Selected Journals of Kaleb R.

Smith

2002 - 2021

turboswami.livejournal.com
turboswami.livejournal.com
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Contents

1 2002 47
1.1 October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
(2002-10-27 21:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
(2002-10-29 01:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
1.2 November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
(2002-11-01 07:01) - Kitty Meth Zombified - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
(2002-11-02 03:34) - 42nd Hour Awake - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
(2002-11-02 23:57) - dazed as if being thrown - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
(2002-11-04 01:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
(2002-11-05 01:23) - Frustration - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
(2002-11-06 01:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
(2002-11-06 01:56) - beefy and uncreative - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
(2002-11-06 23:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
(2002-11-07 00:49) - Thinking of Dancer’s Dances - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
(2002-11-07 02:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
(2002-11-07 17:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
(2002-11-07 17:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
(2002-11-10 02:33) - flat, focused, outside rejection - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
(2002-11-11 16:29) - Aria - John Cage - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
(2002-11-11 23:30) - Horny and In Want - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
(2002-11-12 02:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
(2002-11-13 02:32) - not alarmed - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
(2002-11-15 02:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
(2002-11-16 01:51) - High after 3 weeks (1week) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
(2002-11-16 01:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
(2002-11-16 02:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
(2002-11-17 16:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
Death – The Hindu Sruti Event (2002-11-21 14:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
(2002-11-23 08:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
(2002-11-23 11:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
(2002-11-25 16:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
(2002-11-25 18:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
(2002-11-27 03:15) - airtight, well sealed - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
1.3 December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
(2002-12-03 01:40) - nullified - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
(2002-12-06 15:31) - Crusty Eyed - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
(2002-12-09 05:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
(2002-12-13 07:26) - seperated, sparkle-eyed - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
3
2 2003 69
2.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
(2003-01-05 04:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
This is not me. I was not there. (2003-01-06 22:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
She kissed me today (2003-01-07 18:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
(2003-01-09 01:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
(2003-01-09 01:50) - Dull Remembrance - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
(2003-01-11 02:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
(2003-01-12 06:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
(2003-01-14 07:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
(2003-01-15 01:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
(2003-01-16 14:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
(2003-01-17 03:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
(2003-01-18 04:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
(2003-01-18 06:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
(2003-01-18 16:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
(2003-01-19 03:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
(2003-01-20 20:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
(2003-01-21 16:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
(2003-01-23 17:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
(2003-01-24 01:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
(2003-01-24 02:14) - Reminiscent of Youth - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
(2003-01-25 03:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
(2003-01-27 01:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
(2003-01-31 02:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
2.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
(2003-02-03 22:37) - FumbleBummingPenisNumbing - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
(2003-02-06 18:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
(2003-02-07 03:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
(2003-02-11 04:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
(2003-02-11 12:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
(2003-02-11 14:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
(2003-02-16 04:52) - Fat - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
(2003-02-18 03:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
(2003-02-20 19:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
New Appreciation For An Old Flavorite (2003-02-21 19:58) - public . . . . . . . . . 94
(2003-02-24 17:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
(2003-02-25 03:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
(2003-02-27 22:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
2.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
(2003-03-10 03:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
(2003-03-12 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
(2003-03-17 20:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
(2003-03-20 01:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
(2003-03-21 15:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
(2003-03-21 16:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
(2003-03-22 06:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
(2003-03-22 16:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
(2003-03-23 16:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
(2003-03-23 16:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
4
 (2003-03-24 05:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
(2003-03-26 01:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
(2003-03-26 19:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
(2003-03-27 03:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
(2003-03-31 20:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
2.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
(2003-04-01 11:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
(2003-04-01 12:00) - screaming LA LA! inside - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
(2003-04-01 17:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
(2003-04-02 19:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
(2003-04-03 01:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
(2003-04-03 18:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
(2003-04-03 20:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
(2003-04-05 04:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
(2003-04-05 21:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
(2003-04-06 04:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
(2003-04-06 05:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
(2003-04-07 17:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
(2003-04-08 05:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
(2003-04-10 02:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
(2003-04-10 04:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
(2003-04-11 20:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
(2003-04-12 03:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
(2003-04-13 05:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
(2003-04-13 05:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
(2003-04-14 07:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
(2003-04-16 17:10) - Gasping - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
(2003-04-18 00:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
(2003-04-18 04:41) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
(2003-04-18 16:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
(2003-04-19 16:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
(2003-04-20 04:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
(2003-04-20 04:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
(2003-04-20 04:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
(2003-04-20 04:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
(2003-04-20 15:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
(2003-04-21 01:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
(2003-04-21 03:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
(2003-04-21 05:26) - awake, asleep (onside) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
ENO On Drugs And Porn (2003-04-21 21:07) - strange, observant, curious - public . 123
(2003-04-22 02:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
(2003-04-22 10:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
(2003-04-23 04:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
(2003-04-23 21:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
(2003-04-24 19:10) - tired, old - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
(2003-04-27 18:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
(2003-04-27 18:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
(2003-04-28 14:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
(2003-04-30 14:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
(2003-04-30 17:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
5
 2.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
(2003-05-02 03:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
(2003-05-08 01:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
A Conversation High (2003-05-10 02:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
(2003-05-11 20:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Inspired by Henry Dave and some random Pond (2003-05-12 15:34) - public . . . 134
Work Your Magic (2003-05-15 01:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
(2003-05-16 17:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
The Long Thought Leaves (Inspired By Psilosibin 7-26-01) (2003-05-18 13:12) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Twenty-One Years Pound Without End In Hindsight (2003-05-21 16:06) - public . 136
You’ve Got Your Good Things And I’ve Got Mine (2003-05-23 04:13) - public . . . 137
Shook when he laughed like a * * * full of * * * (2003-05-24 01:08) - public . . . . 137
From The Ancient Journal Of Madness - 2-5-01 (2003-05-25 01:34) - public . . . . 137
(2003-05-26 00:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
Cover That Blow Hole With Something Dressy Like Plaid (2003-05-26 13:52) - public 138
(2003-05-27 01:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
"I Thought That Kaleb Would Like It" - Jully 1988 (2003-05-27 01:05) - public . . . 138
If you dont love me I don’t know what I’m gunna do! Woo! (2003-05-27 22:14) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
And now I’m Going To...TAKE ME TO YOU (2003-05-28 03:29) - public . . . . . . . 139
Catch Her In THE LIE (2003-05-30 02:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
You’re On Vacation Or Away (2003-05-31 00:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
I wish i could write for real (2003-05-31 21:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
2.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Kaleb Smith, 21, Killed In Car Accident (2003-06-01 03:51) - public . . . . . . . . . 141
This Vent Is Not Large Enough (2003-06-02 02:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
I strike with you more like Religion (I dont have words for your kind of math)
(2003-06-03 00:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
TheInstantDrugPoetryMachine| / [ Imagine night entering you, floating, the tone
coursing through y (2003-06-03 21:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
Hey Pop! Where You Goin’ With.... Hey Pop! (2003-06-05 03:59) - public . . . . . 143
And I’m Wondering Who Could Be Writing This Song... (2003-06-06 11:07) - public 144
US Expected to go to War (2003-06-06 13:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
"But it won’t be with one word; it’ll be with one dot" (2003-06-07 01:53) - public 147
Jesus Is Magic! (2003-06-07 14:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
By The Wind, In (2003-06-08 21:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
I’m A Boy And I’m A Man (2003-06-09 02:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
"Water Me And I Die" *shot glug* (2003-06-09 21:34) - Humbled - public . . . . . . 149
"So, Have You Heard...’SHH!’" - dinophallus (2003-06-10 19:58) - public . . . . . . 150
Nobody But Me. Me, but Nobody (2003-06-12 00:13) - truthfully faced - public . . 152
Rustle Rustle In The Storm Which Comes and Goes (2003-06-12 02:06) - friends 154
Bump Bump, Scrump Your Rum...p (2003-06-12 18:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 158
Seams Not Seen Whilst Inward I Lean- (2003-06-13 03:59) - public . . . . . . . . . 159
Willy, Micky and The Duke (2003-06-15 23:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
(2003-06-16 00:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
"I’ve Tatooed My Brain All The Way" (2003-06-17 01:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . 161
A future to sleuth while prime in our youth (2003-06-17 23:25) - public . . . . . . 162
Surreal Fiction for Three Four Characters (2003-06-18 22:12) - public . . . . . . . 165
Mmm....Other.... (2003-06-18 23:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166
6
 I (in) (2003-06-20 06:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
No Caffeine On The Island (2003-06-21 01:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
Ugliness, Skin Folds, Sloppy Wit, (2003-06-22 02:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
"I’ll Judge You All & Make Damned Sure That No One Judges Me" (2003-06-23 01:23)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
Fatty Mc NumsALot and the Castle of Boober T. (2003-06-24 03:09) - public . . . 171
"...perhaps my brains are old and scrambled." (2003-06-25 14:29) - public . . . . 173
(2003-06-26 20:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Waiting For The Drugs To Take Effect (2003-06-27 07:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . 174
"You are locked into your suffering and your pleasures are the seal. "
(2003-06-27 21:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175
First Love Poem - Inspired by Leonard Cohen (2003-06-28 15:52) - public . . . . . 176
orgyes (2003-06-29 02:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176
"sickey sound of fleshy splitting as I drifted towards a big black hole. "
(2003-06-29 23:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178
2.7 July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
"I Dont Want To Talk About It In There" -Thinky McNoFun (2003-07-03 00:43) - absent
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
(2003-07-03 23:02) - lethargic - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
(2003-07-04 23:25) - uncomfortable - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
"If I open my eyes any wider, no one will be able to see my face. "
(2003-07-09 16:03) - tired - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
Place a scalpel on each seat. Can you please shut of the lights? (2003-07-11 00:22)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
Impromptu Pretending #9 (2003-07-11 13:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Impromptu Scenerio #3 (2003-07-13 14:52) - lazy,wet,empty - public . . . . . . . . 189
"All Men In Each Man" (2003-07-14 02:26) - high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
"That is weird and I was Just Sleeping" (2003-07-15 16:30) - public . . . . . . . . . 191
"I will squirm and laugh..." (2003-07-16 05:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
"ence: I had my clothes ever" (2003-07-16 17:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
"..makes you act like the villiage drunkard in some early Irish novel."
(2003-07-16 23:14) - high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
...Until I know everything that is wrong with me (2003-07-17 23:06) - public . . . 194
My Dad Is A Fucking Wino Who Should Be Put To Sleep (2003-07-19 01:54) - wet -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
(2003-07-19 03:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
7-10-97 - Leary Up My Ass Document (2003-07-21 02:03) - remembering personalities
past - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
The Ignorance Of A Comfortable Mind (2003-07-21 02:11) - fat - public . . . . . . 197
WE ARE ALL MADE ’O’ MUTHAFUCKIN STARS! (2003-07-21 15:09) - on the road to
recovery - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
threshds.ini (2003-07-21 20:49) - high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199
threshds2.ini (2003-07-21 21:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200
(2003-07-24 23:42) - stupid - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
A Life Of Being Laughed At: Bob Hope 1903-2003 (2003-07-29 04:07) - public . . 201
Intensely Optional Cabin Rest (2003-07-30 02:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202
Hand Some To That Girl (2003-07-31 04:08) - drunk - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
2.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
"Ceremony For A Fat Lip" (2003-08-01 01:24) - high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
(2003-08-03 00:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
7
 Bad Journal Entry #3 (2003-08-06 01:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
38 Minutes Later, A Disgruntled Anne Graves (2003-08-07 02:04) - public . . . . 205
PNORPL: They usually ask for it up front so thats where I give it to them
(2003-08-08 02:16) - Returning - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Intention: Intense Attention (2003-08-09 00:33) - Yet Lost - public . . . . . . . . . . 205
Induced Trance Remix #9 (2003-08-10 03:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
"I came in the night" (2003-08-11 05:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
A Chemical In dependancy Is Solving To Aggrevation (2003-08-12 02:15) - public 207
With You There To Help Me (2003-08-13 02:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
The Strut Of A Faliure (2003-08-17 04:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
Bad Journal Entry #4 (2003-08-18 02:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
She Had A Cliched Face (2003-08-19 02:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
To The Late Man: (2003-08-20 04:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
Zen and The Art of ITS GODDAMNED HOT, PAUL! (2003-08-21 22:02) - public . . 211
(2003-08-22 18:46) - High - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
A Swell Of Shifts: Internallity And The Two Sides Of Deficit (2003-08-23 23:07) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
An Optional Subject (2003-08-26 20:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
A Spell For Nothing (2003-08-27 23:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
Possibly To Be Seen In An Upcoming Edition of THE NOISE (2003-08-29 12:46) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
Crystalization! Central Conce(p)ral Concemation Concert Where No Disc Concer-
tion Disses Around Centr (2003-08-29 23:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 215
(2003-08-30 00:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
(2003-08-31 14:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
2.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
For Warm Warbles Laughing Beneath Angry Death Pillows (2003-09-01 00:58) - Drift-
ing - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
Lucid Father Echo’s With In Anger And I Leave (2003-09-02 20:38) - public . . . . 218
The Thinning Of A Bubble’s Surface Tension - The Legitamacy Of The Modern
Shaman (2003-09-02 22:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
"Chewing Hides The Sound" (2003-09-04 02:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219
THE PROGRESS OF ROCK (In Its Entirety) (2003-09-04 19:26) - public . . . . . . . 219
lost (2003-09-05 00:54) - lost - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221
"Love Comes In Spurts" (2003-09-06 03:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221
"Breathin’s a Distraction When You Chatter Away" (2003-09-06 15:49) - empty from
conversation - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
Bad Journal Entry #9 (2003-09-08 00:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
Why Do Men Barbeque? (2003-09-08 21:49) - stupid - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
An Army Of None (2003-09-10 00:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
(2003-09-10 09:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
"Fuck You! I’m A Microwave" (2003-09-11 05:06) - Jagger&A&W - public . . . . . . 225
On The Understanding Of Possiblity (2003-09-12 01:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . 226
(2003-09-14 03:03) - high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
For Raining Without Drinking but Writing (2003-09-14 21:09) - public . . . . . . . 227
Real Journal Entry #1 (2003-09-17 00:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
Vague Fiction #3 - Stairs Of Removal (2003-09-17 18:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . 228
Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Die (2003-09-18 14:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 228
Contracted a Contract with Contractions (2003-09-19 06:05) - public . . . . . . . 229
IQ Test (2003-09-20 16:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
8
 Packet Yearning, Grease To Fingers With Love (2003-09-21 04:32) - public . . . . 230
Posted By Request - Untitled Narrative (2003-09-21 19:25) - public . . . . . . . . 230
(2003-09-23 04:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232
(2003-09-23 05:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
"THUS!" said That Rose (2003-09-23 23:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
"You are the deleted scenes" (2003-09-25 01:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
(2003-09-25 09:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Hippies Of Meijer: The Answers To Face Questions, Unasked (2003-09-30 03:00) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
(2003-09-30 18:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
2.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
Honest Bullshitting With Footnotes and Examples (2003-10-01 02:33) - public . . 235
Rehashing Post-Tension (2003-10-02 01:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236
(2003-10-03 04:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
(2003-10-03 05:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
Feedback Urgently Needed (2003-10-05 03:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
Useless Descriptive Play (2003-10-06 04:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238
Feedback on My New Strange Gothic Doom Synth Direction ? (2003-10-06 04:47) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
REL210: Essay On Inner-World (2003-10-06 16:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
The Science Of Progress: A Wave To A Shake (2003-10-06 21:41) - public . . . . . 240
(2003-10-06 22:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Morning Resolving (2003-10-07 09:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
Rate Change Along Scale: A Thought Experiment (2003-10-07 22:40) - public . . 242
(2003-10-08 00:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243
"Do I Look Like I feel Weird?" *explosion* (2003-10-08 03:18) - public . . . . . . . 243
(2003-10-09 02:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243
Bad Journal Entry #11 (2003-10-11 04:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
(2003-10-12 05:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
The Drug of Age (2003-10-13 04:32) - greasy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
(2003-10-14 02:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
No Sleep Fiction_"The Waiting Prisoner" (2003-10-14 04:46) - public . . . . . . . . 246
(2003-10-15 04:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246
No Sleep_"The Passion Play" (2003-10-15 11:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
NO SLEEP_"Sampling Rate In Hertz" (2003-10-16 05:07) - VERY TIRED - public . . 249
2C-I Thought (2003-10-19 23:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
Code Watch (2003-10-21 04:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
(2003-10-21 17:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
The Relative Jet Of Nut/Mother (2003-10-22 02:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
(2003-10-23 00:18) - stupid - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
(2003-10-23 00:18) - uselessly musical - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
The Blending Session (2003-10-25 05:33) - creative - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Fearful Of My Angel’s Response (2003-10-26 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253
But Do I Hear What You’re Saying? (2003-10-27 15:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 253
6 Doctors Ate The Evidence (2003-10-27 21:02) - memorializational - public . . . . 253
Psychedelic Wisdom: One Week Later (2003-10-28 07:21) - Tired Of Awareness - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
9 Days Later (2003-10-29 03:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
(2003-10-31 04:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
2.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
9
 The Strange and The Homeless (2003-11-01 09:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
(2003-11-02 05:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
Get Yer Yah-Yah’s Out (2003-11-03 09:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
(2003-11-04 03:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259
Anthrosexual Revolation: The Modernist Evolution (2003-11-04 20:18) - public . 259
(2003-11-05 00:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
Some Sensational Afterglowing - The Second Day (2003-11-06 07:30) - public . . 265
Further Exploits (2003-11-07 06:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
(2003-11-10 04:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 266
WTF, Uncle Buck? John Candy’s Fine and Dandy. (2003-11-10 11:33) - public . . 267
(2003-11-11 02:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267
(2003-11-12 06:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267
(2003-11-14 01:55) - drunk reminding - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268
(2003-11-16 02:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268
Problems with My Face (2003-11-16 16:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268
(2003-11-18 01:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
SIGN UP NOW!!! (2003-11-18 17:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
Subconscious Representation Of Pictures Of Laura At A Farmhouse In Autumn
(2003-11-19 01:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 270
An Old Day Rising (2003-11-20 03:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271
Three To One Evens (2003-11-22 17:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271
done runnin’ (2003-11-23 03:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272
(2003-11-23 20:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272
(2003-11-24 04:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
(2003-11-25 03:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
Moons Over My Hammy (2003-11-26 05:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
2.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274
(2003-12-01 03:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274
(2003-12-01 17:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274
(2003-12-02 02:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275
(2003-12-02 18:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275
(2003-12-03 00:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 276
Distortion Of Female Form - Series One (2003-12-03 18:58) - public . . . . . . . . 276
(2003-12-04 17:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
(2003-12-05 03:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
(2003-12-05 21:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
(2003-12-07 04:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 278
(2003-12-07 16:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
(2003-12-08 04:51) - tired with miles to go - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
(2003-12-08 14:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280
A Wrinkling Leaves Cold (2003-12-09 06:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280
The Spirit Of Abandonment (2003-12-11 05:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281
Oh God! I threw Up On A Rapist... (2003-12-15 18:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 283
(2003-12-16 03:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283
Intra-Body Experience (2003-12-16 10:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284
(2003-12-16 10:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
(2003-12-16 13:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
(2003-12-16 16:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286
(2003-12-16 18:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287
Alarming Evidence (2003-12-16 19:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288
10
 (2003-12-18 22:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 289
I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! (2003-12-19 23:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
(2003-12-20 02:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 292
(2003-12-21 04:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293
(2003-12-22 01:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 294
(2003-12-23 00:28) - Balding - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295
Claws on Keyboard (2003-12-24 01:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295
(2003-12-25 02:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296
(2003-12-26 04:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297
(2003-12-26 08:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 298
(2003-12-27 04:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 299
The Subtlely-Divine Proprietarization (2003-12-29 02:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . 300
(2003-12-29 10:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303
(2003-12-30 02:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303
(2003-12-30 23:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303
(2003-12-31 00:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 304
(2003-12-31 05:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 304
(2003-12-31 05:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305
(2003-12-31 07:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 306
(2003-12-31 22:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308

3 2004 311
3.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311
(2004-01-01 01:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311
(2004-01-01 02:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311
(2004-01-01 20:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312
(2004-01-01 21:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312
(2004-01-02 06:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313
(2004-01-02 16:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313
(2004-01-03 04:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 314
(2004-01-03 09:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 314
(2004-01-04 03:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315
"Subject: Re: TVLWW, soul leaps momentarily " (2004-01-05 01:00) - public . . . 316
(2004-01-05 05:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 318
(2004-01-06 06:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 318
Look What I Found. I’m a Sneaky Little Bitch. (2004-01-06 07:27) - public . . . . 319
(2004-01-07 02:10) - freshly emptied - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320
(2004-01-08 06:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321
(2004-01-09 05:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 322
(2004-01-10 06:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 322
(2004-01-11 04:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323
(2004-01-13 02:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323
(2004-01-13 23:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324
(2004-01-13 23:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324
(2004-01-16 03:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 325
"He’s been a medium all his life" (2004-01-17 05:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 325
Nixon and The King (of unorthodox capitalization) (2004-01-17 15:05) - public . . 326
(2004-01-18 00:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 326
Letter To Professor acheyne@watarts.uwaterloo.ca (2004-01-18 05:35) - public . 328
(2004-01-19 21:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328
11
 (2004-01-20 02:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328
(2004-01-20 06:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329
(2004-01-20 18:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329
(2004-01-21 03:43) - racist/balding - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 330
(2004-01-22 03:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331
Question Authority! (2004-01-22 17:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331
(2004-01-24 04:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 332
(2004-01-25 13:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333
YOU Can Help! Do It NOW! (2004-01-25 15:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 334
(2004-01-28 03:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 335
(2004-01-29 02:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 336
(2004-01-30 00:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337
(2004-01-31 03:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338
3.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339
(2004-02-01 04:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339
(2004-02-02 03:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 340
(2004-02-03 04:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341
(2004-02-04 01:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 342
(2004-02-06 03:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 342
Original Version Lost (2004-02-07 21:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 342
(2004-02-10 03:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 344
(2004-02-11 02:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 345
(2004-02-12 03:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 346
(2004-02-13 03:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 347
(2004-02-14 21:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349
(2004-02-15 05:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349
(2004-02-16 02:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 350
(2004-02-17 02:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351
(2004-02-17 23:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352
(2004-02-17 23:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 353
(2004-02-19 02:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354
(2004-02-20 02:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354
(2004-02-21 03:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 355
(2004-02-22 04:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 355
(2004-02-22 04:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 356
(2004-02-23 02:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 356
(2004-02-24 03:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 357
(2004-02-24 22:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 357
(2004-02-25 04:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 358
(2004-02-26 04:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 358
3.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 358
(2004-03-01 02:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 358
(2004-03-01 23:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 359
(2004-03-03 01:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 359
(2004-03-03 01:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 360
(2004-03-04 02:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 360
(2004-03-04 17:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361
(2004-03-05 04:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361
(2004-03-05 21:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 362
Further Developments in "Deep Touching" (2004-03-09 21:20) - public . . . . . . 362
12
 (2004-03-11 03:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363
(2004-03-11 17:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 364
(2004-03-12 04:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365
(2004-03-13 02:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 366
(2004-03-13 03:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 366
(2004-03-14 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 366
(2004-03-16 01:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367
(2004-03-17 02:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 368
3 Abstract Pieces (2004-03-19 05:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 368
(2004-03-20 22:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 370
(2004-03-23 02:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 370
(2004-03-23 18:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371
(2004-03-24 18:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371
I’m On The Radio! Woo! (2004-03-26 05:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371
Amazing vivid dream experiment! (2004-03-26 15:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 372
The Effects of Introversion Early Introversion On Later Intellect? (2004-03-30 01:52)
- High (after 4th week) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 373
Dark Filtering (2004-03-30 02:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
(2004-03-31 02:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
3.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 376
Subotnick Screams (2004-04-01 02:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 376
EVP and Emotional Intensity (2004-04-01 02:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 376
(2004-04-01 03:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 376
(2004-04-02 05:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 377
(2004-04-04 05:03) - 1st 2cI (Since Winter Break) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378
(2004-04-04 08:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 379
(2004-04-05 06:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 380
(2004-04-05 09:00) - awake - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 380
(2004-04-06 08:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 381
(2004-04-09 04:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 381
Distortion Of Female Form - Aniation 1 (2004-04-10 13:00) - public . . . . . . . . . 381
(2004-04-11 03:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 382
(2004-04-14 02:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 382
My new Song (2004-04-15 13:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 383
September In Reverse (2004-04-15 14:08) - curious - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 384
(2004-04-18 06:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 385
Cyber Sex Gone Wrong (2004-04-18 16:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 386
NOISE GUAR-ANT-EED TO MAKE YOU WANT TO PULL OUT YOUR DANG TEETHS!
(2004-04-20 23:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 387
(2004-04-21 02:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 388
(2004-04-21 10:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 388
(2004-04-21 10:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 389
Mass Fiction (2004-04-21 18:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 389
(2004-04-22 22:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 390
(2004-04-25 02:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 390
(2004-04-26 00:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 392
Underground Hallway Around The World (2004-04-27 00:12) - C Flat - public . . . 392
(2004-04-30 23:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 393
3.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 393
1min48sec of Critical Attention? (2004-05-01 05:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 393
13
 (2004-05-01 05:46) - High (2 weeks) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 394
(2004-05-01 19:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395
(2004-05-06 04:29) - not high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395
(2004-05-07 03:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 396
(2004-05-10 01:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 397
(2004-05-11 02:28) - High- One Day - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 397
(2004-05-11 03:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 398
(2004-05-12 02:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 399
Dirt (2004-05-13 02:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 399
(2004-05-13 03:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 401
(2004-05-16 02:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 401
(2004-05-17 00:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 401
(2004-05-19 05:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 402
(2004-05-19 05:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 402
(2004-05-20 22:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 403
(2004-05-22 02:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 403
(2004-05-24 00:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 404
(2004-05-24 01:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 404
(2004-05-25 01:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 405
Subtle Phases of Matter (2004-05-27 02:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 406
3.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407
(2004-06-04 23:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407
(2004-06-06 03:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 408
(2004-06-08 01:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 408
(2004-06-08 03:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 409
(2004-06-11 00:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 410
(2004-06-12 02:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 410
(2004-06-13 02:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 410
(2004-06-15 02:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 411
(2004-06-17 02:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 411
(2004-06-18 05:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 413
3.7 July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414
(2004-07-24 04:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414
(2004-07-25 03:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414
(2004-07-25 03:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414
(2004-07-29 03:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 415
(2004-07-30 01:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 415
3.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 415
(2004-08-07 04:17) - writing - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 415
(2004-08-07 04:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 416
(2004-08-11 02:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 416
(2004-08-14 05:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 416
(2004-08-16 02:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 417
(2004-08-17 05:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 418
(2004-08-20 02:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 419
(2004-08-22 03:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 419
Providing Proof For The Existence of the Residual Self (2004-08-25 04:24) - public 421
Unresolved Issues (2004-08-26 21:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421
3.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 422
(2004-09-03 03:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 422
14
 (2004-09-04 02:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 423
(2004-09-06 02:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 423
(2004-09-09 04:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 423
(2004-09-13 04:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 424
(2004-09-13 04:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 424
(2004-09-15 02:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 424
(2004-09-17 06:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 425
(2004-09-18 19:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426
(2004-09-19 04:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426
(2004-09-22 03:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426
(2004-09-27 06:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 427
3.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 427
Song Sung by David Byrne In An Amish Fence Dream (2004-10-03 15:20) - public 427
(2004-10-06 15:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 427
Lyrics For Something (2004-10-10 06:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 428
!! (2004-10-15 05:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 428
(2004-10-16 21:59) - unhappy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 429
(2004-10-27 06:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 429
(2004-10-29 02:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 430
(2004-10-29 22:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 431
Of The Dark And It’s Wisdom (2004-10-30 01:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 432
3.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 433
Ego: Defined As The Social Self (2004-11-06 04:14) - fluid - public . . . . . . . . . 433
I Dont Want To Write About My Night In Jail (2004-11-09 03:19) - tired - public . . 434
(2004-11-10 04:34) - motherly - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 435
(2004-11-12 04:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 436
(2004-11-12 15:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 437
(2004-11-13 05:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 437
Inward Attention And Defining Sanity (2004-11-13 09:57) - public . . . . . . . . . 437
(2004-11-15 03:04) - drunk - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 439
(2004-11-16 06:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 439
Letter To Parapsychologist (2004-11-19 00:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 440
(2004-11-20 07:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 442
(2004-11-21 02:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 443
Chest Convulsions And Their Undercurrents (2004-11-25 06:21) - muscle spasms -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 444
Look Maw, No Brains! (2004-11-26 18:05) - stupid - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 445
Social Bouyancy - April 01, 2000 (2004-11-28 03:04) - Self-Critical - public . . . . . 452
Trouble in BrainLand: The Curse Of The Spiral Lesion (2004-11-29 15:33) - public 453
The Woman In White (2004-11-30 01:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 454
(2004-11-30 02:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 456
3.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 457
(2004-12-02 05:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 457
(2004-12-05 06:08) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 458
(2004-12-05 06:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 458
(2004-12-05 07:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 459
(2004-12-07 06:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 460
(2004-12-08 03:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 460
(2004-12-11 00:59) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 461
(2004-12-14 08:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 461
15
 Subconscious Perception and The Out-Of-Body Experience (Part 1)
(2004-12-16 04:17) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 462
(2004-12-17 21:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 463
(2004-12-17 23:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 464
(2004-12-28 23:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 465
(2004-12-31 03:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 466

4 2005 467
4.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 467
(2005-01-03 01:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 467
(2005-01-04 03:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 467
(2005-01-09 01:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 468
(2005-01-14 01:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 468
(2005-01-17 01:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 468
Some Old, Unused Thoughts To A Stranger (2005-01-18 09:30) - transparent - public 469
(2005-01-21 04:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 470
(2005-01-22 03:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 470
4.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 471
(2005-02-14 13:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 471
The Chinatown Slide (2005-02-15 11:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 471
(2005-02-18 01:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 472
(2005-02-19 00:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473
Which Drug Is Right For YOU? (2005-02-22 05:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473
(2005-02-24 14:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 474
4.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 474
(2005-03-06 04:31) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 474
Where’s My Damned Hammer!? (2005-03-07 03:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 475
(2005-03-08 04:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 475
What is spiritual "bad breath"? (2005-03-09 04:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
(2005-03-10 21:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
(2005-03-17 06:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
(2005-03-20 04:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
(2005-03-26 04:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 476
Black Centipede (2005-03-31 23:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 477
4.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 478
(2005-04-02 22:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 478
(2005-04-06 01:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 478
Pale Man (2005-04-14 02:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 479
The Afterglow Of Martha (2005-04-15 03:05) - confused - public . . . . . . . . . . . 480
(2005-04-17 02:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481
(2005-04-19 21:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481
Residual Class, Revisited (2005-04-20 17:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 482
4.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 482
Two Rail Peaches (2005-05-01 04:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 482
Bwaaa Ha Ha! (2005-05-12 04:02) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 484
(2005-05-12 17:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 485
(2005-05-14 04:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 485
The Salty Dog Resides Yonder - April 30th, 2005 (2005-05-18 01:24) - public . . . 485
Gosling (2005-05-18 23:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 486
(2005-05-18 23:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 486
16
 (2005-05-19 00:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 487
(2005-05-19 01:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 487
(2005-05-24 04:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 488
A Rest From Rational Fear - 12-30-2003 (2005-05-25 17:53) - public . . . . . . . . 488
4.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 489
(2005-06-09 22:20) - Mitochondrian Trance - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 489
My Trip To Minnesota (2005-06-22 02:50) - greasy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 490
The Well On Church Hill Spouts For Her (2005-06-25 05:06) - public . . . . . . . . 491
(2005-06-25 05:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 492
Throw Away Children (2005-06-25 20:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 493
Bake For One Decade At 250 Micrograms (2005-06-26 14:42) - rocking - public . . 493
(2005-06-27 03:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495
4.7 July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495
(2005-07-08 03:45) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495
4.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 496
Sexy Ebola Pants (2005-08-07 02:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 496
(2005-08-08 17:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 497
(2005-08-12 19:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 497
Away Game (2005-08-22 02:04) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 498
(2005-08-25 03:37) - streaming cold - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 499
(2005-08-27 03:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 499
(2005-08-31 04:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 501
4.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 502
My Friend, Cherry: A Real Professional (2005-09-06 03:01) - private . . . . . . . . 502
Learning To Extract A Growing Claw (2005-09-23 21:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . 504
(2005-09-30 21:47) - seemingly brittle - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 505
4.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 506
(2005-10-07 20:51) - crying at work - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 506
(2005-10-12 21:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 506
(2005-10-14 00:07) - IM w/ Coming To Bed - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 507
(2005-10-21 04:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 507
4.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 508
(2005-11-02 22:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 508
(2005-11-04 21:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 509
Hall Watermark Of Not Sleep (2005-11-10 21:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 510
(2005-11-10 22:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 510
First the face, then the eyes (2005-11-11 16:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 511
(2005-11-11 22:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 512
(2005-11-11 22:41) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 512
(2005-11-18 21:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 513
The Ceremony of The Bull (2005-11-19 20:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 514
(2005-11-23 18:01) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 514
(2005-11-26 22:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 515
4.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 515
The Selves Reside (2005-12-01 05:16) - life changing - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 515
(2005-12-12 15:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 516
After The Zombies (2005-12-15 14:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 517
(2005-12-23 05:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 517
Dream Journal #4 (2005-12-25 04:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 518
"Sleep Blade" - Dream Journal #2 - 9/28/05 (2005-12-25 04:12) - public . . . . . . 518
17
5 2006 519
5.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 519
Pretending Again (2006-01-02 19:04) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 519
(2006-01-06 06:10) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 519
(2006-01-20 03:08) - Wishing I was Being Dramatic - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 520
(2006-01-22 01:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 520
(2006-01-27 18:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 521
Beyond The Stream’s Edge (2006-01-28 18:37) - liberated - private . . . . . . . . . 521
See Men’s Stall, Ground Floor; Wells Hall, East Lansing, MI (2006-01-30 04:51) -
friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 523
600 Free Movies (2006-01-31 04:39) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 524
5.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 524
(2006-02-01 08:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 524
Forge aught’n Forms (2006-02-02 07:05) - waiting - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 524
Sensitivity Potential: The Gift of the Bright Eyed (2006-02-03 04:17) - exhausted -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 525
SHAMANISTIC SONGS OF ROMAN ESTRADA (2006-02-03 08:51) - public . . . . . . 526
HEY POP! Where You....HEY POP! (2006-02-03 18:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 527
I Still Have Songs On MSU’s Server (2006-02-03 19:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 528
(2006-02-04 09:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 528
Ahhh...McDonel Hall (2006-02-14 22:39) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 529
(2006-02-23 14:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 531
Ten Maps of Sardonic Wit (2006-02-25 02:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 531
From A Recent Discussion Concerning Dimensions (2006-02-28 16:00) - public . 532
5.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 533
From Scrap of Paper Found In My Summer Coat (2006-03-02 01:06) - public . . . 533
Can You Hear My Voice? (2006-03-05 05:18) - drunk - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 533
Swedish Pasteries Are The Baby Jesus (2006-03-05 05:18) - less drunk - public . . 533
I’m Moving To New York (2006-03-07 02:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 534
"You Don’t Yourself Until Now From Tomorrow" (I closed as soon as opened the
door) (2006-03-08 00:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 534
MP3s FREE: The Nasty Little Girl Habit (2006-03-08 17:24) - Unhealthy Grin - public 535
Terror Is Disorienting To A Translator (2006-03-11 03:09) - Slavic - public . . . . . . 535
I Am The Family Shirt, Purchased. (2006-03-12 05:23) - McDonald’s - public . . . . 536
"The Joyous Cosmology" - Alan Watts (2006-03-15 03:11) - respect revived - public 537
(2006-03-17 03:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 538
(2006-03-18 04:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 538
(2006-03-26 18:35) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 539
Creepy kids and redneck giddy ditties. (2006-03-27 14:36) - public . . . . . . . . 539
Light Dream Amid Fresh Prince (2006-03-28 01:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 539
Pediatric Dermatopathology “Cases of the Month” - September 2003
(2006-03-28 08:21) - Winky - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 540
(2006-03-29 01:55) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 540
Consciousness And Its Levels (2006-03-31 05:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 540
5.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 541
The Genealogy Of Divinity (2006-04-06 00:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 541
Songs I Sang (reel purdy like!) (2006-04-08 15:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 541
(2006-04-08 15:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 542
"Food Should Be Made With Butter and Love" (2006-04-14 23:49) - public . . . . 542
(2006-04-19 03:18) - Ritalin - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 543
18
 The Roots of His Soul (2006-04-24 00:13) - day after - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 545
Skit Brain (2006-04-24 02:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 546
Music For James (2006-04-24 03:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 546
Latest Scientific Research Says "Woman, Git In The Kitchen And Make Meah Sam-
mach!" (2006-04-24 22:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 547
(2006-04-27 02:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 547
5.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 548
Automatic Writing #4 [Dream Journal - 04/19/06] (2006-05-03 06:04) - empty - public 548
Dream Journal #5 [02/27/06] (2006-05-04 03:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 549
(2006-05-05 05:52) - drunk - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 549
The Bloody Needles In The Church Bathroom (2006-05-09 05:38) - public . . . . . 550
Hospitality’s Pit (2006-05-10 14:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 550
(2006-05-12 05:55) - Hot Dirt Milking - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 551
The Good Times Are Lost (2006-05-14 02:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 551
Powerful Charcoal (2006-05-15 21:28) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 553
By Request: Inland Finland Indians (2006-05-16 02:52) - preparing - public . . . . 553
The Demon’s Hand Grows Within Me (2006-05-17 01:14) - afraid - public . . . . . 554
(2006-05-18 06:07) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 555
(2006-05-20 20:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 555
5.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 556
Bulk Entry #1 (2006-06-04 02:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 556
Bulk Entry #2 (2006-06-14 02:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 557
(2006-06-15 20:19) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 559
Skit Form: Role-Assigned Improvisation (2006-06-17 04:01) - public . . . . . . . . 560
(2006-06-17 04:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 561
"Madness" Journal - June 1999 (2006-06-17 19:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 562
Gag and Barf! (2006-06-19 00:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 563
The Knife And the Carcass (2006-06-23 02:50) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 564
Forgotten Saved Draft? (2006-06-25 04:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 564
Psycho-Logic and The Mysterious Mexican (2006-06-25 04:11) - public . . . . . . 564
Suggestions To The Sea (2006-06-25 04:11) - high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 566
The Body Of Bobula (2006-06-27 02:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 567
The Belly Flop (2006-06-27 02:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 567
5.7 July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 568
The effect of psychedelics on the mind... (2006-07-12 02:27) - throbbing chest, not
heart - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 568
The Appearance Of Sickness (2006-07-12 03:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 569
For today’s very strong music... (2006-07-12 03:26) - residing - public . . . . . . . 569
Further Exploits (2006-07-13 03:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 570
5.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 570
Spring 2003 01 (2006-08-03 23:13) - dying - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 570
Spring 2003 02 (2006-08-03 23:15) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 576
(2006-08-06 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 588
The Mouse That Raged (2006-08-07 03:14) - not so good - public . . . . . . . . . . 589
The Sons Of The Forgotten (2006-08-07 14:49) - weak - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 589
Recollection (2006-08-08 03:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 590
Halfpipe Of Expression (2006-08-17 16:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 591
Biological basis for creativity linked to mental illness (2006-08-20 22:20) - not hyper-
sensitive - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 592
Ernst Haeckel: Die Radiolarien - Berlin, 1862 (2006-08-22 00:07) - public . . . . . 593
19
 (2006-08-27 22:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 594
5.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 595
The Astrological Statistics (2006-09-02 03:22) - high - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 595
(2006-09-04 00:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 595
The More-Recent Resurrection (2006-09-04 01:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 596
SPAM Email Entitled "Right Said" (2006-09-09 11:09) - appreciative - public . . . . 596
Ode To Colonoscopy (2006-09-09 12:35) - healthy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 596
Disaster Remains Locked (2006-09-09 12:49) - cleaner - public . . . . . . . . . . . 597
Negative (2006-09-09 13:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 597
Positive (2006-09-09 13:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 598
(2006-09-28 23:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 598
(2006-09-28 23:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 598
(2006-09-30 02:54) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 599
5.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 599
The Science of Premonition (2006-10-01 00:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 599
A Report From The Old Office (2006-10-14 00:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 601
(2006-10-14 01:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 601
Transit In Trance (2006-10-21 07:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 602
I Sing To The Archives (2006-10-23 05:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 602
(2006-10-25 06:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 602
(2006-10-27 07:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 603
(2006-10-28 10:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 603
IMPORTANT DOWNLOAD (2006-10-30 09:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 604
5.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 605
(2006-11-06 05:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 605
(2006-11-07 06:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 605
(2006-11-10 06:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 606
(2006-11-10 07:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 606
(2006-11-11 06:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 607
Flying Is Not Easy (2006-11-11 12:16) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 607
Flying Is Not Easy (2006-11-11 12:35) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 608
(2006-11-11 20:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 609
(2006-11-15 07:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 609
Versions Of Slumber (2006-11-16 17:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 609
The Raconteurs (2006-11-21 00:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 610
(2006-11-21 11:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 610
! (2006-11-22 00:18) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 611
(2006-11-22 00:40) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 613
(2006-11-22 01:36) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 613
(2006-11-26 23:48) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 614
5.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 614
(2006-12-01 02:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 614
A Stream Of Wolves (2006-12-13 22:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 615
Long Cine Numbing (2006-12-21 03:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 615
The Joyous Epidemic (2006-12-22 08:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 615
Physicality, Consciousness & The Electro-Magnetic Spectrum (2006-12-23 08:33) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 616

6 2007 617
6.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 617
20
 (2007-01-01 21:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 617
The Voice To Say It In (2007-01-02 08:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 617
Eine Montage von Camille Flammarion für sein Werk "L’Astronomie populäire", das
1880 erschien (2007-01-03 02:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 617
(2007-01-06 01:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 618
My first band was named "PapaGayos’ Morbid Serbo-Croatian Persuasion"
(2007-01-17 00:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 619
(2007-01-19 01:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 619
The effect of key meditative states on brainwave and neurona-environmental
charge ambience. (2007-01-23 10:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 620
Tell Mama You Love Her....NOW! (2007-01-24 02:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 621
Scarf Up Brand Video Dump (2007-01-28 10:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 622
(2007-01-30 04:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 622
The Pinworm Fears Light (2007-01-31 01:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 623
6.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 624
(2007-02-01 03:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 624
I Wish My Doors Were Always Open (2007-02-05 07:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . 625
Burt Reynolds Lives Like a Princess (2007-02-06 04:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 625
Loose Ideas Needing Active Focus (2007-02-08 12:56) - 1 week interval - public . . 626
The Most Selfish Shave (2007-02-12 04:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 628
(2007-02-15 15:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 629
March 20th, 2003 (2007-02-15 21:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 630
(2007-02-17 04:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 630
(2007-02-17 04:59) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 631
"Oujwer" (2007-02-18 07:14) - empty - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 631
(2007-02-19 03:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 631
(2007-02-20 03:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 632
6.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 632
(2007-03-02 03:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 632
The 3rd/3rd Portion of "Notes of Notes" (2007-03-03 06:23) - public . . . . . . . . 633
"Notes on Notes: The Making Of ’Flame Bleeding Stallions’" (2007-03-04 02:16) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 634
The 2nd 3rd - "Notes On Notes" (2007-03-04 02:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 636
(2007-03-04 06:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 639
(2007-03-05 03:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 639
(2007-03-06 16:49) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 640
The Spectrum of Energetic Selfhood (2007-03-15 06:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . 640
(2007-03-16 04:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 641
Animal Neglect (2007-03-16 09:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 642
"What Happened? He Seemed So Bright...back then." 8-10-03 (2007-03-16 09:38) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 642
(2007-03-18 08:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 643
(2007-03-19 07:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 644
(2007-03-21 08:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 644
(2007-03-28 04:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 645
6.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 645
Overheard In New York City (2007-04-10 02:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 645
The Cavern Of Webs (2007-04-23 05:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 645
For The Young Who Want To (2007-04-25 01:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 646
Cudighi: Eat It, Shut Up. (2007-04-26 05:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 647
21
 6.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 648
The Sea That Hides (2007-05-02 17:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 648
(2007-05-10 03:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 648
For Only Anal Sex Shall Keep You Pure (2007-05-10 08:20) - public . . . . . . . . . 648
Inspiration (2007-05-11 02:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 650
(2007-05-17 04:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 650
(2007-05-17 20:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 651
(2007-05-22 04:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 651
(2007-05-27 21:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 651
(2007-05-30 04:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 652
6.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 652
(2007-06-03 02:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 652
Things I Know About And Am Willing To Share (2007-06-04 05:00) - public . . . . 653
(2007-06-11 03:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 653
Prepare, World, To Make A Place (2007-06-16 00:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 654
(2007-06-16 01:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 654
All Summer Returns With (2007-06-29 00:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 655
Subtle Field Theory (2007-06-29 00:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 655
(2007-06-29 00:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656
(2007-06-29 00:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656
Internal Determinism (2007-06-29 00:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656
6.7 July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 657
(2007-07-01 21:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 657
(2007-07-06 01:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 657
The Story Of The Season (2007-07-06 01:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 658
(2007-07-06 01:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 658
(2007-07-06 01:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 659
Seniors Are The Big Kids (2007-07-26 02:55) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 659
(2007-07-26 02:58) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 660
6.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 660
(2007-08-23 17:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 660
6.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 661
Expeditions in China... (2007-09-02 00:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 661
(2007-09-08 11:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 661
Excerpt from "The Autobiography of Nikola Tesla" (2007-09-09 00:34) - public . . 662
Your Wife Is Dead And You Still Suck (2007-09-09 12:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . 664
Drives Like A Dream Only (2007-09-11 04:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 664
(2007-09-17 02:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 665
(2007-09-17 07:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 665
We Have Dreams Too, Matt (2007-09-17 21:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 666
(2007-09-18 09:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 667
There are Teachers, and Then There Are Educators (2007-09-21 09:50) - public . 667
(2007-09-22 13:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 667
Arctarus and the Cave of Mushroom Cloud Escape (2007-09-22 13:59) - public . 668
(2007-09-25 09:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 669
I Know A Man. He Lives My Life. (2007-09-27 08:38) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . 669
(2007-09-27 12:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 671
(2007-09-29 12:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 671
(2007-09-29 14:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 672
6.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 672
22
 (2007-10-01 03:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 672
(2007-10-01 12:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 672
Here Are Some Music (2007-10-02 09:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 673
(2007-10-02 13:46) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 673
(2007-10-06 04:54) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 674
(2007-10-07 11:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 674
NASA Videos: Entities Emerging From Unseen Spectrums (2007-10-07 13:26) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 674
Travel Adventure! (2007-10-09 05:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 676
Defining The Variable of Attention (2007-10-10 13:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 676
(2007-10-12 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 677
(2007-10-12 21:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 678
The Turn Of Potential (2007-10-13 10:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 678
(2007-10-13 11:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 679
(2007-10-13 11:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 679
(2007-10-17 10:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 679
(2007-10-20 12:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 680
(2007-10-21 11:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 681
Fuck Motherfuckin New York...Fucking Fuck! (2007-10-24 06:35) - public . . . . . 681
Hi. I’m A Chinese History Teacher. (2007-10-24 08:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 681
(2007-10-25 10:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 683
6.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 683
10 Random Facts About China (2007-11-09 11:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 683
"All That Sex I’ve Been Meaning To Get Around To Having" (2007-11-09 12:04) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 684
Redecorate Your Home With HATE! (2007-11-23 23:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 684
(2007-11-24 15:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 686
Sharing is Caring is A Slow Downward Tug (2007-11-25 12:20) - public . . . . . . 687
(2007-11-30 13:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 688
(2007-11-30 13:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 689
6.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 689
(2007-12-04 03:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 689
(2007-12-08 12:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 690
Big Eddie’s Song (2007-12-09 09:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 690
Noise noise noise (2007-12-12 14:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 691
__EBOOKS__ *for download* (2007-12-13 11:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 691
(2007-12-16 22:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 691
OVAL - 94 Diskont (2007-12-17 22:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 693
Italian Prog - - - 100% RDA (2007-12-19 11:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 693

7 2008 695
7.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 695
(2008-01-06 11:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 695
(2008-01-06 11:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 695
Listening For The 5 o’clock Rush (2008-01-07 05:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 696
(2008-01-07 19:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 697
(2008-01-13 12:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 697
(2008-01-13 12:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 698
Please, PLEASE...Fucking Test Me (2008-01-18 17:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 699
A Wonderful Recipe I Found (2008-01-31 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 702
23
 7.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 702
Intraterrestrial Intelligence: The Rationale For Inverting SETI (2008-02-04 09:11) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 702
Abraham, The Jew. For Jimmy, The Jew. (2008-02-04 10:25) - public . . . . . . . . 704
DEMONIC POSSESSION IN CHINA (2008-02-04 10:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 704
True Myths We Are (2008-02-07 02:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 705
My Mystic Indian Neighbor, The Brahmin (2008-02-07 02:20) - public . . . . . . . 706
Gravitational Model of Attention (2008-02-07 15:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 707
(2008-02-07 16:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 709
DMT - Created By Our Pineal Gland (2008-02-07 16:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 709
Consensus of Truth (2008-02-08 12:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 710
Agglutination: The Spaghetti Scene In ’Seven’ (2008-02-08 13:26) - public . . . . 713
From "ORAL ENGLISH 201 - LESSON NOTES" (2008-02-08 13:30) - public . . . . . 713
From "ORAL ENGLISH 201 - LESSON NOTES" (2008-02-08 13:30) - public . . . . . 714
(2008-02-18 12:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 714
(2008-02-18 13:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 714
The Dogman Trickster (2008-02-18 23:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 715
Spare Quotes (2008-02-19 00:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 717
Random Letter To A Girl Who Is Random (2008-02-22 02:53) - public . . . . . . . . 719
7.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 720
What A Cockbag! (2008-03-01 01:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 720
Ol’ Maggot Legs McTassle Asian and the petalvomit mummy of treehorn.
(2008-03-01 02:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 720
A New Facet To Ganon’s Evil Plan (2008-03-01 02:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 720
Oh, How We Climbed... (2008-03-19 19:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 721
Things I Learned Today (2008-03-20 01:11) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 722
In Fact... (2008-03-20 10:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 723
I Can Make You Weep More Cheaply (2008-03-20 23:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . 724
Yea, That’s About All The NY Times Is Good For (2008-03-22 23:18) - public . . . 726
"Please! Help Me!" - Succesfully Recording The Voices of The Dead
(2008-03-27 18:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 726
(2008-03-27 18:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 729
Coincidence, Invited With A Toke (2008-03-27 19:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 729
(2008-03-28 02:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 731
The Locks On The Old Church Cellar - Lyrics (2008-03-30 15:11) - public . . . . . 731
(2008-03-30 15:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 733
7.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 735
The Holy Cow (2008-04-04 00:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 735
The Reptillian (2008-04-04 01:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 737
All the dead whose sculls we cross are the guardians of this loss. (2008-04-11 09:44)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 738
Go Go Go, Just Go! (2008-04-11 15:33) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 743
Binge Writing – "My Baby" (2008-04-22 01:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 745
(2008-04-27 01:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 750
(2008-04-29 15:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 750
7.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 752
(2008-05-08 01:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 752
Attentive Gravity - Cont’d (2008-05-08 01:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 753
Guess The Author... (2008-05-08 01:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 755
Attentive Gravity (2008-05-08 02:01) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 756
24
 (2008-05-08 03:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 757
Poet Leif (2008-05-09 02:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 760
Guess The Author (2008-05-09 03:59) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 761
Transpersonal Retreat Community Proposal (2008-05-21 14:49) - public . . . . . . 762
(2008-05-21 15:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 764
Top 5 Most Bizarre Parts of Living In A Hive Civilization (2008-05-24 01:09) - public 766
(2008-05-28 16:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 768
DEEP THOUGHTS (2008-05-29 05:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 768
Susan Approves (2008-05-29 15:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 770
(2008-05-30 09:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 771
7.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 772
Electromagnetic Spectrum As Sphere (2008-06-09 02:32) - private . . . . . . . . . 772
Buy Instead, Ted! (2008-06-12 13:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 773
(2008-06-12 21:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 774
Why Did You Do This To Me, Boy... (2008-06-18 13:00) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . 775
7.7 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 778
(2008-08-04 15:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 778
Vines: Wire Tunnels. What have they carried? (2008-08-07 14:38) - public . . . . 779
(2008-08-07 14:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 781
TRANSITORY PERCEPTION AND MYSTIC EXPERIENCE - 12-16-04 (2008-08-16 20:12)
- private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 781
Transitory Perception and the Out-of-Body Experience (2008-08-18 18:07) - public 785
Visions (2008-08-18 18:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 791
(2008-08-30 06:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 792
7.8 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 793
(2008-09-16 12:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 793
Dr. Arthur Hastings (2008-09-18 00:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 795
The Santa Cruz Monastery Retreat (2008-09-25 21:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 796
(2008-09-26 13:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 798
NOTEBOOK ARCHIVE - China through California (2008-09-30 14:43) - public . . . 798
7.9 October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 804
(2008-10-01 13:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 804
(2008-10-06 14:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 805
Shameful Bullshit (2008-10-06 14:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 805
The Things They Make Me Do (2008-10-10 15:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 806
Life Placed In A White Room (2008-10-12 13:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 808
(2008-10-12 13:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 809
Negative (2008-10-12 14:41) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 810
The Buoyancy of Truth (2008-10-14 04:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 810
Scan-din-aaaaa-viaaahh! (2008-10-17 14:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 811
You Smooth Aching Beauty (I Miss You) (2008-10-19 19:56) - public . . . . . . . . 812
Dear Grandma (2008-10-22 03:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 813
COEXing Out A Troubled Baby: The Perinatal Framework of Stanislav Grof
(2008-10-22 03:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 814
The Scenic Trap (2008-10-23 02:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 815
My Having of Need For The Now Service Is Great! (2008-10-25 05:05) - public . . 817
The Fullest Nothing (2008-10-26 12:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 818
Volunteerism (2008-10-26 12:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 818
Glossary of Realm Classes (2008-10-26 12:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 821
(2008-10-27 14:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 822
25
 7.10November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 823
Well, Well, Well... (2008-11-01 19:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 823
Thursday, December 25, 2003, 7:30:44 PM (2008-11-02 00:31) - public . . . . . . 825
"Not Merely A Dream, This Knowledge of Love Which Goes To Me"
(2008-11-09 15:12) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 826
Driveway Dreamer Hates Bitter Old Chinese Prostitute (2008-11-22 19:04) - public 829
Life Is A Test Graded On A Curve (2008-11-25 16:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 830
7.11December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 830
Vol.II. p.16. TAB XXII. - "Total Recall." (2008-12-17 02:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . 830
The Pom-Pom Daydream (2008-12-19 02:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 831
Echole (2008-12-23 23:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 832
What problem comes first? (Ctrl-V Your Response) (2008-12-25 00:58) - public . 833
(2008-12-25 01:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 835
Beneath Breath’s Essence: Interpreting Traditional Chinese Ch’i As Attention
(2008-12-26 00:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 835
Sex. (2008-12-26 00:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 836
My God. (2008-12-26 00:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 839
"I MUST Stick My Fingers In The Sandwiches" (2008-12-28 13:39) - public . . . . . 842
The Sun Is Calming Down (2008-12-29 09:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 842
"I MUST Stick My Fingers In The Sandwiches" (2008-12-29 14:16) - public . . . . . 843
On the Legitimacy of the Organic Neurotransmitter (2008-12-30 21:07) - public . 843
More Ayahuasca Paintings (2008-12-31 00:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 844

8 2009 847
8.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 847
An Informative Film (2009-01-04 04:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 847
(2009-01-07 21:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 847
The Tubes - W.P.O.D. (2009-01-07 22:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 848
Raymond Scott - Mad Scientist of Swing (2009-01-07 23:11) - public . . . . . . . . 849
From Down, and Gone, Up (2009-01-08 21:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 851
In Alpha, A Cry of Why?! (2009-01-08 21:45) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 851
Through A Flash Find Boredom’s Glow (2009-01-08 22:05) - public . . . . . . . . . 853
Identify And Release The Bark, Held In Empty (2009-01-08 22:15) - public . . . . 853
(2009-01-08 22:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 854
2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Conference (2009-01-09 00:07) - public 855
Sickness (2009-01-09 00:33) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 856
(2009-01-09 00:44) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 856
(2009-01-09 01:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 856
Just To Clear Things Up (2009-01-13 01:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 858
(2009-01-15 23:27) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 859
(2009-01-15 23:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 859
(2009-01-16 00:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 860
(2009-01-16 00:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 860
(2009-01-16 00:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 861
(2009-01-16 00:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 861
“I thought I was dancing ‘til somebody stepped on my hand.” (2009-01-16 23:41) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 861
A Short Film About My Lovelife (2009-01-17 03:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 862
The Big Hit From Space During The Time Of The Sixth Sun (2009-01-17 22:11) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 862
26
 Long Warm Golden (2009-01-18 01:45) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 862
Waiting At The Door (2009-01-18 01:48) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 863
The Crotch Circle Phenomenon (2009-01-18 01:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 863
Dude! Our Server Totally Just Winked At You! You Better Giver A Good Tip. "Oh, I’ll
Giver A Tip!" (2009-01-18 20:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 864
Please Meditate On This... (2009-01-21 00:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 864
Caught A Wave (Just In Time) (2009-01-21 00:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 865
(2009-01-21 23:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 865
Think Of Me... (2009-01-22 22:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 865
Tank Man (2009-01-22 23:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 866
Woo-Woo? (2009-01-23 23:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 866
(2009-01-26 02:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 867
Sore Mess Tonight, I Miss (2009-01-26 02:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 867
No Problem! HA HA HA! (2009-01-28 01:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 867
Memories of A Cold Biker Woman At Night (2009-01-30 02:16) - public . . . . . . 868
Governing Vision VS Individual Freedom (2009-01-30 23:59) - public . . . . . . . . 868
8.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 870
Cluster - 71 (2009-02-04 02:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 870
Hip’s Forgiving Cycle (2009-02-04 23:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 871
-= Spirit =- (2009-02-04 23:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 871
(2009-02-04 23:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 872
(2009-02-04 23:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 872
What I Want From The Baby Gift Horse (2009-02-04 23:40) - public . . . . . . . . 872
(2009-02-04 23:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 872
(2009-02-06 02:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 873
Metaskills of The Self-Aware Clinician (2009-02-07 22:59) - public . . . . . . . . . 873
(2009-02-10 13:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 874
No Problem. Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh (2009-02-12 23:25) - public . . . 874
Happy Valentines Day (2009-02-13 10:10) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 875
Happy Valentine’s Day (2009-02-14 21:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 875
You Smooth Aching Beauty (I Miss You) (2009-02-15 01:54) - public . . . . . . . . 875
(2009-02-16 00:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 877
(2009-02-16 18:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 877
Such A Darling! (2009-02-18 00:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 878
John Cale - Fear (2009-02-19 03:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 879
Nanook Of The North (1922) (2009-02-21 19:01) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 881
(2009-02-25 00:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 881
Epic Things I Havent Shared (2009-02-26 04:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 881
Insomnia Television=Infomercial Nightmares (2009-02-28 06:39) - public . . . . . 882
8.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 883
Attention As A Unifying Somatic Concept (2009-03-01 02:04) - public . . . . . . . 883
Teach Good Hygiene With The Power Of Electro (2009-03-01 02:39) - public . . . 884
Proposed Pilot Study - Hypnotic Suggestability Of The Out-Of-Body Experience
(2009-03-01 04:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 885
Guess The Floutist’s Age (2009-03-01 04:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 886
NORTHERN MAGIC - Shamans, witches and other magicians in primeval Finland
(2009-03-01 04:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 887
Unka Smitty’s Datin’ Tips - Tip #5 (2009-03-02 00:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 888
ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’
ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROL (2009-03-04 03:31) - public . . . . . . . . . 889
27
 5 Densities of Ethic Influence: The Composition of The Macro-Physical Identity
(2009-03-05 04:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 892
(2009-03-07 18:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 894
Recent Anonymous LJ Comment Just For Me! : ) (2009-03-07 18:50) - public . . . 894
(2009-03-10 06:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 895
(2009-03-12 04:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 895
Brother Theodore (2009-03-12 05:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 896
Finland: No Need for Words (2009-03-13 03:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 896
Shoe Rape Sounds I’ve Known and Loved (2009-03-13 04:10) - public . . . . . . . 897
My Illness And My Calling (2009-03-14 04:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 898
Beneath My Hands (2009-03-15 02:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 899
KYMATICA (2009-03-16 04:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 900
Can’t...Stop...Watching... (2009-03-17 02:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 901
Organization Is Organic (2009-03-18 00:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 901
(2009-03-19 06:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 902
You Must Teach Him How To Vocalize (2009-03-20 21:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . 902
I Have Never Loved You Dear As Now I Love (2009-03-22 05:14) - public . . . . . 904
The Works of Hayao Miyazaki (2009-03-22 19:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 904
I Still Love You (2009-03-24 01:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 906
A DSM Category (2009-03-25 00:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 906
For A Thousand Struggling Young Troublers (2009-03-25 00:44) - public . . . . . . 907
Ol’ Crampy McSpray’n’Wash (2009-03-25 01:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 908
(2009-03-25 04:54) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 908
Wrapped In Plastic (2009-03-25 06:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 908
Velvet (2009-03-25 19:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 910
Interterrestrial Intelligence (2009-03-26 01:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 911
Ayahuasca, Sensitivity, and Spiritual Emergence (2009-03-26 03:11) - public . . 912
A Triangular Opening (2009-03-26 04:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 913
DO YOU LEAVE YOUR BODY IN SLEEP? - Palo Alto, CA (2009-03-26 04:53) - public 913
Trapper Keeper, Night Soul Sleeper (2009-03-26 05:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 916
Meat and Cheese Screams (2009-03-27 06:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 916
The Glass Divide (2009-03-28 02:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 917
Angry Little Closeup (2009-03-28 03:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 918
A Torn Tomb (2009-03-29 01:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 919
Two Old Friends (2009-03-29 13:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 919
Spirituality In America (2009-03-30 03:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 919
8.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 920
Snivel Sly Viking Vine Snaking (2009-04-02 22:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 920
Dog Star Man - Brakhage (2009-04-04 15:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 921
Exotic High Tech Explosives Positively Identified in World Trade Center Dust
(2009-04-07 04:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 921
The Magick of Solomon (2009-04-07 04:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 923
In The Land Of Japan, Spiderman Has A Machine Gun (2009-04-08 03:42) - public 923
(2009-04-11 15:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 924
Dontcha Know! (2009-04-12 06:45) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 924
Moons Over My Hammy My Happy Ass! (2009-04-12 16:18) - public . . . . . . . . 927
Alan Watts - Dimethyltryptamine (2009-04-17 06:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 927
2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Conference (2009-04-18 01:33) - public 928
(2009-04-18 23:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 930
(2009-04-18 23:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 930
28
 (2009-04-18 23:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 930
The Labyrinth of Tunnels Burning (2009-04-19 01:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 930
(2009-04-19 02:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 931
(2009-04-19 04:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 932
ANOTHER BED (2009-04-20 00:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 932
In Heaven, Everything Is Fine... (2009-04-22 03:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 933
(2009-04-23 02:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 935
Each Member of A Time (2009-04-26 00:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 936
The Alternative Sickness (2009-04-26 00:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 936
Non-Christian Group Therapies: Respecting Traditional Hindu Religious Practice
(2009-04-26 01:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 938
Possible Dissertation Topic? (2009-04-26 04:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 938
(2009-04-26 05:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 939
(2009-04-26 05:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 939
FOUND In Computer Lab: The Magic of Ctrl-V (2009-04-27 04:34) - friends . . . . 939
Being Realistic About Jokes (2009-04-28 02:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 944
Meditative Preinclination And Religious Belief (2009-04-28 16:28) - public . . . . 944
What A Funny Comedy Show Program! (2009-04-29 00:47) - public . . . . . . . . 945
Mario: Portrait of a Drug Fiend (2009-04-29 05:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 946
8.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 947
Rosenhan’s "Thud" Experiment (2009-05-01 06:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 947
Principles of Spiritual Interaction (2009-05-02 01:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 947
Sedate Stuck-UP Year of Grace (2009-05-02 06:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 948
When You Are Old (2009-05-03 07:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 949
America (2009-05-07 03:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 950
Considering The Prohibition on Spirituality (2009-05-15 04:10) - public . . . . . . 952
Tell A Story In 6 Words. (2009-05-16 09:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 953
Hypersensitivity, Creativity, and The Benefits of Schizophrenic Perceptions
(2009-05-16 21:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 953
Transcription - Therapy Session #6 [5-09-09] (2009-05-16 21:44) - public . . . . . 955
Transistors bridge where your vanity would never go. (2009-05-17 05:47) - public 956
Bare Your Teeth Knowing You’ve Broke Me (2009-05-23 00:48) - public . . . . . . 959
See In Through The Watcher’s Window (2009-05-24 02:16) - public . . . . . . . . 960
Look Its Me...Next To Gurls! (2009-05-25 13:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 961
Spring Pruning: Defining The Foliage Edge (2009-05-25 19:05) - public . . . . . . 962
Their Windows To Us Seem Walls (2009-05-25 22:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 962
Making Space For The Spiritual Man (2009-05-25 23:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . 963
Making A Place For The Modern Shaman (2009-05-26 22:38) - private . . . . . . . 964
Empathic Paralysis and Latent Inhibition (2009-05-26 22:40) - public . . . . . . . 965
Closer To The Edge: Touring Old Forces (2009-05-27 04:05) - public . . . . . . . . 966
I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair (2009-05-30 01:29) - public . . . . . . . 967
Yahoo Questions: Why Does My Lecturer Stare At Me? (2009-05-31 16:56) - public 968
8.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 968
The Vine of Souls: Unrelenting Teacher (2009-06-01 02:46) - public . . . . . . . . 968
Sagittarius (Nov. 22nd-Dec.21st) (2009-06-01 12:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 972
(2009-06-04 00:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 972
(2009-06-05 03:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 973
The Nails (2009-06-05 03:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 973
Letter To Owsley Stanley (2009-06-07 00:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 975
Cultural Manifestations of Ayahuasca: Past and Present (2009-06-07 00:47) - public 978
29
 Personal Subjective Experience of Ayahuasca-aided Introspection
(2009-06-07 00:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 980
(2009-06-08 01:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 981
The Bear and The Law (2009-06-08 03:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 981
My Little China Girl (2009-06-08 03:54) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 983
(2009-06-10 23:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 986
There Will Fall Soft Rains - Ray Bradbury (2009-06-12 03:34) - public . . . . . . . 987
(2009-06-12 20:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 988
I Miss Teaching English! (2009-06-13 17:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 988
I Ching (2009-06-14 19:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 989
Subjective Science and The Search for Intraterrestrial Life (2009-06-14 19:29) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 990
Bathtime Swarm MP3 (2009-06-14 22:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 992
(2009-06-15 02:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 994
Death (2009-06-16 02:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 996
(2009-06-16 19:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 996
(2009-06-19 02:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 998
About Tim Burton’s Sparkle-Goth Monotony (2009-06-23 01:05) - public . . . . . 998
The User (2009-06-26 17:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 998
(2009-06-26 17:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 999
Blushed Blossoming of Grace (2009-06-28 12:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 999
8.7 July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
1000
Three Shipibo Shamans (2009-07-09 13:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1000
Climbing The Song To School (2009-07-17 15:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1001
(2009-07-17 15:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1002
12 Days In The Jungle (2009-07-30 10:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1003
(2009-07-30 21:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1004
Perceptual Buoyancy: The Upward Progression of Observation Through Densities
(2009-07-31 21:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1005
8.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1007
Boot Theory (2009-08-04 13:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1007
(2009-08-05 09:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1008
(2009-08-08 23:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1009
(2009-08-08 23:29) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1011
(2009-08-08 23:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1013
Agua Sexual (2009-08-10 00:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1013
Those Father Abandoned (2009-08-14 11:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1014
The Sirens (2009-08-17 14:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1016
The Slope of Cognition (2009-08-17 14:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1016
Brainwave Entrainment Introduction (2009-08-17 14:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1017
Metal Bouquet (2009-08-17 14:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1018
Experiment in "Deaf Collaboration" (2009-08-19 06:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1020
Experimental Music Doctrine (2009-08-19 06:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1021
Dada Manifesto (1918) (2009-08-19 07:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1027
Killing Time (2009-08-26 12:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1032
8.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1036
Initiation (2009-09-01 02:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1036
I’ll Just Leave This Here... kthnx (2009-09-07 22:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1037
Lil Raw Food Troopers (2009-09-07 22:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1038
Sexual Repression and Sexual Deviance - Pt. 1 (2009-09-08 00:33) - public . . . 1039
30
 So Long, So Long, Slow On... (2009-09-08 04:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1041
She Calls Me Panda Eyes (2009-09-08 04:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1044
Papa: The Bag and the Brand New (2009-09-09 02:47) - friends . . . . . . . . . . 1046
Dump of Legend! (2009-09-17 01:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1047
(2009-09-19 01:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1160
Equality: The American Way (2009-09-19 19:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1160
8.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1168
(2009-10-07 17:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1168
The Clarity of Morning Bell’s Chime. Awaken! (2009-10-07 17:06) - public . . . . 1168
(2009-10-10 12:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1170
(2009-10-11 14:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1170
(2009-10-14 09:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1170
Hello My Future Girlfriend! (2009-10-22 02:59) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1182
(2009-10-25 01:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1183
Saru and The Dynamite (2009-10-30 09:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1184
8.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1185
NotMe McGee and The Oceanic Melting of Dominance (2009-11-15 00:24) - public 1185
God’s Son Was A Fisherman (2009-11-15 02:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1186
Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of
Psilocybin’s Novel (2009-11-22 23:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1188
2010 Multidisciplinary Assocation for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) Conference
(2009-11-28 22:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1188
8.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1190
٩ ̯͡ )۶ (2009-12-01 00:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1190
Summary of Fucking, Snarch-Style (2009-12-01 12:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1190
Cannabis use and cognition in schizophrenia (Loberg, 2009). (2009-12-02 19:15) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1192
(2009-12-08 04:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1193
And Each Will Take You (2009-12-13 02:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1194
The True Meaning of Christmas (2009-12-24 14:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1197
2010 Multidisciplinary Assocation for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) Conference
(2009-12-25 03:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1199
Notes From The Amazon (2009-12-26 16:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1199
Ego and Passion (2009-12-29 23:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1200

9 2010 1201
9.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1201
Stark Raving Sciencism In The Press (2010-01-02 16:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1201
LCD SOUNDSYSTEM - Sound of Silver (MP3 192 vbr) (2010-01-05 17:11) - public 1202
ADOBE AUDITION 2.0 (2010-01-05 18:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1203
(2010-01-08 07:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1206
(2010-01-08 20:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1206
On Debate and Conversational Writing (2010-01-08 23:35) - public . . . . . . . . 1206
(2010-01-09 22:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1207
(2010-01-09 23:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1207
(2010-01-12 05:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1208
Bill Gates Turns 28 (2010-01-13 21:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1208
The Subjective Activational Baseplane (2010-01-13 22:32) - public . . . . . . . . . 1208
Clang Associations: Schizophrenia’s Biological Predisposition to Poetic Wording
(2010-01-14 00:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1210
31
 Reflection Model: "Bouncing Ideas Off Someone" (2010-01-14 01:19) - public . . 1210
Thoughts of Homes and Friends (2010-01-23 02:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1213
(2010-01-23 05:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1214
(2010-01-23 06:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1215
Trans-Personhood (2010-01-23 06:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1215
(2010-01-24 12:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1215
(2010-01-25 22:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1216
Sensitive Little Mortimer (2010-01-26 03:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1217
The Richest Breath We Can Borrow (2010-01-26 04:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1217
"Towers Open Fire" (1963) (2010-01-28 04:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1217
9.2 February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1218
(2010-02-22 23:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1218
The Semantic Network (2010-02-26 16:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1219
(2010-02-28 01:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1219
Jung’s Out-of-Body Experience (2010-02-28 23:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1220
The Afterlife (2010-02-28 23:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1221
9.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1224
Angry Syllabliatory Maneuvering (2010-03-02 00:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1224
The Plan of Rain (2010-03-02 23:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1224
(2010-03-02 23:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1225
Fear of Genetics and The Myth of Personal Identity (2010-03-10 01:20) - public . 1226
New Webpage!! (2010-03-11 03:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1228
The Oscillatory Nature of Attention (2010-03-14 05:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1228
Feathered Serpent - Cultural Universal? (2010-03-14 05:20) - public . . . . . . . . 1229
Into This Time Alive (2010-03-15 01:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1230
(2010-03-15 04:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1232
(2010-03-17 00:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1232
Sick Sick Sickos (2010-03-17 19:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1232
Raw With Love (2010-03-21 22:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1234
GO FUCK A MAP! (2010-03-23 02:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1235
“Escaping backward to perceive…” (2010-03-24 01:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1235
The Genius of The Crowd (2010-03-24 02:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1235
(2010-03-24 02:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1237
The Wisdom of Insecurity (1951) (2010-03-24 03:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1237
Sensate Medium: Impression and Expression (2010-03-25 02:12) - public . . . . 1238
9.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1240
(2010-04-04 06:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1240
Bill Evans’ Slick Frenzied Fingers (2010-04-05 03:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1241
Aumish Social Networks And Bedtime Practices (2010-04-20 21:42) - public . . . 1243
"Start Your Own Religion" by Timothy Leary (2010-04-22 00:59) - public . . . . . . 1244
9.5 May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1270
The Salesman of 10,000 Emotions (2010-05-03 02:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1270
(2010-05-05 13:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1271
(2010-05-06 01:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1271
Kaleb Smith - Autobiography (2010-05-06 16:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1271
Opinion and Judgement and Shit (2010-05-09 13:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1277
Going Away (2010-05-10 02:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1278
It Can Happen Suddenly and Without Warning... (2010-05-11 02:02) - public . . . 1279
The Psychedelic Weekend Intensive: Marriage and Family Therapy’s "Nut Cracker"
(2010-05-18 00:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1280
32
 A Mainline Crack Reveals Watchers (2010-05-18 00:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1281
9.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1281
(2010-06-04 03:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1281
(2010-06-05 15:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1282
(2010-06-05 16:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1282
(2010-06-05 17:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1283
(2010-06-05 21:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1284
On Being Denied Entrance Into The Clinical Master’s Program (2010-06-12 02:37) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1284
The Land of The Free(ly Exercised Aggression Towards Difference)
(2010-06-22 04:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1285
Creative Writing Is Selfish (2010-06-24 04:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1286
(2010-06-26 02:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1287
9.7 July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1287
(2010-07-11 10:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1287
(2010-07-12 00:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1288
Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of
Psilocybin (2010-07-16 10:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1288
Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of
Psilocybin (2010-07-16 11:00) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1290
Suddenly... (2010-07-16 11:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1293
(2010-07-16 11:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1293
(2010-07-17 13:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1293
(2010-07-21 01:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1293
(2010-07-24 02:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1294
(2010-07-24 03:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1294
(2010-07-27 10:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1295
(2010-07-30 01:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1296
Certifiability Of The Subtle Senses (2010-07-30 01:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1297
9.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1297
(2010-08-01 01:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1297
(2010-08-02 02:41) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1297
(2010-08-02 03:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1297
Breath and Attention (2010-08-03 01:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1298
Open Mindedness (2010-08-03 03:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1299
8-14-10 AYA P. 2 (2010-08-20 14:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1300
8-16-10 The Torrent P. 3 (2010-08-21 00:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1301
(2010-08-21 01:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1302
(2010-08-21 16:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1302
(2010-08-22 00:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1303
(2010-08-22 00:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1303
(2010-08-22 22:53) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1304
Madrigal Written In Winter (2010-08-30 23:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1304
9.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1305
(2010-09-09 11:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1305
The Stones (2010-09-11 22:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1305
(2010-09-16 23:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1306
(2010-09-17 03:34) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1307
(2010-09-17 23:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1307
being to timelessness as it’s to time (2010-09-18 23:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1307
33
 (2010-09-19 00:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1307
(2010-09-19 00:59) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1308
(2010-09-21 13:31) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1308
9.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1308
(2010-10-04 02:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1308
(2010-10-04 02:57) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1308
Relive Me Through (2010-10-04 21:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1308
Hunter S. Thompson Cover Letter for "The Sun" (2010-10-08 04:04) - public . . . 1309
The Doing of Are I Am? And how! (2010-10-11 23:27) - private . . . . . . . . . . . 1310
Dear Autumn... (2010-10-15 03:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1311
A Daughter’s Old House (2010-10-15 23:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1312
What Should My Direction Be? (2010-10-16 01:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1314
Filling Chance With Selfhood (2010-10-17 02:11) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1314
Plucky Duck: America’s Guilty Love Affair With Chemistry (2010-10-20 01:04) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1316
(2010-10-24 23:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1317
The Old Finnish Cabin Beneath The Light of Lives (2010-10-25 00:37) - public . . 1317
Waiting To Graduate (2010-10-25 01:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1318
Outline From Presentation "Intraterrestrial Intelligence" (2010-10-27 22:57) - public 1319
Notes From The Underground (2010-10-27 23:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1328
BEER (2010-10-31 16:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1329
9.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1331
(2010-11-02 21:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1331
(2010-11-02 23:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1332
Annoying The Tiger (2010-11-04 01:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1332
Scalar Evolution - Part 1 (Cabin Journal, 8-14-10) (2010-11-09 18:18) - public . . 1333
The Instinctual Drive to Debate Ideas (2010-11-09 20:20) - public . . . . . . . . . 1334
Psychiatric Medicinal Use of Marijuana (2010-11-11 18:07) - public . . . . . . . . . 1335
Point of Contact: The Ripple of Concentric Self-Identity (2010-11-13 01:37) - public 1336
Untended and Less Felt, I Recall A Fountain (2010-11-13 02:07) - public . . . . . . 1337
Scale of Time Perception (2010-11-13 02:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1338
(2010-11-13 02:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1338
(2010-11-13 02:45) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1339
The Abandoned Juvenile Facility (2010-11-13 03:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1339
Random Word Assign Divination Tool - "Output 1" (2010-11-13 05:08) - public . . 1340
Cabin Notebook - 8/12/10 (2010-11-13 18:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1343
"AYA - Page 1" - Cabin Journal - 8/14/10 (2010-11-13 18:33) - public . . . . . . . . 1344
(2010-11-14 04:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1344
Heisen and The Cortical Horse (2010-11-16 18:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1345
Intraterrestrial Intelligence (2010-11-18 16:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1347
Sleep Loss and Loose Associations (2010-11-18 17:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1348
Lonely Anne’s Television Washing (2010-11-27 03:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1348
Moonspray Mark and The Finger (2010-11-28 00:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1348
Spiders Lay on Identity Rugs (2010-11-28 11:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1349
Observing The Magnetic Force of Emotion (2010-11-30 03:54) - public . . . . . . 1351
9.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1352
The Mechanics of Heightened Perception - Pt. 1 (2010-12-01 02:27) - public . . . 1352
(2010-12-07 14:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1353
(2010-12-08 13:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1353
Drawing In Victims (2010-12-10 00:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1353
34
 (2010-12-11 04:18) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1354
Hey! Who You Callin’ "Fishy-Eyed?" (2010-12-15 01:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1355
(2010-12-26 01:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1355
Letters from Suzhou - March 12, 2008 (2010-12-28 01:21) - public . . . . . . . . . 1355
The Hermit and The Empress (2010-12-28 04:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1357
The Well on Church Hill (2010-12-29 18:39) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1357

