Topics

61

Bring and Brag / A short journey on the bus

« on: July 10, 2007, 12:23:52 am »

I'm waiting at the stop for the bus. It should be here by now, but, then again the clock on my phone is about five minutes fast. I'll roll my self a ciggie, and smoke it while I wait. It's warm and dry out, for a change, so this is actually quite an easy process. Hardly any traffic, no one else is waiting for the bus. Nothing to watch or amuse myself with (even contracting the sign "County Hotel" on the derelict building down the road to "Cunty Hotel" has lost some of it's charm) so I lose myself in a semi-impatient, semi-idiotic reverie.

The ciggie magic fails me this time. Usually as soon as I light up, the bus turns the corner. I don't mind too much, as I am just finishing it when my blockish chariot does arrive.

The change for the bus is warm and sweaty (I've been holding it, with my hand in my pocket, for about eight minutes) as I hand it to the driver and mumble my destination. The bus is empty except for one young guy, sitting on my right hand side about half way up. I pay little attention to him as I choose a seat on my left,about two thirds of the way up, right over the rear axle.

Here, the seats are slightly raised compared to the ones nearer the front. In fact the seat in front of me is the first one with the higher back. As I sit down, I feel like I'm camping out in a fort, like I did when I was a kid. My feet rest comfortably on the hump in the floor that is the wheel arch (I presume, I've never really examined the underfloor of a bus). I glance over to the other passenger, seeing only a 3/4 view of the back of his head. Up ahead in the rear view mirror, I can see a distorted image of my chaffeur. This mirror is obviously only in place to watch his customers, I think, it can be of no use whatsoever in watching the road behind him as the rear window is narrow, and set high.

The bus moves off, and my mind drifts. I watch the reflections bouncing between the windows on each side of me, I see the little specks of dirt, the dirty water marks rain has left streaked over the outside of the window. I poke and prod the seal around the glass. I try to find a comfortable place to rest my arm.

Before I really think about it, I'm in the centre of town. Stonehaven is not a big place, but there are enough cars and people bustling about the old and narrow streets to make it seem almost metropolitan. It takes a little while to clear the traffic snarl, and get on our way out of town. We've picked up some passengers, and I look them over as we hit the main road into Aberdeen.

The young man has an old guy sitting in front of him. He looks a little tipsy, and has a kick ass cane. I find myself wishing for an opportunity to talk to him, believing that he would be a riot. I know, however, that I'm not going to talk to him.

Down at the front is a plump woman, and a young boy of about 15 or so. I assume they are mother and son, and try to visualise their relationship, basing it entirely on the clothes they are wearing, on their body language, on the fact they don't say a word to each other. It's a fruitless, and somewhat boring, examination.

In front of these two are a couple women, in the little bay set aside for prams, or wheelchairs. They are surrounded by luggage, but don't seem to have that 'exotic' look about them that anyone foreign around here seems to have. Off on a holiday somewhere, no doubt, but again, not interesting.

Directly in front of me, is a blue rinse brigade. five or six old women talking in hushed tones, huddled together. As if for warmth or safety. I would put my money on safety, as it's starting to get quite stuffy in here.

I know there's no one sitting behind me as there's no noise. Anyone sitting that far back in public transport is going to be a boisterous adolescent.

My mind wanders a little again, the road travels along the cliffs, and to my right is the large grey expanse of the North Sea. As I glance up to my left, again between Young Man and Old Guy, I see a small building with a decaying sign, which declares it to be the "East Coast Garage" (I'm on the East coast of Scotland, for those unfamiliar with the geography) I smile a little as I think about my recent obsession with PD. I picture ECH as a hardbitten rural Scottish mechanic, and consider how SMALL the world can be sometimes.

As the bus takes detours through little flyspeck villages with hills that seem as steep as the cliffs there are perched on, I also consider that smiling to yourself can be a badwrong thing to do in public these days. (I once tried to picture everyone I met as a zen master, with something to teach me, following advice as it was written. I stopped after it became too uncomfortable for me...)

To be continued a later time...

62

Bring and Brag / P3nT.V.

« on: June 25, 2007, 10:40:59 pm »

Just to draw attn to my sig.

SC has a forum set up for discussion of his various projects.

I am spamming, I apologise, but it's for a righteous cause! The denizens of these fora want n00bs to whack on, but are too polite to advertise. In my self designated role as the propaganda minister of the Scottish Empire, I will do it myself.

http://p3nt4gr4m.com/boards/index.php

63

Or Kill Me / The Dark Deacons Pulpit

« on: June 09, 2007, 01:54:27 pm »

From the Dark Deacon: A sermon on the Nature of Man, and the conclusions thereof.

