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Topics - Cainad (dec.)

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Discordians, especially Discordians, are notorious for disagreeing with each other about pretty much everything, up to and including the details of the pseudoreligion that they are nominally all members of (in some sense). Whether Discordians should stick apart or organize for greater hilarity, whether or not Eris should be thought of as an actual deity, or whether or not to pray to Her, and all sorts of things that the PD itself likes to be ambiguous about (and even when it's not ambiguous, a Discordian is supposedly forbidden from believing what he reads, so...); all this and more are up for grabs in a theoLOLgical Discordian discussion.

But one thing that I have never seen challenged in my time here is the notion that Everything (capital "E") is Chaos (capital "C"), and that Order and Disorder are illusions created by our own pattern-seeking minds.

When I first read the PD, this seemed self-evident. But I am no longer in that headspace, and now I wonder why we never argue this point. It's often used to back up another argument, and frequently used to clear up ambiguity about when something should be described as "chaos" or as "disorder," since the two are often used interchangeably among people who don't share our fucked-up worldview.

Not sure where I was going with this, but it's something that's been squatting in my brain for a while and it won't go away. I guess I'm just not comfortable knowing that there's something Discordians have yet to argue about; gotta poke it with a stick, you know?

Relevant posts from the Today I Learned thread (starting with this post):

Today I learned

Or re-learned

That I am very tired of being a novelty.

How are you a novelty?

- "look guys what a funny novel friend I made last week, she's small cute looks a bit like an angry eskimo and has a nose ring"
- "OOOOOOOOOOoooooooooO000Ooo can I feed her?"
- "well ... okay, but NEVER feed her kalamara olives after midnight!"


I think that may be closer to the mark than you think, if I understand Nigel correctly. Sometimes people who act like they want to be your friend are secretly Normals with a desire to spend a little bit of time with a novelty Weirdo before going back to what's "safe."

Yeah. That's how a lot of my dating life used to go, when I still bothered with the damn thing.

"Oh hey, she's cute. And really different from what I'm used to. That's fun! And hey, she's comfortable with her sexuality. That's really neat! Oh man, she's exposing me to all these weird new experiences and ideas! She's so quirky and unique!" But then after a little while, they get bored of quirky and unique and new experiences and want to settle back down into normal. Except that this IS normal. They want THEIR idea of normal. So then you end up getting ditched. It goes from REALLY HOT (newness exciting shiny etc) to fleeing pretty quickly, sometimes.

I would hypothesize that is what Nigel means, and if so, she probably has it to a greater extent than I do, because I think she's more quirky and unique and artistic and whatnot than I am, so she probably gets it more intensely.

It's like the cliche in all those indie films about the Manic Sexy Pixie Savior thing whatever. Where some "crazy" girl comes in and saves the introspective, emotionally fragile male main character and brings life back into his, well, life (usually through sex and all her CRAAAAAAAAAAZY antics!) but then their relationship is doomed and she dies or leaves him or turns out to be a psychotic or something, and he moves on with his normal life, but feels re-energized thanks to her quirky ways. He is now a more interesting person, whereas she is a discarded freak, an objet d'art from the extreme of the spectrum, who has no place in his nice normal world. She was a learning experience, if you will.

This sounds so much angrier and more bitter than I intend for it to. I'm honestly just amused by that trope, not angry about it, so apologies if this comes off the wrong way.

That said... Nigel, anyone who sees you as a novelty should be punched in the face with a railroad spike.

Today I learned

Or re-learned

That I am very tired of being a novelty.

How are you a novelty?

- "look guys what a funny novel friend I made last week, she's small cute looks a bit like an angry eskimo and has a nose ring"
- "OOOOOOOOOOoooooooooO000Ooo can I feed her?"
- "well ... okay, but NEVER feed her kalamara olives after midnight!"


Basically something like that. Straight guys or girls like my ex, who think they're "edgy" or "alternative" because they wear funny clothes and/or like the art/music scene and/or open relationships and/or dick meet me and think "oooh, cute eccentric girl! Look how funny she is, with her quirks and cones and lard and her thing about some obscure Greek goddess! This will make my life fun and exotic and cool." But they don't actually GET anything, and since actually at the end of the day they want to go home to Tami with an i and not really be challenged and gradually start to realize that it's 24/7 and not just a new kind of hipster, I start to grate on them. Because I'm still awake making something that's not even serious in Photoshop, and I am seriously going to leave those fucking cones on my roof FOREVER. And maybe, just maybe, I really am going to wear a moustache to a party, and fuck, how embarrassing is that? Plus the weird shit on my walls. It's funny at first, but it's so cluttery, and am I really going to leave that up for the dinner party?