10 2011 1359
10.1January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1359
The Subtle Ecosystem and The Greater Spectrum of Alignment (2011-01-05 01:47)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1359
(2011-01-05 01:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1360
(2011-01-05 01:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1360
A Consuming Fever Feeds Back (2011-01-10 19:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1360
Breaking The Cycle, Killing the Feedback (2011-01-11 00:07) - public . . . . . . . 1361
Graphically-Representing A Type of Self-Directed Precognition (2011-01-11 00:09) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1361
The Phylogeny of Non-Physical Life (2011-01-11 00:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1361
(2011-01-11 00:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1363
(2011-01-11 00:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1363
The Cartoonish Remants of Sea Beasts - Dream Journal 1-8-11 (2011-01-11 00:24) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1363
The Eight Phases of Dating (2011-01-12 00:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1365
And Now I Feel Less (2011-01-14 02:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1365
Lyrics For A Lush Folky Emo Song (2011-01-14 17:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1366
Tiny Clothes (2011-01-14 17:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1366
Fire, Igniting. (2011-01-16 15:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1366
On The Nature of The Pineal Gland’s Sensory Function (2011-01-17 18:26) - public 1367
Latent Inhibition and the Semantic Network (2011-01-20 23:41) - public . . . . . 1371
Nightmares and Visions - Cabin Journal 8/16/10 (2011-01-21 00:01) - friends . . . 1371
(2011-01-21 00:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1372
(2011-01-21 00:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1373
Ego Transparency As Social Contagion (2011-01-21 00:13) - public . . . . . . . . . 1373
The Curious Wildlife - Cabin Journal 8/12/10 (2011-01-21 00:25) - public . . . . . 1373
(2011-01-26 02:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1374
Pull The Wool Over Your Own Eyes (2011-01-27 04:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1374
(2011-01-29 04:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1377
10.2February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1377
(2011-02-01 04:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1377
Therapeutic Music and Standard of Living (2011-02-02 11:46) - public . . . . . . . 1378
5 Steps To Reinvent Yourself (2011-02-15 02:14) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1379
The Induction of Electrocortical Oscillations Via Externally-Generated EM Field
(2011-02-18 02:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1381
Consciousness As The Reflection of Activity (2011-02-19 22:14) - public . . . . . . 1382
The Aliens (2011-02-23 00:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1384
Demonic Possession and It’s "Residue" (2011-02-23 23:35) - friends . . . . . . . . 1385
The Hidden Mysteries of The Wiglette (2011-02-23 23:59) - public . . . . . . . . . 1386
(2011-02-26 03:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1386
The Best Picture on The Internet (2011-02-27 02:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1386
(2011-02-28 00:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1387
35
 10.3March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1387
30 Things We Need – And 30 We Don’t (2011-03-10 11:18) - public . . . . . . . . 1387
To My Future Yooper Shaman Girlfriend (2011-03-15 01:27) - friends . . . . . . . . 1388
To My Old Friend, The Alex Jones’ Conspiracy Fan (2011-03-15 01:32) - friends . . 1390
LITTLE D AND FLAPPY DEW (2011-03-15 01:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1391
(2011-03-29 03:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1392
10.4April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1393
Coming To Grips With Stress (2011-04-02 03:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1393
The Powerful Woman and The Divorce Proceedings (2011-04-02 04:52) - public . 1393
Japan, Fear, and The Sale of Paper (2011-04-02 05:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1396
The Stigmatization of Unconventional Understanding (2011-04-02 22:12) - public 1397
(2011-04-11 03:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1397
(2011-04-13 03:28) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1398
Sex, Drugs, and Rock n Roll: Everything (2011-04-18 04:58) - public . . . . . . . . 1398
The Chemistry of Spirit (2011-04-20 02:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1399
Wild Strawberries (1957) (2011-04-21 03:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1403
(2011-04-22 01:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1403
10.5May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1403
Notes From Big Sur (2011-05-01 17:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1403
(2011-05-04 00:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1405
Grace Sprouts From The Fertility of Pain (2011-05-11 03:25) - public . . . . . . . . 1406
(2011-05-12 12:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1406
Memoirs From The Edge Of Existing (2011-05-18 12:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1407
(2011-05-20 15:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1408
10.6July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1408
Focusing On The Past (2011-07-04 03:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1408
Overcoming Thought Blocking After Social Loss AND The Importance of Routine
(2011-07-05 02:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1408
(2011-07-10 21:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1409
(2011-07-10 23:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1409
Notes for "SCALAR EVOLUTION: A Biological Model for ’The Great Shift’"
(2011-07-11 01:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1410
(2011-07-11 11:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1412
10.7August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1413
(2011-08-03 21:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1413
(2011-08-04 02:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1413
(2011-08-04 04:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1413
(2011-08-05 02:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1413
(2011-08-06 03:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1413
Season 4, Episode *Knife Stab Sound* (2011-08-07 20:00) - public . . . . . . . . . 1414
Interviewing For A Home (2011-08-11 01:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1414
(2011-08-13 03:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1417
Speed Makes Me Bitter (2011-08-15 05:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1418
(2011-08-16 02:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1418
(2011-08-20 03:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1419
Lineage and The Surfacing Lines On This Face (2011-08-21 02:08) - public . . . . 1419
(2011-08-23 02:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1419
(2011-08-25 02:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1420
The Spirit Circuit (2011-08-25 14:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1420
(2011-08-26 01:53) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1420
36
 The Wolf Descends To the Valley (2011-08-26 01:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1421
10.8September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1421
Social Issues Surrounding My Energy (2011-09-17 06:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1421
(2011-09-17 07:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1422
(2011-09-17 08:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1423
The Spectrum of Consciousness (2011-09-20 03:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1423
The Subtle Cymatics of Emotion (2011-09-25 05:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1425
(2011-09-27 01:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1427
10.9October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1427
OkCupid | Conversation with Jpepper666 (2011-10-03 16:14) - public . . . . . . . 1427
Self-Transcendence Research Study Participant #94 - Item 13 (2011-10-03 16:18) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1428
State of Consciousness As A Form of Communication (2011-10-09 02:28) - public 1430
The Urantia Book – Paper 55: The Local Universe - 3. The Golden Ages: Spheres
of Light and Life (2011-10-14 04:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1431
Subtle Density: Traversing Bandwidths of Consciousness (2011-10-22 00:52) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1432
The Color of Fear (2011-10-22 00:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1432
Kurt Schwitters / Terry Riley (2011-10-26 17:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1433
(2011-10-26 18:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1433
(2011-10-27 02:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1434
Even A Single Word Would Suffice (2011-10-31 16:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1434
Beloved Teachers of Things Forgotten (2011-10-31 16:27) - private . . . . . . . . 1435
Beloved Teachers of Things Forgotten (2011-10-31 16:48) - public . . . . . . . . . 1436
The Smallest Bedroom (2011-10-31 16:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1436
(2011-10-31 16:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1437
(2011-10-31 16:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1438
(2011-10-31 16:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1438
Preparing For The Psychedelic Journey (2011-10-31 16:59) - public . . . . . . . . . 1438
The Divine Sage - Transcript Recorded By Ms. Mailan T. Pham (2008)
(2011-10-31 17:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1439
"With A Crack The Sky Was Broken" – Lyrics (2011-10-31 17:37) - public . . . . . 1439
10.10
November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1440
Olga and The Lab (2011-11-04 16:36) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1440
Being Taught In Dream School (2011-11-04 16:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1444
(2011-11-14 05:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1445
Ambition and Dharma (2011-11-14 17:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1445
(2011-11-14 18:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1445
The Emotional Content of Words (2011-11-15 01:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1446
Finnish Shamanism (2011-11-15 03:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1446
Subtle Density of Genetic Influence (2011-11-19 20:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1447
(2011-11-20 17:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1448
(2011-11-21 16:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1448
Hypnagogic Thoughts (2011-11-23 20:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1448
Cheers! To Being A Failure. (2011-11-25 00:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1449
You Smooth Aching Beauty (I Miss You) – 2/15/09 (2011-11-25 05:12) - public . . 1452
10.11
December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1455
2009 Notebook – Selected Pages (2011-12-08 16:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1455
(2011-12-12 02:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1457
The Long Forgotten Muse (2011-12-12 20:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1457
37
 OK Cupid Profiles – The Descent Into Self Advertisement (2011-12-12 22:29) - public 1459
(2011-12-12 23:38) - UN - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1467
(2011-12-13 00:19) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1467
Atheism and Confidence (2011-12-14 04:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1467
(2011-12-14 09:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1471
Clarity, Guilt, and Resolve (2011-12-18 01:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1471
The Sharpness of a Bird’s Eye (2011-12-20 15:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1472
Success and Ego (2011-12-20 15:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1472
Goals For Winter 2011 (2011-12-20 17:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1473
(2011-12-20 18:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1474
Get Jolly, You Fat Fuck! (2011-12-20 18:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1475
Dreams and Hypnagogic Masking Phenomenon (2011-12-21 06:54) - public . . . 1475
REM Relapse Dream – The Looming Wall of Streamlined 1950’s Car Grille Design
(2011-12-21 13:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1476
The White Points (2011-12-22 08:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1476
The Stream and The Cup (2011-12-22 21:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1477
MAPS (2011-12-22 21:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1479
Respect For Authority (2011-12-22 22:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1479
(2011-12-22 23:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1480
Conversation (2011-12-22 23:47) - private . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1480
Sacrum (2011-12-22 23:53) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1492
(2011-12-24 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1493
(2011-12-25 14:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1493
The True Meaning of Christmas (2011-12-25 14:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1493
(2011-12-26 16:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1498
Make The Invisible Visible (2011-12-28 02:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1499
The Water Bearer (2011-12-29 02:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1499

11 2012 1501
11.1January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1501
(2012-01-02 06:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1501
America (Continued) (2012-01-04 16:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1501
Attention As That Which Is Primed (2012-01-04 16:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1502
Competition and The Development of The Male Personality (2012-01-07 05:04) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1502
(2012-01-14 15:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1504
Submitting A Hot Secret To The Crystal Cop Idea Bin (2012-01-23 02:08) - public 1504
150 mHz (2012-01-23 05:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1504
A Beautiful Sound That Can’t Be Heard (2012-01-28 10:09) - public . . . . . . . . 1505
11.2February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1505
(2012-02-01 02:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1505
Goodbye San Francisco Bay (2012-02-04 19:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1506
Talk Therapy (2012-02-04 19:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1506
Solitude And The Ocean (2012-02-12 00:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1507
Attention and Latent Inhibition (2012-02-12 00:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1507
Cats Eyes Attending Even After The Peacock’s Full Regalia (2012-02-12 01:18) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1508
Standard Synthesizer Module Dimensions (2012-02-12 16:02) - public . . . . . . . 1508
Scalar Model / Latent Inhibition (2012-02-16 01:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1510
The Spectrum of Genetic Variance (2012-02-24 01:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1511
38
 Stairway of Cliche (2012-02-24 01:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1512
(2012-02-24 01:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1513
(2012-02-24 06:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1514
The Value of Distraction: The Influence of Others (2012-02-26 04:11) - public . . 1514
11.3March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1518
Psychedemia Conference Abstract (2012-03-12 00:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1518
Metaphor for Hyperdimensionality (2012-03-12 03:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1519
(2012-03-12 23:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1520
Dear I Ching, (2012-03-28 04:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1521
11.4April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1521
Social Order As Evolutionary Progression: The Ascension of Natural Selection
(2012-04-06 23:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1521
Uncle Alan (2012-04-06 23:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1522
In-To-Body Experience (IBE) (2012-04-30 02:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1522
11.5May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1525
Hypersensitivity and Semantic Priming (2012-05-02 23:35) - public . . . . . . . . 1525
Latent Inhibition Says... (2012-05-07 00:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1531
The Ego Garden (2012-05-18 02:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1532
Quotes From "Demian" by Hermann Hesse (2012-05-28 12:39) - public . . . . . . 1536
Quotes from "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath (2012-05-28 12:40) - public . . . . . . . 1537
The Black Money I Couldn’t Get Back (2012-05-28 12:42) - public . . . . . . . . . 1537
All Heroes Pass (2012-05-28 12:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1539
The Balloon Skanks Outside The Dipping Stand (2012-05-28 12:45) - public . . . 1540
Golden Shower For The Sleepy Fern (2012-05-28 12:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1541
"Pirate Cut" Lyrics (2012-05-28 12:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1541
11.6June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1542
Flee The Competition With Heavy Lights From My Chest (2012-06-16 18:49) - public 1542
EVP Experiment 2 - 6-16-12 (2012-06-16 18:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1543
INDIVIDUALISM / COLLECTIVISM – Reading Notes (2012-06-16 18:55) - public . . 1544
Irony and Self-Knowledge (2012-06-17 19:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1544
University of the Forest (2012-06-17 19:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1545
(2012-06-17 19:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1546
(2012-06-17 19:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1546
Born From An Older Self (2012-06-17 19:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1546
Magnet As Metaphor For Attention: Latent and Manifest Influence
(2012-06-17 19:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1546
Social Anxiety: Double-Edged Sword, Genetic Sheath (2012-06-17 19:53) - public 1547
Journey To The East - Hermann Hesse (2012-06-19 18:38) - public . . . . . . . . . 1548
(2012-06-19 18:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1548
PREBIOTICS READING NOTES (2012-06-19 18:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1548
Unsightliness Is Next To Ungodliness (2012-06-19 18:45) - friends . . . . . . . . . 1550
The Shade Child Must Never Taste Blood (2012-06-19 18:50) - public . . . . . . . 1553
THE MAN WITH MOTION-SENSING LIGHTS ON HIS CHEST (2012-06-19 18:53) - public 1553
Fantasies of Cursing People (2012-06-19 18:58) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1555
Native Americans of Northern Michigan – Communicating with Spirits (1860)
(2012-06-25 03:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1555
11.7July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1564
(2012-07-06 02:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1564
Coming To Terms With The Idea of Childlessness - Rochelle, July 2012
(2012-07-07 13:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1564
39
 From "THE TRAGEDY OF THE COMMONS" by GARRETT HARDIN (2012-07-08 02:55) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1567
Nü Gua Creates the First People (2012-07-08 16:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1568
(2012-07-24 14:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1569
11.8August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1569
The "Beyond-Within" and Symbiotic Evolution (2012-08-15 21:48) - public . . . . 1569
(2012-08-29 14:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1572
To Be Held A Moment Longer (2012-08-29 14:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1572
Reading Notes - August 2012 (2012-08-29 14:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1572
Higher "Levels" of Conscious Experience (2012-08-29 14:25) - public . . . . . . . 1573
11.9October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1573
The Baby-Steps of Science: Our Gradual Independence From Materialism
(2012-10-15 02:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1573
Sync Into The Warmth (2012-10-15 18:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1574
The Camera and Impressionism (2012-10-23 00:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1575
Acknowledging The Relationship Between The Orchestration of Coincidence By
Spirit and Life Path (2012-10-23 02:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1575
Reflections on Maintaining Social Balance During A Period of Transition
(2012-10-23 02:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1576
Lightening Down The Line: Lineage and States-of-Consciousness
(2012-10-23 17:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1578
Acquiring The Taste (2012-10-23 17:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1579
Strategies For Setting Intention (2012-10-23 17:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1580
11.10
November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1580
Receptivity To Body Movements: A Gender Difference? (2012-11-01 01:15) - public 1580
More Characters Needed (2012-11-16 23:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1581
Mitochondrial Integration (2012-11-17 00:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1581
Psychedelic Research - Yale Interview (2012-11-18 13:38) - public . . . . . . . . . 1587
A Psychophysiological Study of Out-of-the-Body Experiences in a Selected Subject
(2012-11-18 20:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1590

12 2013 1607
12.1January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1607
Recalling Eyes (2013-01-25 01:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1607
12.2February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1607
MUTANT THIEF TRIP (8-2-12) (2013-02-08 23:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1607
URBAN PLANNING NOTES (Organic Basis of Social Organization) (2013-02-08 23:31)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1607
Topple A Tower of Sand (1-14-13) (2013-02-08 23:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1608
Seen 3:38 AM (1-18-13) (2013-02-08 23:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1608
The Camera And The Portrait (2013-02-08 23:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1608
Things To Say To Beautiful Girls (2013-02-08 23:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1608
Naturalist Design (2013-02-08 23:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1609
DIVIDE AND MERGE (INTELLECT) (2013-02-08 23:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1609
(2013-02-08 23:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1609
Research in Influence of Subjective State (2013-02-08 23:55) - public . . . . . . . 1610
Our Agreement (2013-02-28 18:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1610
12.3March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1613
Dream, Scripts (2013-03-06 01:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1613
12.4May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1616
40
 Death Of A Thousand Cuts (2013-05-01 00:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1616
Notebook Backup 2013 – Part 1 (2013-05-01 00:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1619
Reading Notes - Spring 2013 (2013-05-11 17:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1634
Reading Notes - Winter 2013 (2013-05-11 17:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1640
What Is Energy? (2013-05-11 21:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1649
Motivation and Emotional Immediacy In Storytelling (2013-05-11 21:19) - public 1650
Ritual VS Authentic Spiritual Experience (2013-05-11 21:20) - public . . . . . . . . 1651
Returning Home and Realistically Judging One’s Own Worth (2013-05-11 21:22) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1652
Acknowledging Our Perceptual Limits (2013-05-15 03:17) - public . . . . . . . . . 1653
12.5June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1657
Notes To Self: Ions (2013-06-11 17:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1657
Missoula Montana - Day 5 (2013-06-21 18:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1657
Homecoming Trip – Day 2 (2013-06-21 18:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1665
Red Notebook Backup – 6-22-13 (2013-06-30 13:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1668
OUTLINE OF "BANDWIDTH MODEL OF CONSCIOUSNESS" (2013-06-30 13:58) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1669
INTRATERRESTIRAL INTELLIGENCE: A Bandwidth Model of Consciousness – Ever-
green Slides (2013-06-30 14:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1670
12.6July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1685
Ocean of Flesh (2013-07-15 16:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1685
States-of-Consciousness as Bandwidths of Frequency (2013-07-17 20:12) - public 1686
(2013-07-17 20:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1686
Commentary On How Best To Approach The Data (2013-07-17 20:14) - public . . 1686
Hard Work and Genes (2013-07-17 20:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1687
Ambien Images: The Underside of The Glass Boat of The Dead (2013-07-30 23:08)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1687
Blue Lobster Machines Extend Like Arms (2013-07-30 23:13) - public . . . . . . . 1688
(2013-07-30 23:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1689
A Man Should Die Once A Year (2013-07-30 23:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1689
(2013-07-30 23:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1689
12.7August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1689
Defending My Ground (2013-08-11 16:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1689
Deanna Goodbye (2013-08-27 20:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1690
The Fork In The Path (2013-08-27 20:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1691
12.8September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1692
The Tired Stream (2013-09-06 18:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1692
Thoughts of Pingxiang (2013-09-06 18:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1692
Dreams of Pingxiang (2013-09-06 18:17) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1693
Isochronic Entrainment – Reminiscing (2013-09-06 18:19) - public . . . . . . . . . 1695
Isochronic Entrainment Research – Reminiscing (2013-09-06 18:21) - public . . . 1696
The Purpose of Vanity (2013-09-10 19:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1697
The Beast of Kentucky (2013-09-10 19:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1697
(2013-09-10 19:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1698
(2013-09-10 19:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1698
To Jiang Hui (2013-09-10 19:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1698
Dinner For One (2013-09-10 19:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1698
Chinese Taxi (2013-09-10 19:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1699
The Unborn Traveller (2013-09-10 19:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1699
(2013-09-10 19:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1699
41
 (2013-09-10 19:39) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1699
Chan=>Zen (2013-09-23 12:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1700
Eating Pig (2013-09-23 12:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1700
12.9October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1700
(2013-10-01 13:31) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1700
Where I Live Now (2013-10-13 01:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1702
States-of-Consciousness and Perception – Letter to Dr. Charles Tart
(2013-10-13 13:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1702
Bad Letter to Dr. Jim Fadiman (2013-10-13 14:11) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1703
12.10
November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1704
On Using The Laws Governing The Transmission of Energy To Understand Con-
scious Experience (2013-11-05 17:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1704
Bouts of Existentialism (2013-11-11 18:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1705
Harmony vs Individualism (2013-11-11 23:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1705
That Clean Chinese Feeling (2013-11-16 23:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1706
Attention: Inverse and Converse (2013-11-19 19:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1706
Second High In (Reflections On The First High In) (2013-11-20 14:45) - public . . 1706
Thinking Beyond The Brain: The Nervous System and Psychedelics
(2013-11-20 17:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1707
SISU (2013-11-21 08:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1709
12.11
December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1709
The Feng Shui of The Body (2013-12-09 19:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1709
Self-Awareness Beyond The Limits of The Body (2013-12-09 19:20) - public . . . 1709
Ancestral Blogs (2013-12-09 19:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1710
Isochronic Research Disc: Rationalizations For Using Vocal Samples in Brainwave
Entrainment (2013-12-09 19:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1710
Hong Kong, I’m Sorry (2013-12-09 19:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1711
PSYCHEDELIC SCIENCE – ENVISIONING A SCHOOL (2013-12-09 19:30) - public . . 1712
Attentional Modulation Key Factor In Efficacy of Isochronic Entrainment Stimuli
(2013-12-09 19:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1712
Life Purpose Checklist (2013-12-24 23:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1714
The Surface of The Night (2013-12-24 23:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1715
Frequency and Density (2013-12-24 23:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1715

13 2014 1717
13.1January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1717
The Flowing of The Shore (2014-01-04 14:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1717
Jesus’ Traumatic Childhood (2014-01-04 15:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1717
"Just Give My Sugar To Another Girl" (2014-01-04 15:01) - friends . . . . . . . . . 1718
73% of Personality Is Genetically-Determined (2014-01-07 11:43) - public . . . . 1720
Beneath Social Restraint (2014-01-07 11:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1720
Stay Hungry! (2014-01-07 11:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1720
A Particularly Severe Bout of Existentialism (2014-01-07 12:02) - public . . . . . . 1720
Conversation About Marijuana Research and Coincidence (2014-01-12 18:51) -
friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1721
Thoughts on Attention (2014-01-12 18:54) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1743
The Lost Purpose of Education - Yuelu Academy (2014-01-19 23:56) - public . . . 1743
Limp (2014-01-20 00:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1744
(2014-01-21 23:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1745
42
 To What Do I Owe The Pleasure? (Train to Changsha, 1-15-14) (2014-01-23 00:17) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1745
13.2February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1746
Thoughts on Ego (2014-02-08 13:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1746
Thoughts on Science VS Religion (2014-02-10 01:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1746
Her Expression (2014-02-15 01:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1747
13.3March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1747
The Storm: Inner and Outer (2014-03-18 14:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1747
The Descended Voice (2014-03-25 16:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1749
Ascended Man (2014-03-25 17:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1750
Snappers and Toes (2014-03-25 17:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1751
Spectrum of Inspiration (2014-03-25 17:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1752
Community Teams He Means Intimite= (2014-03-25 17:19) - friends . . . . . . . . 1754
Self-Sacrifice and Resentment (2014-03-25 17:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1754
IQ difference between races (2014-03-25 19:45) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1755
13.4April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1756
Listen To The Warmth (2014-04-09 12:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1756
Yolanda In Her Shell (2014-04-09 20:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1756
The Crash of a Single Wave (2014-04-19 23:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1758
Foundations of Fatherhood (2014-04-22 17:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1761
What Would Be The Modern Buddha’s Wardrobe Choices? (2014-04-29 22:13) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1762
13.5May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1764
If Only I Should Want It (2014-05-07 21:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1764
The Ascended Man (Cont’d) (2014-05-17 10:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1766
13.6June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1767
(2014-06-01 14:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1767
(2014-06-01 14:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1767
(2014-06-04 20:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1768
Personality and Atrophy (2014-06-24 17:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1768
So What?? (2014-06-24 17:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1768
I Feel The Carnival Calling Me Home (2014-06-26 13:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1769
qUOTES (2014-06-26 13:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1769
13.7July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1770
Situations Vacant (2014-07-11 21:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1770
Old Friend, Death (2014-07-12 15:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1772
What’s The Meaning of Genes? (2014-07-17 21:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1773
13.8August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1773
High School Journal Backup – Part 1 (2014-08-06 14:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1773
China Journal Backup – Part 1 (2014-08-07 13:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1786
13.9September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1793
The Communal Faith In The Unexamined (2014-09-06 15:42) - public . . . . . . . 1793
Obligations and Deadlines for Friendship (2014-09-06 16:01) - public . . . . . . . 1795
Rethinking Individualism and Collectivism (2014-09-14 18:37) - friends . . . . . . 1795
Modified Two-Channel Auditory Perception Experiment (2014-09-14 18:38) - public 1796
The Compass and The Ocean (2014-09-16 22:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1797
13.10
November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1800
Learning To Follow (2014-11-05 01:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1800
Emotion and Memory (2014-11-07 21:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1800
Mental Illness In China (2014-11-07 21:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1801
43
 Returning To The Family Cabin (2014-11-13 15:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1802
Surrender To Win (2014-11-14 04:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1803
(2014-11-14 23:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1803
13.11
December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1804
A Bandwidth Model of Consciousness: Integrating the Carrier Medium Into Our
Conception of Modulatory (2014-12-02 00:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1804
Adrenal Fatigue Induced By Extended Use of the Corticosteroid Prednisone
(2014-12-02 00:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1804
Maddy "No Hugs" McGee (2014-12-02 00:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1806
The Voice In The Well (2014-12-16 12:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1807
Psychedelic Psychotherapy Using Cannabis: Marijuana Use and Mental Organiza-
tion (2014-12-16 12:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1808

14 2015 1809
14.1January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1809
Courses In Courses – Vancouver Car Park, New Years Eve 2014 (2015-01-06 17:49)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1809
(2015-01-06 17:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1810
The Bed Spread (2015-01-16 11:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1811
Activation and Atrophy: Personality and the Semantic Network (2015-01-16 20:37)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1812
The Cupped Hand, Fulfilled Holding (2015-01-16 20:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . 1812
The Homeless Wank Board of Mirroring (2015-01-18 23:59) - public . . . . . . . . 1813
14.2February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1813
Correspondence About Shamanism and Synchronicities (2015-02-03 01:08) - public 1813
Willett, CA, 101 N Through The Redwoods (2015-02-07 10:43) - public . . . . . . 1816
On The Universality of Exceptional Human Experiences (2015-02-10 01:00) - public 1817
(2015-02-13 23:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1818
Sculpture of Self (2015-02-15 12:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1818
Riding Through The Fields (2015-02-17 01:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1821
Laura High 1 (2015-02-23 14:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1822
Useful Metaphors For Self and Ego (2015-02-23 16:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1823
Empathogenic Therapy (2015-02-25 13:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1825
14.3March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1825
Spectral Consciousness as Integration of Neurognosis and The Collective Uncon-
scious (2015-03-01 00:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1825
Residual Priming - Laura High 2, Recording 1 (2015-03-02 18:07) - public . . . . . 1826
Emotional Signature of Spiritual Relationship (2015-03-06 01:20) - public . . . . . 1827
Transitory Perception and Invoked Geography (2015-03-16 00:54) - public . . . . 1827
Woman In White (2015-03-16 01:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1829
The Buoyant Illness (2015-03-22 23:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1829
Autoimmune Condition (2015-03-23 16:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1830
Surrendering To The Greater Good (2015-03-28 04:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1832
Winter Light by Ingmar Bergman (2015-03-29 21:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1832
(2015-03-30 03:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1833
14.4April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1833
(2015-04-21 21:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1833
Top Of His Game (2015-04-24 00:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1834
Tunnels and Guardian Spirits (2015-04-28 05:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1834
14.5May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1836
44
 Kaleb Smith - Spiritual Autobiography, Part 1 (2015-05-11 15:58) - public . . . . . 1836
Kaleb Smith - Spiritual Autobiography, Part 2 (2015-05-11 15:59) - public . . . . . 1850
Review of "The Horse Boy" (2009) (2015-05-16 00:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1858
Notes On "Spectral Model of Consciousness" Presentation (2015-05-19 15:54) - pub-
lic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1860
Itchy Nerve Eye Gouge (2015-05-28 19:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1867
14.6June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1868
Aya In Suommusalmi Cabin (2015-06-27 17:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1868
14.7July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1869
The Divided (2015-07-01 15:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1869
The Golden Boys of the Lake of Memory (2015-07-23 03:07) - public . . . . . . . . 1870
Goddamn AbSonic Belt (2015-07-28 00:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1871
Bats In The Foot Bath (2015-07-28 02:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1871
14.8October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1872
The Slow Crushing Safety (2015-10-31 01:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1872
The Law of Diminishing Returns (2015-10-31 01:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1873
Out-of-Body States and Shamanic Journeying (2015-10-31 01:22) - public . . . . 1874
14.9November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1874
Stan Krippner Emails (2015-11-02 01:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1874
Call For Papers! Special Edition of NeuroQuantology (2015-11-02 01:24) - public 1877
Shamanism: Genetic, Psychophysical, and Social Dimensions (2015-11-02 01:25) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1878
BLUE NOTEBOOK BACKUP #1 (2015-11-13 02:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1878
14.10
December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1882
(2015-12-12 00:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1882
The Presence Beneath The Words: (2015-12-14 18:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . 1887

15 2016 1891
15.1January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1891
Entities of White Light (2016-01-04 18:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1891
Entities of White Light (2016-01-04 18:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1894
Breathless States (2016-01-04 18:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1897
D-Answer’s Psychedelic Sex Dungeon (2016-01-04 18:08) - public . . . . . . . . . 1900
Synchronistic Opportunities Following White Light Entities’ Visit (2016-01-17 22:47)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1901
Ayahuasca Dogmatism VS Researching Healing Efficacy of Non-Southern Methods
(2016-01-29 20:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1902
15.2March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1906
CLE ELUM LAKE JOURNAL (2016-03-10 14:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1906

16 2017 1911
16.1July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1911
The Riverbeds of Ancestry (2017-07-10 05:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1911
16.2August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1912
Practicum at Western State Hospital - Check In 1 (2017-08-10 13:44) - public . . 1912
Shamanic Journeying: Reliable Techniques and Genetic Predispositions
(2017-08-21 14:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1913
Psychophysiology of Mediumship (2017-08-21 14:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . 1915
(2017-08-28 20:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1919
UDV Case Study – Gifted Subject EMG (2017-08-30 01:41) - public . . . . . . . . . 1920
45
 16.3October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1921
Moleskin Backup - Europe 2017 (2017-10-23 22:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1921

17 2018 1929
State Specific Perceptions? - Dr. Charles Tart (2018-10-30 03:18) - public . . . . . 1929
States of Consciousness and Perception - Charles Tart (2018-10-30 03:24) - public 1934
Cartography of Consciousness: Mapping The Further Reaches of Human Experi-
ence (2018-10-30 03:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1936

18 2020 1941
18.1February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1941
Fundamentals of Nature (2020-02-09 05:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1941
Liminal (Sacred) Spaces, Entity Interactions, and Their Study – ATP 2019 Confer-
ence Presentation (2020-02-22 22:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1942
18.2May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1942
Personal Statement for Sage Institute’s Psychedelic Psychotherapy Training Pro-
gram (2020-05-13 20:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1942
18.3August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1949
Intuiting Meditative Practices for the Effective Facilitation of Working Spiritual Re-
lationships (2020-08-21 17:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1949

19 2021 1953
19.1March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1953
Simulation VS Lesson: The Purpose of Pain (2021-03-30 01:47) - public . . . . . . 1953
Just Kidding... Unsent Letters and Unexplored Experiments (2021-03-30 01:49) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1954
19.2April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1956
Factors of a Realistic and Modern Approach to Asceticism. (2021-04-26 00:19) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1956
19.3June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1960
Etiology of Marijuana’s "Demotivational Syndrome" (2021-06-30 05:14) - public . 1960
19.4August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1962
Isochronic Brainwave Entrainment and Anamolous Experience (2021-08-01 06:31) -
public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1962
19.5November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1964
Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 1 of 4 (w/ Comments) (2021-11-08 11:23)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1964
Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 2 of 4 (w/ Comments) (2021-11-08 11:27)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2004
Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 3 of 4 (w/ Comments) (2021-11-08 11:30)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2039
Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 4 of 4 (w/ Comments) (2021-11-08 11:31)
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2056
The Etiology of Alzheimer’s Disease (2021-11-28 17:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . 2072

46
1. 2002

1.1 October

(2002-10-27 21:36) - public

The time is getting colder and darker and everyone feels the brightness leaving their life and
stagger, frantic, grabbing at what shining warmth they can find before cold winter’s blanket
of depression. Who grabs, frantically, at me? Do I grab back? Who will keep be warm beneath
cold white blankets and who will melt the ice from my personality with their kiss?

I am getting to mushy, lately, and I hate it. Who knew I had emotion, all this time?
Certainly not me.

(2002-10-29 01:05) - public

Got in my car and just drove today. Drove for two hours until the road I was on, first, lost its
center line and then turned to dirt and left me enclosed in a woodland hallway of dying leaves.
Blah, I got lost pretty bad. Bought a bottle of cheap rum from some backwoods gas station.
Sang loudly to Baader Meinhof and didnt drive over 45.

I was lonely, there and then...

1.2 November

(2002-11-01 07:01) - Kitty Meth Zombified - public

Music: FRIPP & ENO - An Index Of Metals

Decided against sleeping tonight so, here I am, 6:30...staring off....having trouble writing
my name on my credit card payment check. Exam in 4 hours...hmm...caf opens in 20
minutes...hmm....Jesus wasnt born on Christmas...hmm....6 1/2 inches from Old Crow Bur-
bon...hmm....

I did try to sleep, dont get me wrong...but the aderal I used to study kept me studying
all night...studying, first MicroEconomics...then my entire life, top to bottom laying open eyed
silent, staring off at the dim walls which sometimes breath at me.

I thought of fearful Gothlings with faces like children and breasts like porn stars who’s
warmth is well accented by the mood which it contrasts. I am in a mood for moods, however,
and the extreme Moody Blues are only a trough to some equally intence red crest. She says I
am crazy....maybe crazy like the insight of a microscope.

I thought of my laziness and of inventions yet to be recorded. I thought of music and

47
money. I thought of nipples: soft. I thought of my dead dog. I thought of nipples: hard. I
"spent" some time in the bathroom contemplating that last thought.

At 5:09 I decided to pay for a credit card with a credit card and sealed the envelope by
5:22.

(2002-11-02 03:34) - 42nd Hour Awake - public

Music: My Shadow In Vain - GARY NUMAN

This computer is shit...maybe because its Canadanian. Just watched Mr Deeds Goes To Town
starring Gary Cooper, circa 1936. Gorgeous film about how happy people are assumed to be
insane. Got my first hicky tonight....few other firsts too, tonight...bit more graphic, though.

Someone is watching me now...waiting for me from my warm bed...will she wait forever? Does
she understand my need to be down here, alone? Does she understand my need to be up
there, accepted? Must such needs be explained in words, or can they be? Who the hell is this
asshole with this hicky and what is seen in the hicky? Is it a mark of possession? What is seen
beneath it and within the lips that gave it to me? Nothing, it is just some proud bruise of the
romping play of innocent children. Tommorow, I shall compare my hicky with hers and I will
proclaim "Mine is bigger than yours" with a sneer of competition. It is this competition that
implies competancy and, to not be a part of the game is to be incompetant.

(2002-11-02 23:57) - dazed as if being thrown - public

Music: Tod Dokstader...some drug inducing noise composition

A NIGHT TO ONE’S SELF:
1) The Manner Of One’s Invitation To One’s Self
-pot, smoken alone...something yet undone.

What the hell! Life and its intensity is a body of water, and riding it is a voyage on a
ship. The waves of emotional involvement socially is an intense torrential storm with such
beautiful highs...

THe lows be as equally strong, however. Low enough to induce suicide in some.

Oh, god...Syd, you know it all...The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn is a lyrical and musical.
and cultural masterpiece. I love the mellow red color of my room, it makes me feel so warm
and dark. I sometimes feel a need to hide my insanity....let only the sanest and clearest
bits of it in through deeper truthes. The difference, possibly, between genius and insanity,
possibly, is a spectrum decided by the strength of this "social filter." The strength of this filter
is ones understanding, through observation, of the understanding of others. The perception
of ones ideas by others does not have to limit your own thoughts, you may seperate at risk
of being difficult to relate to. The Man on the Mountain, possibly, wished to think away from
RELATionship, internal and external, with all people at every level of society. Insanity is this
choice of transcendent removal from the institution of culture, to think away...to swim far
away from the island cities _society _ and to become ’far out" and away. College is a leathery
48
appendage of a social institution, swinging wildly from a larger society veining outwards to
snatch up harvested young applicants ready to "give it their all" and become nameless upper
middle class marketing clerks and suited men and "conservatively" dressed foxes.

I have reached a mass of writing, unsociallized, entited something like Macro-Social Evo-
lution: The Social Organism/The Organism of Society, maybe. Inquire within.

Anyway, the specialization of roles within society can be equated to the specialilzation
of roles seen by cells in a larger organism. Once I got high and stormed into the Head Office of
the Sociology Department of NMU and, unappointed, wished to speak to the man. I spoke with
his secretary and waited. And, went in rambled madly for nearly 20 minutes. He redirected
me to anthropology.

The lyrics of the laughing madcap, Syd Barrett on Pink Floyd’s first album are replaced
by the strangely meaningful lyrics of David Byrne on Talking Heads first album. "it isnt a
question of your personality or style," and so doesnt apply to your analyst.

Insane paranoia...thoughtless elevation. Alan Ginsburg appears rambling some devotion

to his dead mother. He pouts when he reads. He changes tone when he reads...progresses up
a scale each paragraph until an intense peak and then drops it at the last three words of the
last sentance.

I think of women now. Of acceptance and its

HideSomewhere: pssssssst
TurboSwami: Hi
TurboSwami: Want me to hide?
HideSomewhere: hello.
HideSomewhere: huh huh
HideSomewhere: terribly clever. ::rolley eyes::

I see the greeting and assume someone anonymously wants me save me from police in-
spection.

...HideSomewhere: why r u alone?....

...TurboSwami: Do you think that is strange?...
...TurboSwami: You dont recognize the choice...?
...TurboSwami: You dont like being alone?..

I feel so strange so ugly and analytical.

(2002-11-04 01:42) - public

Is anybody actually reading this crap?

iztyme2ryde (2002-11-04 06:25:21)

Yes only those who wish to endulge deep within you to see the you inside reads this, I am one of those
people. :-)

49
swarms (2002-11-04 09:15:30)
no

(2002-11-05 01:23) - Frustration - public

Music: "Always Crashing In The Same Car - BOWIE/ENO

I feel like I am riding my life sometimes...riding this experience, so fast. The wind rushing
through my hair as I speed so fast in bliss and I love it like I have not loved anything, that
feeling is one of being alive....but, today, I open my eyes and my smile fades in the fast wind,
seeing the direction I am speeding in...realizing I have no control anymore, that I am sliding
uncontollably down a hill so steep. I am afraid of this speed. I am afraid of the intense pain of
crashing at such a wonderful speed.

No regrets, none. What if I had not chosen to step inside this aerodynamic, phallic-shaped
vehical? I would never have felt the wind in my hair, my heart would not have raced in the
excitement of that moment. I close my eyes, surrendering to the wind once more; it is not
the same, though. Now I am afraid of what is to come. The blind faith of innocence is gone.
I am capable of hurt and hurting and that very fact beckons me to open my eyes in anxious,
apprehension.

iztyme2ryde (2002-11-05 12:30:29)

What is it that can put on to a state such as this? Fear from people, things, events? If there r not
regrets, take the ride to its fullest! Live it up! I have no idea in hell what you were talking about but
follow you mind and your heart. The rest will come naturally. I get that way sometimes as well but I
go far beyond your level, you do not know to what extent unless you see through me but I know how
difficult live can get. You are a strong willeed person and can get through it.

(2002-11-06 01:21) - public

Grasping for the tongue’s first sound,

But, still, around you its wound,
This forever maze of talking is not me,
Please push my mouth into your ground.

I consider the quality of your time and smile,

That time which is more worthwile than penile.
And maybe if you were to charge a fee,
You would have more that my love to stockpile. . . and never use.

(2002-11-06 01:56) - beefy and uncreative - public

Music: The Sad Skinhead - FAUST

My friend says having a woman drains men’s creativity....
He couldnt explain how, so much, but I think I am beginning to understand....
50
Suddenly, where once I had only time for myself and all the strange bits that that self could
muster, now I only have useless, airy, sentimental emotions...

I waste my time loving and caring, fretting and moping, doding about the woman, in all
her mysterious splendor, she is merely a distant teasing temptress whose dance is a lure with
a hidden hook, affection, sharp and piercing. She lures me from so deep below, from the
self-lit recesses of some unseen abyss of identity...How could anyone care to be creative in
the presense of her mesmerizing dance of highs and lows. To watch her is to feel your own
feet, instinctively, move in step with hers and for your own hips to sway against hers in her
theatric dance of highs and lows...

And, slipping of my shoes, resting my steaming dancing feet, what else can I think of
but those highs and those lows? I am burdoned with the love of a dance we have come to
share, one I am expected to lead only after she teaches me how. I throw the diversions of my
loveless self to her feet in blind, manic sacrifice and....and....

and shit on my face. I hate the fact I am writing "love poetry" now because that must
mean I am officially gay. I was quite happy writing bizzare ego poetry and twisted LSD
poetry....and now, look at what I have degraded to...the level of cheap comic relief for football
players in heat as they mumble loud and low about last nights ’hot score’ and what he forced
her to do and how she loved being degraded and how "those gay fucking gays will never get
any with all those gay words...gay" I want to take that football and cram it where a gay would
cram it. And, then find out who that girl was who loved being degraded and show her my
name.

outsidethedream (2002-11-06 11:57:56)

such intense anger. tsk tsk. there is no mystery here. no one is trying to make you do anything.
everyone dances alone. everyone.

turboswami (2002-11-07 12:09:22)

There is mystery here. Nobody wants me to do anything. I want to do something. I dance alone, no
one.

(2002-11-06 23:44) - public

Snacking like a snacking fool! This pot is going STRAIGHT TO MY HIPS! Tell me honstly, Does
this bud make my butt look big? Ha. I took a drink out of a cup, assuming it couldnt be
anything too awful...it had a thick sediment of some fine powder at the bottom of it, I learned,
after I took some awful swig of the swill. Tasted like lemony water and smelled like coffee. I
am such an asshole. Bleaaah! Lemony water.

I think I looked alright tonight...my face is a little full, lately...minor, I think. So beauti-
ful, dancing women...something brave and focused about them....leaving me sprawled back,
totally impressed....afraid to interrupt with the distraction of my eyes, eager to explore
hers....some kind of wonderful....I wonder if its a mutual impression?
51
(2002-11-07 00:49) - Thinking of Dancer’s Dances - public

Music: "Fear Is Man’s Best Friend" *So appropriate* JOHN CALE

I love the night, I love how it hides me and how it sets me free. I ran tonight, feeling some
thieving gentlemen. The cold fueled my hot running and, when I stopped (quickly) my cold
spiralling detailed thought. I run, stepping in such a way as to hide the sound of my feet; like
a thief, creeping spedily about in his dark element.

I am so polite, under the influence of certain moods, that it is deafeningly awkward. My

gentlemen side becomes so gentle, it is afraid to talk as it may interrupt people with its
thoughts. Ha! Cute like a pathetic baby.

"What the hell?" I hear them all saying, even now...moreso now. "High again? Oh, no
wonder. Harrumph!" I tisk tisk myself with their fist and am knocked down, slightly, only for
a second before I realize that my High thoughts are mine, not theirs...always have been, just
now *ha* I publish my thoughts for me which are not for them out for them to download.

ahh, the appetite...the many appetites...My raging appetite for people, for affection, for
Reces Peanut Butter Cups, for the gentle touching of the gentleman, undressed.

turboswami (2002-11-06 22:13:07)

"The Gentle Touching Of The Gentleman, undressed." I really need to start proofreading...I am the
gentleman. And I touch so gently, running my fingers along the upper edges of eyebrows and down
along her face along her inner ear. I spoke of gentleman in the third person, as he is only one of me.

(2002-11-07 02:40) - public

The Moral Issue...

Is a Mortal Issue.
It fades away...
With So Much Tissue.

(2002-11-07 17:38) - public

I look down and realize there is nothing of me to see...

I am not here...I am not missed...Finally completely empty...

No one wishes to fill my cup, and I remain an empty vessel, floating...

I sail further out, inward...receding from those all who mock me with rejection...
Some wind guides me there...my destiny’s destination, far below my fleshy surface...

Some wind, so faint...I close my eyes and nod waiting for release...please, just let me
go...let my limp frame sink. Let the hate burn away with all the love it carried. Let the insanity
flood away all the tension....

I do love, but you cannot return love from the dead. You can only mourn the loss, and
52
move on...I DO Love, I do...does that mean nothing?

I am so dramatic in depression. I wallow in it, smearing my words with its filthy low
scent. My guts murmur the words out. Feelings are for the weak, and I am one of the weakest
links you will ever meet. Goodbye.

(2002-11-07 17:45) - public

Free Luvin’
Get it while its hot.
Free, no fee..
Gimme all you got.
I will give you double.
Really, its no trouble.
Its from this boy,
He’s in a bubble...
Please, wont you pop it?

(2002-11-10 02:33) - flat, focused, outside rejection - public

Music: My focused breath, excluded

I wish to replace this asshole with someone else, please advise.
I am starting to get sick of how he talks and walks and eats, please advise.
I want my own Maury makeover special...with a stylish new personality, trendy, from a some
eccentric French designer...
The newest and hippest identity, a professionally styled A &F themed lobotomy, please advise.

And, after a fresh haircut to accent my fresh braincut, the colored curtains would pull
up and away and the colored lights would gleam off my buffed Italian leather shoes...
The studio would thud with confident blairing makover techno and I would walk, it step, with
its beat...its confidence radiating from my smiling, younger, eyes...
So much lighter, without all that hair....
So much lighter, like a weight lifted from the front of my head,
I float as I turn at the end of the catwalk...and the black ladies all scream wildly and the black
guys go "woo woo woo."
I am accepted, now, here before everyone...this new me, so fresh, is loved.
My smile would sparkle in the camera, my thoughts thoughtless and free...

I learn, then, that this is no make over special, Maury...

This is a heartfelt dying child feature...
And, I am not walking at all, but was rolled in from my hospital room...
Paralyzed.
Paralyzed by analysis.
Unable to move under the gaze of my own critical eye..
Scalpel my cortex, Maury, saw open my bald, cancer boy head...
I am ready to smile the thoughtless worryless sparkle-eyed smile of a child again, please
advise.

53
swarms (2002-11-10 01:45:19)
believe me, I’ve had these thoughts before. It usually came when I was in your same situation. I don’t
think it will work too well, though. You were meant to fall outside the box.

(2002-11-11 16:29) - Aria - John Cage - public

Music: Angry - Angello Badallamenti

It feels almost as good to stop caring as it does to stop worrying. The distinction between care
and worry is merely degree of emotional attachment. To ’let go,’ like all the hippies with their
tied up pony tails and sympathetic tears tell you to do at your AA meetings, is to let go of
both hate and love, together. All attachment, in other words, disolves in the very will of your
release. You disattach, disassociate, undermine your image, and sleep, calmly and quietly,
beneath the stage.

Oh look, a cute weirdo...what is my script again?

(2002-11-11 23:30) - Horny and In Want - public

Music: The Madcap Laughs - SYD BARRETT

Someone dropped a hat, and I fell in love again...
And then someone picked it up and I fell in love again...
I wish the hat had been mine, but...
Head fashion changes with any strong wind.

How I want you to be by my side, I wail....

To any stranger with warm eyes.
Begging for scars from the nearest mean go-getter...
I am devoted, forever, to half the world. Her will a twisting enigma.

"Inside me I feel,
alone...and unreal...
and the way you kiss will always be..
A very special thing to me..." -Syd

This love which runs in, over and through...

Is merely water, running out of my clenched fist.
I want it and because I want it, it escapes me.
I surrender to you, loveless loves, and on my knees...
I bow to you, subservient, my open hands raised to accept.

(2002-11-12 02:32) - public

I just read whatever was down there and realized how flakey I can be. I was sure that was
good when I wrote it....now I see soft thoughtless cliches, the whole thing. I really hope I get
this cheese out of my system soon. What will people think!
54
Met a pretty girl today. I came off kinda weird, I think, but what is new?
Hope I didnt scare her too bad.

(2002-11-13 02:32) - not alarmed - public

Music: fire alarm

I could ride the bus for hours and hours without any destination...other than that bus seat
right there and then, moving.
Today I rode and smiled at signs of rules for riders and at girls with eyeball hats and school
house rock lunch boxes. I smiled without any reason other than being there, out, awake,
asleep, above.

I talked with an old lady about how it is dirty to share milk, unlike water or pop. "Milk is
a personal experience." I told her. She agreed and an old indian man with a scar on his left
eye nodded, silently.

It is 2:30 and nobody cares about the fire alarm...even though it is so loud, nobody cares.
Sure, there are ’those’ people who rush outside in their leather deck shoes and Def Leppard
tees. They dont know any better, though. You cant blame them; they were born that way.

(2002-11-15 02:55) - public

I have deja vu more and more, this feeling that everything has already been inside my
mind and now I am just forced to live it. 4 times today. My eyes glazed over and, like a
bucket of water dumped over my head, I realize some other side of everything around me
and touch some dream side of memory there, in the middle of everything....in the middle of
conversation....4 times a day...happening more and more. What does it mean?

There is a point, at my current rate, at which that brief dizzying realization of presence
will not be so brief, but will simply stay...and I will leave. I will not simply see through this
dream, but, step outside it. Outside the dream, I am becoming, as if my soul is destined to rise
above it and tries, more and more, each day to leave this world of which it is only alien....but
its foot is caught somewhere in my skull.

(2002-11-16 01:51) - High after 3 weeks (1week) - public

Music: the thumping hum of blood in my body, the outer hum of electronics out and hot air-blood
ventilation in.
I realized I had lost any reference to creating private, unreadable, high material to some insane
backwoods digital reference manuals, unreadable. Archaic in that they use some created in
notepad. I wished, for 2 or three seconds to display handwriting as art. I have not heard of
such a thing, as of yet...I want to think of a name for it.

"SUN NOON MOVIE"

55
Like a poem to place beneath an Adobe Acrobat file, in expanation of a

Oh god, someone is crying to the most awful country song in the world.
The two people around him go "aauuub." as if they are replicating the stopping of a car, only
very softly. I am high, I dont want to make love. I just want to be high. DOes that stage of
dissassociation from others by

"Yea, you go on listen to the X...AND YOU LAUGH!"

Ha, whisping the slow country song...Becomes louder...sarcastic to self.

A loud, nervous laugh from the prominent other of the room, remained silence in the disat-
tached away-looking observance. ...

Now, 7 minutes later, the other man cries...

"I just didnt know what you expected."

The other man is heard to quietly whisper...

...He’s dancing, just a nother one of those...."(replication of a television) unknown what

was on the television" I do like to write...and handwriting is often beautiful in its replication
of mood. The mood of one of those men, smeared...dripping from the face, with the ink of a
caligraphy pen...That is a picture, to be observed and commented on.

The distant non-observer whistles...later a "Whew."

The whole thing is a labeled movie, and the music, whatever it was....and the music
that is playing now...which is very very bad.

"I was listening to something...and it needed to be writen down...since, when high, these
things just seem to happen in and of themselves." I claim, as if some perverted defense.

I dont feel as if I have enough room on this electronic pad, I need to seperate my small,
barely written thoughs like whole paragraphs, when they are just condenced bits of, maybe I
am just a clostrophobic writer...

The man comes back, after he left somewhere after crying. He returns, and is laughed
at by the man who cried to the song. He, leaves, crying again, now ashamed....

The silent man comes from the corner and laughs with, but the laugh continues, first
shakily...then falling to a loud pout. And, said something of a "big fellah."

Oh no! Someone from another room calls out "were we loud?"...crying in the competa-
tive meek-defence. It is well known how to compete in meekness, like any role.

"You just suck!" Pouting from a room three doors down.

"3 distant field goals 43 forming skirmishes..." he reads off in loud avoidance.

It is a scene, and I watch....smiling so hard and wide my eyes sparkle with moisture...my tears
are sometimes expressed with absolute silent, smiling happiness, in movies...at the edge of
56
yours seat. Engrossed, hypnotized, filled with the scene’s emotions so that you no longer feel
disattached....The emotion is like a water level, or a volcano on a surface and is mediated
among all actors on the scene.

IZTyme2Ryde: it is like a faucet...

IZTyme2Ryde: I can not turn it off
"It is like a switch...frozen shut."

Everyone feels it today, the first day of snow. It falls and is mediated amongst every-
one on the scene...A man comes in and greets me, saying he was leaving and would not be
seen again...and I became conscious of the emotion of my eyes...as if conscious of the moisture
of the snow on the face of my soul. It was a conversation I was silent through...uncontrollably
hypnotized my the meanings, reverberating outwards.

I am so close to society, here....integrated within its physical location, I feel its software,
inter connectivity to an outer network. I am used to being High, when I am high...elevated
to some location above and away, some redeyed crow’s eye view of the social scene, true
acknowledgement of theater, only with a the deluxe DVD Wide Screen view, allowing for the
vivid replification of a wide, distant, horizon.

(2002-11-16 01:57) - public

I am insane, but I have a shoulder....(a bumper sticker selling grief relievance?)

(2002-11-16 02:27) - public

The emotional attachment of love requires physical attachment...replicating by a french

kiss...without that "sharing of insides" there would be no sharing of inner emotion or no
attachment, snagged there inside, for devotion (hooked tongue)....

I picture an intellectual and emotional content which dilutes between in response to that
meeting of two seperate bodies...Like the release of chemicals between two cellular bodies,
done when certain shaped pegs fall into certain shaped holes...(usually drawn as triangles and
squares in the Biology book)

(2002-11-17 16:59) - public

Some young kid who respected me overdosed on heroin yesterday early morning. It started
a conversation and a train of thought on death and its Nature. I was never fully content with
what I was told about death; in sunday school, filling the lines of coloring books, pictures
of people walking on the clouds and pyromaniacs who wanted to hurt me with their spiked
sticks. It just didnt fit in my head, it seemed to magical. Likewise, the idea that nature was
incompetant and a tree couldnt grow unless somebody somewhere pushed a button. A tree is
not Created like some pot, a tree developes from something smaller from something smaller
from something smaller. So, the idea that all life was simply sculpted, like a pot seemed to
contradict my observations of life.

57
Understanding of what was once not understood is often modeled after a comparison to
that which is understood. The mechanics of the human heart were not understood until the
creation of the fireman’s pump. By logical deduction, William Harvey was able to draw a
comparison between the two, changing the view of the heart into the view of a bloody pump.
And, by logical deduction, this too can be done with death...

Death, like life, is an aspect of nature. One of many dualities, life/death, can be mod-
eled after well understood dualities in nature like Summer/Winter and Day/Night. There is
not a case, in all nature, of a set of opposites not being equivically-contrasting, balanced
in size, time period, and, more importantly, pattern of development/envelopment. What
I mean by this is the shifting that takes place in transition between the two opposites (ie:
Spring, Autumn.) Think of this gradual dynamic shift as a waveform with a crest (peak life)
and a trough (peak death) and the transition between the two taking place at that point of
"flatlining" or absolute silence. This representation of nature applies to all of its yings and its
yangs, observable and, logically, unobservable.

So, what can you deduce from this? One, most simply, that the period of death lasts,
approximately, as long as the period of life, at which point a child is born of your inner energy.
Two, there is a high point and a low point of death, as in life.

In life, we are born incompetant, just rising from that "silent flatline." We develop, push-
ing ourselves up along the hill of the crest until midlife, the peak, the most competant,
productive and "lively" time of life. In old age, we are again incompetant, wrinkled children
preparing for the dive back down beneath the surface of the silent "flatline." I prefer, some-
times, to think of our life as a beach and death as the moment one is submerged in the water,
over their head, unable to hold their breath any longer.

So, in death, we have the beginning, an entrance to the opposite of surface, beneath
the surface of the water. In this beginning, we still carry with us the attachments of form of our
bodies, like a dead leaf carries its shape at its seperation from the tree. At the lowest point of
death, our form and memory of life is completely disolved and part of a larger mass of energy,
like at its lowpoint, the leaf has completely lost its form and is now part of a larger mass of
soil. From this, point, "middeath," one begins to form again in preperation of inevitable life,
eventually seperating from the "ground of being" like a tree from the fertile organic ground.
This is a logical deduction of the process of death.

swarms (2002-11-17 14:37:04)

You get the award for my favorite live journal. You are impressive. I can conclude this because I am
impressed by you, thus you have the ability to impress and are therefore impressive.

outsidethedream (2002-11-18 08:40:50)

it would be wonderful (or boring. im not sure) if the world was cut and dry like that. no one can
know what happens when you die. thats only for the dead to know. its nice to think logically. but
everywhere there is proof that the world is more illogical than not.

turboswami (2002-11-18 20:41:55)

Illogical in that we dont have the capacity to understand it, yes. When something happens and we
dont understand why or how, we call it random...random is something we label things when we
cannot identify the cause. Computer programmers will tell you that true randonimity is a myth and

58
 that everything has order, even if we do not have the ability to see that micro or macro order with
our naked, unaided mind.

iztyme2ryde (2002-11-20 14:58:27)

Hope fully it is really like this for then people would not have any reason to fear death for it would
merely be an extension of life, on another track, headed in its own way. On its own path.

Death – The Hindu Sruti Event (2002-11-21 14:43) - public

My thoughts on death actually came 2 months prior to the death of the heroin addict, his
death only serving to recall them back to the surface of my mind. It was a strange set of
events that seemed to trigger the thoughts and, later, be triggered by the thoughts. I sat on
a bench in the Business College and, next to me, were three books, glossy and reflective, as
new books always are. I was the only person on the bench, and on any of the surrounding
benches, for that matter, and had been for nearly 20 minutes before I decided to look at
the apparently abandoned books, their bindings stiff as they had yet to be opened. All
three were Hindu religious texts, two on transcendence and the true self, areas of thought
I considered myself a native, and the third on death, which I had never really considered
deeply. I read the descriptions of death made by the brahman author, describing death as
a continuation of a karmic trap, not a release, and was immediately flooded with contrast-
ing ideas. I thought of the books, being there and inspiring me at that moment, as not random.

That night, I wrote. I began of my own free will with the simple, unfocused ideas given
to me by the found books, but soon, the ideas came as I wrote them, as if my own mind had
nothing to do with the process....my hand scribbling madly to keep up with some maddening
internal dialogue. Finishing hours later, I layed in bed, exhausted, thinking of how strange that
act of writing about death had become.

The next day, in my Hinduism class, I sat and looked up at a board with one word writ-
ten on it, "death." The professor asking, "What is the opposite?" Describing a whole list of
dualities, as if you had read what I had written and was now teaching it. This made me stare
off in disbelief, considering the coinciding of the three events.

Walking out, later, I thought again of my writing and stared at the ground as I walked.
A rectangularly cut piece of lined paper layed face down in the grass next to the sidewalk
and, passing it, I was thoughtless...but well past it, I felt a need to pick it up, so much so
that I turned around and walked all the way back to it to do so. It read one word, capitalized:
"Death." The idea of this one piece of paper with its one word made me dizzy in associations.
I felt as though I was connected to something larger, something intelligent, that there was
meaning to this scene.

Even later yet, I began to question even my questioning and was trying to disregard the
possible meanings of what I saw and what I found. I sat on a bench on a sidewalk along Grand
River Avenue and, looking down, between my feet, I saw masking tape. On it, someone had
written one word, in blue magic marker, capitalized. "Sruti."

Sruti is a Hindu word used to label writing. Sruti is writing which is divninely inspired...

59
Please advise.

biscuitboy (2002-11-21 13:50:46) Advice

I would advise you sit in your room, turn off the lights, put on your favorite music, and have a beer. Or
eight.

iztyme2ryde (2002-11-21 14:40:19) Response

I knew you could put it down well, just as you explained it to me and made me think so deeply that
night. Only one thing is missing, the experssion. That is one hell of a coincidence. I think anyhow.

(2002-11-23 08:46) - public

I havent slept yet, it is 8:24. Cursed hyper pills make my tired mind turn over and over, dis-
content, but empty. My roomate turns to his left side, heavily annoyed by my neverending
activity, grunting loud and angry as he does. I have spent the last 38 minutes of my life trying
pathetically hard to think of the director of Batman, Batman Returns, The Nightmare Before
Christmas, Beetlegeuse, and Edward Scissorhands. I noticed that if I tightened myself and
strained my muscles, the blood would rush to my head, my face reddening, and I would feel
the ’tip of the tongue’ phenomenon described in my Cognitive Psych class. I would actually
picture the name of the director in my minds eye, knowing how many syllables and the majority
of the capital letters. I came up with "Tom Benson," the name repeating over and over in my
head with pictures of white faced Johnny Depp and lizard-tongued Micheal Keaton. I pictured
the letters of the name Elfman and pictured an elf, Danny Elfman being this directors favorite
composer. I thought of the special Batman episode of Tiny Toon Adventures where Plucky Duck
competes with Keaton for the role, remembering the caricature of Tom Benson very well...pale,
with wild black hair, dark. Tom Benson, why do you torment me so?

swarms (2002-11-23 17:17:05) You asshole

How could you forget other great Tim Burton classics such as Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure and Ed Wood?
I don’t understand you man. I just don’t understand you.

(2002-11-23 11:24) - public

11:21. Tim Burton. Tim Burton, its time to sleep. Tim Burton, how about you let me sleep?

(2002-11-25 16:00) - public

So, there you are. I hardly like tying your shoes for you so often, everyone says you should
just take them off. I might just let you run sometime, laces trailing....and I might laugh when
you trip and fall. So there you are, watching for broken glass in a carpet placed over a muddy
trail through a swamp’s woodland hallway. You claim the bottoms of your feet are so tough,
that you have no fear of where they tread, but I see your eyes shift, scanning, for the sharp
remnants of my drunken ignorance. Are your feet so calloused that I cannot make them bleed?
60
I have felt them when they were soft, once....made tender in warm moisture, this steaming
dark swamp is mine, left to me by my father in a will he never wrote. He made a fortune in the
writing utensil business...clear plastic pens filled with human blood. Gets people drunk and has
them write their name with his pens on his paper. So there he is. So there I will be. So here I
am, seeing my future on his shining bald head. "So there you are" he says pointing at himself,
looking into my eyes, our glasses reflecting eachothers glasses, magnifying. Who got drunk
and stumbled claiming to have two cocks. Who got drunk and got on a ladder with a chainsaw?
Who got drunk and babbled, bawlling, salt-water regret for things not done with little people?
I did, I will say.

(2002-11-25 18:29) - public

Talking about crashing, but not burning, with one of my apprehensive mothers. I hate crashing
in the same car more than once, why wont it burn, explode, taking the whole fucking bridge
down with it? The best minds seem to rot from the inside, out. I have seen it, watched, unable
to stop the spread from ripple to ripple, wrinkle to wrinkle. And with the trough of every one
of my deep ripples, so forms a wrinkle on my face, another line around my eye, cracking paint
around a window. And who makes these sounds that only I hear, this low humming frequency
talking to an ear in just below my chest? It is a sound from far below, spoken slowly from
icy tranquil waters under where I stand; undermining me, whispering, in his breathy tone, the
existance of his cave, giving me the choice to escape the sun, where once was unaware, even,
of the existance of his alternative. Neptune is depth, stabbing through sensitive skins, drinking
the blood of the fish and leaving the lambs with the sheep. I am this whale, holding my breath
for so long....diving. GREG IS HERE GOODBYE

(2002-11-27 03:15) - airtight, well sealed - public

Music: Porter Ricks - Techno Animal

Zlah: me oh my
Zlah: have you ever seen escanaba in da moonlight?
TurboSwami: no
TurboSwami: High
TurboSwami: I dunno
TurboSwami: I am twitching
TurboSwami: I know exactly what you were talking about
Zlah: aww, twitching high
TurboSwami: Being high around people
TurboSwami: I felt very very awkward
Zlah: ah
TurboSwami: I was convinced my eyes were setting a strange awkward tone in everyone in
the room..
TurboSwami: Because they were focused on them as they talked....
Zlah: that weed is Evil stuff
TurboSwami: But not part of the conversation, intently powerful focus....
TurboSwami: and....their eyes would look back and forth
TurboSwami: From the person they were talking to to me
TurboSwami: As if to acknowledge my stare
Zlah: you should a little paranoid
61
TurboSwami: But, not look into my eyes, as to avoid awkward silent eye contact
TurboSwami: And, then....
TurboSwami: I would simply stare betweeen people, at the floor or my leg
TurboSwami: My eyes, possibly, vibrating between the location between the attractive women
sitting next to me and that location on my leg
TurboSwami: That woman became aware and began talking while pouring her drink, as if to
herself
TurboSwami: Not looking to me as she said it, as I was not looking at her...
TurboSwami: As someone talked...they would lose the attention of the person they spoke to,
but still be aware of my attention....
TurboSwami: Continuing to talk.
TurboSwami: But not looking at me...
Zlah: mm
TurboSwami: Often, finally, acknowledging me and this strange vibrating eye by turning,
jokingly, to me and saying "What do YOU think of that Kaleb?!"
TurboSwami: I responded with a "Well, you see its....like.."
TurboSwami: Starting off in the same tone of the joke...
TurboSwami: then trailing...
TurboSwami: to saying "awkward."
Zlah: strange
TurboSwami: I dont really know what it means.
TurboSwami: It was insanity...someone began to talk about jews...
TurboSwami: started with a joke he made....
TurboSwami: which I stared off getting teary eyed about.
TurboSwami: looking down
TurboSwami: as if hiding
TurboSwami: Someone just walked by my door...
TurboSwami: And, as he walked by, I looked in his eyes and looked away
TurboSwami: As if avoiding eye contact, like walking by a stranger
TurboSwami: ...and, he was aware of the eye contact he shared...
TurboSwami: and shouted "Hey, what’s up?"
TurboSwami: Even though I looked at a desk.
TurboSwami: My head is pouding
TurboSwami: do you take your quiz over capa?
Zlah: no, the quizzes are in the classroom
TurboSwami: and he decided not to give it yesterday?
TurboSwami: "twitch twitch"
Zlah: it was originally scheduled for friday until he noticed that we dont have class that day
TurboSwami: Someone else began to look at me and twich in the past room...
TurboSwami: looking at someone else to stop
Zlah: evil twitching,
TurboSwami: I dont understand it.
Zlah: twitching?
TurboSwami: Yes, each one is a little shocking thought...
TurboSwami: It runs down my body...
Zlah: hum.
TurboSwami: Like, looking above at what you said and then multiple interpretations of my
response "I dont understand it."
TurboSwami: My legs kicked in spasm
Zlah: that happens to me every time.
62
Zlah: You are pretty much describing all of my experiences with marijuana
TurboSwami: But, each one of those thoughts is one I would never usually have...
Zlah: oh
TurboSwami: It is like my whole body is vibrating, down from the head...
TurboSwami: The top of my mind seems to be humming.
TurboSwami: I hear a high frequency hum....
TurboSwami: always when I am high...
TurboSwami: It is above a much lower one...
TurboSwami: Which, I am conviced is really there.
TurboSwami: Recessitation
TurboSwami: Is cessitation a root word?
Zlah: no idea
TurboSwami: something which you are doing again.
TurboSwami: Bringing someone back to life or waking them from something.
TurboSwami: Some subconscious level towards unconscious
TurboSwami: I was subconscious there in that room.
TurboSwami: I was looking away from....three times closing my eyes completely...
TurboSwami: As, it was most comfortable to be as I was, there, in that state.
TurboSwami: Someone entered the room, holding the blanketed door with a limp wrist...
TurboSwami: and my crotch twitched.
TurboSwami: and I looked down.
TurboSwami: As it, my thoughts, there and then, were zapping that whole portion of my mind.
TurboSwami: The area of sexuality.
TurboSwami: And, then I began interpreting jokes as hidden truthes being revealed by each
member of the room, and I began laughing...
TurboSwami: And, the joker laughed loud and nervously with me, sprouting a slanted eye.
TurboSwami: And I laughed so sharp, looking down.
TurboSwami: Remember the "Jamming Scissors Repeatedly Into Your Crotch" site?
Zlah: somewhat
TurboSwami: http://www.armchair.mb.ca/ scissors/
TurboSwami: I twitch and twitch
TurboSwami: I cannot be high and social any more, it seems...
TurboSwami: Not directly social...
Zlah: wacky
TurboSwami: and, really, not IM social either..
TurboSwami: My thoughts are to circular and humming.
TurboSwami: Internal
Zlah: yes
TurboSwami: Self-centered beyond the self.
TurboSwami: I was thinking of each person in the room....
TurboSwami: And the felt it.
TurboSwami: I thought of them intensely...
TurboSwami: and subconsciously
TurboSwami: I thought of their idea...and our history...
TurboSwami: while looking in a direction below or above them.
TurboSwami: Do you know I recently wrote of my father, in live journal....
Zlah: i haven’t read it lately
TurboSwami: And, 5 seconds into the sentance of him, he called me for the first time in
months.
TurboSwami: As if he felt my thinking of him.
63
TurboSwami: Do you believe in that connection to someone?
TurboSwami: Outside simply inside a room?
Zlah: I have conjured theories about that sort of thing. I do think i believe something like that
is possible
Zlah: i should sleep soon
TurboSwami: So, there is only the distance I describe inside the room...
TurboSwami: Watching someone in the periphery of your eyesight
TurboSwami: Eyesite
Zlah: no no.. lets talk about this later. i’m very tired
TurboSwami: I will have to write it, it will not be anywhere in minutes
TurboSwami: Should I go to my classes tomorow?
Zlah: i can remind you

I feel as though high conversation contains thought to be written on later, as if in ex-

plaination to the person who didnt want it so much in the actual conversation; questions
inserted by self to the self in the conversation. I shuffle my feet. Someone throws raffle tickets
at me by the dozens, procaiming "Oh My God!" as people paying for them watch.

I play Techno Animal, strangely generic sounding band only because of their age, and
think of James and gritty industrial’s dark thoughtful color. "Demonoid" is the name of the title
track on this disc, (VS Reality) My head. I love headphones, I love the insane disorientation
of perfect stereo. It makes me feel dancing in the room containing the music. THe synths
swirl between the speakers, vibrating in whirling pitch shift patterns. A mexican talks through
his nose in the reverbed backdrop. I feel seasick on the waves of verbalized echo. The slow
modulation of a siren rises from the bass frequencies filling first my right ear, and splitting
for the second. My head bobs not to the beat, but along the oscillating frequencies crest and
trough shifting, up and then back down.

Smoke again....Marc discusses the varried waveforms: the graphic representations of

personality and social interaction patterns, or I interpret that. I love minds, all of them...their
observabile activity, their quirky, predictable or surprising responses to the given situation.
Their show and their resonse to all shown. Blub blub blub..

"..HE had the Men in Black. Even better, he IS the Man in Black, singing the song from
the mysterious Mr. Smith’s viewpoint" -Steven E. McDonald

outsidethedream (2002-11-27 09:24:25)

that was the longest post i think i have ever seen. you are ofically long winded and pompus. ::gives
you the stamp:: haha.

swarms (2002-11-27 17:09:32)

yeah, I kind of noticed a lot of the same things as you. I saw people and read their thoughts as they
tried to look past the eyes and see what the eyes were seeing, but I wouldn’t let them. I was the
strongest. I was able to see them. And I laughed, but I was a little bit sad about it at the same time.

ksawyer (2002-11-28 00:02:06)

i highly enjoy your observations. most attentive. and no, we weren’t all oblivious. well i wasn’t
oblivious. jason probably wasn’t either. ok, yeah, marc was oblivious. shocking.

64
1.3 December

(2002-12-03 01:40) - nullified - public

Music: M.E. - Gary Numan

1. LIVING ARRANGEMENT? I live in a small room with a small man from Down Under and share
a bathroom, which has no locks on its doors, with 3 other men.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? None. I have read The Book (On The Taboo Against
Knowing Who You Are) by Dr. Alan Watts 3 times, though. It makes me feel like I am walking
an inch and a half above the ground.
3. WHAT’S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? I have the Kimberly-Clark pharmaceuticals mousepad. I
stole it from an empty classroom at 2 in the morning.
4. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? I havent played one that was honestly enjoyable yet. I have
played monopoly twice, though.
5. YOUR FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Psychology Today is the most interesting magazine I have read.
I love how every month they have a section about how men are different from women and
blacks are different from whites (black people feel more pain than white people.)
6a. FAVORITE SMELLS? I like the smell of a hug, nuzzling your nose in someones shirt.
6b. LEAST FAVORITE SMELLS? I hate turds! I hate them! TURDS!
7a. FAVORITE SOUND? I like the sound of water when it moves or falls. I guess that is white
noise. I like white noise.
7b. FAVORITE MUSIC? I like intelligent music, as rare as it may be.
8. WORST FEELING IN THE WHOLE WORLD? I sometimes get this unexplainable awful feeling
when I am in a cold shower and it is dark...my heart beats fast and I feel helpless. When I am
in a shower, I cannot be in the dark or be cold. I think I must have died in water in a past life.
ha.
9. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? "Oh god,
Just 7 more minutes..."
10. FAVORITE COLORS? Forest Green
11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? I let it ring more than I answer it.
12. NAME OF FUTURE CHILD? Bzzzzzzzzt!
13. BEST THING(S) IN LIFE? Solitude and acceptance
14. FAVORITE FOODS? Moist chocolate cake, a sloppy cheeseburger
15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? chocolate
16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? No. I slowed about 10mph for every near death experience.
Now I go about 35 everywhere.
17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM A FUCKING FAG!!!?
Grumble grumble spit
18. ULTIMATE CAR? Delorian
19. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR WEDDING SONG? Child Brides by The Auteurs
20. IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON DEAD OR ALIVE WHO WOULD IT BE? Alan Watts or
Nikola Tesla..maybe Jesus, if he was lucky.
21. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Gran Spumanti Champagne
22. WHO DO YOU HATE THE MOST? I hate all babies! THEIR WRETCHED COOING!
23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? These questions are gay, yes.
24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT BE? A Sultan with religious
influence.
25. EVER BEEN IN LOVE? I fell in love with the nurse, then the doctor slapped me. That
association seems to continue.
65
28. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? No, only my right hand is on the
right keys.
29. WHAT’S UNDER YOUR BED? An australian.