   Ye who would come to drink of this cup of knowledge shall find no wisdom here. Ye who have come seeking an ending shall find thyselves anew within a labyrinth, searching for the entrance to the next, and then the next!

   Ye who seek salvation shall find it nowhere, for what is salvation? It is freedom, it is absolution for thy sins. It is A Great Love bestowed upon ye by a benevolent Father.

   And what is a Man? A Man is putrid desires, greedy, lustful and bloated ego, wrapped in a skin of purity and love! What Father cares for these qualities in his begotten Son?! What Father would forgive this error, striding o'er the earth, a mis-cast image of himself?

   Those who have eyes to see, and ears to hear! Cast thy senses on this lie! Revel in thy impurity, for we are ALL impure. Take as thy sign the impossibility of forgiveness, do thy deeds by THIS light. Heed the traps that other men will place in thy path, in the name of goodness, of love for their "fellow" man. Lies! Lies and damnation! These men want what is thine!

   In the dark days of the past, man would strike down man for a myriad reasons. For lying with his wife, for denouncing the Spirit in the Sky, for not doing as they were told! Many great men walked the earth, delivering their JUSTICE to the masses, their right as men of means and power!

   In the dark days of the present, man strikes down man for myriad reasons. For possessing the means to attack his power, for denouncing the great mans words and works, for not doing as they are told! Many powerful men walk the earth, delivering FREEDOM to the masses. As before, delivering it as men of means and power! FREEDOM, my children, a gift from thy and thine and mine own Overlords!

   In the dark days that lay ahead, what shall ye be? Wilt thou be as the worm? Hiding in the earth, ready to be sacrificed in a game of a greater man? Wilt thou be the side serving of stewed cabbage, the roast lamb at the greater mans banquet?

   Go forth, use thy Greed, thy Lust, thy bilious Ego-trip and stab this man in the eye, before it is too late! For though thou art small, thy understanding of the nature of all men shall guide thy smallest attack into his tenderest parts. His strength is his weakness, thy strength is his weakness!

   Get ye into thy labyrinths! Get ye into thy skin! Learn for yourselves what it takes to be a great man, and finding loathe desires, forge weapons for the dark days!


   *Fades into frothing madness, and a gleeful proselytizing*

64

Think for Yourself, Schmuck! / loosely based on the pebble test

« on: June 02, 2007, 10:06:34 am »

As it says on the tin, I was messing around with the pebble test idea in my head. I hope I didn't hurt it too much.



I was talking the other day with some people about a "major news story". One of those things that gets splashed all over the papers and TV screens. In this case, it was the disapearance of Madeline "Maddy" McCann, in Portugal, kidnapped from her hotel room while her parents were out.

Now for one person, it was a tragedy and her "heart went out" to the parents.

For the next, there was a certain amount of anger at the girls parents, for leaving her alone in the apartment when there was perfectly good child minding services available in the hotel.

For another it was a bleak portrayal of a world gone mad, were not even your kids are safe. Back in his day you never even locked your door, fer chrissakes.

I found myself considering that all of these were perfectly valid viewpoints. From one point of view, it looks like this, from another it looks like that.

I also found myself thinking that perhaps one of our biggest problems is the tendancy to look at things in a very two dimensional way, like a chart with two variables. Everyone seems to use whatever variables suit best (cause/effect, order/time any other combination you can think of, really). Of course it's possible for one person to see these things from different angles, but still it always seem like one of those CAT scan things where you only see a "slice" of the big picture at a time.

Why don't we just stand back sometimes and see the big picture? Why do we feel the need to break things down so much for analysis that we lose view of the object? Why is it that when we break things down in this way that inevitably we impose some of our own perceptions on it?

Of course, the answer probably boils down to being "only human", a perfectly valid excuse. In some sense.

We tend to base our perceptions of events and issues on our past experience, on our beliefs. We make patterns from this and impose them on events and issues as they arise, immediately jumping into the analysis stage without even looking at the big picture.

Our concepts are pre-conceived, and will only be changed by random events that force a readjustment of our thinking. (as when faced with something that fits no pattern, we don't know when to START analysing, we HAVE to look at the big picture first)

This fresh and innocent approach to what we find commonplace and "in fitting with the pattern" can be very rewarding, but it's a lot of work...

65

Or Kill Me / Building Bridges Badly

« on: June 02, 2007, 07:08:43 am »

   OK! A quick history/engineering lesson, then on to the sermonising!