They're like TGRR's perverts... just because they're perverts doesn't make them freaks. They just think freaks are so cool, you know, so they want a pocket one to take to parties. For a while. Or, sometimes, they have a whole STABLE of them they rotate through and invite to parties. You gotta check this chick out, man; she's such a trip.

But I'm starting to recognize it in advance, and learning how to cut it off at the pass. I will not be collected. Like a goddamn Beanie Baby.

For the record, neither Pinecone nor Mario ever treated me like a novelty. Because they are both also freaks. They get it. You get it. I just need to stick to my people. I'm lucky to have some.

This seems to be a common theme in the lives of several of us, and I put it here in Or Kill Me because I think it's something worth ranting about.

We like to talk, and complain, about the Normals, the Machine, the cabbages, and the Greyfaces... but honestly, true Greyfaces are rare in my experience. Even the dullest twerp I've met needs at least a little tiny bit of the weird and novel in his or her life. Just enough to keep them alive and feeling like a warm body. That's what we're here for, at least in their estimation. Weirdos are for keeping in neat little boxes, to be taken out and played with for a little while and do tricks before going back in the box so we don't dirty up the nice new couch.

Or so they think.

The Weird do not take well to being contained. The Normals, the cabbages think they can have us piecemeal because we are easily ignored. This is untrue; we just tend to leave them alone because they bore the everloving shit out of us most of the time. They take us for granted, and when they find out the hard way that we don't have an "Off" switch, they freak out. It bothers them and makes them uncomfortable to know that we don't ever STOP being so weird, that our tricks and quirks and funny little ways of doing things are not just for amusing people at parties, but rather that we actually live that way, and we like it.

This is why I love the friends I have, and don't bother with people who flake. I'm friends with people who give me a run for my money when it comes to weirdness, people who see reality in such bizarre and shifting ways I can't help but be enchanted by them and call them my kin. Where the Normals laugh nervously and pull back, I tear up with joy and seek to embrace the weirdness in front of me. And it's only going to get stranger as the years go by, I'm sure of it.

...and I thought I'd share a brief version of one of the stories she relayed to us from there:

Quick background: My mom is a medical doctor in the US Army

She was invited to spend a day at a girl's orphanage by the director/doctor of the orphanage, since it is much easier for a female doctor to give a proper examination and treatment to girls and young women in their culture. She went wearing a white headscarf and without a weapon, since firearms frighten the children.

She realized that in addition to the gender issue, the real reason the director of the orphanage wanted my mom there was to show "his girls" what a woman can grow up to be in this day and age. It's a great concern, especially for the older girls, whether or not higher education made one unfit for marriage and motherhood; my mom was there to show them it didn't as much as she was there to treat them. She showed them that she had two sons who were both "this tall," and they laughed; "taller even than you, Doctoress?"

As she left, she was told that at least three of the girls were eagerly talking about becoming "doctoresses" or nurses.

I really, really enjoy being related to the people in my family.

Or Kill Me / The Worms and Their Little Blue Pills
« on: November 08, 2009, 08:09:03 pm »
There are worms in my brain. I don't know when exactly they got in there, but they've been there for quite some time now. My thoughts flow through the tunnels the worms have burrowed through my gray matter, and they themselves sometimes carry my thoughts around. But these worms are not very efficient for my purposes, partly because they squirm around randomly and partly because they have no goal in mind towards which to work efficiently.

Of course they have nothing in mind, they're worms, damn it! They are what's in my mind; pay attention to the metaphor!

Anyway, the workings of the worms are not conducive to getting things done. Trying to direct them so that my thoughts flow smoothly and directly towards a certain goal is like, well, it's like trying to herd a bunch of damn worms. They don't pay attention to anything but wriggling and burrowing. But that's what the pills are for, these little blue pills.

The pills do something I've never been able to do: they force the worms to line up in neat little rows and march in time to the tune of whatever goals I set. How worms can be made to march without feet I don't know, but they're marching all right. In spit-shined jackboots, no less. With the pills controlling the worms, I become a machine. A powerful, efficient machine that runs smoothly as a dream on lubricated bearings. The pounding march of the worms makes sure the trains of my thought all run on time, and the jackboots stamp out errant or unwanted thoughts with hardly a sound. For a few hours, everything runs better than ever before, better than it should. For a few hours, I am effective. Then the pills wear off.

