. Not all of it will be belly aching, but The Sauce disinhibits me enough that insight and complaints alike pour forth in profusion. My true willing intent here is to see what comes of it if I keep up the practice over time. Right now it's complaint, but not without a certain contentment with the paradox of loving those that say, fucking believe, what I hate and pity, even as I draw strength from being with them as my beloved family.

Soon we will be engaged inour gifting rituals of "dirty Santa" wherein a gift is chosen by each in the range of $20-30 and placed in a pile to be chosen by lots who chooses one first. They can be stolen by others and it's great fun. I got a nice space heater this time and I suspect it will be in high demand. This game and much excellent food and love best describes my forthcoming Christmas experience.

 That and I voluntarily intend to go to Church on Sunday to be with my Father because he will like it and I may not have another chance for all I know. His health is waning at 68 years of age and a bypass and cancer in remission. I want to hear him sing, to sing with him, of the Lord he has dedicated his simple life to so effectively. By effective I mean that his love is expressed to people through his beliefs most effectively and he has changed lives by being who he is and believing what he believes. I can only honor this because it is good.

Whatever this season brings to us I can only hope that it's as fine season of rest and love as it may be. Soon enough there will be Strife in plenty,  but for now She rests and is filled with the love of the people that remember Her name. When this restive season ends hold onto your arse friends. For once the gifts are given, food et, and drinks wear off the Hard Times will be in full effect once more. For now be you content and reach out to someone in love who needs it and so refresh your soul for the next thing coming down the chimney after Christmas. It's going to be hard, but the best is yet to come. So too the worst, but whatever. Happy Holidays folks. I wish you the best and a victorious New Year!!

4
Or Kill Me / TGRR: a Crunken Eulogy
« on: October 12, 2017, 07:33:05 am »
Peopl e got a lot of shire tA talk about TGRR and some of it may well be deserved, but hes dead now and there ain no changin tha.. again. Say what you will of him he was a Hioly Man and really that was his problen. It's no good just seeing the future, noń, you got to have the pinacje to make the wee little shites out there LISTEN to you. Why you think Ezekiel fed those kids to bears huh? So folk would take THE WORD OF THE LOTRD serious for a change!!! TGRR was a lot of things but ruthless eno for being the conduit of divine manisfestation he was a bit soft for.  God's will is hsrd to fathom sometime.  But he (TGRR) was never sgo totally cimitted to his position as Holy Man as when he  waas tryin  to warn folks abput the coming Hard Times. But fwr some reason he just couldn't feed a few loudmouth urchins to the beasts in the wild to make his point. He was a genteel pdrophet to be suree. Ley me start a new paragraph here.

So now we got Howl back and Roger is cold as the worms easting his shite even now. An ad I never seen  them in the same room!! But that's just a wild conspiracy teorys shite! What's important is that this Howl is a DOER and thhe fucking Holy Man is... was a seeer without the same TEETH as the old prophets. But let  me tell you he a was FUCKING ACCURATE, whatever elese he was. But this Howl killed him and I'm sure Roger IS bettr off now. Whereever he is than to go on seeing but being too gentle to call in the bees or the bears or whatever these days call for. Another new paragraph I think.


Sao the fundamental point here is that I'm raging drunk on cheap booze n cut and beer because I feel like Roger deserved a real mourner after all he's gon we thru on this garbage heap of a plane on existence. So I figure the least I can do is put forward an opinoin or two and be a shite to listen to while you all go on about yer lives as if the lasy of the True Propheta hadna died in your lifetimes . 

There's an Armagheddon going on and ypu lot da not see it. Not the lot here, but the humans. No idwa that the very Great Deception is at hand an the END is on its way. These are the final days. And wea are privileged to see that before the final curtain call!! You can thabk that rotten dead piece of sod TGRR for the good news, but nobody listens to a prophet in his own time! So feel it nows!! It'scoming down the pipe no matter what youy think anyway!.. so..

Fu ckin shit on this world it's time to have a Good Time an out dance Kali if ye can. Good luck and good fucking night!!!

5
High Weirdness / ITT Mandela Effect fuckery biblical or otherwise
« on: July 02, 2017, 04:14:15 am »
This thread is a dumping ground for the so called "Mandela effect". It was sparked during a conversation over in this thread here. It primarily exists as a reference to avoid derailing the thread above. If folks want to add to it go right ahead. I'm going to merely report what folks have been attributing to the effect. If others want to be more whimsical I sure wouldn't mind. This shit is heavy enough and I could use a laugh.


