Part (un)holy text, part group artwork and part meaningless babble, the Miscellanea is where all the bits that don't go anywhere else end up.
Any of our members are welcome to contribute, although we will only include your work if it has an information content above zero and seems (vaguely) relevant.
The Miscellanea will probably continue growing until it contains anything you ever needed to know on any subject in any language or until we run out of space, whichever occurs first.
"Yes, I want to be part of this great endeavour,
and here are my words of great wisdom"
When development of this section is complete, you will be able to add your own articles to this section. There will be some kind of option that will allow you to do this, and there may be an approval system.
But for now, if you are really desperate to get an article into Miscellania Sensibilium, then send an email to ahdkaw at gmail dot com, providing the current Blog URL, or bring it to the pub in a digital format.
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We don't like copyright but we do like respect. Thank you.
In the old days being evil was easy, all you had to do was sell your soul. This was no problem, you just popped down to the nearest crossroads, preferably around midnight and there you'd find a certain gentleman entrepreneur. This guy, in addition to being most courteous, would pay the most ridiculous prices for your measly piece of merchandise. Fame, fortune or the ability to play the guitar like a man possessed; you could easily wrangle anything you wanted out of this man.
Times have changed, the gentleman at the crossroads has gone into retirement and the new boys have decided it's time to modernize. Instead of just popping down the road at midnight these days things are a bit more bureaucratic. First off you have to memorize a 12 dimensional map of the universe that doesn't make any sense even when you're tripping and then you have to perform a 25 day ritual, all the while chanting words even a Dutchman would have problems pronouncing. At the end of this time something that looks like a cross between an octopus and Alexei Sayle appears. Now this thing doesn't care about you, your soul, or in fact anything and instead of offering fame, fortune etc. it gives you the following choices:
a) Disappear mysteriously and completely
b) Be throttled by your own intestines or something as pleasant
c) Go spectacularly and irreversibly insane
Thanks for your huge response to my previous publication. Many of you will be thinking, many of you won't.
Anyway, onto the latest OTS project! I'm not sure what that project is, but I can feel the vibes of others about to start. Any information would be greatly appreciated.
Onwards and upwards DOTS!
A rather pathetic poem about when I met the goddess.
And the great goddess Eris spake,
Unto me, Thru my pineal gland,
'Hello Ahdkaw, I seen you before,
In local parts and other lands,
Also the time of Dump
Let the members decide,
when to throw in the towel,
Discordia discomfits most,
The evidence is most foul!
Maybe just a lump.
The members are wise, spake I,
They are fools, as are you! crieth she,
I will crush you in confusion.
I cannot, will not, disagree.
So be it! Clump.
Ahdkaw: Where am I? Eris: The Pineal Gland. A: Doesn't look like it! E: What should it look like? A: Erm... E: Are you confused? A: Yes. E: Good, maybe I can use you. A: No! It is I who shall use you! E: Are you sure? A: Maybe. E: Didn't quite make it to the moon, did you? A: Ah... No, I didn't quite make it. E: Meeting in the subconcious is never easy. A: You're telling me! E: Practice makes better. A: Glad you didn't say perfect! E: Well, perfection is stagnant, unchanging, rather boring in fact! A: Okay. E: You must leave now... A: Why? E: Why not? A: Okay, goodbye dearest Eris. E: Follow thy feet...
The European Union commissioners have announced the agreement has been reached to adopt English as the preferred language for European communications, rather than German, which was the other possibility.
As part of the negotiations, Her Majesty's Government conceded that English spelling has some room for improvement as has accepted a five-year phased plan for what will be known as EuroEnglish (Euro for short).
In the first year, the "s" will be used instead of the soft "c". Sertainly, sivil servants will resieve this news with joy. Also the hard "c" will be replased with "k". Not only will this klear up konfusion, but typewriters kan have one less letter.
There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year, when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced by "f". This will make words like "fotograf" 20 per sent shorter.
In the third year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkorage the removal of double letters, which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also al wil agre that the horible mes of silent "e"s in the languag is disgrasful, and they would go.
By the fourth year, peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" by "z" and "w" by "v". During ze fifz year, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou", and similar changes vud of kors be aplid to ozer kombinations of leters. After zis fifz yer, ve vil hav a reli sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubls or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech ozer.
It is common wisdom that everybody is entitled to their point of view and far be it from me to diverge from accepted belief patterns. However I would appreciate it if certain quarters of the ecological/hippie movement (please notice I said &"certain quarters") would try spending some time in the following models before telling me "Gaia" really cares about dolphins or pollution or that "the planet is dying". I'm not saying that you are wrong, just that I find your platitudes somewhat nauseating.
Gaia is a big nurturing mother who gave us all life and does worry about her offspring. Especially dolphins and anything cute and furry (Hippie model).
Gaia is an evil bitch who allows the strong to stomp all over the weak before stomping all over them. She takes amusement from the eternal warfare that is life on earth (Darwin model).
Gaia is very big. So big that she is totally indifferent to the fate of anything on earth. The idea of us puny humans being able to understand her desires (if she has any) is ridiculous (Chthonic/fatalist model).
"Gaia" is just the word some of us use to describe the sum total of everything that happens on this planet. Nothing can happen to Gaia unless it comes from elsewhere in the universe. Anything that happens on Earth or from Earth is part of Gaia, including cars, litter and you (Scientific/mystic model).
For what I am about to say someone somewhere is going to think that I am a Nazi. This is an unfortunate side effect of living in a world that has so many simple-minded fools.
There is no such thing as Equality
No two things in the Universe are equal, at the very least they have a different position in time and space.
There is no such thing as Rights
The universe doesn't owe you a living; in fact it doesn't owe you anything at all. You do not even have a right to life.