Why did I just fill that out? I feel like I have been cheated, somehow.

(2002-12-06 15:31) - Crusty Eyed - public

Music: Some wretched flake singing loudly to the "Oh Brother Where ARt THou" Soundtrack
I stared blankly into the mirror in the bathroom....and thought of personality. Our conception
of ourself is so superficial and so shallow that we define it with the opinions of the people
around it. They call this the Looking-Glass Effect in sociology. I thought of how hard it is,
once someone says something awful about you, to not let it then define your view of yourself,
your self esteem. Likewise, Eastern Psychotherapy, or Zen as some people call it, define
a person as everything that person sees so, ideally equivalent, emotionally, we are merely
compositions of our surroundings. I sat staring at my own eyes, blank and disasocciated, for
a long time...then I tried making Jack Nickleson eyebrows, but could get only my left one to
arch, and not with nearly his sinister degree of slope.

For as long as I can remember, I have fallen victim to intense disasocciative thought...like, as
if, I am part of the surrounding scene one moment and, the next, have been violently sucked
up into cloud 8 or 9 and, as my body stares off at the shadow in the corner of my 4th grade
classroom, idling, parked, as I have left it, I am lost in associations.

This place outside the body is like a foreign state of mind and, I say I fall victim to it,
only because it has always come so suddenly. During phases of my life which I am alone, the
’trips’ come in greater frequency. To describe them is difficult, and the topic of their skewing
is always different, but, what was once mundane and everyday becomes strange and alien,
the mechanics beneath peoples flesh, out of nowhere, become revealed and their moving lips,
once in, are seen to reverbarate out, bare motivations stripped naked for only I to see. This,
just a common theme to this constant ailment which has hit me, like a bucket of cold bizzarity,
making a the most boring of situations become perverse spectacles of animalistic competition.
It is one thing to see a figment of someones imagination as strange or weird, like a 4 eyed
bug alien...it is another to see that same strangeness in an alligator or, for that fact, a man.
In the 4th grade, I was subject to long unexplained fits of uncontrollable laughter that started,
sometimes, mid lecture and...caused me to fall to the floor, crying in the very hilarity of my
presence. I wished for it to stop...for me to be normal... It stopped, and I did not laugh again.
I sometime wish those fits of meaninless happiness would return. Where am I?

(2002-12-09 05:25) - public

Somebody said something about television being unnatural and I disagreed then and there, but
couldn’t explain how or why. At first glance, sure, a bad episode of Cheers on a medium-sized
Panasonic cable-ready set appears to have no connetion whatsoever to the primal mating call
of a Timber wolf or the subtle social net of Gorillas (in some mist.) But, as their social net is
subtle, so are’s is ever more so. And, as if our once primal scream was slowly sophisticated
over time, developing intonations and timbers of more specific emotional colors: fear, love,
confusion, sadness, these sophistications remain only colorful dressings for that same low
66
scream, the same universal cry.

And these ancient, deep, inner portions of the brain that we share with the wolf and the
gorilla, the regions of emotion, they are old, older than our intellect, the young prefrontal
cortex which sophisticates the animalistic brain’s raw wails.

And this prefrontal cortex, and its intricacies, took sex and made it love; took hunt and
made it competition, took beast and made it man. And, it was man who made the wires and
connected those wires to his body’s own wires...and, in doing so, connected himself to the
world; his emotion now sophisticated further and further outward, being transmitted through
the air and into space, reflected off satillites...

Those communication satillites, however, were seeds which man planted, shot them out
of a giant phallic rocket ship which, in his dream, splashed into the warm sea of a distant
planet. Sex, sophisticated so far beyond the body, desires complex and entangled, coursing
through binary digits and LCD displays, returning to us again in transmission. Transmission
of a love triangle soap opera shared by alcoholics who nullify their brains, together, with
substances...which return them even farther to thoughtless, fetal emotion.

(2002-12-13 07:26) - seperated, sparkle-eyed - public

Music: breathing
My psychiatrist, whome I use for lying to make money, appointment is tommorow. I suspect
I will mention to her the prospective experiment into thought and self I intend to be taking in
the near future; gathering her full opinion of its aid or distraction to the act of personality, its
understanding, its proficiency curve.

I was approached by a monk who came to me out of nowhere on the street and handed
me a book. He asked me if I had seen the book before and I said yes, as I had. I had found that
book and three others by the same author on a bench I found, high. I stole the books and read
one on a bench far away from the one I had found them on. They had not been read and were
new, that is why I took them. I read what the man said, in conversation with a scientist, about
spirit and migration, over time, through day and night. I disagreed with the conversation, in
terms of association to science and its inner depth, and decided, there, to write my own ideas
on death, which I had never thought of deeply

I told him this and he smiled, stupidly, and gave me a smaller book (as, he said, the
larger more expensive book would not fit well in my pocket.) I thanked him and gave him my
name. He was strangely nervous at my claim.

In two hours, I will tell my psychiatrist I am going to take chocolate laced with psylosi-
bin and that I have used the drug before. I will tell her it, more or less like its mind manifesting
brothers, changed the process of internalization of ones surroundings.

As if an incline of dry sand is covered, at its peak, by purifying water; in its continued
journey down the slope of my persnality, its many neuronic/neurotic fruit of intelligence’s net,
pedels, disconnected like so many grains of sand. A trail of moisture flowing downwards forms
a reflective surface as it evaporates into and out of the sand. I think of prospective futures in
this train of thought I now adopt when high....
67
People comment on my outward appearance when high, saying "You look like an actor
when you stare off into nothing....(like the whole thing is a movie)"

The idea of making a song out of lyrics (like these?) seems impossible...the melodies
come out only in rambled droning modulations of key....as if an old man without a voice is
singing badly in a street....and the people turn away from his eyes, again and again, unsure
where else to put them in avoidance...as if we are inherently attracted to light, internal or
external, and its avoidance can drive people crazy....to a point where they simply say "Oh
God! Your looking at me!?" as if to become flooded with intneral atempts of avoidance, unable
to keep the consciousness of the other inside....I looked down at a womans breasts and,
realizing I had done so, closed my eyes in avoidance and supposed rejection of what I had
saw....but, closing my eyes, watched them in their location for seconds...opening my eyes to
her watering, blinking ones...

A woman beside me goes crazy, grabbing hold of my leg, screaming of eating to the
girl sitting next to me. I feel magnetically avoidant, polar in my distraction. I become curious
of how many others are aware of some strong presence, some eye path outward and away
from me, conscious of my own path outward.

I think of seeing my family tommorow after 8 hours of travel. I think of my voice and
what its pitch and timber really mean in their reflection of mood and thought, the act of
expression, its tonal medium. I was told my voice becomes high when high, as if in release
from its low wavelenth-intensity body, frequency increasing in seperation from a radiating
body of internal intensity.

I feel like an actor, and reveal theatricism of each persons nature in subtle joking at each
persons thoughtless conversational competition. I love calling people defensive and watching
their eyes. I love laughing with a person, at a person....at the dive inwards towards release from
the image of gelled hair and clothed bodies....all washing off like mascara from a laughing eye.

I will tell the psychiatrist that I miss the quiet sanity of institutional seperation, away
from a society which binds. I read, in the "Things You Should Know..." driving manual, piled
at the Secretary Of State, as I renewed my driverse license, that after 65 you may, without
charge, opt out from the act of driving, giving your license back; before that point, at age
65, you had to pay a fee to opt out from the act of transportation. To be seperated from fast
movement is to be seperated from society, something inherently punishable. You must have
SOMEWHERE to go, otherwise you are sick...in need of negative motivation, punishment, or
sick, merely, by character of time and its motivation, that comparison between present and
past. whose current we submit to, at that lower, reproductive level, which we, as branches,
are born with, as trees. To not "course" in adhesion to role is to not "xylem" or "phloem" in
association to a larger system, the Tree.

Within the hour, I must have pedeled to the office of my psychiatrist in order to recieve
medication which I do not take.

68
2. 2003

2.1 January

(2003-01-05 04:20) - public

I refused to write publically over vacation....no public, just pubic: very personal. Bad touch, no
luvin, Gods birthing gods, and then dying. Cramming is the big test.
—Ctrl-A, Backspace, Edit - Undo –
A writers critical eye is not his, but his mothers...often critiqing harsh and shrill, breathing
alcoholic breath through grit teeth, threatening me in my bed. A writers critical eye watches
and screams a skewed standard, always angry, always tearing away what is wrong with the
writer and hating the blood that is torn. How can she be all women? It simply isn’t rational
for her to be every one, but she is...and they all watch and wait to attack, to pull the hair on
the back of the writer’s head, like a tight, ingrown leash of her very own. A writer’s critical
eye is not his at all...this voice that cannot be pleased...this hate that cannot be filled...driving
and prodding the writer to quit, to start again, to give up. The weight of this eye; so heavy,
quivering in a fetal position, the writer whispers, afraid, whispers the few soft words which had
yet to be torn away. When you beat your children, do so with erasers.

This is not me. I was not there. (2003-01-06 22:45) - public

As I rubbed my face on the ground just to be funny, I looked up and saw her beautiful face.
Only she was a fish and could not talk except on Tuesday Afternoons when the right song was
playing on the local 103 I decided that life was not for me. John Wayne is the horrible myth that
make all of our hands look weird. I laid down and sucked on her ice. Lydia is all that comforts
me. She reminds me of that sweet night where the sun was our success. Those were the best.
Me and my purple vest. Always remember: Fuck Dumbshit.

She kissed me today (2003-01-07 18:56) - public

I have become accustomed to kissing my girlfriend with my tongue. I have become accustomed
in general to kissing with my tongue. My mother was going to kiss me on the lips, but I was
tired and out came the tongue. My mom went with it. I soon felt her hand on my ass. I was
surprised at how good it felt to kiss my mother in this way. My flower couldn’t keep quiet. My
mother’s body was agaisnt me, and she felt it wake up. What happened next is between my
mom and I. More kids should spend quality time with their parents.

marckaw (2003-01-07 16:01:25)

that’s very sick, uhhh....kaleb ;) you’re a sick fuck

iztyme2ryde (2003-01-08 10:14:03) Nasty!

That is just wrong Kaleb why would you say that but I do not really mind it is one of those things that
you read and it is a shock to all of the people that read it. I do like the me part tho haha imagine that I

69
am getting inventive.

(2003-01-09 01:41) - public

I walked alone in the night; walking towards nowhere, to and from a destination broad as the
dark, my home. I returned to my home, tonight, and its cold early street arms still greeted me
with inner clarity as if I had never left. I am changed and changing, but my broad shadow will
always remain still in night where brilliance need not compete with the sun.

Bunch of shit. I have no interest in sharing truth, only dull personality spoken dramati-
cally.

(2003-01-09 01:50) - Dull Remembrance - public

Music: Can - Tago Mago

Lysergic Acid Amide

2001
12-24=>25

Hunting with dad. Like some ancient fireside meat process. I am a pansy, dad, you
know that! So are you! Whats the act? No! We have only grown fat...we still know
how it is done.

Yes, indeed. Everyone, their memories. Of father figures and their many throwings of
ham and the such. The heavy women and their chopping of beef. But, what of the sophisti-
cated bachelor pad bummer. Is he similarly thrown about to some far away and decidedly
common social slummer? Hmm

I put the picture with the other increasingly ugly family picturesthey chart a chronology
..a time line of exponential disfunction based on variable Child. Who knew?! Uncle Sam shall
extend his socialist hand and save the children of the SICK and WEAKLY PAINT CHIP MUNCHERS
AND MONGOLOIDSJUST BECAUSE THEY HAVE DOWN SYNDROME AND DON’T UNDERSTAND
FRACTIONS DOESN’T MEAN JESUS DOESN’T LOVE THEM.

If it does, then Hollywood is correct and God’s making plots too complicated for us to
deal with unless we carry a magic CIA God badgeor smoke cigarettes in unmarked black
helicopters. Ha! THE MAN oppresses you in more ways than you can imagine, Mrs. UFO freak
Gillian Anderson porno star lovin’ end of the road inhabitor only child. You always were lonely,
weren’t you? Ahh how cuutesmack smack smack.

TurboSwami: YOU!
TurboSwami: WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO WITH YOU?
aVioletButterfly: ?
TurboSwami: I need some meat!
TurboSwami: None of this!
70
aVioletButterfly: uh
TurboSwami: Are you willing to talk?
TurboSwami: Like a real person.
aVioletButterfly: i guess
aVioletButterfly: what??
aVioletButterfly: im not a real person
aVioletButterfly: ????
TurboSwami: Well, lets pretend!
TurboSwami: This is great! You and me!
TurboSwami: You are so crazy!
aVioletButterfly: ok
TurboSwami: I love it. I dont even want to do this though.
aVioletButterfly: why?
TurboSwami: Lets get to the bare facts...
aVioletButterfly: what the fuck are you talking about
TurboSwami: I have an amide in my liver.
aVioletButterfly: what is that
TurboSwami: Its squirming around as we speak..as I speak
TurboSwami: Anyway, it makes me finally alive and puts everyone in their place.
aVioletButterfly: huh?
TurboSwami: You are sick.
aVioletButterfly: ok
TurboSwami: Sorry. I got a bit of feeling there...kinda blocked my train of thought.
TurboSwami: I am sorry for you, really.
aVioletButterfly: what?
aVioletButterfly: im so confsed
TurboSwami: Ha ha ha.
TurboSwami: Isnt it a great ride, though
aVioletButterfly: what
TurboSwami: You are hardly deanna, though.
TurboSwami: She would understand. She has been there with me.
aVioletButterfly: what does that mean
aVioletButterfly: where?
TurboSwami: Here!
TurboSwami: As in, not anywhere else!
TurboSwami: Got me?
TurboSwami: Ha ha ha. She will love this, hope you dont mind.
TurboSwami: You are such a lover, though, really.
TurboSwami: You just dont know what else there is.
TurboSwami: Love it, love me...love it all.
TurboSwami: You dont even need to talk, just be with it as it is happening.
TurboSwami: The whole tingling goddamned thing....it is sensation. You are a sensual
creature, dont deny it.
TurboSwami: This isnt nearly as great as it was, alone. I feel like it is going nowhere.
TurboSwami: Like there is no reciprication....no understanding.
TurboSwami: It is all one way. Flowing out.
TurboSwami: But, I am obviously on my way down, unless you make me that way.
TurboSwami: What is there? Is there anybody out there at all who is here?
TurboSwami: Ba! I love you you crazy wild hidden diamond.

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9snippity destructo
TurboSwami: Love me and you love yourself, got it...it is that easy.
TurboSwami: There is no seperation.
TurboSwami: I will show this to my mother!
TurboSwami: WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT!
aVioletButterfly: you are crazy
TurboSwami: Is there no end to my talking to no one.
TurboSwami: Ha! I could analyze you, but I am having to much fun. You know your problems,
I know mine.
TurboSwami: They arent really there.

TurboSwami: These are ILLEGAL THOUGHTS.

TurboSwami: This living is prohibited.
TurboSwami: Goodbye you little shit! God bless you.

LIFE IS THE MEANWHILE..

The time inbetweenthe complex knot of flesh we get so stuck on. Ha, just cant swallow
it downwe are bound to it until it dies and, with it, dies its blessed instruments. Ha. Who
knew?! And, when those instruments are gone? Ha! We are only the frequency itself, don’t
get confusedthe darkness is part of the frequency. Light is our other half.

That was that. She isnt you, got me? You are real, she is a lost, highway actor look-
ing
for a hit off anybody. She never knew...everybody tells her she needs reality in
a pill like mine. (myself included)

(2003-01-11 02:00) - public

How is it that I can be so far from that beautiful person I was? How is it that I have let myself
go, and lost him? This thick rubbery capsule grows more and more unbearable, each day a
further submission to the lonely brink, violent bloody prostration, slamming my face into the
cold cement in disgust and weakness; "wont you miss me...wouldnt you miss me at all?"

How is it that I feel everything and, to all, am nothing. How can they not feel my love,
how can they ignore my pain? Alone, I am destined, forever alone, to grow old and die lonely
in the dark from my wretched sickness, thought. I bury my face in my hands and moan my
goodbyes. I want to stop this fight, to release myself from this muscular cage and to allow my
purest self to finally flow with the stream I have, for all my life, denied.

I dreamt of broken glass in an abandoned house floating down an African river of milk.
Beautiful rose bushes were destroyed and I cried out for it to stop, but she wouldn’t listen to
me, she ignored me smiling as I screamed louder for her to hear me in all of my love. She
destroyed all of my roses, and the broken home moves further downstream, carried only by
meaningless sex. This is no home and the window panes are all shattered, having spilled
blood, dried, of children never born. Upstairs they impersonate me, mocking me with the
exaggerated props of my personality. The floor is covered with polaroids of myself, each
picture with two images of me, progressively contrasting dark and light until only sharp
72
outlines remain, sillouettes, shadows of a person who was once smiling, now only black
defined by white. I cannot bear the past and I scrape my face along the jagged glass, smiling
through the spurting blood, scars to finally match those unseen. The blood is shining light,
brilliance gleaming through tears in soft wall, an imprisoned soul finally set free.

outsidethedream (2003-01-10 23:27:08)

that was so beautiful. i saw it. i smelled it. if you touched earth enough to write like that all the time.
i would pay to read it.

swarms (2003-01-11 16:19:52)

We need to hang out more, dawg. Together we could take all the fudging bull pucky this world has to
offer, or we could kill ourselves in a suicide pact. I’ve been trying to get someone to do that with me,
but everyone’s waiting to see how the movie ends. Soary, I’m the bad guy.

iztyme2ryde (2003-01-11 18:04:43)

You always make me feel bad with those things. I wonder am I not good enuf? Do I mess up?
Loneliness is no good and I feel as if this has something to do with me and such a feeling makes me
uneasy. I begin to question myself and feel bad for you at the same time. I do not understand it but u
seem unsure of yourself. That writing is so deep and I know I can not tell you these things cuz I feel so
awkward yet I know when I type it and hit that button I have done it. I feel bad. But nuf of me talking I
do it too mauh... night

(2003-01-12 06:30) - public

rapid, involuntary eye jiggling (nystagmus)

XorE
2003
Sat->>Sun
I am going to throw up. The affection is too much to control or stand...my chest vibrates
with it as if lifting me. My heart beats in my neck like heck. I was in a room, surrounded by
beautiful smiling people, laughing, to music designed for laughter and kodak moments and
I couldnt help but smile with an intensity which seemed to shine from my sparkling, watery
eyes. Each hyperventilating breath is one of warm love inward with cold loneliness in every
breath outward, felt running down my spine, making me want to buck towards the nearest
lover with open hands, beckoning warmth.

Hours later, I am empty of thoughts and feelings, thick headed again, only hot, but not
sweating.

(2003-01-14 07:37) - public

"I conversate about how men are more superior than women." - Gritty Shitgreen

I dreamt of travelling along a beautiful Canadian river in a small van with a woman who
I slept with, or tried to. The road began to lead away from the water further and further
and, soon, I could no longer see the beautiful river, only hear its rushing as it faded from
73
earshot. I began to question why I was travelling in this direction, or travelling at all, away
from the course which seemed most natural. There is a flow, a current, and I am fighting it
with clenched fists; punching what accepts me with blind, intentless emotion. The tears of my
stress hidden by the water which taunts them. Only in sleep do my fists open and my fingers
loosen to let the cold water course along my hot, red palms. Only in sleep do I allow the flow,
I fought so intensely in day, to cradle my infant body; gently rocking me as it always has as it
carries me, without time, to mine.

I wish to blame someone or something for my bad grammar; how I tend to make up my
own words as if I have that right. I thought to blame the U.P., since everyone has seen Fargo
and knows the DEMOGRAPHY of that segment of the population responsible for me. This would
have been a completely acceptable excuse for piecing together about any ill fragments of
speech I could ever wish to, but I denied myself that lie, opting to reveal a larger one instead...

Myself, I sometimes co am pee tock (cock) COOPERATION MAKES IT HAPPEN (workin’ to-
gether, dig it!) Ram crab togetherness, –porn for a brighter future==, mothers and fathers
grabbing the faucet. wHo-key (hokey) Couram bul targe intro cam our vent tree (I fear the
intrusive candid camera, as I use the sex to vent my fear of the intrusive candid camera
catching me use the sex to vent my fear of the...)

(2003-01-15 01:39) - public

In High School, when I was better than I am now, I was suspended for asking too many
questions about that nights advanced algebra homework. I had sat, high, the night before and.
after reading the chapter deeply, composed a list of seven questions on things I did not fully
understand. Somewhere around question number three, the teacher told me to stop asking
questions. 2 minutes later, I told him that the graph I had drawn produced a different answer
than the one he had quickly read off and I asked him if he could draw the problem out on the
grid portion of the chalkboard. He flatly looked my in the eye and said "no," minutes later, I
asked another very worthwhile question to which he replied "Shut up, or I will send you to the
office" at which point I stood up and said "If you honestly feel I am disrupting this class with
my questions, I will leave." Fellow students claime he, then, completely abandoned going over
the homework and began storming back and forth in front of his desk muttering my name
under his breath.

He insisted that I be suspended for no fewer than 3 days. He insisted that I never enter
his classroom again. He also insisted that both my parents come to school the following
week and that I not be there to defend myself. At this meeting, he apparently said that I was
"brainwashing the other students in the class into agreeing with me and hating him." Between
the principal and himself, it was agreed that I be tested for LSD since, as they said, questions
like the ones I was asking were simply not normal.

(2003-01-16 14:56) - public

I just put a big one-a day vitamin, some asprin, and a cup of mouthwash into my vaporizor. The
water turned from bright blue...to a frothy brown and my room suddenly smells very minty...like
a dentists office. Yessire! I will come out of this a better man!
74
(2003-01-17 03:14) - public

I feel my wit growing back from within those areas of my brain so heavily cinged by trails of
smoke and it makes me all gittery and ambition. My writing, suddenly, more cohesive like my
awaking personality. The art of humor and sharp sarcasm surface from where I had smeared
cognition so thin and far.

Still, I may never get back the tension lost in the fire, the nervous eagerness to please,
the energetic stooping for acceptance. That caring may never grow back, out from the dry
cracks of my disassociative introspection. I may never fully regain my ability to relate, to
associate, as I may have journeyed to FAR OUT, a lone fisherman who can no longer see his
shore, his bountiful catch, however large, he will never be able to share...as he is lost and
without anything but his net and its catch. A neural net we place over our eyes, the rope
squares enveloping the earth, within categories of latitude and longitude, black and white, up
and down, on and off, good and bad...all merely the tools of the fisherman; tools for catching
nature so that it may be cut up into categories and further categories with our mind’s sharp
blade. These, we so easily forget, are internal categories which we place on an external world;
good and bad do not exist in nature and yet we beat ourselves into submission to good and
snarl in hatred of bad with blind, unquestioning faith in their definition. What is the goal, the
point? For good to finally win and, then, have no bad to define it? Dr. Watts said "To want only
good and none of the bad is like wanting only the mountains and none of the valleys." And we
all know what a fucking genius he was, dont we?

I dreamt of beautiful mansions of stone behind a gorgeous stone gate: a private resi-
dential area for the highest of the high class. This is college. And, as I walked along the dark
black paved road, which ran along a manmade stream, I looked at the money and the sad,
boring people who lived in it...applying Crest whitening strips behind the shaded glass of their
$50,000 S.U.V.’s. This is the goal of college and I was filled with pity and wished to leave
but, turning around, the man-made stream was a torrential rapids which forced me to my
hands and knees, my head bobbing beneath the white water there in the dark I fought against
submission to the current. And, I saw looking so far up, there in the dark, the beautiful stone
gate....closing and realized it was not created to keep people out. And, crying, released...my
skin scraping blood along the man-made cement beneath the water, I saw sick, dying children,
white, bald, dead, reaching out just to touch me....

I am in this for the long haul...

(2003-01-18 04:58) - public

There was a lot of noise and the hornets began to stack one on top of the other on top of the
other, their buzzing wings magnifying to a shrill whine. He felt the line of them touch the skin,
down the back of his spine and awoke, crying out

"Pop Music Is A Brothel! Pop music is my mother!"

Alone, in the dark, his windowless bedroom looked the same with eyes closed as it did
with eyes open. He heard his kitten purring and knew it was at the foot of his bed, lying in
the water pan of an old humidifier it had come to claim as its bed. It was a gift from the most
beautiful woman in the world. She rang the bell of his apartment a week and 2 days before
75
with the newborn grey hair in a white shoe box and left to avoid eye contact with him as he
cried, as she knew he would. The note on the box read "Happy Birthday. I am sorry." He
named it Loveless.

He switched on the light, it was only 4:10. Reaching down, he gently picked up the in-
fant kitten who had only had its eyes open a few days. Holding it in one palm, feeling it breath,
he ran the back of his index finger along the underside of its neck and it closed its eyes in
motionless acceptance like she used to and his body tingled with the love of that memory,
smiling at the beauty, his eyes welled and then flowed in the silent smiling. He had pictured,
someday, running his finger along the underside of their infant son’s neck and was again now,
like his mother had him with her gentle rocking song, humming through her chest.

He knew she would not return, that this was her final goodbye, Loveless; its soft purrs
humming through its chest to his palm.

(2003-01-18 06:22) - public

"And Sylvia says...Come to bed...

It’s so good...to have you here." - John Cale

(2003-01-18 16:43) - public

"...and, as in antiquity, the lonely man was blessed with wisdom to the point of depseration." -
John Cale

(2003-01-19 03:16) - public

Today, at my new job, my register was under by over one hundred dollars at the end of my
shift. This being the third shift in a row (out of a total of 3 shifts) where I had ended up
with between $50 and $100 dollars short. I am racking my brains over and over, afraid. I
suspect they might charge me for the lost money, meaning I would lose over $100 my first
week of work. It simply isnt possible that I could be that off as I am sure my change was exact.

Can they take the lost money from me? Anybody with similar problems once?

outsidethedream (2003-01-20 17:08:01)

how on earth did you lose that much money? i suggest you learn to count better. oh man i hope
they dont make you pay it. its porbably more than you make all week. that would make having a job
counterproductive.

iztyme2ryde (2003-01-20 17:38:56)

Ah... some one who thinks the same as me. I do not think they will do n e thing, maybe take it from
you check but I do not know. I think that they would talk to you first and I know your counting is ok.
But you will not have enough in your first check to cover that I know.

76
(2003-01-20 20:08) - public

"...perhaps my brains are old and scrambled..." - Eno

"...he’s not the kind you have to wind up on Sunday..." - Ian Anderson

Grabbing hold of the icy steel railing, I found it to be pulling me down faster than when
I was merely free falling. Who knew this building, and all that it is grounded to, only appeared
to be solidly reinforced and unmovable. If only I had questioned the concrete earlier, I would
not feel so foolish now; so played. I watch the receptionists and errond boys now float
about, self absorbed, falling with me...only now they do so in step with a chugging circus
clown song, being played by an organist who, until now, had been hiding underneath the floor.
So receptive, the receptionist, knowing exactly which teeth to kick; I wonder who trained her...

Knob twiddling middle men fight wars without having to look up from missile manuals.
If only there was a remote control, so he wouldnt have to get up to press The Button. And I
hope George Bush burns in hell with all the other stupids he’s with. And I hope, there, that a
red man with a tail and a pitchfork prods him in the Bush/gonads. There is no hay in hell, it
burns to easily, what else can a horny red man do with a pitch fork. (if he is horny enough, he
can think of many things, I suspect.)

outsidethedream (2003-01-20 20:18:38)

i think i felt that.

(2003-01-21 16:25) - public

"I cannot conceive of a God who rewards and punishes his creatures, or has a will of the type of
which we are conscious in ourselves. An individual who should survive his death is also beyond
my comprehension, nor do I wish it otherwise; such notions are for the fears or absurd egoism
of feeble souls." - Albert Einstein

(2003-01-23 17:34) - public

Look Towards Germany

Melt Banana is not the strangest band in existence. A truely strange band will make small
children cry and the elderly convulse. You must look deeper, deeper....and the bizzarity will
find you..

I think Faust is one of the more mythical and strange bands to come out of the all around
strange Kraut rock movement...the Germans over-intellectualize everything, make it alien.
This iincluding psychedelic rock...they making it so alien from that of our own West coast, it
merited an entirely genre name.

Stranger yet, look to the ancient composers of magnetic tape. Musique Concrete is, HANDS
DOWN, the strangest music to be heard PERIOD. Brian Eno compiled 3 discs of early cut and
paste composers on OHM: The Early Gurus Of Electronica. On it, you get an introduction to
such weirdos as Morton Subotnick, Tod Dockstader, Edgard Varese, Raymond Scott, and John
Cage. Reccomended for the Ripe Subgenius.
77
And, finally, there was a competition on just such a topic of the strangest albums ever
made done Strange and Cool Music Magazine. The winner, in first place, was Jean Jacques
Perrey with "The New Electronic Pop Sounds Of Jean Jacques Perrey.’ It is an old disc from
the 60s...sounds like 40 minutes of sparkley advertizing jingles for LSD baby food. Second
place went to Ken Nordines "Colors," on which Nordine mumbles Beat-style jazz personality
descriptions of all of the colors. Very strange.

Hope I was of help, get any of these albums from me in trade.

__________________
...perhaps my brains are old and scrambled...

(2003-01-24 01:35) - public

As the legend goes, there is an ancient recipe for the tastiest of all breakfast cereals. It is
carved in the ice somewhere in the world’s tallest mountains. Using their wits and boundless
energy (PLUS A MAP THEY BOUGHT AT A LOCAL JUNK SHOP), Snap (c), Crackle (c), and Pop (c)
have ventured into the cold, frosty unknown to bring back the fabled recipe just for you. Their
determination and willpower (not to mention cool shoes) have made this box of Frosted Rice
Krispies (c) possible. Enjoy!

Who knew, after the perilous trek high and far onto the highest of the world’s high mountains
to find the ice where the mysterious ancient chef had chizled the long lost recipe to the world’s
tastiest breakfast cereal, that the secret was merely to add sugar to regular Rice Krispies. I
dont see why that needed to be such a secret or why the ancient chef’s had to chizle the
"recipe" into the ice, or how you can even call adding sugar to previously made cereal a recipe.

iztyme2ryde (2003-01-24 10:12:19)

that is funny, did you actually quote that from the cereal box?

(2003-01-24 02:14) - Reminiscent of Youth - public

Music: Apollo-ENO http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&uid=2:09:22|AM&sql=Agqk0ikz6bbc9

How can I be this person who I hate so much? This mumbling, thoughtless, dead fuck of a
body, gorging itself in escape, waiting for tommorow to finally arrive, day after day...waiting
for change to come with that rising sun and closing my eyes, silently, to the world until it does;
sedated, asleep, disattatched, nonexistant, dead. I am the dead, waiting for birth to come to
me, for rebirth, the shedding of this thick, brittle carapace, the hardened shell all have come
accustomed to seeing which restricts my movement more and more. Underneath that dead,
dark surface-seen is truth, is growth, is the unseen vibrant potential developing. My wings,
restricted, my destiny of flight, held tighter and tighter within the inflexible image projected,
dead, to be shed with birthed wings spread, tommorow. Why will tommorow not come? Why,
sun, why dont you rise? How can this darkness last so long, so long that I forget how it is
to see. Will this night of waiting ever end? Will tommorow ever come? I fool myself again
78
and again, falling harder and harder in these things called dreams. The greatest dream of all:
tommorow, a myth I recite to myself each waking day, as, in the end, The Rising Sun Grants
Initiative To None, It Only Casts Light Upon What Must Be Done.

So much...so much...

(2003-01-25 03:57) - public

...and there are faces of nature which we will never see and aspects of her which we have not
the capacity to fathom and this is the true unknown, encompassing all seen and unseen, all
within and without yourself. This is the object of faith of the reasoning man. This is the true
religious depth of science: nature, who’s intricacy and direction we overlook as we assume,
in its simplicity, that its way is not intelligent, that we have seen all of it there is to see, that
its mysteries were conquerable by mortal man. Had a single person, while questioning the
unseen, higher order of his life, looked at the veins of a leaf and realized the connection to
its tree, greater purpose would no longer be a mystery to him. For, there, he would realize
that there is no seperate, overruling personality, watching each of us, building life like a car,
categorizing us; that the idea of such a man contradicts everything he sees around him and,
therefore, is unnatural.

God is nature is us, each of us, leaves...so convinced, in our ego trip, life, that we are
seperate from those fellow leaves rustling around us, occationally touching or scraping if the
wind destines it so. By design, we have not the depth of understanding of our true Nature to
realize the existance of the Branch, our combined history, or, much less, the trunk-base of
which we are all merely animated fruit, dancing in the wind. This is a shallow realization of one
of Nature’s many, unseen faces....shallow in that it extends far back, beyond our wretched,
isolating time, to dimensions of surface within....the hidden Nature of depth, of the unseeable
surface.

And, this seperates science from the nature it disects. Observation will never acknowl-
edge depth, but it is within where God hides, waiting to be saught. Cut an orange in two,
trying to find him there....but, he merely recedes within those two halves. This is the game
science plays, trying to catch the master of Hide and Seek....will the scientist ever close his
eyes and enter the orange by way of himself? Find, there in his identity, God in the fruit in
himself who is God? That scalpel is a tool of defense, of categorization, of cutting and of
controlling. The phallic shaped scalpel of defense, the purple helmet hides the fear of the
uncontrollable forgotton known.

Pantheism is the believe that God is Nature and I am a Pantheist. Are you?

(2003-01-27 01:05) - public

LeChatNoir4: not watching the superbowl

TurboSwami: snorted 4 dif pills w gin for depression
LeChatNoir4: wish I were there
LeChatNoir4: I’m thinking I might walk a 1/2 mile for some cigarettes
LeChatNoir4: I quit.... two and half weeks
LeChatNoir4: now I’m just plain depressed... and need them
79
TurboSwami: I felt so pathetic...
TurboSwami: 4 diff antidepressants
TurboSwami: 2 uppers
TurboSwami: and gin
LeChatNoir4: probably not a good combo
TurboSwami: I want to wallow in this depression
TurboSwami: alone
LeChatNoir4: oh, I guess I can stop bothering you then
TurboSwami: it is healthy for you to hear this side of me
TurboSwami: I am fat and I am lazy
TurboSwami: and my mind is sick
TurboSwami: I have not done anything illegal, so do not judge
LeChatNoir4: I’m not
TurboSwami: Each of these perscriptions
TurboSwami: Each of these substances for adults, which I admit I am.
TurboSwami: Somehow I thought being an adult would mean wisdom...
LeChatNoir4: it doesn’t being an adult sucks
TurboSwami: when I was a child, I thought "adult" material was for adults only because
children could not fathom its compexity
TurboSwami: I did not realize that I, there and then, thought more complexily than most of the
adults reading the adult material
TurboSwami: I was more intelligent then, I believe
TurboSwami: analyzed and questioned more often....
TurboSwami: Critiqued myself more severely
LeChatNoir4: brb.... feeling reallly sick all of a sudden
TurboSwami: i believe i induced it
LeChatNoir4: sorry, extremely naseuous
LeChatNoir4: it’s the need a cigarette vomit feeling
LeChatNoir4: well, I really don’t know what to tell you
LeChatNoir4: life isn’t that bad, really it isn’t
TurboSwami: please let me believe it is, just for this moment
LeChatNoir4: yeah, I can remember being suicidal
LeChatNoir4: I realized that things pass
LeChatNoir4: and things get better
TurboSwami: you win
TurboSwami: the gin is going down easier now
TurboSwami: I was suicidal at 11
TurboSwami: I realized my childhood was over
TurboSwami: and that I would soon be a teenager
TurboSwami: and it drove me to put a gun in my mouth
TurboSwami: for years I refuesed to admit to adults that I was attracted to women
TurboSwami: As, it implied a loss of innocence...kooties being a characteristic of that...
TurboSwami: I tried to sound like a baby when my voice deepened with growth around 6.
TurboSwami: So that my mother would still love me.
LeChatNoir4: brb... ill again
TurboSwami: My voice stayed high for nearly a decade, until I consciously deepened it
TurboSwami: It is all very sickening...how sick thought can make you...
TurboSwami: The infermity of intellect, the complex child
LeChatNoir4: no, I was just stood up for the superbowl
LeChatNoir4: I’ve been increasingly cranky since I quit smoking
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LeChatNoir4: and I’m the only person I know that wasn’t invited to watch the superbowl with
anyone ( I didn’t want to watch)
LeChatNoir4: but the fact is: I’m alone
TurboSwami: i just pissed allover myself and the floor
TurboSwami: and have lost two snorting straws
LeChatNoir4: I’ve gotta go rummage up some cigs....
TurboSwami: You are superficial
LeChatNoir4: that’s fine
LeChatNoir4: I’m cranky
TurboSwami: vent on me
LeChatNoir4: frankly I could careless if I"m superfical
TurboSwami: I want to be attacked, so that I may assume a fetal position
LeChatNoir4: there’s not much that people can say that will upset myself, so you’re not really
going to get a rise out of me
TurboSwami: i am lazy because I am fat because I am lazy
TurboSwami: I slept till 5 today...being fully awake, but forcing myself to close my eyes..
TurboSwami: SO that I did not have to deal with myself
TurboSwami: Waking up in 20 minute intervals
LeChatNoir4: well, realize you’re not that bad of a person
TurboSwami: Seeing all that I despise and closing it off from my vision...again and again.
TurboSwami: a blue pill, in two lines..and a double shot of whisky and gin
LeChatNoir4: why are you doing this to yourself?
TurboSwami: dont play ignorant
TurboSwami: i am in no mood to explain again
LeChatNoir4: listen, go talk to a professional... I’m far from that
LeChatNoir4: I wouldn’t anything bad to happen to you
LeChatNoir4: and I don’t feel like I can help you, because I don’t know how to
TurboSwami: and get a different collor pill to add to the rainbow line in my bloodstream now?
TurboSwami: I dont want help, I want truth
LeChatNoir4: time makes things pass

If only I could begin to apply myself....to make things with myself...to assign direction to
my action, which is sporatic and haphazard. Potential grows like the fat on my hips...and I am
loved only for my potential. Eno, lulls me yet again, telling me the words I type are actually
there, not the blurred footprints they appear to be. SOmeone sits by me, watching, crying
in my sadness, not hers....Devoted, admitted to giving anything I desire to me at my very
asking....I told her I would not be able to make such a promise and she cried more telling me
it did not matter, that I was her everything and was that special....

THis is my low point, sedated....I brag of steel tasted before 12, as if it is a prerequisit
for admittance to the club of big heads. Slide guitar is god’s answer to depression...so slow
and optomistic....like a warm hand on a naked knee...so warm and oiptomisitic...wakeing me
from my wallowing "depression...

"You are what you do...and I do very litttle...." and, have the potential to do so much....

The faces I see are sick, and induce a feeling of sickness....in all those around me....I
dont want to hear of anyone’s depression but my own....this is what I need, an introduction
to that which drains my ambition, the double binds which restrict my movement in day, the
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circles of emptiness-filled which occupy my days of using. I told her I feel I am using her....and
then moaned with my face in my hands.....

I was going to try like hell to prove my worth to those who hit me, but then I stopped
caring what they thought of me....and lost the image I had to prove. I wish I was nervous again,
I wish their opinions shaped me as they once did...but now I am empty...now I am asleep.

We both think of it, that idea that we are so fucked up by what happened to us, that
there is no turning back....that this is us and that we cannot change it, only accept the control
over our self.

and I am to be forever critical of myself and my children, to the point of paralysis....

Tommorow, I have no clean underwear, but I cannot walk. Poeple make wash for contin-
ued consomption of dirty things to wash down...

Listening to Popol Vuh’s sountrack to the dream-state movie Aguire: THe Wrath of GOd
by seventies avant gard movie drector, Werner Herzog. Herzog made only movies of a sur-
realisitic, Intellectual, Gernam flair. He often hypnotized his actors to attain the zombie-like,
emotionless acting required for the role.

Men and women have natural family roles. Anyone who contests this is in a state of de-
nial, fuled by the women’s right’s movement. The woman’s opinion, on a political plane,
is acceptable and integratable...however, the womans role in reference to the raissing of
children, thus the family, has been defined by thousands of years of motheres caring for
babies...Sensitivity to emotion is something which, in men, occures only in those with geneitic
effeminate qualities....comet

"But then again, girls aer quite a bit more sensitive to emotions than guys are....its to
be expected"......I know, I said....holding her sobbing head. We had established so much, and
it was all forgotten in the moist tears. Deep, hyperventalating breaths and questions of "Why
do I feel liike this?"

(2003-01-31 02:01) - public

I was browsing a fellow MSU student’s album collection on his FTP server. He admitted that
his taste did not span far beyond basic modern rock and some metal, but I thought I would be
able to find something, and did find about three popular albums...some Radiohead, the new
Beck....and then...I found the album I produced...

I was very suprised...I had no idea it was that popular...the idea that my album is more
popular than most of the stuff I have made me feel very important, and especially since the
newer and more professional sounding album made last year is coming out soon....I am still
shocked. Shroud Of Despondency - For Eternity Brings No HOpe...right inbetween Sepultura
and Silverchair on the person’s list. I laughed and laughed, as if I have such exposure...maybe
the music scene isnt as big as it seems...
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2.2 February

(2003-02-03 22:37) - FumbleBummingPenisNumbing - public

Music: Flying Saucer Attack

In circles within circles swirl squares who have flushed,
Their tight smiles forced obligation, electricity gushed,
Like echoes under water, through coral caves and brine,
These archetype faces stay unchanged through all time,
And who’s waves are these that pummel, pushing down my every try,
This unseen, mythic waver, saying hello or goodbye

I dance on a paycheck, eating my face’s hate,

I dance so well, fond of paper, memorizing lines for playless playing,
And will the act recieve four stars, critic critique the depth of my self critisism,
I hate the teacher and wish not to be taught,
The ignorance is comfort, my mind fighting thought,
And if I had no schedual and if I had not what I got,
I would lay down and not get up, lay inviting rot.

There is something that happens in silence, in the mind. A slowing, as if to become less
viscous...like the silence sinks in, slowly, making it hard to return to society and socialization.

(2003-02-06 18:25) - public

OutsideTheDream: i feel like your the sort of person that hates bob marley.
TurboSwami: Oh, you mean because of my intense hated of black people?
TurboSwami: How could anybody hate an easy goin fellah like Bobby.
OutsideTheDream: no
OutsideTheDream: because everyone likes bob marley
OutsideTheDream: so you have to hate him out of principal
TurboSwami: As long as I know a bit more than the OTHER GUY about a popular band or
person, I feel safe.
TurboSwami: For instance, everybody loves Pink Floyd too....
TurboSwami: But dont know about the LEGENDARY FRONTMAN and CREATOR of the band, Syd
Barrett
OutsideTheDream: haha
OutsideTheDream: i see
TurboSwami: Who spiralled into clinical insanity after the first album.
OutsideTheDream: what is the first album
TurboSwami: And spent seven years in a mental institution only to come out creating one of
the best solo albums in existance, absolutely insane. I love the insane
OutsideTheDream: ive never heard of him
TurboSwami: Their first album was The Piper At The Gates of Dawn and he wrote and sang all
the lyrics as well as played lead guitar
TurboSwami: The song and album Wish You Were Here was devoted to him.
TurboSwami: As they felt a need to pay homage to their madcap creator after the success of
Darkside
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TurboSwami: He is still alive...some say he refuses to believe he was in the band...
OutsideTheDream: really?
OutsideTheDream: why?
TurboSwami: Nobody knows...he has an almost religious cult following.
TurboSwami: One person said he went into a store to buy pants...
TurboSwami: and got three different pairs of the same set of pants...three different sizes...
TurboSwami: and spent nearly an hour in the changing room...
TurboSwami: Before finally coming out and screaming...
TurboSwami: ’ALL OF THESE PANTS FIT PERFECTLY!!"
TurboSwami: and ran out of the store
OutsideTheDream: hahahahaha
OutsideTheDream: he is three different sizes?
OutsideTheDream: (no. im not serious)
TurboSwami: heh. and blah blah blah
TurboSwami: Shine On You Crazy Diamond is his song as well
TurboSwami: and thats how I justify liking the Popular badn Pnk Floyd
TurboSwami: My hair is getting so long
TurboSwami: It grows so fast and thick
OutsideTheDream: closer by nin would be my theme song if i was a stripper
TurboSwami: Thats not a very sexy song "I have no soul..."
TurboSwami: Well, maybe the chorus would turn some guys on
TurboSwami: You were born to dance...
TurboSwami: Naked...
TurboSwami: To Trent Reznor
OutsideTheDream: haha
OutsideTheDream: not in real life
OutsideTheDream: maybe in the inbetween
OutsideTheDream: half way in real life and half way in fake life
TurboSwami: Oh, you are talking about in my dreams...
TurboSwami: Yes, thats true.
OutsideTheDream: ok
TurboSwami: Maybe not.
OutsideTheDream: in my dreams today my mom found out that i smoke weed all the time and
she cried at me in my dorm room
OutsideTheDream: i woke up and i felt sorry
TurboSwami: Oh, pashaw
OutsideTheDream: then i noticed it wasnt real
TurboSwami: Smoking weed isnt a bad thing...
TurboSwami: You have just been convinced it is...
TurboSwami: By button pushers far above.
OutsideTheDream: yeah
OutsideTheDream: i know that
OutsideTheDream: i dont think im doing anything wrong
OutsideTheDream: but my mom would be upset
TurboSwami: She would rather you were a sloppy alcoholic?
OutsideTheDream: she is a conservative sort of person and wouldnt understand how i can
justify breaking an unjust law
TurboSwami: at least my parents are reasonable....they know boose is worst than ganga
TurboSwami: If only everyone’s parents were drugged out hippies
TurboSwami: Ex hippies
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OutsideTheDream: i just jusitified giving children the right to vote
OutsideTheDream: in my head
OutsideTheDream: and now i think its true
OutsideTheDream: and im pissed that they cant
TurboSwami: You think they have the mental capacities of a fully developed adult?
TurboSwami: And can judge the complex social and political issues at hand in consciencous
voting?
OutsideTheDream: no
OutsideTheDream: i think social issues are too complex
OutsideTheDream: and shouldnt be
OutsideTheDream: :-D
TurboSwami: For some reason I thought you were coming up with this long detailed rebuttle
TurboSwami: or something
TurboSwami: ReBUTTle
TurboSwami: ha!! yes!
OutsideTheDream: i wanna vote for ice cream
OutsideTheDream: no
OutsideTheDream: not war.
OutsideTheDream: ice cream
OutsideTheDream: come on. it would be great\
TurboSwami: I wanna vote for the ice cream war
TurboSwami: Where they throw it at eachother...
OutsideTheDream: thats the worst thing ive ever heard
TurboSwami: Blood in the rocky road
TurboSwami: Cookie Dough death
OutsideTheDream: why do you take my hopes and dreams and make them horrible
TurboSwami: Napolean’s air assault
OutsideTheDream: pessimist turd
TurboSwami: Its a guy thing, girly.
OutsideTheDream: boys are negative nancies
TurboSwami: If I was all about everything nice and shit sugar and spice...
TurboSwami: I would have a cock in my ass.
TurboSwami: and I dont...
TurboSwami: So I dont
OutsideTheDream: thats the dumbest thing ive ever heard
TurboSwami: Isnt it?
OutsideTheDream: you are just a stupid poo poo
TurboSwami: So, you dont think if I was all emotional and girly, I would be femanine?
OutsideTheDream: no
OutsideTheDream: i think that guys have very intense emotions
OutsideTheDream: only robots dont have emotions
TurboSwami: I believe guys have emotions
OutsideTheDream: boys just show it differently
TurboSwami: I believe mothers require more emotion
TurboSwami: Must be more sensitive...to tend children
OutsideTheDream: thats stupid.
TurboSwami: And believe socialization is related to emotion...
TurboSwami: and know that women use both sides of their brain in socializing
TurboSwami: Where men use only half
OutsideTheDream: you probably also think thomas hobbes was smart
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TurboSwami: I am sure he was a fucking genius
TurboSwami: Just because you think he wasnt!
TurboSwami: So THERE!
TurboSwami: Neener
OutsideTheDream: your a douche
TurboSwami: Pumpkin eater
TurboSwami: There are natural roles....
TurboSwami: For men and women.
TurboSwami: Defined by the psychological differences which some people would have you
believe dont exist
OutsideTheDream: i feel like you want to be in some position of authority with me all the time
and its super annoying
OutsideTheDream: im clearly the more sucessful human of the two of us
TurboSwami: Sorry, I just like arguing.
TurboSwami: SOme people dont like arguing...
OutsideTheDream: some people are douchey
TurboSwami: Im more successful, though.
OutsideTheDream: how do you justify that?
TurboSwami: Unless you define success by the number of relationships you carry...
TurboSwami: I have done more with myself...
OutsideTheDream: how much money is in your bank account right now
OutsideTheDream: what is your gpa
TurboSwami: 5700
TurboSwami: 3.2
TurboSwami: Is that how you define success, money?
OutsideTheDream: how many people would die for you
OutsideTheDream: no. im thinking of many different ways of defining worth
OutsideTheDream: worth has nothing to do with good or bad. just whats there
TurboSwami: I feel I am important.
TurboSwami: and have the right to brag
OutsideTheDream: i feel like i weild more power.
TurboSwami: What kind of powre?
TurboSwami: Social power?
TurboSwami: Physical power?
TurboSwami: Mental power?
OutsideTheDream: i have more money, more worth in the job market. more social influence.
TurboSwami: You have more money that me?
OutsideTheDream: i think my mental powers are higher than you might suspect.
OutsideTheDream: yes.
TurboSwami: 6 grand is a lot
OutsideTheDream: and i have a trust.
TurboSwami: I lied...3 of those grands are in mutual funds
TurboSwami: More worth in the Job market?
TurboSwami: Defned by GPA?
OutsideTheDream: and some other stuff.
OutsideTheDream: i have a big skill set. if i were to quit school tomorrow i would have 4
different careers to fall back on
TurboSwami: I feel as if, while you were aquiring friends and talking to them, I was developing
knowledge and learning skills and talents..
OutsideTheDream: talent and skills dont always get you everything.
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OutsideTheDream: i can lifeguard
OutsideTheDream: teach ski lessons
TurboSwami: and that, without that whole SOCIAL portion of my life, I was able to create a
Reneissance Identity, well rounded in writing, music, etc
OutsideTheDream: i know quite a bit about carpentry
OutsideTheDream: and i went to beauty school in high school so i could always get a job doing
that too
OutsideTheDream: no one cares about your personal achievements in your braid dude
OutsideTheDream: they just want to buy your labor.
OutsideTheDream: you dont have enough money to think any way other than that
TurboSwami: I learned only what interested me, got writing published, got awarded money for
it, released my first album.
TurboSwami: Produced for a label
TurboSwami: Learned to play drums...
TurboSwami: Learned to play synthesizers.
OutsideTheDream: so you have a skill set
OutsideTheDream: but i dont see how you are putting more value on your skill set than yur
putting on mine
TurboSwami: I dunno, I just feel like I have accomplished more than most
OutsideTheDream: everyone feels like tha
OutsideTheDream: hehe
TurboSwami: Working as a lifeguard is fine...
TurboSwami: I dont feel it is a measure of success
OutsideTheDream: also
OutsideTheDream: i would point out that human worth is only actualized outside ones self
OutsideTheDream: the worth of people is in social relations.
TurboSwami: Is that a fact?
OutsideTheDream: yeah.
OutsideTheDream: if there was no one to compare yourself too, you wouldnt even have a
concept
TurboSwami: So, capacity or potential have nothing to do with self worth?
OutsideTheDream: since woroth only exists between people
OutsideTheDream: ...
OutsideTheDream: they help
TurboSwami: ha
TurboSwami: Sorry, that laugh made me sound pretentious
OutsideTheDream: i cant believe you are laughing at me
TurboSwami: Course, most of what I say does that.
OutsideTheDream: read some rosseau and talk to me tomorrow
TurboSwami: Was that his idea? That worth is only physical?
OutsideTheDream: no
OutsideTheDream: thats not at all what i said
TurboSwami: "actuallized outside the self"
OutsideTheDream: social relations arent physial
OutsideTheDream: yeah
TurboSwami: Social relations is words
TurboSwami: Is the language of surface, objects
TurboSwami: The physical
OutsideTheDream: in our relationships with others
OutsideTheDream: outside the self
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TurboSwami: Everything outside us is physical, no?
OutsideTheDream: language isnt physical your moron
OutsideTheDream: no
OutsideTheDream: god
TurboSwami: No, language is not physical.
OutsideTheDream signed off at 5:50:50 PM.

There was a time when having deep conversations with another person was a fullfilling
and seemingly worthwhile experience, but, now, has become something competative, some-
thing leaving a bitter taste for everyone involved. I have thought the points I argue over in
my head many times and am confident in my associations and generalizations. Often the
associations of ideas are so familiar to me that I "bundle" them, skipping intermediate points
of relation, interconnecting concepts quickly which, at one time, took me much concentration.
As if we go through periods of "networking" in cognition, during which time we blaze trails
between semantic nodes, linking them by way of leap-frogging from node to node, word to
word, concept to concept. In Cognitive Psychology, the Semantic Network is a set of pathways,
forming a web, which carries what they could only ambiguously call "activation" outwards
from a beginning point, as if to ripple outwards from the entry point of a stone on the surface
of a pond. The larger the stone, the farther-reaching the activation amongst related semantic
nodes.

When Sara said "social relations arent physical," the two concepts "socialization" and
"physical" were immediately associated in my mind, having been linked previously while high.
Language is a tool of expressing, more specifically, of expressing that which is external and
it has been said that the truelly subjective, experiences of depth, can not be expressed in
words; that words fade in effectiveness when thoughts delve below surface or image. Ego, too,
came in my mind to be related to socialization this way; ego being an awareness of our own
image and of defending or competing against others. This defense or competition is done,
first and foremost, physically and, with inhibition of that physical urge, with words of action.
Ego is a slave to surface in this way and directs, exclusively, the content and meaning of our
socialization, be it to impress or attack, tend or befriend, submit or direct, socialization is ego
is image is surface is physical is external. And I, quite obviously, have been reading too much
Freud.

outsidethedream (2003-02-06 15:39:07)

there is more to the ego then defending and competing, if im at all clear on freud. and if all you said
was a true thing. explain love. explain aulturism. explain compassion. are you saying we only want
to help people to make ourselves look better? you are off topic and using a lot of big words to say
stupid poop. and making yourself look heartless. which means YOU GET NO ASS. hahahaa. why do
you make it so fun to be mean?

(2003-02-06 16:23:31)
Attepts to quantify human worth are doomed to failure from the outset for innumerable reasons.
However, it is certainly ludicrous to say that worth is externally actualized, and I don’t care what
Rousseau says about it. From any quietist, naturalist, Wittgensteinian or otherwise nontheistic or
nonplatonist approach, the subjectivity and incommensurability of worth is pretty clear. That is,
partially because of the reductivism of reason itself (and therefore of language, etc.), universal
or even intersubjective truths of value become basically impossible. This is because reason (et
al.) does violence to genuine, authored feelings in the individual by reconciling them with the

88
universal, i.e., something that can be readily understood by others. This violence is inherent in
reason. To create a linguistic narrative of intersubjective value judgments serves only to obscure
the truth taking place in the subject itself–that is, positing a framework of worth or value is a way
of "describing" the whole while at the same time ignoring the components entirely. The only real
quanification of worth takes place in the unified subject, if in fact there is one; there are many
arguments regarding the multiplicity of the self. But in any case actualization can only happen
internally–never externally. One conclusion is that the worth one finds in oneself is always at least
as important as the worth another finds in it. Quite possibly, infinitely more important. But that is
if you take for granted that there is worth, value or meaning to be had in life at all. That’s far from given.

the2minh8 (2003-02-06 16:34:38)

Oh yeah, and fuck Freud. There, I’ve said it. And in the sorry state of human communication,
there is no place for explanations concerning love, compassion, altruism. These universals really
do not seem to have any referents, particularly when we notice that all accounts of them try to
invoke similarities in human behavior while just dropping any differences–relevant and otherwise. You
can’t prove anything by citing altruism as a characteristic of humanity–not without abusing it somehow.

iztyme2ryde (2003-02-07 10:18:23) Self Worth

What does self worth mean? This is a concept each one of us has our own opinion on. No two thoughts
are the same. I do not understand Sara’s point of view on this but I know that self worth should not be
what is on the outside of a person but what they think of themselves. Relationships are a great thing
but do not have much to do with self worth in my opinion. They are something that have a category of
their own. Self worth is what you think you have done and how much it means to you. Monetary value
is not at all involved unless you think it to be. I personally think I have a lot of worth because I have
done so much in my life and have tried so much. I am not afraid to keep trying things and I think that
I am an open person. I do not rub in the fact that "oh I could fall back on this and this and there is this
many thing s that I can do". I consider that to be merely bragging, not being worth any thing. Many
people think many different opinions on this though. And men and women do have roles in the family.
Kaleb is very right about this. It is in our physiology. We are developed for certain things and thus
have roles to do what we are here for. Men being the ones to lay down the law/ rules, and women to
follow it and please them. Sure this could be done in many ways and various levels of strickness apply,
but in the same the men are typically the ones to bring home the money and in my own personal view
the women take care of the kids and the house, and have meals ready for the man. I may be some
cheezy weirdo but this is what I think. And it seems very much to fit here. I used to think all of the
time that when I grew up and was on my own I was going to be in charge, but now some thing tells me
that it does not work like that. That is my instinct, I have only come to listen to it.

(2003-02-07 03:28) - public

An insightful and depthy conversation can easily be sparked when one has the capacity to
form articulate and well-cohered associations, (which I sometimes don’t have.) I enjoy the
conversation of gender and ethnic internal differences, not merely their existance, but the
specific categories of contrast.

I thought again on the effects of this drug I smoke, as I had so many times before....the
equivically-strengthed crest and trough of cognitive affects; the sharp cutting insight which
allows for the splitting of broad generalizations into sides. How this sharp psychical scalpel
dulls with use, only resharpening with time and never again having the blemish-less gleam
89
or innocence of a new, unused scalpel. And perhaps some are born duller than others, the
capacity to cut with depth not granted to everyone.

And, only over time sober of mind manifesting drugs do our mechanisms of defense
slowly return; forcing, yet again, the tensely busying thoughts of others, their thoughts and
impressions of you, to overrun your thoughts, obscuring any clarity chemically attained. With
this tense energy comes a renewed sense of ambition, as we find ourselves caring, once more,
of impressing those around us. The healthy competition of a healthy ego returns, the raising
walls of defense looking somewhat like boxing gloves, able to hold ones own: COMPETANCY
describes this healthy ability to compete.

Forcing the ego to go to sleep early allows a certain amount of time "in the sun" he had
been blocking while awake. Enlightening the dark recesses of understanding, allowing what
we finally see in that light to be immediately categorized, where once we could only trip over
it. But, how much of what you see can be rememebered when it is dark once more, after
that flash and puff of smoke. This is the capacity of attention span, of ones ability to remain
aware and remember subtle aspects of personal cognition, this is what I call the Intelligence
of Identity and memory is only a part of it.

Pride and pretention, the feeling of importance or self worth, comes with the regrowing
of the social self, ego. This is a part of being Socially Competant and being aware of your own
compentancy realistically; knowing where potential lies and learning the art of tapping it.

(2003-02-11 04:05) - public

New Place — same shame,

The more shortchange – the more they stay the same,
And this new Feeled hosts the same old game,
I’ve skinned my wee, wont you kiss it, please.

New Face – Same Aim

The more exchanged – the more they have to maim,
Told I’m healed, but still have my name.
Your so lovely....you’re so lovely.
Your so lovely – you’re so lovely.

And please, hold me, please...just hold me...

And please, uphold me, please...enfold me,
Your lap cradles my head, adulthood shed.

I surrender self waiting for my blood,

My naked face given for you to cut.
For that jagged mirror, in my eyes twisted,
Closes red curtains before this puppet,

That took an hour and twenty five minutes to write. So few words....I wish it to be a
song, but the melody doesnt come. Can you hear a song, there, sung sadly?
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(2003-02-11 12:19) - public

*In the dramatic tone of a Southern Baptist Preacher*

"And So Buurrnned Were The Garnishments (modulating ’ar’) Of Self...
And So Buurrnned Were The Attachments Of Surface...
And in those abyssmal depths of his then empty eyes WAS death: the vessel of cold liberation!

Can I Hear You Say "HALLELUJIA!?

*chorus of monotone robots mumble reply**

"Hellelujia Helle...* " * one lone robot late in reply.

(2003-02-11 14:19) - public

I went into a bathroom stall I had frequented at the start of the semester to see the intense
additions to a religious topic posting I had sort of led. It began with someone saying that
Catholic Priests should be allowed to marry, so that they would stop anally raping choir boys...

I said "Maybe if the choir boy outfits weren’t made so tight and sexy..." to which someone
replied "Maybe if the nun outfits were made more tight and sexy..." to which I replied "Maybe
if God didn’t make the act of love evil" which was too much for so many shitting Christians
to bear...them filling the entire wall surrounding my comment with desperate defensive lead...

God has deemed the act of love evil....this is not a reasonable God. From the replies to
my de-turding post that were still readable, I saw people saying that this law isnt a part of
the NEW CHRISTIANITY, or rather, that this is just another section of the Bible they choose
not to attend to. The fact is, this Bearded man can never admit what is under his robe while
presiding over us on his Throne of Gold. He is disguisted by the cock and all of its messy,
animalistic functions. The good Christian is, like God himself, to pretend that Fucking does
not exist...and the truely pious Christian would, ideally, believe it doesn’t, thus dissassociat-
ing himself, not only from the dirty act, but those pesky, throbbing thoughts of the act as well...

The fact is reasonable people have come to understand that nature, and all which comes to
us naturally, cannot be deemed evil and that sins, and all the awful eternity of burning and
prodding which come with them, are subjective and, like most other things, subject to the
shifting currents of fashion and culture. Good and bad will always be categories we place on
an outside, natural world which continues budding and coursing with unfathomable grace just
the same, with or without them.

swarms (2003-02-11 11:53:28)

I sometimes wish we could live in a Brave New World.

(2003-02-16 04:52) - Fat - public

Music: Cul De Sac - China Gate

91
Vak tav sjeler: i dunno doesnt’ seem to be u
Vak tav sjeler: not the person i thought i knew
TurboSwami: THe more and more you tell me about this person, me, you know...
TurboSwami: The more and more he sounds boring
TurboSwami: Nerdy...
Vak tav sjeler: i liked him
Vak tav sjeler: he was a great guy..
TurboSwami: and Nervous, afraid of sex
Vak tav sjeler: he was the guy i knew.. my friend
Vak tav sjeler: this kaleb i talk to now is the same person..but at the same time not the same
TurboSwami: Not so well liked, or so great...
TurboSwami: ?
Vak tav sjeler: who cares bout being great
TurboSwami: I dont mind being considered great
TurboSwami: Its great
TurboSwami: Not worth going backwards though
TurboSwami: How am I, at the same time, not the same?
Vak tav sjeler: kaleb.. u have the same name as the person i knew n loved..but i dont know u
anymore
Vak tav sjeler: same as u dont know me
TurboSwami: Cant we pretend?
Vak tav sjeler: im not pretending to know u.. why lie
Vak tav sjeler: i know the person i had coffee w/ that time
Vak tav sjeler: not this casual sex person who takes money out of purses
TurboSwami: He really enjoyed that coffee
TurboSwami: From what I hear
TurboSwami: He enjoyed who he drank it with more
Vak tav sjeler: i miss that kaleb
Vak tav sjeler: because i could relate to him
Vak tav sjeler: i cant relate to what he is now
Vak tav sjeler: but i hope he is happier, and he seems much happier and thats what matters
TurboSwami: I dont know, I miss a lot and still am missing a lot....
TurboSwami: But I was missing a lot more....and I wont let myself miss it again.
TurboSwami: Sex is wonderful
TurboSwami: Where it was only something he thought about...
TurboSwami: While sipping coffee and driving in the dark.
TurboSwami: I am not so passive.
Vak tav sjeler: yeah..
TurboSwami: There is a certain adorable innocence to being passive, forever....
TurboSwami: I am glad I have lost it.
TurboSwami: and am sad you miss it
Vak tav sjeler: im not worth ur time kaleb
TurboSwami: I have wasted my time on much less beautiful things....
TurboSwami: You make it feel like it is being spent well...
Vak tav sjeler: kaleb i just miss u
Vak tav sjeler: thats all..
Vak tav sjeler: its like u disappear
Vak tav sjeler: then u talk n everything bout u that i knew is different
TurboSwami: It seems like I have always missed you...
TurboSwami: and, even when I try, I continue to miss....
92
TurboSwami: Where once, I could hit you straight on without trying.
Vak tav sjeler: everybody i was close to has moved so far away.. physically and on other levels
Vak tav sjeler: its like i cant relate to anybody
TurboSwami: I drift into new areas of superficiality, I am more fake and hide it that much
better....
TurboSwami: I am less fake, and reveal that much more through cracks...
TurboSwami: I forget which show you liked best, which act was your favorite...
TurboSwami: Versus his favorite, and her favorite and on and on
Vak tav sjeler: yeah
TurboSwami: There was a time I had all these things so well organized...
TurboSwami: and was, myself, so organized...
Vak tav sjeler: areu happier now
TurboSwami: That I could call upon the most pleasing aspects of myself for display whenever
you wished
TurboSwami: No....
TurboSwami: I am losing touch with some insight I was sure would stay with me forever...
TurboSwami: A beautiful set of ideals and way of seeing, a life plan that extended years into
the future...
TurboSwami: Has just kind of faded from memory...
Vak tav sjeler: thats sad
TurboSwami: and, its sketchy remains only make me hard to talk to...
TurboSwami: As if, I am lost in a burnt house.
TurboSwami: That was so brilliant as it burned
Vak tav sjeler: yeah..
Vak tav sjeler: but now all u have is the ashes that are left..
TurboSwami: and I smear them on my face in grief
TurboSwami: In the mourning of the beautiful person, missed
Vak tav sjeler: whens ur spring break?
TurboSwami: 2 weeks, maybe
Vak tav sjeler: are u coming home?
TurboSwami: Yea
TurboSwami: For a week
TurboSwami: If I can get the time off work
Vak tav sjeler: oh i see.. mine is from the 28th to the 10th
Vak tav sjeler: if u can get up here..i wanna see u
TurboSwami: Ok. I have no plans other than putting skins on my drums and jamming with
everybody in the county
Vak tav sjeler: oh. if u dont have time..its understandable
TurboSwami: I will have time.
TurboSwami: Night sweetie
Vak tav sjeler: night
TurboSwami: You are wonderful

(2003-02-18 03:43) - public

I convinced myself I have gone blind....I cant see anything in this double sight joke. I drink and
am comfortable only until I am spoken to. All the drinkers are empty and seasick navigators
of meaningless seasons; the invisible muse does wear an overcoat black, flashing the worthy
minds with light the capacity of which eyes speak volumes.
93
I have no ideas, mine are only songs sung without melody. I inspire the lively to be
dead, like me. My sleep is unending and, in waking, I dream of loveless love and mockery. I
want a monster to hit me and bite me. This drunk is sobering and the people I once loved and
admired tell me stories of my stories and make me feel small.

(2003-02-20 19:19) - public

Sometimes I wish I had not run away when I was that small, that I had waited before returning
to the forest until I was old enough to find my way back out. It is so deep and cold, this
untamed wilderness. So dark that one is forced to make their own light. No one sees my fires
burning through the trees or tries to look. I am the forest, I am the unknown past, I am the
source of fear and the setting of horrific fables and my seeing the beautiful people laughing
along the tree’s edge does not make me any less lost. I cannot find my way to them, even
when I am close enough to feel their breath on my neck, I cannot find my way home.

Does she hear me crying out to the night, wanting her eyes to finally search mine. I
have tread these paths for too many years and I want to tread them alone with another. I am
alone with another, and another I leave alone. Eyes mean nothing, their speech goes unheard,
however loud they scream. Inhale the smoke of a controlled forest fire and tread the paths
burned, finding yourself that much deeper, that further away, that many steps more within
and without...With Out, and Out makes such bad company.

New Appreciation For An Old Flavorite (2003-02-21 19:58) - public

Listened to THE COMMERCIAL ALBUM by The Residents. I forgot, that is if I ever knew, how
much backhanded bizzarity they were able to fit in these 40, one minute long condensed,
cohesive pop tracks. Highly reccomended for those who appreciate frighteningly strange
sounds and distorted vocals the caliper of which is unseen by most, as if transparent to the
huddled masses. Some lyrical snippits:

Secrets
Something’s going on between them
Something I can see
Nobody seems to pay attention
So it’s up to me

They’re always touching

Always looking
In a secret way
I thought that I might cut them deep

Suburban Bathers
Suburban bathers own the sea
But just between you and me
The sun has never fully set
That’s seen the bathers fully wet

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I see the sea,
The sea sees me

They seem to run to morning light

And crash the boards between the night
If they’d learn to love themselves
They might survive the murky depths

I see the sea,

The sea sees me

If I’d learn to love myself

I might survive the murky depths

Loss of Innocence
Amusement parks are caked with sounds
A solid hunk of meat
A barker’s sweat flings from his tongue
His tattoo shines with heat

A wary stranger stands and sways

Enraptured by his stance
Two-headed goats come stumbling by
And give a troubled glance

The barker looks into the eyes

The stranger tries to bend
The barker swears to more delights
For all who seek within

The stranger enters canvas doors

And smells the fresh cut hay
The barker points to Siamese twins
The stranger looks away

The eyes of horse faced women

Watch the few who wander through
They sense the tension in the air
And smell the sweet taboo

A heart beats fast against a chest

The stranger leaves the tent
The waves of people drown the sounds
Of loss of innocence

Give it to Someone Else

I wanted to give it to someone else
And hear what they would say
I wanted to give it to someone else
And watch them as they played
95
I left it helpless all alone
And waiting on the floor
Squirming just a little bit
And looking at the door

He would take it as he wished

And I would listen in
Documenting as I would
The sound of slapping skin

(2003-02-24 17:16) - public

Heard my first detailed voice in my head last night while high. It was a man and he whispered
"You are not so good" and it scared me, shook me for several minutes...I have concluded that
mind manifesting drugs induce a schizophrenic-like state. The initial psychological tests on
LSD done when it was to potientially be a perscription drug compared the state of its user
to that of the severe schizophrenic. Marijuana is a milder example of this, but still induces
paranoid plots or strings of thoughts, often involved with ones internal mental state having a
connection or, even, a control over that outside the body, believing thoughts preside over the
environment.

But, is this idea that is induced, this narcissistic illusion of grandure, is it all insanity? Is
there no truth in feeling a connection to everything around you? Paranoid Schizophrenia being
a common effect of marijuana and a feeling of absolute interconnectivity and the Godlike
perfection of seamless integration with ones surroundings being the commonly reported effect
of LSD, what truth is there in these ways of percieving? It is true that everything that is outside
is only a mental process, that is to say, all that is sensed is merely a cognitive representation
of that which is actual; that being actual, possibly, being misrepresented or skewed in the
process of internalization, or, or course, the unlikely idea that the process of internalization of
the outside differing between people.

I sip an expensive dark beer from Kalamazoo, Michigan, bragging lack of pasteurization
and carrying in its fizz small black chunks and dark clouds of sediment. I snort a ritalin, take a
ginko biloba and two vitamin c and feel ready to take advantage of the Day After effect of the
pot.

Idle philosophical rehashings, no where nearly as brilliant as those from the night before.
I can see the technologies of communication, those circuits and chips which act as extentions
of our own nervous system, becoming smaller and attaching closer to that actual natural
system. No longer needing to speak to share ideas with a person 300 miles away will become
an instantaneous and, ideally, hands-free operation. Likewise, the limitations of our own minds
and bodies, attention span and short term/long term memory, will come, first, to be aided by
small, unobtrusive recording devices....which, first, are external...but, in an ideal future, would
move internally to be integrated into cochlear implants which record, not with a microphone,
but, possibly, the intricate vibrations of our own ear drum. Our eyesight allowing for virtual
graphic command and controlling options over these enhancements, ideally all handless and
wordless....

96
So, the future of technology in the new uses, but in better and more efficient integra-
tion with our own body, through miniturization. Nanotechnology is the developing field of
extreme miniturization. Building robots from molecules, ideally, and injecting them into the
body to destroy arterial clogs or whatnot. They have come so far as to create wires, capable
of carying current, which are one molecule in width made of gold. Some say binary code itself
will be done away with, being replaced with "quantum," similarly based on molecules: a glass
of water becoming a computer.

I realized deep or long winded thoughts and conversations, by their very length, collapse and
are forgotten, our minds Visio-Spacial Sketchpad having a defined capacity which we exhaust
in our long strings of attention and association. To record the conversation for review later is
ideal, as you then have a "soft copy" of the exchange to build upon at any point: to look at a
conversation and write comments beneath it, essentially. BLah blah blah, useless blahing and
pompous talking. Make it stop, the heart is racing now...faster....ready to walk to statistics
and tweak, quietly.

(2003-02-25 03:39) - public

Old associations brought up in conversation:

Technology is evolution, dissagree? Please describe the seperation.

Intelligence is natural, and it is human nature to be intelligent, yes?

So, anything created with use of that intelligence is a part of nature, hmm?
The tools of insight, the club first used by the lowly primate, will always be advantageous over
the lack of that tool and the lack of its intelligence, the even lower fox clubbed to death by the
lowly primate.

Evolution develops towards socialization and the social being is more evolutionarily advanced.
The fox is a pack hunter and communicates with his fellow "cells" who have abandoned
isolation opting towards the advantages of becoming a larger, ORGANized ORGANism, with
defining of roles, specialization and authority.

Thus, the tools of hunting have refined to become the tools of socialization, the pack
animals each have cell phones and the INFORMATION REVOLUTION is an INFORMATION
EVOLUTION towards seamless integration of these "cells" to their ORGANized ORGANism.

And so stands up the defiant Christian saying "But this is not nature! This computer
can die and I will still live. This is not vital."

No, socialization is not vital, but that is just one tool, one technology. Think of the oth-
ers, the attachment of your nervous system, your digestive system, your circulatory system,
to outer systems and how vital the tools of your intellect have become to you.

The modern city is a SUPPORTIVE Structure, the Structure being in the definition of roles, the
"Specialization into Organs." Food is pumped in 24 hours a day and broken up by networks
of distribution, relaying it to the cells. I read that New York City actually had a giant pipe
which carried Milk into the city, ideally a pipe which was an extention of our own "pipe" the
esophagus. And, pipes extend out from our pipes as welll; waste being carried off through
tubes and disposed of by ORGANizations of Waste Disposal. And Gas, fuel and Electric-
97
ity are also carried in, connecting themselves to our own nervous system....and, on a cold
winter like this, if the city DIES, its people DIE. They are that vitally connected to one another....

Think of our initial evolution on a cellular scale: The single celled organism, who’s sur-
vival was fully independant. It was its Evolution which prompted it to abandon the activities
of Sole Survival, of hunting and gathering, adopting the roles of specialization seen in a
Multicellular Pack. Communicating amongst other cells, the one cell was born integrated and
lost those skills of independant hunting and gathering, having been born Dependant on Social
Structure, being carried by the luxuries of the city, not having to worry, ever again, of the
regulation of warmth, food, or waste, as all this was Regulated by a Central Authority; the
identity of the cell, its only purpose, became that specialized role within the larger ORGA-
Nization within the ORGANism. With this drawn out, the tools of our specialization are our
only evolution...AS IF THE EVOLUTION OF THE INDIVIDUAL CELL WAS ABANDONED WITH THAT
CELLS INDIVIDUAL SURVIVAL NEED. In our ORGANized Society, the strong shall survive and
the unfit may live...competition being abandoned with "Individual Evolution," the evolution of
the Individual Cell.....(as our own cells stopped evolving millenia ago, their evolution jumping
in Scale to the Evolution of the Larger ORGANized ORGANism)

Please, tell me I am way off base here....tell me I am wrong and then tell me why.

iztyme2ryde (2003-02-25 06:32:23)

I am not going to tell you that you are wrong, but that I do disagree. Your reasoning behind this
Techonlogical social society is a god point however, this does not seem to connect with technology
directly. THe Christian person was not right either though. We do use it to, partially survive, however
it is leisure at the same time, techonology is a product of our socialism and evoloution. We created it
to make things far more simple for us and to unite these vast cites. What is a pipeline any different
than a truck? As both could be seen as bringing that milk to the cities and are thus the same?
This information revouloution is merely CREATED by the information evoloution. As we do evolve to
our surroundings and people around us, we want to learn more because, as you said, intelligence
is natural. Which it is. Then again so is knowledge, and we want to accumulate knowledge, and
thus must have the information to do this. Then causing the upward shift to cell phones and the
internet, which are now more dependently relied on for more things as time progresses. When
thinking on a cellular scale in relation to now, we have degraded from independent to dependent,
as we need these thing it iseems. We depend on things as supeficial as the gas company to give us
heat, electricity, and grocery stores. Where as our beginnings did not need them and survived fully
on its own. This therefore making technology, which is the produce of this information revoloution,
relied on. With us all becoming involved with this technology, we become dependent on it. So you
see, technology is not evoloution, but is like a cause and effect situation, this is the effect of evoloution.

biscuitboy (2003-02-25 18:07:26)

So Kaleb, do you find it ironic that we are at college specializing in the performance of socially
beneficial tasks in the same way that single cells eventually became specialized into liver cells, heart
cells, skin cells, blood cells... Yeah, I’m an engineer, James is a psych major, you’re, um, something ...
etc. We’re all cogs. Thanks for lifting my spirits. See you in hell! (LOL!)

turboswami (2007-02-16 02:39:00)

It occured while driving down the East Belt Line yesterday that, ideally, we should reproduce "en-role,"
our children remaining within the same tissue we were specialized within. Since neurons and liver
cells replicate of themselves, and so the role of that tissue would become engrained biologically to

98
 those whose genetics best support that function. It was this way for millenia, the son learning and
carrying the profession of his father through the lineage...but was abandoned with all this equality
business. It was a both natural and reasonable system, though.