   Some of you will be familiar with this story already, to you, I apologise.



   The Millenium Bridge was one of the many engineering projects intended to mark the begining of the new millenium in the U.K. It was intended as a new foot bridge over the river thames in London between St. Pauls cathedral and the Tate Modern art gallery. A design was chosen that was stylish, showed off the best of British engineering talent and was functional, both as a practical bridge and also to fit in with the landmarks as best as possible.

   The design chosen was a suspension bridge with a difference. Instead of the usual arrangement, the cables suspending the bridge would lie along side the bridge under extreme tension, instead of above it, which is more usual. This would have obvious advantages in keeping the bridge attractive without impinging on the actual view of the riverside. It would also pose great technical challenges which would prove Britain was still a front runner in engineering.

   The project actually went well, with only slight delays, and only going a little over budget. Nobody really bitched too hard about this, those that did didn't matter.

   On opening day, however, great consternation and gnashing of teeth! As thousands walked over the new bridge, they reported the bridge "wobbled". It was plainly visible on television cameras at it's worst, and some of the more nervous members of the public felt very scared and/or sea sick. Fearing a collapse or worse, the bridge was immediately shut down, pending a solution.

   Turned out that it was the volume of traffic on the foot bridge. As a step is taken, a small amount of side ways force is exerted. With a lot of people on the bridge, that can add up to a lot of sideways force at any given moment. The engineers had been aware of this but had discounted it, believing that these moments of force would cancel each other out, resulting in a stable bridge.

   Unfortunately, they were wrong. The sideways forces DIDN'T cancel each other out quite exactly. Due to the lightness of the bridge, the engineering that had the suspension running allongside the bridge and the very mobile mass placed on top of the structure made it easy for the bridge to begin a small wobble.

   As more people became aware of this wobble, they locked into step to individually try to overcome it, making it wobble more, making more people lock into step and so on.

   Eventually the bridge was fixed by placing large tanks of oil under the bridge to absorb any excess movement, a quick and easy fix to what could have been a serious problem.


   There that wasn't TOO bad was it? I hope some of you are still with me.

   Conclusions:

   1- A simple error in a basic stage of planning can lead to dramatic problems in the finished article. Never due overlook an "obvious" fact, it may make your end result wobble.

   2- A simple fix could be, and was made. It did however compromise the initial concept of the design, even if only superficially. Some people still call it the "Wobbly Bridge" for example, and even if it's not really as noticible, the bridge no longer has that "airy" aura about it.
   3- A mass of humans confounded "intelligent" people by acting entirely as would be expected. Any structure, physical or metaphorical, needs to take the human factor into account as much as possible.

   4- If you look hard enough, there are lessons in any story. Even stories about overconfidant engineers.

   5- Because there has to be five. Right? Huh? Right?

66

Or Kill Me / Anchor: Notes on Art and Thought

« on: May 29, 2007, 01:45:12 am »

      Sitting here is hell.

   The Blank Screen is a mirror to my Blank Mind. No ideas, a creative wasteland.

               "The end of the story is the most important part."
It's creation surely, is more important?

Old memes cycle round and round, like a circular saw. building nothing new, just chopping through thought to create recognisable metaphors and concepts.

      So we become jaded.

   Our questions become meaningless, as the answer is always the same- "bullshit!"

               "Another day, another dollar", What does that mean?
Are we really conditioned to like this shit?

Even the artists are become physical labourers, as we cannot respect a person who does not sweat for us. Philosophy is dead.

      We turn to new gods.

   It is a crime to write on the walls people. They are the forbidden canvas, taboo.

               "Only Nixon could go to China" Hypocracy rules!
And opposites attract, leading to grey centrism.

We are that grey centrisms opposite. Are we doomed to fall into it's gravity well? Are we doomed to go to China? Will we draw upon the walls no more?



We all are doomed to greyfacery-ness, at some point. Some of us will build monoliths that put others in shade, when they tumble (as they will) they may take other pillars with them. Some will build little shiny gemstones that we will wear as pretty rings, blinding us to everything else.

Fuck I don't know what to say or do anymore, I just want to scream my hate down upon ye and they. And toast the coming of the social black hole.


EDIT: Weak ending fixx0red

67

Or Kill Me / Proselytizing the Miscreants

« on: May 22, 2007, 06:13:36 pm »

Proselytizing the miscreants. Part 1/4


Being, In part, a monologue delivered by Payne to drunken bastards on a Tuesday afternoon.