That said, I agree we should treat people as we would like to be treated, not because they are "equal" to us but because as a human being I have empathy for others. I personally would prefer a society in which we are nice to one another happens but that doesn't mean that such a society is better than any other is.
As for "rights" the entire idea seems to be a way of avoiding responsibility. Try replacing "I have a right to free speech" with "I have a responsibility to myself and others to ensure freedom of expression is possible". Or replace "I have a right to live" with "I have a responsibility to myself and my dependants to live". Not so catchy as a political slogan I admit but much more helpful in that it is more likely to produce positive action than the kind of sickly whining that most rights arguments tend to dissolve into.
It has been noted that any calendar is pretty arbitrary and this idea has given lots of weirdo cults reason enough to go ahead and invent their own. Thing is all their calendars are just as bad as the traditional ones.
Worry not! The OTS are on the case.
Realising that any calendar based on a linear conception of time was intrinsically flawed I have created one based on "Indra's net", the idea that all moments are discontinuous crystals reflecting every other moment. All on some sense existing simultaneously.
The calendar takes into account neurological relativism. It is used in relation to the consciousness of the writer and hence can be perfectly accurate in a way that other calendars cannot hope to achieve.
It is in three parts each separated by a ':'' (colon). Each of these 3 parts are optional and you can use the bits you like or none at all.
The first consists of simple symbols and describes what the consciousness of the writer is doing in relation to their perception of linear time while writing. The symbols are as follows:
N: Now, the present in the strictest sense of the word, yesterday doesn't count. This symbol is at the start of every date as the time writing is always now. P: Past, anything the author perceives as having already happened. F: Future, anything the author perceives as being yet to happen. L: Lying about, I could say "talking about" or "reflecting on" but I prefer to be honest. L is the connecting term in the neurological calendar, hence NLP means the author is writing about the past. +: And, A secondary connecting term. e.g. NLP+N means the author is lying about both the past and the present. (,): Brackets, Help clarify more complex situations. e.g. NL(PLF)+(NLF) means the author is lying about both the past and the present lying about their respective futures. An important note is that the F in the first brackets means that pasts future, which may lie in our own past or present.
The second part is a description of the state of consciousness at the time of writing it should consist of an evocative phrase or word. Any language may be used or nonsense words if it is felt that they evoke the correct description of your state of mind. I remember a trip that was very ghighimouoouuuul. The idea is to let the reader know roughly where you are coming from. It helps if you are concise.
The final part is to affix the symbol CnF indicating this is the Age of Confusion. It is always the Age of Confusion (For more on this see The Book of the Arrow 6).
Anarcho-Syndicalists want to create lots of nice little communes, by smashing the state.
Anarcho-Libertanians want to create a free society by ignoring the state.
Anarcho-Pacifists want to make everything OK by being beaten up.
And there's loads more too.
Thing is... all these sorts of anarchists realise politics is essentially bollocks and then go and get all political. Pretty soon they are talking just as much bollocks (if not more) as any other political group.
So here is the solution:
Politics is crap.
Any attempt to change this produces more crap.
Hence the only sane thing for any anarchist to do is ignore the entire issue and do exactly what they feel like.
Refusing at all times to join any political or social group that attempts to do anything. As all groups always end up defending the status quo, even as they think they attack it.
It is also best to avoid talking about politics and have a spliff instead.
If enough people follow this simple manifesto the state will collapse in no time at all.
P.S. This passage contains at least one paradox.
P.P.S. So what?
If you find anyone with a serious opinion about matters political, economic etc: take the piss.
If you find anyone with a serious opinion full stop: take the piss.
If you yourself have any serious opinions then ditto.
For example here in Britain the government is going mad over benefit (welfare to Sepo's) fraud and encouraging people to inform on anyone committing it, even friends. Nice huh? Best thing to do is ring their hotlines and inform on the mayor, upstanding citizens, everyone (you are guaranteed anonymity after all). If this happens enough it will become more expensive for them to try and catch people through the waves of disinformation than just to let them get away with it.
There's something a bit unwholesome about any government going mad about cheating anyway. After all, the so called national debt is simply the difference between what the money's really worth and what the government claims it's worth.
The sigil has been obtained by examining the products of all the simple arithmetical functions of two and three in that order. This seems to produce a map of initiation very similar to that of Mr. Crowley's model. The number 23 is of course famous for the amount of coincidAnce surrounding it and this should be considered more of the same. Is it what 23 "really means"? I doubt it. I am aware that to fully grasp what I'm on about probably requires some familiarity with various occult bollocks. Sorry about that.
23: The number itself is represented by the yin/yang in the triangle. This symbol can be thought of as representing the rational dualistic part of the mind which takes the many (represented by the triangle 3) and separates it into simple oppositions. It is fitting that it is the 23 that first showed the possibilities of this sigil for this reason.
2- 3=-1: This can be taken as a numerical representation of samhadi, which is described as lying beyond the void. In the western tradition it could be seen as representing what lies beyond the abyss. i.e.: The highest grades. These two are effectively identical. Here it is shown as the centre of the sigil as it may be said to underlie all grades, whether they are aware of it or not.
2/3= .666(Recurring): Aptly called the number of the beast. The infinite nature of this number shows it to be that which continues, that which reproduces, and in opposition to the 23 that which unites. It is the sexual element in it's most natural expression. It is represented on the sigil as the infinity logo which is opposed to the 23, it is of course within a 6 pointed star.