When the pills start to wear off, I can't keep the worms in line anymore. But the damning thing is that they keep on marching around in jackboots. With no more rhyme or reason guiding them they stomp all around my brain, trampling everything and my trains of thought go flying off the tracks. I become the machine with half of its bearings taken out, rattling and screeching, performing its tasks with grinding, noisy hesitancy. Everything inside and outside my head becomes a disordered mess and I know that at any moment I might truly begin to laugh and laugh and laugh until I realize I'm screaming.

Finally, the jackbooted feet the worms never had in the first place wear off and they go back to wriggling and burrowing. I am no longer the machine, and I can rest until I need to be effective again.

Or Kill Me / Missing: One Child Prophet and a Wise Tiger
« on: October 31, 2009, 12:59:45 am »
You know who I miss the most? Calvin. I grew up with Calvin; he was always six years old but he was always older than me. He was a child sage, and I didn't always understand him but we had lots of fun together, Calvin, Hobbes, and I. He knew from the very beginning that school was there to beat his mind into shape, and he rebelled not only by outright refusal to be contained, but by shaping parts of his mind before those parts could be squeezed into public school molds. He knew, like all children know, what it means to have a good time, but he knew it consciously at such a young age. What's more, he laughed in the face of anyone who tried to tell him differently, right before dropping a water balloon on their head. Calvin knew the TV was there to satisfy the sweet tooth of the mind, and he let it work its glittering magic on him every once in a while, but it never really got to him. Partly, this was because he knew what exactly it was doing, and partly because of Hobbes.

I miss Hobbes too. Hobbes knew what fun was just as well as Calvin did; sometimes he knew it better. He was a voice of reason, but never too much reason. Just enough to keep Calvin from riding that wagon over too high of a cliff, just enough to make sure that chucking water balloons and snowballs was always more fun than the TV. Hobbes was there to put a jolt of Life back into Calvin's existence at the end of the daily public school slog.

But Calvin's gone now. I don't know where he went or what he does now, but I think he may have grown up. He probably didn't mean for it to happen; it probably snuck up on him when he wasn't looking. Once he grew up, he stopped really being Calvin, you know? And the worst part is, growing up was the only thing Hobbes couldn't save him from. Without the real Calvin, Hobbes is just a stuffed tiger, and without the real Hobbes, Calvin can't be the real Calvin we all knew. It took both of them to survive in this world, and if we had them here today they'd know how to deal with the ever-growing weirdness and sickness of our society and they'd show us all how it's done.

But one cannot exist without the other, and now they're both gone. Maybe if we could find them they'd tell us how to find Curly.

I sure do miss them.

Last night, my friend decided that my dozing off on the common area couch was not acceptable, seeing as the night was still very young. She retreated into her room and returned with a small chocolate-coated candy that contained the same amount of caffeine as two normal cups of coffee. Now, normally I'm not dumb enough to let my self-destructive impulses direct me to consume caffeine in the evening when I have class the next morning, but something about this friend brings out the worst in me.

Within fifteen minutes, I had bolted out of the building and climbed into a tree, jittering in quiet reflection of what an incredibly bad idea it was to eat that stupid candy. When they finally found me, she directed me to eat not one, not two, but THREE more of these infernal caffeine bombs. I don't recall a time when I have ever consumed more than four cups of coffee in a day, and now I've just had twice that much in the span of half an hour.

I spend the next hour or so jumping about the common area, providing entertainment as the drugged chimpanzee for my awful friends. After climbing on the pipes that line the ceiling ceased to be sufficient distraction, I attempted to hide in my armoire, insisting that there were leprechauns out there who wanted to eat my spleen. Of course I didn't really think that, so much as I was trying to convince them that I was in no fit state to interact with my fellow humans and should be allowed to twitch in peace. I was dragged out against my will and told to go bother a friend of mine across the hall who was trying to do a project for his biology class. I attempted to resist, but repeated insistence overcame what paltry defense I had against bad ideas. Also, it seemed like a funny thing to do at the time.

Now, my friend across the hall very quickly picked up on the fact that I was in a bad way, and placated me for a full five mintues by playing "The Sinister Minister" on YouTube on his computer while he spoke with my caffeine-pushing friend about what the fuck she had done to me. Once these five mintutes had passed, something snapped. I removed my shirt, took off my shoes and put them on my hands. I then burst out of the room into the common area, my bare torso and arms covered in bright red welts from the previous day's paintball antics, screaming "WHERE IS YOUR RELIGION NOW?! I AM YOUR GOD, AND THE WORLD IS MY CHURCH!" I graced their sinful, filthy beings with the cleansing touch of my divinely imbued hand-shoes before curling up in the fetal position on the floor, contented with my work.

