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Messages - ArchangelIdiotis

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1
Only Maybe Arts Lab / Re: MAYBE DAY 2022 IS COMING!
« on: July 22, 2022, 10:24:38 pm »
just one day to go until maybe day!


2
Only Maybe Arts Lab / Re: RAW THOUGHTS
« on: July 05, 2022, 03:42:41 am »
I hope this doesn't distract from the original purpose of the thread very much, but I just finished the Mahayana Mahaparinirvana Sutra and my thoughts on Nirvana have solidified:

Ego free because all pride is released, whether thru meditation or any other means. All positive and negative sense of self esteem.

All emotions except love are released.

Love in its simplest state is unconditional, all embracing, and none attached. And the heart expands unconditionally.

So: the heart is trained to embrace everything and release lesser emotions than love. Expanding unconditionally is profoundly blissful because potentially infinite love is tapped into.

3
RPG Ghetto / Re: anarchist free form role play
« on: May 23, 2022, 04:03:50 am »
Just a final update: Eschillion Key is finished.

4
Only Maybe Arts Lab / Re: RAW THOUGHTS
« on: May 03, 2022, 12:29:47 am »
Quote
I like this paradox of striving for selflessness reinforcing selfishness, otherwise what does the striving? (If I've restated it correctly!)

For my money the paradox maybe gets resolved by a caveat in the concept of sunyata (emptiness), which basically means that selflessness doesn't mean an absolute absence of self, but rather the lack of a permanent intrinsic identity, and that one shd recognize the self as a temporary & conditional entity, not as something completely non-existant.

Recently I have been writing a theory of Nirvana that sustains a self of some kind: the mystic falls in love with everything and nothing, and surrenders, for the benefit of the attachments, all attachments to this everything and nothing so that the only attachment left is to everything and nothing.

Sorrow is transcended. Everything and nothing persists in being everything and nothing regardless of what happens to the sentient life forms that exist.

Perfect union with one's true love results from every experience, it is all everything and nothing, so that love may continue to increase regardless of circumstance, permanently.

Only sentient life can benefit from the conduct of the mystic to have attained this state of mind. The mystic can benefit, is part of everything too. Since hir is indirectly in love with all sentient life, hir wants whatever is "best" for all sentient life (including hirself). This could help solve global warming...

This may even permanently activate higher circuits of RAW, Leary, Antero Alli, and all's 8 circuit model.

Emotional control is easier with simple love. It is possible to release fear at will, and to make pride small yet positive, and to thru meditation on nothing attain a non verbal union with one's immediate experience.

*edit: I strongly suspect that actual Nirvana is without a self, selfless love more profound than that described. But the above would generate the most love of any state of mind I am capable of discussing at this time.

5
Apple Talk / Re: Introductions VIII: Some bad news for new folks
« on: April 21, 2022, 01:35:58 am »
My name is Idiotis, I'm from Va, and I've been a Discordian since around 2002-2003.

I practice the arts and self improvement.

I have been crapping all over the graveyard since I got here.

I am a necromancer-in-training. I swoop down on old, dead threads, inject something inane or insightful, and watch the zombies rise. ...or plan on it, once I find more of the right stuff to sprinkle on the corpses.

:magick:

6
Only Maybe Arts Lab / Re: RAW THOUGHTS
« on: April 17, 2022, 11:00:23 pm »
The Signals From The Stars post, meditations on the plausibility of delusional thinking when it came to RAW (strongly?) suspecting he may have received communications from an alien... If I had read this thread before I posted my thoughts on this subject in another of the pd.com boards, I would have posted those thoughts here.

I too am skeptical about whether it was real aliens. I consider the two most plausible possibles that (1) it was a hallucination of alien communications or (2) telepathy is real and everything, but it was just pranksters from earth staging an elaborate practical joke.

I just finished reading the Starseed Signals: A RAW Perspective on Timothy Leary PhD, and the gullibility of 70s RAW about the possibility it was aliens communicating with earthlings is one of two main flaws I seem to have detected in early RAW thinking. The other major flaw I suspect comes from the letters at the end of the book.

Quote
On giving up suffering: "If one is trying to give up something, then one has an object - which causes suffering." (G, Hill, last letter.) I respond: bullshit.
- RAW, page 429 paperback edition.

I translate the lack of an object as the answer to ending suffering to mean total selflessness is without suffering, because the self cannot attach to objects if it has been transcended. Selflessness as Nirvana, love not bound by the ego unconditionally expanding.

I cannot say how selfless it is possible to actually become. But RAW's conclusion that the koan is bullshit because the 8 circuits are an object that can overcome suffering seems to me to miss the point. Without noticing the approach of selflessness of mysticism and right hand esoteric paths, 8 circuit consciousness can become a thing which inflates one's pride in one's "level of consciousness".