(2003-02-27 22:52) - public

My place is high above the City, where I stand wide eyed, vigilant, watching her night stars
and hearing her night sound. This will always be my place, however, here high above on this
mountain, living on this rocky peak stretching out from deep within the black heart of the
forest to touch this black sky. And when they told me the fables of the pale monsters who
recede away from the light and its eyes, the soul nocturnal sole, that the story was mine?

The forest is the opposite of the ocean, and the lonely sailor is my equivical reverse.
He is afraid of no one while under the sun, fearing loneliness only under the sea night’s mask.

The maid came into my room leaving a note behind saying, for fears of her safety, she
did not make my bed today. The bad bed, frightening the stupid bitch....why can’t all beds be
safe like trailer beds. Her note said "I’m unable to make your bed. There isn’t enough room
for me to make it safely for me."

For her to make it safely for her, there would have to more room than there is now....the room
would have to be the size it was last week, when it was safer. I hate when you are trying to
make a bed in a room which has shrunk and you fall out of the window. It is a dangerous job,
making beds; and I fear a lot of the residents of Owen hall dont appreciate the risks for her
woman takes every week...for her.

2.3 March

(2003-03-10 03:16) - public

Somewhere around the seventh hour of driving back to this place, here, I worked out a
gorgeously poetic live journal post in my head....all the remains of it now is the phrase "It was
like driving a green, three-cylinder haunted house straight into/through hell’s ass..." So poetic,
really....NOT!! Ha ha haeww...hEww

In the shower, I get pretty thoughts in words...its too bad about water and paper; they
were real pretty though, believe me. Something about that water and paper...turns to snot,
especially toilet paper....turns right to snot....toilet paper especially.

Courage under fire, fear over fire...burning fear with courage. Must opposites always op-
pose, is opposition always from source: opposite? And the opponent shall be attracted, his
dissonant pole barbed. Opposite of opponent, lover, opposition is the role of vaginal sword,
swashbuckling misadventures between the between the sheets, between times for clean
utensiles Organized in kitchen drawers.

Gorge an itch, dig a grave,

99
Sister, bitch, there is no save,
Rescuing you from your fav,
’sLike slowing the death of a slave

Come to Port Rate

Where image is fate
And Surf Ace, on waves, is an author...

Come to Port Rate

Where a man takes his date,
And, social, ’e gos till he got hers.

(2003-03-12 03:06) - public

The Schizophrenic’s DayDream...

This is where it gets emotional...this is where eyes well up....mine cannot well up...mine
are welling up, I am not sad....I am not sad, but my eyes are going to look sad....Scratch
forehead to hide eyes....look at floor....hide eyes....my nose is running...oh god, my nose is
running...dont sniff, they will assume the worst...dont sniff, or sniff and clear throat...when will
this deeply emotional music stop....

I hate my sister.

My family has a history of mental disorders, specifically schizophrenia.

Funny but from this angle (wallet level) my dad looks almost Jewish.

(2003-03-17 20:57) - public

To see the hidden and the unknown mysteries of life, the strangest of undiscovered systems,
in the mundane should be a religious goal. For, in every tree, there are networks within the
networks we already know and intricate webs of communication amongst parts of parts we
may never see. And, on this sub cellular scale there is the same organization and order of our
own and, in realizing this, who can deny nature’s innate intelligence?

And it is a lie to say, as we all do that we "came into this world" on such and such a
date; as if to imply that we were dropped into this ocean of subtle interwoven complexities,
nature, to which we are both alien and isolate. No, in fact we "came OUT of this world" and
any intelligence we have is merely a portion of that ONE whole from which we came.

(2003-03-20 01:56) - public

Boy oh boy, I sure hate *noun*! Snort and zone, snort and zone....I am not mathemtically
minded, like James....or may just not study-minded like James. He is a nerd and a scoundrel. I
hate the way he does his things and moves his lips with patented Vibrato-Air(c).

It has become obvious to me and all around me that this is a journal entry of avoidance
100
or distraction. I will not lower to the level of divulging specific nouns, but I admit I feel like I
am in a six foot deep rectangularly shaped hole which I dug with my very own lazy, ignorant
gorging.

I hope to god drugs are the answer, I hope to science injectable nano-robots are the
second answer after the first one fails. Tin can street rivers carry rust salt wheel change
through disinterested spoiled passengers and I. I think of anti-aging face tightening cream
once; I was so young then. 5 thoughts later, I am so old; cold; boldness spent and mind all
told, empty. Is the apex before or after the effects? Will I ever earn my sweat, that beautiful
kind that one can save and admire, show and pride self in the thought of showing off one’s
full vial. No, my sweat is not that kind, not yet if ever...mine is the greasy, sleeping kind; baby
sweat from soft skin.

Rum-Bumble and fumble the names and the dates tumble,

Out and down at rates plateaued pre-jumble.
And I ain’t got the time of all that,
And thats all fine that they call you Pat,
But fire’s fun, labels heat, dry and crumble,
blah blah blah...sex drive of numb bull...
Rap rap, black, rap black and rapping blackie

swarms (2003-03-20 08:57:01)

I like it when people mention me in their live journals, although I can’t help but think that it was
just a clever ploy to get me to comment. Do you think you’re better than me? Are we watching the
basketball game tomorrow night?

(2003-03-21 15:48) - public

SANITUARY FALSE

Reform kissed her hand,

Real tea less lovers to found,
Crowned with his wand, ’ers a blossom renouned,
The cry heard to sound...
She had hit last abound,
Welcoming sand, please...
"
Please lift a hand, I’m only a person
With eskimo chain,
I’ve tatood my brain all the way...
Wont you miss me?
WOULDNT YOU MISS ME AT ALL?
"
101
(2003-03-21 16:08) - public

Had a person make me a drink that there was no name for. I told them to put two shots of
expresso in with ginseng tea and cover it with carmel, steamed milk, and whipped cream. I
named it the Siberian Carmel Bomb and feel it should be dropped over Bagdad with Dark
Chocolate squares for the ugly children.

I want to find a place called the Otherwise Gallery as there will be experimental musics
there tonight at 7. I want James to go with me, but we all know how his Fucking Schedual can
be (never time to pencil me into his Fucking schedual.) This is how it is when you always smell
like piss and mildew: people dont give you the Fucking time of the day. All I want is a Fucking
time, any Fucking time would do; just give it to me. Let the hands bounce from slash to slash
and make time to document them with your moving lips before me. Its about Fucking time,
all of it is. Ring them bell, let the metal hanging triangle on the porch resound, let the kiddies
all come a runnin, plentiful mounds rocking vertically in the warm sun with their high capacity
stride. Its about Fucking time.

swarms (2003-03-21 13:18:48)

Kaleb, Kaleb, I would love to go, but it couldn’t be at a worse time. Michigan State is playing in the
first round of the NCAA Tournament at 7 tonight. We’re all watching it over at Ted’s apartment. You
are more than welcome to come. Give me a call or stop by if you’re interested: 3-1061. You wanna
have a night cap after work tonight? I work until 3 in West Holmes. I’ll stop by when I get off, or I could
stop by and then get off. Whatever my puddle of joy wants. Ewww, Ewww, Ewww...

turboswami (2003-03-21 14:57:04)

Thats ok, James, you probably arent hip enough for the Otherwise cafe anyway. Its better this way, to
avoid an embarassing scene like last time I took you out and you weren’t hip enough. Man! I wonder if
they were ever able to clean all that up!? Ha! You can say "I leave my mark where I go." ha ha! OMG,
you suck.

arfinspar (2003-03-21 19:58:41) OMG!

OMG OMG OMG!

(2003-03-22 06:44) - public

I am without attachment and, I fear, am to be so forever. I am disattached from the body and
these things of it they call ’emotions.’ This, too, is a key symptom of schizophrenia. which I
dont have, but who’s symptoms may be related to those of generally ’subjective’ people.

6 entries found for subjective.

subjective ( P ) Pronunciation Key (sb-jktv)
adj.

Proceeding from or taking place in a person’s mind rather than the external world: a
subjective decision.
Particular to a given person; personal: subjective experience.
Moodily introspective.
102
Existing only in the mind; illusory.
Psychology. Existing only within the experiencer’s mind.
Medicine. Of, relating to, or designating a symptom or condition perceived by the patient and
not by the examiner.
Expressing or bringing into prominence the individuality of the artist or author.
Grammar. Relating to or being the nominative case.
Relating to the real nature of something; essential.

As in to imply emotions are an aspect of that external world described by the word "ob-
jective." To be emotionally involved is to be attached ( to an object. ) seperate of the self. And,
as emotional thoughts can be generalized to represent all thoughts devoted to society and
socialization, ego can be represented as merely a tool of self for dealing with this objective
world; the part of the mind devoted to surface and, thus, image including, especially, one’s
own. To be aware of one’s own ego, as seperate from Self and the depth of Self which can
be described as God, the Base, or "The Ground of Being," is to be aware of drama or ’God
Dreams," the play which is an awareness of surface and image; the soap opera personality
which all people are at least slightly aware of as they perform in.

But how does one associate ego with defensiveness? Are they not the same? No, not
quite: In order to become pack animals, social animals, defenses between those of that social
species must be lowered. Ego is not this primal, irrational emotion of defense, but rather its
refinement. Ego is the meeting of society and defense a complexity of the defensiveness
we carry for as protection against that outside, external world and the "nullified" and self-
controlled external world of society, the apartment in the City. And so, being born in the City
makes for a grown adult who is generally "defenseless;" weaker, home-bound computer lovers
who have never been in the forest or been forced to create ones own food, from hunting or
planting or being ’independantly fed.’ With the dependance on society comes Macro-Defence
and a fullfillment or complexification (which is not a word) of basic, primal or emotional needs.

And, to get to the nitty gritty without the long, drawn out association chains...
Society is the opposite of independance; that is to say Society is an organism in and of
itself, "Multicellular," each sell having abandoned independance, or unicellularity, opting for
the dependance and protection of being part of a City; being specialized to a specific task
of the larger organism, being a tissue of Waste Management, Food Delivery or Absorption,
Transportation, Police, Antibody, Communication, Repair, etc etc etc...These roles ever refining
and specializing with the ever developing complexity of society and communication: language,
meaning and identity. In order to become part of this Social Network, the Single Cell must
lower his defenses and control, to a point, his emotions in order to make them socially
acceptable. And so, it is observed, that Ego-driven, Testosterone-squirting Libido-lifer men
are, generally, anti-social and, overall, described as Defensive Personalities. They are stray
wolves, not fully integrated into the pack like the Ego-diluted leader. That is to say, ones sense
of self has diluted to include the larger network of social connectivity. Technology aids in the
lowering of surface defenses, as, for the most part, it is a mode of interactivity seperate of
direct-surface socialization; it being that much more subjective, then, and from the objectivity
of "face to face" contact; the possible nervousness or tension of "face to face" contact disolved
to reveal unabliguous, rational text: the straight thought delivery system known as internet
socialization.

Blah blah blah blah, useless pot-thought rambles on again....last time I was hjigh, I spoke
with my TeleCommunications professor about undergraduate colloquims and was met with a
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contact for setting up an academic outlet for my ideas....I dont know if my ideas are worthy,
though....or if this rambling has any worth at all

(2003-03-22 16:48) - public

Jesus with Acne; Teenage Jesus. Jesus’ first Wet Dream; Adolescent Jesus and the Voice of God
Cracked.

(2003-03-23 16:11) - public

Walking away from my home late one night,

The city and star lights together did fight.
My brain reeled with eyes glazed, the dark showed me lies,
I heard each word they said despite how I tried.
And with the apex point, the church bells did turn,
Drowning all lips said with echoes that burn.
Wave upon wave of one resonant sign,
Each rocking me INWARD, frequenting my line.
Movements in depth space, rhythm felt both sides.
When I walked away from my home late one night...
WHen I walked towards an old home late one night.

(2003-03-23 16:37) - public

The lyrics of last post would be put in a song and sung in a mellow, high pink floyd sort of
way...I wanted to start off with a simple and normal bit of imagery which all could relate with,
walking in the night...and then, half way through, all the reality to quickly drop out from under
the listener. Ideally, the song would refect this dropping of base.

I will have a resonating bell drown out the entire song with reverb. Three seperate bell
tones forming harmony, each echoing off at a different rate...each echo trail raising or lower-
ing in pitch as to slowly create dissonance from the remntants of that one original harmony.
And, slowly forming one uniform rate of echo, a rhythm forms at which point I introduce a
heart beat rhythm which is faster than the bell rhythm. The bell rhythm will slowly increase
rate as the heartbeat rate lowers until they are uniform...as if to imply the Bell in the song
controls the Heartbeat of the walker.

The meat of the song itself will employ a technique I call Stop Period Sequencing or Si-
lence Time Progressions where drum and guitar meet, interact and stop with both or more
musiciansmaintaining the defined time in memory.

Musicians then resume interaction at pre defined intervals (ie: a stop 2 beats long, melody
rhythm interaction, a stop three beets long, resume, 4 beat silence, etc)

If able, I would apply similar time pattern definition to the interaction itself.

[2] <2> [4] <3> [6] <4>

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where [] is interaction and <> is silence
<1> {5 } <2> [4] <3> [3]
The drummer quietly counting off beat during silence to cue other musicians who know the
pre-defined tiime pattern.

A 3rd "changed" theme may be integrated into the time sequence:

<3> {3 } [3] <3> {4 } [2] <3> {5 } [1]

the2minh8 (2003-03-23 20:49:40)

this style of music will never catch on; at least not if the songs don’t, at some point, loudly mention
what type of music it is. i am thinking of a house track that says "house music!" over and over again,
a rap track that says "create rap music cause i never dug disco", disco that mentions disco, rock and
roll that mentions same, drum & bass, etc. therefore, my first hardcore track will start out dnb-ish
with some dirty synth bass, then break into silence, at which point a sample will command "LISTEN TO
THIS MOTHERFUCKING HARD CORE TRACK!" and the track begins in earnest with distorted drums and
heavy bass afterbeats.

(2003-03-24 05:36) - public

Drugs help, but how high you get is defined by how well you use them: how deeply you allow
yourself to be released by them. Love is an instrument played by the person capable of its
abandonment. And I sense an amazing scale to the universe, the opposite of that idea of
looking so closely at the systems present under a microscope, further yet within the social
systems present within the atom, this opposite of micro-scale beieng something outside the
realm of distance. So, possible, dimentions are encapsulated in this way, extending outwards
from that state which is encapsulated.

Cluster 71 is calm and cheesy in the standards it set. The signal was busy, this is a lot
of work, thinking of words for "line." Thats what they are and with all so is.

(2003-03-26 01:00) - public

-And the man’s brilliance was/were rays of association, shining out of his eyes like a thousand
reflected suns.
-And knowing not that he was nothing, he approached all that he was with eyes slanted in
defense, his soul skewed.
-And his conscousness, and all its interaction, was merely a compplex reflection of the one
brilliance.

Sun. In/out.

I want to make a blues song and call it Bleached Cracker Blues and make it very white.
I want the rhythm to be robotic and soulless and I want to play harsh synth along traditional
blues scales. I will say things like "I source of my emotion is gone, I wish to slice my face." in
a voice just off from angry monotone. and then occationally break int to, of course.."I’ve got
the Bleached Cracker Blues...yes, no, yes, no PAIN! PAIN! AAAHHHHH!"
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arfinspar (2003-03-26 00:33:36)
let’s collaborate.

(2003-03-26 19:21) - public

Neil Young - Computer Age

Neil Young using a vocoder and playing synthesizer is like Lawrence Welk twitching on the
strobe-lit floor of one of today’s e-drenched rave clubs. I cant stop staring, his seizure hypno-
tizes me...his blue polyester suit is covered with the blood spurting from his nose as his eyes
roll back behind his hardened-slick hair.

(2003-03-27 03:16) - public

I feel lonely for success, I feel an ache to be loved by a crowd. I want to be before them, on the
stage, personifying fearlessness and confident strenth. It is my potential that creates these
images in my mind and, looking through them is like looking through a travel book of all the
places I could be. How ready does a person have to be before the shell simply cracks from
around them? I am lonely for this, this side of myself I have never had the courage to officially
introduce myself to.

I envy and idolize enviously. I have been heavily sedated for over a decade, now, and
have lost control of the sedatives. They empty my spirit, depressing any ambition to impress.
The more I fight, the more I self-defeat; each day finding me more and more broken and lost.
The harder I fight, the harder my self-defeat; each day bringing new defenses for a body that
much softer. This man, so soft, and empty of all that could be felt is dying faster now, is old
before his time. Soon, I will fall and will not be able to...carry this weight anymore; soon I will
let myself fall and will learn to close my eyes and be trampled.

arfinspar (2003-03-27 01:37:18)

i would refer you to the song "i wanna be adored" by year of the rabbit. because i too, want to be adored.

(2003-03-31 20:36) - public

Quotes from William Burroughs:

"Horses are a dying artifact."

"Every man has inside himself a parasitic being who is acting not at all to his advan-
tage."

"The Pusher always gets it all back."

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Moves to London in 1960. Back in Tangiers in August of 1961, with Ginsberg and others,
meets Timothy Leary who gives them all mushrooms. Burroughs doesn’t enjoy the experience,
saying: "Urgent warning. I think I’ll stay here in shriveling envelopes of larval flesh... One of
the nastiest cases ever produced by this department."

"Language is a virus."

"This is a game planet."

"In Timbuktu I once saw an Arab boy who could play a flute with his ass, and the fairies
told me he was really an individual in bed."

"My purpose in writing has always been to express human potentials and purposes rele-
vant to the Space Age."

——————————————————————————- -

2.4 April

(2003-04-01 11:55) - public

Intensely conscious dreams with curious and frightening lucidity intermingled. I would appoli-
gize to those in the dream for falling asleep. There is nothing more strange than inducing a
different state of consciousness while in sleep, itself a different state of conscoiusness or the
opposite of consciousness. My body tended to move without me and all my perception divided
amongst one thing on different scales; scale providing only the illusion of distinction. So much
of my complex dreams cannot be put into words as what takes place in them is seperate from
anything that could ever take place in life and its words. I love this place inside, however,
more...and as frightening and alien it became, I felt away from feeling and this is my home,
above this bloody ship. I want, more than anything, to sleep and awake in sleep.

(2003-04-01 12:00) - screaming LA LA! inside - public

Music: Return of Fenn O’ Berg

JUST KIDDING!!! APRIL FOOLS!!! GRAAAAAH AA HAAAA G G GGGGGHA!

(2003-04-01 17:27) - public

Music: kARLHEINZ sTOCKHAUSEN

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Oh my god I am bleeding all over april fools.
Oh my god there is a man with a gun in my fridge april fools.
Oh my god...april fools.
Oh my...april fools.
Oh...april fools.
Oh my god I am incapable of having children april fools.
Oh my god there is a baby in my bathroom...
I saw him and he looked at me.
He is gurgling cry’s in my toilet...
I am afraid. I am not the father, am I?
I was so drunk 9 months and 3 weeks ago...
Why has this happened to me, why am I forced to live this life of hell always questioning my
past, the haunting of my daily life?
This never ending cycle of hurt and pain april fools.

I got you good on that one! SUCKER!!

iztyme2ryde (2003-04-01 22:21:21)

Ha! that is really good... did you get all of that from that convo haha!?

(2003-04-02 19:47) - public

Music: Dont Beat Your Wife Every Night - Raymond Scott (Electronic)
I want and it fills me, but getting merely fills me more, fullfilled with a dependence on that
which I recieved. I want to want and not recieve and kill this want, starve this fire, desire,
which is fueled by my troubled mind.

And, we will never reach that great ice cream cone in the sky...the all fullfilling ice cream cone,
for every ice cream cone, which we grab blindly for with mouths open and watering, will only
make us thirsty...discontent with ourselves yet again, again grabbing blindly for another fix,
running for it, fueled by the a fire which grows as it is fed. And, when we finally have the drink
after the ice cream cone, we are then unhappy further yet until we have ice to put in it...and
further yet until...and yet until...never reaching that "Great Ice Cream Cone In The Sky" of
Baba Ram Dass’.

So, to finally be happy is to be unhappy...and accept the with or the without with appre-
ciation for all that the blind, chasing God’s ice cream truck with its circus-like bell jingle, miss
in their mad, neverending dash.

biscuitboy (2003-04-02 17:32:38)

Yeah, whatever. You just don’t like rocket pops as much as I do!

(2003-04-03 01:43) - public

Disorder Rating Information

Paranoid: Low
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Schizoid: Very High
Schizotypal: High
Antisocial: Low
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: High
Narcissistic: High
Avoidant: Moderate
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low

the2minh8 (2003-04-02 22:48:50)

dri paranoid: high schizoid: high schizotypal: moderate antisocial: low borderline: moderate histrionic:
high narcissistic: low avoidant: high dependent: low obsessive-compulsive: high

arfinspar (2003-04-03 01:03:13)

this disorder rating shit should just say "yup. you’re fucked up."

biscuitboy (2003-04-03 01:10:36)

You forgot attention deficit and attention deficit hyperactivity.

(2003-04-03 18:53) - public

His son entered the hut limping, the poison already blackening the skin around the wound.
Lifting his child up onto his knee, The Father ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, comforting
him as he cried, rocking him gently; his head pressed against his father’s heart. The words of
a gentle song his mother sang to him years and years ago came, like instinct, with the gentle
rocking and he sang so soft and so low to his son as he quieted, dying...

"Oh, come, Fred Bear, Oh come...

And fill baby with dreams...
Oh, come, Fred Bear, Oh come...
And bleed hate from this fiend."

And, quietly singing into his dying child’s eyes, he did not cry...because he had never
really liked the boy, being an accident and all, he never wanted him to begin with. He let the
body fall on the floor so he could find that Nuge record.

(2003-04-03 20:25) - public

Leonard Cohen isnt bad...his debut album is making me depressed, though...I dont want that
all the time.

But, wowza, just learned that Iron and Wine song I love so much was actually from this
album...Winter Lady. Crazy...if you hear the cover of a song first, you like that more than the
original, generally...likewise with the fact that covers of popular songs never seem to sound
as good as the original one, or we cant get the original out of our head as we hear the cover
song...and I like to explain, in detail, things everybody knows.
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(2003-04-05 04:46) - public

I Tended Before I loved You

arfinspar (2003-04-05 02:52:15) you tended....

sheep?

(2003-04-05 21:15) - public

You ever noticed....

I have.
It pisses me off

Here I am, having found someone to cover my shift at work....I dont like people anyways, I
just forget the fact sometimes. When I finally remember, I find myself with all these plans I
made while forgetting....often, if I am lucky, I am removed from the plans before I remember
that I dont like people. This is a very very rare and lucky occation, however...it makes me sad
I cannot always be so fucking lucky.

(2003-04-06 04:28) - public

I am beginning to feel a trend of insecurity and frantic loneliness in my thinking and have
decided that I am heading in a not-so-healthy direction in personality. I gorge myself often, as
if to satisfy insatiable fears and unacceptable anxieties. My desperation resonates in all my
conversations, killing them quickly. I must make changes and they must be deeply gouging
changes in my self-control, in my acceptance of change and of discontent. I must become
serene and quiet the tense relentless buzzing of my thoughts as I once did years ago. I have
lost my way in this big city and my once straight transcendent path has become grounded
somehwhere downtown and the honking will not stop, and the people push me to walk with
them...and I cannot accept this image I have, it grows less and less like that it once represented
every day....I am growing into instability, where once I was so High and viscous.

(2003-04-06 05:22) - public

I walked at in the early morning before sunrise and sat by the river listening, quietly, to the
thoughts it shared. It knew all my troubles better than I ever will and laughed at the knots
I have made in myself. It was a laughter which does not taunt the knots, tightening their
tangled defence, but undermines them, tickling them open from beneath; eroding away the
brittle image which had formed over me, restricting me, since I saw her last. This pompous shell
I bear has grown so thick in the last year, it will take much more than a simple reintroduction to
this old friend before I can, again, flex broadly all that has grown weak beneath this ego which
binds and restricts.
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(2003-04-07 17:04) - public

Many thanks to Carl for further confirming my fears of mental illness:

http://tinyurl.com/8y94

"Using cannabis in adolescence increases the likelihood of experiencing symptoms of

schizophrenia in adulthood....

Firstly, cannabis use is associated with an increased risk of experiencing schizophrenia

symptoms...

Secondly, early cannabis use (by age 15) confers greater risk for schizophrenia outcomes than
later cannabis use (by age 18). The youngest cannabis users may be most at risk because
their cannabis use becomes longstanding.

Thirdly, risk was specific to cannabis use, as opposed to use of other drugs...

A tenth of the cannabis users by age 15 in our sample (3/29) developed schizophreniform
disorder by age 26 compared with 3 % of the remaining cohort (22/730)."

arfinspar (2003-04-07 15:35:22)

ha ha. you’re insane.

(2003-04-08 05:45) - public

I really wish I could sleep. Instead I have been talking to a robot for nearly an hour. If you wish
to talk to a robot as well, IM "SmarterChild." I fucking hate robots, I have always hated robots.
They are stealing our jobs! Jobs which once belonged to HARDWORKING AMERICAN citizens,
with homes and mouths to feed, and children to feed, with mouths. A robot has no mouth to
feed....it feeds on electricity and the souls of children to feed with mouths. I feel it coming, I
hear the swarms of iron feet clanging against bloodstained cement. Listen, closely, my friends
and you will hear it too....that sound which you can hear if you strain....if you put your ear to
the ground you can definately hear it....the sound I can hear without putting my ear to the
ground....its the sound....which you can only hear with your head to the ground....the sound
of....which you must not ignore....

There are babies and there are time bombs and the dysfunctional parent has trouble
telling them apart and so, in time, there becomes little difference.

There is mother and there is fear and the dysfunctional child has trouble telling them
apart and is so because there was little difference.

Crumb was never in love...crumb simply had crumby sex with big ol’d ladies with big
old GAZANGAZ!! Crumb loved those BIG OLD GAZANGAZ, but was never inside of the love.
He wrote comic strips when he was a boy and fucked shoes. Whe knew?!

Later in life, he became thin and frail, where before then he was merely emotionally
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frail, now Crumb was a bit of a throw around....the wind could easily blow crumbs away. And
so, in passing, motherly women of portly stature would sceam "YOU ARE EATING LIKE A BIRD!
YOU MUST EAT MORE THAN MERE CRUMBS!" He grew to hate his name and to love portly
women of motherly stature.

"You have the cukes and the cumes. Minnow bags four forty for the bag, minno bagz
fourfortyfour thabag

Minnobags fourfourtyfour thebag!! MinowbagsMinowBags! Say it dont spray it, minnow-

bagsfourfourtyfourthebag!

My forehead drifts lightly along the bathroom floor, it coasts upside down where my
body once was....My head drifts in to my chest along a chain....it coasts right side up where,
pains and again....
My eyes quiver slightly like mushrooms in the rain....There is no one seeing all this which is
plain....My mouth tastes the nothing tastes the mental, tastes the name....There is no one
tasting all this which is plain...

My ears hear no silence, this silence is loud. The humming and screaming beats through this
mind shroud.

See no finding row time courage in line coming home,

In time riding so kind rubbing too blind running lone,
Coo sore without soonin’ worry in rain cant before,
With dry face I hold her in place, she cant run no more...
No she cant run no more...

(2003-04-10 02:30) - public

Marc’s a strange one, a wild highway actor looking for a hit. He rocked back and forth and
talked about hell, death, and atoms. He’s a fine young man with issues that come every
month...I wonder if he even takes the time to read them, or lets them just pile up?

Its hard to read a book when you’re on the page....and the perspective of height aids
only the literate, the rest just enjoy the view. And the issue of Cosmo is always placed over
the issue of Psychology Today, as if to hide it. There is a small problem some people have with
their face, small but large. And a lot of people need a shrink.

I cohere to serendipitous truth revelation, slurping from one slimy word to another; mak-
ing the sounds that smooth shakers want to hear. I do not love our competition, only the
feeling of breathing with my head out of the car; the forced rush with speed and its race. I love
to suprise and inspire one to suprise, to initiate a game of peak-a-boo, each time revealing
a new face to make them squirm, laugh, fear, or cry only to reveal the emotion, there and
then,. as the game it is. Letting them play in its own undermining. This is the gain of mari-
juana in that it drops this game onto everyone in the room like transcendence in a cold bucket.

Crying In The Smoke Of Burnt Pride (A Title)

I stand cold en light, the love of wetter days aside,

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For lost in for days, ego grows too soft to collide.
There where love gone to, I see them beckon me outside.
But I have no me, dissappeard with some burning pride.

Some burning Pride, identity with eyes closed wide.

So thoughtless closed, seen what you divided denied

Blah divided, blah blah blah seen as you died.

Blah blah blah I am fried.

Blah blah blah, dont try to hide

Blah blah blah, so red eyed
Blah blah blah, slide on untried seasides...
Blah blah blah blah blah, So well suplied, statewide.
Poetry is for GAYWADS!

Tell me about myself, I am so bored with him and want to know something I dont.

(2003-04-10 04:08) - public

Spam Jelly, slurpy yea!

I got no sex to give,
Spam Jelly, Slidey? Naa!
Then why you bother to live?

The most natural response to something said is an echo,

So to merely repeat what a person says is the most pleasing, natural, and acceptable thing
you can do in conversation.

GentalViolence: I have seen ya do a few smell things... hardly much dancing tho
TurboSwami: Yea, I dont usually show you the smelly things I do
GentalViolence: I am not wearin my glasses.... you can prolly tell
TurboSwami: I do those alone
GentalViolence: Ha!
GentalViolence: I do not see you doing smelly things... you are too clean
GentalViolence: I think
TurboSwami: I make big stinks, sometimes...
GentalViolence: everyone does
TurboSwami: I dont think you would wanna be there
TurboSwami: heh
GentalViolence: Ha!
TurboSwami: This is strange, I like it
GentalViolence: that is nasty
TurboSwami: You can be there if you want
GentalViolence: the convo?
TurboSwami: You can sit on my lap if you really want
TurboSwami: But, just as long as I have access back there for when I am done.
GentalViolence: Maybe the jets are like a massage?
GentalViolence: Lmao
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GentalViolence: eww
TurboSwami: Urine, you mean.
TurboSwami: Yea
GentalViolence: this is horrible!
TurboSwami: only one way to find out.
GentalViolence: yea... let you pee on me...
GentalViolence: Ha!
TurboSwami: I didnt say it
GentalViolence: L O L!!!!
TurboSwami: perv

I think there is something hillariously funny about babies, small children, women, or the
elderly getting punched hard in the face, falling hard on their face, or being thrown from a
moving vehicle. (preferably landing face first)

23 Skidoo is one of the more accessable of the early British experimental industrial bands.
They are eerie and hypnotic, inducing trances in layers of polyrhythm. One has a greater
sense of where the ground is than when listening to one of their comrades in cacophony, like
Cabaret Voltaire. I just got to say "comrades in cacophony" and am almost sure of what it
means....thats all that counts. God, I sound more and more important by the day....thank god.
I need to by a big hat to represent all this importance for when I strut in public, there will be no
confusion amongst the little people as of how best to approach me, that is, that they shouldnt.
That an ambitious bow would be most appropriate given the grand size of my hat and all that
it is obviously set in place to represent.

(2003-04-11 20:23) - public

From the Diaries of Laura Palmer:

July 29, 1984

From the light in my window he can see into me,

But I cannot see him until he is close.
Breathing, with a smile at my window,
He comes to take me.
Turn me round and round.
Come out and play Come play
Lie Still Lie Still Lie Still

Little rhymes and little songs

Pieces of the forest in my hair and clothes
Sometimes I see him near me
When I know he can’t be there
Sometimes I feel him near me
And I know it is something just to bear.

When I call out

No one can hear me
When I whisper, he thinks the message
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Is for him only
My little voice inside my throat
I always think there must be something
That I’ve done
Or something I can do
But no one no one comes to help
He Says,
A little girl like you.

(2003-04-12 03:54) - public

Propecia is expensive, luckily I am a lier and a thief with enough hair to win a co-worker’s
trust before I stab them in the back for a quick twenty dollars. The guilt and stress of this
profession is getting to my nerves more and more, charging them to pulse during times I once
could relax, during the time before sleep where relaxation is prerequisite to entrance.

I read today, I actually read a book....even though it was a book written for easy read-
ing, I read and enjoyed reading and plan to read more. I dont read, as a rule, so this new
procedure of time-passing is still alien to me, in many ways. If it grows on me, I may find
my ideas melding and merging with this coursing influx of new, written ideas; birthing hybrid
thoughts indiscernable from my own, previously untainted. I can, if I pull this "book" thing off
just right, pass the genus ideas of other men, hopefully long dead, off as my own merely by
reciting these few absorbed bits of text, undoubtably reworded in the process of translation
and integration. So, ideally, it would go: (Blabady blab, Look at me now. Blabady blab, so
much better than before. And even more deception in store.)

(2003-04-13 05:17) - public

"It’s high time you met your maker!" I yelled valiantly to the priestess of pain, Karon, as she
called forth the brother’s of personality change. Pressing against her head 3 to 5 times, she
soon fell under my subtle seductive spell, immediately ready to attend to my slightest whim.
This is how all women react to me, the drunkard of fine poses. With the agility of a wildcat,
I jumped up, tightly pressing my inner thighs against the rear of her neck, riding her like a
schoolgirl riding her father at the county fair. She yelped at the speed of my movement, soon
carrying me towards the window, knowing what was to come next.....

Basketball.....

One on one basketball, where we throw the ball at eachother’s crotch. This has been
called "extreme barnyard style" as well as "oh god the pain" basketball and, by the look in her
eye, I knew she was an experienced player and that she sensed my willingness to partake
in the harsher of the hoop-based past times. I possessed a certain valor, synonym to brave,
which caused a moistening where her legs intercepted. This was both a call to submissiveness
and, with that same token, a challenge to this forward speaking confident feminist. Her trophy
would not be one easily mounted. Her’s was one locked....locked hard in farms less seen for
miles

The trophy was farm, karma kept me from washing. The magic of moment was too much for
115
many men to bear and, yet, with time, there was courage which grew up from unseen mental
constructs. Marks of bravery shown brightly from the dark recesses of both hearts, as men
and women attacked from all sides. There was not this to deal with, though, as we partook
in garden pleasures. The lines, which were dotted and unseen, seperated this moment from
the others and, at the same time, set in all eyes a path for cutting. With discrimination came
the varnish which preserved youthful beauty in grains I fought, while accepting at depth. This
was our course, this in/out instance of shared mixing; the beautiful process of dilution which
so quickly dies at elderly equality. The steel rail was pounded only to carry these thoughtless
think-tanks across to eachother; as if to be carried on a river of singing slaves, their work is
internal: our work our play much less so. There is no umbrella....no slick rain coat to protect
her chest from this forcasted sadness; and when it comes, she will pose unexpectedness, as
so well planned, for all our surrounders to see and absorb, content.

And why was her first impulse to carry me to that window and what, if open, thought
would come to her with arrival? "Is this man to heavy for me to bear? Must I release him to
the sky? Can I live alone yet love....all that comes to touch near soul?"

(2003-04-13 05:38) - public

Death Curls In Loving

Fear of death drives woman fast,

To do all that proves nerve.
And speeding to escape her past,
Reliving her sharp curve.
And though her body they trespassed,
She thought it right to serve,
Cried to speed away from last,
Two girls, in fear, both swerve....

(2003-04-14 07:10) - public

I feel like I dont feel, its the medicine that does it. Makes the head dry up with stale, empty
air, too many spaces and dot dot dots to relate. Blood thickens and refuses to circulate and
all I am asfixiates, the blues follow a shaking gasp unfullfilled. I feel I am not feeling, these
purple hands shade darker shakes, numb to all this obligatory touching.

I shook everyone’s hand, friends as foes, and each perspired under my cold gaze, smil-
ing tight restriction, knowing my hand was dead as they held it. This is the battle I lose called
socialization, and the war is one I fight only for nature. I cannot change this critic who mocks;
he is beyond my will, beyond all of myself he created. His hate is the sculptor’s chisel, so
sharp, cutting away all of this cold stone which is not to be me, making the stone beneath it
colder.

(2003-04-16 17:10) - Gasping - public

Music: Fear of Flying - The Autuers

116
Decorative Fence

I am finally feeling anger, it comes in quick uncontrollable twitches and I grit my teeth
in absolute hatred for a brief moment. My once inexhaustable patience is now gone, perhaps
forever, and with it, perhaps, my once radiated inner serenity. This life is a never ending cycle
of one self-imposed stress after another and I am too weak and afraid to liberate myself, the
tense screaming of scheduals and deadlines has replaced any happiness I once had and I am
now chained to a self-identity which grows heavier and more menacing by the day...like a dog,
I choke myself, straining to be released until I cannot breath at all.

(2003-04-18 00:36) - public

I heard my watch beep in my lap at 11:04 in a social situation and, while walking alone in
the dark, I heard the voice of a beautiful woman singing a sorrowful crying song from behind
the horn of a car. I stumbled through bus stops with a fine green bottle of champagne in one
hand, lush and red eyed, carrying, sideways, the composure of a evening bound gentleman, a
space age bachelor. I thought of many well defined, abstract things and was able to share my
thoughts about them to an audience, however uninterested. I can remember only scattered
word intersections over the thoughts, the level of generality of which was defined by the
effects curvature of the drug, itself.

At the highest point, minutes after smoking, the conversation entered depth with the
topic of depth, in general; the direction’s each person’s personality inclines towards, that
personality, itself, to a great extent, subject to at which point of that person’s personality
development he/she began smoking. I concluded that the obsession my thoughts fill, those
of society, are belonging to that area of understanding which is of the self, as opposed
to physicalities related to observed rates, of times and distances. The surroundings. And,
although those aspects of internal self I focus on are effected in this life by time, I concluded
that they are not so when that body who’s rate controls those thoughts stops moving, that self
disolves in a freeze frame, like the image of a candle in ones minds-eye after one closes their
eyes and blows it out, the negative of an image drifting away in darkness to depths unseen.
The negative image of death can be described as a frequency, a waveform who’s positive
trough (crest) peaks at the realization of identity near the end of adolescense and, from there
forward, declines below the zero flat line into negative development, the rate of the frequency
defining both the duration of life and death equivically, the lowest point of death, the negative
crest, (trough) peaks at that absolute fading of the negative image, the remnants of ego, from
the field of energy awareness grants in death.

This is a view of death which applies reason, assumptions made by the patterns of all
nature, that is a playing of rate between opposites, being applied to those unknown aspects
of that nature, death or space, the inwards or the outwards.

Pissing, I realized mandates should be drawn up by the government of a society who

supports the science of both the inner and the outer (philosopsychology) that allow for and
fund research in both directions of thought. That is, the role of an enlightened society once
designated to the ascetic or the Transcendentalist, the mysterious seeker of truth, the deducer
of the unseen, should be, not simply allowed for in society, but his trip through self, while in
life, should be funded, like that of the prisoner who is forced out of social life.

117
That is to say, Henry David Thorou (sp?) should not have to worry about eating, that he
should be given, by the government, that simple, inexpensive place in the woods where
he would remain, alone, and given those tools for his journey which have traditionally been
helpful. The government, using data collected from scientists on the effects of psycho-tropic
medication, would provide any and all proven aids for the practices of psychological intro-
spection, deductive reasoning, or consciousness expansion as they are discovered after which
point any or all robust phyilopsychological findings would be published, analyzed, worshipped,
simplified, integrated into the funding society’s public, acadamia, and government. The Space
Race of Self, perhaps. Which country will reach God first?

I would pay they 1 or 2 dollars extra every year in my taxes to see that drop outs may
be given an Ascetic License, as suggested by Alduous Huxely, and may be permitted to drop
out fully and allowed not be bothered by those troublesome aspects of society like family,
income tax, profession, income and have only the most basic survival needs provided for by
an accepting government. Rules would, of course, be defined which prevent people from
Misusing the allowence. Testing developed similar to that of obtaining the right to drive,
however, for the person who is not ready for the entrance into the realm of the shaman, the
allowances may seem very much like the allowances made in a prison, if not much much
worst (Prison allows channel after channel of paid cable television, rich foods, and the right to
an education.) However, the ascetic would be allowed to journey out from his woodland shack
to a forest stream or pond or, if he chooses, an ocean. He or she would be, however provided
for, completelly alone and far away from society, dissatyattched with no cable television
entertainment allowances except for nature itself. Western man has abandoned the Religious
aspect of the Village Wise Man or, rather, The Wisdom of Isolation, trying only to Induce it in
Criminals, and losing touch with the process of that wisdom’s attainance.

(2003-04-18 04:41) - private

TurboSwami: I am ready to commence conversation.

Auto response from Swarms138: Hooray for Gold Bond Thursday

TurboSwami: Hello
Swarms138: hello
Swarms138: I’m having a deep convo with Katy
TurboSwami: I am a Megalomaniac
Swarms138: I regret losing my virginity to her
TurboSwami: Oh, ppphhht
TurboSwami: Never regret sex.
TurboSwami: Its a waste of time to regret pleasure.
TurboSwami: You dont see that?
Swarms138: well, I saw virginity as something special
TurboSwami: You stopped and smelled her rose, and it is a very nice smelling rose....you can
tell by looking at it.
TurboSwami: Just because it cannot be yours forever should not depress you.
TurboSwami: There are lusher roses, you know....more robust.
TurboSwami: ; )
Swarms138: ah but I just wanted one golden rose
TurboSwami: You are obsessed with wealth
TurboSwami: Become obsessed with nature.
118
TurboSwami: Its a lot easier on your heart.
GentalViolence: thatis intense
GentalViolence: you do not regret me? just made me think about that
GentalViolence: dont have to answer
TurboSwami: The conversation didnt answer your question?

I feel as though these pursuits are self-conflicting; as if sex is theatric, and all its rela-
tionships, like all desire, are cyclically high and low, painful and loveful, each equally dramatic,
each implying the other.

In The Ancient East, wise men like Confucius and Sun Tzu were called upon by Govern-
ment to advise in matters of War or Policy; used by leadership to better help society, the
relationship of which often misunderstood by the leader. Ideally, an intelligent leader would
realize that there are those who are more intelligent and use the wisdom they have gained,
with interpretation, to better lead and protect. Under this plan, the society being led would
understand, better, its role to government, being more receptive to the needs of the whole,
as the Confucian society is.

TurboSwami: Sorry, that probably didnt help you at all.

TurboSwami: I am a friend that isolates, often,.
TurboSwami: Isolating you with myself.
Swarms138: yeah, it hard to fit into society like that
TurboSwami: Like you are trying to with Katy, you mean?
TurboSwami: Or, like I am trying to with you?
Swarms138: the way you are explaining I should see sex
TurboSwami: Hmm...so both.
TurboSwami: Well, I think it is wrong to defy nature as you would like to...
TurboSwami: And not worthwhile to beat yourself up for being natural in your view of sex.
TurboSwami: Even if society would rather you did.
Swarms138: but we have to fit into society, although I hate it too
TurboSwami: I am trying, as best I can, to fit into it sideways.
TurboSwami: Often, one can walk where the crow flies, through the city...
Swarms138: jerk
TurboSwami: Even though the buildings can restrict you, the grass is yours to walk on.
TurboSwami: Much softer, easier on your feet.
Swarms138: but if you fall into a sinkhole, there is no one there to help you
TurboSwami: Do I sound pompous, obese, and eat cactus?
Swarms138: maybe
TurboSwami: I dont understand a sinkhole? You make it sound like a bad thing to, suddenly,
dropu under society?
TurboSwami: Drop outs are everyone’s favorite person to talk to.
Swarms138: yes, but they are not respected
TurboSwami: Much more interesting than the person in a rush to get to the bank.
Swarms138: yet not respected
TurboSwami: In the back of their mind, ever banker respects the Ascetic...
TurboSwami: And, gives him money to eat.
TurboSwami: Recognizing the woodland path he passed years before...
TurboSwami: That sounds cheesy, doesnt it?
TurboSwami: Ha! That Pot makes you say the Stupidest things!

119
(2003-04-18 16:56) - public

Decorative Fence: The Beauty of Boundary

Two actors, a man and a woman, feel awkward about their lines. The omnipresent voice
of the Unseen Director pushes them to continue with the drama, knowing the dangousness of
questioning the outcome of a show which doesn’t go on.

The plot, before it became uncomfortable to the actors, was one where they played two
actors who, after their show, make love. The relationship, for the male actor, is only pretend,
however: an experiment in emotion and the female actor knows this and it makes her love
for him desolate, the love they pretend to have for one another, after the show, obligatory,
detatched, silent.

The death of the child you taught not to talk can be a time of regret or of thankfullness.

(2003-04-19 16:05) - public

And I sat as they stood, comfortable where they weren’t, and the difference of the seperation
was just strong enough to carry their conversation about me. I was the observer and the topic
of the conversation, but was not actually "all there."

(2003-04-20 04:05) - public

Oh, the social conventions of defense, jealousy, and competition; the tension of closing
areas of one’s self off can sometimes waste every ounce of direction, leaving you twitching,
restricted, in a vicious circle. There is nature, however, which never causes tension...which
always beckons, guilt-free, with legs open in invitation. And we allow our eyes only the
briefest shift, a glance at brilliance, only in a sad attempt to, somehow, release this gnawing
tension society has tied. And, the childish humor will always represent a dream-like wish, a
desire to no longer control one’s self so strictly....and this humor is a release of the tension of
that self-restriction, accepted by the society which binds. Its acceptance, however, does not
change the truth behind its topic’s source.

Flatly, we, both men and women, have been given a body of purpose and all socializa-
tion, however complex, is rooted in this lower purpose. Attraction is the most heightened
point of all socialization, as it is the that precipice of all socialization: that animalistic drive
of pleasure and its inner satisfaction: assurance. Fighting attraction, then, is a never-ending
self-defeating battle against nature itself. And, like any other moral dillemma, it is most logical
to ask one’s self "Is Fighting Nature Reasonable?"

This is all part of my drug’s analytical appeal, nervous social anxiety being just a direc-
tion for overactive analysis.

(2003-04-20 04:24) - public

If there is one thing psychedelic drugs taught me is that there is a fluidity to all things in and
outside of me....and that everything we are and everything we see is viscously influenced,
120
dynamic and always changing without boundary, like a flowing river of thought and action
carried by surroundings we create. Science is born from the ideal of seperating the object of
study from its surroundings...but, the child in the white coat soon realized that the all objects
are merely definitions of interactions with suroundings and to describe one thing is to describe
all those things around it, and all those things around those, onward into one-ness.

(2003-04-20 04:37) - public

The Pirates of Dark Water:

Wren, the blonde pirate, leaves his body...his soul taking flight to fight the female pirate of
a different phase of matter who wanted him as her slave, accepting no one who was ugly or
short. Fighting with "ghost weapons," non physical weapons used to hurt non physical beings in
a manner which parallels physical battle, Wren broke his friend’s "ghost chains" and promissed
never to tell the attractive woman who both men loved that he was a greedy and cared only of
money. "Not a ghost of a chance" that he would ever reveal this personality trait to her....hiding
it from her by the power of that pact made then and there, forever, amen. She doesnt REALLY
want that dirty bastard anyway; I mean, he has a scar on his FACE...

(2003-04-20 04:58) - public

Mating has become more social and less physical, and so bodily aspects of sex, as evolution
progresses, become less emphasized. (Japanese individuals, according to surgeons, recieve
penis enlargement surgery more than african-bred men.) As if to say that the blatent differ-
ence in body structure implies, with it, a difference in internal, social-structuring...where one
race of man is more "socially bred" than the other. Africa lacks the intricate social structure of
Japan, not because of a mere physical difference, but because of a defined internal difference
in the inclinations of the people living there. To give your very life, sacrificing it to the greater
good, is a distinclty eastern social philosophy and reflects a society which is both more
complex and successful than that of Africa.

Racisim: The difference between races. I rationalize it more and more, always based on
observations which I, for years and years, fought. I realized I fought them only because I had
been taught to and that there were, in fact, differences, that equality was a myth, like so many
others, which I was simply raised on, seperate from observable truth.

But what is the meaning of evolutionary difference? The soul man versus the white nerd?
His cock will always be bigger than mine, as will his general comfort level, his lack of tension
which comes with "whitey analysis." But, I am, believe it or not, more socially advanced than
he. I have taken the art of communication to new heights, paving a path for expression which
delves far beneath surface to describe complex, abstract relationships, unseen. This is social
advancement. This is why whitey is nervous. And, to take pride in this difference should be as
acceptable as "B.E.T."

(2003-04-20 15:39) - public

Sleeping’s not killing time, its killing me.

121
CLEANER AND THE MIRROR:
The residue of past interactions becomes apparent in the heat, where once it was hid-
den from view. I can do all I want to change, but this residual will always haunt any of
these changes; its whole sum always nothing. My reflection through this textured ghost of
past obligations is ambiguous and unclear. And, drenched in the steam of my own heat, I
try to see myself more clearly, slowly failing to maintain that image of myself again and again.

There resides, in this mirror itself, a ghost of our own creation. In tense heat, his pat-
terns reflect my own past patterns, long forgotten. And, looking at myself, he resides as much
in me as in the mirror I see, rather, he is the Residue left where I once Resided.

(2003-04-21 01:48) - public

I got drunk yesterday and preached about the differences between races. I am almost
completely sure I am a racist now. Lets check a dictionary to be sure:

racism ( P ) Pronunciation Key (rszm)

n.
The belief that race accounts for differences in human character.

There ARE differences, this an observable fact. There is a black culture and a white cul-
ture, music created by african-americans and music created by european americans. This
difference is noticed by the black culture as well. Entertainment designed specifically for Black
people, or Black Entertainment Television, was created in acknowledgement of this "believe
that race accounts for differences in human character." That is, the creators of BET, formed
the network on the belief that there existed an entertainment belonging specifically to the
black race; this racist belief in a discrimination between the races also serves as base for all of
the countless "black pride" or "African American specialty" organizations which have formed
in the last few decades. Looking under "black" in the phone book produces, often, several
pages of "Black Only" groups formed with intention of discriminating themselves from, say, an
equal rights group of the same type. "Black Lawyers Association, Black Children’s Fund, etc
etc"

An attentive person realizes, however, that Black Pride and Discrimination are THE EX-
ACT SAME THING and that one cannot exist without the other. And, with this insight in mind, I
am no more racist than each of the members of the Black Lawyers Association. This whitey is
proud to be a nerd.

biscuitboy (2003-04-21 11:05:04)

A-fucking-men. And what’s the deal with their hair, too?!? (tongue in cheek, for you sensitive types)

(2003-04-21 03:29) - public

Healthy people are convinced they are important...

And, if they are healthy enough, they will become important.
122
(2003-04-21 05:26) - awake, asleep (onside) - public

Music: Echoes Of Sirens In The Night

I woke up and saw a child dressed in my clothes standing, only a few feet tall, near my bed
watching my sleep. He was my son and I realized a lot about the person I had been as I
watched him disappear with the memory of his dream of mine.

There was my shirt on a chair and it made me look at myself and the deep love I have
for my son, who I will someday neglect. I hope I wake up by then....

ENO On Drugs And Porn (2003-04-21 21:07) - strange, observant, curious - public

Music: HERE COME THE WARM JETS (urine to the face) - Eno

BRIAN ENO: That’s what drugs are useful for. Drugs can show you that there are other ways of
finding meanings to things. You don’t have to keep taking them, but having had that lesson,
to know that you’re capable of doing that, is really worthwhile.

DAVID BOWIE: But you know, I think the seeds of all that probably were planted a lot
earlier. Think of the surrealists with things like their ’exquisite corpses’, or James Joyce, who
would take whole paragraphs and just with glue stick them in the middle of others, and
make up a quilt of writing. It really is the character and the substance of twentieth-century
perception, and it’s really starting to matter now.

BRIAN ENO: What I think is happening there is it removes from the artist the responsibil-
ity of being the ’meaner’-the person who means to say this and is trying to get it over to
you-and puts him in the position of being the interpreter.

BRIAN ENO:
"Do you know what a ’burning shame’ is by the way? It’s a pornographic term for a deviation
involving candles.

"Ouch!"

"Very popular in Japanese pornography. They’re always using lit candles because Japanese
pornography is very sadistic, partly because of the Japanese view of women, which is a mixture
of resentment and pure animal lust.

"In the traditional view, a woman is still expected to be at the beck and call of her husband,
so that manifests itself in that kind of pornography. Of which I have a few examples, of course.

"Mexican pornography is an interesting island of thought because they seem to be heav-

ily into excretory functions. The traditional American view is that anything issued from the
body is dirty. It’s incredibly puritanical and it resents bodily fluids, so if one is trying to debase
a woman, you cover them with that and hence you get the fabulous term ’Golden Showers’ -
the term for pissing on someone, which some well- known rock musicians are said to be very
involved in . . .
123
(2003-04-22 02:23) - public

Morton Subotnick’s dissonant electronic composition Silver Apples of the Moon, who’s half-
centruy old tape cut, effect’s drentched synth screams were once nearly unlistenable to me,
years ago, has, over time, become less and less dissonant with each listen; becoming more
and more acceptable as the inhuman and alien sounds and their patterns become memorized
and assimilated. I purchased this album for way too much money during a time when I was
determined to find the strangest and most experimental music ever created; the sounds of
conventions exploding. I have learned to love this alien and, perhaps someday, will conceive
a brainchild with it...IDM is here, born with electronica itself; the genre has returned to its
high-brow, intellectual roots.

(2003-04-22 10:23) - public

Soon as I stumbled out of bed, I grabbed scissors and began to cut off whole handfulls of my
hair. I regret it now....

Sure, I am up and fully awake and my class starts in 7 minutes. Those two things to-
gether DO NOT mean I have to go. I am better than that; I am a dill weed. I even went so far
as to put on my shoes, leave my room, buy many juices, come back and, with my shoes still
on, decide that class was "not my thang" (nor is it a chicken wing....at least not yet...)

iztyme2ryde (2003-04-22 11:21:23)

I slept through class today! I know what you mean hehe, only I missed a quiz, that is gunna leave a
mark...

(2003-04-23 04:49) - public

Kurt Schwitters is a musician, and an amazing one. His album is one long, gorgeous mouth
solo. The human voice, I believe, triggers more emotion than any other instrument; we connect
more deeply with those sounds...they serve as a more direct line to our soul, as they are sounds
which come from our own chest.....The intonation and construction of words, I think, reflects
this connection to their sounds....soothing sounds like "ah" or "ohm" used, in linguistics, in rep-
resenting a thought who’s meaning is similar in ... blah blah blah...the guy basically makes up
word sounds, without meaning, all impromptu-like...and, each sound triggers a different emo-
tion. I am not going to pretend to know which came first, the word or its emotion....ppphhhtt

(2003-04-23 21:45) - public

LOOK FOR THIS ARTICLE IN THE UPCOMING EDITION OF LANSING’S NOISE:

Subject: The Sounds Of The Scientific Method: Electronica’s Experimental Beginnings

The hip kids toting the latest block rockin’ beat remain completely ignorant of techno’s
124
ancient experimental fathers, the intellectual madmen who invented the genre decades
ago. From basement bound circuit soldering geniuses to eccentric academic tape cutters,
electronica was once a strictly high brow subculture inhabited by only the strangest of the
strange. Here, then, submitted for your approval, are the electron’s maddest hatters...

1. RAYMOND SCOTT - Manhattan Research, Inc.

Popular Jazz composer by day, (compositions including "Powerhouse" of Looney Tunes

and Ren & Stimpy fame), mad scientist by night, Raymond Scott remains one of musical
history’s most mysterious and enigmatic figures. This 2 disc compilation of his early sound
lab experiments and radio advertisements draws an amazing picture of a man who’s musical
genius was seconded only by his inventive genius: all of the sounds featured on the extensive
set being made by machines of his own creation. (Robert Moog, in the linear notes, admitting
to having stolen many of the schematics for his Moog synthesizer directly from Scott.) Packed
with page upon page of interviews and pictures to compliment the incredible retro-futuristic
sounds, this is a ’must buy’ for anyone who claims to be a fan of electronic music.

2. TOD DOCKSTADER - Apocalypse

Unlike the majority of his musique concrete contemporaries, Tod Dockstader actually
gives some consideration to the listener, bringing a sort of sensibility to a genre which is not
known for being especially listenable. Throughout the disc’s six tracks, Dockstader paint’s
for the listener a range of atmospheres which extend, often unexpectedly, from extremes of
arctic chills to childlike playfulness always with an underlying sense of medium control; Varese
or Subotnick often lacked this. One of the chief influences of schizoid IDM acts like Aphex Twin,
this recording will continue to shape the direction of techno for years to come

3. BRIAN ENO - No Pussyfooting

Released before even before his groundbreaking punky-glam solo debut, No Pussyfoot-
ing was, really, the ambient father’s first album in the genre. Recorded with King Crimson’s
experimental leader and guitarist, Robert Fripp, the two track disc is powered by a system of
tape delay manipulation Eno invented especially for the guitarist named Frippertronics, which
would become a staple of Crimson live shows for years to follow. Beginning with one repeating
loop, the system allows for its repetition to be added to, soloed over, or decayed, giving the
musicians new allowances and restrictions to interact with creatively. The result is one of
the most definative and accessible ambient works yet created, endlessly listenable, cerebral
music whose distinctive sustain-guitar soundscapes influenced generations to follow.

4. JEAN JACQUES PERREY - The New Electronic Pop Sound of Jean Jacques Perrey

Voted the second strangest album in all existence by RE/SEARCH, Inc., this disc is like
one long, hypnotically chripy advertising jingle for LSD baby food. Using cut magnetic tape,
the ondioline, and the just released Moog synthesizer, Perrey mines deep into unexplored
reaches of space age electro-pop. Granted its innovations, the ambitiously quirky sounds of
the pudgy Frenchman eventually lose their novelty. Suggested for fans of analogue synth
125
revivalists like The Moog Cookbook, this album will surely make all your friends think you are
crazy.

5. KRAFTWERK - The Man Machine

Finally, the album which condensed the decades of academic electronic experimentation
and obscure underground synthesizer noodling into one, solid, efficient German pop package,
The Man Machine defined a blueprint for electronica which would be followed, with only slow,
gradual deviation, all through the eighties and nineties to follow. Listening to this album, to
this day, still conjures a feeling of listening to the future; to the sounds of forward-thinking
genius. Developing cold, soul-less robotic personas from the disheveled remains of their
acid-tinged, hippy, Kraut-rock roots, Kraftwerk popularized the sound of the machine for the
benefit of man.

iztyme2ryde (2003-04-23 19:47:06)

OH NO! THere letting THAT kid on paper! Who voted for this?! You are fired! Or.... fire the damn
Author for smoking! J/K Way to go Kaleb.

gawthspork (2003-04-24 05:45:58)

I think the appealing qualities of your article can be summarized in one simple statement: "...this
album will surely make all your friends think you are crazy." GENIUS.

(2003-04-24 19:10) - tired, old - public

Music: Jim O’ Rourke - Memory Lame

My arms are sick...the blood isnt pumping through them...I havent slept for 3 days because
the blood gets caught and makes the veins bulge out of my arm, all bloated and dark purple...I
can feel them pulse with painful veinous pressure.

Jim O’ Rourke, make it better....Jim O’Rourke, I am becoming the old man moaning about
medical problems...

(2003-04-27 18:20) - public

Good Times
I may be dressed as a doctor dear,
But Im not, Im just acting up
Got high hopes, a passing thought

I may act like a bombardier

But dont be fooled, cause my aim is off
No need for alarm, Ill catch you next time

Id like to raise the Titanic here

Take a walk, through its molding streets
126
And feel right at home, cause the dead dont talk

Itd be so nice, if you werent here

Empty air, where you used to stand
Like an empty plate, that gets bussed away

(2003-04-27 18:22) - public

Memory Lame
Its quite a gamble to speak out of place
Those things could kill you but so could your face

What occupies me, pays a low rent

Because fondness makes the heart grow absent

These things I say, may seem kinda cruel

So heres something from my heart to you
Looking at you, reminds me of looking at the sun
And how the blind are so damn lucky

Those holes on your face could be used better ways

Breathings a distraction when you chatter away

These things I say, may seem to be lies

To seem risque, or sensationalize

And too many people can remember your name

Always walking you down memory lame

These things I say, may seem to offend

But not half as much, as Id like to intend
Listening to you, reminds me of
A motors endless drone
And how the deaf are so damn lucky

Id be happy, if life came to a stall

Then I wouldnt need my senses at all

These things I say, might seem out of line

But day to day, Im right every time
Looking at you, reminds me of
Looking at the sun
Too long

Youll find
That in no time
Youll be talking to yourself
Along with everybody else
Then youll despise
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The look in their eyes
It may be difficult to tell
If your looking at yourself
And you look fine
If you dont mind
That gaping hole thats on your face
A black hole thats out of place
And out of time
In a tight bind
To find something smart to say
When a silence comes your way

(2003-04-28 14:04) - public

I have decided Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream is more meaningful and worthwhile than
studying the economic trends of the radio industry. My exam is in 35 minutes. This sure is
good ice cream, but oh...the headaches it can give you later....

(2003-04-30 14:56) - public

HeyHiHeyHellHeyHowHowdoHowdeeHeyoHowyouYoYoYoYaYouYaYouYaYouYoYoYoGoodYouGood
YoHayGaanChaoBaHolaAloHiYaGooday

– *sung to *Night Rider" theme song**

– – Substitute "Night Rider" For "Gummy Bears" as needed

(2003-04-30 17:46) - public

I want to p*rty. I want to th*nk. All these illegal. Uncle Sam rather you threw up in the sink.
I want to Re-Create, I want play back, I want innocent nervousness, I want to smile like that
again, like that sprouting adolescent holding back a laugh...bursting at the seams as they
grew, hormones for children, mystery and kind confusion, warm friendships and shared fears,
trust, oh the trust...I want to trust I WANT IT BACK! I want those times, those times that are
fading from memory, those times in sun-lit backyards, hot and blooming, smoking grass and
pretending to feel it, laughing and defining eachother all at once...a group, closer than ever
since, all liquid, women waiting, touching, the competition so seriously playful, eyes so much
wider.....I remember too much....

I remember too much of being 14, and that is why it haunts me. If I could forget how
precious it was, I would not know how empty I am.
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2.5 May

(2003-05-02 03:23) - public

I hate being called ugly, boring and creepy...

I never handle it well. I dont have the defenses, it just hits me....sometimes deeply. I realize I
can’t hurt people nearly as bad as I used to be able to. My comebacks are diluted and deeply
psychological instead of hard and cutting. I realize I have changed so much from the quivering,
critical walking complex I was so long ago. I have let myself become everything I once hated.
Yesterday, I thought back to the person I was in the 3rd grade and realized how those years
defined me for the rest of my life.

I would, each night, think back to every social interaction I had that day and critisize it,
telling myself what I did wrong and how I would do things differently next time. Doing this, I
began to compile a collection of strict social rules which defined the right and wrong way to
talk and act. My self critisisms at this age were so sharp and deep that I viewed everything
a person said or did though a lens of definined stages and rules; often seeing people older
than me talking a certain way and telling myself how I was on that stage over a year ago.
I remember looking at the people with their foreheads against the window on the bus and
telling myself how I would never allow myself to stoop to ’their level." It all seems so foolish,
years later, but I realize that those definitions and that ciritical aspect of my development will
always be at the core of my identity, always pushing me to be different from everyone around
me, to fight for my own path.

I no longer sit, each day, alone in the dark playing back every interaction of the day
and hating myself for what I did wrong, but the many years I did, all through grade school,
have carved out the intense critical eye which is at the very heart of me and which defines my
words and actions to this day. It has made me perpetually discontent with accepting the path
provided by society. I hated myself because mom had taught me to. She punished me for
the sound of my voice and the way my legs moved when I walked. She punished every move
I made until I, simply, stopped moving and transcended the rules of the quivering, nervous
body she had created. The new personality I filled with all that was unnacceptable of me was
the face I gave to the world, the body critisized to death being the face I gave only to her,
quiet and unmoving as talking and moving were both unnaceptable to her. I learned that the
world she drew for me was not truth and that the rules she set were not those of the world.
I ignored, but could never forget, her definition of what I should be. I thank her for part in
creating the adult I am today, a cultural outlier, a changed changer. Her defeat of me is mine
too, carried out each day, by this ever-losing, battle torn self; fighting my every move to the
death.

(2003-05-08 01:49) - public

I begin my vacation by a warm greeting from my family who, after hugging me and saying
how much I was missed, sneak into my room and steal from me. I had pretended to forget
how dissapointed I was in my family, but luckily they are always there to let me down when
my memory is dimming. I have decided to approach saying "I am not angry that you borrowed
my drugs. I will be angry if you dont tell me you took them." (this is to be different from ’...if
you dont tell me you took them.’ for reasons I will leave unsaid.)
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"the oh so smooth cooing melody of convenience...sung so quietly to some skinny slap
rhythm." -The Druggy Mind Pocket [tapped]

Socialization is a waste, perhaps...a waste of my self when approached with such a ner-
vous, defensive eye as the one I have adopted or been predisposed to.

I love to wait for the ’but...’ in any conversation about a person with distance.

A Conversation High (2003-05-10 02:16) - public

Swarms138: your vagina

TurboSwami: your vague
Swarms138: what are you doing home on a friday night?
TurboSwami: Sitting half naked covered with a clear perscription gel
TurboSwami: Burping broccoli
Swarms138: propecia?
TurboSwami: I will say yes
TurboSwami: and think no
TurboSwami: oops
TurboSwami: How are you?
TurboSwami: What are you doing on a friday night in la la land?
TurboSwami: Or wait, that’s sleep
TurboSwami: Sleep is "dual la" country.
TurboSwami: awake is more bla bla land
Swarms138: haha, I have no friends around so I’m just sitting at the computer watching shit
TurboSwami: Yea, I watch shit a lot myself
TurboSwami: I miss your gentle touch
Swarms138: I miss yours as well, blah
TurboSwami: I love it when you call me that.
TurboSwami: We can be Blah and Lah
TurboSwami: and we can wear the same clothes and do a little dance at parties
TurboSwami: where we put our arms in eachothers arms and shimmy
TurboSwami: sideways, most likely
Swarms138: in the delicate somber, baby I’m on fire
TurboSwami: Here comes reptiles, blank talking
TurboSwami: You know, like those two guys.
Swarms138: isn’t it always
Swarms138: the pop of the whistle and the stares
TurboSwami: If you want, I can get high...
TurboSwami: It helps with the crazy talk
Swarms138: sure, why the hell not? I have to finish this game of hearts anyway
TurboSwami: I love to sparkle at the stares in the dark...
Swarms138: is this a thing?
TurboSwami: Electricity shoots from their tight smiling face
TurboSwami: I am not sure yet
TurboSwami: Its bordering on where it was
Swarms138: pop some aspirin and put it in
Swarms138: don’t muddle about
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TurboSwami: ok, you talked me into it.....
TurboSwami: I will take the drugsx
TurboSwami: and begin the tape
Swarms138: which tape are you putting in?
Swarms138: peepee
TurboSwami: You know, the one where I make those sounds and then you hear the clapping?
TurboSwami: aahhh....my lungs...
TurboSwami: In Courage children are Able to fight convention....
TurboSwami: You know, the system which beat us.
Swarms138: but at conventions they have to fight Klam members
Swarms138: clammy members with their beards
TurboSwami: Your Incouragable
Swarms138: oh stop it
Swarms138: you sure as hell aren’t going to pop it
TurboSwami: One min...let me finish the drugs
Swarms138: puff puff, passout
TurboSwami: manifestos, sure
Swarms138: great things can be accomplished in this broom
Swarms138: I know why he uses a holder now
TurboSwami: You are obsessed with being clean
TurboSwami: like, "oh, look mom! no poop from this ass!"
TurboSwami: You live in the strands of her hair
TurboSwami: Like a broom
TurboSwami: You said it.
Swarms138: in what book?
Swarms138: I need to swing on something
TurboSwami: Oh really!
TurboSwami: So now you have to join in?
Swarms138: you complete me
TurboSwami: The complete you drinks
Swarms138: and he is a halucinogen
Swarms138: of life
Swarms138: of water
Swarms138: of old laughs
TurboSwami: I make everyone drink, like the quiet party follows me
Swarms138: always the revisits
Swarms138: dammit
Swarms138: it’s spring we don’t need to rely on that
Swarms138: I guess I was just running away from myself
TurboSwami: Spring is a time for memory rewrites, sint it?
Swarms138: sounds like it
Swarms138: and pussy chasing
TurboSwami: You are right about that...the sun is supposed to open active doors
Swarms138: long udder chasing
TurboSwami: Oh, you mean the big ones
Swarms138: porage
Swarms138: and thin
Swarms138: Nadine Jansen
Swarms138: I think you’d like her
TurboSwami: Easy to chase, because they drag them behind
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Swarms138: she visits me
TurboSwami: Step on them like a leash of food
Swarms138: and then you’re stuck with stuff filled with perservatives
Swarms138: but at least you don’t have to cook it
TurboSwami: I wish they could preserve those puppies
Swarms138:
Swarms138: you must create
Swarms138: they are
TurboSwami: Yes, just form them from silocon
Swarms138: all you have to do is believe in Christ everyone elses savior
TurboSwami: see, low con.
TurboSwami: So low...
Swarms138: and silicon
TurboSwami: Fucking bitch
Swarms138: bees do itch
Swarms138: please do it
TurboSwami: I relate this talk of breast implants to my own family life
Swarms138: you’re the implant
TurboSwami: Implants make outplants
Swarms138: that bursted and infected
Swarms138: scotch tape
Swarms138: whiskey tape
TurboSwami: They grow out and back in
Swarms138: roofie rape
Swarms138: can’t you connect a damn triangle
TurboSwami: We are the plants that plant, James...and we do it with such moxy
Swarms138: it’s not two
Swarms138: and cool hair
TurboSwami: one min, let me look up moxy
Swarms138: on my toilet seat
Swarms138: better be a hard copy
TurboSwami: Do you ever make up words and then look them up later hoping they meant
something believable?
Swarms138: they did this sort of thing on the bus
Swarms138: of course
Swarms138: they just sound right
TurboSwami: Oh, shit, you mean the kids in the back?
Swarms138: yeah, the darkies
TurboSwami: I grew older than them, over time...
Swarms138: they’re everywhere
Swarms138: next door
TurboSwami: but...they were still in the back...
Swarms138: it’s sad
TurboSwami: always had the one - man seat
TurboSwami: the first to the emergency door
Swarms138: variations on a cocktail dress
Swarms138: to shove a bench against it to assure your dominance
TurboSwami: I am so much older than them even now
TurboSwami: But, still...
Swarms138: when do we start getting younger?
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TurboSwami: 45
Swarms138: lo fucking l
TurboSwami: I need another hit
Swarms138: all you need is something to keep your shit in
Swarms138: hit in
Swarms138: the altoids
Swarms138: did it
Swarms138: right in the middle of everyone
TurboSwami: I am worried about keeping my shit in...and its amazing you noticed.
TurboSwami: I sometimes worry too much shit is getting out.
Swarms138: racing stripes?
Swarms138: Racine Stipes?
TurboSwami: As if, a mess outside makes a mess inside me.
Swarms138: that’s the devil trying to get out
Swarms138: let it flow
Swarms138: I have a bed that is comfortable for two
TurboSwami: If I can keep him under my thum, in my thumb, he will become an angel.
Swarms138: as long as I’m not one of them
Swarms138: lo fucking l
TurboSwami: If I let him sit calmly on my thumb...
TurboSwami: he talks a lot like me
TurboSwami: Metaphore is our friend.
Swarms138: don’t wipe the devil away, it’s only through hard work and dilligence that he will
get out
TurboSwami: That he will leave freely, without us pushing him.
Swarms138: Metabicycle
TurboSwami: and not have to knock when he comees back
Swarms138: chemically
TurboSwami: *slim grin* -cooling sound-
Swarms138: "cracklin’ oat bran, for when the devil just won’t leave"
TurboSwami: HA HA
TurboSwami: you made me spit out a big showering puff of smoke
TurboSwami: it was noisy
TurboSwami: I have wasted this weeks mind
Swarms138: did it blow him off the gazelle?
Swarms138: and body?
Swarms138: but not soul?
TurboSwami: My body will change soon, I hope.
Swarms138: I would like for mine to change as well
Swarms138: for the good
Swarms138: so the long udders will rub against them
TurboSwami: I have a nice shape in mind, picked it out from the Sears catolog
Swarms138: we kill soap scum
TurboSwami: I looked like it would go well with this new mind I have.
Swarms138: top of the line?
Swarms138: cutting edge?
TurboSwami: Very expensive
Swarms138: the wave of the future?
Swarms138: the tide of the past goes out and bring back waves of the future
TurboSwami: Its a strange fashion.
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Swarms138: straight range fat sin
TurboSwami: How could foreign fashions feel so close to home.
TurboSwami: Fashions so foreign
TurboSwami: backspace
TurboSwami: ( ^ )
Swarms138: comma delete, upper case, what?
Swarms138: she’s upside down
TurboSwami: Ha, I like it down there.
Swarms138: it’s about the only things that is close fo home
TurboSwami: My song came up on random...
TurboSwami: It feels so strange, sometimes
Swarms138: with wall nuts
TurboSwami: To listen to yourself.
Swarms138: like your soul is bare to everyone/?
TurboSwami: It is very surreal
Swarms138: xtal
TurboSwami: Yes, a soul well filtered.
Swarms138: is it really a soul at all, then?
TurboSwami: Some of the gels make me twitch.
Swarms138:

(2003-05-11 20:17) - public

I went Pramming down the Escanaba river yesterday. For those of you without that curious
woodland pride, a pram is a very small boat, tippy like a canoe. The first time it sunk, we were
on a small waterfall, got caught on a rock, and my end spun and got caught under the falling
water. When the icy spring water reached my belly button, I screamed a high pitch girlly
"aahh, AAHH!" and sucked in gulping deep quick "oh my god" breaths...the kind you save
for tickle bellies, sudden suprises, and the unhandleably refreshing...The current dragged me
across rocks and I became very scared as I realized I had lost control and was being carried
away. I began hyperventilating as I swam, the numbing cold putting me into some sort of
instinctual drive mode where thought narrowed onto, only, the immediate moment and its
surroundings.

The second time the boat went under, the side of the it had slipped under a log extend-
ing across the river which we could not slip under so easily...this second time was just a sort
of a "oh my, I am in the water again; yup, it is still as cold as it was..."

I dont tell adventure pramming stories very well...I am very glad I went though...It would not
have been nearly as memorable or exciting had we not swam.

Inspired by Henry Dave and some random Pond (2003-05-12 15:34) - public

Go thither, mocking jestures, for I am through and through of you, myself, who I have come to
hate. The making stock has grown over and then out, older producers still with their products,
in and out, but never over; where once their age spelled tired, again. I am crushed and
broken beneath this frenzy, finely ground in their tireless fleshy mechanics. I had submitted to
134
detachment long ago and accept all its aspects, good and bad. We cannot always, so easily,
detach from society’s hands as we can from it’s mind.

Come hither, locking nestlers, for I am through and through of you, myself, who I have
come to love. Your supple gestures of affection, robust in their soft sensitivity, comfort through
my defenses, deep, and call up to surface a playful love so well hidden. This is the magic
of your hands which, with the lightest tease, reveal areas far within where a fist could never
reach. I am bound by this wordless touch, locked comfortably and wrapped, like the present
of a hook.

Work Your Magic (2003-05-15 01:11) - public

Don’t stop drinking you Toy’s R Us Kids, the spirit of magic spirits is the closest thing to
spirituality most of these northern exposees will ever accept. The slurp and burp Drunky
McSwerv’n’Crash is a caricature of some random sketch comedy dysfunctional father.

I some ashey nothing, I am spitting up all that I am, coughing dry greys and blacks up,
watching the full moon hide its face, ashamed of its own sadness. Gothlings love sad
moons...and crimson velvet covering cold pale flesh, like some saucy corpse.