      Darkness is the absence of light.

   Silence is the absence of noise.

   Cold is the absence of heat.

         What is ignorance? It used to be i would term it the absence of knowledge.

   No more, I have decided that ignorance is a virus that is spread from human to human to cover up the glaring gaps in the view of the world we are presented with.

      We know so little, but ignorance is the concrete that holds us together, like glue.

We hold true to "society" and rules, because we know no better. We are told to.

         We don't WANT to know anyother way.

   Its transmitted in insidious forms. The television, the advertising billboards.

Yay! Even the internet.

We cannot fight the virus, except to perhaps accelerate its progress and make it kill its host.

      Those who survive will be immune to its debilitating effects.

   Those who die will be the fodder for our jeering lulz as the world falls into a new dark age,
Accompanied only by our mockery and our rescinded offer of a way to cast off the turtle shell.

                  Those who are left behind are those who can stab you in the back.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Proselytizing the miscreants. Part 2/4


Being, In part, a monologue delivered by Payne to drunken bastards on a Tuesday afternoon.



   Everything is unique, in some sense. Certainly in an empirical sense, due to everything being in a different place at the same time.

   Everything, however can be quantified, pigeon holed and presented as part of a whole.

   Matter, psychology, grains of sand on the beach. All can be presented as trends, numbers, statistics, physical qualities (and/or quantities) or any other number or criteria.

   Fuck this, I am NOT a number. (maybe I am, but I choose not to be treated as such)

   Those who seek to control us view us as the grains of sand (mentioned before). We are counted, raked into pleasing shapes. Sometimes, we are molded by the waves crashing on the beach as the king tries to turn back the tide. Uncontrollable "natural" events.

   If a grain of sand had our senses and our lives, would it be offended by what we, as individuals, perceive it to be?

   What would that grain of sand attempt to break free of those restrictive paradigms we place it in?


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Proselytizing the miscreants. Part 3/4


Being, In part, a monologue delivered by Payne to drunken bastards on a Tuesday afternoon.


If nothing is true, and everything permissible, would these lead to a mass apocolypse of the mind?

If so, bring it on!

I want the cabbages to suffer.

They are meaningless until they make it otherwise.

And it would be good for them in the long run......

Is it time to speed up the Machine? Do the unexpected?

Floor it, and let the cogs of the CoN lunch themselves?

Any cabbage who begins to think for itself, and become a thinking thing is a bonus to us.

Any cabbage who doesn't will become lul-bait.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Proselytizing the miscreants. Part 4/4


Being, In part, a monologue delivered by Payne to drunken bastards on a Tuesday afternoon.



I have decided to withdraw this part for the time being. I may post it later.

68

Or Kill Me / Trying is over-rated

« on: May 21, 2007, 11:59:31 pm »

   We are the Anti Colony.
      We are those who have not met ourselves.
We are all the coolest things you've ever heard of.

   Understanding that we are everything, and nothing, it is inevitable, perhaps, that we play with fire to build self congratulatory monuments.

   We are the winners.
      We are the faceless avatars of our age.
We are worthy of no pity or thanks, but only because (and when) WE say so.

Glory in the fight, fellow ghosts of the internets, because it IS a fight, even scrawling your name in the mud with a stick is a victory.

   We are the nameless celebrity.
      We are the wielders of the cyanide pen.
We shit all over your roses, becuase it helps US grow.

   And now?

            Now we wait for something to happen, or cause things to happen, or sit in imbecilic bliss.

   We really ARE the dogs bollocks.

   We have mad skillz.
      We hate you.
We play meme-poker while the world unexpectedly DOESN'T implode under it's own stupidity.

   Underneath every one of us is a chair, we maid it our bitch, but it also made us our bitch. Meanwhile, we disbelieve in the Gods, the Government and the mail-man. Sometimes we don't even believe in ourselves anymore, so far has our search for troof and lulz gone.

   Questions? No longer do we ask them, meaningless as the answers, nay, the words, have become. We merely make statements proceeded by the polite"?"

   FUCK you? Hell Yeah!

   O.K. lets roll the dice, see who plays first, and write some pithy internet poetry. We have so much anger going to waste, lets document it, pigeon hole it, lay it down for posterity. These are the days we truly are alive, and we should really leave something for the poor, dead, kids of tomorrow.              Maybe not.




   And when all is really said and done, all i really wanted to say is "Fuck me, I want a beer!!" So how the fuck did I get here?


EDIT: Spelling mistake on the fourth fuckin word. Though "Ant Colony" works almost as well...