I try to share my research into 8 circuit consciousness. So I don't discount that Wilson and Leary's research into this avenue was important. But I don't think intellectual enlightenment is as sustainable unless it induces less pride and more (openness to) love.

edit: the object is selfishness because it is a possession. it requires selfishness to value a possession, or to have anything for one's self rather than all sentient life, or whomever one loves.

7
True, you're blind to the truth if you think you're invisible.

Or if you meant if it actually worked you'd be blind because the shadows are covering everything, erm, I could edit my post slightly so that *everything only means your whole body. You're projecting an image of blackness as what is communicated about your immediate area; you aren't telepathically transmitting everything you see.

Edit: another experiment in telepathic mind control. How vividly can you imagine the room you occupy without you in it? Brightly lit, so you can see everything, and you just project the image of the room without you in it as coming from your location into everyone's brain that shows up. You have to keep projecting the image for the duration you want to be invisible.

Only real Discordians deserve the superpower of invisibility.

8
Here's just a small sample of the really awesome power you'll get if you find the partially consumed yellow snowball necessary to join my ostrich cult:

How to turn invisible

It's pretty dark, not pitch black. You visualize pitch black shadows surrounding your body, you visualize them intently, and any time anyone shows up, you project the visualization into their psyche and you hold onto the projected image, keep projecting it. Make sure the shadows cover up -everything-.

If basic telepathy is real, you are now invisible. Unfortunately testing this ability is subjective as it is kind of dark, so people might not see you either way...

9
I once had a dream of being abducted by aliens.

Nothing about the content of the dream was very scary, but I recall having a terrifying impression while dreaming that it was real. Like fear impressioning me to think the dream was real.

When I woke up, it seemed like a dream and it seemed obvious it had been a dream.

There wasn't any anal probing. And no enlightenment hints.

10
Literate Chaotic / "Burning Bugs"
« on: April 13, 2022, 02:07:07 am »
   
He got bad grades, he didn't attend school as often as his teachers would've liked, and he probably wasn't going anywhere in life, but he was a smart kid. At least, that was what he told himself.
   
He wasn't cocky or anything. He was always a little depressed about the whole failing in life thing. He just thought of himself as a lot more intelligent than, in reality, he was. And it wasn't his fault, either. Teachers always told him things, like: "You're a really bright kid. If you applied yourself, I just know you could ace this class." His parents were always saying things like that, too. After a few years of this kind of talk, he actually started to believe them. "Yeah," he thought, "I'm really smart... I'm just lazy!"
   
This sort of thing happens all the time. People casually worm their way through school, passing just barely, and they're constantly being told how smart they are. After a while, they start to think of the people around them as studious, asinine drones. They see every little sign of ignorance as some sort of testimony to the infinite stupidity of the ignorant, even though all people are ignorant about things other people think they should know.
   
What teachers told him, about doing better if he applied himself, that part was actually true. Most students can get good grades if they apply themselves. Even the relatively stupid ones. The part about them being really smart, on the other hand, is almost never true. If they're so smart, why do they have to work so hard to get good grades? Most likely, they're just particularly strong in one or two areas, and standard in all the rest. Or worse. Maybe they're strong in one or two areas, but weak everywhere else.
   
Yeah, he had a standard IQ and a genius ego. By being quiet most of the time, and occasionally saying something insightful (sounding), he kept other people thinking he was a genius. It was a great system! He got the grades of an idiot, a jester, a bum, a donkey, and all the stupid things in the world, and the confidence of a college professor. It didn't matter that he was going to fail, because that was what he wanted. It was easier to go on failing than it would have been to mend his ways.
   
All that changed when he moved to New Kent.
   
New Kent County, an enormous area with very few people and lots of cows. Some streets lined with farms, others suburban homes. Most of the forestland there hadn't yet been cleared out for grocery stores and mini malls, commercial industry only lately peeking its head over the horizon.
   
When he started going to New Kent High, he realized that, "Hey! So this is what it feels like to be smarter than everybody else! But that means... Damn it, I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was." This completely shattered his blissful delusions.
   
"Oh, this sucks," he decided. "If I don't get to feel superior to normal people, it isn't any fun feeling superior." And, of course, he was absolutely right: Pretty much everybody can feel superior to those stupid New Kent hicks.
   
"I know!" he thought. "I'll burn everybody... Then some normal people'll move in."
   
"It isn't so bad here," said a voice inside his head. This little voice had never spoken up before, so he was a little shocked that it would let itself be known all of a sudden. "It's nice! There're all those pretty geraniums everywhere... And they still have an all night diner."
   