Defend some sloppy logic like it was your very own; drive in the self of tommorow, TO-
DAY! All this and more for 6 easy payments of 1/6th of, all that there is to offer, the soul,
the heart, the hearty mind, the pride of rejection, the youthful innocence...for an exersise
machine that just wont quit. Potential mental ilness in dolby surround sound, quadraphonic
stereo enhanced, a needle and the long dead, some grove where daisies push up hard. Stem
friction and the viscosity of rot.

(2003-05-16 17:59) - public

While cutting soffet, today, I thought a lot about energy in terms of frequency and resonation.
I saw the budding branches of an ancient lilac bush, who’s base was bound by a weathered,
decaying dog leash, bob towards and away, resonating along the crest and trough of a
frequency I defined in the speed of my passing brush. Perhaps the wind followed my lead,
pushing though and around, the intentless current which waits for all and nothing, whistling so
quietly its silence. When I say silence, I mean all that we define as silence: typically wind, our
heart beat, the hum of electricity surrounding us; all of that which screams beneath, caught in
our mind’s nets, filtered away from all which is REALLY important. So, really, silence is sound,
the sound of nothing important happening and absolute silence we will never realize until our
heart finally seises to play its forgotten rhythm.

How can you view everything as energy, as on/off, and still shake hands with strutting
competactors like your mind isnt reelling. I think, more and more, about mysterious ’animal
senses," those which sense danger, fear, and a coming change in weather. As if, the very fact
that a dog can sense fear is proof for the existance of an aura, of a personality radiation of
tension...the idea of ’feeling’ someone’s eyes on the back of your neck is something I think
about a lot as well. I wish people understood these things more...

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Dreams and the future, their connection beyond cheesy catch phrases. I am becoming
mr. paranormal psychology.

marckaw (2003-05-16 17:41:51)

As if, the very fact that a dog can sense fear is proof for the existance of an aura... Or phermones :-p

The Long Thought Leaves (Inspired By Psilosibin 7-26-01) (2003-05-18 13:12) -

public

The moist forever oven we live in, floating. Focus on that floating pen, bouyant. And them
it. IT’S JUST WHAT IT LEFT, we are just what we leave. Floating...waves wind carry these
leaves, so long, leaving. I am the water, the ocean of so many layers, and you, you gorgeously
awkward forest creature, climb into the sink to look for me; but I have never fit. And are the
stars always in your eyes, hidden behind clouds you make? Do I open up that sky, inviting
your soul out to play?

We are masters of holding and of knot tying, and there are so many grabs and so many
binds. In our blind frantic grabbing, our tying down of self in defense against the wind, we can
sometimes tie too tightly, cutting off the circulation, the flow of life through our then tense
withered bodies. Loosen up, we are beautiful moist creatures and it is our thought, not mine.
The Echoing Everywhere carries your resistance, regardless...

My inner sense, like insense, burns open for everyone around me to witness, to appreci-
ate or ridicule. I am all right there, homely anywhere, good and bad both seeming fair...Just A
Moment, they say, Just A Moment...Just one moment, they say...as if that is all it is when it is
all.

Twenty-One Years Pound Without End In Hindsight (2003-05-21 16:06) - public

Looking back at ones life, sometimes with the help of a loved one, is as sweet as it is bitter.
This moment, today, tends to be the faded one...the memory of smiling so much brighter and
sharper than the dull forced one I share with this person, so nervously, now. Mixing alcohol
with downers as if killing grief over playful abandonment, lost; we stumble straighter now, we
know our way too well and better each time we tread it more and more alone. I have lost a
way to talk, in a manner of speaking, I have lost a care to talk; lost my identity with others,
seperating. Identity does not begin with an "I," but a "We" which is so quickly bound and lost
with only boundaries left to pound against, screaming cries of loneliness you dont understand,
loneliness for the people of memory.

outsidethedream (2003-05-21 23:27:05)

that made me cry. dont get too cocky though. i have pms.

136
You’ve Got Your Good Things And I’ve Got Mine (2003-05-23 04:13) - public

And if I can’t find my way to you, please don’t hold it against me. I am trying the best I can,
but have swam so far from shore. The currents here are old and deep, I am weak and my tired
vessel is at the mercy of their strength.

I am without the words to please you as I so often did when I was kinder.

Shook when he laughed like a * * * full of * * * (2003-05-24 01:08) - public

Objective, I am, only because I do. "Look at the cocky man and his important walk." My stride,
however full, is inflated capacity. I am flat, but hide. I am fat, but try. Try and try until I am
finally empty. Try hard and push till it is finally time to sleep. Try less and less until it is finally
fear that wins. This is trash, why bother. Oh well, I tried.

From The Ancient Journal Of Madness - 2-5-01 (2003-05-25 01:34) - public

Phallus Spiral To An Opening,

Complex Rockets Glide.
Into Venus Warm Lake Of Nothing,
Vace-Race, Space Inside.

Come Dance At Port Rate,

Where Image Is Fate,
And The Surface Of Waves Carry Authors.
Come Dance At Port Rate,
Where A Man takes His Date,
And, Social, ’e gos Till He Got Her’s.

(2003-05-26 00:30) - public

I want to see the work of the Tortured Artist before and after Paxil. Paintings of sad, grey
elderly guitarists next to bright yellow ponies carrying wide-eyed, bonnet-donned children
across fields of marigolds. Or maybe poems of heartbroken drunkards crying with loaded
guns next to ones of puppy love in a horse drawn carriage in the spring in the GODDAMNED
MOTHERFUCKING HAPPY DOO DA SMILING SUN!! FUCKING ARTISTS NEEEEED DEPRESSION!!
Bwaaaa! They need crazy, low down, lethargic depressions that last for months without end
and make the pain of childbirth seem like lactose intollerance. This is their well for creative,
wallowing, selfish sadness and, without it, there is Jack Squat to moan about.

Prancy dance fancy pants! Lets see how you shake now!!

swarms (2003-05-25 23:46:45)

are you trying to say something?

137
 turboswami (2003-05-28 00:32:28)
I am talking about Steve Martin, of course. Me, having creativity issues? In your dreams, shit stains!
Nothing I write has anything to do with me...and when I talk about people, in general, I mean everyone
EXCEPT ME.

arfinspar (2003-05-26 00:49:06)

is there anyone in particular of whom you speak?

Cover That Blow Hole With Something Dressy Like Plaid (2003-05-26 13:52) -
public

"...and the boy named the dolphin Hot Pants and loved it from that day forward. "

There is no rest for the Wiccan, or for me. I noticed that Green Tea is a lot more effec-
tive if you just eat it and bypass that whole ’water’ step. There is an old fable my grandmother
used to tell me that I will always keep close to my heart. It was about an old toymaker who built
a woman out of wood and named her Hot Pants. One night, after the toymaker had gone to
sleep, a magic fairy came down from HEAVEN and made Hot Pants a real woman.....wait....no,
this was a softcore porn I saw once on Cinemax. My grandma used to tell me a completely
different story: There was once a robot lumberjack named Hot Pants who layed a magic egg
in the forest...

(2003-05-27 01:05) - public

I trespassed onto the blasting area of our town’s mine today. Luckily, everyone in the town
knows the dynamite detonation schedual by heart. Its hard not to notice the pattern when
your entire house quakes beneath your feet, windows quivering in the sills, at noon every
day. I triggered motion sensing cameras near the top of the tailing mountain I was climbing.
Luckily, Pinkerton security was off duty because of the local energy crisis, else sirens would
have fallen on me like flies on stinky stinky turds...

I crapped in an abandoned car. It was fullfilling for reasons I dont understand. Perhaps
this decade-old, long dead Plymoth was territory to be claimed and, plopping here and there
on the moss-covered, yellow-upholstered seating was fullfilling some primal rite of ownership
the logic of which has never fully existed, but surfaces, so subtlely, in all the competative
power struggles we fight, so savagely, each and every day of our waking lives...or maybe I
just like to shit on people’s things.

"I Thought That Kaleb Would Like It" - Jully 1988 (2003-05-27 01:05) - public

I trespassed onto the blasting area of our town’s mine today. Luckily, everyone in the town
knows the dynamite detonation schedual by heart. Its hard not to notice the pattern when
your entire house quakes beneath your feet, windows quivering in the sills, at noon every
day. I triggered motion sensing cameras near the top of the tailing mountain I was climbing.
Luckily, Pinkerton security was off duty because of the local energy crisis, else sirens would
have fallen on me like flies on stinky stinky turds...
138
I crapped in an abandoned car. It was fullfilling for reasons I dont understand. Perhaps
this decade-old, long dead Plymoth was territory to be claimed and, plopping here and there
on the moss-covered, yellow-upholstered seating was fullfilling some primal rite of ownership
the logic of which has never fully existed, but surfaces, so subtlely, in all the competative
power struggles we fight, so savagely, each and every day of our waking lives...or maybe I
just like to shit on people’s things.

If you dont love me I don’t know what I’m gunna do! Woo! (2003-05-27 22:14) -
public

Damn, I hate writing a big entry of high madness and losing it because I am high and absent
minded. It was a good one too, really it was, you gotta believe me. I described people you
dont know as if for you to almost know them. Gotta Jam, the Jamming is now for me and I must
prepare for that which is "the Jamms."
LET THE ASS-KICKING...C O M M E N C E ! ( S P ? )

And now I’m Going To...TAKE ME TO YOU (2003-05-28 03:29) - public

Paxil nullifies the High experience...as it nullifies the "creative" experience from which the
High experience blooms. Both of these things are fizzled by Paxil, which *Paxilizes* all mental
activities, including self-critisism and self-restriction. I have talked about the Paxilized humor
when I did it in high school as a humor robbed of its self-restriction: what you need to time a
joke, the casual silences, the stops that leave a person up in the air just long enough for them
to burst in anticipation for the punch. Paxilized Humor is sloppy in that I was no longer nervous
about the telling of the joke, the timing. When you will look outside. I need to be where you
will look, wherever you are. My color isn’t but must be the everyday wherever you go. "And
now I’m going to TAKE ME TO, but its a trap YOU."
Its not my thing„ but its a trap alright...
So I am, but I’m talking, its a trap not going to do it
and you know I’m talking, what I’m talking about, but its a trap
well, there’s that i suppose, but its a trap
I, but its a trap know all about that, but its a trap.
So I am not going I’m talking, , but its a trap to do it
and you know what I’m talking, but its a trap about
I’m talking,
, but its a trap, but I’m talking, its a trap, but I’m talking, its a trap
I’m talking, I’m talking,

Catch Her In THE LIE (2003-05-30 02:31) - public

SWOOSH, there it is. Divine inspiration falls from point "G" to point "I" and there several things
begin.

1.) A Man Begins To See Parts Of Himself In Other People And So Begins To Love/Hate
(Inclusive)

139
2.) A Vague Sense Of Something Indescribable Is Realized By A Boy On A SchoolBus. It
would, in later years, become less Vague.

3.) A 2 year old boy is taught that fear is the way one expresses love, as if fear is the
most sincere form of respect. It would, in later years, become more Vague.

I refuse to include self in anything I do any longer. It is time that truth be set aside
without the ambiguity of social roles. It is time that men and women, like ourselves, act not
just LIKE ourselves, but FOR our Selves. It is time that we approach eachother as Lovers
and as proper opposites, Unequal. She has lied and knows it, even if we don’t. She feels
strange out in the woods hunting, but refuses to admit her feelings of alienation to the burly,
blood-caked men who surround her. She grits her teeth then as she does in her bed, tension
rising from her defiance of nature.

This is the Jammin’ Hub, the dive high. This is ventilation for a supply, a diet for a thief.
Often needing to pee so bad, he holds it in, INSIDE and well covered, he holds all he can,
holding while he can all that he can, the thief. He is my father, like my son, who I hold as
he did, a holder. I can do what he did, what he didn’t, and give with one hand, hiding the
dominant. Dominance hidden beneath help and subservience, stooping to tie the shoe of his
captive, the only ties left which he has not broken.

Barge grabbing drunk, the untidy deed at hand. I know what to do, I have done it be-
fore, I know where to go. I am a man, I feel nothing. I am without love, only pleasure emptied.
I spill on and in and over and over. I make a mess all over a night and a life and again and
again. This is how we relate best, this is our relationship; this silent deed, the sleep that
follows. This is us, so quickly done, behind us. This is the courage you told him you had, this
is the faith you had till he stole, given to me two decades later.

iztyme2ryde (2003-05-30 19:34:41)

Yea ok, that freaks me out. I could fight that, and... well, I aint gunna, you can think that if ya like, I am
hoping you were drink when ya wrote that, makes me feel kinda worthless. If that was what you were
going for. I do not think so, but I try. Try to... Well that is for you ears only. Talk to me later. Explain
this to me. Maybe it is freakin me out, cuz I read too much into it. Who knos, I do that a lot. But hey I fear.

You’re On Vacation Or Away (2003-05-31 00:56) - public

I have memories and they follow me in people trying to find them in me, in this person where
they simply aren’t. I can’t make that person for you anymore! All I can make is this, this
empty remnant of a closeness, of a true happiness. All I can do now is force laughter after
things that aren’t funny, prompting you to do the same, prompting me to look down as if
grieving. Those memories of truely smiling are what made today so painful: enough hurt to
match something so bright. Emotions, I am incapable of those. These are merely the words
used by the emotional, recited with memorized expressions, equally empty. I am the Great
Pretender, a master of filters, a cold unloved lover.

With The Sincerity Of The Red Handed,

Corporal Korea - The Underdog Of Shock Risk
140
I wish i could write for real (2003-05-31 21:21) - public

At this point in the ride, there were six left: counter-clockwise begining from the nearest exit,
there was a large purse, a newspaper with umbrella, a sunburnt Mexican woman holding the
hand of her dirt-smeared child, and an elderly couple dressed in black, as if coming from
a funeral. The purse stared into the front page mouthing the words of a song and, now
somewhere into the second chorus, slowly began to whisper the words louder and louder. Her
voice was weathered, but when modulated, expressed a talent lost with age; she, herself,
once as beautiful as that voice, bittersweet and mournful.

"I am reading...Miss...I am...this...

Your voice is my life and I want to sleep, but it keeps me awake..." the voice of the
newspaper trailed as the paper lowered revealing the tight face of a middle aged, grey man,
eyes welling. He was staring at the Mexican boy, now sitting in his mothers lap as she ran her
fingers through his hair.

"I have buried my mother and my father, I have no wife, I have no child of my own. I
am alone, I am nothing and only I mourn my death each day, less and less."

Imagine night entering you, floating, the tone coursing through your entire person, qui-
eted. This subway car is the funeral of a life not lived, the birth of a change, the passing of
the night’s lowest point.

2.6 June

Kaleb Smith, 21, Killed In Car Accident (2003-06-01 03:51) - public

Having a role in society is our purpose. Greater than drinking beer, true happiness comes from
pride in ones work, standing back and admiring your creation, your identity, the fullfillment of
your role being the most fullfilling of the self-accomplishments outside the re-creation of that
self, childbirth.

This Vent Is Not Large Enough (2003-06-02 02:48) - public

My only talent is thinking sideways, normally. Normally I think I think normally, but now I
think I think sidways, normally. This is as much a talent as it is a swelling, painful deformity
of cognition as, it seems, to focus on a side is to be blindly ignorant of what is right in your
path. I am called absent minded while I am full of thoughts of the peripheral, edgy thoughts
of things less seen. I hate myself so much, how is any of it possible...

Self-loathing that turns over and over again. Around and around the same hateful rea-
sons, cyclic rasors cut and cut and cut! I am becoming an expert at turning myself to gold,
turning myself to shit, turning myself to gold. Turning and turning, so high and so low, each
more dramatic, again and again, the more serious it seems, turning myself in circles, spinning
further off center. I am "split-minded." I am schizophrenic.
141
I strike with you more like Religion (I dont have words for your kind of math)
(2003-06-03 00:59) - public

Music: West End Blues - Louis Armstrong ( I WISH)

I want to be honest, but have forgotten my voice. All I have are impressions, now, and every
single one of them is a lie, dramatic and exaggerated. I want to say something to awaken
myself; I stumble through these long routines of the day, still dreaming, unable to remember
that word or the voice I spoke it with that wide-eyed morning so long ago. The bright sun
on my face is warm like a blanket and I look deep into the foreign sky with eyes closed, waiting.

Emotion is a cliche and must be cut and cut again to make it less simple, minimal, thoughtful.
The best writer is alone and without desire or its emotion; minimal, thoughtful, meditative.
But, I will never be him again for each day I lay my face in my hands and grieve over losses I
misunderstand and create.

God, I need some LSD, quite obviously. Liven up these depressive attempts at honesty,
make the spirals brighter, more colorful and fractal-like. Why is it that the idea of The
Synthesized Buddha is so repulsive and unbelievable to Joe Schmo Spiritual. As if Science and
Chemistry somehow cheapens the Peak Religious Experience.

bigfatburns (2003-06-03 15:55:03)

I found your voice in the ally behind the gas station. it looked like someone had been chewing on it.
that sucks man.

TheInstantDrugPoetryMachine| / [ Imagine night entering you, floating, the

tone coursing through y (2003-06-03 21:58) - public

Music: Some Wild Mother

Spanish To English, English To Spanish, Spanish To English

Entering you imagine night, floating, the tone that attends through its whole person,
shut up. This subterranean to the car is the burial to the life nonlived, the birth of for changing,
happening of the point more under the night.

Coming in swim yourselves you place the night before and, the clay/tone, which con-
siders by its complete person, closed above. This, which is underground to the car, is the
funeral to the life nonlived, the birth of for, happening more changes the point under the night.

It recording places the night and the baths which tone ahead that of their complete per-
son closed to consider in top. This car of the basement is the burial of a life nonlived to occur
more the birth of a modification, point under the night.

HE places of admission and the night the baths which implement tone/ahead the their
ton of closed anybody this clay more, the upper surface considers. This car is a burial of a LIFE
that the cellar thunders with the birth of more than modification nonlived, of Punktde under
the night appear.
142
– some 35 random translations later –

It has in block the permission and the public advertisements harms, more of seizures
with the clay ahead its ton somebody this ground fatty which external advanced stations
consider. This car is interment of a DURATION, him a tone of the cellar of the wine with the
birth, whose modification seems nonlived more of passing beneath the night

Hey Pop! Where You Goin’ With.... Hey Pop! (2003-06-05 03:59) - public

Ok, so...I didnt need ty drive home drunk, someone drunker than me drove me back in my
car. GOod thing too. I was getting way to witty with all the games going on over there. It was
getting awkward for everyone, they wallwan ted me to just stop with the noticing of inuendos

I dro9ve to gwinn on the DIRT ROAD....the very very long way through logging country
and the muddy places. I j0ogged to someones camp and used their new outhouse. I tree’d
a porkup-ine and hit it with sticks at the very top of the tree. I hit a bunny. (PPPHHTT! JUST
LIKE THAT!) I saw a snapping turtle and a deer. I decided that I was ready for all that LSD
would do to my mind, that I was ready to face the irreversable insantiy to come with expanded
perception, that I was willing to accept full-blown schizophrenia. THis as I drove 30 miles over
the speed limit on an ancient logging road, giant rocks and muddy, pond-like puddles making
me grit my teeth and clench the steering wheel in doubt.

I came to a split in the road where I could continue going straight, along the less trav-
elled path, or diverge sharply to the right on the more travelled path. I chose the most
appropriate, as to not get lost, and watched as that path became a two-rut backwoods trail
which I could not turn back on. I sped faster and faster, unable to stop from crying, feeling
as if my life was out of control and that everything I knew was destined to dissappear in my
disolving accessability.

I dreamed of two dogs, corresponding to two women, for horizontal and vertical; both
digging in fighting one another in their direction. Each created the same hole in the same hill,
I caused it all and Ron sensed it....

As I carried siding, I floated from negative energy and Ron, seeing me float, pretended
he saw nothing, but continued to sense the paranormal negative energy from me...

Dad layed steaks into a wheelbarrow of slushy dog piss and we fought. He mentioned A
Hardon andI kicked the snow. He asked what IT meant when I did that. As we fought harder
and harder, tensions flaired and I pushed his arms away from me, he grabbed me and lifted
me off the ground. I saw him as myself, but evertying I wanted to be. Floating up further from
where the through me, my negative energy propelled me like the meeting of two positive
magnets.

Where I got high, everyone talked about me and how I was mentally unstable. They did
this while I was out of the room, but as I re-entered, I presented myself in such a way that
made their back-talking obvious and, admitting the awkwardess of the situation in agression
and metaphore, everyone accepted what was said and why it was. I said many things and
143
each was understood in the context of SEX and my lack of control over my wants.

After everyone admitted to taking about my insanity, it was asked if I thought I was in-
sane. I said that I think things most people dont and everyone agreed. I then said I fear I
think things that I should not and there was a pause and a sigh. Each thought something of
convention and insanity and, I think, realized my struggle more than they once did.

And I’m Wondering Who Could Be Writing This Song... (2003-06-06 11:07) - public

I hate waking up without any memory of going to bed. I am always scared my company had
to carry me to bed or something before they sat around in my living room and talked about
how fucked up I was. The half gallon of Five O Clock Vodka simply was not enough and, soon,
we had no other choice but to break open the fifth of Smirnoff. Letting one of the rugrats
grab the bottle, we made off like madmen screaming into the edge of morning above some
ancient iron ore mine road of blood red dirt. These are the times of strong memories and,
even though the conversations I observed were knee slappers, they were knee slappers for
reasons the people having them would never realize, which is really the punchline, itself. I told
myself I would remember two of them, especially, because of their absolutely twisted-edge
competative nature, but now cannot even remember which members of the troop had them.
Very sureal, being extremely drunk. So much so that, like a dream, when you wake up you
sometimes dont remember the whole session, or the location of the procession, or if there
was one, or if you still have your wallet. Here’s what I was left with. Funny how it flows like
everyone elses dream cliche, but not mine:

——————————————————————————- -
I cmn only with geat attention see thee deeply commercial email messages I have recieved
todahy. Nothing of a -ersonal, identity-based character-cfaf categorizing system, but one
which targets your demographic tissue categorization programming. To record this dribble is
to record all which people remain ignora of as it happens, some thing which I feel discriminates
past histories from one-another. Social development is an evolutionary development and the
fit may live without welfare support, ( the net ).
I can see journals becoming the most invovled brainstorming eefort to involve the unconscious.
Accessing things not directly focused on can sound like directions given by a schizophreniuc.’

I make mistakes, and then decide they better descr8ibe myh present mood. Mispellings,
for instance, are disregarded, with eyes closed, while entering a dream-lik estate. The rools
defined for this state are few and ar between, but I make the choice of entrace as iff choosing
to slep. I knows everythingI give for you to see isfumbled and without revision,m this is part of
the disasssocicative process. To dissasociate from your mannerisms is to become a idifferent
person only for a kmkomment, allowing the subcocnscoiius to bleed out of y9our defensive
shell......ego.......

I look up and can still see nothing five o clock vodca kicks the ass o canadian whisky
CV....Controlled VVoltage to MIDI, vice versa, rater. Over a hundred dollars to connect my or-
ganic to myu digital sequennced machine-creation.....the era of my 0arents being much more....
open to laying ones head against his keybaord cushion.....as he writes....drunk and thought-
ful.....of phallic imagry......and enima/douch kits.....thslash between then.....theobsession,
144
whch came and disolved with mhy actions......

I begin the email by laying my head down onto the keybaod cushion as if to smootgh
the vishual modualtions my stomach provided with the fullness......

I am drunk and choose not to lift my head from this pillow-like foam, esigned for the
very bus, technologically.

I am enjoying myself, regardless of where I am...or if you are reading this blind observa-
tion. Thea area I have showj to you is very Romp-Like, parties without limitatiojns provided
with drawn signs labeled "party.: Pleasde accept this offering of local as an e xchange for what
you smoke now. We are honesr people hugging each otghers bottles. I love the idea off loos-
ening the range of thing sshared, but realize certain strearts are not for public cnsumptiojn. ...

Mine ane d yours are comediic, though, to peopel who hear the joke...........

Do you? [if not I know someone who does]...:

Jugband Blues (Syd’s Getting Kicked Out Of The Band Song)

It’s awfully considerate of you to think of me here

And I’m most obliged to you for making it clear that I’m not here
And I never knew the moon could be so big
And I never knew the moon could be so blue
And I’m grateful that you threw away my old shoes
And brought me here instead dressed in red
And I’m wondering who could be writing this song

I don’t care if the sun don’t shine

And I don’t care if nothing is mine
And I don’t care if I’m nervous with you
I’ll do my loving in the Winter.

And the sea isn’t green

And I love the queen
And what exactly is a dream?
And what exactly is a joke?

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-06 08:45:43)

Who hears the joke? I am just curious....

turboswami (2003-06-06 19:01:08)

Ok, so, the "..." after "i know someone who does" meant that anything that followed was going to be
related to the joke. The very last words of Syd’s song, being the last words said on that whole album,
Saucerful, were "And What Exactly Is A Joke." I thought it tied together pretty obvious-like, but maybe
none of it ever really does.

145
iztyme2ryde (2003-06-07 03:40:57)
Ha, obvious? Not to some one like me, since most of the stuff you write loses me. Especially if it has
to do with music that I prolly have not heard, unles I have and do not remember. Which is most likely
the case.

US Expected to go to War (2003-06-06 13:01) - public

When I woke up, I found a bottle filled with piss next to my bed. I hope it was mine. I slept the
whole night with a stolen antique shotglass in my left pocket, luckily I sleep on my right side.
The kids like to come up to my room and twist the knobs and push the buttons with the "boop
boop" and the "beep beep." I told them they sounded like shit because I wasnt in the mood to
lie.

I hallucinated while sitting in my bed immediately after waking; watching the ripples for
nearly half an hour, really allowing myself to appreciate them. Near the centermost field of
my vision was a square of the drywall plaster stuccoed ceiling which, at first, would remain
unaffected. On the outer edges of the square, however, the textured green attained a sort of
energetic waving motion which seemed to be likened most to a watery viscosity. With seconds
of intense staring, the area outside the square would wave with more intensity, ripples moving
from one edge of my vision’s periphery to the other, eventually crashing over and into the
square filling my entire field of vision with swirling, breathing ripples, the whole wall shifting
as it waited for me to blink. Thats the best I can describe these things people dont usually put
into words. "I guess you had to be there."

I dunno if it is what they call a flashback, or just something that sometimese happens
in the morning. I have had more intense halluciations waking up, but they never last as long
as this one did.

Swarms138: I don’t want to hear about you and your weed hangovers
TurboSwami: What?
TurboSwami: I was drinking alcohol, just like you like to do
TurboSwami: but dont
TurboSwami: Until the wagon stops
Swarms138: see, I don’t
Swarms138: it will stop soon, hopefully
Swarms138: the gravy wagon
TurboSwami: and then you can get off
Swarms138: I’m gonna jump off
TurboSwami: as long as you dont fall off
TurboSwami: Wait for it to stop, then step off with the rest of teh passengers
Swarms138: and I’ll be sure to grab my luggage from the compartment
TurboSwami: be careful, glass is fragile
TurboSwami: I hope they knew that when they loaded it all in there for you...
TurboSwami: Knowing you would want it intact later
Swarms138: I did mark it fragile
Swarms138: and fragle
Swarms138: fragle rock
146
Swarms138: the pilgrims got off the wagon at fragle rock
TurboSwami: ha!
TurboSwami: Thats a druggy quote if I ever heard one
Swarms138: haha
TurboSwami: and it makes perfect sense to them and us
Swarms138: and did you know that Christopher Columbus actually landed in the West Indies?
he never actually went to America
TurboSwami: Other than that, at one point, everything seemed to get very strange
TurboSwami: and then spiralled into frankly honest bizzare planes from there.
Swarms138: and that’s how we ended up with the United States
TurboSwami: thats how we ended up with the US
Swarms138: yes/no/maybe
TurboSwami: and, after "the US" everyone simply followed
TurboSwami: in our footsteps

"But it won’t be with one word; it’ll be with one dot" (2003-06-07 01:53) - public

Next to the mysterious half bottle of someone’s piss were my father’s shoes, soaking wet and
covered with mud. For a moment, I got scared thinking he had been involved with whatever
happened last night, but realized that wasnt reasonable and that I must have taken off my
shoes at some point and put his on and...got them wet. I smelled them to make sure that
someone did not mistake them for the bottle. It was water, so I must have been walking
in the woods or through tall dew-covered grass since it did not rain last night. Mud? Who
knows. My car had been driven and whoever drove it broke my drivers side window’s winding
mechanism setup. The exhaust system had also been lost somewhere in the night. There
was a vomit-covered shirt in my back seat underneath a ruined Kraftwerk cd which had been
smeared with some kind of gel. I really wish I knew what happened...or if I was even there.

Tonight, methadone was given to me as we watched El Topo, a movie which I will not at-
tempt to describe because I am sure I would fail. I do, very much, enjoy watching drugs and
always will, perhaps never as much as listening to them.

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-07 03:38:19)

And you complain that my car is loud Ha HA! Not no more, now it is urs! I could fix that but prolly not
hehe.

Jesus Is Magic! (2003-06-07 14:11) - public

Men once said,

What they read
From those Ahead
To Find They Led

Saleroom Gloom,
The Cruellest Broom,
Bedroom Assumed
147
Entomb Bridegroom
In Room A Womb

Jesus Bled So He Could Bloom

They ate HighBread, Their God Consumed,
But deep imbedded was a corpse exhumed
To spread the legend of an empty tomb.

I find Master Mind far beneath my own,

For this Master Mind is one which mine is shown.
Closing my eyes in waiting when I am alone,
The coming of My Own Christ shouts down not from a thrown.
The Coming of The All Christ Is Found In Every Stone.

By The Wind, In (2003-06-08 21:22) - public

I am deeper now...and I hear voices in my ears of friends long dead to me, calling me to
awaken. I am deeper now...and my soon departed desires and the fears tease my mind
knowing they will soon loose their grip. I am deeper now...feeling within me the calm which I
am destined to achieve fully, the extremes of my past life waves of a storm passed, leaving
warm mist to pacify my empty words.

—-sleep——-6-7-03——–
This Blood From My Eyes Is Like Wet Chalk –
Smeared By The Fist Of You, still a child,
Not Yet Hardened.

Sleeping Words
cried so softly in a state not mine, from a person not me.
—-sleep———————

On my knees, arms outstretched, I beg for my heart to be emptied, for all I care for to
be taken from me. Only then will the bullets and the love pass through me. Only then, when I
am finally the living dead, the infinite soul, the one flat line.

I’m A Boy And I’m A Man (2003-06-09 02:12) - public

I knew that this was the last year I could attend a High School Graduation party and still be
accepted as a member of the circle. This years graduating class were freshmen when I was a
senior, and now here I am, pouting up to their campfire with my tail between me legs, alone,
waiting to be offered a beer by some stranger. By the end of the night, I was the center of
the party, however, hobnobbing with the lead vocalist of local music legends, Kentunky Fried
McDonalds. I told him I could produce his bands first album...and make it sound tighter than
anything he has yet heard, I described my studio and my music production education and, as
he left, asked him if he wanted my number. He had eaten an eighth of psychedelic mushrooms
and said "no." He then said "yes," as if feeling guilt with the fact that he had no interest in my
services or my experience. Its so hard to impress people nowadays...
148
"Water Me And I Die" *shot glug* (2003-06-09 21:34) - Humbled - public

Music: FRANK ZAPPA - We’re Only In It For The Money

One of the young kids from the blackout two nights before walked up on me in my tool belt,
near the eaves struggling with some silicone and a sliver of siding. I shouted down a question
of the happenings and he replied negatively as I descended. It wasn’t until several words later
that he finally asked "So, are your shoes dry yet?"

It was from that question that a long and wicked story of questionable moral judgment
unraveled. There was just so much I didnt know! My father’s shoes hadn’t been filled (sp?)
until hours past the blackout point, when I walked into National Mine’s local stream up to my
knees in water, so he told me. But this was a minor suprise next to the enlightenment that
followed, when he asked "Did you record all of the car ride?"

"What car ride? The one Robert took?" (Robert Helsten being the name of one of the lit-
tle tykes I let drive my car that night on one of the ancient mining roads.)

"No, you didnt start recording until you drove. Man, that was fucking insane!..." The
three dots being monumentally-sized dots which I tried and tried to fit into a memory, but
were just too large, too unreal to be what REALLY happened. He gestured-out his hands as
he spoke of my tripple speed limit dash around National Mines sharpest corners at "75 miles
an hour up at the school." I refused to believe it for a moment, that I could have done such a
thing while not remembering anything past Mr. Robert Helsten’s casually-paced Sunday drive
along the wooded backroads. So, I went to the tape...

A minidisc recorder and microphone had been in my back seat for over a month and I
had thought nothing of that, the morning I awoke, it was sitting on my computer desk; being
merely thankful that the kids had taken care not to damage it by putting it in my room
before we left, my assumption. But, putting the headphones on and playing the first track
showed me ME: a slurring beligerant screamer, shouting of horizontal dogs and their women,
incomprehensibly preaching, the idling car heard in the background behind a blairing talk
radio program about Tennis. My heart beat a bit faster, then, as I swore to myself for the very
existance of track number one...a track seemingly innocent compared to its successor.

On Track Number Two, two kids were heard to begin to rock my car back and forth and I
screamed the first of many high pitched, effeminate screams. Shouting for the occupants
to lock the doors, they didn’t and new occupants were heard to fall into and onto. Halfway
through the ’into,’ the car was speeding off, door open, releasing my loud shouts of death,
predicted. "There goes the road!" I screamed as it presumably left me and my car, again
and again. I was heard to declare the rule "Driver gets first shot!" to the holder of the
Smirnoff remnants and, stopping the car to fullfill the rule, one of the more woodsy of the
kids yelled for me to peel out. "Yea?" I said in a tone which described. The engine screams
for its first time on the tape, and the tires second it. I proclaimed myself a "badass" and
we continued the screaming pace over a 4-wheeler jump off the road and behind a large
wooden sign and a barn. This screaming engine dropped a gear as it raced, louder and
higher between the curves of the climb out of National Mine’s valley. The car screamed
for me to drop a gear from third and, soon, the passenger screamed with it for me to
do the same, but it seems I knew better. In the background, the sound of tires weaving
dirt edges creates an image of the car’s general direction, or directions. The second and
149
loudest of the effemenate screams cues a long screeching brake/pavement sound and black
mark I looked for and found later which was simply too long for me to fathom, realistically.
This first near death experience apparently did not jar me nor any of my passengers for
very long because the engine was soon heard begin its painfully high pitched climb again,
now through the curvy residential area which encircles the abandoned National Mine school....

The rest is too much for me to bear sharing, as I am ashamed of the risks I involved
those kids into, without their consent. There is a reason I didn’t remember what happened
that night, and it is my guilt....

...and four valium.

–by request—

Ok, so I almost hit a telephone pole and screamed loudly like a woman. I had grazed
the grass growing up the side of the pole. I started edging through corners, driving over
the grass of them instead of turning on them. The tape ends with two people saying
SLOW DOWN, THERES A SHARP CORNER UP HERE. and I say "Whaaat. A sharp corner up
AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" and there is a bit of a brake and scraping sound and it ends

marckaw (2003-06-09 20:05:46)

oh what’s a little death-defying drunk driving? gotta risk your life now and then, if anything just so
you remember that it’s yours to risk...

turboswami (2003-06-09 22:18:34)

But I didnt remember that it was my risk...I didnt remember any of it at all... And it isnt just mine to
risk, the car was crammed with five kids barely in High School who may not have been in the mood
for Risk(c)

marckaw (2003-06-09 22:20:21)

eh, i’m just trying to be half full yeah, ok, so it does suck

turboswami (2003-06-09 22:38:39)

WhAt? I wish you made fucking sense half the time, I mean, COMEON! Rambling all that insanity
like that, THATS NOT RIGHT!!

turboswami (2003-06-09 22:36:24)

It would be nice to upload the whole strange session for streaming audio download of some kind. Oh
yea, I sometimes forget that I have The Laziness...sad, really. Maybe theres a perscription... I wonder
what the side effects are...I hope they aren’t sexual... Hmmm....

"So, Have You Heard...’SHH!’" - dinophallus (2003-06-10 19:58) - public

I reasoned out paranoia for people, and then it became theirs as well. Being high in public
is, in every respect, temporarily inducing Paranoid Schizophrenia. Thinking patterns become
skewed inwards towards self, self-consciousness sometimes becoming grandly plotted and
150
detailed in the smallest of aspects. Every passanger of the car’s head was turning everywhich-
way, as if suddenly aware of a fear, my fear.

In the supermarket, I dreamed of having a super sensitive microphone device so that I

could hear, fully, the conversations about me which I only caught sections of. It was well
agreed by everyone I was with that I was drawing attention to myself, somehow, and that
people were staring and talking. I could only catch key words, however, like "kids" or "him
again" following sharp glares in my direction followed by a quick glance at the floor with the
return of my glare, which I did not so easily abandon.

Being high in public is like a learning experience for me, learning a lot about myself, my
current state, and the typical state of other people. I stared at everyone, unable to control
the direction of my eyes or the degree of their attention. I noticed many trivial, funny things
which made my friends laugh, like, pointing at a plastic bag of three bell peppers, the fact that
someone was payed by the hour to ensure that each bag had one yellow pepper between two
red ones. Jake said "Ok Jerry Seinfeld."

I immediately freaked one of the elderly shoppers who stopped her cart in front of us
and proceeded to walk backwards. She didnt notice as I put out my hands as if to pet her
hair and peered around the edge of an isle, almost slyly. Turning around, she saw me equally
curious, standing behind her, also peering, somewhat more slyly yet. I then turned, as if to
look towards another isle, as if searching for something unrelated to her in order to calm any
disconcerted thoughts she may have had.

All of evolution is drawn out in our development from the fetus: Our seperation from
the many lesser evolved single anus/mouth sea creatures seen earliest in our development
of two openings; from blastula to gastrula. The fetus taking form identically to that of a
pig or horse, our tail still fully present; distinguishable characteristics surfacing as we are
further seperated into more and more complex evolutionary-developmental categories. I
watch modern medicine enter the embryo with tubes and needles, adding and removing keys,
beginning and seising processes and am filled with joy at the possibility that my son may not
need to have the sicker of these genes I carry; that only my best qualities may be given to
him, making him the very best of what I am. I see nothing wrong with allowing my child the
potential to be more successful in life and feel doing this, at whatever cost, is one of the best
investments I could ever make in, not only my future, but my future legacy, an investment
carried on through all of future’s ages. This is anything but evil and those who fear it fear
only their ignorance of life and its multilayerd evolutionary cycle, revolving in upon itself
through time, furthering, more and more, the scale of things controlled and things percieved.
Evolution is the development of awareness, the expansion of awareness outward, and the
control which follows that furthered perception. The egg and the sperm have been seen, and
now controlled, and soon their very DNA will not only be seen, but controlled as well and, with
the control of our very developmental instructions, we will have the potential of furthering,
farther through fathers, the magnitude of our societies awareness through intellect and its
amazing and ever-complicating products.

She held up a mushroom on a fork, its creamed head pointing upward, and described it
as meat and about how much she loves them because they are so meaty. I laughed nervously
saying "meaty mushrooms" while thinking "dinophallus," the term coined half an hour earlier
meaning "terrible dick."

151
I found a drawing book of one of the children of the drug dealer and looked through the
many drawings. I interpreted each one and we made bets on what different pictures were of,
a dog house or a worm?, a dinosaur or a dog? Well, one picture was of a person with curly
hair and a large large stomach, taking up the entire page. Inside of the stomach was a little
person, drawn in pink. Seeing a 6 year old and a toddler, I immediately assumed that this was
a picture drawn when the 6 year old’s mother was carrying of his little brother inside. Looking
a second time, with this interpretation in mind, I saw 20 or 30 dark, deep black dots, as if, after
drawing, the then younger 6 year old had stabbed the unborn baby again and again in the face
with the marker, jealous and competetive over the attention he had been given and would
soon lose. Realizing this, even before I had smoked anything, I became very excited and said
that I was going to tear the picture out and save it forever as the artistic expression of sibling
rivalry, drawn with the emotion of which grown painters would sell their soul for. Concise,
directed hate, unambiguous emotion without the gesturing, hiding, or filtering we mask it
with so many years later. The person with me begged me not to, however, and I appeased him.

Again, the scenes of movies I would so much want to see were shown to me, untaped...and I
pleaded my desire to record them, each of them, as they tumble over into one another, adding
hyperbole and cliche to reality tv, as it is recast and reshot.

"So, have you heard..’SHHHH!!’" **quickly cut awkward silence***

—-SLEEPING—-
My name is called from in my ears, called so loudly I have no choice but to shout out from
where I am, so far within my conscious sleep. The house is empty, however: silent. The home
is empty, however, when it is full, silent.

—-sleeping—-

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-11 18:24:10)

You do have a tend to freak out some people. Like the chick in the store and the pen thing hehe. ( My
net is back up, I will be online Sunday night all day cuz I will be in E L)

Nobody But Me. Me, but Nobody (2003-06-12 00:13) - truthfully faced - public

Music: GONG - Angel’s Egg

TurboSwami: I spent the day with my best friend and his fiance, my first girlfriend...
TurboSwami: ...and, I cant get past the awkwardness....
Glnnoshadows: hmm
TurboSwami: It is one of the most awful and uncomfortable situations...every time I do it...
TurboSwami: but he is my best friend, as was she at one point...
Glnnoshadows: well, you didnt sleep with her, right?
TurboSwami: not sex, but we just slept on top of one another.
TurboSwami: heh
TurboSwami: I slept with her, literally, I guess.
TurboSwami: I dunno, it was my first kiss...
Glnnoshadows: ooh
TurboSwami: on a beach...
152
TurboSwami: in the dark...
TurboSwami: and it was one of the most beautiful and romantic moments of my life, hon-
estly..not to sound cheesy
TurboSwami: until she threw up
TurboSwami: but, up until that point...PERFECT!
Glnnoshadows: lol
Glnnoshadows: it sounds like it would be
TurboSwami: we spent the night there on the beach, by the fire...drinking wine and kissing in
the sand
Glnnoshadows: you suck. I havent even been able to do that
TurboSwami: and i dipped my hand in the water and ran my fingers along her face and lips...
TurboSwami: and then that was my first kiss
Glnnoshadows: wow
TurboSwami: but, she didnt think much of me
TurboSwami: only my mind.
TurboSwami: and, blah blah
TurboSwami: I cant stand to be around her, because....I want to look at her, but am obligated
to my best friend not to...
Glnnoshadows: well, at least it was romantic to you.
Glnnoshadows: it sounds romantic
TurboSwami: and, little strange slips of the tongue or second meanings give away what I
guess are my true feelings, or what I fear are my true feelings.
TurboSwami: For instance...
TurboSwami: the back door of her car, where I was, had a child lock on it, so someone had to
let me out from outside
TurboSwami: and...
TurboSwami: she said "you cant get out, can you?"
TurboSwami: and I said "no, I cant do anything until you choose"
TurboSwami: and there was a laugh, and then my best friend, Jake, twitched noticably...
TurboSwami: and everyone looked at one another...
TurboSwami: and I felt awful...absolutely awful
TurboSwami: that second meaning, just popped out of my subconscious...that she had to
choose between me and him
Glnnoshadows: I get that, but what was the first meaning?
TurboSwami: I couldnt do anything but sit in the back seat until someone chose for me to
come out, by opening the door from the outside.
TurboSwami: ...I thought that meaning was more obvious
Glnnoshadows: oooh
Glnnoshadows: hehe nope, the other was
TurboSwami: I dunno...I was sure I was over it, but it is obvious that I am only pretending for it
to be and hiding the rest.
TurboSwami: hiding it badly

TurboSwami: Yesterday was strange again

TurboSwami: But, not too bad...there were several times, however, that second meanings
sprouted unintentionally from my subconscious.
TurboSwami: and, for that, I appologize, I guess...
TurboSwami: I dont understand what is wrong with me...
153
XPyroBlast: i’m not sure i follow
XPyroBlast: i’m not sure i want to!
TurboSwami: I can explain, but only if you want me to.
TurboSwami: I am being convinced, more and more, that some sort of schizoid complex is
developing into my perseonality
TurboSwami: but, enough about that rubbish
TurboSwami: Nobody wants to hear about that stuff

TurboSwami: I posted some of the conversation, hope you dont mind,

TurboSwami: It was me talking and you listening, so I didnt think you would mind
Glnnoshadows: where did you post it?
TurboSwami: my LJ
TurboSwami: I kinda hope Jake doesnt read it
TurboSwami: or Deanna
TurboSwami: I would rather hide it.
TurboSwami: from the people it involves

A coward hides, and it is my own cowardice that makes me hide these thoughts from
the people they are of. But, an animal only cowers after in has been hurt, like a dog curling
in defence from the hand of its domineering, hurtful master. I walk behind these people
who I love, subservient and scarred, trying to hide the existance of my limping *cliche*
cliche...nonexistant

I am nervous around all women, I am kidding no one by this....none of it is true. This is

false emotion which does not actually exist. It is theater and I am a playwrite. Thank you.

BOWS*

Rustle Rustle In The Storm Which Comes and Goes (2003-06-12 02:06) - friends

Arfinspar: i don’t feel superficial

TurboSwami: No, me either
Arfinspar: it’s only superficial when you forget where you are
Arfinspar: like, you have to know that if you are making yourself work towards something, it’s
not the same as doing it with feeling, you know what I mean
Arfinspar: that’s not bad
Arfinspar: but they are different
Arfinspar: and when the "worky" actions try to take the stage centre from the "feeling" actions,
that’s when there is confusion
TurboSwami: I dont think truely un-superficial people work towards anything...
Arfinspar: superficiality
TurboSwami: like, they are content with the present.
TurboSwami: Know their ACTUAL SELF
Arfinspar: fat white collar dudes riding motorcycles after their shitty office jobs
TurboSwami: that is, they are Self-Actualized
TurboSwami: the word from that one guy
Arfinspar: and on one hand, we probably wouldn’t have electricity if it was up to them
154
Arfinspar: but we also probably wouldn’t have cancer
Arfinspar: or tribal warfare
TurboSwami: Hmm....if it was up to the Self-Actualized?
Arfinspar: i wish i could make myself forget some things
Arfinspar: until a later date when they become relevant
Arfinspar: maybe not
TurboSwami: I maybe be confusing the matter by associating Superficiality with Ego...
TurboSwami: they may not be the same, I havent given it though...
Arfinspar: maybe that’s what the guy meant
Arfinspar: and he can’t put it into words you understand because that would be superficial of
him
TurboSwami: But, when I said your LJ seemed superficial, I meant it seemed to be a lot about
things that arent REALLY important...
Arfinspar: caring about appearances....
TurboSwami: As if, you are worrying about a lot of nothing
Arfinspar: very few people’s are
Arfinspar: we seem to be in a time when people stress the superficial because they somehow
believe it will lead them to the not superficial
Arfinspar: a deeper understanding of the beach by looking at grains of sand
Arfinspar: but a lot of it is just ego stroking
Arfinspar: same as ever
TurboSwami: I had better look up superficial
Arfinspar: i like to talk like i know things....
TurboSwami: to get a better scope on whatever I am trying to do here
TurboSwami: Yes, the better word which I should have used was this:
TurboSwami: You seemed worried and highly involved or wound in all the things of SURFACE
TurboSwami: "Of, affecting, or being on or near the surface: a superficial wound"
TurboSwami: That is what struck me as I read what you had to write about yourself...
TurboSwami: and, well, I cant describe the process of writing any differently...
TurboSwami: only that it is something very mystical
Arfinspar: what do you mean?
Arfinspar: by mystical that is
TurboSwami: To "Know Thyself" is something which has had almost a religious/philosophical
connotation all through time...as if it is the ultimate of knowledges...
TurboSwami: and, to write about yourself BENEATH superficiality...
TurboSwami: Is something which, possibly, cannot be taught...
Arfinspar: like, is it superficial to write, "I wore red today?"
Arfinspar: What can that mean?
Arfinspar: was it a fashion statement?
TurboSwami: Yes, superficial is synonymous with surface
Arfinspar: were you angry?
Arfinspar: did you kill someone?
Arfinspar: do you correlate your wardrobe to your emotions?
Arfinspar: never mind
TurboSwami: Concerned with the apparent or obvious, surface is insignificant.
Arfinspar: so, yes, i should be able to write not superficially
TurboSwami: That is what the dictionary basically says
Arfinspar: does dictionary.com have antonyms for superficial?
TurboSwami: whats the difference between an antonym and a synonym?
TurboSwami: heh
155
TurboSwami: Well, on pot, I am able to write without superficiallity....thats what it does to me,
so thats why I made the reccomendation about image..
Arfinspar: is this a riddle?
TurboSwami: its like....not so much dealving deep beneath your image..
TurboSwami: as much as becoming aware of its presence
TurboSwami: meta-awareness of yourself, I guess...
TurboSwami: Do these conversations annoy you?
Arfinspar: so seeing it without being it
TurboSwami: seeing it and then having the choice
Arfinspar: taking yourself out of the moment yet possessing it still?
TurboSwami: to PLAY yourself, or drop the drama you are now aware of
TurboSwami: because of the drug
Arfinspar: that practically is pot
Arfinspar: choice is interesting
Arfinspar: i’ve been doing my "dream work" as always
TurboSwami: Its a choice Straight-Edged people are unaware of...
Arfinspar: to stop worrying about the drama
Arfinspar: and be yourself
TurboSwami: and, once you are aware of your own superficiality, and the choice to be oth-
erwise, you cannot ever pursue or PLAY yourself with the vigor you once did when you were
completely ignorant
TurboSwami: Does that make sense?
Arfinspar: but philosophers have come across the question without pot
Arfinspar: yeah, it makes sense
Arfinspar: you can’t be silly little kaleb and be happy with it
Arfinspar: even though, in some sense, playing silly little kaleb was you
Arfinspar: playing innocent little carl was me
Arfinspar: i mean, it’s like i did it up to a certain point and i was comfortable with it
TurboSwami: Eastern Philosophy spread at the same rate, outwards from China, as pot did.
Arfinspar: and from then on i took that "angle" or "role" and gave it as much complexity as i
am capable of having
TurboSwami: Its a strange association which people havent made, for some reason...
TurboSwami: Or the fact that those Pot religions make Christianity, the liquor religion, look like
kindergarden.
TurboSwami: heh, its a very crude way of looking at it, but...
Arfinspar: because i was free of self-doubt?
Arfinspar: haha
TurboSwami: Ideally, you should be able to be aware of the drama, but still play the image of
yourself for those around you....
TurboSwami: and be happy, happier in fact.
Arfinspar: it’s accurate in some ways
TurboSwami: Be blissful in the Play of Passions.
Arfinspar: but christianity has provided some complex answers
TurboSwami: But, always seperate, and able to drop out at any moment
Arfinspar: everyone should ahve their role yet recognize life’s infinite complexity
Arfinspar: yeah
Arfinspar: to attend to one’s personal needs
Arfinspar: ?
TurboSwami: Yes, but only the simplest of those personal needs...
TurboSwami: Not allowing yourself to be swept away in the passion of attraction or business...
156
TurboSwami: always the seperation...
TurboSwami: from your body, and its surface games
Arfinspar: yeah
Arfinspar: yes
Arfinspar: the world of flesh
TurboSwami: That is what pot, and the LSD taught me...
Arfinspar: the world of flesh!
TurboSwami: and, I dont know if its something good or bad to know...
TurboSwami: if, I have lost something by learning the falseness of everything and everyone
around me
Arfinspar: yes the LSD
TurboSwami: including my own social identity
TurboSwami: The word "social" before identity being vital.
Arfinspar: it’s the truth
TurboSwami: as it seperate it from teh greater Identity
Arfinspar: and we are its god damn soldiers in the only real world there ir
Arfinspar: is
Arfinspar: yet, by learning its falseness, you have brough the truth into yourself, right?
Arfinspar: i mean, the doubt is like, the death rattle of the false identity
Arfinspar: old neural operations screaming, "no! i’m still valid! believe me!"
TurboSwami: Old EGO
TurboSwami: Ego is Image is Surface, and it will sneak up when you are so content you are
without a self...
TurboSwami: You will have the image of having no image
TurboSwami: You will have the image of someone seperate.
TurboSwami: it is inescapable...
Arfinspar: it’s a pain prety much
Arfinspar: yeah
Arfinspar: like i do right now
TurboSwami: Like I do, when I pretend to be deep like now.
Arfinspar: i am so into this discourse, i’m sitting here typing and thinking
Arfinspar: yeah
TurboSwami: It has become theatric, the deep conversation...like a cliche of depth, or pretend-
ing to be someone I was and am no longer
Arfinspar: but at the same time
Arfinspar: yeah
Arfinspar: but in our pretending.....
TurboSwami: It gets deeper....I admit, you can follow this discourse of ego down into yourself
until....
Arfinspar: can we take our roles to the real level of complexity?
TurboSwami: Until you realize that there is no seperation at all
TurboSwami: Between you or anything around you
TurboSwami: that you are all you see...
Arfinspar: i read neuromancer recently
TurboSwami: and are, in fact, God
TurboSwami: But, I dont like to mention that...
Arfinspar: it’s a moment
Arfinspar: it’s doubt
TurboSwami: Its a tree and we are leaves...
TurboSwami: completely ignorant of our place...on a trunk so far within ourselves
157
Arfinspar: there is no god, you are god, i am god, we are all god
TurboSwami: We rustle, and become so passionate in our rustling in the wind, against one
another and with one another...
Arfinspar: christ is a metaphor for you being the real you
Arfinspar: i’m losing the train of your metaphor
TurboSwami: That we know nothing of anything but that, insignificant triviality of the wind...
TurboSwami: and our reaction to it...
Arfinspar: yes
TurboSwami: so that is why social must be placed before the word identity...
TurboSwami: and must be kept seperate from the much larger, encompassing Indentity
TurboSwami: Capitalized like God.
Arfinspar: word or world?
TurboSwami: You are a witty little shit
Arfinspar: the difference between social identity and one’s Identity
Arfinspar: is that one does often not know one’s Identity
Arfinspar: but is painfully, overwhelmingly conscious of the social identity?
TurboSwami: Its all in Ego...
TurboSwami: and if you approach everything you say and which is said in terms of ego
Arfinspar: does "one" have an Identity?
TurboSwami: and its childish wants, its grabbing and "mine mine" posessiveness
TurboSwami: Then, you will always be aware of what ego defends...
TurboSwami: Ego a defensive mechanism for a defensive mechanism for a defensive...
Arfinspar: you will always be self-conscious
Arfinspar: self-limited
Arfinspar: following a nautilus shell inward
Arfinspar: looking for a way o
Arfinspar: ut
TurboSwami: I have said that the moment you open your eyes and see....and then see that you
are also seen...is the birth of ego
TurboSwami: and the idea of your own image
TurboSwami: and, how best to sculpt it
Arfinspar: it seems like there were times when i forgot it.
TurboSwami: superficiality, surface....and the eventual forgetting of association and connectiv-
ity in depth

Bump Bump, Scrump Your Rum...p (2003-06-12 18:00) - public

Vinyl siding is molded plastic formed to deceive, to trick the viewer into believing it is
wood; the front of the vinyl intricately textured with a natural LOOKING wood grain pattern.
Each twelve foot piece has this exact same random-looking grain pattern, unchanged. A
synthesized natural appearance, analogous to the true life only in appearance, and only then
from a reasonable distance. In effect, turning ones whole house into a unscented, plastic
flower...ageless, resiliant, non-fading plastic.

I was told early on to allow each piece of vinyl at least an eighth to a quarter inch of
’breathing room,’ as, based on the character of its surroundings, the walls of the house would
BREATH in and out, needing room for the expansion and contraction of this vital characteristic
of living things. Without room to change in connection with its surroundings as one single
action (surrounding/surrounded) the pseudo-wood pieces would simply pop from the wall or
158
crack, unable to withstand the pressure of holding its breath.

And, so, perhaps I, my surroundings, its surroundings..., all inhale and exhale at the
same daily frequency, an unfathomably intricate chain of influence, synced within one cyclic
action, on/off, solid/space. Breath deeply, my pudgy Frenchmen. Breath deep and deeper, to
the point of busting your britches. You are synthetically grained and custom cut and it is the
breathing that reminds you of the customer.

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-14 19:25:45)

This is simple, you have merely been siding too long

Seams Not Seen Whilst Inward I Lean- (2003-06-13 03:59) - public

I scammed my HP warranty and recieved one free 80 GB HD. The details of the scam I dont
wish to bother writing, but involve the words "as bought" used by the customer in a binding
manner. I feel my moving to Lansing has made me elitist, somehow. I noticed it today with
my Ishpeming friends.

Few people (three total) know the hippest new Internet Abbreviation Fad...COLAN! In
computer dweebazoid language, that translates to "Cackling Out Loud And Naked!" To be used
when something is REALLY funny, COLAN is sweeping the nation’s college’s Instant Messaging
windows. Lets look in on this random nerd-heads Instant Message Internet Communication
Window to see this zany new computer lingo in use!

IAmHello: ...The Action...and so I shot her in the FACE! Ha!

TurboSwami: HA HA HA!!! COLAN!!

Thats right! And now, during this limited time, no interest off

er...

No Interest..off. I am all like "hey! Look at me!"

TurboSwami: and I am not fooling anybody
IAmHello: You are Only Fooling Yourself, its one of its Many Generalized Actions, the Meta Self
to be used for Societal Interaction Only (a large ’only’ indeed)
TurboSwami: The Meta Self is ego, then, and is a crystalized image in memory, personified in
present. Distant memory of self-image becomes brittle and the goal of enlightenment is to
shorten, as deeply to the present as possible, the duration of ones self-image memory, used
to model the Meta-Self.
IAmHello: "Be Here Now" is a term used to describe the Peak religious Experience, transcen-
dental bliss. It is the state of thoughtlessness, a time without memory to seperate the self of
the moment from the Meta Self, the Meta Self, then, not disolving, but becoming interacting
with perfect fluidity with the moment.

Interacting seamlessly with the moment is to be seamless with ones surroundings, the
distinction impied by the seam not seen.
Therein, the Zen saying that a person is merely everything he sees. You become this by
eliminating Meta-Cognition, or thoughts of thoughts. By releasing yourself from the obligation
159
to your own memory, you can release many of the filters and restrictions that memory’s
Meta-Self placed on your awareness through perception. These filters of all things seen are
social tools and aid in the distinction of identity and the knowing of roles, but limit what a
person SEES when he sees: the ACTUAL chair Seen, or the generic chair of memory.

—END OF ELITIST-SOUNDING HIGH RAMBLE—

—-sleeping—-
"Drum Sample Collage #9.2: Music For One Time-Musician"

featured on High School Compilations around the county!

Willy, Micky and The Duke (2003-06-15 23:11) - public

Music: Slapp Happy - The Secret

Forced entry begins as follows:
In falling, one often becomes frantic or intensely afraid. This is defense, this is health,
personality, and natural mentality. Survival is one of our most basic wants and, while thinking
of future in the short term, the faller generally feels that this most basic of all human wants is
being jeopardized.

In the game, there are four bases and, surfacing from the ground from where we are
dug out, we enter the home. We are confronted, in time, by judges behind us and challengers
before us as the inclination of the game pushes us into desire of the three bases, the desire
to succeed outwards from our home, further, and then further yet, propels us to meet the
challenges posed by the many defined challengers.

Curse this wretched ball, curse your fucking empire of dusty white goals. I spit on this
game you forced me to play, standing in judgement from the stands so high above me. I spit
on you, for I know you are nothing and have lost. I will not lose, for, with glazed, empty eyes,
I drop my bat and return to the ground, to the simplicity of seperation....I drop out and laugh
in bliss beneath the field...for the great one-base has always been well within reach and I fall
into it’s secure, cradling arms, laying dead to you and your catchers Masks and protective
gloves...laying dead beneath the ground, never to be dug out, only in.

(2003-06-16 00:36) - public

Climb a tower of freedom,

paint your own deceiving sign.
It’s not my power
to criticize or to ask you to be blind
To your own pressing problem
and the hate you must unwind.
So ask of me no answer
there is none that I could give
you wouldn’t find.
I went your way ten years ago
and I’ve got nothing to say.
160
Nothing to say.

Once it seemed there would always be

a time for everything.
Ages passed I knew at last
my life had never been.
I’d been missing what time could bring.
Fifty years and I’m filled with tears and joys
I never cried.
Burn the wagon and chain the mule.
The past is all denied.
There’s no time for everything.
No time for everything.

In days of peace
sweet smelling summer nights
of wine and song;
dusty pavements burning feet.
Why am I crying, I want to know.
How can I smile and make it right?
For sixty days and eighty nights
and not give in and lose the fight.
I’m going back to the ones that I know,
with whom I can be what I want to be.
Just one week for the feeling to go –
and with you there to help me
then it probably will.

-JETHRO TULL _ Benefit

"I’ve Tatooed My Brain All The Way" (2003-06-17 01:51) - public

Music: Red Krayola

The untamed forests of the human mind and experience are burned in exploration, smoke
rising up from the intense heat of focus from our varied magnifying glasses. Government
lackeys cement foundations to carry the massive extentions of our sensory system. Informa-
tion is returned, further perceived in analysis, and distributed outward through networks of
replications of the one input. In such, the greater body, as the information travels outward
from its specialized section, often recieves a message simplified and filtered, the gist only re-
maining, as the aim lowers towards the lowest common denominator: the Popular (of) Science.

I was so witty, almost high off my new mix of Half doses of both Welbutrin and Paxil, as
I quipped about sensitive issues, teasing sex in casual flirtation. I love the strange, jokingly-
perverted relationship that forms with female friends you have known for many years. This is
the flirtatious love of opposite sex friends, a love which, itself, comes in an infinite spectrum
of colors, each with a meaning. The classifications you make for people are so complex,
defining much of how you interact with them and the definition of what is appropriate
when doing so. I feel the "straight-edge" is the definition of a personality, one in which
161
the boundaries of these many, endless classifications, of not just people, remain unambigu-
ous and definative, the edge one between black and white, efficient binary mental processing.

On the drive home, then, I realized that the psycho-active effects of pot and its heavier
psychedelic brotheren are, indeed, a defence mechanism of the plant. That intellect, and its
inclination towards more and more complex social organization, is skewed and malformed by
the plant; producing spiders whos webs are clustered and unorganized and men whos social
roles are empty of ambition, whos social classifications are blur-edged, full of A-Socia-tions
across the straight-edge, flooding the unambiguous switch with a spectrum of potentiality
between black and white. Anti-social potential found and explored.

In "Zen And The Art Of Motercycle Maintanence," the author’s first life, Phaedra, is born
in a the decade of the 60’s and represents an intelligent man’s spiralling, synthetic exploration
to the peak of an ancient mountain in thought. A journey who’s trail is century’s old and tread
by madmen. The author is the later man born out of shock treatment, a socially-successful and
obligatorily-fulfilled member of communication. This book was my introduction, I believe, to
the concepts of surface and depth, a binary who’s influence creeped: seeming uninteresting
at first, its truth surfaced from me months after reading the book. Only then was it mine, and
I have personified it since.

I am being approaced by collection agencies, but have decided I am morally opposed to

the bill in question, as I told the representative on the phone. Its existance arrising from
matters placed far from my control by the servicer in question. I should raise hell and bring it
to them.

A symptom of schizophrenia is exessive and seemingly unnessessarily complicated words

and sentance structure. Brad said verbiage. Its my word now and I will use it in a seemingly
unnessessary sentance, someday...

While high, I have become convinced that the awareness of unseen social forces, de-
scribed months ago as staring at someone out of the corner of your eye, creates a self
consciousness of ones influence to the forces. Suddenly unable not to look at someone from
the corner of my eye, knowing that they will always be aware of my doing so, even if my eyes
are steadfast in their focus on some inanimate. So, where once witty and flirtatious with this
attractionless friend, I am now emenating a mood of nervousness, and it made her close her
eyes like I so much wanted to, stepping back in abandonment for only a brief moment. I left,
nervously. This can’t be healthy. I need to get a grip on things...

A future to sleuth while prime in our youth (2003-06-17 23:25) - public

I thought more, on the drive home, of racism and modern, tech-savy Japanese culture. I
thought, specifically, of the internet chat cafe and its boom of popularity in Japan, especially
amongst youth. The idea of merging one’s online personality with the radically more defensive,
often closed-off face to face personality. They are the same personality, but one, the direct,
physical one, is often filtered by self-consciousness and its defensive self-restrictions on what
is said, on the thoughts you share. Online, then, is a less obstructed form of sharing thoughts
where one can sit naked in the dark and become intimite easily, introductions so simple, the
introversive opened, in many cases.

162
So, to use the information network provided by the society, our very nature as sexual
competators changes, becoming advanced as evolution’s intellect pushes socialization to-
wards scales of which we are ignorant of, but which we progress towards, regardless.

Near the bottom of the hill, while passing over the railroad tracks, I decided "Directional
Anthropology" should describe this predicting of civilization’s future based on the patterns of
all of evolution’s documented past. Studying patterns as they develop through the species
has been restricted by science to exclude logical prediction of the future path of these pat-
terns; as if to study evolution like one studies weather patterns from a perspective of height.
Socialization will develop in the direction seen being layed by these Japanese schoolkids.
They define our future evolution by conforming to and fully integrating the technology of
information socially, as information is merely a memory for the social. The Information
Processing Model describes human cognition in terms of computer parts and specializations.
The Hard Drive is information and flows through socialization and is then recorded. Often
social information is "re interpreted" by the learner whose socialization, from that point, is
a record of a record, skewed slightly or significantly in its transfer through the learner. This
creates a social "Info-Current" which is flowing through all civilization, member by member,
constantly changing what we call culture. This "Info-Current," like an actual current, changes
speed with the complexity and control of every growing civilization and its every growing
mass of information to be carried. How can all evolution be anything but this ever growing,
fluid culture. How, then, can it not be described by the technology which carries the culture,
or internet-ready cellphone the culture carries. To be connected, defenselessly, to the larger
body at all times. In order to become "pack animals," defense and its offense must be lowered
in order to share and commune. As our complex "pack" grows larger and its roles further
specialized, what else but the technology of eye-lowering introverts, stooped low before a
screen, could disolve ego for the good of the greater social body.

So it is ego that carried our anti-social defensiveness. The cocky jocks, with their bullish
strut, always fought the authority of the school. Everyone knew that, but did not connect it
with the formation of a multi-cellular organism from single cells. How "strong shall survive"
was abandoned at that point in our evolution, and is again in our "Macro Evolution." The
scale of the evolution follows the pattern of the previous, shifting with fluidity towards the
complexity of higher scales towards infinity. The skin cell knows nothing of the greater body,
but was once an aware and reactive organellism. Its intelligence became our own, on the
wires of our nerves, so socialization spiralled up through the specie-al (special) ranks.

All life is these definable patterns, repeating similarly onward through scale. In master-
ing the depth of one pattern, you are able to associate outward, with the aid of that pattern’s
knowledge, along a frequency of surfacing peaks. This description of evolutionary scale may
not serve to be an as effectively visual metaphore as that of the swelling river. I am so
pretentious, to actually define anthropological terms in quotations. I love it.

-Began Near Middle of Second Paragraph Above-

Swarms138: at first it was my mom and I thought of you, so I changed it

TurboSwami: YOU SICK BASTARD!
TurboSwami: I shouldn’t be forced like this
TurboSwami: Into these defenses of my dearest whore.
Swarms138: yeah you should
163
TurboSwami: Well, maybe I should run off...
Swarms138: fight or flight, you’re a chicken in my lights
TurboSwami: I dont want to face up to this, I admit
TurboSwami: I dont want to face this music you be playin’
TurboSwami: Like it is not a no "th-a-ng"
Swarms138: then listen what I’m saying, hear me out, you too fucked up on that stout, you
see, you can’t rhyme like me, you be a fakin’ fool, lacking in the family jewels
Swarms138: yo’ shit is so weak, you be a ’puter geek, you can’t take me out, you can’t get off
the couch, you be actin’ like nutin’ like steve urkel or sumthin’
Swarms138: but yo’ family don’t matta, eat that pasty and get fatta
TurboSwami: What, you look at me, you think I’m a freak! I am just one with some old chic
critique...
Swarms138: up in the UP, all y’alls hicks, you see?
TurboSwami: I am not the one who cant take a leak
TurboSwami: I am not a gleek geak who wades in the creek
Swarms138: well look at you, being all Albert Camus, you can’t take me on, you’re a duck in
the pond
TurboSwami: Granted I man not have your phisique
TurboSwami: I give the ladies peeks at sleek seek-oblique
TurboSwami: Fuck you!
Swarms138: I do my part, trying to keep it real like Jean-Paul Sartre, I use the existential rap
to keep me on the map
Swarms138: haha
Swarms138: you should post this
TurboSwami: Oh, so...now I should post pretentiously long Live Journals whenever you feel
special?
Swarms138: and it ain’t no shit, I’m sick of your fit
TurboSwami: I am not here for you to manipulate like that.
Swarms138: I got some booty the other night, it was all right
Swarms138: not out of sight, but it fit in all right
TurboSwami: I am not your toy, your friendship fondling use to be used.
Swarms138: but I like to fondle our friendship
TurboSwami: I am a conscious man, with feelings abound and skin paper thin
Swarms138: it brings me great pleasure
Swarms138: out our leisure
Swarms138: wear
TurboSwami: and I cannot take what you gaze all over my paper arm as truth
TurboSwami: I cannot take you, the gaze alone
Swarms138: well call me uncouth, but I keep it real
Swarms138: I be a playa hatin’ daddy with the mad sex appeal
TurboSwami: If you had the truth, I’d invite you to booth
TurboSwami: And together we would sooth up near deluth
TurboSwami: Near buck tooth and dogtooth, we will to forsooth
Swarms138: I be punchin’ you ’til you go poof
TurboSwami: A future to sleuth while prime in our youth
Swarms138: it ain’t no spoof
Swarms138: I be actin’ so so crazy, ass out pants down, til you see my boxers brown
TurboSwami: Duluth
TurboSwami: I misspelled it
Swarms138: fucker
164
Surreal Fiction for Three Four Characters (2003-06-18 22:12) - public

"AS SEEN ON NBC, CBS, CNN, AND OPRAH. THE HEALTH DISCOVERY
THAT ACTUALLY REVERSES AGING WHILE BURNING FAT
WITHOUT DIETING OR EXERCISE!" -Estelle Carmichael<7l4r2yey31@msn.com>

I sometimes wonder about robot number 714r2yey31, Ms. Estelle Carmichael, and her
relation to a certain number 714r2yey32. I wonder if an actual index of real names is created,
or if first and last names are randomly jumbled. The former, undoubtably.

http://www.thinkgeek.com/caffeine/drinks/2818/

What can be assumed about the geeky cafeinated drink, number 2818? And its relation
the many other thoughtfull-geek directed energy drinks...I refuse to click on the link right
now..."I just want to sit here on the beach, thank you."

He said in a black top hat, glaring with index finger pointed towards the ceiling to the
right of him. It was an empty, undead-like glare, as if entranced. He glared at a blinking
screen, one programmed to draw his attention away. A message window with a name, but
he doesnt see it. There is a link highlighted, underlined for him to click onto. He doesnt see
anything from his inner glare cave, for he is where his finger points, and that is the away
message. He is well dressed for the occation, wearing his finest church-clothes. He shines a
confidant, almost cocky, slick exterior in straight-bible-black tux and hair combed percisely
towards his non-dominant side. His glare, however, seemed to fall into his glamorous image
through his face with its gravity.

In the next room, the Sunday-man’s child enters sleep thinking of his father’s goodnight
words, spoke quietly to him the central side of the bed:

"You are everything in deep sleep, my son. With your eyes closed, you enter subconscious and
play create people and places inside yourself, the outside inside your mind. I say goodnight to
you, my love." The intonation of the "goonight" one of firmness, almost grave in its solomness.

As he listened, his father’s words seemed strange to him; the thoughts seeming not to
connect. In sleep, however, the image of all things entering him created lucidity within the
conscious, an inner awareness.

Gravity left him in his mind and he flew out from his body, as if a spirit unchained. And,
as if his father was there with him, the sleeping words flipped and the thoughts finnally
seemed to connect, associating outside with inside as the words became the opposite of
grave.

Sitting on a high platform, the boy found himself in his Sunday clothes, grandmother’s
proper china and cloth for Easter Sunday dinner set out on her long wooden table.

There is a woman with dad, but where is grandma? The dream playing back with mem-
ory’s of his self intangling and forming images, a picture of "The Last Supper" on the far right
dinning room wall, a chair where he remembers her sitting, but not so worn, and without the
blanket he remembers on it, the knit brown and yellow long one with two arms extending over
the arms of the chair. This is a house, he didnt understand. Feeling trapped by the memory
165
of Easter, he sits and begins to cry, looking for his father, wanting him to hear.

"I feel nothing, obligation escapes me for you are forever me and I am love we carry-
are in a month of time, a different moon each day. From small to big to small again, the
moon, it cycles each day. For it is both and it is neither, one. It is formed and it is formless,
it is time carrying current, the memory of memory is of a memory, further still, without one
dream complex enough for its outer, a self in scales of compexity, you are risen. Conscious
is unconscious of all of its night, the gravity of death’s knowing is throughout-day forgotten,
the memory of all pasts to one-form forgotten, but formless poseless in all for the no one,
in comming the distance, both points one of submersion. Quantum mechanics the proof of
sub-atomic intelligence....in

out circle,
carrying

fluid in motion

its path not random

The veins each constructed

Nature’s mechanics each conscious of all but their body"

The child, in the welling wetness of his own eye, saw the reflection of his father, dead
at a here:

http://www.penny-arcade.com/view.php3

What

Mmm....Other.... (2003-06-18 23:46) - public

Uselessness, pretentiousness, fear, straw-stuffed streets fall ’low me of course. Dead grass
filling faces of waiting so coarse.

I cannot begin you, MI love all ’lows high greetings, inhaled in-flat times till round Earth
is seen spinning deep inside space where all sleep is source.

I cannot pretend you, your divorce in force....etc etc

I gorge quickly and quietly, num num num. I was so fragile all alone, I mean along. I
speak fragility in a voice so deep, so full of pretending and act-ion. I wish to defend myself
with a career, to build success around me. A good wall is like a cup, holding something not
graspable. The morning wont wake me, my crops blocking all sun. I rarely call friends, I mean
in sickness. I rarely call in, sick. I am for the hiding dark, I am for the breathing walls late into
the day, I am for the missing persons who I do not miss, I am for the loving lovers who will
never love me, I am for the early emptiness that leaves burn marks on in sides, marks next to
marks, making paths like patterns seen. I am coming just as I was going, and I am for going
166
and never coming in, where I will never be back, to that nervous place she knew so well and
taught to me. For that critical place I learned did not exist, for that empty place....I am empty
of any words she would accept, because she hates the voice that speaks them. She is love,
she is all my love, taught, in defining wrong and me, as it was mine. She is a good woman.

MarcKaw: yeah. but it’s summer, and you’re back home. it’s allowed
TurboSwami: I have been smoking pot everyday, is all
MarcKaw: heh
MarcKaw: yeah, and that gets ya, eh?
TurboSwami: eh der pard
TurboSwami: It makes me creative
TurboSwami: Until I am completely babbling
TurboSwami: "Blwa, I love myself but he isn’t saying anything"
TurboSwami: ha!
MarcKaw: haha
MarcKaw: yes, i know the feeling
MarcKaw: shrooms and ketamine make me my favorite type of creative, but no one gets it
TurboSwami: I was trying to make something which made no sense...
TurboSwami: but, when I said it, it made perfect sense in time
TurboSwami: I want to save conversations a lot
TurboSwami: Its neurotic
MarcKaw: at least it’s not dead rats
TurboSwami: Yea, like when they were under the library.
MarcKaw: they were?
MarcKaw: i was just at the library
MarcKaw: i saw no rats
TurboSwami: No, under the books
TurboSwami: There are rats and knights of God
MarcKaw: is Buffy Taylor there? i saw her in playboy and she’s hot
TurboSwami: Beneath the cities knowledge...
TurboSwami: there is oil, its rats, and the skeleton of God’s defense.
TurboSwami: (Indiana Jones)
MarcKaw: and Buffy Taylor?
TurboSwami: And the guard stamps a fee with the sound of entrance...
TurboSwami: ha!
MarcKaw: i haven’t seen the indiana jones movies! time to hit kazaa
TurboSwami: You ninny!
TurboSwami: I stuck my tongue out at you, fucker
TurboSwami: WHAT YOU GUNNA DO ABOUT IT!!?
Arfinspar: wow, i don’t think i’ve seen you using a smiley ever before
Arfinspar: i’m flabbergasted
TurboSwami: Yea, I’ll flabber your gastral
TurboSwami: "flab, flab, flab"
Arfinspar: http://www.penny-arcade.com/view.php3
TurboSwami: Man, I have just been far out lately
TurboSwami: You notice?
Arfinspar: somewhat
TurboSwami: I have been smoking pot every day\
167
Arfinspar: i don’t really know you well enough to know if that’s not normal
TurboSwami: and each day, I get further in to not making any sense
Arfinspar: maybe you should takea break
TurboSwami: I am trying to remain well-worded and descriptive...
TurboSwami: So I tried some fiction...
TurboSwami: Which requires that sort of physicallity
TurboSwami: and, I dunno...I dont think I am a very good writer of fiction.
TurboSwami: Its harder than prose, in a lot of ways

I (in) (2003-06-20 06:35) - public

"Taken from the taker, an issue not taken" -Anonymous

I wonder who said that, and what it related to, based on the relat ionship with the mem-
ber. I cant be like this all the time, it just isn’t rational, not realistic for success. My dad is
shuffling through papers somewhere, I just got back from my first true visit to a bar, at 6:27.
My dad gets home, typically, minutes after 6:30. I walked from the nearest town, Negaunee,
later with Ron...we all know how he can be. WOO! HOO!... SHIT!