2+3=5: The pentagram. Representative of the four elements plus the fifth, life. The novice, the everyday head. Although it shown pointing upwards it could be thought of as facing any direction. Notice that the upwards pentagram (traditionally man) points towards the rational brain and the downwards (the beast) points towards the sexual. Tells you a bit about "evil" doesn't it? We all have both. It is to be noticed however that the pentagram never actually reaches either infinity or duality, it is far too limited. A pentagram pointing between these two extremes should not be taken, as some have said, as representing balance. It is more like indecision, balance can not be achieved in this way, this is also shown by the fact that the pentagram is not centred properly upon the -1.
2x3=6: The hexagram, traditionally representing the adept. Here all things are balanced (tiphareth is 6 on tree of life). The adept has managed to reach and contain both the 23 and the 0.666 putting each in their place. He is centred upon the -1 although not truly embodying it and is prepared for the final state.
2^3=8: 8 is symbolic of the chaosphere, the Buddhist 8fold path, the 8 limbs of raja yoga and the 8 circuits of the Leary/Wilson model. All these things point towards samhadi, and have no value except that they do this. Hence the 8 may be taken as the crossing of the abyss. All the previous symbols and selves fall away. It is hence represented as black, but what is beyond it is the same colour as the -1 (inside and outside have no meaning to samhadi)
The fact the sigil is on a sphere may or may not be an artistic flourish.
Limestone memories shift uneasily in my mind, reality seeping through their porous existence, changing them, mutating them into a more satisfying and aesthetic form for my present vantage point. Historians recreate the past to suit their purposes. We recreate our own past to suit our present.
A slideshow of images, meanings rearranged until everything is so hazy that anything could be real. Are humans the first artificial intelligence? Our world is a dreamscape of meaning; constructs built around our desires and fears. Reality is a dirty word now; a cheap prize given away on low-budget game-shows - audience applauds on cue as the past is shuffled and then recreated to suit. A child's memory game - "What was on the tray"? Does it matter? What do we want to have been on the tray? Reality has become the equivalent of the cuddly toy on the conveyer belt. Always present, but it's hidden meaning only guessed at. Special mystery prize, secret holiday destination.
Who would have thought that a computer glitch could have ever done anything like this? Who would have thought the human race would ever rely on a machine so much?
The Eleven O'clock news was read out in England by Trevor Macdonald, his counter parts all over the world did the same. Of course it should have been the Prime Ministers and the Presidents and such like that made the statement, but they had far better places to be.
As a result of the prepared speech, the world went slightly, and understandably, crazy. People started digging holes in their gardens with anything they could find, some even had the presence of mind to go steal JCB's and make holes that way. A lot of people just abandoned their homes and possessions and, inevitably, some looted those possessions, as well as shops, factories and banks. Quite a few climbed trees and buildings to wait. People set off to visit sick and elderly relatives, or just friends they hadn't seen in years. Some neighbours made up their long ongoing feuds and arguments, and others began to beat, stab or shoot one another, after all it had to be someone's fault.
Suddenly everyone was a Technophobe. Computers, televisions, microwaves, telephones and anything else that showed even the slightest chance that it might have some sort of artificial intelligence, were thrown from windows, smashed with hammers and destroyed, usually in no less than a thousand pieces.
Religion had a sudden intake of followers, even atheists went to pray just in case it would make a difference, God was in popular demand, sermons were once again filled with fire and brimstone.
Jack and Rebecca sat at the top of a hill, watching the chaos that was once their hometown, the screaming, shouting and the smell of smoke drifting up to them on snatches of wind. They held each other close for warmth and comfort and watched the stars. They were both crying, Jack for Rebecca and Rebecca for Jack, but both cried for the unborn baby in Rebecca's womb. Rebecca's hand rested on the bulge of her stomach as midnight struck to announce the arrival of the year 2000, a minute later the sirens of the towns alarms began to shriek their warning and to confirm what the experts suspected.
As they wailed Rebecca gave a short hiccup that cut off in her throat before it turned into hysterical laughter and turned to look at her husband
"What is it love?" he asked her
"The baby, she just kicked, it's the first time she's let me know she's really in there."
Jack smiled back at her
"You mean 'he' don't you?"
They held each other closer for a few more seconds and then...
That was when the first bomb landed, four minutes into the First of January in the year 2000. The baby, albeit boy or girl never had a chance to kick again. Jack and Rebecca were gone in seconds.
Nuclear Armageddon killed nearly everything in the world, Jack, Rebecca and the baby were lucky, but for the one's who survived the blasts, well, they to died too.
Many of us today are forever being hassled and poked around by alien creatures.
As this can sometimes be a harrowing experience, we at the Greys & Others Research Centre have been commissioned by the British Government to compile this handy guide to making your stay a little less uncomfortable and disturbing.
If in a car at the time of abduction, be sure not to leave any valuables behind, turn off your headlamps, and lock all doors.
Always greet your visitors with a big smile - you might be safe.
A lot of the time you will be under experimentation, including anal probes, so it is always wise to spread either KY, Vaseline, or if you're short of money, lard, around the anal area. This will allow the abductors to slip the probe in and out a lot easier, this also makes the experiment less painful - possibly even more pleasurable!
If you are offered sex with an alien entity, there are a few rules to stick to:
If a Grey, refuse flatly, Human/Grey babies are real ugly.
If a White, then do NOT allow oral sex, as their sharp teeth have amputated a few people in the past, although touch-sensitive plastic replacements are available.
If you are unsure to the race of alien about to "make-it" with you then:
Check for unsightly protrusions, especially under the arms.
Ask for the Inter-Species Intercourse Form B19.
Always wear protection - you may have to bring these along with you.
Don't allow intercourse if entity is asexual, with these particular types, a penis won't fit, and a vagina isn't wide enough.
If after the abduction you suffer from flashbacks, always remember NEVER examine them closely - you could be in for a tremendous shock!
We can't stress enough the importance of all of the above guidelines, but if you get your brain infected, it's your fault.