"Why talk to me now?" he asked, understandably concerned.
   
"Because," said the voice, "you've never done anything this bad before! That's when we're allowed to really come out, right before you do something particularly nasty. It's like you turning a key to unlock me."
   
"We?" he asked. He frowned in thought.
   
"Oh, don't worry," said the voice. "I'm the only one with you. But everybody's got one."
   
He didn't like the sound of that. "You're a conscience? But I don't feel guilty... Aren't you supposed to make me feel guilty?"
   
"No, no, no," said the voice. "That's your emotional conscience. Yours isn't very strong, which is why you need me. I'm your cricket."
   
"Huh?" He looked around for a talking cricket.
   
"You won't find me," said the cricket. Its cackle filled the room. "I used to follow you everywhere! But then you stepped on me. So now I'm a ghost. Note the sinister cackle."
   
"What? You're telling me my conscience is haunting me. That's ridiculous." He looked around some more, hoping to find someone hiding under the bed, or maybe in the closet...
   
"Don't worry," said the invisible cricket. "You're not crazy... Yet. I'm not some kind of derangement. I'm the actual ghost of your cricket conscience. But if you set fire to just one building, I swear, I'll drive you bonkers."
   
"Wouldn't I already be bonkers, if I went around setting fire to buildings?"
   
"Oh yeah, good point. Problem solved, then. You'll just have to find another way to get over your disillusionment!"
   
He didn't like that reply very much. He understood that the cricket specter was just trying to confuse him. Still, it made sense. At least, it sounded like it made sense.
   
"Listen, cricket. I'm not listening to you anymore."
   
 "If you're not listening, then why should I?"
   
"I'll stop talking then you'll stop talking."
   
"Sounds logical, to me. So of course you're not crazy. Crazy people aren't logical."
   
"Shut up."
   
"But you're still talking..."
   
"..."
   
"..."
   
"Stop that!"
   
"Stop what? I didn't say a thing!"
   
"Screw this, cricket. I'm going to get some gasoline." And with that, he started down the stairs.
   
"Wait a minute!" shouted the cricket. "You forgot to feed your cat! It's enough you plan on killing off an entire county of hicks. Don't starve all your animals, too."
   
"Oh, all right," he replied, going for a can of tuna fish. "But only if you promise to leave me alone for the rest of the night."
   
"I haven't even sung any songs yet!" protested the cricket. "I have to sing at least one song."
   
"No. If you sing, I'm not feeding the cats. You gotta give a little to get a little."
   
"Give a littlelittle bit..."
   
"You sing, no food. You sing, no food."
   
"Fine," said the cricket. "Just don't come whining to me when you're stuck in prison with nothing to do and no songs with which to pass the time."
   
"Prison!" he shouted, dumping some tuna into the cat bowls. "I'm far too smart to go to prison. They'll run and run as fast as they can, but they'll never catch me."
   
"That's really lame," said the cricket.
   
"Shut up already. I fed the damned cats, so leave me alone."
   
"What's holding me to a verbal agreement, if you're going out to kill people?"
   
"Because you're my conscience," he replied. "What kind of sense would it make for you to do the wrong thing?" And with that, he left the building.
   
It was getting kind of late, by the time the bowling alley went up in flames. He could barely see three feet in front of him, which probably explains his track through doggie dookie.
   
"Serves you right," said the cricket.
   
"It's still night out!" he shouted.
   
"Technically, it's another day," said the cricket.
   
"But it's still night out!" said he.
   
"I guess you're right," said the cricket, and that was the last thing said until sunrise.
_________   
   
"What the hell!" he cried, pulled into consciousness by a horrible rendering of "It's a Wonderful World". "I don't have a damned alarm clock!"
   
"So you don't," said the cricket, ending the song. "What, does mommy wake you up?"
   
"No, daddy does... and what's that got to do with anything?"
   
"Nothing." And the cricket sighed. "I just thought you might like to wake up a few hours early this morning."
   
"I didn't, and it's more than just a few hours before school. I'm going back to sleep."
   
"No you're not," replied the cricket, a voice full of cheer. "I'll just wake you up again in five minutes. I've got lots of songs, you know."
   
"Stuff you and your songs. You'll drive me crazy with that garbage."
   
"Crazy with guilt! That's my job. I'm your unbearable guilt manifest to torment you. The only way to get rid of me and clear your head is to confess."
   
He laughed. "Guilt? What guilt? I feel fine. Good, even. Killing people is kind of fun. And besides, you appeared before I ever even did anything."
   