He just picked up the phone, realizing I was using the line...possibly hearing my typing,
probably not. I am nothing to society...my advertisement non-recognizable. This flashy
uselessness, this standing on chairs with full glass downed, who’s fooling who? I watched the
winners strut and bark like real men, competing until the desire of a woman drove them to
defensive offense, the claiming of properties and of territories held. Later, as he pissed on the
road, I told him about the "Ronny Quadrant" as his territory marked which, like a sign, was
recognized as a piss label marked "Ronny" woohoo.... SHIT!

that theme means nothing between anyone and is a woohoo, like...you know, (c)

The sound of my saying the sentance echo’s through my head...as if I must fully repre-
sent the pauses in speech and a comma will emphasize enough for my aim in spewaking. My
voice was high pitched, as if strung highly in the mode of entertainer for those around me.
That is stressful for anyone, the role of The Storyteller, that most ancient of all entertainment,
the replaying of past events in word; the hunt, the sex, the brush with death, the unknown.

And so what have I learned, here near emptiness, here in my burning of ash...what is
this I have left? No, it is not all I desire that I have...for I have burned even my desire for all
I desire, I have burned through those rings on this long, I mean log, the smoke leaving me
temporarily in the dark, blinded, seperated... I want nothing but to sit, breathless, waiting for
no smoke...waiting for nothing, waiting in embers of some birth-source center, the ring where
there is no ring, the conception reversed.

There is a gun...who’s bullet I am....the barrel behind me, the barrel be in(g) me, the
center of conception, that point to and around which all these senses sense. To release all
those senses from the act of sensing and look, instead, down the barrel of the bullet I am is to
reach into darkness, the depths of a barrel deeper than all the life of its holder, a microchasm
of development, unseen, beyond the ignorance of the dead...Towards a larger, towards a
larger upon his back to bite him, towards the land of the giants, the dream of a child, the
social reform upon his back to bite him.
168
None of the women liked my face at the bar. It is large nowadays. I crumbed fivers un-
der red leather lean cushions, as if to appear to be fiddling with my crotch, quietly. I made
money and spent it on shots and not-strange, stupidly-named mixed drinks. I touched
a woman’s back piercings...she showed herself to everyone, she seemed emotionless in
showing them to me, as if in soul-less display mode, a whore bound by some obligation, tired
of showing all her skin can offer, only; tired of the emptiness after showing, the silences,
the push to move on to a better side of the bar of drunks. I only watched, bound by some
obligation, tired of showing nothing, with all I can offer, only; tired of the emptiness without
showing, the silences, the love of the entire other side of the bar of drunks, here with those I
cannot express it to. Shayna pats my ass from time to time and I jump, each time, as if from
a trance...staring at nothing when everything notices, staring at nothing until they notice,
staring at everything, no ’ticing those noticed. I am not anti-social, that can easily represent
all that I am not of society. I am aware of all social, watching intently while even not, glaring
into all the meaning of what I once saw as I submerge, time passing as I am alone, there,
empty of person, a stool who’s sample held unheard. A nervous flashy hole, vacumme to all
attempts at socialization, sufficatingly theatric. Isolatingly sarcastic.

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-20 19:08:41)

THat had nothing to do with you actually. I liked it and it had to do with me. You seem to quote things
from me, but do you think this has to do with you? It doesnt. You cant be like what all the time? What
is irrational?

No Caffeine On The Island (2003-06-21 01:42) - public

Night comes and my spider remains completely ignorant, so he would have me believe...

My webs are skewed, tangled here, days later...the failing of creativity to improve upon
the standard The falling in creativity and the forgetting of standards. I can catch nothing,
my purpose lost in far strung strands, strung out and distant. Incohesive, chaotic, empty
space...this song of minimalism, this extending drone, replacing me. There, there, there
always never here, the marks of future and past quiver and scab. I am fully rested, unfullfilled,
with sounds abounds ’round me surrounds. I hear only the low, here low underground. I hear
only the low in all that I hear, for only the lowest can reach these cut ears. Cut in and cut off,
tormented by years. This sound that I’m hearing is not what you hear, its all that is said from
myself to my ears. If only I could bite my own teeth, If only I were that far underneath this
greasy floor and its television, this quivering lip, this twitch of trip. I carve wide and weak all
I think to see, but holding the knife by the blade, I carve my thought through me. Love this
blood, this bleeding hand, and let its trail guide me. For I must find my way back down from
this high God tree.

Poetry is still for Gaywads, for the Girly Men, the Gentle Men iasre a ll scholaroh. I didnt
know, but now you do. For uselessness look in bottles and bags, for wise men dont look at all,
they know their home.

Tell me to stop and I’ll stop. I need a pasta machine and a food dehydrator more than
anything else, she said. She fell in love with Ron Popeil; his flair, his mind, his money, the
169
constant feeling that he wanted her to wait, because there was so much more. Three easy
times, and still...nothing. Was the plan too easy? It seemed too good to be true, that memory,
that late night half hour they spent together. I hate velcro and my laziness.

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-21 19:45:03)

Poetry, and gaywads, does that bring a name to mind haha! Greg is a lot like that, with chicks he has
no chance with. I think that is sad.

Ugliness, Skin Folds, Sloppy Wit, (2003-06-22 02:43) - public

No mood for insanity tonight, friends. No mood at all. My true thoughts only tonight, friends.
Truest thoughts of all.

The greatest of nothing stands tall and proud in the dark, carrying those brows so high
and curved in the pitch. Black is beautiful only because it hides all of this ugliness, here. I sing
to the night only because it knows my song like it knows my eyes, closed.

Sooth, cool water, course over and through. Sooth, far falling, singing the only long
true.

Water hollows. Fatso, here I come! *Wrestling Star Entrance Music and Pyrotechnics* I
got two words for you:

marckaw (2003-06-22 03:26:41)

are those two words "veggie burger"?

great_dame (2003-06-22 06:54:51) ;)!

i want entrance music.

turboswami (2003-06-22 16:04:33)

Hey hey who is this sassy young hotty... and the girl who commented second to him.

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-23 19:44:49)

Paper bag? Maybe, uh... nah.

"I’ll Judge You All & Make Damned Sure That No One Judges Me"
(2003-06-23 01:23) - public

The full 45 minutes of Jethro Tull’s "Thick As A Brick," I think, will always remain one of my
favorite albums. The sheer number and complexity of its many varied changes, in and of
themselves, makes it at once a challenge to the listener. The cerebral, meaningful-SOUNDING
lyrics I can and have screamed endlessly in the dark, sometimes crying when they lyrics seem
especially meaningful. I dont cry when people die. I remember not liking the album the first
or the second time I heard it...funny how that works. There is a certain high-brow integrity to
Tull, even with the theatrics. They represent, fully, the pretentious image carried by all of the
170
progressive rock moniker. Ian Anderson is a blowhard, pun intended. The flute was never a
rock instrument, now it is.

Gerald Bostock, etc etc...

marckaw (2003-06-23 12:35:45)

My Dad introduced me to good ol’ Mr. Tull. When I first saw an album cover with Tull playing the flute,
I was like "what the hell is this?" Upon listening, however, it’s great stuff. I downloaded the album to
which you refer last night and am currently listening to it. Me like. My favorite riff goes "duh duh duh
duh duh hmmmmm hummm hummmm duhh". Yeah.

Fatty Mc NumsALot and the Castle of Boober T. (2003-06-24 03:09) - public

On/off, solid/space, surface/depth, in/out. Sex is all of these, in revolution. Sex is the health
and character development, the intensity of a moody brainstorm, the exhurtion of building a
home; all this is the pride of sex. Coming down from it can cause withdrawl symptoms, and
abandoning it from the relationship causes dryness and chafing. Finely distilled lubricants
often fill in the longer spaces of empty relationships, yet, alcohol can only be used, effec-
tively, as a fire starter and will not ever remain constant like the more natural of combustables.

I love when I woman’s big Books hang out for all the guys to see....some are flashy about their
books, taking pride in their size, while other, conservative women downplay their femenimity
by wearing masculine clothes, suits or baggy sweaters and pants. They take pride in the size
of their books all the same, however...I do love a woman with books, but some of them make
their books look larger than they actually are, pushing them up in my face as if to flaunt their
bindings. I wish to unbind them and let the contents lay out free, spread all over. I am a night
reader, mostly

GentalViolence: I sit and stride, but I still dont wake up

TurboSwami: no?
GentalViolence: I took a cab there, to hold her, I took a plane there, to feel what she felt
TurboSwami: Hmm, I get it
TurboSwami: Its not all your fault
TurboSwami: and you shouldnt blame yourself...
GentalViolence: for one second, when readin the newspaper, I felt her, exposed position
GentalViolence: I saw myself in the picture
TurboSwami: She has always been that way, and you shouldnt feel ashamed for wanting to
get to know her
GentalViolence: you make me like charity, instead of paying enuf taxes
TurboSwami: The larger her is everywhere, in papers and magazines...
TurboSwami: The larger her is so small, but you know the position she puts you in.
TurboSwami: So exposed, now...as you were then
GentalViolence: listen now, I am afraid of everything
GentalViolence: it was the happiest moment for a long long time
GentalViolence: and you havent slept 4 several days
GentalViolence: your black serried eyes made you pay
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GentalViolence: and you still could not catch them
GentalViolence: you could not be there, could not help thenm
GentalViolence: it was cold
TurboSwami: My eyes?
TurboSwami: You mean, what I see you with?
TurboSwami: I hate those damned things...
TurboSwami: Little damned things...SIZE OF YOUR FIST!
TurboSwami: Man made, damned things.
GentalViolence: if we say there is some thing we can see, promise you will never believe me,
guess I am just tring to make it easy
GentalViolence: it was so cold
GentalViolence: Ha
GentalViolence: eww
GentalViolence: one for you and one for me!
GentalViolence: every one was laughing when they found them
GentalViolence: one for you and one for me
TurboSwami: Oh?
GentalViolence: still you refused to see
TurboSwami: Well, to begin with:
TurboSwami: There are some, like yourself
GentalViolence: whay everything has to stay..
TurboSwami: with the moon in control
GentalViolence: *why
TurboSwami: always wheeling and dealing it in
TurboSwami: So that it can be cut up and eaten...
TurboSwami: The rest sold...
TurboSwami: To the losers
TurboSwami: Dont pretend I dont know
TurboSwami: I have seen you NUM NUMMING in the night with that knife, so dull
GentalViolence: Oh but I glued my eyelids together
GentalViolence: when reading a book with only one page
GentalViolence: playing a game with only one piece
GentalViolence: I ATE THE REST DAMMIT
GentalViolence: NUM NUM
TurboSwami: Ha, I knew it
GentalViolence: tastes like chicken
TurboSwami: Ha, you so crazy...you need a nice long carride
GentalViolence: hehe
TurboSwami: and then, if the pieces fit, you may get another ride
GentalViolence: aww
GentalViolence: wouldnt it be nice to go to a party, and be the only one there
TurboSwami: Mine are too obvious, I think
GentalViolence: heh
GentalViolence: blank eyed

swarms (2003-06-24 18:45:11)

so what do you know? *smiles for a painfully long time*

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"...perhaps my brains are old and scrambled." (2003-06-25 14:29) - public

I have two disposible cameras in front of me, both unopened. One is made by a manufacturer
of generic dry goods, "Our Family." I wish I had people to take pictures of...and people to show
those pictures to saying "This is my friend, friend." Perhaps I will see a big rock today to take
a picture of and save. I will show the big rock to my children, years from now, so they know
what I did when I was the age I am now.

I was waiting for the airbags, waiting to be saved, but they never deployed. Perhaps
my ploy can never be untangled, perhaps I have tugged at it for so long that the knots have
hardened and become all that I am to me and mine. Who would I be without my knotted,
nervous ploys, fueled by self-restriction to defend whatever it is I am defending again and
again from attacks that nobody would ever care enough to make. I will take pictures of these
attackers to serve as mugshots for when they finally do me in. I will cherish these pictures,
these images, as friends...basking in security of having them each under my thumb, insurance
in their identity. If I could only blackmail everyone I have ever met, I could sleep with both
eyes closed. We both know, I could never get all those pictures, though; all those pictures
of all those horrid, dirty, disgraceful acts for the judge during my defense. I will watch and
I will snap from this point forward, no big rock left unturned. I will slice these slimeys and
these stink bugs where they lie about me, I will cut them mid-hug, smiling to hide my teeth,
clenched, my fist suffocating them each, each being my possession.

(2003-06-26 20:00) - public

"Oh Jesus!" screamed within racing heart: the overdose.

Rebound from impact, the hyperventilation begins. So went the story...
I am sure of it.

Here, laziness burns tride and true through the night, for all brothers=-passersby, made
vague by their various fogs, the horns of some drounding those of others, more distant. Their
horn calls out long and quiet beneath all the huffing heard around me, in the silence, bases
of puffing. Who is this waiter, weighted to such a depth, as to be unseen to all but those few
mediums, born with the ability to talk to the dead. Does he control as he watches the all the
poseurs in Port Rate. Posing for reliance on those around him in the definition of himself, a
"mirror-image" of a personality not his own, which is accepted as he does.

Accept what is given, and respect what comes adept. Do not disrespect those who stage
direct, however incorrect. Just accept as correct to protect great project.

The great project is nature, and our nature, as social beings, to be social. To protect our
very nature, we must adhere to to protect society, Our Kamakazi Soul, evolved, to devote
the life of the individual to the maintaning of "(the) Organization." Who and what is self
undermines this strict, natural adherance to authoritarian socio-personality structures. Our
goal is to become as self-reliantly organized and social, like our models, the bees and their
hive; drone-robotisism with unyeilding, questionless conformity, or Japan, whichever comes
first.

I intend to purchase a book named " , ok so I just bought "The Geography Of Thought,"
a racist book I found in psychology today which describes the differences in the patterns of
173
thought between Easterners and Westerners; going as far as to describe the social-learning
trends between Asian and British babies: Asian babys understanding the concepts of verbs
first, while British infants first realizing nouns. I hope this book will help me to furter rationalize
my racism. Ha!

Ron gave me a hundred dollar bill today for "studio services rendered." I like the look of
the hundred dollar bill.

Men are 16 times more likely than woman to score above 700 on the math SAT, yet
twice as more likely to be mentally retarded and 6 times more likely to have ADHD. Why do I
memorize inequalities? I like to read them off, all snobby like.

I dont know which is the way to good writing, which style best represents my voice. I
wish it were easier, sometimes, when it feels like I am tearing at hell in my chest. I hate some
of the emotions it finds, things I dont want to admit to anyone but everyone in the world,
outside me. Who knew I am a burnout? I think I hid it pretty well from them, or maybe I
flaunted it. I am burnt and I am empty of smoke, watch me shake my ass Like I Just Don’t
Care; whirling it towards your face like I have lost the capacity for guilt or self-respect.

Blah, the uselessness of it all...I am glad I bought this bag, (to be said with deadpan-sarcasm.)

Waiting For The Drugs To Take Effect (2003-06-27 07:04) - public

So its

Jinkies

Body sculpting, with affordable flat-rates and easy to assemble, store-anywhere collapsi-
bility. My body is collapsing, as to hide easily under her bed. I cannot fold with these folds
crutching my hinge, like a rasor-sharp crusifix cutting the hands of the fearful, so his blood
was drank from some knotty pimple he popped on his back. And so his disease became ours,
and the Purity of those many puritans was a fascade manufactured by Industrial Strength
Church. I saw one of his suckers preach of morality, of good and bad, and of bad government
and evil Supreme Courts who let men have sex, hiding in the dark. Evil gaywads.

The quality of these ideas is on a gradual decline, sadly. Perhaps ginseng or a diet of
fatty acids. Perhaps exersize or a diet of acid, fatty. Who knows about these ideas, these
things I find and lose, vaguely represented by these diluted words. Only me...? As if to say
these things I found are appreciated by anyone but me, like a sparkley rock in some abandoned
middle school, I see something not liked, but like it just the same. These precious everydays,
cherished by children still sensitive to beauty, shall define appreciation; the aesthetic never
grows old, we do.

And it saddens me that my ideas will never change a person, will never mean what they mean
to me to anyone else. It saddens me that I will never allow myself to inspire, that I will never
bear my nakedness to anyone but this angry mirror. Why can’t I find the love I have, the
towering walls of an ugly man who’s truth means nothing behind them. I cannot bear to have
release, to be accepted would be my death. Who opens their arms to an ugly wall? Who, with
blind faith, accepts the whimpering lonely madman and his cold cries on the other side? How
174
could I ask that of anyone, I dont. I wait and I cry and, once each day, the sun shines down
into this well for just a moment and the warmth I love holds me close, fullfilling me with all of
the nothing they take for granted; as it is, granted, onto them...
As me this dark

iztyme2ryde (2003-06-27 17:55:44)

Who does, well I do.

"You are locked into your suffering and your pleasures are the seal. "
(2003-06-27 21:55) - public

"The Punk Aesthetic: Albums From The Edge of Angst." - the name of something I could write if
I had an organized life. It would cover art-school punkers, proto punkers, post punkers, synth
punkers, etc. Included would be Frizzle Fry by Primus, Tubeway Army by Gary Numan, Here
Come The Warm Jets by ENO....and....maybe some hardcore DEVO, I dunno. I am very biased
towards certain genre directions, but maybe its better to be pushy and opinionated.

Maybe Television or Talking Heads first album. Maybe just a Debut Album series. ha, I
dunno.

Smoked again today, any nervousness or self consciousness left from my 3 months of
sobriety completely weeded out by this time. Leonard Cohen is a better poet than Bob Dylan,
just so the world knows.

Painful Excerpts from his debute album:

"Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control.
It begins with your family, but soon it comes around to your soul. "

"And where do all these highways go, now that we are free?
Why are the armies marching still that were coming home to me?
O lady with your legs so fine O stranger at your wheel,
You are locked into your suffering and your pleasures are the seal.
O come with me my little one, we will find that farm

and grow us grass and apples there and keep all the animals warm.
And if by chance I wake at night and I ask you who I am,
O take me to the slaughterhouse, I will wait there with the lamb. "

"I lit a thin green candle, to make you jealous of me.

But the room just filled up with mosquitos,
they heard that my body was free.
Then I took the dust of a long sleepless night
and I put it in your little shoe.
And then I confess that I tortured the dress
that you wore for the world to look through."

"I believe that you heard your master sing

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when I was sick in bed.
I suppose that he told you everything
that I keep locked away in my head.
Your master took you travelling,
well at least that’s what you said.
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?

And now I hear your master sing,

you kneel for him to come.
His body is a golden string
that your body is hanging from.
His body is a golden string,
my body has grown numb.
Oh now you hear your master sing,
your shirt is all undone. "

First Love Poem - Inspired by Leonard Cohen (2003-06-28 15:52) - public

I misdirected a longing for you when I wanted myself to be dead,

And from beneath it fueled my running all the time that I fled.
And memories fell from a future unborn, from a little baby’s bed.
Fell to my eyes and fell to my wounds, and all that you had said bled.

They are whispering now of a man wh’as so calm and the fighting that came to his head.
The scalpel that turned in towards his chest as the battle with self slowly spread.
And who is it who has the upperhand now when into this fist I’ve Led,
Myself tight gripped in this strangle hold, still repeating what you said...
...still repeating what you said...

The emotion I....blah, love poems are for GAYWADS! I have no emotion. I am far to effi-
ciant for such things.

orgyes (2003-06-29 02:44) - public

Super creative freak out machine, in action, and ready to rip you a new fucking asshole *wiggle
wiggle*

blush*

Whatever, thank god for these antidepressants....god only knows what would be happen-
ing if I was this manic from drumming. Impromptu conversation experiments, done in perfect
time in a 4/4 syntax for perfect syncing. Rumble in the Fripp, like some new year, come in with
a stupid fucking bang and some stupid fucking backwards talking ’oh look at me, I’m ROBERT
FRIPP ooohh!’

Yea, and I am...and *whoosh*, so fuck you, Fripp. I need to figure this thing out, I dont
mean to sound threatening, your defenses blare like some fire from my smoke. Its just like
176
what Gary Numan _ "You’re just a viewer, cold and distant. You are just business, you’re
worthless."

"Ha! Nevermind, I am not really here" - dont let me confuse you, never mind this one
mind, NEVER! EVER! NEVER minded, and I do. Synthesizers are the premier experimentalist’s
instrument. Pseudo everywhere! What a mess, damned homo-erotics, sticky synths sound
sicker. You can only jump back and forth for so long before there isnt much of a divide at
all. Its all a matter of your jumping frequency and decay. The album Con by Schnitzer or
something...is GENIUS! ha, arpeggiation is such a finicky device and to use it creatively,
as they did in the 70’s only, is a feat of rhythmic skill. I am in touch with things, I feel,
sometimes...things unseen. This is a feeling and a symptom of schizophrenia, the impression
that you are "connected" by and to the outside world, that there are forces which are beneath
perception and that you are sometimes able to touch them through some inner depth or
associative technique. This mania will, no doubt, seem useless tommorow, but that thought I
will not let stop me. As I slowly practice my writing, daily, I will be able to express more and
more of these thoughts as they come, more efficiently relaying them with words, as I learn and
prime key words more and more often. Writing is a muscle, and I love to get mine throbbing
each night. I feel my lyrics have potential, and are better than many popular lyrics, not that
anybody listens to any lyrics that are popular, anyways.

To think that this is nearly a week into my binge, and still I am able to maintain this co-
hesive a creative stream. It must be the mood enhancers, they must empower me from the
self-critisism of depression. A long chugging slam of V8, and no quenching, only slime...
I refuse to enjoy pop music, even if I am tapping my footsies, tippity tap you block rockin boy
band suckin’ stink bomb.

I feel so out of place in this state, like anything I say to a person runs down their face
leaving only an empty silent smile, or the back of a head once a face, talking outward from me.
My fingers bleed from the intense drumming madness of a Jam of Legend. I insist on center
staging everyone, only because I sense a Musician with Talent and a competition ensues. I
win, on drums anyway. My synth is shit unless I am soloing in a key nobody can play on guitar.
My accompany skill is rhythm, and I squeel in time, confusing everyone around me who sense
dissonant poly-rhythms or time signitures or...the words for things I am doing, untrained. I
sometimes have to become minimalist to set a base with a simple change that each person
comes to expect, then slowly complicating, often without even changing from one simple
note, morely modulating an alternating "snare"-"bass" pattern for the bad drummer to follow.
From here, still building intensely from the minimalistic bass, the change becomes more and
more dramatic, the rush of 3 seperate musicians all shifting perfectly in sync is more fullfilling
than sex (well my sex, maybe) I can sense each of the others, their confusion is spelled out
immediately in an warbling of rhythm, a ripple in what was streamline, until I complicated
beyond a certain threshhold and became too ’far out" for the other musicians to associate
with me. On drums, this is harder to do because I define the change first and it is MINE, stable,
defined concretely by beats.

I dont hate myself, I just dramatize depression to trigger emotions in the reader. I am
convinced this is the key to becoming a good writer, base emotion to complicate as far as I
can without losing the core feeling we all know: fear, love, hate, self defined through other.

I was told I set goals for myself too high, critisize myself too harshly. I am convinced
this, too, is the pain of being a good writer, the suffering poet rocks back and forth or sits
177
curled in hate of self. This is what makes seperates him, isolates him, and makes it ’poetry,’
something yet undone, the scouring of the cliche from the system. The pain of cutting even
the slightest resemblance of what is social from the mouth through scalples to the mind.

I have three blisters on each finger, each one open and pussing. I also broke my drum
pedel. What intense jamming of legend was done tonight!

"sickey sound of fleshy splitting as I drifted towards a big black hole. "
(2003-06-29 23:27) - public

Hard & Tenderly

Hard and tenderly...

They called me "Mr. X, Indeed", the special ones that saw so deep inside the souls of
those who were so lonely. I was down beneath the bottom, when my vacant staring caught
them gaily parading up and down the street – followed by some stinking masses, freeing
fumes and giving gasses to the brown and nearly worn out air. But they had that certain
presence like the ether or the essence of the cleansing upper atmosphere. Laughing, loving,
and without a doubt, they simply strode about the streets that other creatures left alone. I ran
across, myself compulsive, with the feeling of a pulsing drum that pounded underneath my
skin. A tingling in my tangled brain was screaming that this was insane, but it also told me,
"touch it", too.

"Stand aside", I told the masses, and with that I made my passage fromthe lonely to
the only side. Openly they smiled to greet me, like they always knew they’d meet me
somewhere walking up and down the road. I knew I must appear as someone far beyond
the common com-on, so I could not say my name was Ed. So I said, "I’m Mr. X who
wants to come and who expects to help and guide your efforts to succeed". They laughed
a little bit at me, and then said, "Mr. X – Indeed", and hugged me somehow hard and tenderly.

Hard and tenderly...

——————————————————————————- -

Devotion?
Shortly after I first me them, something that I said upset them and perhaps we should have
parted then. I was saying how important that they were and what a fortune could be made if
they would let me try. But I did not understand why they took in and had to stand by those
who were so worthless to them both. Then they got extremely angry, shouting that the seedy
gang behind them may not have much value in my eyes... but they were people and were
needing what we give and if you see them like you see some roaches on the floor, then the
sad one must be you who sees himself as too good to do something for the weak or ones
with warts. You disdain and criticize someone who has been compromised but really have no
values of your own, so maybe you should leave and find some, steal or beg or maybe buy
some from a smiling banker or a store.

Something’s coming, but not real soon...

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At first I was too shocked to believe they would suggest that I should leave, and what
was even worse was that I saw that they preferred their gutter rutting friends above my
smugly strutting. And I admit it stunned and humbled me. So I begged and then beseeched
them," Let me stay and you could teach some sense into the tired old mind of mine." And
of course we reconciled with hugging arms and tugging smiles that left me more secure, but
still in doubt. I truly loved and felt devotion from them both, but I was broken up and feeling
powerless inside. I must become important to them, intertwined with roots into them, or else
I’d lose my false and newfound pride.

——————————————————————————- -

The Thing About Them

What will happen now?

Now there was this thing about them that caused me at times to doubt them, or cre-
ated conflict in my mind. Usually there was a he one, and there also was a she one, but
somehow they came out differently. And one of them, when she was she, would smiles and
burn a hole in me; a hole that was too hard for me to hide. Once I had a dream about her, in
a field, alone outside a tiny little cottage made of sticks. It was much too small to use it, so
she bumped her head and bruised it trying to get through the tiny door. Afterwards, I went to
tell her, but it was a he I felt who nodded at my words indifferently. And of course when this
would happen, there was still a she to tap up on my shoulder from the other side. But it wasn’t
her who looked then, close perhaps, but like some bookend that had come misshapened from
it’s mate. So I told myself there must be some way I can make them just be who I want to be
with all the time, ’cause it kept me at a distance, but my senses kept insisting it was much
more interesting inside.

——————————————————————————- -

Their Early Years

Once when we were on a bus between some cities we discussed the things that happened
in their early years. Their youngest time was spent alone while living with an uncle only half
remaining froma foreign war. His upper half was well enough, but in the pants between his
cuffs and where his zipper stopped, his legs were gone. And so he rolled around on wheels,
self sufficient in a peeling little house he could not paint again. But it was spotless to a point
two feet above the floor and warmth was in his laugh and in his smiling face. The people that
they met were few and might have been disturbed by two who looked so strange, but they
were not aware. For living with their stumpy uncle, who was unconcerned and rumpled, made
them see things differently. They thought that we were put together randomly, just like the
weather, with no uniformity in mind. But that vision only lasted for a while until he passed
away and they were sent off to a home. The children there did not have parents, were all alike
and always staring, as they sat on chairs above the ground. So they cried and then withdrew
from those that shouted, laughed, and who were mean because of suffering inside. Once
alone they heard some children shouting that a car had killed one of their pets out in the road
ahead. As they approached the fallen body, blood appeared and then they saw a leg that
had been torn away somehow. So they kneeled upon the ground and lifted up the leg they
found and wedged it gently just below the spot where both their shoulders joined together.
Then the sun, which had been setting, winked and for a moment all was dark. And when the
179
sun returned above them, no one laughed and made fun of them, for the dog was licking at
the joint, barking loud and resurrected and causing them to be respected by those who had
avoided them before.

——————————————————————————- -

Loss of a Loved One

I told them how my wife had fallen into sickness and to calling out her name with questions on
her tongue. We had always been so happy that at first I wasn’t sad because I thought my love
could keep her strong. But I never thought so wrongly for the fever fought too strongly and
it seemed she never fought at all. Soon she died, and I despaired upon the love seat we had
shared so many times on pleasant afternoons. I tried and tried to understand why love itself
could not command my true love from the comas of her mind. Now, empty, open, and forebod-
ding, stretching out like darkened clothing somehow stained with silence and with fear. Death
had brought its separation, giving me an education of a dull and slowly drifting day. I filled
my emptiness with sorrow, taking what I could not borrow from the friends I finally drove away.

This is the sad part.

Oh, it’s such a sad part...

"Yes, my life was nearly ruined, till I saw what you were doing. Now I strive to keep on
serving you. Life is good but I am better, for I feel at last I let her go because I finally found
the truth. Sadly now, I see the answer. All her life she was a dancer, but no one ever played
the song she knew."

——————————————————————————- -

The Touch
As they told me other childhood stories, they knew that I stood close but never close enough
to touch the holy union of their bonding that I wished to touch so fondly with my heart, and
maybe somehow more. But they had a way of keeping it away, while never seeming less than
big and open friendly doors. Then one day it finally happened. Just before they took a nap,
we joked around the room in which they slept. They were kidding me about an incident when
I kicked out some rowdy shouting something near the door. They said that I had looked afraid
and if I didn’t act my age, then they would have to hold me back next time. I laughed and said
that it would take more than just two freaks to make me stop if someone interrupted us again.
And with that we started shoving back and forth until a sudden move caught me completely
off my guard. They reached around surrounding me within a wall of flesh – I found my only
freedom left was in my hand which dangled up and down between their sides until I jerked
and seemed to watch it flutter down upon their joint.

Fluttered down it
fluttered down it
fluttered down it
fluttered down...

And suddenly a shock went through me and a moment slipped into the room that was
not in the air before. Looking up we all connected in a triangle of eyes reflecting tension and
180
unsaid excitement, too. Then it passed in nervous laughter, but I sensed a change soon after
we unlocked our limbs and I withdrew.

Fluttered down it
fluttered down it
fluttered down it
fluttered down...

——————————————————————————- -

The Service
He really loved them
He really cared...

So I pushed and pushed and pushed them, through the towns and through the bushes
and the word was spreading like a lie. "Come and see the holy two-some. They can heal and
they can do some things that no one ever did before." And so they came for holy healing,
both the belching and the squealing, and the ones who maybe just were bored. Down the
aisle they slowly paraded, when I smiled and masquaraded as the kindly keeper of the touch.
Kneeling them along a line, I taped a tiny piece of pine upon the chin of each and every one.
And then from this a copper wire stretched across a tubeless tire and ended in a round and
reddish clamp. Then at once the fees were taken, and the apprehension shaken for the twins
would silently appear. Full of life and love and smiling knowing not that all the while I too
was smiling to myself inside. Silently I stood between them holding up the crimson gleaming
circle with the ends now pried apart. Then I lifted up the cover softly like it was my lover and I
felt them shudder as they sighed. As I clamped the metal on it, something like a liquid donut
shimmered as the holy union flexed. Then the people screamed and shouted, as the donut
grew and sprouted little bitty dust balls made of fire. And these soon enough descended down
the lines that finally ended at the screams of joy and pain and fear. For soon the cripples
would be walking and the dummies would be talking but no one knew exactly how or why.

——————————————————————————- -

Confused (By What I Felt Inside)

I was standing at the fireplace thinking of my own desire which seemed to offer me no place
to go, when I heard a little giggle, sounding like some silly piglets playing in the mud so deep
and warm. So I went and looked around and from the bathroom dorr I found some sounds that
had not come from there before. So I shouted, "Come on out", and soon I saw them both look
out expressing fear and innocence at once.

How it started...

They said that they were having fun withsomething that they found someone had left
behind a basket on the floor.

"Let me see", and so I took it with a snatch that left a crooked smile across the corner
of my mouth. It was a smooth and shiny object with a purpose and a job I recognized and was
familiar with. Looking up I saw one pair of eyes that somehow now were staring straight into
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the secrets of my mind. I knew at once it was the she thing, not the they and not the he thing
looking back at me and my desire.

Inflamed I reached and pulled her close, but then at once I had them bothoff balance
and we fell upon the floor into a pile of awkward bodies, with arms and legs and elbows caught
beneath, around, and in between us all. Hastily I helped them up and said that we should
soon discuss and try to understand what they had found. But it was too late to do it now, but
if I tell the truth, I was confused by what I felt inside.

That was a bad thing...

——————————————————————————- -

Fine Fat Flies

Soon I woke when I was sleeping with a restless reaching feeling but did not know what I was
reaching for. I got up and started walking, but soon found that I was stalking prey that I could
utilize for more than just an easy conversation, or an evenings’ inspiration. Now the time was
right for something more. As I walked I thought of flies that stuck to sticky pecan pies that
people put upon the window sill, and how those fine fat flies would feed until they satisfied
their greed then buzzed around in panic till they died. Knowing where my feet would take me
if I kept on moving, made me see myself exactly like those flies. Drawn into a situation that
with some consideration never would fulfill its smiling smell. But there was no hesitation in
my step or in my making sure the door was quiet when it closed. And as I walked into the
darkness, I could sense a woken sharpness penetrating deep within the room. Then I touched
her arm and throat, and found beneath my hand a coat of moisture though the night was
not too warm. The other one was breathing deeply, so I thought he must be sleeping, but
then again I wasn’t really sure. "Hold me tight and be my master", someone whispered and
I fastened fingers of my own around her wrists which strangely were secure behind her as I
began to mount and bind her to myself with force I could not hold. Then I seemed to hear
a snicker but I was so busy with her that I did not notice him until I felt him put his hands
around my throat and squeeze as if the sounds I made should not escape into the air causing
me to moan too loudly as I jerked on out the fire that I no longer could control. I was first to
see the flashing blinding light of liquid lashing out my arms, but my convulsions spread to
my writhing young companions who were lost in unabandoned cream that soon would crack
and fade away. Afterwards, when it was quiet and the bonds had been denied, I told them
that we should do this again. But I said it would be wrong to play these games of weak and
strong together without me around to help them understand the dangers in it, for there were
so many and they simply were to young to understand.

——————————————————————————- -

Time
Instrumental

——————————————————————————- -

Silver, Sharp and Could Not Care

182
The following day I did some walking, for my mind did too much talking to itself, and so I
walked along and thought of our last episode, and that somehow it had eroded feelings from
my closely guarded core. And also then I knew corruption leaked into this last eruption, and
it’s oily odor stayed around. Long ago I knew that I was sly, perhaps, and not too nice, but
underneath I thought my goals sublime. But now, how could I tolerate behavior that could
suffocate contentment in my friends and maybe more? Desire conflicted in my mind with
thoughts I once had found divine and torment twisted me between the two. Aimlessly I slowly
wandered, as my footsteps took me onward to a part of town I did not know.

Soon I saw I was distracted by a window that was acting as a display for abarber’s store. And
what was underneath my stare was silver, sharp, and could not care about confusion or about
despair. It only had one job to do. and when it cut it cut so true that now I knew exactly what
to do. So I went inside and bought it from a man who never caught the tingle that it raised
along my spine, electrically a pleasant tension, like a liquid in suspicion flowed into the conflict
in my head. And now my feeling was well being, but I could not help from seeing that my
hands were shaking as I paid. And as I left, my thoughts returned to what I told them they had
learned through our ordeal of torture and delight. Yes, it was a lie I told them, not to help but
just to hold them with me, but I really should have said, "Lies can often give you power like a
coffin filled with flowers gives life to the living, not the dead."

——————————————————————————- -

Kiss of Flesh
Now it’s almost over
Now it’s almost done
There’s only a thing or two
Then we are gone...

I returned while they were eating supper at the table seated side by side upon a special
stool. So I said when they were finished with their whole wheat toast and spinach, we should
go back to the secret room that had only been constructed recently to be conductive to the
force that grew around the twins. Once inside, we all admired it’s silver gleaming pointed spire
that rose into the center of the room. Up and up toward the ceiling, gracefully it stretched not
yielding to the confines of the smallish room. For it pierced and open circle and vanished deep
into the murky night that held its crown somewhere above. The room had been and inspiration
of the twins that I had taken – building it of wood and tile and chrome. And they would stay
inside for hours, while the rain dripped down the tower, sitting on a bench around its base. But
this time we were not there for inspiration but to bare our other sides and feel the kiss of flesh.

"Take your clothes off", I commanded like a bold and common banditbasking in the feel-
ing of control. I was standing back behind them with a length of line to tie them once their
nakedness had been revealed.

"Kneel", I said becoming heated for the task had been completed and Ifelt my goal was
drawing hear.

"Hee hee hee"

Then I heard a little snicker.

183
"Hee hee... hee hee hee"

"What was that!", I said and quickly giggles spread infection in the room.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop!", I said but it seemed to spread and spread.

"Stop it or I won’t show you any more!"

"We can’t believe that you’re so dumb to think we needed anyone to showus what we’ve
known about for years."

"What!", I screamed in disbelief so certain that I was the thief thattook away their pu-
rity, I said, "But what about the other night when she and I were locked so tight and..."
Laughter downed me out so I stopped.

"What makes you think that it was ’her’", the mocking voices said withwords that sliced
me open, fast and quick.

"But I know it must have been, because I smelled her heated skinand..."

"Don’t you see there is no ‘she’ now?

Don’t you see there is no ‘she’ now?

Don’t you see there is no ‘she’ now..."

So I saw there was no she but there was only them and me, and they werelaughing in
my face too loud. So I reached into my pocket and a feeling like a shock exuded from my
fingertips and spread along my limbs and up my butt and focused just below my guts and made
me hold my breath before the blade could finally fall at last and free me from the anger and
the screaming endlessly exploding in my head. So I slit the holy union, turning it into a wound
that gaped apart and bled upon the ground – causing me to fire my passion as I stared into the
gash that quivered like a burned and ripped out tongue. So great upon my throbbing penis
was the pull towards this venus that there was no thought of it at all. Only all consuming lust
to be inflamed in base disgust and smile about it when I came inside. So I slipped my dick into
it thrusting into pain and spewing blood around the room – I needed more. And so I fucked it
that much harder; deep and fast I pushed apart the shoulders that were down below my waist.

Screams were slicing up the air as eyes rolled up and teeth were bared bylips that stretched
too tight and tried to tear. There could be but one conclusion to this sick distorted fusion, and
of course it came... and so did I. Madly with my face contorted I convulsed and shoved apart
the shoulders that I gripped so hard and I faintly recollect a ripping sickey sound of fleshy
splitting as I drifted towards a big black hole. And just before I hit the floor I noticed one was
rolling over showing me a smooth unblemished thigh that ended in a red eruption just below
her belly button, but maybe it was only in my mind.

——————————————————————————- -

184
Pain and Pleasure
And so my story winds on down toward and ending that’s been found to come whenever all is
said and done. I’ve lived my life and taken chances and if some were strange by standards
that were less important than my needs, then I guess I could be crooked, evil, bent, and
twisted, looked down upon the strings I tried to pull. But I see the strings extending up
and down and never ending as we dance around our selves and jerk to all the tunes that
only we hear and the voices only we fear each inside an island all alone. But the contact
that we do make, as we give and take abuse, stays and its value only multiplies. Yes I’m
alone, but not forgotten, for each comes and sees me often, sitting on a seat beside my
bed, and we laugh and reminisce about a life that once was bliss before an act of passion
made us part. Of course they’ll always be together, but their bond is made of leather not
the flesh and blood it used to be. They’re still full of life and healing, but it has a different
feeling and only for the few that seek their sort of pain and pleasure when they merge
and give into insistent urgency that lives for seconds at a time. For pain and pleasure
are the twins that slightly out of focus spin around us till we finally understand that every-
thing that gives us pleasure also gives us pain to measure it by, and I also realize... that all
our lives we love illusion, neatly caught between confusion and the need to know we are alive.

This is the end.

2.7 July

"I Dont Want To Talk About It In There" -Thinky McNoFun (2003-07-03 00:43) -
absent - public

Music: More Songs About Buildings And Food - TALKING HEADS second
Fritz The Cat is a cheesy cartoon. I understand why Robert Crumb hated it now and what he
meant by it "bastardizing" him, yet here I am stuck with it...and its sequal. I am empty, the
drugs having pulled me into a low as dramatic as their high leaving me depressed, anti-social
and easily aggrevated. At its most intense and least remembered time, I was absolutely manic
and, undoubtable, incoherant to a point of cohesion far strung. I stopped writing, forgotting
how to talk in my yet declining, dynamic state. I am nearing bottom now, my perspective one
of a Thom, crying out "...screaming out, Dont leave me high, dont leave me dry."

You cant say you are teedering out of control with drugs and not imply teedering out of
control with life. It is only by getting high again at this low point that you have your location on
the slope downward displayed from you. I kindly ask them all to excuse me or leave because
I "have to write somewhere else. No offense." My attempted cover of "Artists Only" by the
talking heads died off so quicky, attention as short as my nerve, both bright flashes; fireworks.
Speaking of future, past...you must speak so tensely, as those mindsets create tension, are
tension above and below a flatline, present. I wish I...like I was...become neurotic to be...will
never be again...I must re-create...I must not forget...I create a plan...this has sealed my
fate...I must watch my weight...I must pay my debt..I must be frontman...I act to relate...strut
myself, inflate...

Rhyme sometimes makes the ideas for you when you are having trouble realizing what
they really are. Very time-consuming, highly critical, filtered (not-so) "free" association pushes
185
many ideas of self, not so fully formed, to the surface of thought.
Some people say they would love to be where I am in life, like I am a confidant, long strided,
grissled-chinned man of action sporting around downtown, feet muscled far down onto the
ground, answer-bound wound, hounding ’round till their found.

Maybe I will vocode myself to sleep, the synthesized "lets go" of a Ritalin-Powered gen-
eration of software programmers. The blood ran from the skin beneath the skin torn away
from beneath the skin torn away as I rubbed the open pusy sore first against then into my
obsession’s serration; the saw-toothed jag of an implement of pounding being pounded, again
and again, against something which will not give, which takes and takes, resonating my
emotion as it chips away at its aggressor and his tools. Rhythm is all of this. I wonder if I had
known Alan Ginsburg I would be a beat writer. I am pretty beat and write of my beatings daily.

(2003-07-03 23:02) - lethargic - public

Music: LaMonte Young - Voice And Sine Wave

Sennheiser Pro Studio headphones: retail $199.95. My ears rang today...but little blood,
overall. A warrantee scam will produce one extra pair, no doubt, for when I want to start
wearing quality sound reproduction on my crotch as well as my ears.

Somewhere around the middle of the county, I began to think of artificial intelligence and
emotion algorithms which would, with the catalyst of randonimity, would be programmed into
small robotic personalities in a car or truck. The (so called) random bumps from the driven road
would trigger different responsive emotional programs, changing expression or intensity with
the conditions of the ride. In effect, a "bobbing head" doll with an ability to replicate all the im-
plications of, not just a head nod, but a raised brow or a tightened jaw. This psudo-personality
would, seemingly, create presence in the vehical, but would not be conscious, per se. The
machine would, however, be aware and would sense the surroundings and react, accordingly.
Robotic personality will begin this way, as merely a clever recreation of human consciousness.

I found myself imitating myself very dramatically, as if I had an image of a fool in my

head and I was playing him, in re creationally. I moved my hands in such a way as to appear
sly and important, the cheesy grin of a radio announcer followed by a lounge lizard’s slanted
point. When I realized I was immitating some impression I had of myself made me step back
for a moment. Self-effacing humor, I think, tells a lot about the person who makes fun.

I thought of the most efficiant mass transportation system, the social organization required to
best conserve energy: an alternating pump system. If we were to restrict all transportation
in a way modeled by our own blood stream, we would be efficiantly "car pooling" the entire
blood cell mass, with all of its varied specialized functions, at one time...blah blah, it was a
high thought. I then pictured a central transportation pump the size of a large city which
would fulfill this mass transport requirements.

(2003-07-04 23:25) - uncomfortable - public

Music: Fripp & Byrne - Under Heavy Manners

Meshed detail hiding black, only so that you cannot copy. This is all of of America, public and
private. And who is this regal face and how long has he been dead. What exactly did he do
186
to earn my respect, other than looking the part. I am a master carver, but this is beyond my
talents. Their carver must be three inches tall to complete such florid, vibrant details; lines
dipping and curving, emulating a dimension which isn’t there, meticulous scrutiny and the
resultant quality nearing the event horizon of perfection. And, in truth, the very presence of
an event is perfection. The present is one event, flowing through causation, with perfection
we are to ignorant to fathom. Those who ignore have not the capacity to do anything but. And,
so, a dog will never understand a railroad and we will never understand nature, only continue
to ignore it with appreciation.

Maybe I would be happier with myself if I owned a Dreamcast. Maybe I would be a bet-
ter person if I had a faster car. Maybe I would have a meaningful relationship if I bought myself
a larger penis. America, its your birthday...you are that much more shallow and neurotic.
You’ve come a long way...down, keep up the good work!

arfinspar (2003-07-05 10:28:50)

dude, i think you nailed it with that dreamcast thing. get one with mr. driller – HEAVEN. [driller1.jpg]

"If I open my eyes any wider, no one will be able to see my face. "
(2003-07-09 16:03) - tired - public

Music: Cybotron - Clear

I am content with and without my sex life. I could curse all those around me and die helpless
and alone, rejected like some power hungry uncle alan...but that would not be what I was
taught, for I was taught that children are, at worse, seen. Never heard. The sight of me is
worse than an empty room, and she made that clear as she kissed my face. Humor, why
humor me with the grimace of sour pain when I am all of you and your love personified? I
do not walk the way you feel I should and you grit your teeth as you belittle. I do not talk
the way you told me I should and you tighten your face as your critisize. This is all you have
to give me? This taking you call love? You are a bitch, a goddamned fucking bitch and, as
all your friends encircle you telling you it is so, you stand proud with your head held high
preparing your empty, meaningless anger, to be repeated...and repeated...to an empty room,
so beautiful.

I know now that to love is not to fear and that deep respect and intimidation are not
the same, but these ruts dug so deep can never me rationalized and I am a lone, respectful
animal/watcher because of that. What can I feel that is not created by me? Nothing, for I am
all that I see, only proven now by neurology. These feelings I make are induced by the scene,
life’s finger down my throat induces gagged emotions, suffocated, hyperventilating, awake,
LIGHT-headed. Enlightened by a lifeforced down into my face, I become lightheaded and my
past is erased. And, there, I am accepted; no longer that disgrace, when down with that finger,
reflexlessly embraced... Home. Base.

arfinspar (2003-07-09 14:17:07)

i really enjoyed reading that. just figured i’d let you know that.

187
iztyme2ryde (2003-07-09 19:29:48)
I am just gunna ask you, is that about me?

turboswami (2003-07-09 20:03:49)

thank you for your enjoyment and, no, its not about you, but I knew you would ask that.

iztyme2ryde (2003-07-12 17:46:55)

Becky was afraid this was about her, which then led to some story... weird.

(2003-07-13 21:22:45) Not completely true

I did not say that I thought it was about me. I merely skimmed through it and since it had been
posted the day after he was here I thought the essence of anger in it could have been brought out
from being here at my place. Seeing as though he DOESNT WANT to COME OVER anymore. Which I
still fail to fully comprehend.

iztyme2ryde (2003-07-13 23:43:38) Re: Not completely true

Well, for lack of putting it another way, I can see how that would work too. Either way leading back
to you. I must have misunderstood ya.

Place a scalpel on each seat. Can you please shut of the lights?
(2003-07-11 00:22) - public

Music: the Modern Lovers - s/t

American’s have no appreciation for harmony with ones surroundings. We are ethnocen-
tric and egocentric, independance one of our most valued "liberties," yet our Government
and authoritative structure is without underlying respect. Cocain and a hot sweaty room
headache...who calls the shots around here, anyway? Certainly not me, no, I am a passenger
on this raving drooling asshole. Maybe if I become incredibly curious and interested in those
things around me, my eyes would become so wide with awareness that my face would finally
be hidden from inspection behind them. I hate this plot, thick as thieves, neverending and
always pulling me into involvement, action.

What is a person requesting of you when they ask you to ’keep it real?’ As if, you are
requested to drop beneath something of a surface self, to Drop Out of image and empty social
roles.

All those couch-surfing, alternative education seeking, GED mail-in "drop outs," whose
phrase I just stole...being induced into something larger inside, deeper, by the very thing
they smoked (initially) to enhance their relationship with outhers (outside.) A curlicue of self
awareness.

The album’s created by the meeting of the Legendary kraut pioneer, Dieter Moebius,
and the experimental, standard-defining producer, Conny Plank, are some of the most listen-
ably experimental albums of that decade. Often "experimental" is a title used as an excuse to
be sloppy and make amaturish noisey messes. Consistant and cohesive experimental music
which is both novel, far reaching, and intricate is a rarity. The few first albums, including En
Route and Rasterkraut Pasta, have peaks of studio virtuosity as well as minimalist effects feats
188
the likes of Cluster or Neu! never took the time to visit. I compare the tape work and sample
manipulation to the later work of Eno and Fripp, the bonus tracks "Healthy Colors 1, 2, etc."
The time it took to cut pieces of magnetic tape is worth it when the frequency of a vocal loop
becomes almost lyrical in its pitch shifting.

swarms (2003-07-10 23:49:00)

I prefer to lick up the drool of this asshole. Perhaps a diarrhea cocktail with a bit of pinto beans as a
chaser. If you don’t follow your surface, you are not keeping it real. The real way is to act, and well,
I’m a post modern Kangaroo Jack. I think we should do our psychology experiments together. You
can join the GPRC (Guerilla Psych Research Crew) and we can destroy these sociosexual orientation
beliefs. All you really need are a few nerds who finally figure things out. I think attachment styles are
more malleable than Mary Ainsworth would like to admit at least after the first experience, but Bowlby
is the true origin of this idea. What the fuck? I’m gonna go smoke some grass and calm this acidtrain
down. I’m glad it’s back.

Impromptu Pretending #9 (2003-07-11 13:09) - public

Here I am, all cracked out and nothing to move. Sad, really...all I can do is try to play the
drums as fast as my heart beats to John Cage spoken word. I have a magnifying glass that
pumps through my blood and mind. A telescope and a microscope which does not degrade
the worth of my eyeball, but mearly changes the scale of what I see in or out. I can sit all night
in the dark, a curious amature scientist of cognition, and toil trying to describe these alien
things unseen to the naked mind. And, why do these revelations make my leg twitch or cause
me to conspire paranoid plots? I must merely maintain my focus, being careful not to indulge
in the greedy exploits of defense which give birth to those social self-centered delusions. And,
to generalize and categorize an entire life requires insight I do not have...because you can
only unify all after you have torn all apart.

Fumble through deja vu lyrics and fall into a place beyond the mist. The forest must be
burned down if anyone is to see me, here, and it has rained for so long...so long in my sleep.
I want to drink all the sky inside me and breath through gills grown inward. I want to dig a
hole into this mountain and forget the sunlight, forget my eyes that once brought its burn
to me. Formless and blind, I will disolve beneath your feet, I will touch you through the
grass, I will watch you from the trees. "Come down, my love, come down. Come down to
where I cry for your tender nuzzling face beneath my neck. I am without you with you, and
together we are all of nothing, together we climb as a whole, seeing from within an empty God."

And, the sourceless joy flows over my clenched heart, coursing it to open and, with a
smile I cannot hold, it flows through my eyes on the edge of bursting. I am bliss and my smile
radiates out of my entire person, harmonious beauty changes...changes...changing, always.

Impromptu Scenerio #3 (2003-07-13 14:52) - lazy,wet,empty - public

Music: Gentle Giant - Three Friends

I grabbed the child by the face, his nose dug into my palm, and lifted, his feet kicking wildly
with a squeel. This is all of what he deserves, I told myself; picturing myself as filling the role
189
of some kind of Gentle Giant pushed too far. This was not the case at all as I cracked the
child small back over my bent knee like some dry Maple branch. He knew this was coming,
I warned him of it for hours. This is proper discipline, crippling discipline which he will never
forget. He will never make the mistake of disrespecting me again, no, he will never do a lot of
things again.

The Gentle Giant in me watches the tyke convulse in tears, his thrown body unnaturally
contorted backwards like some loud and bloody puppet. I will tell the nurse that he fell down
the stairs...on his bike...and that we have a lot of stairs...the kind with fists.

Maybe I should cry with him, maybe that would make it right...maybe I should make my-
self cry again. Its raining now, I had better go inside. The rainwater will make it looked like I
have been crying, yes, for when she comes home.

"All Men In Each Man" (2003-07-14 02:26) - high - public

Music: The Rumbling Hum Of Distorted Potential

"I dont understand what is going on. I want to write though."
Bright yellow teeth gleam like a golden bowl, passed to. How is it I can hide beneath
cheesy-colored teeth and expect that they wouldn’t notice my absence. I am absent, as
were they, and the room slowly emptied, one by one. Silent smiling, silent empty smiling.
Syd’s lyrics draw my attention away from my own, to his, a cheating woman described
from the vantage point of a far and away square, disolved. I weight the meaning of words
more heavily where we are and, without depth to empty me, where am I but there, awake,
seen. I cannot feel those eyes and, so, I cannot feel anything. I am content to shut my eyes
and sleep-awake as you watch and I focus on some part of you unseen, where we meet.
And who will say I am cold and without love because I sleep in the sun, are they so loving
that they hide their face with bright, nervous eyes and hide their love behind spedily read
words and tightly rehersed acts, they are not secure enough to simply close their eyes to
the crowd for they fear they will be punched. I am not this, for I bear my face, calm and
waitingly, to be hit so that I can point, uneffectedly, to my other eye which I no longer use.
Who rumbles at the thought of an insult and makes fists in their sleep, you do for you are
defending all that you have never seen for you didnt think you could see your own eye. You
are the offender, the shifting tumbler, the greed of gain and the make-pretend-controller of
loss. You grab and you clutch at all the sand around you, dividing it up into forms so that
you can own them, collect and care for them; get off and on with them. Your pleasure fills
you and you often overflow, out of control, manic with sugar that fades with you. You would
die before being empty, the pain of loneliness your greatest fear, frightened/threatened by
those you see who are simple, alone, content with nothing but solitude and playing in solitude.

I am nothing, but all that I hate and complicate myself with society and image, but then
I smoke pot and lose all that I have built to the depths, drowning my self as if beneath. Who
could I be if I was not this HOLY DIVER, I could be potent, I have the potential. I will be all I can
and cannot be, and approach each with the same nature, and use both in my creative middle
ground, the time of great association.

"Huff and puff you dream-lover, huff and puff." From above, some nanny with green and
white socks. I am some wolf, sometimes in the dark, watching over from a night mountain,
calling low to those of mine who are so distant. I am full of shit.
190
"That is weird and I was Just Sleeping" (2003-07-15 16:30) - public

Indian Summer, well two well oiled cycles...From one well to another, I am well to a well,
welling eyes deep below the ground. From nothing to less, an empty bucket falling only to
serve. Who does this emptiness serve, fullfilling? Who’s depths but ours can I find what the
sun dries, evaporates in two opposing cycles. I am yours as much as I am you, a stranger to
you. I come far and near at once, the horizon my path downwards, first.

Money money money money, more. I have so much, and yet people look at me as if
confused by the fact I am not trying to get more. Confused, first. Angry, slowly. Contempt for
me, my comfort, my acceptance of all, my supposedly idle learning and its curiousity. Can I
learn to enjoy yardwork as I do play? Can I learn to enjoy play as I do watching play? I doubt I
can do anything with a body, I lost it several weeks ago...

Bored hunger, discontent movement and touching, who taught you that this moment
was so dull and uninteresting? When did the novelty of nature wear off, exactly? When did I
get so fucking old? I feel like I am at least 45, my body sore as I make its pain with my mouth
and cringe. Sore, yet soar where I am, there, at the height of what I call more than escape,
gliding effortlessly for days as if in touch with a current fast and long lost. My grounded self
forgets everything I know now and have before, my down to earth self is faced with stress,
the wrinkles on my face still vibrant with that charged tension where it used to flow when I let it.

Yesterday, me and my Neice went into an AOL Kids Only chatroom where there were
some other nine year olds...she couldnt type so I did for her. She had nothing to say so I said
"Hello. I am Alyssa Martin and I am nine Y.O. (Years Old.)"

Nobody replied. So, I thought I had to say something to grab the kids attention and so I
said "I HATE FROGS!! I HATE THOSE HOPPIN’ HOPPERS!"

I was immediately booted offline and my password was changed by AOL. It took nearly
3 and a half hours of telephone operators and wrong customer service departments, being
hung up on, being interrupted by Mexican women, being told I didnt have an account, being
told I was wrong...I got on at 5:30 am. I really hate fucking frogs! ALL OF THEM!

"I will squirm and laugh..." (2003-07-16 05:39) - public

Tetris Attack for the SNES is one of the most intense competative wits matches for the system.
Graphics aside, the level of gameplay for the Super Nintendo is top notch, especially for early
fighting and puzzle games. Granted, most of the best are Nintendo’s own, meaning family
games, blah...I dont care.

9 people, including myself, crammed into my house. It was impossible to accomodate

all in one room, so the group was split into the ’jammers’ upstairs and the "snes’ers" down-
stairs. It was almost a party and had a very party-like feel. I love talking shit while playing an
intense game. My favorite line being "YEA BITCH!! YOU LIKE THAT?" and then, of course, after
I win: "Well, at least you handle losing well...otherwise I might feel bad about having to do it
again."

It was 5 o’clock and nobody had left yet...and I wasnt going to make them, so, I waited.
191
Around five, nothing is as cool and the music starts to get annoying. Conversation dies as
quick as nerves spark.

Indian Summer, well two well oiled cycles...From one well to another, I am well to a
well, welling eyes deep below the ground. From nothing to less, an empty bucket falling only
to serve. Who does this emptiness serve, fullfilling? Who’s depths but ours can I find what the
sun dries, evaporates in two opposing cycles. I am yours as much as I am you, a stranger to
you. I come far and near at once, the horizon my path downwards, first.

Money money money money, more. I have so much, and yet people look at me as if
confused by the fact I am not trying to get more. Confused, first. Angry, slowly. Contempt for
me, my comfort, my acceptance of all, my supposedly idle learning and its curiousity. Can I
learn to enjoy yardwork as I do play? Can I learn to enjoy play as I do watching play? I doubt I
can do anything with a body, I lost it several weeks ago...

Bored hunger, discontent movement and touching, who taught you that this moment
was so dull and uninteresting? When did the novelty of nature wear off, exactly? When did I
get so fucking old? I feel like I am at least 45, my body sore as I make its pain with my mouth
and cringe. Sore, yet soar where I am, there, at the height of what I call more than escape,
gliding effortlessly for days as if in touch with a current fast and long lost. My grounded self
forgets everything I know now and have before, my down to earth self is faced with stress,
the wrinkles on my face still vibrant with that charged tension where it used to flow when I let it.

Yesterday, me and my Neice went into an AOL Kids Only chatroom where there were
some other nine year olds...she couldnt type so I did for her. She had nothing to say so I said
"Hello. I am Alyssa Martin and I am nine Y.O. (Years Old.)"

Nobody replied. So, I thought I had to say something to grab the kids attention and so I
said "I HATE FROGS!! I HATE THOSE HOPPIN’ HOPPERS!"

I was immediately booted offline and my password was changed by AOL. It took nearly
3 and a half hours of telephone operators and wrong customer service departments, being
hung up on, being interrupted by Mexican women, being told I didnt have an account, being
told I was wrong...I got on at 5:30 am. I really hate fucking frogs! ALL OF THEM!

"ence: I had my clothes ever" (2003-07-16 17:26) - public

My dad just talked to me for nearly an hour about money...about how I dont appreciate it
enough...about how I dont think about it enough. He told me, sternly, that I had best start
thinking about money a lot more and, starting tommorow, I was to call people to discuss it and
what to do about it and how much and so on and so on and so on, very nervous, worrysome
talks he felt I should be having. And, who is to say...who can say what thoughts and talks I
SHOULD be having, for sure? Certainly him over me.

There seems as if there should be a simplified version somewhere. His obsession with
his income and its outcomes is very intrusive, it seems to me and, when that wealth finally
does intrude to that certain point somewhere within, the thoughts of it spiral within and of
self and become greed. He spent nearly fifteen hundred dollars on his 4th car’s new, faster
engine and then a further grand and a half to have it installed for him only to find it didnt
192
work. He doesnt want to help me with my doctor’s bills, however, and so the talk of my lack
of appreciation of the money he has came to be.

"I have a lot of money going out for my things and you don’t think of that. You just go
to the doctor’s without thinking."

I hope his greed is not a genetic trait which surfaces, slowly, with age. I never want to
encourage my son to think of money anything but necessity. I never want to use my wealth
to induce guilt or obligation within him.

"..makes you act like the villiage drunkard in some early Irish novel."
(2003-07-16 23:14) - high - public

Music: Cul de Sac - Death Of The Sun

Driving alone is very quiet with another person, more quiet than if you the only one in the car.
I sometimes fret, but not this week, no...this is my time of emptiness and I best embrace it,
coughing, rather than consider its lesser appreciated characters. The character of a charred
actor is one of smeared factors. Fact or statistic is not so simplistic; no, to the mystic, fact
seems quite artistic. What we call realistic, he sees voyeuristic.

Man above the anthill,

two intellects of time.
The lesser one much faster.
The slower time stands prime.
And the further senses internal,
The more processing time,
Each creature living longer days,
Towards eternity we climb.

I thought today of the relationship between intellect and time, or consciousness-rate

and the mass of a species body. A child with ADHD and sugar, screaming and running,
jumping and vibrating, feels a different time than an elderly person pre-nap. The childs
sensory input seems to come at a much faster rate, so much so that he cannot pay attention
to any individual thing for very much time, because time is much faster.

The elderly years or "slow years" are traditionally times of reflection and quiet, meditative-
attention. And perhaps his thoughts and their perception move more slowly for him, their rate
reaching a sort of decline which one would expect. Just a thought, one would need to consider
the awareness of time change, from child to elderly, and why it isn’t something noticed, or
perhaps noticed but not mentioned.

"Schmeeschmue, meeschmue! I ain’t gunna see no damned smooshy band!" -New

Schmeeschmue Cover Slogan.

"Baby? WHat the hell am I going to do with one of those?" I said, declining the stew-
ardess’ generous offer. She smiled and cocked her head to the side, as if almost to curtsey,
and pushed her baby cart to the next seat with the same eager smile. The scene was one
of comfort and ignorance, contentness and entertainment, the men wearing their earphones
tight, the women reading things to say later. And all the stewardesses! They climbed over
193
one another to serve, gritting their gleaming teeth to get the men their drinks first.

"Char actor. Am I spelling that right?" A man turns to his wife, pointing to a long ACROSS on
a crossword in his Sunday paper. She was dressed like she was either coming or going to
a funeral, but smiled like she had won the lottery. She wore black gloves and they fit very
well; her fingers never grew fatter than one another. That character of a husband she wished
would die is never going DOWN, only ACROSS to some other unmentionable. He used to kiss
her fingers before she started wearing gloves.

"Mean, really, how people can get when the reach those Upper Years, yes?" I turned to
one of the blood soaked stewardesses who gave me not nearly enough ice. She could
do nothing but smile and giggle, by job description, but I could tell by her eyes that she
understood all of it, like she was with me till the end, that she would giggle when I smiled till
the end of my days, however much without her. Her uniform had become disheveled in the
fight and I removed it to be cleaned and Steam Pressed. Her missing two teeth only made me
feel...ugly, ugly for her struggle to make my flight as comfortable as possible. Ugly knowing
that, when I finally land, I will leave her to her livelihood.

Who knows when this plane lands? It seems like I have been up here for so long...I may
kiss the ground, or I may not know it as I once did. I may have lost my legs to the sky, I may
forever walk with my head, inside. No, the friendly sky never truely leaves its passengers for
they, even years later, walk an inch or two off the ground wherever they travel. And, like the
air she lives in, she has entered my body and fuels my endurance as does her generous offer
and its obligatory straps.

"We Never Should Have Used Graphite Lubricant...but who knew?!"

Christianity is the alcoholics religion and

iztyme2ryde (2003-07-16 22:26:34)

Wow, that is kinda weird. But then again when isnt it? Elderly years can not be all the bad, I would not
think. But hell, I am not gunna say anymore, cuz I do not knwo what the hell it was I just read hehe, I
am in a good mood Buh bye

arfinspar (2003-07-16 22:48:45)

my name’s jesus. come here often?

...Until I know everything that is wrong with me (2003-07-17 23:06) - public

The Green Eyed Stallions of Night Carry the Protective Off Into The Seedy, Watchful Ground,
writhing in the lonely summer heat. I cannot stop these horses from bolting as memories flash
in their glowing eyes, no, I have nothing to give them but this present of present self, changed
and degraded-refined. But, the blistering summer dark has forever left its mark, like a cut which
bled wants of a lover. You, who like the memory of me more than me, I must pose sadness.
The image of me you have is more brittle by the day and I will never restrict myself, at your
command, scouring in search for my sheddings. They no longer fit and have hardnened with
you who carried them for me. I look silly in them, please throw them away or, at least, replace
them with newer ones. I can only hope you don’t hold your self up to these harsh judgements
194
of smaller you’s you have grown out of. You have grown too, and as different people, we must
enjoy the need to re-meet, excitedly waiting to be suprised by the changes we find.

My Dad Is A Fucking Wino Who Should Be Put To Sleep (2003-07-19 01:54) - wet
- public

Music: Rick Wakeman - something something

"So, OMG! My dad got so drunk the other night. Me, I thought he was going to lose it a few
times, honestly, and blow the whole thing he damned. When he gets sick, bad things seem
to happen...he always insists I sit on his right hand and then ’HEYO! WHATS THAT, YOWZA!!’
I mean, I am the Designated Driver of this thing and you best get in the back seat, Pops, if
you are going to be like that with me. So, I drove him and that Mexican he picked up, he only
knows where, all the way home. Man, I hate Mexicans! So, we park in the big white garage
and I get out and look and dad is laying on the floor of the Buick’s back seat, face down, and
the fucking Mexican is grabbing for his wallet. Me! WTF! And then, A DOG BIT MY ASS!! Never
again, Dad, never again! You can drive your own sorry, wet-back luvin’ ass home next time
you fucking Wino. I hate all these family secrets. I pissed blood that night..."

-Jesus

(2003-07-19 03:48) - public

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!! I FUCK BURGERS!!! DONT TOUCH ME GREASEBALL!"

-Jesus

7-10-97 - Leary Up My Ass Document (2003-07-21 02:03) - remembering personalities

past - public

Music: KING BISCUIT VAULTS_21st Century Schizoid Man (King Crimson)

THE IGNORANCE OF A COMFORTABLE MIND

I am only comfortable when I have everyone in my life catagorized. One TRUE bond
can never be found in a life of directories. We will search for the TRUE bond (one which
is like MOTHER-SON) without the complications of world, religious, family, race views to
fuck everything up. The peace serenety (ignorance?) found in your own mind without the
acceptance of other people’s thoughts (or the assumption of what that person’s thoughts are)

DAMN. WORDS WERE NOT MADE FOR THESE SORT OF IDEAS. HARD TO SAY SHIT.

To try to connect the textual dots that I have connected in my mind, we are constanty
searching for that someone to share moments with. ... uncomplicated moments and embrace.
The mother-son sort of stuff in which (later not quite so well accomplished with the fill in the
blank marriage)

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A level so personal....shared not by friends or family (anymore anyways)...in which the
most simple acts of embrace and uncomplicated thought are shared. The "rubbing" as said
in Im Ok Your Ok and similar texts is allways trying to be fullfilled...and everything we do is
leading up to that rubbing which is doing nothing but covering the mother...which, in root, is
nothing but coming back to the single self....

...only I want somebody like mom around

Without the complications of a life of money and jobs

The roles played by me and everyone around me.

A BOND WITHOUT ROLES

but then again...

OH JESUS...WITH WORDS SO LIMITED, HOW IS ONE TO EXPLAIN DIFFERENT IDEAS USING

THE SAME WORDS.

ROLES, BEING AS I COVERED IN THE PAST, BEING THE THING THAT KEPT TRADITIONAL
MARRIAGES TOGETHER AND THE MODERN IGNORANCE OF THEM WHICH WAS CAUSE TO
THEIR LACK OF BEING.

—————

————

In looking over my dog and my fridge, I realized that we are searching for the simple
"give and take"relationships, SIMPLE being the key...our lives are a path of complexity...being
born being simple..and being simple when we die. Inbetween we search for the simple roles
to calm our worried minds. My dog Kojak is an example of a very very simple "give and take"
role playing relationship. I take comfort in its simplicity and so does he, I suspect...although he
doesnt have much else to worry about. We search for this, I feel, in a mate as well. Simple roles
to be played...in which caring and nurturing can take place...and, in a way, the two become one

one

mother-fetus

womb

origin

It all makes sense to me. This bizzare train of thought has ended.

Where does that leave me?

Leaves me being thrown to the wolves.

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Leaves me in a stage of simplicity meets complication...and without anybody their to
hold me up. I am struggling with this damn self image shit...and the idea that I need to put
myself out on a platter for others to look at and decide if they want to order.

((and feeling like i am not a very appeticing dish))

What does it mean? It means everyone is as afraid of you as you are of them.

It means that you are in their subdirectory...and until you prove that you deserve a more
appetising label, you will stay there. Push your way out. Break new social grounds, but dont
let technology or its bond distraction confuse you. Technology will never lead you to a real,
wholesome bond.

On that note of technology..and what to do when you are all by your lonesome, you
must keep yourself busy and busy your mind with the simplicity of work and give it a rest
as far as others is concerned. You (Your Jason Mariettis) will meet up with the individual and,
although she may not seem especially beautiful by "child bearing" standards, she fills the
"other" role quite perfectly..and life is fairly simple all the way around...as simple as we can
make it.

–Much Much Later—

Like a raging river, my mind has been running nonstop. I cannot stop it. For what seemed
like days, I circled around and around my pieced together meaning of life...and realized there
was nothing more to add. In looking at nearly every single thing around me, at that time, I
understood the reasoning behind its creation and could way the good and bad effects it was
having on me, the people immediately around me, and the worldwide cultural death taking
place around me as a whole. Everything was in balance and I had a new understanding about
what I have done and will do in the future...and could easily piece together the lives and the
future lives of those close to me (this being able to be done more easily that with myself...self
problems dont seem to be so evident to ones self perhaps.)

The Ignorance Of A Comfortable Mind (2003-07-21 02:11) - fat - public

Music: Bo Hansson - The Lord Of The Rings

My second exposure to LSD in High School. Looking back, I realize how ignorant I was
then...how little I really knew, yet, at the same time, how much I was learning all at once. In
many ways, having so much revealed to you in one bright flash leaves the "imagee" zombified,
blinded by the flash, seeing spots that arent there, only in his mind.

197
I still believe everything I learned of myself during those 4 character-defining years, my
deeply mined understandings of roles, image and ego began with this, one of my first drug-
induced rambles. I was fueled by my best friend’s rejection of me; pushed into depths of self I,
otherwise, never would have ventured into and, for that, I can only be thankful for the intense
pain of that rejection for, without it, I would not have ever looked through it.

My writing at this time was naive and scatterbrained, but I was learning a technique which
would later become my strongest, a mix of personal narrative and stream-of-consciousness
writing. Its strange how I chemically filtered my sexual desires at that time, speaking of the
roles of relationships and their complexity. Hopefully, decades from now, I will look back at
induced rambles like this and they will still inspire me as strongly as they do today.

WE ARE ALL MADE ’O’ MUTHAFUCKIN STARS! (2003-07-21 15:09) - on the road to
recovery - public

Yesterday at the American Legion Post 122, I saw the entire social scene as a sort of fabric
upon which attention is comparable to gravity. And, like the force of gravity pulling from a
central mass on all the bodies around it, so a strong and powerful attraction of focus is felt
by the people in a room from a person who’s attention becomes so intense as to draw those
around that person’s attention in towards.

I do love Einstein’s graphical representation of planetary gravity, the bending of the space/time
fabric more and more with heavier and heavier objects and feel that it is a monumental insight
on unseen forces which can be applied across the board to all which remains unseen, but does
exist. Attention, I feel, we will soon learn is one of these such forces which can, like gravity,
be sensed. Attention MAY be categorized into two types, positive and negative, however
doing so may contradict the illustration of inclination drawn comparatively above. To say
"negative attention" is not to imply the traditional meaning of the term, as I am seperating
attention from the opinions or judgements which come second to it, for or against. No, I
believe that attention can be split up into an internal and an external focal direction: that
focus on the surface, or Positive Attention, and that focus within depth, or Negative Attention.
More commonly, objective and subjective attention above or below a flatline, sensation or self,
the body. To represent this idea of internal and external attention graphically using the gravity
model is troublesome, as gravity does never pull upwards, yet, I hope to be able to organize
the two directions in a rational and graphic eventually as I develop this realization further, if
only to say that, like a planet, there is no certain definition of up or down, only the spherically
concentric pull of gravity on all things surrounding, anywhere in a defined vicinity.

I zoned out many times yesterday at the American Legion Bar. A fat man waved his
hand in front of my face obnoxiously and gave me a thumbs up when I looked up at him,
startled. My attention was internal then. I watched a pool game so closely that a young girl
stopped before my line of sight without looking at me, as if not to block my view of the the
game. Often I was so entranced in my surroundings that, "coming out," I would look around
and see people staring at me stare. As I watched a band play, I became aware of my unseen
influence on the crowd, noting their reaction as I simply began to tap my foot at a half beat
or clap alone. All these things changed the people in my immediate vicinity, sometimes
dramatically. It was then that I realized the gravity of the situation. The feeling of being
watched, or of having the attention of another on us, is one we have all felt at one point or
another, regardless of whether or not we believe that such a sense exists. Those who deny
198
that attention can be sensed deny only because of their secure control of the material world
with science, a tool of physicality and the observable. To admit believe in something which
cannot be seen or is not yet known is, to these types of personalities, unnacceptable.

I have, quite obviously, gone insane. Some inflated illusion of grandiur so out of control
as to convince me I have "secret powers" which connect me with the people around me on an
unseen level. This is actually a textbook symptom of schizophrenia which I have been waiting
to surface. I am glad it has finally arrived. Maybe I can milk it for everything its worth and
bring everyone who reads my sick rational down with me!

iztyme2ryde (2003-07-21 12:15:49)

You signed off, so I will tell you here, yes I understand that clearly, all of it.

arfinspar (2003-07-21 14:24:02)

i love everyone.

threshds.ini (2003-07-21 20:49) - high - public

Music: muted

I find a window to type into, however...

Writing allows ideas to be defined and, once definitive, memorable to self by the very
process of recording. A record of ones thoughts, this journal, is an internal and external
recording process. My ideas are vague until I, through the cognition of language, process them
into semantic categories, internally. This is the consiousness of information, a representation
of knowledge which is not knowledge itself, but can induce knowledge. The existance of
information, itself, in a species is required for organization to flourish beyond the primitive
socialization of the pack animal. Civilization requires this information and, thus, an expan-
sively expressive language representing the internal semantic network, which itself exists
seperate of language, externally. A verbal mechanism of transmission, relaying, analogous,
but not identical to individual internal impression, unexpressed, is, I wish to say, similar to the
difference between RNA and DNA, the level of complication which implies an organized society
in our above described "Rule Of Organized Civilization." So by this rule, which is contradicted
not once in all of the observations defined by modern science of nature and society, we are to
assume two things:

-our societal development tends to follow that of the assumed development of "cell" into
"multicell" by evolution, thus our future as a civilization is modeled by cellular organization.
-that the cell is a society which is more advanced than anything yet on OUR SCALE of earth.

In other words, our LIFE as multicellular beings is evidence of intelligent life elsewhere
in the universe. Not outwardly intelligent beings of our scale, but inward intelligence of a
microscale: the complex communication system used by the society of cells in our own body
is more advanced than our own societies most complex communication system. Thus, the
existance of a Civilization, as proven by the anthropology of civilized man defined in our own
cellular scale, can be assumed. In the words of Alan Watts on the latent intelligence of our
surroundings:
199
"We didn’t come INTO this world, we came OUT OF it."