Can I explain this article? Well the answer is plain and simple. No.
Two questions appear to mind after reading the title of this little guide to knowing stuff of no importance, the first of course is:
Who are the Monkeys?
Well, that one is easy: You!
Yes, that's right. "We're civilised!"" some may say, a recent conversation with a friend, concerning this matter, pointed to the television (a 20th century artifact), and stated, "Look, monkeys on snowboards". Indeed these monkeys are tool-using. Many say that these monkeys have stopped evolving, and instead have concentrated on technology. Not a bad thing, I admit, but the monkeys must continue to evolve, otherwise how do we tackle the second question?
What, And Where, Are These Cages?
The cages are all around. Lets start with the personal level. Many monkeys are trapped within themselves, their personal beliefs and fear of change, holds them trapped inside a very, very small cage. Oh sure, it is a transportable cage, and the monkey can have a quite satisfactory life, but the cage is still there, restricting growth. Most of the more evolved monkeys have already found this cage, broken out of it, and now know what's outside. The cage is still there of course, but now the monkey knows the way out.
There's also the physical cages, these are all around us too, but most of them can be broken out of with willpower. The home of the monkey is a cage; front door, back door, fenced in; very territorial, very anal. It's easy to move out of one home, thereby breaking free of the cage, and into another, banged up inside a similar cage. Territorial matters will remain unresolved for years yet, while the monkeys continue to throw shit at each other across borders.
Another cage, which some of the monkeys are attempting to escape from right now, is the planet these monkeys live on. This particular cage is one of the biggies, and the sooner the monkeys have escaped, the better. When this happens, an evolutionary leap will occur, the monkeys will become Space-Faring Monkeys. Upwards and outwards monkeys!
But still there are cages all around these particular monkeys. Existing within the realms of the physical universe, means that these monkeys, if they decide to remain there, are going to have to find a way to escape from their universe, before it implodes. But of course, only to another cage... One hell of an evolutionary leap will hit these monkeys when they manage that, they will then become Multiple-Dimension-Faring Monkeys!.
Here's hoping that these monkeys get it together in time and keep going. They might all be wrong, but what do you expect from a bunch of monkeys?
Book 72 in a series of 34.
Tarquin becomes a man, or, Terror from above
(Crumpet forks at dawn)
Imagine, a brisk windy day in autumn. The sun shines down upon the trees that ring the Quad, bringing forth a cacophony of colours from the dying red gold leaves. Then, imagine if you will, a boy, firm of thought and strong of purpose, filled with youthful resolution and an earnest look to his ruddy cheeks. This was the scene that fateful Thursday morning back in 1835. Young Tarquin (myself) is thirteen, and is faced with the first real test of his burgeoning and swelling manhood. This trial by fire takes the muscular and rampant form of Rupert Camisole Chesterfield III, or, as he was better known to his friends (although he had few of those, and gained respect by his reign of terror and his always warm toasting fork), Geraldine. Why he had gained this moniker was unknown to the lower years, and those who dared to ask were whisked away to the room for a sharp lesson in manners.
Young Tarquin had managed, through his cunning and wit, (and perhaps his stout new running shoes sent by his Uncle Sheryl) to avoid the attentions of Rupert throughout his first three years at Walford-Bryn Preparatory School for Boys; but this had only served to pique Ruperts interest, and to swell his desire for the young Tarquin from a vague stirring in the loins into a throbbing, almost overwhelming, bonfire of lust and heady passion.
This undesirable turn of events came to a head when young Tarquin took longer than usual in the communal shower that morning. Whilst pulling his jockey shorts over his youthfully athletic buttock cheeks, he sensed a movement behind him. All the other boys had long since left for breakfast. Tarquin was alone. Turning, he felt a vague sense of fear and loathing, and there was an all-too-familiar scent of animal-like musk in the air. His suspicions were confirmed: it was Rupert, his face pink with anticipation, impending conquest and triumph.
Tarquin began to quiver. He had known this day would come, but had hoped he would be able to squeeze a few more drops of joy out of life before facing his nemesis. Then, remembering the oft-repeated words of his Uncle Sheryl (the black sheep of the family, but Tarquin had always been fond of him. And vice versa.), "Never take a bull by the horns when you can squeeze his balls." Tarquin took careful aim, and delivered a mighty blow with his oft-praised right foot, right to the core of Ruperts rearing manhood.
After a heart-pounding flight through the corridors of the Leonard Nimoy Arts Building, closely followed by the three-hundred-pound mass of expectant lust that was Rupert, Tarquin found himself trapped in the little-used Northwest corner of the Quad. With nowhere to run, Tarquin turned and defiantly raised his buttocks in the air wanting to get the horror over with. Rupert, faced with compliance and submission, became confused, his long-held fantasy of forceful conquest shattered in the face of utter posterior passivity. After a short while of holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable breach of his purity, Tarquin stood up. Turning around to see what had become of his foe, he was greeted by the cheers of the lower school, peering from the windows of the Mary Tyler Moore Science Building. Tarquin was the hero once more. Rupert left shortly afterwards, his reputation in tatters (He later became the Member of Parliament for West Spalding-on-the-Moor).
This month we have a bit of a doozer. We have arranged an exclusive interview with not only the Big G, Allah, Alpha, Yahweh, call him what you will (just dont call him in vain); but also his counterpart, old Nick, Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, The One Who Walks Backwards (Big Dick to his friends). We will attempt to tread the fine line between journalistic integrity and outright heresy. Let the discussion begin...
OTS: So, God, Satan, how goes it in your respective domains?
G: Pretty good thanks, bit hectic last night but I think I've got it under control.
OTS: And you Satan?