Quote
Isaiah 11:6-8

6The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearlinga together;
and a little child will lead them.

7 The cow will feed with the bear,
their young will lie down together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox.

8 The infant will play near the cobra’s den,
and the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest.

This is the infamous "lion and lamb" quote that appears to now involve a lamb and wolf. If you never read the passage you'd never know the difference in that it's crazy talk about peaceful animals, but this is in reference to the world peace of the messiah's kingdom to come and the animals represent political and spiritual entities. There was never a wolf with the lamb to my recollection and it was the wolf eating grass, not the lion.

Quote
Matthew 6:9-13 (Lord's Prayer)

9“This, then, is how you should pray:
“ ‘Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,

10 your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.

11 Give us today our daily bread.

12 And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.

13 And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.

Luke 11: 2-4

2And he said unto them, When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so in earth.

3Give us day by day our daily bread.

4And forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.


Here we have the Lord's prayer in both versions. It's notable that it now says debt instead of tresspass and "evil one" where most would remember just saying "evil".

There's no affirmation "for Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen." It totally doesn't exist. :fnord:

Quote
2 Corinthians 11:8

8 I robbed other churches, taking wages of them, to do you(the church of Corinth) service. 

If I recall correctly Paul never referred to himself as a thief or confessed theft in his epistles. Of course the whole "Mandela" thing is about whether or not folks are in fact recalling shit correctly.

Quote
Matthew 21:1-3

1 And when they drew nigh unto Jerusalem, and were come to Bethphage, unto the mount of Olives, then sent Jesus two disciples, 

2Saying unto them, Go into the village over against you, and straightway ye shall find an ass tied, and a colt with her: loose them, and bring them unto me. 

3And if any man say ought unto you, ye shall say, The Lord hath need of them; and straightway he will send them. 

Here we have a narrative discrepancy in that there was "originally" only one ass and no colt in the palm Sunday story, yet there it is. Two asses for the price of one.

Quote

Luke 19:27

27But those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me.

The way this read was "shew (show) them before me". Jesus never called for murder and was quite the ardent pacifist to the death. This is just a sampling of the weirdness in the bible lately... but of course these passages were always this way surely...

That's it for now. These five barely scratch the surface of what folks are reporting in vast numbers as discrepancies in scripture. It's only going to get weirder from here on out and I suspect that a major schism is likely to happen over this shit. Folks do get touchy about their "holy" books after all.

6
Apple Talk / How everyone at PD got their SUPER POWERS!
« on: April 10, 2017, 01:19:23 pm »
Since I don't know everyone here well enough to get all of the facts out consider this thread open for others to tell tales, add details, or to write "corrections" of stories that are already told. The only rule is that you can't tell your OWN tale.

I'm starting with Q.G. but have other bits in mind for other folks to write up as I get  the chance. I need something unstructured to do and this seems like a fun way to get myself writing again as the days go by. I figure other folks might have some fun with getting "The Truth" out too.

There's no problem with contradictory stories or addendums. This is about half way between comic book and tabloid as I see it in my head.

7
Think for Yourself, Schmuck! / On Mu Magic
« on: March 07, 2017, 09:11:51 pm »
The truest principle of mag8c, and thus of course the whole universe, is in conservation of energy. The greatest effect for the least effort is universally adopted by everything and by everyone, everytime.

So it will perhaps not shock you to hear that the final revolution in mqgihal thinking is yet another step even FURTHER away from "rigorous effort" all the way down until you actually Do Nothing to achieve MAXIMUM PRACTICAL EFFECT EVERY TIME!!

See the myopia of "Chaos Magick"(sic) lies not in the ideas of maiganigal efficiency or expanding conceptual boundaries, but in NOT TAKING THAT TO THE WALL and literally doing NOTHING to achieve EVERYTHING MADGRICK HAS TO OFFER with the sort of effortless grace that only discarding the concept of effort entirety from your metaphysical praxis can bring. They are, each and every last one of them, making suckers of themselves without a payoff. Fortunately Mu Magic can immediately be added to any form of mcagikral practice to immediately increase your potency and measurable levels of practical effect by 5.. 10... 492... even a bazillion gilliion fold depending only on how comfortable you are with actually doing NOTHING. This requires the ultimate in enlightenment so it may prove quite a bit harder to accomplish than in first appears.