"Well okay," stammered the cricket, "but that's only because you were guilty about what you planned on doing."
   
"Bull," he said. "I felt fine then, and I feel great now."
   
"Not even a little guilty?" asked the cricket. "Not even just a little?"
   
"Not even just a little."
   
"Not even about all those sad families? All those people hurt that never did anything to you?"
   
"Nope."
   
"Not even about all that property you damaged, all those dreams you shattered?"
   
"Nope."
   
"Then you're a real ass," said the cricket. "You're hopeless."
   
"You'll leave me alone now?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.
   
"Of course not, you stupid ass. I'll still make you go nuts. There just won't be much of a point anymore. Not even a little tiny bit guilty?"
   
"Nope, sorry..."

"Then I'll just have to keep singing until you die. Die, or miraculously see the error of your ways."
   
"How's singing going to make me feel guilty?" he asked. It was too late. The cricket had already started.
_______   
   
Meanwhile, Deputy Billy Bobby Joe Bob Junior uncovered something interesting near the scene of the crime. "Lookit dis heya poopie!" Deputy Billy Bobby Joe Bob Junior shouted.
   
"Well dang diggidy doo ding dang doo doo!" proclaimed Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe, waving his hand about in the air like a bird. "Dis heya's hibba purdy piece o' evipie!"
   
It was he's shoeprint, of course. This told Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe and Deputy Billy Bobby Joe Bob Junior a great deal. Most people in New Kent, including he's parents, don't wear shoes. Those that do wear boots. This was no boot print. Being the renowned hunters that they were, both Deputy Billy Bobby Joe Bob Junior and Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe could tell the exact time the poo was disrupted, which was soon after the fire. All the fuzz had to do now was find somebody with shoes on, so they could ask them who burned down the building!
   
It took the crack police force months to search the dozens of houses in New Kent, but eventually they found one with shoes in the closet. He was at home relearning cursive writing at the time. His father was home, though.
   
"Bib bob flam dang diggidy do, ding dang damn damn diggidy damn dong, dabbedy boo, damn it!" shouted Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe at Ed, he's father. "Who's `at dabbedy do shoo?"
   
"Well I'm sorry fuzz, but I don't know what you're talking about," said Ed, having no recollection of the bowling alley fire since he wasn't there.
   
"Bibbedy poo poo, ding weewee dong dang damn it!" countered Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe.
   
"But I don't wear shoes," said Ed, lifting his crusty naked feet up off his leg rest for emphasis.
   
"Bibbedy dang dog it nab flabbidy bip!" retorted Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe.
   
"Officer, I swear it! Those are my son's shoes in the closet!"
   
"Shibbedy shabbedy bip boop, dang dong digit shigut, flabber blab flobbit," muttered Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe, heading for the door. It was at that moment he walked in, wearing a pair of shoes smelling ominously of dookie.
   
"Sham bam bib bob baggit bagagagaga, boy!" shouted Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe, as they passed each other.
   
"Sorry, no. I don't know anything. But a pleasant day to you too, sir," he said, taking off his shoes and walking towards his room.
   
"Well, flib flab fab dab nab gizzard!" said Sheriff Bobby Billy Bobby Joe to Deputy Billy Bobby Joe Bob Junior.
   
"May toe," replied Deputy Billy Bobby Joe Bob Junior in a huff. "May toe!"
_______   
   
He stepped into his room, slammed the door behind him, and buried his head under a pillow. He couldn't get the singing to stop.
   
"Feeling guilty yet?" asked the cricket, pausing to do so.
   
"Uh... yeah. I'm feeling really guilty! I can't believe I did all those terrible things." He rolled over and stared down at his feet in shame.
   
"Guilty enough to confess?" pressed the cricket.
   
He looked to the ceiling, thinking. If confessing would get the cricket to stop... No, he decided. Prison rape seemed a little more terrible than nonstop whimsical music.
   
"No, but that'll just make me feel more and more guilty as time goes by. My sins pull on me always, weighing me down right to the ground. I'll have to live with all those horrible things I did! Life will be my prison."
   
"Right you are," said the cricket. "You'll have to live with all those horrible things on your conscience. That won't stop. I'm here for keeps, pal, unless you confess."
   
"But I feel so bad about the fire!" he said. "I'll be worse off out here than in there. It isn't fair that I should get free food and shelter for the rest of my life."
   
"Unless they execute you. Are you absolutely sure you're feeling guilty?"
   
"Sure I'm sure," he said. "I feel like such an ass! Now that I see the error of my ways, I'll never be able to look at myself the same. Oh, the horrible agonies of the self-mutilating force they call sin! You've done your job, cricket. You watered it and cared for it and now I have a real conscience."
   