69

Or Kill Me / Questions: The Beast

« on: May 01, 2007, 01:45:59 am »

Questions on the Nature of the Beast.

Inspired in part by an opensource radio broadcast with John Robb

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We know that there is something fucked up about the world today. For the most part, we are from developed countries (North American and European). Our nation states are a part of The Machine that we, for the most part, agree exists. Then you can factor in most of the large corporations, the media, "Common Sense", and traditional culture.

We know that many of the opposing ideologies are different sides of the same coin. Minted by The Machine to give cabbages an illusion of 'choice'. A mirror perhaps of the dominant economic philosophy in our homelands, the Free-Market economy.

To The Machine, we are numbers to be crunched, cogs to be ground.

Of course we are slightly different in that we try to see a bit more of the bigger picture, some of us more than others.

What else do we know? What redundancies are built into The Machine? What would happen if a paradigm shift occurred? Say a fuel shortage meant we were restricted to our immediate locality, imports and exports stopped except for The Machines absolute essentials. What effect would this have on our view of this awesome beast?

Would it become weaker? Stronger?

I am not an advocate of large scale action to bring about this scenario, but how would we deal with it? What redundancies do we have in place?

Right now, it is only logical to foul the oil, one grain of sand at a time, that keeps The Machine running. We must not draw attention specifically to ourselves because we are so few, and large scale destruction would have the undesirous effect of stiffening the barriers against us as individuals and as a pack.

What do we do if this happens by someone elses hand? I have been interested in these ideas for only a short time, I have no idea what it was like prior to September 11th, before the War on Terror. I can only assume, however, that it changed the tone of what we call Discordianism.

We are aware that the internet is not a high level target, due to its usefulness to too many of the forces active in the world today, but what would we do if all of us lost access to it without warning for an undetermined amount of time?

For some, I believe, this would make little difference. An inconvenience.

Ultimately there are some of you who have ideas about this already, who can see potential disasters coming. You know what you are going to do.

For the rest of us, what do we really know about The Machine? What do we really know about ourselves? and what are we going to do about it?

70

Or Kill Me / A classic Cain rant. I love it!

« on: April 30, 2007, 12:05:05 am »

I would normally bump the original thread, but that descended into immediate bullshit.

http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=10635.0

Lets start afresh with this one hey?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The very concept of chaos was still considered equivalent to strife and treated as a negative.
- The Principia Discordia

Eris was there with Kydoimos (Confusion) among them, and Ker (Death) the destructive; she was holding a live man with a new wound, and another one unhurt, and dragged a dead man by the feet through the carnage."
- Homer, Iliad 18.535

"I have a high art, I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me."
— Archirocus, 650 BC


I'm absolutely sick of this uninformed, bury your head in the sand, cute fluffy animals and sweetness view of Eris.  Yeah, you read right.  I've read all the crap I can take from 17 year old Myspacers who think calling themselves ‚ÄúxXxErisxXx‚Äù and acting in a poor imitation of ‚Äúwacky‚Äù means they are somehow like our Lady of Discord.  Most people here have little on Eris, but you types ain't even in the same ballpark.

Eris is more than the goddess of Confusion.  I know not many Discordians are Greek scholars, but even the name of Our Lady herself means ‚ÄúStrife‚Äù in the ancient Greek!  Strife, Chaos and Disorder, mother of the terrible Kakodaimones, the leveler of cities, the equal of Athena in warfare.  Why do wars keep on happening if no-one wants them?  "[Eris] is hateful ... [she is the one] who builds up evil, war, and slaughter (Hesiod).

‚ÄúOh, but thats too mean and nasty to believe!  Eris is a cute Greek lady and chaos is laughing children dancing in the happy anarchy‚Äù  You better slap that hippie shit out of you before I do it myself!  You can embrace the ‚Äúpositive‚Äù aspects of Disorder all you want, but you cannot forget there is a pretty nasty flipside.  And even that has a purpose.

Who feared Eris most?  For whom does Disorder mean all is lost?  Authority, authority, authority.  The men and women of The Con crave order, and only use chaos when it is the means to the greater end of more order.  They hate messy, unplanned and uncontrollable disorder, because it screws up their careful conspiracies.  Eris most certainly bought war and death in her wake, but it never said anywhere against whom she would bring destruction on, or that it wouldn't stop even greater death and violence.