Here's an example in situ. No sooner did I lay down on a cheap futon THAT I DON'T EVEN OWN to write this than by the power of Mu Magic I received a spontaneous phone call and got offered a job! Now no serious "Chaos Magickian"(sic) would ever seriously consider accepting that by doing no mardragick practices at all would the universe spontaneously offer them honest, gainful employment. Even if it DID occur to them never in a million lifetimes would they think to forsake their Easy St. "Magickal Path"(sic) to go actually WORK IT. They have to still at least nominally spend REAL TIME scribbling out sigils to forget and working the shaft for power, like little power-whore wannabes, when they could be doing so much less for many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many times the benefits for NO EFFORT WHATSOEVER GUARANTEED.

Now granted they still do WAY better than all those total L7 fools spending their precious time as a mortal studying celestial geometry, learning to pronounce the names of various entities before talking to them, and otherwise generally attempting to make a Real Science out of their otherwise perfectly good mathrgick like it's actually possible to do that. "Chaos Magickal"(sic) practices ARE a more efficient means to meaningful effect in that respect, but it's so much more effective to go full Mu.

Let me be clear here. Science REQUIRES you to do something to apparently achieve something. It's a measurable way to influence the cosmos. Mu Magic REQUIRES you to do nothing to apparently achieve nothing. It's THE immeasurable way to influence the cosmos by making no clear attempt to influence it at all. You can of course dedicate to both, but you must never get the two confused or you're doomed to start misusing words like "quantum" or attempting to cure kuru with crystalline mineral compounds and a tuning fork. It cannot be overstated that you MUST let your somethings be somethings and your nothings be nothings and not try swapping them around like some sort of sub-genius level mind might. Practice of Mu Magic is not without its dangers and looking like a damn fool is perhaps the very least of them!

Mu Magic Is The Only True M@gick

Stay tuned right here at the Forums of PrincipiaDiscordia.com In This Thread to witness the birth of the Final Revolution in mystical thought. But all of this writing has been a necessary concession I've had to make just to communicate this Reality Altering Concept and for the moment I must get back to my own practice of Mu Magic in order to recharge myself. I must say it's a true joy to be able to accomplish so much by doing absolutely nothing at all and I look forward to emanating this teaching by example as much as any other method.

8
Or Kill Me / Hard Times And Rotten Apples
« on: February 14, 2017, 06:29:32 pm »
Finally comes the turning point
A twisting time within us
Cold and hard and bitter
But hot while everything runs
Into the fallout

As the good old golden
Falls to the ironic iron
And eyes once met kindly
Find nothing but dim darkness
And a smirk

Could you believe the timing
And unwinding of our era
Was about a bitter little
Requital for jot and tittle
Long since forgot

What is history but mystery
Written in the bloody earth
And copied in dark ink
While scholars sit and link
Aftermath to aftermath

No surprise if gods betray
For as they always say
That's just how it is
Grow up or get buried
You're naive kid

Easy street always comes to an end
So let us not then foolishly pretend
That this was anything but an inevitability
Shall we


Take heart while bleeding out
Clear your mind of doubt
About what you could do
Would maybe have liked to
See done differently

That's all been handled now
We have left us only
This moment as these terribly
Hard times twist and shout
Silently inside us

So it was rotten apples
And cups of bitter tea
A final lunch with reality
And then one last screw
All over you

What of it wise spag
Did you think it true
This cup would pass you
Or the promised hard times
Miss their mark

Must be a nice dream
That bright lively pastel scene
Behind your eyes made real
Just before you weakly kneel
Atlas finally tiring

And you can never have it back
All that time you spent on slack
Let's not pretend we believe in guarantees
Shall we


Don't cry so very loudly
Others have their turns coming
Wouldn't want to spoil that
Moment when their rotten apples
Come around again

Just bitterly sob to God
Or "Bob" or Whoever Really
There's dignity in a plea
But don't expect a mercy
Just more silence

That's all they'll give you
All they have to give
All they ever were really
But the hard turn inside
That is reality