"I don't know," said the cricket, visibly narrowing his invisible eyes. "If you can kill, you can probably lie too. I'm afraid you just don't sound sincere."
   
"I am sincere, you dirty cricket!" he shouted, fists clenched. "You just want to stick around because you like to torment me. What kind of conscience are you, anyway?"
   
"I'm a damned good one," said the cricket, "and now I see right through all your lies. You won't trick me again."
   
"Never did trick you, cricket!" he shouted.
   
"If you want to repent, confess. That way, the families of your victims will have some kind of explanation for what happened."
   
"I'll confess alright," said he, "but only if you leave me alone and unguarded, in good faith. It's like I always say, you gotta give a little to get a little."

The ghostly conscience considered this. "I would have to trust you."
   
"If you can't trust me," he replied, "why should I trust you? How do I know confession's really the best thing?"
   
He had a point, the cricket decided. "All right, but you had better not be lying to me..."
   
He frowned. "When did I ever lie to you, cricket? You've done your job, and now it's time for you to go."
   
That said, the cricket sighed and took off, leaving he to rest in peace. He would get back to the business of arson in a few hours, when it would become suitably dark.

11
Apple Talk / Re: OH NO
« on: April 13, 2022, 12:28:36 am »
I first encountered Gilbert Gottfried in USA Up All Night. He was showing The Princess Bride.

He will be missed

12
Leary, Wilson, and various other occultists/psychedelic researchers, thought they were in communication with aliens.

I have only really read up on Wilson and Leary's experiences. The predictions the supposed aliens gave Leary didn't come true, and neither Leary nor Robert Anton Wilson reported having an opportunity to telepathically interrogate the aliens directly.

I could see aliens existing. Infinite time and space = infinite opportunity. But something doesn't smell right to me.

I have (Edit: changed "two" to "some")some guesses as to what happened to them: 1) Probably it was just a hallucination. 2) Maybe it was a  group of human astral travelers playing a prank on everyone. 3) Conceivably Wilson & Co. were pranking us about the whole thing.

There's a chance (and rumors are circulated) that the aliens are "higher vibrational beings" so can't be interrogated telepathically. But surely, if they were real telepathic transmissions, real aliens could send someone down to a lower vibrational state to be interrogated.

Or maybe telepathy = real, mind reading = false.

13
RPG Ghetto / Re: anarchist free form role play
« on: April 09, 2022, 05:39:19 pm »
just an update in case anyone is actually following this thread...

I edited Eschillion Key in the manner I intended. There were some changes I knew needed to be made. The only problem is, since I had a .pdf and a disk with the text file (microsoft word), I used an office computer to transfer the files over to my laptop by loading the Microsoft Word version onto my google drive. And the google docs butchered the formatting of Microsoft Word a bit.

So I just need to make some small changes at the library or something, somewhere I can edit the Microsoft Word file and transfer over to a new .pdf. My laptop is a chrome notebook and doesn't have a cd drive or Microsoft Office.

The rest of the background material is up and running, albeit one bad review and no good reviews... And Eschillion Key's butchered formatting version is also available.

Eschillion Key is my Ulysses.

14
Quote
Have you ever met anyone permanently operating on a "higher" circuit?

I haven't opened them up and looked inside. It would be easier for me to describe my personal experience.

I am bias toward the "more love model" because my experiences have opened me up to an unconditional love for all sentient life. I no longer eat meat, I no longer believe in God, and I no longer experience fear/humility (very often). I am almost never depressed, possibly due to learning self-hypnosis from higher circuit activity.

I think it is possible to learn the abilities of the higher circuits at low levels of neural activity (when sober).

I don't necessarily think that anyone who experiences higher circuit activity will move toward more love. I think the experience of entering the higher circuits usually involves a temporary state of increased love, that may not carry over to sobriety. But when it does, sober intoxication is more sustainable.

There may be ample examples of higher circuit activity not resulting from increased love. Ketamine, for example, according to a paper I just skimmed through, doesn't seem to have a very high affinity for serotonin, at least at antidepressant dosages, and it is reputed by RAW to activate the 8th circuit. Serotonin is one postulated explanation of spiritual feelings on psychedelics.

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5793827/ - the paper

But I feel like there's a value to the model I've presented. It seems to help me to understand higher circuit awareness in a manner practical for exploring consciousness expansion.

15
Or Kill Me / a short rant
« on: April 08, 2022, 12:50:39 am »
I can't stand it lately,
maybe I just never noticed this before but,
have any of you... ?
every time I stand and piss
some kind of invisible crazy split stream mess happens
and there's always,
when I'm good and done,
little droplets
on my pants.

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