"[Aion, god of time addresses Zeus:] 'Lord Zeus! behold yourself the sorrows of a despairing world!
Do you not see that Enyo [another name for Eris] has made the whole earth mad, mowing season by
season her harvest of quick-perishing youth?" - Nonnus, Dionysiaca 7.7

You read that?  They feared Her.  The immortal Olympians themselves lived in dread of this uncontrollable goddess, who sowed lawlessness in her every step.  Who fed the infernal beast Typhon and unleashed him against the King of the Gods?  Eris.  Who put Zeus in the embarrassing position of having to choose between his daughter and wife in a competition of beauty?  Eris.  Who gifted the Queen of the Amazons, the allies of Troy, with a dread weapon from the armoury of Ares, in order to defeat the Greeks?  Got it in one.  At every stage she took an active hand in undermining the plans of gods and mortals, whether in person, via trickery, or by steps removed.

You may call me a personification of Destructive Disorder.  You may even think of me as a hypocritical trickster, trying to lead the faithful to a terrible doom.  You can certainly think of me as an agent of Strife, because thats about the only thing that is true of the above.  The worst people in history are those who chase ‚Äúpeace‚Äù, especially when they equate it with order and are willing to do whatever they can to get it.  Hitler wanted peace.  So does George W Bush.  Almost everyone wants peace.  The question is always on what terms.  Disorder doesn't recognize ‚Äúterms‚Äùand it sure as hell doesn't recognize a wasteland called ‚Äúpeace‚Äù.

71

Or Kill Me / The Flame: An idea for aftermath magazine

« on: April 27, 2007, 04:37:37 am »

O.K. This is a VERY rough draft.

It's a concept I was working on to put in my fiction I'm writing in bring and brag, but took out due to artistic differences

Don't know exactly how the headitors of the mag want to run contributions, but this is so sketchy, I thought it bext to post here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Imagine that life is a small circle of land with nothing around it. I mean really imagine it. There is only enough there that you could become very familiar with it in a lifetime, and there is no way off it, because it isn't an island. There are no beaches with clear blue water lapping around the edges.

You can see other plots of land around you. Some higher, some lower. Some closer, some farther. These are the lives of people you communicate with. Sometimes a new one moves into view, and other times an old one drifts away. These are the changing relationships you have in your lifetime. You can see these lands, but you cannot explore them, someone else has to tell you what it's like. Communication can be funny that way.

In the centre of this little galaxy of life, there is a large fire. Sometimes people sit and stare at the fire instead of their own, mundane little worlds. Some will see God, or money, or knowledge, or chaos. It all depends on your own point of view because, ultimately, the fire is neither good or evil, it just is. Occasionaly, people will try to convert you into seeing what they see in the flames.

The funny thing is, you don't need that fire. Everything you need is on your own little private paradise. The promises made by the fire will never be fulfilled to your satisfaction, it's the nature of the beast. Salvation, advancement, contentment, joy. These are all things that are granted to you by yourself, not some distant entity which won't even talk to you.

Imagine now that you spend your time instead considering what is in your little pleasant pasture. Unlocking the little secrets for yourself. Rearranging the furniture of your conciousness. Thinking for yourself. Imagine that you do this everyday, understanding the most simple little parts in a unified, collective, way. Building the puzzle of your life piece by piece, day by day.

Then think about the people who don't. How incomplete their lives must be when they pass the responsibility of perception to someone else.

How does that grab you? Even the smallest and weakest man has the advantage when he knows himself.

72

Bring and Brag / The Job

« on: April 22, 2007, 11:59:13 pm »

   We finally found each other in a small cafe in a dead part of town. It wasn't one of those places you see in the movies with the big windows and flashly lights and waitresses in perfect white uniform. No, it was cramped, smokey and cluttered. What there were of windows were covered in gaudy bits of paper advertising special offers.

   I had walked all day, having grown bored of the bleakness of my own four walls. I had stepped out into the warm, damp air, breathing it in like you would breathe the air in a room of fat and sweaty men. That is to say, reluctantly.

   I watched the ground for discarded cigarette ends and loose change, both of which would perhaps keep me going until the next time I ventured out. In my pockets I had the door keys of my place (rent unpaid for four months) some copper coins and a lighter.

   Isn't it funny that we always have lighters when we have nothing else, but can never find one when we need one?

   Anyway, I wasn't going anywhere in particular. Exploring, maybe, the streets I had walked a hundred times, but never really noticed. There were few people, and those that were out and about, I avoided. In those days, I could barely hold a conversation with myself let alone eye contact with a total stranger. That's some fucked up shit huh?