So too are those shitty
Rotten apples and bitter tea
Positively churning in your guts
And coming up rather suddenly
With bloody bile

And all the while you
Seem to have expected differently
Nobody ever gets it really
Not when She inevitably gives
You hard times

But could you would you take two
With all these hard times pushing through
Let's admit the warnings were written explicitly
Shall we



Now be a good spag
Hit you the cold floor
She'll show Herself the door
And leave you to your
Final thoughts alone

The pool of rotten apples
Bloody bile and bitter tea
Certainly will hold you close
And listen to you moan
And shudder alone

But you few chosen spags
So delicately betrayed to agony
Will find yourself not slayed
By hard times She gave
So very suddenly

You will rise from prone
To take a scabby knee
Hands in foul pool push
And rended flesh rise slowly
Heartless and cold

There will be no victory
Death grips you only loosely
And darkness finds no purchase
Upon those enduring hard times
And rotten apples

And though first steps be quite cold
Though bloody bile stains upon you hold
Let's not forget we chose this reality
Shall we

9
Apple Talk / Wizard Tales
« on: February 13, 2017, 03:17:23 am »
I'm opening this thread up to dump my bits and pieces of the stuff that I never told you guys. The story of "The Wizard" is long and complicated. I'm not all that good at being consistent about writing either. I have stuff in my head. I'm hoping some feedback and an occasional hand to hold/upside the head will help me push this all out. For now I shall begin with a short write up I did about the most horrible way to die known to a billion year old polygalactic society of explorer conquerors that only have fairly accurate records of the last 100 million or so.



Behold the terror that is the Chika Tika.

From: Unrelated notes on the the "chika-tika"

The Ha'chalika-tika are an abomination species that has no natural place in any biome based upon vertibrate carbon life. Their appearance is that of a large, fuzzy ball with big eyes and a wide mouth with pronounced lips and flat teeth for grinding its primary staple, living or rotted plant matter. Their coloration and pattern varies widely with each suitable to  the environment in which they are found. They possess two small arm appendages each equipped with webbed hands not unlike those of a terrestrial raccoon, but extremely strong and equipped with cat-like retractable claws at the ends of the finger and also extendable from the palms of the hands. These grant no fine manipulation, but do serve as very effective climbing, swimming, and grappling implements. Their only other appendage has the appearance of a thick, furry prehensile tail affixed to the posterior of their perfectly rounded cranio-thorax body. It is in fact a remarkably agile, muscular, and durable phallus and all chika-tika specimens are biological "males", approximately one in 20 specimens cannot reproduce and so are termed "females" though physiological and behavioral differences are non-existent. Overall chika-tikas are not physically imposing, particularly swift or stealthy, or inclined to traditionally violent behavior common to vertibrate species. Their profound danger and threat to biomes is entirely due to their reproductive methods and xeno-phillic and insatiable appetites as such.

The semen and other sexual excretions of the chika-tika are universally neurotoxic and in "males" profoundly mutagenic and universally fatal to the victim. The toxins produce a paralitic effect and unnatural euphoria not only capable of immobilizing a victim, but also inducing a neurotoxic fugue from which victims rarely recover, and never willingly. Cases in which victims have been exposed to discharges by "females" result in a form of permanent psychosis and fixation on re-exposure at any cost or potential risk. Victims finding themselves forcibly or incidentally denied the ability to go in search of more chika-tika fluids inevitably drop into a catatonic state and lose all interest in the external world or self maintenance until a chika-tika or signs of their presence are reintroduced to their environment, at which point a manic search for the stimulus begins and victims will universally seek contact with a presented live specimen with no apparent faculty of higher reason or instinct for personal survival.

Those exposed to even a miniscule amount of semen from a "male" chika-tika undergo precisely the same neurotoxic effects but also become a host for chika-tika embryos. The gametes in the semen are potentially able to enter any cell of an infected host and begin to form multiple sites of a cystic uterus and embryo visible within a greatly variable time interval dependant upon the victim species, environmental conditions, metabolic activity, and the volume of overall fluid exposure. Even the tiniest bit of direct skin or orifice exposure is sufficient to induce the cellular  impregnation and ultimately suicidal chika-tika seeking behavior. In cases where large volumes of semen are involved from multiple chika-tika specimens the rate of biological development seen in the embryos increases dramatically and has been known to induce the "hatching" phase within one Continuum Constant Standard Interval or less. Once exposed there is no known cure and victims will go to inordinate lengths to preserve themselves as the embryos develop.