S: Well, you know, people sin, people burn. Same old story.
OTS: You sound a bit fed up of it all. Are you?
S: A little I suppose, it gets a bit tedious. It must be, what? Forty, fifty years since someone came up with something truly original.
G: Yes, the war was a good time for us. (smiles warmly at Satan.)
OTS: Why was that then?
S: Well, you know. Like, back then, there was an easy line between good and bad. On the one side you had the allies, protecting the individual freedom and the like, and Hitler, massacring people in their millions. There wasnt any difficulty dishing the souls out.
G: Of course the bombing of Japan fucked things up a bit. Got a bit mixed up there. Even I couldnt say who was right or wrong there. Even if I am omniscient. Or something.
S: Nowadays its all different. Theres no black or white now. I mean look at Bill Clinton. Two thousand years ago that fucker would have been straight down to my place. These days the people have to decide whether he was a bastard or not.
G: And what do they know? If they could run things themselves, we wouldn't be here.
OTS: I see. Bearing in mind that the world is such a crazy, fucked-up place, do you not think that the heaven and hell dichotomy is a bit outdated as a concept?
G: Well, fuck you. I created the goddamn world, its my bloody show.
S: No, hang on here, I think the guy has a point. We arent as useful as we used to be.
G: Speak for yourself. If it wasnt for you then man would still be living in blissful ignorance in Eden. That stunt with the fruit was really low.
S: Yeah, but you put the bloody tree there in the first place. You wanted them to eat the damned fruit so that you could punish them and act the high and mighty father figure for eternity. An analyst would have a field day inside your head.
G: I am a bloody high and mighty father figure! Not just some pissy little imp like you. Oh to think that once you were my finest. I had such hopes for you. I looked on you as a son.
S: That was when you shat on my head was it? All I did was offer a few suggestions to improve things, but oh no, you wouldn't have it would you. Mr Lord of all Creation couldnt handle the thought that something wasn't quite right in his pissing wonderful toy world could he?
OTS: Okay, okay, lets get back to the interview here. So God, what was your actual motivation behind creating the world?
G: You know, it was one of those boring Monday afternoons. It was raining, I was stuck indoors. It was all dark and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Something to while away the lonely millennia.
S: I get back from the god-damned pub, and hed built this bloody World thing. I said it was a bad idea. Itll come to no good I said. But would he listen? Ohhh no! Look at the bloody mess now eh? Should have listened to us Seraphim instead of chucking us down to that pissante little world to sort out the mess he made.
OTS: Right. Anyway, what does an omnipotent deity like to do on his time off?
S: Piss about and watch re-runs of Baywatch
G: I dont get much time off really
S: Yeah right, apart from the last 2000 years. Hes been building a new World...
G: Hang on...
S: Yes, you dont want me to tell them about that do you? You were planning to leave them all in the fucking lurch werent you, you cheapskate old bastard.
G: Right, thats it, Im having you. Outside now you jumped-up minion.
S: Come on then, bring it on, any time you old has-been. I could take you down with one fucking punch.
G: You couldn't the last time.
S: I let you have that one, or else youd have cried. I was being nice. Fucker.
OTS decided to end the interview here and ran away, before being
held responsible for Armageddon as well.
Recently, I attempted to advertise within the pages of the Huddersfield Examiner (actually, in the 'Stop Press' bit on the back page of the paper). The sole reason for this advertising frenzy was the fact that I had received two free classified adverts up to the value of £6 for having their paper delivered for eight weeks.
Now, I had bought their papers and paid up fully for the eight weeks ordered so the vouchers were valid, and I had nothing to advertise except for this site, so I set about making my advert.
A little while later, I had decided on the advert shown to the right.
I took the advert down to the local Examiner office, and upon submitting my advert to the gentlemen behind the desk, I was thoroughly questioned about what I was advertising. When I showed them the vouchers I had, I was told that they could only be used for advertising items for sale, something that the person I'd phoned previously had denied.
I then had to put up with a barrage of questions about my site, and told that my website was trade as I could be selling stuff. I told him again and again and again, that it was my personal website, and no profits could possibly be gained from visitors.
To decide whether my advert could be placed, I was told that they would get someone to "look over" this site, and ring me back when they had reached a decision.
The very next day, at work, the same gentleman rang me to tell me that my advert could not be accepted, because of the "swear words" ((aw di-dums) which I pointed out were only concentrated in one area - namely, Legion), and he also stated that the Management of the Huddersfield Daily Examiner would not want to put their readers in the position of visiting my website. After telling him I was a reader, he then altered his comments with the addition of two word's, "majority of" (readers).
"Great", I said, "So you're censoring me?"
"Ho-ho, yes", he replied.
I hung up.
Please note: As at the 14th June 2002, things are different around here. The Legion site is now totally integrated with the rest of this site, and the "swear-words" are scattered all over the place.
Fuck you Huddersfield Daily Examiner. :p
We feel we must point out that The Huddersfield Daily Examiner are alright really, but we were most upset at not being allowed to advertise our site in our very own local paper. But such is life, that's fine, we don't hold any grudges against them as such, we still buy it now and again, so they can't complain really.
We also feel we must apologise for the totally unexpected result of affecting Google's search results for "Huddersfield Daily Examiner". It was such that this article popped up in third place, with the last few words of the previous addendum in the description. It was in that place for a very long time that's for sure, but now this article has been wiped from the results page, they must have complained, I would have in their position, I'm surprised they didn't do it sooner really.
Anyway, it was never our intention for all that to happen, but it was rather amusing. Knob-ends. :P
The internet becomes increasingly schizophrenic. Art sites that want to show off their textual skills, literary sites that are coated with so much graphical slickness that the mere touch of them is enough to make you slide right off to somewhere less pretentious. And then we have the sites that don't really know what they are, but my, don't they have pretty interfaces.