   Down from the gas station I found an almost full cigarette. Someone had obviously stubbed it before venturing onto the forecourt. They were saved from roasting themselves, and I got a smoke.

   I ran through song lyrics in my head as I walked. I counted steps. This was beginning to become a chore. Not only that, but I could see that it was begining to cloud over. It looked like rain.

   About five minutes later, the ground I was watching closely started to glisten with rain drops. I decided to find somewhere to ride it out before I headed back home. And that, of course, is when I found the cafe.

   As I stepped in, I was immediately struck by the sense that this place was different. Not different in any conventional sense, not something you could exactly pin down. The tables seemed slightly disproportionate, the counter top seemed almost irreverant in its scale and placing. Like I said though, difficult to actually quantify.

   The waitress stood behind that counter looked at me as I stepped up. Not glowering or smiling or any other thing. Just looking.

   I cleared my throat and asked for a glass of water, jingling my keys and coppers in my pocket to indicate that I might actually buy something afterward. She poured it in a short, wide glass and passed it over without comment. I glanced at her eyes and the hair on my arms seemed to clench. Weird, there was no way to actually define her age or, really, anything else from that gaze.

   Grunting something that could have been thanks, I turned from the counter, intending to sit a table. I bumped into a stool that seemed carelessly placed and made my way into the gloomy corner at the back. I leaned back in the cheap but solid looking chair and sipped, very slowly, at my water.

   That's when it happened.

   A girl appeared in my peripheral vision, and before I had a chance to turn my head, she had grabbed one of the seats opposite, swiveled it round and straddled it. Placing her arms on the top of the chair back, she rested her chin on her wrists and looked up at me through her eyelashes.

   I hadn't seen her as I came in, nor heard any door open or close. How could she be sitting here? I was about to say something, but she got there first. Sometimes, even now, I wish I had had the chance to put my foot in it, to unhear what she was about to say.

   "Hello. My name is Mandy, and I have a job for you..."

73

Or Kill Me / Misc. jottings made on my train journey

« on: April 20, 2007, 03:10:00 am »

The Death of Bong Lore


A few years ago, my friend and I were smoking a shit load of weed. We had named bongs, and all the paraphenalia. I was seldom seem without a joint made of a single paper, leading to it being called a 'hancock'. It was my signature.

So basically, we smoked a lot of weed...

We wrote little tracts on bits of the receipt roll when we were working at the supermarket. Little bits of shit that claimed that there must be a layer of our stmosphere, no matter how thin, comprised of the active chemicals in cannabis. We decided the shape of Hitlers pie-cutting device.

Sometimes we came up with something almost interesting, like maybe something about mass media ultimately causing us all to act like we're in a maze.

We collated this all together one day and declared it the 'Bong Lore' and treated it like a bible. I blu-tacked it to my wall. My friend started drawing little toddler like comic strips based on it, with us as the characters, and he still does to this day. Later all of my scraps of pseudo-intellectual diahroea were bucketed. I believe the Blu-Tac was given to a friend who used it to hang half naked pictures of women all over his bedroom wall.

The Bong Lore was fun for a while, but I had to let it die. It was turning me into some kind of emo-stoner-hippy.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Train Journey


I was walking to the bus station today, heavy bag on my shoulder, and sticking to myself, having excelled myself with several days of drinking, smoking and hassling the natives of my ex-home city.

I walk past a woman urging me to say "gouranga" and be free. I've seen the type before, pervasive on Scottish streets for the past five years at least, so I avoid her. I don't want to buy any of the CD's, pamphlets, fridge magnets or bouncy rubber balls they offer. I walk on, and just around the corner, there is large man urging me to "repent! and be saved by Jesus Christ!".

In the background a Bagpiper skirls and shrieks his way through a half assed rendition of "Flower of Scotland". My, don't I feel jaded today?

I get on the train, just, throw my bag of foul smelling clothes onto the overhead rack, pull out a book, a free newspaper and a bottle of water. I stare at these objects for a time as Edinburgh slowly slides past my window.

I fucking hate the train. I hate the people who take trains. A little kid is yelling at his mother, two Londoners sit behind me talking about tracing family histories, and walking around churches in London. Damn it!

I read through the paper, it's got a little piece on the guy who defenestrated himself up the road from where I stayed the night before. About six pages on the VA shootings.

It has a page of puzzles, which I would do, if I had a pen.

I'm sick of the apathy. My own, everyone elses. I'm happy that I have a little table to myself, because I'm not sure how I could handle enforced human contact today. Even something so small as where to put my feet in relation to any who share my table. I don't have to, so I feel a little better.