When I finally was able to rise and walk about again, the friend I had come to disturb from his work said to the caffiene pusher, "Now is an appropriate time." The caffeine pusher nodded, looked me in the face, and she told me there was no caffeine in those candies.

I have never been so happy in my entire life.

The real world is disappearing underneath our feet and right before our eyes. In modern times the spectacle has replaced the real; the image, the perception of things is all that matters anymore. Nothing we do matters unless you buy the t-shirt and update your Facebook status and take some crappy pictures and text everyone to let them know you bought a t-shirt, updated Facebook and put up some crappy pictures on it.

Personal experiences is no longer enough, We rely on a constant stream of inane babble  to validate our existence. Communication has become so easy and so cheap that there is no longer any real information contained in what we say. For every one message that relates to a real physical happening, there are thousands more that amount to nothing beyond "I'm here. Are you there?"

As social animals it is natural for us to derive pleasure from interacting and communicating with each other. But we've made this communication so freely available--in fact you're usually considered something of a social pariah if you don't partake in this modern Soma--that we've become thoroughly dependent on it even as it becomes less and less satisfying. All this endless chatter is like a shower that never gets quite hot enough, so you twist and turn to get as much of yourself under the lukewarm communication as possible. The air chills your skin and you stay in longer and longer because you keep hoping that eventually the water will heat up and you'll finally feel satisfied and clean and be willing to step out into the chilly air. But there's no external power, no reality heating the water; it's just the heat of thousands of other tepid bodies, everyone showering with each other's runoff so it never gets above body temperature and we never get clean.

My generation has destroyed information. The world ends not in fire or in ice, it ends not with a bang or a whimper...

But with a Tweet.

Think for Yourself, Schmuck! / Discordians Anonymous
« on: October 01, 2009, 02:20:59 am »
My name is Cainad... and I'm a Discordian.

I don't really know how I got wrapped up in all of this. There was a time when I was just another bored kid, a bored Army brat to be precise, who would read anything for an intellectual kick. Fiction, occult literature, pseudo-occult literature that's dumbed down for typical teenagers and other soft-headed types, and eventually the nigh infinite supply of jokes and weird crap known as the Internet.

When all your friends are "new friends" and you know they'll be gone in a few years at most, you start to get desperate, you know? Without the craziness of hanging out with buddies to satisfy your need for novelty and excitement, you look to other sources... and I found them. Internet humor sites, mainly, but somewhere deep in the underbelly of the Weird, I found something different. Something called Discordianism.

"A joke disguised as a religion, or a religion disguised as a joke" was the soundbite description I got. "Perfect!" I thought. I'm not religious, and the guys who wrote this silly holy book, the Principia Discordia, seem to have a sense of humor that parallels mine, so why not mess around by pretending to be a Discordian?

Here's the thing, though: pretending to be a Discordian and actually being a Discordian are not all that different. Some would probably tell you that there's no difference there at all. That's how it draws you in, see. First you think that you're just part of a ridiculous joke, and then you get so into the joke it seems real, but then it's a joke again, and then Reality is the joke and you forget where the hell you were going with this nonsense in the first place.

Once I found that there were active Discordian communities online, I started hanging out with them. Swapped a few jokes and ideas, listened more than I spoke (or rather, read more than I wrote), and the rest, as they say, is the future.

Or Kill Me / Right Reverend Cainad sermonizes on the Wrath of Baby Jesus
« on: September 30, 2009, 01:20:29 am »

Welcome to the First Church of the Wrath of Baby Jesus, where we respect the old-fashioned ways, even if we think they weren't quite old-fashioned enough for our tastes. Here the fear of God is still top dog, on account of all the other dogs being complete pussies.

Baby Jesus doesn't put up with your shit. If weekly fire and brimstone sermons don't get you to shamefully hide your sins from society like a normal human being, then by God, once the Wrath is done with you, you won't be able to tell your ass from your elbow. What's more, you'll like it that way and be grateful for it.

The Church of the Wrath tells only Truth. We're not gonna bullshit you and tell you everything's okay when it's not. In fact, we'll probably start screaming before you even know there's anything wrong. Join now and get in on our limited-time offer to become part of our Canned Goods and Bullets Drive. How does it work? Donate thirty dollars a month to the Church for our stockpile of canned food and ammunition, and then when civilization goes to Hell in a handbasket and the world begins to burn, we promise we'll skip over your house when we begin trawling through the neighborhood for food and supplies.

Come to the First Church of the Wrath of Baby Jesus: We're not weird like the others!

(inspired by that freaky Baby Jesus doll in the pic, and

The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / TODAY IS THE DAY...
« on: September 28, 2009, 01:04:39 pm »

Today, I am going to plop myself down in front of television news for no less than 3 hours. Results will be posted.