To find information on the net it has become almost de rigueur to have to bludgeon your way through ever more unnecessary "intuitive" graphical interfaces. Why? Why the fuck is this necessary? If I pick up a newspaper to check out the score in the latest minor war, I don't expect to have to negotiate my way through several beautifully printed but ultimately useless plastic coatings. Likewise, if I walk into an art gallery, I feel no great desire to have copies of the artists diaries lying around so that I can read about the torturous minutiae of their lives. Half of the attraction of a painting, or a photograph is the act of mutual creation between artist and viewer, that mingling of perception, the grey area between conceptual vision and derived understanding.
So, I ask you, why is it suddenly so common for a website to have a finger in every single pie going? Why is it that on the net, an collection of images cannot speak for itself, or a piece of writing cannot be appreciated without graphical interjection?
It would seem obvious that there is a whole load of "me too" psychology behind web design. Not only does everyone want a website, but they want their website to include every single "cool" feature that the designer has ever coveted on other sites. Websites have to be seen to be providing something for everybody, or at least to prove that they can do everything that everybody else can. The net still doesn't seem to have understood that the maxim "more is better" is completely false, and ultimately leads to lowest-common-denominator content on any platform.
One thing stands out. Although the internet is undoubtedly a far more aesthetically pleasing place to be these days, on a purely eye-candy level, it becomes ever more difficult to find anything that stands out, that is new or different. The focus on content is being lost behind the sharp, design-led revolution of a thousand geeks who know how to code, but haven't got a clue when it comes to filling their sugary confections with content of any value. The American dream of slick, mass-market homogeneity is slowly enveloping the net. All-singing, all-dancing, all-suffocating.
To be perfectly honest, I can't see the point of the internet at all if we are merely going to transform it into another cable network. Why not just sell the whole fucking thing to CBS and start a new revolution. Maybe this time we can get it right.
Or, Why does everyone have to be so fucking nice to each other anyway?
The net, they claim, is a place of moral degradation, corruption, filth and rude pictures of naked ladies. It is a destroyer of the youth, and undoubtedly, a tool of Satan. This is great, fucking marvellous. Wouldn't the net be a fine place if this were the case? Well, granted there may indeed be some nasty things on the net, but there are a lot of nasty things in the world too, and they can come get you even if you don't go looking for them.
The net, is however, host to the most unbearable levels of niceness. The kind of niceness that makes you want to cringe, curl up in a ball and hum "Prison Sex" to yourself. Bulletin boards and newsgroups in particular are Mecca's for this horrific latex politeness and sugar candy pleasantry, as are the numerous AOL chat things, whatever the hell they call them. Something to do with communities no doubt, the weasels.
Go to a bulletin board (no not now you idiot, some other time. I'm not done yet.) You won't have to read many posts before you get some poor fool uttering something of the highest levels of stupidity. At such a cue, you may find yourself becoming interested. You may wonder how the board regulars are going to respond to this. Just exactly how cruelly is this loser going to be shot down, to lie bleeding in his own digital ignorance? If anybody spoke with such ignorance and lack of eloquence in a real world social situation, they would be torn apart, mercilessly ripped to pieces and ridiculed for all to see. Or is
that just the parties I go to? But NO! The imbeciles say nothing, or worse, they make soothing, inane comments in return.
They respond with kindness, or what they think is kindness, because surely a short sharp beating would teach one some manners and an understanding to think before opening the mouth again. They will, instead, skip lightly over the idiocy, even if this leaves them with nothing to say but "well, everyone's entitled to their opinion". What crap. Where the hell is the world going to end up if everyone is entitled to an opinion? Up the shitter is the answer. Individual liberty, equality. Nice. But when it comes to some grossly overweight 15 year old who spends half of his miserable life peering at search listings such as "naked Asian doggy anal cumshots housewives XXX free sex", and the other half attempting to be part of some "community" by shooting off half-assed opinions, then I'm sorry, but I think that the right to an opinion is forfeit.
What is it with the net that makes everyone so fucking self-righteous and determined to be nice to everyone else? Are we trying to ignore the real world out there so badly that we have to concoct this sugar-coated fantasy world that we can retreat to? Maybe we would do better to reserve some of that misplaced peace and love for the world outside our Windows where the real problems are, and get some of that pent-up hatred back on the net where it's a little bit safer, cleaner, and at-a-distance.
Do me a favour. The next time you read an ignorant comment in a discussion forum, flame them. Flame them so hard they'll wish they'd never been born. It may hurt, but in the long run, it has to be educational.
*There are exceptions to the nice rule. alt.gothic being a good example. Even though they've gone a bit fluffy recently.
For those who have not played SINK, let me quote Principia Discordia:
by Ala Hera, E.L., N.s.; RAYVILLE APPLE PANTHERS
SINK is played by Discordians and people of much ilk.
PURPOSE: To sink object or an object or a thing... in water or mud or anything you; can sink something in.
RULES: Sinking is allowed in any manner. To date, ten pound chunks of mud were used to sink a tobacco can. It is preferable to have a pit of water or a hole to drop things in. But rivers - bays - gulfs - I dare say even oceans can be used.
TURNS are taken thusly: who somever gets the junk up and in the air first.
DUTY: It shall be the duty of all persons playing "SINK" to help find more objects to sink, once; one object is sunk.
UPON SINKING: The sinked shall yell "I sank it!" or something equally as thoughtful.
NAMING OF OBJECTS is some times desirable. The object is named by the finder of such object and whoever sinks it can say for instance, "I sunk Columbus, Ohio."