As we reach St. Andrews, I read that Justin Timberlake visited here the day before. Woo Fuckin Hoo. Mr. Timberlake gets as many column inches as the poor sod who dived through his window to his death. The media certainly has a strange balance on which they weigh the merit of their stories.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


A Sociological Golden Shower


Hey! Did you know that 'society' today is really just communal urination? Did you ever get that thing where you just can't piss if someone is looking at you? I'm thinking that it's a fact that you do it almost every time you interact with somone, or they with you.

Sometimes it's difficult to really listen to someone, or talk to them, because you fear the consequences of letting out all that bile and hatred you really feel.

There are, however, some who don't let such a petty insecurity hold them back. You can stand back in awe of these people as some self-titled 'innocent' gets soaked by the urine laced with sheer contempt let forth by one with no complex that prevents him or her saying what they think.

The people who do, though. What about them? Who are they? Do they drive fast cars? Start revolutions?

These people are not good, neither are they bad. You may know some of them, and you may not know any. These people do things for themselves, and want more people to do things for themselves, because it would make life more interesting at least.

Next time you think the splash-back from the guy relieving himself in the urinal at the local bar is too much, remember that someone you know could metaphorically be doing the same thing to you. And they're having a great time doing it. Don't you wanna see if you're missing out?

74

Or Kill Me / Phake Fizzics

« on: April 12, 2007, 04:49:33 am »

Please bear with me on this one! A lot of it was written while half-asleep, and most of it pondered over while trying to get to sleep. And failing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


So i was talking to a Barstool in a parallel universe. I was saying to him  that because the universe is so full of stuff, its a wonder we can even move. We have electrons and neutrons and protons and photons (and so on) then we have all the forces. On top of that we have dark matter and dark energy, allegedly filling in a lot of the space in between.

Hot damn, It's a wonder that we can even twitch in an environment that on a "higher level of understanding" has the consistancy of, say, syrup.

To make things even more convoluted, string-theory posits that we have 11-dimensions, instead of just the four we feel comfortable with (some say that these extra dimensions may be what makes up all that 'dark' stuff).

The Barstool nods sagely at me, and proceeds to beat me within an inch of my life with the human he was perched on.

I wake up to find a human beating up on me with a barstool, however, and so cosmic balance is restored.

Fucking about with false physics to try and make meaningful insights into ourselves and our 'societies' is only going to get you burned. If you monumentally fuck up, you may be burned twice.

I do not profess to have any real understanding of quantum physics, string theory, or any of the new areas of research in Physics. The only contribution I can make to any discussion of this right now is this: Until the late nineteenth century, as I understand my history, many of the leading physicists were actually more philosophical than scientific.

The recent past has seen physics dominated by men of a mathematical bent, resulting in some of the greatest (at least better known) advances in the field, such as the greater understanding of nuclear physics, Einsteins theories on relativity, and a deeper look into the "building blocks" of matter (quarks, mesons etc.) Many of these are backed up with prominant mathematical equations.

The very latest theories put forward seem sometimes (to a layman like meself) to be returning to a more philosophical look at the field. Quantum theory and String theory, as I used in the paragraph above, seem to be a hip new way for us log-heads to look like we really know what we're talking about, without much chance of being called out on it. And its being used in a totally innapropriate way, as evidenced on many other threads on this board.

One final example. I read somewhere a few years back that a couple of guys had used one of these more philosophical branches of 'New Physics' to prove that Einstein could be wrong with E=MC², by showing that light can travel at different speeds, and is not constant, at least at all times and all places. I haven't heard anything more about it, so I'm assuming it was all bullshit, maybe one of you has?

The point to all this is this: First, I wouldn't mind if someone could try to break down how this may apply, if at all, to the common 'discordian' theories of perceptions and grids. Second: If I have made some fundamental error somewhere in this post, I will gladly edit, or at least discuss it properly, because I do like to learn new stuff, but anything I can ever catch on the internets goes right over my head.

75

Literate Chaotic / Rust and Ashes

« on: April 08, 2007, 05:19:45 am »

Life is become rust and ashes.

What Destruction is greater than that which leaves its spoor upon the earth?

The way into mans heart is sight, direct his eyes and control his mind.

When that which is obliterated disapears from vision, it fades in minds. This Destruction is lesser than the rubble and mangled limbs of the greater.

This powerful icon, a key to our primative nature; Bones co'erd in moss!

Beware, then, the men who will rage and dash the scree of our world upon the ground for all to see and record for 'greater understanding'.