So, if this Rule of Organized Civilization is assumed universal, what does it imply as to
the nature of those assumed cellular or sub-cellular civilizations? Accepting that complex
communication implies complex communities, what of those observably more complex com-
munties can we define? We are beginning, only now, to understand the Language by which
information is passed on our nearest internal scale. What can we learn of the communication
technology in that civilization and can it what we learn be used as a model for our own
assumably less advanced systems.

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threshds2.ini (2003-07-21 21:22) - public

I wish I knew if any of these thoughts are worthwile, beyond simply philosophy...if I were
to, ever, recieve the label of definition witheld for science only. I have nothing but my
distance...nothing but my distance by association. I wish to associate out of this world I
am not in, inwardly. I want to do it by definition and introspection combined, like Freud
did, only to introspect outward to things of our outer, things of surface and space we did
not realize could be associated inwardly. Evolution defines it all, but we had yet to relate
that with the organization of our own society. Doing that really opens the door to the
heavy-duty comparatively-deductive science, definitions to be built on that simply proven and
basically assumed notion that evolution is the progression of organization. That word "orga-
nization" is non-divergent and inclusive: all organization is assumed a part of this progression.

With that logically inclusive definition of organization, as it defines evolution, opens the
door to applying our conception of Cellular Evolution and Organization to our own Society and
vice versa.

I just want to get my point across, and then prove to you it is safe to believe the logic.
I must further prove my ideas somehow, just to cover my ass. I must perform thought
experiments, somehow, or try to find evidence in nature and its organization which contradicts
my definitions. Perhaps this is something I should have others help me with, the disproving of
my theories so that I may finally have some definition, even be it closure with abandonment.

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(2003-07-24 23:42) - stupid - public

Music: IRON AND WINE _ Mother Don’t Worry

I rest in preparation for my trip, as I will rest after it...as well as during. I will rest throughout
and beyond in preparation for nothing, which has already come and which no distance in
any direction will allow escape. My legs moving create an illusion of seperation from what
is behind me, if only for a few moments. What is behind me will always define, through me,
what is before me. I am a child.

I view everyone around me, younger and older than me, as a respected adult who I am
not welcome to speak to unless spoken to. The kitchen table, where I was not welcome, where
their company drank beer and shouted and conversed intensely, is still where it was and I still
do not feel welcome to sit there with them. I do not belong there, and never will. I am only a
child.

A Life Of Being Laughed At: Bob Hope 1903-2003 (2003-07-29 04:07) - public

Who is it that played that drum, the slow one in that song from that decade, the tripped out
one. He played like he was a Hobbit, like he was mythical and ancient, make-pretend mythos
and legends passed on through Elvish song. These kids never left their basement, quite
obviously...good music, though.

I wipe my nose with my hand and realize I am smearing blood across my lower lip and
wrist. Maybe I crossed some sort of line; blood noses always mean something intense in the
movies. Obviously my writing tonight is a sign, everyone knows it, who am I kidding...I was
not meant to write tonight. Maybe things have gone too far, yes, maybe things have gone far
enough long agon,Y ou just can’t expectme to sit and take this ignorant glance upwards you so
brittly pose lying with/ up, awake, twisted, smeared, caked....good people, I am sure. Whine
foo to your true blue crew, they will pity you and later belittle you. Whup bupple, pre-nupple,
one cry to cupple...please dont etc etc...

God must me an amazing skat man, he must know exactly how to sound natural, so
natural. And when they all agree, they forget that he is scatting and just hear Real instruments
and that is man, awake. And later at dinner time, God provides us with intellect to control the
death of many others and so nature grew a plant so large which defended its equally-large
fruit. Our nest is a hive family expanded and interconnected outward to others. My mind is
so sick, lately...I wish I could understand exactly what I should do, these days seem so empty
now, empty only with me and my actionlessly existant receded bobber on some surface so
distant. My body is nowhere, no care, my pain is a color to be appreciated in emptiness. I
crumble beneath company with the spidery midnight sky bursting in webs of my life. What
is it that is not me where I stand here seeing out through the depths of in and in again. My
course is less careful when I cloud the mind through eyes touched by smoke. I crumble in you,
who is able to collect me, to hold me as I fall to pieces inside you. I do this tearing for you, my
person is yours, his garnishments nothing but characters for you to direct; my person nothing
201
but what you need at that whimsical moment, forever.

I have not given to those around me what they have given me, since I did not want
what they gave and do not yet want what even I have which they expect me to give. This and
that were both exchanges made with implied agreement, consent by smoall smooch drunk
command, so began tun trample core trial: a core of hard longing and its fullfillment near the
edge of sleeep, my place of living where I let my grey hair grow and sitin long dead corners
and draw self for others to see. Acuality is this defintion, seen however many ways. I cannot
see this, I must sleep now.

Intensely Optional Cabin Rest (2003-07-30 02:09) - public

"Come forward, child." one of the Beards said outstretching his robed arms towards I, the next
in line. The white cotton pullover they gave me reminded me of the tight rental I wore before I
was confirmed, it was alter boy-esque. I wasn’t getting paid enough for this, no way in hell...I
got on my knees, preparing to recieve the "sacrement." The "Body Of Christ" is represented in
many different ways, I suppose. There was a HE one and a SHE one, and I could see neither,
but was to acknowledge their presence in the room with a sort of leg gesture, which I was to
have practiced and memorized beforehand, to the right and left of the cloth covered fold-out
table. This was a ceremony designed for a life on the road, everything portable for the Spiritual
Caravan, a makeshift clan cohered by belief.

Given wine to wash it down, he dipped two fingers in the bowl behind him and removed
them dripping with something dark and thick. I knew I was supposed to have my eyes
closed througout the duration of my turn, I was too on edge and felt vulnerable when I
closed my eyes there on my knees. I wanted to feel prepared and in control of what was
happening. As he approached, I closed my eyes again hoping he didnt notice them open.
He smeared the stain thick onto my eyes and I felt it run down my face. I assumed it was
blood, but...what? A swirling dizziness entered my brain and I felt aware of my place on
the floor and the people all surrounding me. I pictured the map of my place from above
in the darkness of my closed eyes and heard, suddenly, the breathing and rubbing of cloth
on skin from the tall Beard before me. Dizziness, awarness, the feeling of being fullfilled
beyond capacity, of overflowing through my mouth and eyes. My eyes could not be opened,
if I was trying and they were not opening or if they were opening to pitch black I was not sure...

Humming, and the talking of the men behind me with the Beard, the same dialogue...the
sound of slapping skin rose up from behind the now louder humming. The low, monotone
humming and the rhythmic slapping seemed to combine in and out of eachother, creating
seemingly musical patterns and abandoning them only to return to them later. Serrendipity of
that and other sorts made itself suddenly apparent, so apparent as if to reveal logic or sense
of direction. And, was it random that I was here with all of them now? Was it random that it
rained as I thought harder, there, or that I breathed faster, now, with the person behind me
and the two people far in the right corner of the room? No, my thirst will create water, here
where I am, my thought will change my surroundings. Sweat began to drip from the intensity
of my heavy breathing thoughts. I was climaxing and the rain fell harder and the sound of all
combined and screamed in my ears as I cried. $14 bucks an hour is well worth it, I feel now.

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iztyme2ryde (2003-07-31 17:20:18)
For some reason, I liked that... heh

Hand Some To That Girl (2003-07-31 04:08) - drunk - public

Music: Young And The Restless Theme

I smashed booze not drank near a bulk food store and made a cocky gesture and sound
afterwards. It felt good to be cruising through the UP’s largest city at 3 AM, drunk, stoned,
strung, and evading capture from the authoritative Wal-Mart associates who had seen me
slurp those two Trix Raspberry Yogurt Cups in the pencil aisle. The runaway music for tonights
heist was Brian Eno’s "Another Green World;" calming pre-ambient soundscapes soothed all
the tension of that place we had made, its memory fading in the dark like a soaring Fripp
guitar accenting a frantic Cale viola on "Sky Saw," arguably the albums best most lively and
straightforward track. Often called the album Pink Floyd would have made if they were more
ambitious, Another Green World led Progressive Rock further forward into genres of electronica
not yet labeled or fully-developed at the time.

Four coming tommorow, I tap my shoes with a guest’s grace. I curl beneath bottles to
hide from the host’s face. In finding his lover leaving him with no trace, I learned of her
boredom, aggrevation, and taste.

And running to stoop at a stoplight named Single, I came through the mist when her
red hot did tingle. Hand some to that girl who said that she wanted some. Yet, starving for that
moment drives numbness when it comes. Alone, tonight, alone again, alone and drowning,
breath and breath in the night until it shares its company.

2.8 August

"Ceremony For A Fat Lip" (2003-08-01 01:24) - high - public

I became uncontrollably aggitated by the number of strangers around me, hiding my ner-
vousness behind a calm, reclined position; sometimes closing my eyes and positioning my
head facing the ceiling. This was a coping mechanism, I appeared relaxed hoping it would,
as it often does, manifest relaxation. I have been spending hundreds of dollars on toys and
musical gadgets. A third synthesizer for $300, a Slide Guitar for $100, a second MP3 player
for $80, 6 rare VHS movies this week alone; I have watched two of them. I sense happiness
in anticipation of my new Korg keyless synth, but it is only in anticipation and I know this. The
interest will die with the novelty of another knobby box, tossed away for company-purposes
only. I am a showoff and these gadgets are all I am, sometimes...I am everything I have here,
this is all of me, quiet. I use these devices only to talk and, when alone, I do not talk to myself
anymore...I am lonely now and seek escape from what I once called refuge. I know nothing
but these memorizations, these scripts for recitation. I am nothing but this feeble voice,
pretending, so rarely heard naturally that I come to forget the sound of her refuge, forget her
soothing gentle fall. The impact of wind is one everyone hears and no one fights, its impact
is accepted as it courses with and without intent, its fluid pressures whirl cyclically through
levels we cannot see and this out faith, the faith of the blind. And the blind man who shouts
203
of what he hears sees nothing but shouting.

Pummel turgid, remain engorged. A warning to keep away leaves a gash that pumps
with it’s heart. I cannot live here, I cannot get up. The moment you say what you want to, I will
stand up and leave with everything which has become mine. I can take care of all this shit, I
can fucking clean up this mess you call me. I ran sideways along your car with a birthday card
and an erection and cried you to sleep away all that I had done before. I am sorry sorry bitch,
I am sorry fucking sorry. So fuck you! I blew all the money your mom gave you on cocain
and I got the whole fucking town high on it. I stole the money for the abortion for a hit, and
I swear to god the moment I get fucking out of here, I am going to wail you in the guts until
you bleed between your fucking legs. I am getting out of this hellhole tommorow, tommorow...

Shit writing, bad flow...too jumbled, too crammed. I need to learn how to think before I
can learn how to write.

mutilatedxheart (2003-07-31 23:16:57) You sound interesting

Hey, I don’t know what you would think of me, but I sure think you sound like the type of guy I’m
interested in...But my msn email is all _i _do _is _cry@hotmail.com, and my yahoo nickname is, blaizen
_it _up, or you can comment on something I say in my journal...aight, bye!

iztyme2ryde (2003-08-01 13:47:15)

Ha thought you would only have 2 synths... I knew you would not hold to that haha. Seems you have
a stranger talking to ya. That is a cool thing. I have to talk to you some how...

(2003-08-03 00:24) - public

I am hot and bothered. I have this thing where I get brief flashes of a grand connection in
my head, a vague picture of something beyond the capacity of my mind’s naked eye; a flash
of memory, perhaps, from a time when it was not so naked, but aided by things I was not
prepared to use to see things I was not prepared to see. Maybe I am not getting enough
exersize. Maybe I should be taking a multi-vitamin. Maybe I have too much "me" time. Maybe
not enough. Maybe my soul is old and half outside my skin...no, its probably the multivitamins.

Bad Journal Entry #3 (2003-08-06 01:46) - public

No time, in her car crying about her face and what’s in it. Willow was so ashamed, but you
could never see it by the way he carried himself on film. Puffy eye cream and cold compression
for the next day’s work. And oh, the work to be done! Debts to be made, hallways to dig
underground, pillars to display and maintain. I have nothing but this work, tommorow, and
without it I would dissapear, no doubt. Melt with the fading hours until my day was done.
Who says my work is cut out for me? They dont know that I am cut out from my work, I am
a composition of prideful tasks. I am a sloppy lover and a lazy thinker, my body pumps so
slow that my mind has not the resources it needs. Perhaps some exersize or a multivitamin.
An herbal extract for better circulation. A Chinese aphrodesiac to compensate for my short
cummings.

204
They would love to have me believe they honor the dead, the people they never knew.
I see through their silent moments, though...I watch them sneak a peak around during prayer.
I didnt even close my eyes or say ’amen.’ I just sat and thought of bondage porn during the
service. It would be something amazing to make love at a funeral, to bury my member during
the memorial burial. I am not very good at sex.

38 Minutes Later, A Disgruntled Anne Graves (2003-08-07 02:04) - public

And who is this pile I dont see, certainly not me. I will have nothing to do with this, "Go fuck
yourself America, I have a headache." I like the boop boop more than the strum strum. I got
this new thing that is chaotic and glows in the dark. "More for me, bless my soul...more for
me, bless my soul."

No, seriously, I have been having a lot of help from that girl, god bless her soul. She
never seises to suprise me with her lack of knowledge. Today, I introduced her to the word
"hyperventilate" and a man named David Letterman. God bless her soul and her precious lil
tight lips. Sucks the stress right out of my system like some out of style disease. God bless
her soul and will to succeed. The KORG Kaoss Pad 2 Dynamic Effect/Controller is even more
inventive, powerful, and ergenomic than I had imagined it could be. One finger or finger-like
appendage controls lot ’o’ complex intertwining algorithmic layers the use of which I may
never truely understand. I am now surrounded on all sides by flashing patterned lights and
rows upon rows of glowing knobs. I can sleep now that I know I have more strange effects to
control than I have hands to control them. Etc etc

PNORPL: They usually ask for it up front so thats where I give it to them
(2003-08-08 02:16) - Returning - public

Music: Vocoded Ramblings about Babies, Souls and My Crotch

A good introversive friend of mine once said how being with a woman drains creativity. If I live
with a wife and family ever, I must ensure that the basement is large and tomb-like. Perhaps a
set of jet black coffin doors near the eastern-most edge of my home’s living room will serve as
entrance to my deeper home, where I go to be dead to obligation. Its that obligation that dries
creativity, the light of day confirms forms to conform with. In my jet black hole, isolation can
breed its beautiful phallic mushrooms in my moist, indulgent insides. I will be a distant role
model and lover who’s true love is self, propagating words and sounds beneath them beneath
the feet of the family I love so strangely. May I never abandon my dreams of abandonment...

iztyme2ryde (2003-08-08 18:28:40)

Well, if it is I that drains you, then perhaps, to make you creative, and who you are, I will leave you.
What ya think? I will speak no more. Think about it

Intention: Intense Attention (2003-08-09 00:33) - Yet Lost - public

Music: some tired mother’s sigh

205
There is an old song my grandmother used to sing to me as she bathed me...High school was
such a beautiful time.

There is an old fable a wrinkley white woman used to say to me as she washed my
2000 parts...Puberty was such a confusing time.

I love those sounds, the casual and boring conversation heard through a different time,
the explaination of some useless self defense heard without continuity at a rate seemingly
alien. And, if I could only see the world through these sun-colored glasses all the times I see
it, it would be seen as I only through these in-connection branches. The sun colored glasses
come only when I induce the thoughts of the Magic Eye, the thoughts of pre-sleep cognition.
They are the thoughts of truth, even the truth of hiding, which build dreams.

These mists, these many mists which cloud from old heats in their many selves, disolved. How
is it that I can see through clouds in them and not from far above or below? And I can see her
clearly as I lay and, when I do, all statures of men are above me looking down to where I wait.
Towards that stooping wisdom I wait, the falling sense of a quicker falling defense; melted
refreshing me like a mountaintop-fed stream coursing through where I lay, the ancient ground.

Induced Trance Remix #9 (2003-08-10 03:49) - public

The Progress Of Rock: The Successful Experiments. The hardware defines what it carries, the
leading edge of music’s most progressive artists changing with the their technological pallete.
Magnetic tape made time an instrument and, with musique concrete or archaic sampling,
dime wash

many different times could be organized, sequenced, and spliced at different rates at
one time. Thirty seconds of music could be 2 hours of singing or 10 seconds of oboe, or any
sequence of both at any variation of speed.

Without the invention of recorded sound, jazz would not exist. Impovatization cannot be
notated traditionally and so there would be no way for one to have any record of a Louie
Armstrong solo. The Hot Five recordings defined the genre because they were a recording of
impromptu genius shared among musicians who knew and developed eachother’s style.

I realized last night that there is a frequency to life/death...and that this frequency, whose
length is unique for every individual, defines the length of the life and death for that individual
for not just one lifetime, but each lifetime of that individual. This idealization of death views
fate as something cyclic, oscillating, kinetic, unchanging.

The patterns of all observable life stipulate that the period of death must balance equally
with the period of its opposite. This defines all energy and its frequency, the ying cannot be
eternal for an 81 year long yang. No, both shall last 81 years, according to the laws of nature,
and likewise...an 81 year long death must precede an 81 year life by this same logic. Karma
involves no morality...the soul is merely a set frequency oscillating through time and space.
This is the science of spirituality

206
iztyme2ryde (2003-08-10 09:38:21) Ah!
That was what it was, amd you know what? You sound like a salesman for rock music.

"I came in the night" (2003-08-11 05:42) - public

"Man above the anthill,

two intellects of time.
The lesser one much faster.
The slower time stands prime.
And the further senses internal,
The more processing time,
Each creature living longer days,
Towards eternity we climb."

Lyrics for a strange cock rock song I did with a friend tonight...they took me longer than
their worth, probably. He quickly added two measures about the ocean, himself, cosmic goop
and lubricating poop. The nature and context of the song drew a noticable contrast between
the measures, but the song was still better than any either of us had done in a while, I think.
It was actually built on some ancient high jam of ours from months before which was named
"Sweeping Phases" for reasons I dont recall.

I have no control over my mood as I once did. Now, I am at its mercy as it carries me
up during sex only to fall to a brooding boil over a simple frustration which, at one time, I
would have rationalized away. With the elevated mood which is included amongst the many
bonuses of the Sex Package comes its unavoidable trough which tends to follow soon after.
I submit myself to the relationship, consenting to these things in exchange for love. Love,
however, can never come by itself to an empty vessel, but carries, hidden beneath the skin,
its full opposing spectrum. May I never love so deeply as to lose myself to this aggitation
which can so easily be confused by myself as myself. I must wrestle with desire’s emotions
and learn to control them without putting them out completely.

A Chemical In dependancy Is Solving To Aggrevation (2003-08-12 02:15) - public

Poor misguided success stories, if only I had that sort of time... They will never be so easily
aggitated as I: popping mood enhancers as I hide my face to the wall’s corner with that palmed
glass of water I had requested earlier from the flawless hostess. How else can I tolerate being
her guest but to flood the my many gaps with transmissions with the flittering hope that
the long silent gaps in my own transmission may somehow be filled with anything but this
screaming nothing.

"Arrange all finds for your search by speed." he said, loathing his ugliness. He had al-
ways assumed he could find what he searched for, but had spent his life merely searched
wrong. He assumed that he could do a lot of things had he not been born wrong, ugly, sickly,
pathetic, useless, wrong, bad, stupid, fucking stupid, dont interrupt, stop talking, shut your
goddamned mouth. I hate him. "We are a lot alike, you know. There is something wrong with
us both."

207
’Why?’

"We hate ourselves." he told me breathing heavier now. It was dark, but I think he was
crying. I closed my eyes there, even though I was no longer tired, and agreed with a long
deep breath, exhaled. It was so dark there, even though I was no longer tired, I wanted to
sleep, even though when I saw nothing more with my eyes open, I wanted to, even though...

manic, restricted heavy breathing*

gunshot*

wailing cries with clenched fists*

Am I this person with these feelings I hear? No, he must be dead for he no longer breaths so
fast in hate and despair. We WERE so much alike, he was right and, so, as he hated himself
so he surely hated me with those same critisisms. A dream, I ran senile, old within, drifting
in and out of death, waiting for my heavy face to fall in one or the other, balancing without
preferance or will, eyes closed and opened in a wakeful sleep.

I am so pretentious in my depression.

With You There To Help Me (2003-08-13 02:14) - public

"I’m going back to the ones that I know, with whome I can be what I want to be. Just one week
for the feelings to go and with you there to help me than it probably will."

Just one week and I will be going back and leaving my family, again, to the nervous city.
I feel ages in deeply contrast those out and that my wanting comes with my wasting, both
away. I cant follow the footsteps of anyone anymore, because everyone I have followed has
quit and layed in the sand to dream of drinking and dying. I will not merely dream of those, my
dreams will be of things impossible and intangible. I will solve riddles of scale in my dreams,
I will step between things seen and climb the metal stairs backstage. I want to spend time
thinking about my life’s thinking about thinking, and what it would have become had I not.
Reflections on those past reflections will ripple on surface as far as my capacity will allow,
there, in that lone future. I hope I am able to guide my children with what I will know of myself
by then and, more importantly, that they are receptive to my guidance.

Made $250 dollars in drug money today and stole 2 $4 pens and an address book. Per-
haps this LJ will become the place where I say my "Hail Mary’s" every day, even though I dont
feel any remorse, still believing myself to be a good and healthy person. I spoke with my dad
about morality and the ... [Zone 1, Zone 2....End]

The Strut Of A Faliure (2003-08-17 04:34) - public

I push away the loved with my Negative Energy, or am supposed to. These magnets in my
socialization, who’s strength comes and leaves, dictate the degree of my introversiveness.
I can run along with the crowd and forget I am seperate, forget so convincingly my very
thoughts join them, in step, but to call back that depth that only isolation can bring, I must
coil charge around an iron wall. This negative side of a magnetic personality is a superhero,
208
able to kill a conversation with one thing found. The power of detraction will bring all of my
potential into bloom or completely destroy my ambitions in an icy depression; its a thin and
dangerous line walked by the hermit.

This year, I hope to learn self-control to accent his awareness which I hope will return. I
hope to be more of what and when I need there, when I arrive, and to fit where the space
I encounter allows without pain. The patterns fall in sequence only with foresight of that
sequence and, so, I will observe, learn, and note their falling and change what is given, second
change, a change beneath future changes. I will fall like rain into its surrounding-shaped self,
a pool which resonates in acceptance, the frequency rippling within the color edge. This is
dark and with it comes a loud upsetting which no one yet understands, but the water, in its
dark falling, carries all of life’s development, future and past, cycling on a treadless wheel
without friction but elastic time storing all to snap back.

swarms (2003-08-17 08:58:40)

Would you be interested in seeing Jethro Tull in Mt. Pleasant?

Bad Journal Entry #4 (2003-08-18 02:04) - public

He was right when he said "Heineken tastes a lot like a skunk’s ass." I will admit that now that
he is gone. Steve Urkel is a figment of our imaginations: everyone knows there is no such
thing as a "black nerd." The nerd will always be a social category reserved for the white race,
it seems. In fact, when you think of it, "whitey" is synonymous to "whitey." 20 minutes of
any episode of Def Comedy Jam will describe, with exaggerated detail, whitey as a nervous,
cheesy, plaid-doned, uptight geek who overthinks things and has no "soul." Soul seems to
be related to relaxation, free-spirit, letting go, and not caring about things. Soul,then, is
the opposite of nervousness; nervousness being, traditionally, the result of intellect and
"overthinking" things until they become neurotic, unnatural, compulsive, or "whitey-fied."
I learned all of this from Black Entertainment Television, these details of segregation came
directly from the channel devoted to that seperation between the races. Strangely enough,
after viewing that 20 minutes of Def Comedy Jam and watching the sometimes obnoxiously
loud and overweight black audience, I find myself glad I dont have their degree of release, I
found myself almost proud of my souless white roots: self-conflicted and nerdy, everything
the blacker berry, with its sweet Funk Soul Brother Juice and larger cock, could never be.

On a related note, today on a table in a local sub shop, I carved "TurboSwami *Hearts*
Japs." Perhaps you may see see my scrawled racism there beside your genoa and provalone
and will think back to these casually-discriminating entries. Or maybe you are lactose
intollerant, possibly just intollerant, in general.

She Had A Cliched Face (2003-08-19 02:16) - public

So, there are eight stages to contend with:

-First, the dark charismatic figure when the lights turn towards The Lower direction.
-Thirdly, the friction and heat of the Lower position we have each had described.
(6) The post-burnt eternity and our eventual appreciation for the finer hardships.

209
He strolled the blue sidewalks of his newly purchased and Med Laced Park Place, which
I too had been known to stroll around an earlier date of each month, with his mind on the
"’cross thine street bowl" and the urine cleanser fruit punch which flowed beneath it. This was
a bridge and his head goat-like through the smoke passing dim lights; I a troll who’s grassy
side surely looked greener. I thought bake to probake, and the distance between here, there,
and neutrality. Who could possibly have guessed this depth to have been his to be given,
only, and not shared. I ask if all of that he said was random, about the fire dancers and their
legitamate short stories and he says no and, as if realizing a second meaning, defends yes.
Its all a Doctor S.E.T.U.P., and they can tell if he has been set highly up by the condensation
moisture on his hair, face, and shoes. This man about town ain’t never comin’ down! Another
legitamate short story spelled out with one yellow-stained middle finger.

"I bet you would if you had the chance, though...Too bad, really. Its really just too bad..." coach
said, shaking his head. He used to seem a lot smarter and crueler; now he just seemed to
stumble thoughtfully, out of breath reciting dull intimidation. He used to know my game inside
and out, when I was eight. He used to call me on my schemes the moment I thought to make
them like he was using his twisted past to get into my present brain. Used to get the whole
bunch laughing at my cramped style like I had hurt myself halfway through a casual pose.

"I love to see the crying, I fucking have to hide and smile everytime. They swing and
miss through the disbelieving teases, but know they cant give up but know they cant handle
the failing pressure. Its the part of my job I wallow in, that superiority over those underdevel-
oped inner ages." *upwardly directed sneer*

(This sick bastard is eating up himself like a Nazi child in a store where hate is vended
much like candy)

To The Late Man: (2003-08-20 04:13) - public

The stresses of those around me seem to slide right down and away from my face and arm, my
head diseased beyond any reasonable hope. I apply things to the area with intent on helping
the painful infection from spreading to along towards the center of my head, but all salves are
rubbed away with during sex, which is insisted upon throughout the extent of the dillema. I do
hope that things can be arranged in such a way as to me returning to some kind of quiet peace,
eventually. All this constant chatter seems to make me grit my teeth, from time to time,
unable to maintain enough of the patience required to care for the amount of time requested.
No wonder I begin all conversations with a defensive proclaimation of smooth denial. At this
point, I am attempting to hide so much that my best chance lies in beginning every interaction
with a misdirective shove in any direction outward from my disease; my neck is tense and sore
from holding my chin up higher-than all day long, my clammy, nervous hands balled into fists
and up in the air between. My eyes watered nervously in a way in a mannerism resembling
sadness. I am prepared for change, even now as I stumble face-forward, into and over, into
and over.

"I’m on the outside, looking inside: what do I see?

Much confusion, dissolution, all around me.
I talk to the wind....
The wind does not hear...
The wind cannot hear.."
210
-Greg Lake

Randomidity hears all which causes us, it is our slipstream, like an echo. It is our aggi-
tator, the catalyst, the vessel in which we are merely contained.

Come and go, come and go, wind and its hair....
Comming and comming, my control a prayer.
The faith of the Combers a filter of seen,
Clutching in memory a place thats not there,
Clutching in memory a person not their.

Zen and The Art of ITS GODDAMNED HOT, PAUL! (2003-08-21 22:02) - public

Sweat slides down my front and back, condensing with its loss of viscosity. Bacteria swarm
in and around my pores, feasting loudly and shitting as they gorge. They swim and clammor
over one another in a mad feeding frenzy until, there, they clog, suckle and slow to a white
paste, drying. Some die waiting and others still wait.

I am the earth to these organisms, aware. They know only my crevases, my flakes and
my hair. The ocean and space scales beyond all they care. For those who lick cracks in the
bark of my hair.

Something about hot tuna; Ms. Tuna Helper. Spraycan love, Hair Net [aquatic] to admit
that I care, sprayed down to where I’d imply your position, I cannot forsee any near future
dillema, but the weather can can, can can my will will fall with those hairs, leaving my hard
heat helmet, purple...near the center there is a place of ins and outs. I prefer one over the
other, allowing one to be over the other. Myself not included. Myself never included, even
when included. SOme idiot sang about how when he looks inside, he sees outside. I hate and
hate more and more, as I am taught better and better and best each day. Best and hate, best
to hate. Hate to best, but I do as I hate. Will this smoke never leave my room?!

——-TO ALL THOSE INVOLVED——–

I am now living in 637 East Owen near a phone numbered 3537073. I am going on a loneliness
strike until you contact me. Dont expect it to work out any other way.

(2003-08-22 18:46) - High - public

Music: JOHN CALE - Sun Blindness Music

I cannot talk but I communicate well. How else can I explain it, I said. I paused so long as she
started and stopped talking. She described everyone outside me as "us." I communicate well,
but say nothing...I communicate things of distance, that is the only explaination I could offer
for the long pauses...

I I laugh at myself and everyone wonders what is funny...I think of my nerves, I draw a
picture of the mountain of my head where all the meaning of interaction is seen ]from that
point[, outward, my height from the mountain allowing that meaning which is far off to be
seen, along with a path of associative thought back to my self. This is the only way I could
defend my wordy descriptions for things which, to her, did not seem so thoughtful or "far out."
211
That I was trying to use the same word path to describe something farther along the trail. It
pains me to provide-dig-from-above the theatric enthusiasm, false, about things which seem
touchy but are not. "Just because you feel it doesnt mean its there."

I became dizzy, my heart in my throat, seeing the stars of a fainting blackout. I was
around new people and became high. My mind has induced a sort of double vision like
that nearing blackout by itself, recently. As if I zone out, uncontrollably, for long periods,
staring out in day-sleep. Driving, walking, speaking...I become isolate and empty and can
do nothing but think. The catatonic schizophrenic is the farthest extent of this disorder of
thought: permanently distanced from body, internally. Thoughts outward or looping in some
aspect of Self-Relative Space. Self Relative Space is a sort of defined Inner Distance on what,
in Cognitive Psychology, is called the Semantic Network. The semantic network uses words
to describe organization of relative meaning. These words, however, are seperate from the
thoughts themselves, which occur and are translated into words in a secondary, surface
action of the thought. Priming, or the explaination of this distance travelled along the network,
internally, is directly proportional to the the constant, intellect. The direction through the
network of the priming is defined by the nature of that Intellect. Information Processing Model
would consider this difference in Intellectual Nature among individuals as differing "software,"
which define a path, internally.

When Priming far in a given direction beneath the Semantic Network, often the transla-
tion to the syntax of communication can be limited by the available vocabulary or, based on
the details of that sub-priming, can define differences between apparently synonymous words
to compensate for the distance between them, sub-Semantically.

I mulled in self-disgust at a level at which words do not come easily. Someone watched,
expectantly, as if waiting for the thoughts as they came, but all I could say was half phrases.
"I don’t....", "I...", "I’m sorry....", "I just...I dunno..." I twisted in discontent at her expectant,
waiting eyes...unable to provide anything but desolation. John Cale’s Pre-Velvet mono-chordal
drone music sooths my thoughts from all that discontentedness, and slowly back again. I hope
very much to begin my change, soon. I hope very much to enter that stage beyond potential,
soon. I will, perhaps, never get there...I am Primed and Ready for it, now, though.

Sun-Blindness causes fainting and a darkening of vision’s field. How is it that the source of
everything seen could destroy your ability it grants. There is the Sun and the Self, the Son:
The Self, My Self, the Sun. Myself a Sun, thinking existance with brightness, internal. A Black
Hole is a Sun on the other side.

A black hole is a Sun on the Other Side....Its depth creates its very radiance....its depth
is its radiance, internal. May our own sun, someday, swell and enter death....the opposite
of all it has created, suction of light and its matter energy inward, bending the fabric which
it enters. THis, like all observed life and death, is opposition and a reversal of roles. Where
for its life, it created the seen scene...in its death, it destroys the seen scene, nourishing the
unseen subscene. The subconsious is the subscene and is our connection to this sub-fabric
world of death. We melt into the conscious surroundings like our body in death. We are victim
and source to sleep and death, its deepest level in life. Meditation is Inward Travel and who’s
bounty is the knowledge of Eternal Sleep.

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A Swell Of Shifts: Internallity And The Two Sides Of Deficit (2003-08-23 23:07) -
public

The Cracker’s Style is To Be Cramped: tightened, twitchy. To uncramp his style would be to
release him from the confines of his self’s restrictive mind. His inhibitions are what keep him
sharp and critical [knock knock]

(13 hours later)

Impulse comes and shows loudly and fast when it’s mind builds no inhibitions to filter it.
Attention Deficit Disorder, or "Minimal Brain Disorder" as it was originally called, has this
impulsivity as its focal symptom. Victims are born without the capacity for self-restriction;
self restriction being the vital payment made to someone in the act of attention. Not to
imply that a listener’s focus is on himself, only, but that in active listening, he is aware not
to interrupt. Silent, but still through-ally thoughtful with an internal dialog of understanding
or misunderstanding waiting to accent his attention to his interest. So, the most basic of
social impulses which the Minimal Brain is unable to control is socialization, itself. Silence and
patient waiting allows thoughts time to be refined, internally. The longer a person is silent, the
stronger and more rational thoughts become until manner is, all around, robust and articulate.

I wanted to write about my childhood hallucinations, but I am too tired...

An Optional Subject (2003-08-26 20:33) - public

Music: Tony Conrad - Outside The Dream Syndicate

At 2 am, I put my hand into one of the bike bags hanging from some poor bastards handlebars.
When my fingers reached the bottom, they rubbed up against, what felt like, a burr from a
pickerbush...but the sudden bite of intense, throbbing pain suggested that it was otherwise. I
was shocked for a moment, stepping back and looking at fingers and then at the bike bag. I
went under a light to inspect only to find the smallest of splinters, possibly metal I thought. I
felt my heart beat in my left hand and within minutes the whole area swelled up and, minutes
later, doubled again. I have now concluded that there was a very small beehive in the bikebag
and that I was stung twice. A mischievous bee keeper left his bike in lot 89 knowing that,
having a bike bag as large as his, many people would try to poke inside it. With this in mind,
he obviously planted a small colony of his most painfully-stinging bees inside the bag, near the
bottom, waiting for his yellow-jacketted babies to punish....waiting for his babies to punish.

the2minh8 (2003-08-28 20:26:34)

i chuckled uproariously upon reading this post. i was trying not to laugh uproariously because my
family is all asleep and the walls are very thin, almost translucent, in this house. so it probably
sounded like i was crying, like as if i found out that a good friend of mine had been killed or maimed.
but no, that would be mistaken. i was very amused, because a friend of mine had been nonseverely
injured. if god existed, he would certainly never allow humor such as this.

turboswami (2003-08-29 09:27:40)

You definately are near the top of my list....

213
A Spell For Nothing (2003-08-27 23:57) - public

So I grabbed the biggest one I could find and made my way out of the tank. I was beginning to
panic from the strain on my lungs and frantically began to kick and grab fast in my swimming
strokes. My ability to multitask had let me down in the past, and this was not an instance
of 3rd world abandonment, but of open air superiority announcements. At that moment,
nothing would be more superior than some of that open air for my throbbing, closed lungs...my
eyes fired fear intensely to the distance surface which I, so foolish with greed, had dove
beneath...now far below my born capacity, I weaken...

Her bed had wheels on it and, during the height of sex, it would begin to roll away from
where I half stood above her. I would measure the distance between the bed and the wall and,
regardless of my woodworking, the wheels, fueled by my pounding, would carry the posts to
the wall near the climax of each awkward attempt.

The spheres of perception differ between each of the children’s minds. And one teacher
instructs 24 different ways on 24 different measurements of scale. Levels outward-inward
represent the born minds of each child, which grows but never changes at once. Core potential,
through time, becomes the direction of which it was influenced and, in development, fulfills
causation further through the current of total influence. Mother and father become self and
other and without those three, there is only one. Self/Other is depth/surface and surface is
Miss Missed with her engorged gash dripping for depth.

I went to deep and killed her, I killed her with exactly what she wanted. I killed her
with the height of love and I killed love because I saw too high. Fall, fall, yellow dying nothing
to where you will begin again. Brown lifeless rot, become me once more and course my blood
in times beyond. Death, leave this wretched frame and allow the sleep to shake and share
known. Love, return, to distract me from these aspects of self....

Ego, image, self, I invoke your movements, theatric, once more and in acceptance of
nothing, I will begin anew. Courage, give courage for the ignorance to come and its brute,
animalistic energy. I wish to play in years, I wish to play innocently and cry with pain.

Possibly To Be Seen In An Upcoming Edition of THE NOISE (2003-08-29 12:46) -

public

The Progress Of Rock - An Introduction To Forward-Thought

Progressive rock was a mostly 70’s, mostly British attempt at pushing rock’s technical
and literary boundaries outward to levels of complexity and sophistication yet unexplored.
Prog-Rock introduced the symphony, the synthesizer, and the psychedelic as integral and indis-
pensable parts of the music, as well as the grandiose and far-reaching compositional-ambition
seen in the “concept” or “theme” album. Call it majestic or pretentious, prog introduced to
rock a whole new level of artistic credibility.

1) KING CRIMSON - In The Court Of The Crimson King (1969)

Robert Fripp is KC and his debut ensemble and their album still is the band’s strongest effort.
Greg Lake, who soon after left the band to join Emerson, Lake and Palmer, defined the album
with strong, apocalyptic lyrical imagery. Fripp’s cerebral, sustain-powered guitar often took
214
a backseat to Ian McDonald’s Mellotron virtuosity. Folky, jazzy, druggy, and majestic, this
album defined all of the genre that was to come as well as strongly influencing generations of
musicians to follow, from Trent Reznor to The Flaming Lips.

2) JETHRO TULL - Benefit (1970)

Released just before the groundbreaking classic rock staples, Aqualung and Thick As A Brick,
Benefit represented the birth of much of the compositional and lyrical techniques which would
dominate those albums afterwards. Benefit is Tull’s take on psychedelic rock, garnished with
plenty of folk and classical influence. The lyrics are deep and powerful with Ian Anderson
beginning to tap a cynical, witty songwriting voice, which would later become an, arguably,
overused trademark. Beginning to become acclimated to the studio environment by this, their
third album, reversed and speed shifted tape layers accent many of Barre’s soaring guitar
solos, which contrast the album’s general hard rock guitar bite. A classic album of surreal
sophistication.

3) PINK FLOYD - The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn

Pink Floyd’s debut album would be the only featuring founding member and madcap leader,
“crazy diamond,” Syd Barrett, who, soon after, would be institutionalized. Known, at this era,
for their wild, impromptu freak outs at clubs like the UFO, often sharing stage and members
with the likes of The Soft Machine, the first studio effort of the band does its best to capture as
much of that live energy as possible on tracks like “Interstellar Overdrive.” Barrett’s theatric
and nursery rhyme-like acid fables draw

BLAAAH!! Its 80 degrees and my brain is too fried in the heat to write anything worth-
wile....I will probably backspace most of the review when it is cooler out...it just isnt as good
as my last record review. My writing has lost its edge over the lazy summer, I guess....curses,
curses...

Crystalization! Central Conce(p)ral Concemation Concert Where No Disc Con-

certion Disses Around Centr (2003-08-29 23:47) - public

In choosing ignorance to match ignorance in meeting a lit door, I think of my associations

and my association. There is different things I saw by the third hit, I realized thought is
everything I am learning, the thoughts of men in any direction through internal association.
That the empty high gaze is one of fullfillment, of being an empty vessel accepting the world. I
understood daydreaming and this empty gaze and their equivalence and the observation that
children zone out more than adults and that this zoning out, like sleep itself, is a process of
development for thought paths and that is a physical development of neurons organizing their
internal softwares for access of others. This "identification" of the neuron with the information
of association is the basis for the "web-like" internet of neurons we see and the internet of
information we develop while not in direct, physical use. (We set our virus software and
defragmenting software to begin its job of organizational scaning while our own organizatinal
scanning and redirecting of heirarchtical structure takes place for what we have learned,
thought and associated for that day or week. Dreaming, then, is of what we think, what we
do, and, in fulfillment of often subconcious goals, what we plan or wish to do. It is, then,
a linear development downward into surface through the "semantic network." A direct line
who’s nodes are words of association to other things, unseen, with an internal distance inward
relating, generally, to an outward-measurable distance from that which you "zone" onto. This
215
is a line of thought, dot to dot, which represents itself physically as it itself develops, internally.

In regards to the nature of this physical development caused by reflections of the seen-
physical, internally, its heirarchtical structure is decided by the heirarchtical structure of the
physical Nature which came before it and triggered it. So, the reflection of light became our
brightness and our perception of seen and it is a ray which continues off of the seen, inward,
along points of knowledge through self, defined by it. This reflecting of seen is what is meant
by the Eastern saying "You are what you see." (harmonious.)

And so, that idea that nature decides the organization its conscious players devise im-
plies that the organization of nature, on all scales, is identical because of this. This implies,
not only, that the structure of the cell models the structure of our own civilization’s society,
but that that of the cell models that of the molecule and, further more, that the structure of
our digital computers software of organization also mimics that of our own cell’s memory, long
and short term.

So, the title of my concept album "The Organization Is Organic" cements my last two
years of thought for myself to catch up with. I smiled walking home, high, in the dark realizing
how meaningful my first album will be and how, like the legendary debut albums of so many
bands, like Pink Floyd or King Crimson, it will be the most definative and cohesive cerebral
representation I will ever have for my self in my lifetime....how it will lay my next years
before me, which as of yet are merely a forest of laying directions, breeding with dark, moist
potential. My laziness or social misdirection now is everything I will never be later. I am ready
and my attempting, at one time, to write each day was helpful to the cause of my chronic,
self-imposed, catatonic fatigue. If I begin to regimen myself, almost militaristically, like a
stern legend like B.F. Skinner, who attached a timing mechanism to his writing lamp in order
to calculate, graphically, his monthy writing output, I could formulate as I record and, in doing
so, set down for review any points of strength I may stumble upon. Pot will help, but pot
managed with a militaristic regimen. Once each two to three weeks, at most, as an insurance
and Flying Encyclopedia for insight during times of doubt or misunderstanding in path. Often,
a vantage of height set on these blocked times reveals associations outward from center
which were not previously visible, semantically. And, an internal view across a network in
the dark, beneath, is required imagery in order to begin to conceptualize the processe and
semantically-developmental implications of the word "high." To imagine the 3 dimensions
of internality and the "up" and "down" which are possible developments of the network of
knowledge and the network of neurons.

Children daydream development more than adults. This, as I said, is an internal and ex-
ternal developmental process, like sleep itself. Proof of this is the graphic representation of
REM sleep patterns across the extent of a persons life. It is, post teens, on a gradual downward
slope until final maturation where it is nearly completely diminished. The late night person
and the late sleeper will become the morning person past 40, regardless of most anything. It
is the inclination of the mind’s development, its ripening, and its slow degradation. The fact
that I almost force myself to sleep all day and, when awake, and lucid allows, perhaps, these
introversive developments to fully form. I am victim to 24 hour lucidity; no longer able to not
zone out. In terms of attention, this is often an amazing aid as, while staring at the object of
interest and internal association, I am relating it to that which I am, internally, associating it to.
This is the process of learning and, active listening is a spectrum of this associative learning
which extends downward into the location of our interest (reflectively) as we zone out (in.)

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(2003-08-30 00:37) - public

Music: Pink Floyd - Run Like Hell

I am a Pot Scientist. I am a self-affirming pot scientist. I am proud of my pot and its thoughts,
and need to know that those around my are proud too to affirm that what I am doing is good
and of quality. LSD would have made my pride and its thoughts more intense and far reaching.
LSD and other heavy psychedelics give me a Jesus complex, where I believe I am god, the
ultimate ego.

So I am a self-affirming pot scientist. Someone said pot made my sound scientific, and
so I reflected their thought back to them in a different color. Now its my idea and I absorb
nearly most of what is reflected to me, reflecting a "deep purple" back. That is to say, I am
nearly black, or totally empty and totally abosobant. Shiny happy people who hold hands are
fully reflective and without thought of self, or to say it in a different way, no original ideas.
Deep Purple, smoke on the *surface* of the water. Who knew Richey Blackmore was such a
deep individual, even though that was the guitarist, or was it....ha, its his band OK! Yea, you
heard it here first! Come get some, mothafucker. I am bending over and grabbing myself. I
have rasors in my ass.

"Cool and Mom was right in there, holding everybody’s hand..."

(2003-08-31 14:50) - public

and only 2 hours and 45 minutes later, I had taken two pictures of myself, seperated from one
another by over a year, and layered them over one another exactly to scale and orientation.
Lighting each face from opposing sides gave the impression of a split between the middle of the
faces when blended. One of the pictures is me blonde without glasses, the other is me natural
with glasses. The glasses blended themselves halfway across the red, blond, bare insane eyes
pic well. Then...I realized I needed to the picture about 1/5th the size it was to upload it onto
Live Journal. Now it just looks like me with a stupid, half cocked grin. Oh, the time I spend
fiddling, you’d think I would know a thing or two about fiddles...

turboswami (2003-08-31 13:46:19)

1 hour and 50 minutes later, I have added three transparent layers of the same face onto the previous
two as well as riddled the backdrop with a randomly generated pattern of the eyes from the same
face. Its still a bad picture, though...I cant seem to change that.

marckaw (2003-09-02 10:40:29)

crackhead

2.9 September

For Warm Warbles Laughing Beneath Angry Death Pillows (2003-09-01 00:58) -
Drifting - public

Music: Morton Subotnik - The Silver Apples Of The Moon (Part II)
217
All and all, its just too frightening for those who have never seen me. Babies, the elderly; I
crawl too fast for those. And all my thoughts are a waste and I am nothing but them, wasted.
Men of action need a buzz, etc etc.

My high points outward things which do not ship easily, in weighing the message, its
cost is sometimes more than I am willing to take the time to pay knowing its a fee shared with
the recipient. "Then send everything you have done -> "fork is lay heard.yu $"

Meaning versus cohesion, a tug and 20 lbs of brows shift around my ears, curling...wrinkled.
There are those who impromptu and those who memorize. There are the creative and the
knowing, the shakers and the movers. I cannot play the song by ear forever, though; I know
my capacity will not allow for the quick witted, dodgy reflection of every difficulty. They will
buckle me down if I dont, they will buckle me down regardless of my straining or restraining,
they will restrain again, training and retraining my fluid thought train, again and again.

Lucid Father Echo’s With In Anger And I Leave (2003-09-02 20:38) - public

Music: La Monte Young, John Cale, Tony Conrad - The Lost Tapes
I awoke from my dream in my dream in my home, awake, but holding my eyes closed listening
as I often do before beginning the day. I heard my dad downstairs on the phone arguing
that day’s business deals. The tension in his voice grew with its volume and, soon, he was
half shouting over money or rental property and, all at once, he began to repeat one word,
again and again, louder and louder. Louder yet, with some kind of defiant and ignorant
sarcasm. I opened my eyes, neither awake nor asleep in either home, and the bright morning
light of my dorm room entered the dream with sudden brilliant lucidity and I saw a gorgeous
dome glass cathedral ceiling in my eyes. Beneath it, in seconds, scurried pixelized flashes
of a multicolored information taskbar which grew with my surfacing consciousness. I was
finally between, at home, enveloped in the holy light of inner knowing seen for the first time
through-out. And, all at once, it left as quickly as it had came and my father’s voice faded out
into distance with my persistent memory returning.

I must have looked absolutely frightening laying there in my dorm’s bed, frozen in a
layer between, with eyes open and staring empty. My sleep sometimes frightens me when it
refuses to leave.

The Thinning Of A Bubble’s Surface Tension - The Legitamacy Of The Modern

Shaman (2003-09-02 22:53) - public

To some people, a high is much more than recreation; it is taken alone to allow focus on every-
thing it can be. The creativity of this time comes from increased association and, over time,
represents an entire change in perceptive thought, widening the peripheral view of your mind’s
eye. Often, far into the change, these thoughts, by way of association far outward, become
nearly impossible to represent semantically. This drawn-out, dissassociated personality often
speaks with long pauses between seemingly disconnected words. This is the Burn Out who is
the Far Out and the Zone Out. Always out, as in falling out of society and it’s self, distance
further outward into this inner direction, beneath surface of self or other, creates a visible im-
pression of disinvolvement in all surroundings and, most basically, with one’s body. Deep into
218
this meditative state, as in the use of heavier, more potent psychedelics, this distance of the
mind from the body can become so deep as to completely empty the users body of any visible
sign of consciousness. I have seen these victims described as "lifeless" or "zombie-like." Both
of these imply an unaturally-deep wisdom of death, transcendental and spiritual, the user of
these mind-manifesting drugs has no place in his society, where once his sort of knowlege
of self would have been designated for the villiage Wise Man or deeply-respected Shaman or
Spirit Guide, today merely a Drop Out who is generally looked down upon or shunned. Western-
thoughts relatively new obsession with Science, with its insistance on the observable experi-
ment, and its resultant education system has confused legitimacy with observation, which in
the greater past have been seperated. The role of the once highly-credible ascetic has been
completely removed from the categories of society, leaving a growing cross-section of that
society who don’t "officially" exist, that is to say they have no place. Beneath the surface of
thick and ignorant society, a bubble of tension is forming in the boil; a growing bubble of the
unnaccepted who’s dabbling members, for the last 40 years, have changed the face of the
society secretly, from beneath it. Now the "experimental" are becoming the majority and, as
generations turn within their influence, so their criminal status will either burst under the pres-
sure of their numbers or the surface which binds them will thin down towards nothing until the
same. Exciting times, young voyagers, exciting times....

"Chewing Hides The Sound" (2003-09-04 02:54) - public

Music: The Strawbs - Hero and Heroine

OOOH GOD, FUCK!! TALK TO ME BEFORE MY CHEST EXPLODES! Ooohhh, I am going to be sick
with this mess you planted so far in me. The puss having just hardened, and here you expect
me to flex for you. I grit them with the help of a smile and the fresh friction burn cracks and
weeps, dare I not, dare I not. Nobody shits like I do. I dont. My power of retention and self
control borders the disturbing and causes me to bulge with the pressure the tight knot I use
to identify. With this knot, I release the air slowly, hot from the tension, it identifies everybody
but myself, putting me in my place.

My place is drowning in the waving tread and my only wish is to sink beneath it. Wave,
wave again, wave again, once more and hide, avoid, fear, wave again, learn to avoid and to
hate what is avoided, wave again, wave less. My only wish repeated behind my smile as I
chew and chew and chew what I cannot swallow, my only wish to sink beneath and swallow
myself, but I chew and chew him and he grows fatter and fatter from the fat. THe cost of talk
is this loss, expressed with inverted freedom, I fall beneath my own weight unable to lift one
hand, sinking to where there is not one breath to talk.

THE PROGRESS OF ROCK (In Its Entirety) (2003-09-04 19:26) - public

Oh god! I think I spent nearly 6 hours on this piece of shite. For 20 dollars, thats a little over
$3 an hour....god my head hurts....

The Progress Of Rock - An Introduction To Forward-Thought

Progressive rock was a mostly 70’s, mostly British attempt at pushing rock’s technical
219
and literary boundaries outward to levels of complexity and sophistication yet unexplored.
Prog-Rock introduced the symphony, the synthesizer, and the psychedelic as integral and indis-
pensable parts of the music, as well as the grandiose and far-reaching compositional-ambition
seen in the “concept” or “theme” album. Call it majestic or pretentious, prog introduced to
rock a whole new level of artistic credibility.

1) KING CRIMSON - In The Court Of The Crimson King (1969)

Robert Fripp is KC and his debut ensemble’s album remains the band’s strongest effort. Greg
Lake, who soon after left the band to join Emerson, Lake and Palmer, defined the album with
strong, apocalyptic lyrical imagery. Fripp’s cerebral, sustain-powered guitar often took a back
seat to Ian McDonald’s icey Mellotron string themes. Some of the albums tight stops and
instrumental technicality are occasionally deflated by intense, free-form chaos or drawn-out,
lyrical guitar noodling. A powerful druggy mix contrasting volatile jazz with traditional folk,
defining all of the genre that was to come. Its enduring style can be heard echoing through
generations of musicians: Tool to Iron Maiden, Trent Reznor to The Flaming Lips.

2) JETHRO TULL - Benefit (1970)

Released just before the groundbreaking classic rock staples, Aqualung and Thick As A Brick,
Benefit represented the birth of much of the compositional and lyrical techniques which would
dominate those albums afterwards. Benefit is Tull’s take on psychedelic rock, garnished with
plenty of folk and classical influence. The lyrics are deep and powerful with Ian Anderson
beginning to tap a cynical, witty songwriting voice, which would later become an, arguably,
overused trademark. Beginning to become acclimated to the studio environment by this, their
third album, reversed and speed shifted tape layers accent many of Barre’s soaring guitar
solos, which contrast the album’s general hard rock guitar bite. A classic album of surreal
elegance.

3) PINK FLOYD - The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn

Pink Floyd’s debut album would be the only featuring founding member and madcap leader,
“crazy diamond,” Syd Barrett who, soon after, would be institutionalized. Known, at this era,
for their wild, impromptu freak outs at clubs like the UFO, often sharing stage and members
with the likes of The Soft Machine. Their first studio effort does its best to capture as much
of that live energy as possible on spacey tracks like “Interstellar Overdrive” and "Astronomy
Domine." Contrasting those more experimental tracks are those featuring Barrett’s theatric
and nursery rhyme-like acid fables often create a lyrical impression of childlike innocence,
skewed ever so slightly with vague acidic symbolism. Waters would, by their next album,
attempt to emulate this borderline-schizoid lyrical voice without success. The Piper At The
Gates Of Dawn remains a psychedelic masterpiece whose concept and sound are unlike any
Floyd album to follow.

4) GENTLE GIANT - Three Friends

While not boasting the flawless production or mind-numbing instrumental complexity of
their fourth album, Octopus, Three Friends has a gritty, agressive backbone which was lost
somewhere in that later intricacy. That is not to say that Three Friends isn’t a monument of
intense and dynamic virtuosic musicianship. To the contrary, the often sudden, left-field and
characteristically "minstrel-esque" changes in time and mood, on first listen, could be called
challenging to the point of jarring. Both "School Days" and "Peel The Paint" begin deceptively
soft and playful, lulling the listener in a gentle melodic labyrinth only to tumble him headlong
into an unforseen fully-amped, hard rock attack. A loosely-cohered concept album about the
bond of the friends across a lifetime, Three Friends is elegant finesse carried fast on the back
220
of fierce screaming rock savagery.

5) BRIAN ENO - Another Green World

Boasting some of genre’s heaviest hitters, including Phil Collins and Robert Fripp, Another
Green World, at times, sounds more other-worldly and minimalistic than a straight-forward
Prog Rock effort. By this point, Eno, a self-described "non-musician," had reached a point of
viewing the studio not so much as a tool for recording instruments as much as an instrument
in and of itself. Having lost all of the screaming and urgent pace of his previous two artsy-glam
rock albums, here Eno hints towards the surreal, moody atmospheric form which would
define his arrangements from that point forward. Almost half imagery-packed instrumentals,
like "Sombre Reptiles" and "In Dark Trees," and half soothing ambient-pop songs, like "I’ll
Come Running" and "Golden Hours;" whose lyrics seem, somewhat, more contemplative than
those free-associative rantings of previous releases. Like some powerful dream whose vague
remnants remain, unshakable throughout the day, Another Green World is a fluid sound who’s
slipstream curls beneath memory, hauntingly.

For more information on Progressive Rock or to purchase the reviewer’s own Progres-
sive Rock release, "The Organization Is Organic" by THY FLUID MECHANICS, contact
"smith502@msu.edu" or AOL Instant Messanger Screen Name "TurboSwami."

lost (2003-09-05 00:54) - lost - friends

Music: lost
I do not how to show emotions nor how to be properly depressed. The absolute misery and
disgust is changed somehow into a pouting, manic laugh and trails off with drawn out mournful
tones. A movie came to mind where a man’s only son dies and, as he holds the dead boy in
his arms, begins to wail...only to have a fat bag woman point her greasy finger directly into
his face and shout "haw haw!" mockingly, as if she had won some battle. The main symptom
of schizophrenia is this innappropriate, unnatural, or complete lack of emotion. Perhaps it is
also the main symptom of being a man, but probably not.

My eyes welled up as I dug my face into a pillow, the convulsive laughter choking out
like I was trying to throw up, but couldnt. Raising my head, with teeth grit, only to down more
vodka; this being my second official depressive drunk. I was doing it all wrong! I didnt even
know why I was depressed, I had no target only an ambiguous trigger. Would I be any more
sane alone? Could I ever be alone and not lonely again? Have I lost that capacity with my
virginity? I would like to believe I can still transcend myself, even as I obsess about acne and
flab....

Prepare for the worst....dont let this circulate....I could not stand the laughter, the ugly
laughter in my face, crooked glaring teeth bite, exposed. The moment I say I expose too much
is, no doubt, when I completely give in and lose it all to the insecurity and its omni-directional
depression. God, I hate the fat underneath my chin.

"Love Comes In Spurts" (2003-09-06 03:13) - public

I jammed with my potential new band mates. I was told that jamming with me was the among
the best they have ever created. None of them were especially good. Good musicians, it
221
seems, have rhythm. Nobody today had solid rhythm, but that does not mean solid songs
cannot be made with time. I was sloppy. I will be better and will remember changes, once
they are defined.

Good people, good people. Friendly people who laugh easy are my favorites and I felt
accepted by these. I enjoyed the 3 hours I spent compiling the angry music I thought they
would like, after I met them, for them. Metal and punk included themselves, even though
it was made clear Tom was not a fan, I hoped he may be afterwards. My synthesizer is so
center-stage, I curse my soloist, virtuosic nature. I cannot accompany, be it my personality or
my lack of over understanding of theory, I cannot play with. I even spent a portion showing
off my vocal range...they know, now, that I am a keeper; that I have the capacity they were
seraching for.

So pompous I sound....so full of self...this image I create for me is not strictly internal,
but is based on externalities which are well defined by others, outside myself. I am a perfec-
tionist and strive for perfection, my attempts being affirmed as closer to the mark than most.
To deny this fact would be ignorant and the whispers push me forward towards everything my
potential knows it is ready to be. I am a mess and they affirmed that as well... May strangers
see me less as what I am and more as what I could be as I become.

Self-defeating pride, pull me down to where I can shout to be heard. Empty knowing,
guide me not to where I am destined to splurge. I am not a thing, though I define, and with
courage I push to follow nothing forever into time. 7 selves anger and frustrate each other
for each other and, as nervousness silences, I prepare the filler to recite for Miss (mass)
Understanding. Kiss televisions of those who love as they, too, recite marginal scripts. Misty,
moistened scripts confuse themselves with improvisation within reason.

The De-Evolution Band covers The Raymond Scott Quintette without credit. This is per-
sonality, expressed with instruments. This is every person, pumped into and out of without
credit, added to and reduced from....may I never rely heavily on the love spurts of painfully
dead. Famous or infamous, I remain drunk and aware of my influences.

"Breathin’s a Distraction When You Chatter Away" (2003-09-06 15:49) - empty

from conversation - public

Music: BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD - Expecting To Fly

What is it that I look for there in the night? Searching beneath streetlights for acceptance from
the dark and its brethren, for courage from the shroud and the assurance of its black envelope
which releases and hides. The night will always take me back, my home. And there, in its
dark, my eyes adjust to nothing until I can see myself again. Black is the unseen eye to itself
and it will always be black which reflects those memories, long forgotten, of a being within.
It was the glaring sun and our glaring face that disguised the In until we forgot....something
something, blah him and black goth cemetry comments for review post-mortum. Carving
corpses cuz they could care less, kill killed’s blemishes for caring casket cryers.

Concluded many things in conversation today:

-Love is a hook which sinks beneath the skin of the affectionate touch or it’s anticipation.
Emotional bond, then, is first and foremost, rooted in that lowly sexual act.
-"hello" is another word for "confident"
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-Smart people, as a rule, don’t get horny. If they do, they do their best to hide the fact.

And to think, if I didnt actively listen to people with relationship problems, I would end
this day ignorant of all the above insights. "Hot Pants, get me another, I am ready for an all
night workout."

Bad Journal Entry #9 (2003-09-08 00:29) - public

Some searching today produced a find which excited me, at first. New Wave Revivalists, The
Faint, produce the rare angry punk synth sound. Some guy blurts that the band fucking blows
and then, like magic, they do. I dont understand how it works, but has worked in this way in the
past. Likewise, the ugly details of a song which I love alone, like Kraftwerk’s quirky The Robots,
will surface themselves as I play it in the car with one of my Death Metal friends. As it plays,
my mind works to deduce everything he is hearing: tinny electronic drums and nerdy German
vocalist. Suddenly, what I hear fucking blows, where on the car ride there I sang it loudly with a
sense of pride. Opinions change me easily, as I am impressionable, soft and flexible. Sensitive
like an old man...damn, this music sucks. Naysay and vocals reveal themselves as what they
are.

gawthspork (2003-09-08 07:49:00)

i’ve always thought the faint sucked just ’cause a billion other bands not only do the exact same
thing, but do it better. they’re one of those groups that just sounds lifeless and unpassionate to
me. the kids like ’em, but i have no idea why. but my opinions of the nuwave revival are very
similar to those of the nugarage revival–the only stuff that’s really good is the stuff that’s trying to
distance itself from it’s roots. if i wanted to listen to neat old dancy electro stuff i’d listen to tube-
way army and if i wanted to listen to neat old garagey stuff i’d throw on love or the seeds or the stooges.

Why Do Men Barbeque? (2003-09-08 21:49) - stupid - public

Music: Schneider TM

Anywhere, anyone, please...PLEASE! The hot revealing shafts stab me to sleep each morning,
stabbing my eyes and stabbing my brain with the sight that I despise. Heart surgery performed
with the broken glass of a mirror, my mind numbed by others. Cringe as it pumps, cut, and
convulses without your bright shards. Pace myself no more, I will soon meet my Maker. Falling
down...

Light (bright white) in " _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _" fight withou the aid of " _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"
night. And so " _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _" the trick, eyesight: the entertainment which " _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"
and excites.

the2minh8 (2003-09-09 11:32:58)

light (bright white) in cannibalism fight without the aid of herrings night. And so ridicules the trick,
eyesight: the entertainment which moistens and excites. it’s hard to find one that doesn’t fit into the
last blank without being the wrong part of speech. oh well, it was a good go.

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turboswami (2003-09-09 13:22:41)
Thank you, I like that. I dont work fish, especially herring, into my writing enough. Your Mad Lib entries
reminded me of what a noble fish it really is.

An Army Of None (2003-09-10 00:54) - public

In Wells hall today, I attend a class I am not enrolled in, thinking I was, for nearly 20 minutes.
Having all but missed the class I thought I was attending, I wandered around the building
looking at posted ads and announcements. A woman with enormous, firm breasts which jutted
outwards behind a tight red tank top walked confidently towards me with a stride that caused
all I saw to bounce and sway. Staring, shamelessly, for long seconds, looked up to see her
looking back with an unusual, doubtful expression. Only in looking back down did I realize she
had no arms.

...hey, I hear some guys are into that sort of thing.

(2003-09-10 09:42) - public

Soulseek produced a rare Floyd home video shot in 1966 of a young, short-haired Syd Barrett
taking LSD for the first time in a sunny field near a forest. They way he appeared to react, the
way it matched my own, leads me to fear my potential for instability. Staring at one of his
hands, and then another, he speaks to each. Becoming tense, be begins to scream at the left
hand, as if it holds some concept he is weighing against another, and then brings it to his face.
The most dissapointing part of the find is that THERE IS NO SOUND but, rather, the sound has
been cut and a cheesy ambient sountrack, assumably from what they call the new band, is
overdubbed. Syd Barrett’s thoughts during this, his first step towards his eventual breakdown,
were, really, the thing I wanted, more than anything, to know.

Later, Waters and Mason stand outside and it shows Syd hiding alone, away from every-
one, in the apartment with his back to the window. I can only hope there is an undubbed
version which was not from the Limited Edition DVD. On a completely unrelated note, I decided
at 5:00 am that I will look to find some LSD before the summer is over. I hope to take it in a
sun-lit field near a forest.

iztyme2ryde (2003-09-10 07:31:03)

I might have some soon...

marckaw

biscuitboy (2003-09-10 14:17:06)

Oh, God, if it is, lemme know.

iztyme2ryde (2003-09-10 15:42:13)

I might have some very soon, I can get you some too if you like.

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turboswami (2003-09-10 16:07:06)
ALL OF LIVEJOURNAL.COM IS BEING SCANNED FOR KEY DRUG-ENFORCEMENT WORDS, LIKE ’LSD,’
’COCAIN,’ AND ’BUG ASS!’ EACH OF YOUR NAMES IS NOW ON A GOVERNMENT LIST. INFORMATION-
SURVEILLANCE TECHNIQUES ARE ENACTED NOW! BEWARE THE WATCHFUL EYE OF MEDIUM SISTER.

iztyme2ryde (2003-09-10 16:49:15)

Well, look who said LSD first, it would be YOU! So you would be on that list as the first one that started
it! So I guess that adds another name to the list for MEDIUM SISTER.

marckaw (2003-09-11 09:57:41)

I am midget cousin. All your base are belong to me.

iztyme2ryde (2003-09-11 15:11:29)

belong base who to miget what cousin? THAT IS INCEST!

marckaw (2003-09-11 17:54:22)

you need to stop doing CRACK when you post on LJ

iztyme2ryde (2003-09-11 21:00:25)

Oh do I have to? NO! I do not! And I do not have to take that from you! BWAH!

turboswami (2003-09-11 22:11:35)

Lo! Midget Cuz I have all of that are base belonging. You tell me do things I’ve done runnin’ and fell
town begat thee formless Sam Adams, a scar he left on my middle knee. now THAT’S incest! HEYO!!

"Fuck You! I’m A Microwave" (2003-09-11 05:06) - Jagger&A&W - public

Music: Morphine - The Night

To the defensive person, around every corner is something resembling a middle finger
raised like some antenna tuned only to them. Young, unknowing riddle-singers play this
game, tauntingly, as if waiting for the old man to rise from his throne meeting their chirping
challenge. Although he cannot sleep with their morning calls ringing, he does not rise, but
remains with eyes closed, away. He is younger than the challengers, but much older than
their challenge and slides above sleep with a calm, acceptant viscosity. His wrinkles are
waves from a smiling moon, returned, and his glow is of an eternal smile which flows through,
uncaptured. Taunts...dip...like a knife into his total pool, which cleans it of all its previous blood.

Young bought and built much of all that was downtown and, proud boasting moneys,
they carved up the streets. Loud in their laughter, they sang songs of release and emptied
their pockets on machines to fill. Hell, to the skies, the smoke burns...blocking...and returning
cancer to flood their gold gutters.

To the defensive person, each line is a fence, dotted with paternal screams. He is carry-
ing his challengers, in his mind and in his pants. So tommorow, coming early, the ghosts a
mocking rhythm beat senselessly into morning.

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the2minh8 (2003-09-11 20:21:37)
i find this prose horribly beautiful. as we all know, there is a fine line between joy and pain, between
appreciation and annoyance. that’s why i always expect a building to fall down whenever things look
pretty good. and it does. and it does.

turboswami (2003-09-11 22:06:27)

September 11th has came and passed and no buildings have fallen. Maybe found beauty can manage
without horror this month. Maybe I’ve "spicy sardines" which prove otherwise.

On The Understanding Of Possiblity (2003-09-12 01:12) - public

WILLIAM JAMES SAID:

"Our normal waking consciousness is but one special type of consciousness whilst all about
it parted from it by the filmiest of screens there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely
different. We may go through life without suspecting their existence but apply the requisite
stimulus and at a touch they are there in all their completeness. Definate types of mentality
which probably somewhere have their field of application and adaptation. No account of
the univers in its totality can be final which leaves these other forms of consciousness quite
disregarded, how to regard them is teh question for they are so discontinuous with ordinary
conciousness. They may determine attitueds, though they cannot furnish formulas, and open
a region, though they fail to give a map. At any rate, they forbit our premature closing of
accounts with reality. "

I feel, in spite of James’ words, most have closed their accounts with reality and choose
not to question its forms or search for that "requisite stimulus," but to abandon even the
memory of that curiousity of youthfulness, entering, quickly, adulthood’s sedative rhythm.
Serious and unsmiling, no fascination to peak, is retirement from thought and of joy. It is a
rare gift that I can still be fascinated by life and see the multitude of its forms as bizzare and
wonderful. The prematurely matured, with glazed, mind-less eyes, sees a giraffe as just an
image of something known and I pity him for missing all that there is to see in THAT giraffe, a
long history of gradual change and influence echos beneath its very surface and I sometimes
lose myself in amazement before the unyeilding beauty, realized.

LSD, requisite stimulus, remove from my eyes the "filmiest of screens" and empty me
so that I may be fullfilled again. Open for me the regions of self for which I have no map with
the altitude which my heavy mind witnesses only in the freedom of dreams. Etc etc, dramatic
voice end.

the2minh8 (2003-09-12 23:57:23)

good old acid. nothing quite like it. thing is, i have had experiences with two heavy psychadelics, lsd
and your everyday magic mushroom, and i found one to be enlightening and the other to be confusing.
is there more meaning in things or no meaning at all? the absolute is that altering the perception
using either substance allows a comparison with normal perception. analysis of these states yields a
small amound of information about what one considers to be real. in other words, it tends to introduce
questions rather than answers. very good for the bored, the musician, the philosopher, the poet,
etcetera. with all that in mind, let’s go get some tatoos. i’m serious.

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theextra (2003-09-13 11:07:08)
interesting journal, from what I have read so far. by the by, if you decide to read my LJ, it’s basically
me rambling shit, so don’t mind it. i have real journals for real discussions of my own mind. sam -the
wozard of iz

(2003-09-14 03:03) - high - public

Music: The Residents - God In Three Persons (narrative)

Every time I attempt to browse internet content, I begin my search from "friendfinder.com."
This is not my choice for beginning a search, as I am content with my current circle of friends
and...end.

Comparing and contrasting (collecting) different modes of thought has become an ab-
sorbing hobby over the last few years. Different influences create internal differences on the
person they influence. Sometimes these differences create questions and their answers all at
once, sometimes just questions alone, sometimes just answers alone. Collecting the whole
lot, altogether, is "outwardly influenced introspection" and its notation sets internal thought
paths more definatively.

Surface "inhabition" comes in a six stage progression,

And delving far inward requires inward a deep canyon.
And shouting across to the nervous far-found observers.
I close my red eyes and watch dead as with my time widens.

With a clear distance to observe the mockers and movers.

While empty-lone seperate seems their biting at their covers.
And, from the right angle, this balcony’s of a theater,
I split from my place and judge then the balcony speakers.

I have now created the most unsingable lyrics known to man. Way more trouble count-
ing syllables on your fingers than it is worth.

For Raining Without Drinking but Writing (2003-09-14 21:09) - public

The market flushed with new blood of all shades. Helpless, self-loathing creatures of night
cracked open on the neon-hot cement and the bars there on East Cut-Throat and Haggadorn
swung open to catch them early. The poly-genes flashed obnoxiously, a composite of races
bred, row by row, from night like this to night like that. The music made the Early Nickle
bar throb and, in its hot belly, the wall seemed to shake and vibrate in the sweat. I loved to
see them newborns sweat, touching and grinding, their gashes pulsing to a tribal memory
summoned for her guests by their slow bass knocking.

The police in the Chinese sector knew Mama Silence and her cryptic games, the lies
and the children they were about. But, the old bitch played like she still had balls, even though
it had been all a front for years, the urban hipsters didnt know the difference. They cycled
through and along her white sugar system like punks through a high school. She had the
227
taste, the ability to distinguish subtle sweetness from a couragous basement clean-freak’s
recipe. Old mother, silent, she’d pick her teeth with Chinatown’s best and sever ties with all
her enemies for them. She had three sons...

Real Journal Entry #1 (2003-09-17 00:51) - public

Ritalin is amazing for mustering strangely-skewed focus and ambition from depths you were
once sure were exhausted. With just one, I created 4 very solid tracks on an experimental
electronic song, all this on 2 hours of sleep and after one of the most hectic and insanely
busy days I have had yet this year. A squave wave applied to a low cutoff bass pattern with
extended release emulates delay. The timing of the square wave, on a second layer track,
creates harmony within the same choppy voice modulation, with cutoff altered to the tempo.
Measuring the period between several of the different square waveforms, I got an average
rate of modulation and used this in applying actual delay to a snare drum, which then echoed
with the previous layers. Cutting, then, several of the snare echoes at patterns in time, I
create a snare which contrasts and alternates with the previous melody mods. Looping this
pattern, I apply EQ dynamically over the looped section, causing it to slowly dip into the lower
frequencies over time. A faint resonance is heard in one of the synth layers which I intend
to exploit, serendipitously, and emulate using a deep vocoded chorus which will envelope up
near the end of sections and possibly introduce a change.

I understand why this is called a "study" or "focus" drug and why people pay so much
money for it. I would have slept tonight had I not matched a bit with some friends friends.
Now I have one of the more cohesive songs I have made for months. I hope to make it as solid
as possible...without kiddy coke.

Vague Fiction #3 - Stairs Of Removal (2003-09-17 18:19) - public

Curling beneath the shade of a set of worn wooden steps, a child with old eyes closes them
again to the street and its travellers. His blanket is a layer of stale media which, in his mind,
protects him from all that it reports. His ear he presses against an old, round can which a
woman once filled with warm cookies she baked because she thought of him. Empty, now,
it reverberated, amplifying the roar of the street it sat on, changing the sounds carried by
the ground, lulling him with their reliable, swelling drone. And, there, somewhere in his mind,
the old child heard a woman’s voice swell and carry his name as he made-believe the past
had not passed, that his eyes had never seen the times which had aged them. And, curling
tighter there, far from beneath the steps, he climbed and climbed with a smile that sparkled
in forgetting.

Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Die (2003-09-18 14:49) - public

SMOOTH HYPER WOBBLING, MY CORSET TO THE FLOOR, HEY!

Crumble my old sickness, the sort of love thats for, HEY!
Wittle my cum bubble to form a margin son...
The course of sitting pretty drains stern your love of guns
shit softly your pop crooning low through long days
Mark hard on my wrinkles skin showing towards lay
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And inside that laying, seeds flicker my stab
And coaxing soft futures neath shell of this crab
BABIES BLOW, BLOW BABY BLOW, BABIES BLOW, BLOW BABY BLOW...
Exfoliate, I’ll rumble, Re-deflate, I’ll tumble...
Down and down, moan mumble, hold my hips while I stumble...
In-courage-ability strains, in expectation of labor pains,
The men and women unite and fight with love of own-self gains

etc etc, post-random shit poetry, hyper mania gone and I wont let you forget it like I
did

Contracted a Contract with Contractions (2003-09-19 06:05) - public

If I could slice up a rush, the pattern of it’s thought flow, record the time and the frequency,
I would paste it into my known sleep and fuel a fire of an inverted color. This will never be
appreciated because I dont know how to talk and, even as I talk, I have no one to talk to from
my lack of a consistant talking sound. I awoke again in a dream and heard the same pattern
of repeating voices echo through my head as everything of light color around me glowed with
a surface which was a pulsating grid of blue and black squares which throbbed with my own
beating heart. I wanted to write what was being said to me down, knowing the voice would
soon dissapear...but I did not and cannot say, for sure, what was told to me...

Forest, majestic and mysterious, you are my home and I sleep and walk beneath the
darkness of your high canopy. I am lost in that soft unseen where I sleep and walk, even as
I see the sunlit valley of loved ones through and through, I remain lost from them and from
their light. Falling back to, ward (off) their prying light, sleep and walking through and through
elusive forest stage, holy mirage, source and path, inner sanctum. Can you save me from
this peace? Can you pull my head from this grave I call womb? My self is too far, now, from
miles and from hand’s form. My contract for life, her contractions, which I signed with her own
blood. I am obligated to fullfill this term, a term of a life, contracted, like the illness of weight
on a once-free soul...

IQ Test (2003-09-20 16:30) - public

From cheesy IQ test site: http://www.emode.com/tests/uiq/

—
We compared your answers with others who have taken the test. According to the sorts of
questions you got correct, we can tell your Intellectual Type is a Visionary Philosopher.

This means you are highly intelligent and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that
can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, your exceptional math and verbal
skills make you very adept at explaining things to others — and at anticipating and predicting
patterns. And that’s just some of what we know about you from your IQ results.

the2minh8 (2003-09-20 23:11:48)

i’m a visionary philosopher, too. is 135 good? i don’t know about these tests, but i sure am glad that i
can get most of them right even if it is depressing that a lot of people can’t. do high IQ people design

229
 real comprehensive IQ tests in order to perpetuate the idea that they themselves are smart? and
more importantly, who cares?