I would like to take this opportunity to thank Horab Fibslager for his observation: "I often get the thought in my head and it turns into a train". This is the starting point of my closer look at the game of SINK. The phrase "train of thought" is old, but, as many things old, it holds a certain truth. Ones thoughts often find themselves trapped on a track. Destination unknown.
It is not my intention to drown the essence of SINK in theoretical gibberish or to attempt to lessen the experience by attaching interpretations to the dynamics of the game. However, I do not assume this to be of such magnitude that it will stay in the conscious minds of my readers. Rather I imagine/hope it will sink in, and produce slightly more complex unconscious activity, come your next game of SINK.
"To sink object or an object or a thing..." I found this part sheds light on the inseparability of the Real, but metaphysics of this degree is up to the individual reader to investigate/meditate upon. I will, throughout this article, focus on an interpretation of the "object" as a thought. The path of thoughts, to be more precise.
Our intuitive conception of SINK is throwing rocks in water. We all throw rocks in water at one stage in our life. This is an indication of the universality of SINK. Now the natural progress of a game of SINK is to firstly find an object, then throw/drop/eject said object through air into a different medium.
If we view the object as though there is a clear resemblence of how the mind works. The thought is found within oneself, this is unconscious in origin. Buddhists will go on and on about this. It is either picked up or disregarded. Once it is picked up it may be held in the concious mind. This is the parallell to throwing the object through the air. (The reader of occult interest will notice the meaning of the element air.)
The different mediums that objects can be sunk in are a parallel to all the different social contexts that thoughts are communicated in. Note how most objects will have a clear and describable path while in air, but that randomness and unpredictacility increases in denser mediums. Have you ever had a thought that seemed just right when you had it in your head, but crumbled when you introduced it to others? Some other obvious implications of this transition from air to other mediums, such as water, is increased fluidity. Fluidity often accompanies creativity.
Well, basically there are none. This should not surprise anyone. The rules section goes on to describe how anything may be used for the sinking. This describes the many contexts in which thoughts are communicated, and observes how they are social constructs (this point is made under "rules", which is a social construct indeed). Implied in the wording of "...I dare say even..." is the recommendation to search for new mediums/social contexts in which to expose ones thoughts.
I also note that the rules section is overly "wordy" compared to other sections. It contains many unnecessary words - as most rules.
Well, turns is a residue of over-emphazised order, and should naturally be ignored in a game of this caliber. However the section emphasizes that junk is the name of the game. In other words: Don't worry about what your thoughts are. Let them fly.
Find more objects. Throw new thought into the social context. If you wish to play, honour the game.
For those of you familiar with the consept of "Sleight of mind" (Liber Kaos, Peter Carroll) this makes sense. The mechanisms of the game are played out in a chaotic order (read: disorder) and is as such partaking in the flow of chaos. If you stay in the borderlands between your conscious and unconscious, chaos will have all the better chance of manifesting itself.
Well, naming ones thoughts is another way of keeping track of the thoughts. So there, circle complete. I started out with "train of thought" and ended with keeping track of ones thoughts. The trains seem pretty much on track. Perhaps not on time, but that's another topic altogether.
Ever come up with some truly original thought, and you thought that if only you could write it down or tell someone, that the world might change, or at least you might convince someone to think for a while?
Of course, often times you will forget (or maybe that's just me).
My mind is leaking
And the thought lies within your brain and many things happen none of which seem to relate to your thought.
And then one day, many hours, days, months, even years after, some celebrity/internet person/writer/drunken fool/shizophrenic street person, blurts out your thought for all to hear/read/see.
And then you remember, and all you can think is, "Well, I'm sure I thought of that last Monday" or whathaveyou.
Happens to me all the time.
If my bleedin' mind isn't being slurped by hollywood or the music industry, it's some poor mystic or dictator.
when i was mad i would often wake up and forget my name.
i would ask myself; who am i?
i would localize further.
then i would ask; where am i?
localization would further.
i am here.
in my bed; in my room; in my boarding house; in this city on this planet.
i would awake and go about my routine.
i would see people i knew, but i had forgotten how to interact with them;
the usual routine by which the action of inter action might occur.
i would look at them and ask myself; who are they, would i say hello?
what are the parameters for introduction?
"hey, what's up"
easy but where would this lead to?
what was to come next?
should i talk about the weather?
comment on her new hair colour?
tell her my latest news?
i had none.
this day had been the same as before.
this week the same as before.
nothing different had happened.
i had walked around in circles.
i had woken up, gone to the local hangout place, smoked ciggarettes and joints with the friends i could still interact with, had gone to work, done the job, had breakfast, come home and gone to sleep.
no great adventure.
no strange mishap.
i was stagnating.
localization had become difficult, and i felt great fear when falling asleep.
the side effects from the acid became strongest then, just before oblivion, and i would fight it. would fear it.
i was afraid of what i was doing anyway, losing my
quantifying myself was easy before, or so i had that impression.
but i could not remember clearly.
it was like the waves in a great sea
i vaguely recalled situations with this person, interacting.
but i could not compute, could not recreate.
things had somehow changed.
was she different or was it my self?
i decided it was my self that had changed.
my self had dissolved to many times while conscious.
or i had erased the semantical set i was accustomed to.
it was hard to say. it is even harder to say now.
i no longer see the waves so easily.
but localization is not so strenuous as it was then.
i pondered these things a great deal.
all my thoughts seemed alien though. as if they were someone else's.
as time wore on, i became to delocalize my ego consciously, and without the aid of chemicals. i would simply concentrate on the waves which obscured my vision; my ego would dissipate and my entire being would be the waves, the patterns in the cement. stretching across great stretches of space only a few inches in width, heighth or longtitude.
until my eyes would lose their moistness, and i would blink and resurface into my self again.
i realized after a time the truth of buckminster fuller's expression "i seem to be a verb"
i realized i had leaped across some great chasm, and had forgotten the part of me that come after "i am".
i had to relearn.
i began by removing the i from my self.
in my job as a machine operator in a plastics factory, this was quite easy.
would merely commence the task, a 7 second process, for two hour periods. my self would not assert itself, but rather dissipate. simple; take the product from the bin; remove flash here, here and here. place product on conveyer at appropriate location in space and in appropriate relation and repeat.
no i was necessary.
there was only am.