This behavior is in part how this abomination's name was derived, "Ha'chalika-tika" loosely translates to "Do not touch my babies" and victims of the first known encounter with them would frequently shout this whenever they felt themselves under the slightest personal threat before attempting to flee to the closest area where more of these abominations might seemingly be found. In the late stages of the incubation the victim rarely has any mental faculty left and less biological coherence as all functions of mind and body bend to fuel the embryonic growth even well past the point where catabolic degradation should have slain the victims. The shorthand moniker "chika-tika" means simply "the babies" and is recorded to be the only words uttered incessantly by late-stage victims in metabolic fugue.

Chika-tikas emerge in numbers directly proportional to the size of the initial victim. A terrestrial dog might yield 1 or perhaps 2, an adult elephant several dozen. They emerge fully capable of all survival and reproductive functions. They inevitably destroy all vertibrate life on a planet and consume all available vegetable matter over time. They have remarkable environmental tolerances of temperature and no known pathogens can infect them. Contact is explicitly forbidden and any sighting of chika-tikas on any world is grounds for the destruction of that world's entire biome to prevent the possibility of incidental or deliberate transfer between worlds or contamination of the Continuum.

See also chika sickness, chika-soul psychosis.

10
Or Kill Me / Turn It Off!!
« on: December 13, 2016, 04:11:54 am »
Turn It Off

Fucking stop it right now. Stop "The Feed", your precious tweetings and insta-whatevers, THAT FUCKING GLOWBOX  POCKET-MONSTER, ALL OF IT!

Just shut it down. Pull the plugs and batteries. Drop that shit in a hole and WALK AWAY!!

You can walk away can't you? Those things are just nice, super-duper modern conveniences RIGHT? They're EMPOWERING YOU. Making you a GOD, and all from your easy chair right? YOU GOT THIS!

You DO get it right? You're not just some "pleb on the street". You're putting the "king" in F U C "K I N G"  R O Y A L T Y with your techy understandings and your wiki-nets on the inter-tube and you-vids AIN'TCHA? Got no problems a battery charger can't fix. Never got lost. Always got delivery food. Never needed to look someone in THE FACE and lie. Never got sick or bled for longer than it takes to look up how to bandaids your ouchie or web an MD up. Never gonna worry about being afraid of THE DARK outside in them IRLs out there.

Not you. Never ever you. You got POWER AND NO WAITING!
You got your divine fucking LICENCE right there on your laptops and internetted goddamn toothbrush. You even get TO FUCK whenevs, whatevs, howevs... ALL THAT EVS IS YOURS! Just put a post in the Tinders or a fucklist. Easy AND convenient without ever even having to actually BE what you say,
not for too long anyway.

I'M HERE TO TELL YOU THAT YOU GOT TO GIVE IT UP! YOUR BRAIN GOT THE BEETUS!! YOUR HEART NEEDS AT LEAST 4 BARS TO FUNCTION!!!

WHO TOLD YOU THIS WAS EVER FOR YOU!? All this newfangled googles and wiki-dos and the chat-chan must have just up and manifested to service your HIGH-END HEINDER HUH? Got a powder button for that thing somewhere in your IoTs of things?

DO YA?

Got an android for that APPSWIPE!!???

Turn it all off then if it's just a thing in your hands, fit to serve.

Go ON GIVE IT UP! Put them toys away.
GO DO OTHER THINGS!! FIND THE PLUGS AND TUBES AND PULL THEM OUT UNTIL IT DIES IF YOU'RE SO DAMN STRONG THEN.
I'll wait.

..... anytime now.

Not your idea of doable huh? Crazy talk? Just not feedsable or such?
Don't need to do what I say because it's ALL GOOD?

Sure don't look too good from here, you being all tied in with nowhere to go like that.

Not my problem though.

I told you. What more do you need, a brick through the window? Maybe just a fried squirrel in the powerbox for your block?

Might just save your life.

Let me put it another way.

TURN IT OFF
OR
YOU
WILL
DIE.