Aneristic Illusions / USA TODAY: Protests tilt views on health care bill
« on: August 13, 2009, 12:27:08 pm »
From the USA Today outside my hotel room:

By Susan Page, USA TODAY

WASHINGTON The raucous protests at congressional town-hall-style meetings have succeeded in fueling opposition to proposed health care bills among some Americans, a USA TODAY/Gallup Poll finds particularly among the independents who tend to be at the center of political debates.

In a survey of 1,000 adults taken Tuesday, 34% say demonstrations at the hometown sessions have made them more sympathetic to the protesters' views; 21% say they are less sympathetic.

Independents by 2-to-1, 35%-16%, say they are more sympathetic to the protesters now.

The findings are unwelcome news for President Obama and Democratic congressional leaders, who have scrambled to respond to the protests and in some cases even to be heard. From Pennsylvania to Texas, those who oppose plans to overhaul the health care system have asked aggressive questions and staged noisy demonstrations.

The forums have grabbed public attention: Seven in 10 respondents are following the news closely.

"No one condones the actions of those who disrupt public events," House Republican leader John Boehner of Ohio said in an op-ed article published in today's USA TODAY. "But those in Washington who dismiss the frustration of the American people and call it 'manufactured' do so at their own peril."

White House adviser David Axelrod questioned the USA TODAY survey's methodology, saying those who report being more sympathetic to the protesters now were likely to have been on that side from the start. "There is a media fetish about these things," Axelrod said of the protests, "but I don't think this has changed much" when it comes to public opinion.

A study by the non-partisan Pew Research Center concluded that 59% of the airtime last week on 13 cable TV and radio talk shows were devoted to the health care debate.

In the USA TODAY Poll:

A 57% majority of those surveyed, including six in 10 independents, say a major factor behind the protests are concerns that average citizens had well before the meetings took place; 48% say efforts by activists to create organized opposition to the health care bills are a major factor.

There's some tolerance for loud voices: 51% say individuals making "angry attacks" on a health care bill are an example of "democracy in action" rather than "abuse of democracy."

Some actions are seen as going too far. Six in 10 say shouting down supporters of a bill is an abuse of democracy. On that question, unlike most others, there isn't much of a partisan divide: 69% of Democrats and 58% of Republicans agree.

In Hagerstown, Md., Wednesday, nearly 1,000 people turned out for a forum held by Democratic Sen. Ben Cardin; only 440 could fit in the community-college theater. The crowd often interrupted the senator, but was generally respectful.

In State College, Pa., Democratic Sen. Arlen Specter was jeered at a forum at a Penn State conference center. The 90-minute meeting at times became a shouting match between bill backers and foes.

Contributing: The Associated Press

let me be among the first to say: FUCK :crankey:

Alright, so this is proof positive that people are swayed by blatant, sensationalist lies shouted in an angry voice.


This is a pdf sheet of address label-sized stickers (Avery 8660). Half of them say "Most men secretly hate women, and most women secretly think they deserve it" and the other half say "Most women secretly hate men, and most men secretly think they deserve it."

Print these out, and put them up all over the goddamn place. Then report back with stories of how being exposed to this idea has caused men to devolve into women-haters.

« on: June 17, 2009, 09:37:34 pm »
Okay, take this situation:
1) My aunt and uncle, "T" and "R" live in my grandparents' house because they are both out of work and the grandparents are old enough to need someone in the house to care for them.

2) "T" cannot work a regular job because she is mentally disabled from a head injury, and "R" is trying to recover from a massive retinal tear that requires a lot of time and rest to heal. Sustained high blood pressure is enough to prevent it from healing properly, in which case he will be permanently blind in that eye. Oh, and his other eye is forming a cataract.

3) My grandfather is aged and ailing, and my grandmother is even more so. She may be on her way out.

4) Two of my aunt's sisters, my aunts D1 and D2, are both healthy, employed, married to husbands who are healthy and employed, and own homes.

Now, given these circumstances, consider that D1 and D2 have "found" some evidence of computer misconduct (on a computer which D1 stole from her job) by T and R. D1 and D2 have pressed upon my grandfather, who is ancient and preoccupied with the poor condition of my grandmother, his wife of 50 years, to have T and R thrown out of the house.

T and R own nothing but the clothes on their backs and a car. They have done nothing but help my grandparents in their old age. They are unable to work, and putting R in a stressful situation and preventing him from resting will cause him to go blind in one of his eyes.

So my question for the ethics committee... this is not okay, ever, right? This is the sort of thing you disown relatives over, yes?

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