(i now believe this to have been a state of zen, or some other name in the hindu or buddhist traditions, but not being an ascetic of any of those traditions, i cannot say.)
am would carry on, moving in slightly different circles (i had moved residence to another section of town) but many of the significant points along this circular path would remain the same.
delocalization before sleeping had become less anxious. am did not fear the apparent dissolution so much as the side effects became less apparent.
but interaction was still not effective.
i would still see her, whom i had once easily bantered and flirted with, but
i still could not bring myself to say even hello.
i reasserted into my self, and i became i am again.
i quit my job at the plastics factory no longer being able to and not even wishing to assert the "zen" state any longer. i began temping where i was employed at a large car manufacturing plant, inspecting and repairing parts from a untrustworthy outsourcer. this took twenty minutes from every hour. the other forty minutes, i drank coffee and smoked cigarettes. i also began to interact with my colleagues.
this i realised was easy because i did'nt care what they thought of me. it did not matter to me what they thought or cared about the self i projected. i flirted with obese and ugly women twice and three times my age. and talked about drugs and side-effects with what some people may refer to as white trash. i even had a lengthy discourse with a fellow who although coming from a middle-class family tried to fit into the jet-set crowd.
i did not care.
the semantical set became firmer and more dynamic.
everyone is inherently ignorant. people who point at other people and say "this person or people are ignorant" are even more so ignorant.
inherent ignorance can be proven thusly:
no-one can know absolutely everything. show me a person who knows absolutely everything and that person would not be ignorant.
what do i mean by absolutely everything?
a person who knows everything would have to know what is going on all the time in every part of the universe and everywhere outside of it (if there is an outside to the universe) at all times past present and future.
as the existence of such a person is very unlikely, i must say that everyone is ignorant. people who are aware of their ignorance are slightly less ignorant, but still ignorant nonetheless.
This is a response to "Well, what do ya know?" by Zeno, which was the first Miscellanea article and which I quote: "If a thing is testable it's worth testing.
If a thing isn't testable it's worth ignoring."
These sentences are not testable and hence is, most likely, worth ignoring.
Please do try and pay more attention Zeno.
Indeed, consider this my application to become a member of the Axis of Evil (TM). Let it be known that I, horab fibslager, do knowingly and with full intention of evil doings, plan to develop weapons of mass destruction, and not for the use of political/military deterrant, but for the use solely of evaporating a large
circumference of highly populated area.
Furthermore, I do declare war upon the entire world, since they are all obviously far too corrupt, misleaded and foolish to exist under reasonable pretences of existence.
The only way the world may be spared from my wrath and of the post-nuclear winter, rampant chemical and biological agents which spread over the earth and wipe out all life above the ocean, will be the following:
All nations, militant groups, police departments, army cadets, secret service,
intelligence officers, and heads of state must declare all weapons, from nuclear
weapon to the can of pepper spray.
That all declared weapons must be destroyed and recorded as such, in a fully
proper and accountable manner.
All regimes, military groups, nations and other parties to be mentioned later
will submit to weapons inspectors, and that all the citizens of all the nations
must willingly comply and cooperate with the weapons inspectors.
Every politician must give an oath never to speak in public again, and that
also they will never tell a lie. Exaggerations of the truth are also not permitted.
Every member of a military group must burn the vestiges of their positions,
must ask Mohammed, Jesus and Buddha for their mercy, and must acknowledge
that they are not worthy of such forgiveness.
That all governemnts will dissolve themselves and submit wholly to a simple
international yet locally applicable constitution.
Failure to comply with the articles of this declaration by any member of the world will result in the unilateral bombardment of every trace of humanity upon the face of this lovely planet with every plague, pox and horror known to man. There will be no extended deadlines, no arguments, no debate. There will be only compliance, otherwise, the whole of humanity will be a distant and forgotten memory. You are all in this together.
Lastly the architect of this declaration reserves the right to amend and add to the declaration, requirements, or parties to whom this pertains as he sees fit.
As religions and things like them have ocurred independantly throughout history and across the world its safe to assume they have a purpose (no! don't mention haemorrhoids! shut up about your arse for one minute!). This cannot possibly be the conveyance of information, as the most successful religions seem to centre on patent bollocks, such as "it rains because God opens windows in the sky to let water in", much of which isn't even clearly stated enough to even aspire to being WRONG.
Therefore this purpose must be other than informative: it must serve an emotional or ego need, like that nice man who cuts you up and covers you in bruises and calls you a whore. (That was just an example. And shut up about your goddam arse-grapes already.)
Furthermore it must serve this purpose well, as religious people tend to live longer (true! possibly.) and are infuriatingly sanctimonious and smug.
Therefore we should allow people who wish to partake in this beneficial activity that liberty - but a line must be drawn, as for other spiritually beneficial activities which occur penalties in other realms, stating where this efficacy comes to its end. Some sort of intellectual health-warning, taking up one-third of the cover of any missal, prayer-book, pamphlet, scripture or theological tract in this vein:
"Believing this qualifies you as an idiot
...or words to that effect. Providing people remember to insert the stuff into the correct mental "port" (look SHUT UP OK), and refrain from giving any of it a moments credence, everything should be just fine.