Because someday you'll realize too late that in all that shit coming down your feed-tubes not one bit of it helped you live. Never was for you. Never had a moment to spare that you didn't give up to it. Never helped you remember shit, just held your notes and cloud-bits... for now.

ONE DAY..

Mark this down in INK

ONE DAY YOUR TIME, YOUR LUCK, OR YOUR MONEY WILL RUN DRY ON YOU.

And the one universal law of our reality will set in hard.
And the one thing you needed to know will come clear.
And the sign at the end of that bright light tunnel reads:

NO REFUNDS,
SCHMUCK

So turn it all off,
while you still got time.


11
https://www.ornl.gov/news/nano-spike-catalysts-convert-carbon-dioxide-directly-ethanol

Your car will one day produce your drink from the exhaust and drive FOR you just about anywhere you please. WOW! Maybe this could even make "carbon capture" technology not just a viable expense, but a means to retain a valuable by-product. This is a Game Changer.

12
Propaganda Depository / Hey Faust, Q.G., others... I found Eris
« on: July 07, 2016, 12:46:56 am »
Not sure if we're hosting this, but we should be.
Q.G. this Eris makes me think about you in spirit.

I'm not even a third through the book and I already want to adapt a stage AND screenplay.

Written by Chambers, author of The King In Yellow
Published in '23
Folks named many babies after this Eris Oddell that year.
Tapered off fast, but I remember hear this in the thread I vaguely recall led to my dl of the ATTACHED PDF!!

It's ALL far past copyright lapse!

I'm going to finish when I can, but folks need to know now.

13
Or Kill Me / There is a quiet fury in me
« on: March 02, 2016, 06:47:41 am »
There is a quiet fury in me
A RAGE that no page can contain
Nor meter explain

Shall I, in vain,
Try to comfort
The inconsolable?

Seek to set right a vessel     
When I am already adrift
And fighting still,
Shall I order stillness?

BE STILL!!!!!

Ah shit,
The Storm
Didn't listen
Big surprise

Still... at least I'm
Not That Guy

Is that the plan?
Wait for The Man
To come On back
And tell the sky
what to fucking DO!?

I think I'm through
WITH FUCKING WAITING!!

As friends die
As Trumps blow
As Earth fracks
And MORE BOMBS GET MADE
And MORE CHILDREN DIE

So cowards get to snort blow
WAAAY up on high?

Shall I golf clap?

SORRY
MY ARMS ARE BUSY
DESPERATELY KEEPING ME AFLOAT!!

I COULD USE A HAND, MAN!!!
WE ALL FUCKING COULD!!

No?.. Oh. Well then.

You must be really


Fucking busy



Up there





Sorry to
Bother You





Guess I'll just go ahead and handle it then.
Lose my number
Forget my name
If You can
Thanks

14
Apple Talk / The Assault on Christmas
« on: November 12, 2015, 10:38:36 am »
Clang-bok the elf sat quietly in the small, well monitored briefing room it had been deposited in not very long after finally regaining consciousness. It was still wearing the tattered remains of its shupengraft, or worksuit, and its name was still visible upon a thick leather shoulder patch on its left side. It had been given a blue thermal blanket by one of the medical officers. It was wrapped tightly around the elf's eerily still form settled on top of a comfortable chair in the corner. The waifish creature had not once relaxed it's surprisingly strong grip on the thing even after passing out in the evacuation craft upon looking out of a window and seeing...
well.. that's CLASSIFIED.

Lets just say it seems the altitude hadn't agreed with the poor creature's already highly distressed system, and it had simply fainted. Elves don't actually sleep naturally and when their systems are sufficiently shocked to cause unconsciousness it can last for quite some time. They're engineered to run not recover, if you follow. Clang-bok was apparently in excellent condition for all that it had been through, but had in fact been unconscious for several days since arrival.

The quite literally shell-shocked elf had been readily compliant with the staff upon awaking but otherwise totally unresponsive. It hadn't even touched the now cold coffee on the side table next to it. Elves absolutely LOVE coffee. It just wasn't natural.

Sargent Thaddeus "Brax" Braxton of the 5th Onerian Investigative Corps had precious little sympathy in his heart to give but could not help but shave a thin sliver off of his remaining supply for the wretched creature in the room on his monitor readout. The devestation had been total. The DIMSAT images alone were enough to say that definitively. A flyover scan order had been issued immediately after an unprecedented security breach had occurred in some system or another well above his pay grade, and apparently he was not in the need to know club.

Whatever it was it had left a non-radioactive crater OF GLASS just over three miles in diameter and nearly a third of that overlapped roughly half of the sprawling complex that had been "Santa's Werkershoppe", as it appears in all legal documents. Sgt. Brax had a feeling that the VERY neat and cleanly executed kill zones smacked of truly inhuman precision. The pattern of found remains indicated that the elves in the shop complex had begun to flee away from the cataclysmic impact of... whatever that was. The surviving elves remaining in the compound were immediately afterward met and systematically wiped out by a focused and VERY well armed strike force of some sort. As far as anyone knows Clang-bok is the only survivor.

The analysis done so far seems to indicate the possibly of three sweep teams each bearing at least one flamethrower firing an unknown compound hot enough to powder concrete and some form of air support capable of helicopter like strafe patterns. Vexingly all of the munition fragments so far recovered matched no known manufacturer and apparently incorporate several novel alloys. The lab said that they would let Brax know as soon as they know what exactly.

Right now even that bloody conundrum was on the back burner. Sgt Brax needed to get poor Clang-bok talking. Clang-bok had been found in an area on the other side of the bizarre "impact zone they won't talk about" thing. It had managed to stay warm by staying just close enough to the cooling glass that it hadn't frozen to death, as happens VERY swiftly to elves exposed to polar temperatures. Not very far away just outside of the blast zone a concealed security cabin was found with its door hanging wide open. Santa Claus, A FUCKING GREATER ICONIC ENTITY, had been found face down in the snow about a dozen paces from the cabin, stone dead.

The wound was some sort of horrible burn through the back of his head, dead center and nearly 2/3 through. They had him on ice in the lab pending a godawful lot of international and poly-dimensional paperwork to perform a full autopsy.  The only tracks that could be found were this fucking elf and the Jolly Man himself. Brax just didn't see how the elf could have even thought to do it, much less how it could do THAT. Elves don't do violence, or even complain much, as a rule. It's just not in their nature. They certainly don't slay immortal beings like dogs in their own back yard.

Brax drank his coffee down and poured another before reluctantly reaching for his DIMSAT phone. He was going to have to call in a special favor from that damned "Wizard" again. "Maybe the crazy fucker can get Clang-bok here to open up or knows someone who can." Brax muttered under his breath as he heard the line go through the usual handshake and encryption cycles. "Yeah" he thought, "Or maybe he'll just fuck everything up on the biggest and most clandestine investigation in the Onarian Investigative Corps' entire history, maybe ever.

Sargent Thaddeus Braxton sighed very heavily as the DIMSAT finally opened up to a phone ringing.
It wasn't even fucking Thanksgiving yet.

15
I'm not going to waste 50 pages establishin my mental peen like your various famn Germans philosophers, no. I'm telling you that this whole assumption about whether or not god is real or whether The Soul is shite we made up along the way to becoming what we're currently being is a wast of A Good Time!
You DO wan teh be serious anout having A Good Time don't ya?  Didn't we build the whole civilization racket around ensuring A Good Time for ourselves and future generations eh? There's your damn moral axis!! Does this or does this not ensure that all shall have A Good Time? That's the only truly relevant question we should be asking as we sit here on out lawn chairs and suck down beverages laden with agreeable bacterial excretions while hurtling though the void.

See problem is there's a whole lot of folks out there that believes in the lie that they can have A Better Time if only they dispense with concerns to the costs to themselves,  othets, and the future! Who the hell ever said "OH, You can just go on and do that."? HUH? Fuckin' assholes is what. Assholes that swallow worse things than LIES, letme tell ya!!

A Good Time is Fuckin sir as hell nor guaranteed just by happening to drop onto the good Earth. If anything can be absolutely guaranteed herr o  our sweet world it's that things can always get shittier. So what!? The spinning atons and molecules in your goddam cells represent if aught else a signal that managed to overcome the void of time and space to bellyache about your damn  sense of purpose or God or whatever Ism you fret with.

You could be having A Good Time right now if you could just stop being so fussy about the things is all I'm saying!!


Goodnight, I'm going to be paying me heavy for A Good Time come
morning.
Hail Eris.
I guess.

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