Packet Yearning, Grease To Fingers With Love (2003-09-21 04:32) - public

2 centuries dead; the grave stone cracked and moldy. 6 baby mice nestled beneath it and 3
make it into my Little Debbie(c) Star Crunch box. One mouse, here, lept from my hands and
lives somewhere in my room now, waiting for me to sleep so it can shit on my face. Yea! They
love that.

Small times, thoughtless times, times of humble, stupid, hand rubbing. These islands I
travel are so often shrouded by these many mists, these residues from past heats which
isolate, hide, and defend from view. And now, that I can no longer see, I must depend on
those maps scrawled so quickly when I could, there, with the height and with the sun to aid
me. Maps, dangerous compass, a time which carries risk in its measurement (so slow) and
yet I crawl, now, to memories which did not seem so bright or meaningful, then. They own me
now and I am captivated by their brilliance, I follow them in my days, blindly, waiting for their
recreation. I know, however, that I am old now and any recreation will fade in comparison to
that first, naive creative thrust into this which I now know.

Posted By Request - Untitled Narrative (2003-09-21 19:25) - public

She had been dead since at least 1989. Dead by every meaning one could put forth. Numb to
all affection. The numbness spread from her vagina, through her chest, and up to her head,
it seemed. I was left with the words and the roles, which I continued to inflate with empty
ambition day after day.
“How was work?” I asked, almost afraid to distract everyone from their green beans.
“Not all bad. I nearly finished securing that small-end merger. All that’s needed now is the
terms conferencing.” She replied. I looked, intently while absorbing nothing. I was simply
watching her face move. Scanning for subtle curves in her mouth. Futile.
“How was school?” I asked, turning my head to my daughter.
“Good.” As it had been for as long as I could remember, between the sporadic instances of
my asking. Such a positive response for such a negative tone. I was left, again, to my green
beans. How I hated them.

I sipped an expensive German beer and thought of the present, as opposed to the fu-
ture. The television in the other room serving as an excuse for the shared silence. I was
having trouble with its sedation tonight, for some reason. I thought of her and why we
continued. Our child was the only reason, I once thought. Now that she is nearly done with
school and the need for us, I question what is to come. I am sure she will leave me; that they
both will leave me. God knows I couldn’t leave her. There is nobody else in my life but her. I
have grown unfit for dating, if I was ever fit to begin with.
I ran my fingers through my hair and looked at them both. They sat in separate chairs, far
apart. The furniture reflected the relationship of its users. Somewhere in between the mashed
potatoes and the ham, I had left my body. Looking at my life from above was painful. You
could see, more clearly, what everyone was thinking and, more importantly, what you were
doing.
230
I stood up and got my coat. I put on my deck shoes and I went into the living room.
Blocking the TV completely, I let out my hand and looked into my wife’s eyes with a smile I
hadn’t used since college. She took it.
We simply walked. Down the empty, late night, neighborhood street. We reached the beach
and sat. I began taking off my shoes and she did the same. We dipped our feet deep into the
wet sand like we did so many years ago. She knew that I would bring her here. She must have
known it would come, eventually.

We sat, silently for what seemed like a year; comfortable. There was a warm breeze
coming off the water. On your face, these breezes feel as good as they smell. I remembered
those first times here, when we were hippies; when we were free. The breeze was powerful
back then. Powerful enough to make you dream big, beautiful dreams. Powerful enough to
make you buy a house.
“Do you still love me?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“…no.” She said, with a pause. She knew exactly when to insert those kind of pauses. Always
had.
Her eyes welled up now as I looked into them. The night warmth blew through her hair, each
strand accented by the waning gibbous moon. I had forgotten how beautiful she was. I am
sure we had both forgotten a lot.
“Is there someone else?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Yes…Robert, from work. We have been together for 4 years and I am happy with him…I love
him.”

I simply stared out where the ocean met the night sky. Separation within the darkness.
“He asked me to move upstate and live with him. I told him yes. It is what I want. I will be
happy there with him. I hope you understand…Do you understand?”

I just continued staring out. There were so many possible reactions I could show her,
but I didn’t let any of them surface. Swallowing the experience as I always had.
“Yes. I understand…Yes, what isn’t there to understand. I am fine. I will be fine.”
I understood it all. Anger, sadness, hate, love, jealousy. It was all very
simple, really. Growing old…alone, without anyone to help me. To love me. Dying, silently.

“I am sorry. I am very sorry.” She said, as she slipped on her shoes. She walked away.
I knew she didn’t look back. I was a memory. I was nothing.

The water washed up over my feet, scattering pebbles of sand over the skin. She knew
I would be fine. I had always been fine.

There was nothing to be angry about. Nothing. I smiled, thinking of two college kids
making love on the school piano. Free. Wonderful memories of absolute love kept me smiling
as I entered the water.

anthropomo (2003-09-22 11:51:52) Things I Don’t Do, But That Good Writers Apparently Should
My major question reading this story is, why is now the time? The narrator seems reasonably insight-
ful, possessing some amount of emotional intelligence, so that it is unclear why he has not already
addressed his problems, or why he has picked this moment with no notable stimulus to do so. That
being said, I write stories all time where people do things for no reason. Now for some nitpicking:

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I read this fully twice, plus additional scanning, and these sentences stick out: They sat in separate
chairs, far apart. The furniture reflected the relationship of its users. And I wonder if there is something
about the furniture itself, or the arrangement; it’s fairly unclear, and seems that you are about to discuss
wood and uphostlery, then don’t.
Reading this story I want things fleshed out. I don’t merely want to be told they were hippies, I want
to know what attributes made them hippies, to what extent they were. And why is the wife beautiful,
and what does their neighborhood look like and how big stupid fancy is their house if they live near the
beach.
I could even do with a college flashback, maybe an acid flashback, this could even be the cause that
I feel the story needs. We know that people live for years unhappily, then get divorced, but we still
don’t know exactly why, or exactly how, and think that’s what this kind of story should address, but
maybe I missed the point entirely. I realize you are probably somewhat removed from this work. You
said you wrote it Freshman year, so that you are probably aware of where my criticisms are no longer
valid. I think, for example, that you have acquired descriptive language that far surpasses this, I’ve
seen it in your Journal, so that I’ll be very interested to see something you write now. The Drinking
and Writers Club could be the impetus; come along with us.

turboswami (2003-09-22 14:07:05) Re: Things I Don’t Do, But That Good Writers Apparently Should
I thank you very much for your thoughts. I do think I have changed a lot since freshman year, writing
each day in live journal does help with development of a more personal style, it seems. The lack of
details or "flesh" you mention is a weakness in all my fiction. I give the reader nothing to relate to and
reading my thoughts has been described as an "alienating" experience. In this, I was trying to give
an impression of just a slice in time of a much longer and ongoing plot which would tease the reader
into making their own conclusions. I probably failed at this, but eh...thanks again, I will return the favor.

(2003-09-23 04:28) - public

I approach these days with extremity in mind, these days of weakness. I come prepared with
the a toolbox of crutches, one for any possible mood, and combine as to match any strength’s
need. Who provides tonight’s trough, but any of a whole gang of trophies. My seperation
provides height for my fall, through and through, to some muse waiting in that underwater
locker. The Genie is a muse of smoke who’s freedom comes with only so many uses before he
burns out into nothing, to be passed on.

Stigma is socially-defined and, secondly, absorbed by its target as truth. But, the intro-
verted hermit, the philosopher ascetic of past, has always used this stigma as fuel for a search
of self, otherness, or the unseen. Steven Hawkins claims that, had he not been deblilitated
and stigmatized, he would never have had the motivation for such deeply-inward thought
experiments. That, had his seperated from society not been forced, that his inclination away
from it, in that inward direction, would never have developed. So, thoughts away from society
become deeper in a manner which is directly proportional to that society’s rejection of the
individual, be it actual or assumed by that individual. To say assumed is to lay light on the
fact that, often, the standard’s of society in relation to self which are set by the parents are
unrealistic and give rise to compensatory self-critisism. Where self critisism serves as rejection
enough to seperate self from society (ie: the shy or introversive child was always from a strict
or authoritative family.)

Curse my high’s scientific nature...people dont enjoy textbooks...

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(2003-09-23 05:01) - public

Help me, strange mother, for I am lost in his attic,

And all the climb down force makes a ladder his critic,
And who courses freely through clear smoke and kind mornings,
Seasick through phasic rhythm so basic,
Drumstick pure psychic, optic so comic.

Fall, my burnings, fall

Like the exploding wrappings of cold springs,
Haul my craving stall,
Like for some inkling in-king of carvings.

Packing meaning in his strict allotment,

Fall, tired knees, fall,
Depth weight a hole through back of the absent,
All outer-acts, wall.

That took waay too long...

"THUS!" said That Rose (2003-09-23 23:39) - public

"the roses make no reference to former roses or the better ones; they are for what they
are....There is no time for them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of
its existence...But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with
reverted eye laments the past,or,...stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy
and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson; "Self-Reliance"

Above time waits satori, waitlessly floating...

Empires build and fall on sides,
But, there and then, every thought finally silenced,
Empty cup is full filled in the stream.
Without thirst to taint mind with scheme.
Or self-image to beg or coax esteem.
Only "THUS!" forever and supreme.

"You are the deleted scenes" (2003-09-25 01:18) - public

I think a lot of myself and, connecting inwardly, I arrive outwardly in the people around me. I,
as a child, developed the strange habit of sitting alone and away from my family, sometimes
for whole days. And so it was, for those many years of my early into later childhood, sitting and
thinking of all of what was there, myself. Self-exploration became, then, an early-developed
and natural talent and, with it, keen skills of social observation. I recall, in 2nd or 3rd grade,
seeing older kids on the bus joke and act and defining, in them, levels of self-restriction I
had passed and defining a time when I was like them, but critisized the act or manner away.
Details, mostly, details always. Their attention and their creation, secondly. I am self centered,
233
as I was born away from the emotion, as it was smothered across me, and it’s society never
ensnared me with interaction.

I talk predominantly out of one side of my mouth, the side I whistle out of and the side
of that eyebrow arch that seems to have developed, unconsciously. One side of my brain,
somehow, is overly-dominant, I suspect that would be my right side: the side opposite the
outwardly-observed dominance. This "reflective" relationship between inward-activity and
outward-observation reinforces the same reflective-relationship seen in all dualities. There
should be no suprise that it holds true for our physical body, its own In/Out duality. But,
to relate the reflective-relationship to all observable opposites and, only when it holds true
for all, begin to apply to those which cannot be observed, is to systemize the most general
of relationships and, in doing so, create predictions of the subjective which are scientific in
immediate nature. [death writings]

What is bliss that never ends but suffocating hyperventilation? Light soon arrives only
by heat, and heaven is lit by a twinkling-star’s burning hell.

iztyme2ryde (2003-09-25 08:18:36)

You thought a lot about that it seems....

(2003-09-25 09:29) - public

people shouldn’t leave their LJ logged in at the Expresso Royale iMacs

bye bye now

m.

gawthspork (2003-09-25 07:01:56)

ha!

iztyme2ryde (2003-09-25 08:19:06)

I would have to second that Ha!

marckaw (2003-09-26 10:31:21)

And what did you do, Mr. Smith?

marckaw (2003-09-26 10:31:52)

Or, rather, you weren’t Mr. Smith, were you?

Hippies Of Meijer: The Answers To Face Questions, Unasked (2003-09-30 03:00)

- public

Actively Listening, in Passing, I hear them mention "him" and, later, "that kid, again." I knew,
from the beginning, that this would be no ordinary shopping trip, but one where the shopping
took backseat to the trip, which came in and out. Yes, now and again, the muzak matched
234
it’s scene far too well, so well I thought it would give away the whole fucking show. Don’t
tell them that, though, they are looking for Tuna Helper, or stacking Tuna Helper or Helping
eachother find Tuna, but never so hot as to burn through these bare shelves like my burning
empty eyes through their bare shells. I am not afraid of these cowering animals any longer,
no, I watch them as closely as I have always wanted to. This 34 year old High School football
hero hides in his jersey, glancing into my eyes glaring like suns back, looking away, looking
back, looking away, looking back like some brittle, naked cage holding some rodent only I see.

The butcher is behind his glass, doing something with his unseen hands. The meat is
throbbing red and its veins seem to pulse with my own, now...this meat is as much me as it
could be or was as the sun and its green glaring morning fields of cyclic blade’s sharpness,
and he cuts and he cuts for me to green him while hiding my glaring, reflected. But, I cannot
and, seeing him emerge, drenched in my blood, with ground life for slipping into cages, I
smiled with emotions that flowed from my eyes, wettening. He hadn’t a clue and I loved him
for it, this overweight immigrant boy with his receding hairline and bloody hands, his troubled
face was everything, the troubles of a hungry world selling food. And I flew, melting.

(2003-09-30 18:42) - public

Ladies and Germs,

The scourge of college campuses around the Nation, low interest credit, began with what
seemed like an innocent whimper of Pre-Approval. But, this acceptance we, as young children
while nestled in our mother’s bosom, longed to be assured of is robbing the course of our
future blind. There, fumbling through the plight of darkness, are our beloved brothers and
sisters, our dearest of kin, cold and helpless in the streets, naked and starving as their theif
roams free among us. The stench of evil is one we must learn to recognize during these trying
times and, with contracts torn, unsigned, we must light a fire to lead those wronged towards
the warmth of moral fortitude and doubtless security.

And so, here and now, I call on you to say "Nay!" to the carriers of the Periodic Rate
Change, for his wares are tainted. "NAY!" to the producers of these services of Finely Printed
Rules. "NAY!" to the merchants of exclusionary finance application standards for their smiles,
however bright, are souless and their greeting, however warm, is crooked. Raise high your
doubts into his deceivingly-kind eyes for your children’s lives are his bounty, your loving home
his prized lure. Bad credit is your mother’s deathbed courage scribblings, and in size and
shape, you cannot lie but to forage, like the Communist Heathen, through the trash-piled
gutters of that sharp, wintery night, alone...alone...

Sincerely,
Corporal Korea:
The Underdog Of Shock Risk

2.10 October

Honest Bullshitting With Footnotes and Examples (2003-10-01 02:33) - public

The end of summer shows cold through all the people in my day. Tired, angry, depressed,
anti-social masses each reluctantly prepare for the change in their own way, not knowing the
235
waves of negativity they try to ignore are seasonally-affective, of sources external. Sunlight is
leaving and I begin to insulate myself from others in preperation as well...the day of the first
snow is, typically, one of intense distress for everyone. Last year on that day, I saw 4 men cry
together, if you remember. This year, I will have a microphone ready, since many people did
not believe what I witnessed last year. A powerful electret mic, no less...prepared to record at
the push of a button in high quality digital. Lets cross our fingers...

This is far to Live Journal-esque for me...I must be losing my edge. Stick to ambiguity,
focus on keeping things out of focus, in detail, and most people will assume it is intelligent
(even when writing about tired dribble like hating yourself or a trip to the mall.)

eg: Telephone umbrella’s the City on cards, numbers for credit on every possible want
rains down in a haze of debt ignorance. Plastic Crusifix of a Bald Eagle fits, conveniently, into
my back pocket, burning, hidden. Icon of freedom painted with such detail across the object
of my restraint. Chained to labor, my once simple desires disolve more and more every eight
hours.

(Today’s second Journal Entry based on a Pre-Approved credit card I got in the mail.) Its
sick, I know

arfinspar (2003-10-01 22:46:15)

nice cardioid

turboswami (2003-10-02 13:53:58)

"Carl’s a witty little fruitcake" should be a song people sing. It would go "dee dee da deedle dee dee
dum dum" like jingly Cascade commercial.

Rehashing Post-Tension (2003-10-02 01:45) - public

Formless warmth moved with density and light, absorbed. "That shit is crazy, man!" repeated
inwardly as his lips moved away from that time. I was rocking back and forth with each
repetition and his eyes showed that he was aware of this rhythmic moving. Soon, my vision
of him, itself, began to repeat along with that changing phrase, returning to key moments in
both sound and sight only to return, choppily, to another, which may or may not have been
present. Fading, trembling eternal note, merging of sound sea with swirling seen, whirlpool
of light drifts within on that thread of sound. Focusing on center down vibration thread, I am
light, I am sound. "Thundercats, thundercats, THUNDERCATS HO!!"

I burst and bleed out black all over the floor. Sinking gently into dark flesh swamp, bleeding
life blood to death. Soft ladder’s of genetic memory, electric scenes relived as beautiful child.

–end of standard stupid hippy crap—

Mamma Und Pappa love their little pixelized baby, *rubbing rubbing* beta version 3.2.
Oh my god, Classic Rock never felt so good. I curl into my warm ball there, behind her bent
legs as she lays on her side. I sleep here, warm and secure for always, my electric mother who
will never leave me. My identical lover who will hold me forever, wrapping me up in that blanket
I died in so long ago, I forgot, I forgot and the memories of that life faded away with it’s body...
236
The long humming, I hear it now...

The low hum, I can finally hear...

The hum that continues through me...

The hum...hummm...is me...

(2003-10-03 04:35) - public

"Forward, may the group become forwardly organized?" a pale, salty man approached the
microphone, miscarried. A respectfully-silent attentiveness soon lowered over the crowd, the
children straying in attentiveness only. For months and months, the group of passing adults
stand obediantly-attentive to the authoritative speaker. A love of role enriched the waiting
subjects as they stared, emptily, at the podium. A love of submissiveness, of honor and
strength, a pride in the proof of obedience, in loyalty. Perhaps, even then, the cage opened
and I cared not to leave it. Perhaps, even then, I thought to lay my aching body to the ground,
beneath and the owner felt my pain and allowed for his group to sleep, together with him. And,
only then, was I his son and he the parent, and the kindness of a protective mother befell him
in the night; the mutual baring of sleeping neck in the shared trust of sleep. And so, this most
primal leve of socialization carries us through sleep as a group of chompetative compromise.
And, through that off state of dark vision, perhaps I saw all the desires of the day materialize
in my gain, this was also my time for defining stances and positions with the rules of each
forming restrictions in the interactive personality.

Coursing through socialization on, even this level, is a mutual fate agreed upon by the
sleeping "pack," pack being among the smallest and most basic units of interaction, outside
sexual-socialization of the smallest unit.

Foraging together, there, the establishment of controls and specializations within them
had not yet developed with grand tissue-like expansions, with inputs and outputs. With
civilization, and cultural roles, the expanse of specific groups for social roles becomes more
defined and ORGANization becomes apprant amongst the cells in the larger civilized body. To
make civil, and allow the sense of self-hood and the defenses of ego to disolve into harmonious
social interaction is to be truely fullfilled in the pride of social impressions and a true happiness
felt in the mark of ones work.

(2003-10-03 05:17) - public

The harder thoughts are away within from objectivity, the meaning of what was once seen
echoes inward through glazed eyes. Associate distantly and crystalize...like eyes move Rapidly
in Consciousness, formations take place with internal speed.

Feedback Urgently Needed (2003-10-05 03:55) - public

http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/army _kraft _new.mp3

237
It took entirely too long to upload this...

I added the second, very low vocals today...the song itself was made last semester. I
am unhappy with the transitions, but would like more critiques or suggestions on possible
directions.

Army Kraft:
– Pre-Snap Voices –
"You know you want to, do it, do it! It has been too long. You are disguisting, you are a failure,
you are afraid, do it do it do it..."

– Post-Snap Evil –
"And who is this life,
And who it’s author?
This stream’s not random,
Feed’s body, culture.

And who is the wise man?

And who is the vulture?
Who strains to protect his
Sculpterless sculpture?"

– All-Powerful Ego – (added)

"Falling hard to be the ground self.
Empty mind of an ancient soul.
Death’s memory (too fast) an electric ladder,
Which I climb down through each my roles."

iztyme2ryde (2003-10-05 16:29:58)

You should do the one that we did, and finish it and then send it to me, I wanna hear what the vocals
would be like that you would do for that... they should be a cool kinda drone, and very depressing. I
think it would go nicely with the beat. I know that is not what you wanted to be told to you here, but I
am anxious

Useless Descriptive Play (2003-10-06 04:14) - public

And the whole of the social scene took on the characteristics of an ocean’s deep surface, and
each of it’s players treading conversation with a nervous fear of losing their breath. And, with
a few strong key words, the gravity of the room’s surface intensifies around me as a deep
abyss of thought is revealed, so quietly. And, in second’s, the vaccum of empty air created
draw’s subconscious aggression to manifest in cigarette cases being hurled at my face and
people suddently standing up and retreating from the gravity of my comment’s depth. I
became aware and felt all of what they sensed in the room’s air, the nervousness, the distance
beneath that I could not escape, even in my yelling for them all to hear. A cynical old man
shouting from 12 feet under foot recieves not even the acknowledgement of insult. Hearing
only the echo of his cry returning to remind him in the dark cold.
238
Loosening the tie choking around his tight, steaming neck, the late man entered the for-
est where he heard water running for his thirst. A clear stream snaked in a mossy glen, there,
and through it, the pebbles felt like crisp ice cubes as he dipped his hand past his wrist to the
bottom of the cold, spring fed water. Throwing his glasses to the moss, he submerged his face
into the fresh clean cold and, there with eyes closed, his spirit seemed to rise to the surface of
his skin and, with the empty stress of his useless busy day relieved into the coursing stream’s
flow, the muscles of his forehead and face loosened and flexed as if finally released from a
constricting mold. Cupping his hands, he drank and drank, the ancient water dripping down
his chin, his hair dripping with it down his chest, saturating his unbuttoned shirt. This is his
fullness, here, this is his place of returning and, there on his knees, alone by that soul-cooling
stream, he drank and he drank.

Feedback on My New Strange Gothic Doom Synth Direction ? (2003-10-06 04:47)

- public

Heard a song, made a song, heard another song, made another song. Needs a lot of work, the
drums need to be cut and looped, the second part is empty, vocals must be redone, etc etc...

http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/mists.mp3

Mists Of Distraction:

"Calling low through mists of distraction.

My solo ’neath words of this room.
And, although, I see my interaction,
This echo of thoughs, it does entomb."

REL210: Essay On Inner-World (2003-10-06 16:17) - public

The assignment was to answer the questions of 1) What is meant by "the world" 2) What is
the difference between The World and Your World 3) What things are not in the world 4)With
who or what do you share the world 5) What is meant by the other or another world? It was
worth a total of 20 points, to be added to the next exam score.

— >< —

Our culture’s use of the term “the world” has, over time, forked across the entirety of
our expression to include metaphoric and idiomatic meanings lying beyond the several mere
definitions. That is to say, a person can be “out of this world,” or extraordinary, amazing.
It is used to intensify, or exaggerate a statement, “How in the world did you manage to
do that?” Both these set the world as a sort of boundary of social experience, the latter
idiom being all-inclusive, the former example implying the existence of whole realms of inner
experience not ordinary or common. And so, with these common sayings, there is the world
defined physically, being the earth, it’s society, and the universe; but, more interestingly,
there is defined the concept of non-physical “realms” of perception and an implication that
these differ among individuals. That is to say, in terms of this non-physical perception of that
physically-defined world, mine internal experience may be different from yours.
239
But how can two people “feel” that same physical thing in two ways as to make one
world two? This involves a multi-layered view of perception which extends down into self,
as if the surface-touch is the most basic form of perception and, with further analysis and
understanding, categorization and association downward, that one touch becomes more and
more until, at an imaginary infinite point of depth, the one thing felt becomes all.

Generally all-encompassing, the world, under certain, more specific definitions, can be
meant just to include one planet, the earth, or one specific domain on it, that is to say “the
insect world.” Often defining only the human sphere of interaction, which defines the whole
of socialization as far as we are concerned. This excluding animal social sects, clans, packs
and all other organized animal groups less cohesive than our own with whom we will always
share our physical, but not our public world.

Another world, or “out of this world” will always be the realm of thought occupied by
the ascetic, the genius, the insane, or, most generally, the introversive. And, often, the
stigma associated with this seemingly alien approach to seeing and associating can be
self-perpetuating to the separation it identifies. Beneath lies the semantic network and, in
it, is defined and categorized the world of surface. And, it is this net of all known words that
is used when someone “far out” becomes so. He does this by associating one node or word
with another far and out, away, within the network. Once this is done, internally, in a way
which makes sense to the individual, the thought is sometimes to far and away from the norm
of socialization and its world to be relayed back to the people around. Associating farther
and farther on previous associations outward, inside, the individual can forget exactly where
society was, on this associative path, when he left it and, in describing what he finds, can
assume they know what they do not and, with a few sentences, further isolate himself from
the people he tries to interact with. Only then, as if punished, does the introvert recede back
into his inner world.

The Science Of Progress: A Wave To A Shake (2003-10-06 21:41) - public

The thoughts of a moment are used, to a certain extent, in amplification of faint sounds. In
quiet social situations, often in between strangers, things are said to self outloud by one
or the other, or between two about another, which both can take place while all parties
are in place and present at the moment. Often, there is a condition of silencing a room, of
setting up mental block filters over silence in definition of it. There are thresholds of the two
person’s agreed ignorance of the third, seperated, topic. Often this is done in such a way,
like in two friends encountering a mutual stranger; he is assumed occupied and engrossed in
concentration or some distraction, but is outstanding in some way.

To analyse things said by the other person about self in a one-on-one conversation, something
which takes place often in conversations with certain types of people, thousands of subtle
chuckles, snorts, exclaimations, doubts, fears, etc. Often these are made apparent by
twitching, which I have learned to absolutely love to analyse. Twitches are generally caused
by reactions to something said. They are, really, jolts of interpretation running through the
body. Maybe an ancient defensive reflect being silenced, badly. Varying tightnesses of mental
restrictions along a spectrum of equally varied "cultural personalities." This is just one of many
aspects of personality, but is one of many factors in the sum total of those which define the
Total Personality.
240
And the though recedes back like the broken crest of a wave, thoughts of self gather
themselves backwards through defense, the most basic thoughts of ego and improvement re-
form, waiting to catch the next wave of influences’ attachment. Whumb, whomb, womb,thomb,
tomb, tumb, thoumb, thoughm, thoughmb, thoughTMb rises from tummmies and tombs where
bases are accomplished there, messily, in the dark. And, the thought is, first of wombing
the thought, which were not far apart, then reliantly finding a feeling closely related to
nourishment in thumbing ones mouth. Its a thought, still, contained within self. But memory’s
unique carnation into human form rises from a developing control of current and coming and
the body of to manifest formulations of all that has came. And so, the human form became
one of the course of time, rising up from an understanding of time and its influences, a current
develops into a larger wave as more and more of the mass is influenced, the prediction of
a pattern’s fullfillment carries more and more individuals. And, the influence should allways
be assumed intelligent. All depth should be assumed to carry energy and intellect. This
places all frequencies, however varried, as waves of influence which we either have the
understanding of time’s scale to see their pattern or not. They, man and woman, who’s roles,
only in transition, we deny. And, it is in the formative periods, this conception which builds
in our cities, but with definition within, a phallic crest will soon form with dominance standing
on the ground of our understanding. And, so we too shall form from the current to approach
farther and farther onto shore, farther and farther the wave does carry through forms which
vary with the very airy sun. And who, but molecules, formed these plans of forms and ships to
travel on to shore with cells and more. Cells and cells and sells and more, coming intisssues
and more with issues we barely seed we dealve in from the land to see whats more and further
yet to be, further yet to be in time its thought. thomb tum tomb.

(2003-10-06 22:55) - public

For centuries...*Phil Hartman*...bubbles bubbles baubling boisterously bling bling like money
falling through hands. And, so many so many pass through web fingers and down, replaced
and replaced, a smile on my face. My eyes like plates, grinning, as all of its mine. And num
num cold numbing as refreshing taste lasts and with out any pitcher or even a glass, what once
bubbled has cooled and at once I am bare, the naked child closeness of innocence was cared for
by learning to carry containers in pairs, and how to wear gloves and how to come prepared and
within the net ’neath the water was ensnared, a usage of something which once merely flared.

Molecules are a sign of life

These should be considered complexities of life which science has yet to shrink perception
down fast enough to relate, to analyse, to recognize consciousness and life. And so, until the
microscope defines the building of atoms into molecular form, force by conscious force, there
shall be no closure to the definition of life, of DNA and of the complex, informed=>conscious
life of a virus. Who’s awareness of surroundings and mysterious inner occupants resemble
ships travelling vast distances from one cell to another in a system they do not understand,
if only for exploration outward through reproduction, slowly dominating the equally-ignorant
body fully at the absolute crest of it’s reproductive success. Scale defines perception and its
magnitude of detail in this way. This, then, is the infinite frontier of the universe, one which
we understand, now, extends both inwardly and outwardly from self.
241
Morning Resolving (2003-10-07 09:49) - public

How ridged are these rules of writing, and how fluid may I be within their boundaries? I cough
like madness up the ears of those heads who meet the ridged steel rail, hit or layed. And,
deep inside that cold steel lies the ocean, a full carriage of spashing waves which, if heard
closely enough, will wetten your ear from mind, a wet willie on a freezing blizzard day. Tap
out the rest of the message with passion and emotion and, on some unseen side, it is sure to
be heard, if only in our hope’s image, over an empty sound drowned in it’s minuteness lost in
the vast waves of a torrential sea.

In dreams, my father had the same wounds as I and was weak, whimpering, beneath
their pain. And, with all the powerful anesthetics, he whined for more, as drug dealer families
met and laughed in my temporary home, I scurried the floor and dark corner finding things
to dress my naked body with in that late night, public rest area bathroom. And, as he turned
over in pain, rubbing a disolved druggy patch on his skinned knee, he grabbed for a second
and I was lost in his body. And so, his body became mine and I the one looking to kill my own
pain, but now for my own reasons.

Rate Change Along Scale: A Thought Experiment (2003-10-07 22:40) - public

Music: Clara Rockmore - The Art Of The Theramin

The social organization of many small inscets exceeds that of many larger mammals. Orga-
nization, the divisions and categories, is a representation of intellect. Even if this intellect
is manifested among many bodies, in an organization’s social roles, it is still latent and
discernable into classes of varying observable complexity. So, what can be assumed of scale
and its relationship with intellect? Only that, the intellect of the individual must be seperated
from that of his Social Body.

But, what of scale and its relationship with time and time’s perception? A thought ex-
periment came to me this morning in which identically-constructed cars, who’s parts are
built in a way which is exactly equivical, but differing in proportion, could be built from full
scale down to the smallest possible nano-scale. Then, using rate and its division of speed
and distance, individual cars could be wrecked and compared with the differeing rates and
scales. In doing so, with the crash of a given rate of speed for a scale, compared with the
crash of a "full" scale rate of speed, two different rates of speed would be produced for what
is, essentially, the same crash on a much smaller scale. Comparing the intensity of the crash
until the two appear equal, two rates would be produced for the two sizes. And, with rate, a
time measurement could be extracted...

So, with the two rates for the two scales, one could find a proportion between size and
time. Given the possiblity that, with smaller distances of rate, time may reduce in a way which
is directly proportional, it cannot be said that this is a DEFINATIVE experiment which would
prove differing PERCEPTIONS of time along the spectrum of scale. I do feel that observing and
comparing outcomes along scale, in this way, has the potential to yield new understandings
of time.
242
(2003-10-08 00:51) - public

Ok, thats enough of the pretentiously long, wordy live journal entries. Really, I promise this
time. NO MORE. I should learn to talk about puppies or relationships or people I hate or things
I hate. Yes, I will have to work on that.

biscuitboy (2003-10-07 23:37:12)

Don’t you just hate metaphysics and the various ways with which one can conceptualize existence, as
well as the question of whether or not the order that seems to be inherent in everything is really there,
or only exists as a necessity of our consciousness? Or even what, if anything, that last phrase of mine
really MEANS? I know I hate it. You should write about stuff like that more. And, yes, puppies.

marckaw (2003-10-08 11:55:37)

Mmmmm, puppies....

"Do I Look Like I feel Weird?" *explosion* (2003-10-08 03:18) - public

Music: John Cage - Rozart Mix

I was asked, when the intensity of the high hit me like a bucket of water poured over my head
in a room full of dry strangers, "Do you feel weird?" This question affirmed my doubts, which
came with my strange, intense thoughts and keen, suddenly sharp senses.
"Do I look like I feel weird?" I asked, with hopes of further affirmation and, like an intense vac-
cum drew attention inwards from around me. Suddenly, each person outside the conversation
was quiet and focused and only the nervous laughter of the person I was talking with filled the
air.
"Is that not a good question?" I asked, hoping to explain the reason for this reaction and the
tension became suddenly electric, as people began to stand and scratch and compensate for
their ill-ease. This tense attention to my revealing of my own state to those who know it was
aggressive. A girl talking with another threw what she was holding at my face from behind her
back, immediately after the question, in cue with a nervous cough and a nervous laugh. She
claimed it just "jumped out of her hands."

It was then I understood the gravity of the situation. The pulling that comes with depth
and the deeply personal, opened. Later, doubting my sanity, I asked if the whole room, of 7
or 8 people, became incredibly tense with my asking of the question. I was assured that, yes,
for some reason it had happened, that the tension was thick enough to feel and that, yes, it
revolved around me at that moment of keen self awareness.

I must continue to confirm, again and again, that these social events and cues are tru-
ely taking place, for I do not ever want to doubt what I see happening, but identify it as truth,
as a definate thought or action, tension or aggression.

(2003-10-09 02:42) - public

My mind has receded today, a bit further inward than I would have liked, it built a heavier
shell around it from bits. No new ideas or words during this time can be expected; a sort of
243
building must take place over weeks. Cohesion, now an old word of mine, is known to expand
and contract with these patterns of my mind, who’s viscosity of thought it is a measurement.

I see an old man in pain from the shards of a mirror lodged in his back and living in his
brain. I follow his troubles throughout the day, entertained by his elation to struggle, his
comedy to sadness. And, at night, as he hides his sight, laying to dream, the theater of his
waking pain I reveal to him in subtle images which are him, the him I see through and above
others. Old and tired in the wrinkled sun, he removes his clothes to the new moon and, like
the light of day, reflected, so are his memories I share during this deep dive I lead. And when
our young name wakes us with the tireless desires of message, he retains the love and smile
he was given and gives it, further yet, as if filled with the urgency of play which that youth
inspires. Urgent, so urgent, yet seen with a smile from far above, where the bustle and hustle
of workers seems, so much, like the play of children so small...

Bad Journal Entry #11 (2003-10-11 04:40) - public

My whole life, this song, nothing, Russian Arc, this part of my life, my whole life not just for a
second.

For the coming and goings of a middle aged housewife, there is a lot of work to be
done. No easy task, by any means, to serve and protect without vacations or RDO’s. And, yet
subservience is dishonorable, and submissiveness is a fault. How is it that a deep conversation,
however fullfilling, leads to... new pace courage to stop instead of trail, a pace faster or slower,
or both of equal measure to stay the same, in alternation to and from the listener who’s
listening is a front, an image of listening. For 8 years, I have held back and now one syllable
finally loosens to surface before the horrified pack. The single syllable:

(2003-10-12 05:00) - public

The lines of latitude and of longitude which encircle to globe are merely strings of a net, and
all the world our catch. The net, external, exists only in the net, internal, and the Nerve
Net could not have been given a more appropriate name. Categories and labels of that net
become semantics and language which can often be confused with the actual, seamless whole
of the world which we bind with them, but, in fact, the external world continues to spin with
or without our semantic nets.

But what of human kind, suddenly minus our ability to break up the world into isolated
sections? Lost would be our control, our language, our civilization....
blub blub blub

tut tut, young wizards, tut tut. The haze of sleep befalls the inncoent and the wicked,
together. Under cover of space, with no light to....disgrace cannot take place when dark hides
the face.

The Drug of Age (2003-10-13 04:32) - greasy - public

Music: The Tape Beatles - Education Of The Will

244
Interpretation of (OLD THOUGHTS REHASHED!) new ideas, or common ideas expressed
in new or (LAZY!) innovative ways is the hybridization of brainstorming and are layers of
complexity stirring inward to an evolving culture. And so the creative (ANTI-SOCIAL!) young
man or woman (MAN!) who takes the initiative to express himself in a way which challenges
(ISOLATES!) his interpreter invites (FORCES!) his interpreter to meld or associate his ideas
with their own, something which may require a degree of abstraction capacity (DRUGS!) on
both sides of the exchange.

OLD THOUGHTS REHASHED by this LAZY ANTISOCIAL MAN. ISOLATION FORCES DRUGS,
like a hole in his chest, growing with age, which he must fill. And too young and stupid to
dwell on forethought, the good and the bad crash down onto his developing mind, unweighed.
Applauded for the waves it caused, the crash ages his fertile mind as effects sink down farther
within it. Aged with wisdom beyond his years, the ambition, drive, passion and desire are each
tapped with youthfulness, the dry apathy of undermining wisdom falling like elderly winter’s
cold death. And the body grows numb to the outside as the introvert recedes inside, further
and further, until his distant eyes are those of the undead: unresponsive, staring seperation.
He is finally aged beyond death and is dead and feels, in his removal, the bliss of death in all
it’s splendor. The desires of the body are far beyond him, now, that even the need for survival
becomes a begging want of a body’s throbbing ego. Transendence is the opposite of life and
of youth’s vivacious ambition. The fall into ego is a hard one and it’s depth’s gravity one so
grave as to pull all of your goals, desires, or objects of pride inward, sinking them beneath
with all aspects of your image.

Beware, for the drugs of wisdom are maturity, a double edged sword of external loss
and internal gain.

(2003-10-14 02:38) - public

Music: NOTWIST_Trashing Days

I cannot arrange the things around me, because the details of categories within those first
seen drown my intent in endless attention to a perfection never reached. That naive, headlong
intent disolving, immediately, in heated critisism, the intricate sections of which I magnify,
again and again within themselves, demand the whole of my view, larger work being lost to
my neurotic mincing.

I am without coherent direction, a haze of dense noise doggedly obscures my thoughts

in interaction. Perhaps, the give and take of these Thoughts I induce have become too
extreme for me to reliably control. The ever shifting balance of high and low heavy beyond
my meager scale’s capacity.

Nothing you learn is ever wasted, but some things learned waste you. Illegal thoughts,
thoughts beneath self, undermine image causing brittle egos to crack and cave inward into
abstraction’s fluid flexibility. And, in losing the once-strict durability of self-conception required
in a life of obligation’s acceptance, the social self becomes smeared and indefinate, the edges
of its once unquestionable role categories blurring; the Wasted’s appearance resembling one
of unresponsive sedation as eyes become watery and partially closed, the body often losing
its inhibitionary tension, appearing to "melt" into its chair. This is a lot like meditation’s
seperation from outer...blaaaahhhhhh

245
TurboSwami: I am doing heavy psychedelics on midterms week
Arfinspar: is that good?
TurboSwami: Probably good in a lot of ways
Arfinspar: is one of those ways "success"?
TurboSwami: In a lot of definitions
Arfinspar: sex & hitler
TurboSwami: The peak religious experience, traditionally, was never attained during a period
of extreme social obligation.
Arfinspar: so you’re religious
TurboSwami: So, I have the crests of two opposites reaching top at the same time.
TurboSwami: Or soemthing, nevermind
TurboSwami: I am religious.
TurboSwami: Excuse me, spiritual
TurboSwami: Its probably best to seperate the two
Arfinspar: i agree
TurboSwami: In that respect, I am more spiritual than many people allow themselves to be.
TurboSwami: If spirituality is defined as introspection or deep self-analysis

No Sleep Fiction_"The Waiting Prisoner" (2003-10-14 04:46) - public

Multiple Sclerosis slowly stole his legs from him in the 8th grade and there, on his first date,
walking beneath night trees with the woman he had wanted since the beginning of puberty,
Clara Fullner, he fell the first time. He fell and did not get up, the ambulance and the testing.
He would not date Clara again, nor would he date at all through the remainder of Middle
School, by high school, bound to a wheelchair, his basketball buddies pretending they did not
see him in the hall. These vain charity swabbers were not his friends, and their smiles were
forced in humor. Alone, wretched body, the loneliness of some stigma’s suffocating burdon.
Who could love this broken man he saw in digust each day, or admire him as they whip the
shit from his deadened ass? He came to give love, but it was not returned and, in time, grew
empty of affection, cold to those who mocked it with smiling avoidance of spoken rejection.

In the drift of sleep, he saw young Clara now, laying on an small sandy island, waving
for him to come. Swimming to her with powerful kicks, the calm warm water splashing behind
him. And, assuring himself, again, of her beckoning wave, he saw her rise into the air far
above him, the beautiful island becoming a wall she looked down from, holding back laughter.
And, far beneath that oppressive tower, all goals of companionship abandoned, his stone legs
pulled his gasping head beneath the surface of the water where he closed his eyes, waiting.

(2003-10-15 04:42) - public

Music: Tangerine Dream - Phaedra

Five hours of Cellular Internet Jargon and Abbreviation memorization has not defeated me, nor
will its wretched Midterm.

Acronyms for telephony basics (PSTN, POTS, LATA, LEC, ILEC, CLEC, IXC, POP)
246
RBOC, CIC Code
Functions, Forms of Signaling
Numbering
Inband/out of band signaling
Switching,
PBX
Centrex
DTE, DCE, CSU, DSU,
v.34, v..90
ASK, FSK, PSK, QAM
Protocol, hand shaking, simplex, half duplex, full duplex
Asynchronous, Synchronous
Parity, CRC, Forward error correction
Code sets, ASCII. EBCDIC, Unicode
Frames, headers, payload, trailer
Data Link Control
OSI
Circuit switching
Packet switching
Quality of Service
DDS
Switched 56/64
VPN
T-Carrier, Fractional T-1
x.25
PVC
SVC
Connectionless vs connection-oriented
ISDN, B channel, D channel, H channel, equipment (TA, NT1, NT2), BRI, PRI
LANs, baseband, broadband
IEEE 802 committees
Token Ring
Ethernet
LAN topology
NIC
MAC
Access methods, contention, deterministic
XBase-x
FDDI
LAN equipment (nodes, bridges, hubs, routers, gateways)
AMPS
D-AMPS
Architecture, cells, base stations, MTSO, backhaul
Cellular call process
Hand-off
Roaming
Frequency Re-use
Registration
PCS
SDM, FDMA, TDMA, CDMA, FDD, TDD
247
1G, 2 G, 2.5 G, 3G
GSM
SIM
GPRS, EDGE, W-CDMA, CDMA 2000 1X, CDMA 2000 1X EV
IMT-2000, 3GPP

Intimidating, at first, but I have defeated you systematically, dividing to disolve for ab-
sorbtion. Yes, quadrature phase-shift keying, your Time or frequency division multiplexing is
dear to you and I both, for this territory we share is devided into seven noble cell clusters
with available frequencies divided likewise for non-adjacent cell re-use in carriage of idle,
mumbled intonations of my day, transmitted, to people who do not care. And, nay mere
longitudinal, but also horizontal reduncancy checks through the binary of my conversation,
itself redundant, may, in strict adherance to the dogmatic block check formation protocol,
arrive upon a single, solitary bit error carrying, within it, some frequent representation of some
grammar equally errored. And, so both errors are scanned or accepted, in sequence of their
transmission’s level of detail. And, in certain situations, we each rely on our own decidedly
fixed-tolerance-band compactor, men especially, when the sum total of that inputted data
falls outside the perscribed limits of our ignorance, self-conscious or not.

Who among us is synchronous in their transmission method and who is asynchronous?

Or, if a person we encounter is so transcendently in the moment to be Isochronous Receiving
and Sending, would we see it in his face? It is he who "streams," who is without clock pulse,
transmission with that outer realm corresponding in one significant instant, two or more se-
quential signals of consciousness combining to share one constant, blissful phase relationship.
And so, our Real Player STREAMS in Real Time, and we see In The Moment through distances
or their times past, with freedom from memory.

Telecommunication Psychology, you belong to me. I have gone insane, but have not yet
arrived because I took the abandoned scenic backroad. Death’s fall colors burn me beautiful
here, so far out of range. My eyes burn shut from smoke which stings them to sleep and to
sleep away, away, far from bursting days of tense knot’s blood and puss disease in sight of so
many cherished stranger’s rejection. Out of range, no calls to appease, only leave after dying
leave...leave after dying leave...

No Sleep_"The Passion Play" (2003-10-15 11:36) - public

Oh, strange fuck up, you know me so well, here and now in this Little Box, on a hillside, boxes
of ticky-tacky all look just the same, like the hard faces inside them. Extrude further yet,
each, some peering, some doubtful, some defiant, some courageous, pretending to lead, some
meek, pretending to follow. Every face nothing but that pretending, nothing but that hollow
act of defense, nothing but cheap sunglasses and tight smiles beneath pre-applied blush and
a hardened shell of hair. But, I cannot resent them, no, I cannot for the briefest second pose
intollerance to the endless intricacies of their act, but, like an old old father watching the
Passionate Play of children, smile with the entirety of my being at the innocence of a game I
can no longer play. And, perhaps, it is the old old man, who looks through games of "IT" from
above in maturity who has lost; for, if he is, himself, no older than the Playing children, in body,
he has lost the Passion of play, in all of its infinitely pleasurable and painful forms, before his
time. The emotional games of love, the intense power struggles of pride, the sparkle-eyed
excitement of the winner, and even the scraped-knee pain of the loser, each lost to him in his
248
isolate spectation, however blissful. To the Active of the Play, he is non-existant for he stands
behind the sidelines they use to define their game, the whole of their social existance. To them,
he is no more alive or relevant than an equally-silent rock, his form merely resembling that of
an actual corpse: meditative, silent, unmoving, above. And, as the old old father, smiling,
carries all the wisdom of maturity beyond his children, so the older older corpse, transcendent,
carries all the wisdom of death’s maturity beyond the father. And, each will always smile down,
with a perspective of height which reveals larger, more beautiful picture than anyone "In The
Image" could ever see in their scrambling dash along a circle they cannot see.

NO SLEEP_"Sampling Rate In Hertz" (2003-10-16 05:07) - VERY TIRED - public

Music: eno-another green world

Today I experimented with a drug who’s only effect was to lower every sound perceived about
three/quarters of an octave, at its strongest point, pitch gradually shifting back to what I knew
was true over a period of a few hours. I heard Robert Fripp and Brian Eno’s Evening Star being
played in some detuned dissonant chord, which was not mictotonal, but followed those scales
and conventions we would expect from an actual physical lowering of pitch. I wanted to record
what I heard, but knew that this was impossible for it was all an alteration of my reality, not
reality itself.

A strange comment each of the participants touched on in one way or another was that
the sound "no longer fit." A common understanding, in digital pitch lowering, is the fact that
it comes with a proportional lowering in tempo or speed. Our mind seemed to perform some
sort of conversion to compensate for this, but on especially low pitches, the sound would
actually extend beyond the allotment specified by its creation, falling beyond the boundaries
of the sequence of seen/heard, moment to moment being seperated between sight and sound
by this change in tempo. Subtle enough, though, for only occational glimpses into our minds
complex compensatory conversion, so that sounds seemed, from time to time, "not to fit."
The conversion was weak...and time slowed, regardless of what they say with their clocks and
flakey ticks, my time slowed.

I thought if, perhaps, this drug revealed the secret to why all those poor oblivious Al-
falfa’s, singing their hearts out, always thought they were perfectly in tune, but never were.
This part of the brain, the one being either activated or deactivated, makes Another Green
World by Eno seem almost better, as if, were it to have been originally in this alien, but
perfectly harmonious, chordal structure, it would have been, truely, groundbreaking, a word
too often overused and diluted. The genius required to have defined the alien keys I hear
now...I dont believe that degree of forethought exists in modern music, for it is the innovation
of a personality and can develop, only, over a lifetime.

I look forward to my Peak experience tommorow, I hope my thoughts to be more expan-

sive than any I have yet been so fortunate to realize. And, to all of the many who mock or
judge me for my questions, unanswered, I say nothing...only a smile.

2C-I Thought (2003-10-19 23:49) - public

Music: Gentle Giant - Octopus

249
The limits of technology on expression obscure brilliance, a spectrum of absolute clarity, filtered
down through the tool’s lack of capacity. This is a new idea, and I will need weeks before the
words for it really become concrete or cohesive. Until then, a bandwidth view of expression
through technology will just have to be what the mess is called.

Code Watch (2003-10-21 04:23) - public

For negative people who share their cloud without being asked, I eat and drink more. Perhaps,
in retrospect, this insulates me from their cold sickness, the starving man being most sensitive
to cold and alcohol. I forage in wordless null for what I need to provide for what I need to
survive, and yet the emptiness of bliss remains, insatiable and emotionless, swirling through
activated paths it may have created or I may have forgotten.

I emerge from Northern Forests with outdated, forgotten technology on my wrist proclaiming
"I can speak in code." Indeed, I can, but my memory is consistantly self-restricted to a mere
7 digits. 7 digits, used powerfully, can convey the message of 15 thoughtless ones; heavy,
weighted codes which I insert between longer spaces with clarity and forethought. Perhaps
I ask a question which causes a shepard to become weak in the knees, this I do without
malice, but with the same clarity and forethought I approach all that I soon forget. My mind
is aged and inactive and the losses of senility from is capacity ravage my interior along the
deepest bounds of sleep. Forcing upward the victims of some thoughtful battle, fragmented
comments travel far across to some uncaring homefront. A soldier gone too long is assumed
dead, replaced in a spirit of forgetting and, returning late from a conflict in an alien land, he
finds his home, too, to be alien and his loved ones seeing him only in memory which he, is
then, obligated to fill. Haunted by ghosts of self and of unspoken evils, the soul becomes foul
in torment. Conflicted I am and I cut and cut four dollars to peak, some charge, any charge, no
memory to speak. And, deviant night twisting red eyed silent flight, I am called to an ancient
pack which repels those of sight. Howling to an ancient pact of brothers who fight.

(2003-10-21 17:09) - public

Ethnically, I identify with my surroundings, but this was not always the case with my blood.
Those before me, of whome I course only portions, needed social networks and support
through organizations centered around the love of another country. I can see, as if through
the haze of time’s dream, the apprehensive fear of those clusters of newcomers. Many
running from capture, many from themselves, whole families without work surviving on some
contagious hope; relations, knowing there are friends and family waiting for you who you can
relate with or share a relationship with, this was more important to those migrant seekers
than America or its ideals. They were gambling their very existance, their life’s future, often
throwing that of their children onto this bet of bets as well, on the far-stretched rumor of a
land of freedom where such bravery is rewarded. How can we do anything but admire the
immigrant, who plays chance knowing how little he has to lose. Admire, but ... something
something ethnic-American...soemthing something...time to melt

For two to find that level, together, without the assistance or expectations of previous
experience, requires a blindness, a naive trusting or faith to hold close with her as the decent
into the dark abysmal grows cold and faces can no longer be seen. The Dark Face is without
time, there below, where no light can reveal a rate, only lesser relied-upon senses to imply
250
some unknown movement further within. And, who here controls this unknown movement
if not myself and, when something does finally go wrong, will they know to return me back
to that surface, disoriented, to clamor about in rushed emergencies soon-chasing thrill. No,
our safety is not one of his thoughts, there gripping his silent lever. His intent can be .. ... ....
===D o o o (A simple Unconscious Driver)

The Relative Jet Of Nut/Mother (2003-10-22 02:00) - public

Babel Fish Translation Help

In English:

Every Sunday would observe my grandmother, like the accompanied images of beautiful
Finland from traditional Finnish music with polka with a center the host, Carl Pellenpa, that
she is spoke Finnish finally. Grandma however only remembers of something the language,
than the relative jet of nut/mother he, as young young people were, it knows the nut/mother
of taken and to mine just still little American. I, that it is separated through three generations
of the motherland Finnish, that carries out only a medium Finn from spirit, can perhaps speak
4 words, those that that one that one is, than has taught it to mine nut/mother indirectly from
birth. And for this reason, the Finn of the nation?s of the television of the more probable station
only is to the cuts from air, all the traditional persons who have known and appreciate the
screw of Finland of customs that they have died or the dead women near she remains, than in
the parts a their spirit, that it has been separated through 3 generations of assimilation, the
identity of relati to you presupposed innati atmospheres and from every American of definition
truely they are.

(2003-10-23 00:18) - stupid - public

Music: Brian Eno - Dali’s Car

Talent in music died when amatures were idolized in the early 90’s. The experimental nature
of drug music created an excuse for musicians to be messy and slop about without talent
or regard to the listener. Accepted by the greater public under the guise of "experimental,"
it this intentless noise music saturated music culture throughout the 80’s and into the 90’s,
degrading, lowering the bar, blah

In other words, modern music has neither the effort, intent, or forethought which was
considered prerequisite half a century ago. The strict, complexely arranged organization of,
say, Big Band or even early Rock and Roll has degraded to simple, 1-change 4/4 incompetance,
overall song structure only barely discernable from the impromptu jam: simple, predictable
pop becoming a relable standard. This is not to say that improvisation cannot, in and of
itself, be robustly complex or challenging (ie: the flawless influence of those early Hot-Five
Recordings) only that we have, somewhere along the line, come to accept the amature
musician into our mainstream.

(2003-10-23 00:18) - uselessly musical - public

Music: David Bowie - Ashes To Ashes

251
$48 dollars to make bloody mary’s. Peppered vodka, tomato mix, Tobasco, Worcestershire
sauce (supposedly a secret ingredient) celery, spicy pickle halves, carrots, etc etc...I could
have got a lot for $50 bucks, a lot more than a spicy half-drunk with a lover. Oh well, good
times, regardless...

In 2 weeks, I will be a quick witted little asshole, if all goes well. Until then, a big pooper
converation for ever toke I blah blah. Not a damn thing worth a shit to anybody, but I write
regardless...maybe some sample amp sa samp sss ssss t t t BASSGASM!! ss a a aaam mmm
mmm BASS G mp mmmppp BASS GAS AS SS SSS SSSssaam ample sample. In (high) torent
(lower) ial (low warble) winds (low) she (prev lower) climbes (high)

tor clii i im mb cli i i m mb shhhh cli in in in iii "sampling technology allows for time to
be selected and organized in time and wwhhhh whhhhhh...." whi i i iiii i i i iiii "with the tape
experiments of pioneers in time placement and replacement, like Pierre Schaeffer, electron on
on on ...ooonnn....ooonnn......o o o o o n n n n. . . . o o o o o n n n n nic music hass o o o o n n.
. . . . . . o o o o o o n n n n.....tronic music e l e c t r o o o n n ic

tiem shifts represented in text perhaps in force tweed interpretation for readers of non-
tape cultures.

pour me another, I need to take off this useless skin

The Blending Session (2003-10-25 05:33) - creative - public

Towards the end of the session, I was prepared to let go of the original intent, growing bored
with the 4 half-dead ghost people who occupied the circle. The woman who sat directly across
from me smoked too much, puffing spiralling grey into the center of the group, the stench of
stale tobacco one I knew well and I looked at her yellow fingers with well-hidden digust. She
was completely oblivious of loathing, absorbed by the details of the session as it progressed
further, regardless of our straying attention.

The session melted us, at its strongest points; creativity, however lacking in the the
woman and the fat black man near the door, caused new movements which enveloped and
spread throughout like smoke. Exciting me 20 minutes into the "brain storm," when my
part and the part of the German became especially intense in associative lyricism, the third
wheel soon entered, sloppily, with formless banter which chattered us down, disrespect-
fully, until silent. He was young, not that that is ever a proper excuse for disrespect, but I
think he realized, once the beautiful expression I shared was suffocated under his soap box,
that his overpowering ignorance to harmonious cooperation had killed what was once moving.

The silence of the session was not silence and I am sure I was not he only one present
who understood that. Messages, though I came to know many of their opinions through the
smearing process the technology induced, need not be full expressed to be impressed, here,
at the heart of the session. Those who rely on that tradition of expression were not successful
at the session for that very reason, for success at this game requires an internally-focused
sort of thought, the kind the extrovert may never truely form, only emulate.

Only Kirilian Photography describes the transactions of sessions...only the pictures of

souls in a circle, spiralling amongst and between natural boundaries like smoke. Recorded,
252
for all the future to feel, the silence of 5 strangers in layers of liquid, each his own frequency,
waves torrential and storms internal, unheard passions finally felt with the aid of devices of
emotionally-fitted and designed. Practicing without the aid of anti-depressants is considered
risky and only to be attempted by experts or trained professionals. I dont claim to be such an
expert, but having self-trained for over 12 years, I am worth the money I charge.

Fearful Of My Angel’s Response (2003-10-26 03:06) - public

Music: Lou Reed - Perfect Day

Oh, God...

How can you just sit there, I need a sharp knife to seperate, I need a glass of water or I
swear I will die.

I was shot in the neck with a pistol aimed by a good, friend, enraged in the heat of
competition. And, as my blood ran through my firmly applied fingers, I became afraid. An
nurse took me under her wing and, as she guided me through cold corridors of memory,
I looked up at her, a hovering angel. And, I cried seeing the joy and fear of the beautiful
children, there in the icy hallway; innocent fear and love I felt, as it was once mine and the
smiling tears I could not hold in, there when all pain subsided. And, it was then I wanted so
much to ask that beautiful woman who watched over and guided me, I wanted so much to
ask if I had died, if this was heaven, but I was afraid of what her answer would be. I was so
happy, then and there, although faces of fear and excitement troubled the filled minds of all
the plastic toy children who were my past, I moved on, under her care, to be treated for a
bullet wound which endangered my life...at one time.

But Do I Hear What You’re Saying? (2003-10-27 15:42) - public

Extremely High Sensitivity Parabolic (satellite dish) Microphone with 12X Amplification and
enclosed Digital Headphones – $480.00

High Powered 4’3” long Shotgun Microphone With Tripod Base and Machine-Gun like Two-
Handle Grip: $280.00

Being able to hear any whisper within a mile and a half radius: Priceless

Without a price, $800 later, I dont know if I am any happier, but goddamn it, it sure
seems like someone should care. RESPECT ME, goddamnit, arent I trying hard enough for you?

6 Doctors Ate The Evidence (2003-10-27 21:02) - memorializational - public

Music: Cluster & Eno

TurboSwami: Everybody asks the same questions...
Think 0f England: WRONG
TurboSwami: I’ve got six doctors say otherwise...
TurboSwami: They say the Kemo is helping these children...
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TurboSwami: But, in the end, who really pays the bills...
TurboSwami: Thats right, I DO!
TurboSwami: and the children are going to die anyway, but these are the obligations you give
me.
Think 0f England: haven’t you ever taken your to the Church of Christ, Scientist?
TurboSwami: Oh? Some Jesus Christ in a labcoat is going to pay for these dying children’s
procedures?
TurboSwami: No, Jesus Christ has been dead for a long time.
TurboSwami: Why doesnt anybody notice that?!
TurboSwami: He is broke, because dead men dont work.
Think 0f England: he was just here a minute ago, asking ME for pop cans. Some nerve if you
ask me, probably in the skeletal muscles
TurboSwami: I have never, once, lowered myself to beg for another mans garbage....Jesus
Christ has no pride, and I think we all know what he does with the money after he returns
those cans....
Think 0f England: The woman tells me that Little Jill needs some new shoes for school, I don’t
see her out there shovelling the shit for minimum wage to get new shoes when the old ones
are perfectly fine
Think 0f England: glug glug
TurboSwami: Yea, you got it. The Patented JC Wrist Excersize
Think 0f England: whoopdy fucking doo
Think 0f England: and they’re all yelling "equal rights equal rights
TurboSwami: Well, I am not about to let this drunk hobo son of a god come to my town and
preach to me about the needs or how cold his feet are in his hand-crafted sandles of a style
which fit best in his era.
TurboSwami: No, Jesus Christ can just shove of, circus and all, to the next town.
Think 0f England: we don’t put up with that sort of thing around here
TurboSwami: I think he would get a warmer welcome in Ann Arbor, where children are looser
with their parents money.
Think 0f England: did you see Spellbound this weekend?
TurboSwami: Nope, I dont like kids movies.

Psychedelic Wisdom: One Week Later (2003-10-28 07:21) - Tired Of Awareness -

public

I hope that when I die, none of these people remember the cocky asshole I am now. I hope
they will have forgotten how ego-centric I am, remembering the good I have done, the peculiar
scene memories, the laughing in crude bizzarity of sunrise, the candid depth of dark night
rider’s conversation. Remember me as proud, yes....but not this pretentious snob I come to
hear more and more, in passing; for he is not a welcome guest to my own memories, and I ad-
vise for you, my close friends, to think twice before inviting him to your own memories, shared.

If I were to stare away in thought, and never leave that inward trail, but follow it through and
through to the end, wherever that may be, I am sure that my body would simply end with the
path. As if to tread so far inside the body that I arrive outside it, never to return. And the
leaves of this tree are content to rustle, mindlessly, with the blowing of their daily wind, but
how is it that I feel so still? And, in that seperation of wild, staring eyes, will I ever retreat so
far within as to become aware of my own trunk, that tree trunk identity which I personify with
all those innocent game players who rustle without knowing elsewhere. And what leaf calls
254
itself tree as to be ignorant of its million cells, each ignorant a million fold of the tree they
are through exponential scales unseen, unheard, but sensed, so faintly, during those peak
moments of tranquil, windless night when all sings far below through tommorow far above.
And, in lucid spirit who wakes surreal is true reality of one flat line, a coursing space without
and in, the father’s mother, long forgotten.

And, will I not always curl in defense as my body still beats, above and below. Yes, for
the ego is the fruition of identity, the success of personality, hardened with definition. What
success is without pride, what sight without opinion? The self-actualized man laughs deeper
and longer, at his success and the world’s definition of it. But, his laugh reveals every
acceptance he wishes to claim, ever spectator he wishes to please, for the actual man never
laughs alone and, so, he never laughs.

Sense, senseless, nonsense, repeat: some transcendental mantra recited emptily once
a day and through the night. Society will always be the opposite of transcendence, and the
two can never be one in the same, for absolute transendence is death and the dead will never
talk. But, this wisdom of death, beneath the words of successful men, is the relaxation of a
clenched fist trying to capture the stream. It is just a glimpse of death’s view which allows the
foresight of the cupped hand, and a glimpse, further yet, which seperates the mind from the
thirst, leaving a limp, lifeless hand.

the2minh8 (2003-10-29 18:26:33)

? ? ? ? ? I have only scene memories. There is, as far as I can tell, no external access to the "pure"
sources of your self-criticism. So that’s good, right? Eh? HaHA! Lovely. Talk later.

turboswami (2003-10-29 21:26:41)

Hmmm Self critisism, being of the self, should not be external, no...but, does seem to manifest and
to and from the external (ie: Looking Glass Self) I dont know how you got that from my entry though,
but would love to know how. Hearing others interpretations is half the fun.

9 Days Later (2003-10-29 03:40) - public

Feels good to think of what I am not supposed to do when writing and then do it. Its a feeling
of freedom and abandonment, of dropping out of convention.

16 thin parallel lines net 16 perpendicular, forming a 90 degree room different from the
one you are in now. Behind the faded nameless green paint lied the patchwork of these lines,
holographic representations of things cerebral, cousins to those which manifest the paint,
itself. And, the sound surrounds my voice from it, revealing transient patchworks of lines of
an even older lineage: smaller, giving the impression of intricate detail when, in fact, my
voice is merely a room painting itself, just the same, who’s inflection ever changing through
reflection within the confines of that larger moment who’s relationship I have described and
will describe in and using time.

Reverb, then, is a passing of values down from one generation to the newer and, as
forests echo with the laughter of children, so children delay the tree’s spacial memory of that
younger laugh of those younger, growing old and dying through moments we can and cannot
255
see. Synchronicity of delay is, like scale itself, relative t o I N T E R - S P A C I A L P R O P E R T
I E S We can not, in our perception’s scale, conceptualize.... t w e l ve units of m a r k e d c h
a n ge divide the cycles of protons within the atoms of our league of reference.... and, sealed
within a vaacum, lines of sight and sound seperate, their frequency’s spiral oscillating or not,
based on the presence of medium.

With this spiral nature of all energy’s frequency in mind, the young blue blood, Gerald
Bostock, entered his 5th grade classroom with a surreal awareness of his realm of control.
His father’s Mind Cabinet was unlocked, at first, jokingly...now that joke, and all attempts at
humor’s creation, began to involve aspects of identity relating to those around him which
he had never had perspective enough to understand, in that grounded act of performance.
Sitting near those who knew him yesterday, he knew them finally and, in the desolate stare of
steps inwardly beyond, the tamed meat which surrounded him in organized lined seating on
each of his sides revealed all of the primal battles which restraint had once hidden from him.
Naked, finally naked, young Gerald kissed his palms and, fully barely alive, layed them on the
forehead of his sedated dream lover. The naive joke of a shy fifth grader echoed through his
life, revealing larger jokes so ancient that, in being born, he had forgotten to laugh.

(2003-10-31 04:08) - public

Music: Kids Of Widney High - Every Girls My Girlfriend

I cant be, woah! Hey now, there was a cough drop I saw, fast. Right across the floor like a
sideways grape, but I made it happen because it was my first time. Its takees a lot of creativity
to be retarded, cuz you gotta think way down low and bring it back up from stupid. I like to be
a retard thinking deep, and then its good like...good. And then there is thinking about Jesus,
and they can do that pretty good, they are good people, they hate trash and insects, but I do
not like those things either, but not as much as them I do not think.

UT! SEE, THERE I GO!

Forged in the heat of battle, 4 am baked beans and finger painting. My mom said I have super
good talking, and that I can cook sometime and she wont be there. I made the beans in put
soft hotdog I cut in there and ketchup and then I finger painted with pop and paint. Smelly
and messy, but I love this temple church my body and face. Its bad luck to let retards into
the house, my mom said. I didnt go out much, then, but then I fell in through the ice in once
and cold but told her it was melting. I prayed not for it to happen again before bed and it didnt.

Cook me up a big one, its gunnna _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.

iztyme2ryde (2003-10-31 08:43:44)

Bring down the house, Its gunna bring down the house!

256
2.11 November

The Strange and The Homeless (2003-11-01 09:36) - public

30 drunken sailors make me want to do things so early in the morning, as they honk their
obnoxious car horns beligerantly while racing up and down the main strip of this strange
residential closet park I call home. I sometimes am awoken by the morning movement of
someone in the next room and I think it is my father, arriving home from work at 6:37 AM.
Only as I settle into remembrance do I realize that it is not my father down there making loud
breakfast or bumbling through channels for morning stock reports, but a stranger in my home,
a person I have never met in a room of this house I have no right to enter. And, though I know
this stranger never locks the door after he brushes his teeth with my toothpaste, a mutual,
unspoken trust slowly developing between skeletal isolates, never leaving their alotted closet,
but never fully receding back into its dark corners in complete hiding; each brave soul leaving
his door open just a crack in ambiguous invitation with the hope that an even braver soul will
somehow, someday, fly sliding through. And so, we are a cracked home of estranged waiters,
each day saving for a tip, waiting for the other to finally deliver the bill.

Poetry By My Wandering Hobo Philosopher Grampa:

"Sadist and masochist in me,

Each boasting himself more than half,
Debate the issue feverishly
And raise hell if I laugh."

"Upended space in me suspended

Suspended me in space upended"

"I was just reading Sartre...

Now I look in the mirror
And see myself clearer
Though falling apartre;
The I that seems nearer
-Ths Daily Appearer-
Isn’t me, not my head nor my heartre,
For the I to me dearer,
Solitary and queerer
Has become non-Existentialist artre."

From "THE BOOK" He Passed Onto Me, by Alan Watts:

"I presume, then, that with my own death I shall forget who I was, just as my conscious
attention isunable to recall, if it ever knew, how to form the cells of the brain and the pattern of
the veins. Conscious memory plays little part in our biological existence. Thus as my sensation
of "I-ness," of being alive, once came into being without conscious memory or intent, so it will
arise again and again, as the "central" Self (capitalized) – the IT – appears as the self/other
situation in its myriads of pulsating forms - always the same and always new, a here in the
midst of a there, a now in the midst of a then, and a one in the midst of many. And if I forget
how many times I have been here, and in how many shapes, this forgetting is the necessary
257
interval of darkness between every pulsation of light. I return in every baby born. "

[Grampa underlined the entire first sentance in green colored pencil]

[I underlined "forget who I was] in red marker and wrote "Death is forgetting who you are
while suddenly remembering who You are" }
[I underlined "the death of the universe" and wrote "simply the death of ’one-verse’ among
many in a much larger book]

(2003-11-02 05:32) - public

I think my stomach has too much hair on it...I am going to need to look into that. Also, check
out the a surreal clip from Salvador Dali’s 1928 experimental exploits in modernist film, the
disturbing UN CHIEN ANDALOU

http://www.transmissionfilms.com/media/clips/21.wmx

Just the kind of razor I need...yes.

biscuitboy (2003-11-02 21:49:34)

Yeah, like you really need an eye-razor. Any old straight razor would do; Dali just had a big budget.

marckaw (2003-11-03 08:01:16)

There’s a Dalí exhibit at Kresgie this month, if anyone’s interested. I’m going. Dunno when yet.
Hopefully they’ll have free razors at the door. I for one know I would like to slice my eye!

turboswami (2003-11-03 13:16:21)

I might bring my own. I for one know I also want to slice your eye.

marckaw (2003-11-03 14:25:04)

Eye for one know Eye want to slice your I more than you want to slice meyen. OoOoO look at me
Eye’m cool!

turboswami (2003-11-03 13:40:37)

I am showing as much of the movie as I can (I have the whole 15 min version) to my IAH class Thursday
for my speech on MOdernism.... I hope at least one person covers their eyes and throws up at the
same time.

iztyme2ryde (2003-11-04 01:29:40)

That is fucking sick! Any chick that had just ate will. I can almost promise you that

Get Yer Yah-Yah’s Out (2003-11-03 09:54) - public

Where’s all that hot lesbo action I read about in the Readers Digesteses and hear about on
late night advertisments for Girls Gone Wild featuring Snoop Dogg? They sure arent makin
out in the hallway or lifting their shirts for me on the bus home from Economics class, no, I
have a feeling they keep a lot of that ’under wraps.’ Damned uptight lesbos be what they are,
258
it just aint right! This steamy city has a sultry, untamed underbelly of lust which beckons the
dreams and passions of its many a youthful lass in the night, calling deep and low "lift up your
shirt, let your yah yahs out."

Good Gravy Marie! Man gravy she wants nothing to do with any longer. Boy, this didnt
turn out nearly as well as I had planned...peanuts give me gas. Boy those peanuts I had 2
hours ago were good.

poot*

iztyme2ryde (2003-11-03 09:06:19)

Digesteses...? WAy to spell, champ

turboswami (2008-02-01 09:06:27)

I did it on porpoise.

iztyme2ryde (2008-02-01 18:29:52)

So you know what’s really fucked up... I don’t remember this post of yours nor that I had ever
commented to it. I suppose the fact that it was written in 2003, and that has all pretty much
disappeared from my memory by choice. Anyhow, have a good day. In your case, night.

(2003-11-04 03:53) - public

The moment defined 7 distinct sections organized vertically down my chest, starting from the
bottom of my throat to right above my stomach. My heart was here, and moved up and down
now with each emotive note of that now mournful guitar. Alive, in tension or in love, our heart
is in our throats, beating there so high and fast. How is it that I was so blind to this emotion
with now fills me to bursting tears on the whim of some simple, unknown guitar in passing. I
cannot be sane, for happiness and sadness of this caliper were never meant to come and go
so quickly, revolving on the period of a sentance whose words pass and return to me through
the echoing meaning of its subtle intonation. No, these words don’t express like those ones did
there, for the echoing waves of thought which carried expressed meanings from far away are
no longer white capped, only softly fulfilling their rhythmic obligation, now, in this calm lulling
which rocks me like an ocean cliche.

Anthrosexual Revolation: The Modernist Evolution (2003-11-04 20:18) - public

8:30 PM: 20 mg 2C-I disolved in 16 oz Orange Juice, ingested.

9:22

Here I am, some voyager of the stationary at my control panel of social expression, sur-
rounded by its various filters and medial inputs; medial defining its standards of outlet through
cold mediums of transfer, the wires and nerves of exploration below and within us. The ocean
of inlet waves in pulsing jerks inward, the white noise of expression’s thought’s course inward
and inward through the strobing heart, waves upon waves of transactions along surface,
a technological media defines itself among cells and their ganglia, the undefined inward
259
workings between cells, their inner society, the twist neck tension intensity, grit teeth of
association, echos enter with thought and voices heard in the distance, the fan setting rhythm
to as creaming the whirs of processing, the machines of infinite distances and eternity storing
long term cultural memory.

The outer sounds become twisted in time to my pleasing in memory, the squeeling of
parking lot tires, either heard or created by me, course in ward with voices I know I hear
as mine, only higher and pulsing in time as if to recall me to some present movemnt of
sensation, where identity touched down and beCaned the arisidense of foristrects of morsen in
forests, infestred these moist ones onto the intriving, but without this oxygen singing binto the
swamiply for downward the memory. I come pre at dawn and forrage through my belongings,
in light of day’s culture providing, I course with and without presence through the nod, the
constant hearing of that wind low inside us, for which only men of true distant course hear,
and for when the men of that one day do low, above them the men of the night call all near,
to solitude becknoned the dreams of men fear, in turning and defining the terms the moon
clears. In confinding with confiding all that is found near, in strange porceside devotions from
to those who’re through, down bellow the manner of his who is true, the laughing still laughing
of he who his crew, alone through the manners of all who must do.

I want this song, this song to come through, I hear all its typing, its coursing shows through,
and with every pulse, a voice would show through, of beckoning to platforms heard in streams
comes through, I cannot withstand all spirit increw, the voice of a nasally wind, some snobby
kid jew, comes gnah-zing through rapture in some huffy steam, of forswiming confounds who
can’t trive a Chevy, outward from their thoughts to waiters on shores beachside, in finalist
shore captures of trophies from the outside, the young men and women all gaze in case
she dies, the formal spectations of all thought lie dead to the watchers, the eaters of fish
who’s innocent eyes we feed out of love and blessing, the fierce look of a man in intense
inspection, kinds the love of a woman who of her she commands. In brief intersection the two
roles are unmanned, in novice definition, all felt is explained, through bubbly concoctions of
moist lungs we demand, down loud echoing through low night, the bubbles of heat deseighns,
through signs we make in speaking, through drums we pound in thought, the young men fall
from learning dance loud around us all and beneath grandpa tells of an old boy long ago who
fell away from pounding and learned a pounding school where pounding was a frequency
transmitted through a tube, outward to farway others who we do pound venture to, as if
within a body we fulfill far within, not knowing of deep intellects which thrive the life we’re in,
and us only an interaction of cells in a body designed by cells who are self-aware of society
which they divide. To turn inward, the one thing they never tell them selves is fide, a cells
life in awareness we fullfill, in inward the complexity refines, the soul this long life destination
unknown in our false waking life. A calling through realms of thought patterns, calls in through
a muse waitings cost, the inward reception of thought streams some semblance of past world
inward dreams. And my worth no doubt some ....

psychoSPY02: heyy
TurboSwami: yo, I was just thinking of you.
TurboSwami: Heh, I am smoking
psychoSPY02: and here i am
psychoSPY02: lol i want to
TurboSwami: That bit you gave me...
TurboSwami: With the 2C(
TurboSwami: I
260
TurboSwami: hee
psychoSPY02: umm do you have any ritalin for my friend?
psychoSPY02: good smoke?
psychoSPY02: good trip?
TurboSwami: no yes and YES!
TurboSwami: rADIATING OUTWARD FROM A NEGATIVE
psychoSPY02: hmm do yo know anyone that has anything of the like
TurboSwami: woo!
TurboSwami: This is refreshing, this conversation, yes?
psychoSPY02: lol yes
psychoSPY02: anything "speed" related?
TurboSwami: I am smiling uncontrollably..
TurboSwami: Um,m, ha
TurboSwami: I’m going to say no
psychoSPY02: damnit
psychoSPY02: alrighty
psychoSPY02: so how did the trip go?
TurboSwami: Sorry, whats going on?
TurboSwami: Heh, I hear voices
TurboSwami: Rusty ones of you, through this window.
psychoSPY02: lol my voice sounds rusty?
psychoSPY02: am i talking?
psychoSPY02: i don’t recall..
TurboSwami: You are highly effected in the back of my mind...
TurboSwami: Some obscuring of the voice
TurboSwami: You like?
psychoSPY02: yes
TurboSwami: Hee
TurboSwami: I’ve got strangeness abounds!
TurboSwami: Wooohoo, in a swamp of it
psychoSPY02: you make me wnt to smoke
TurboSwami: I like it, but I dont do it much...
TurboSwami: So that I get real energetic when I do.
TurboSwami: I am twitchy and awakened now.
TurboSwami: I want to record the night train...
TurboSwami: as it echoes through the city

Claimed! one nugget of interaction, forever mine cuz I made it, no snip left behind, no
receiving no giving, its done and I love it, thank you and good bye, until next time you need,
I am for all that call, with roaring echoed hear, the making of studio, your finger echo maker,
the grabbing of whats heard and throwing into the air, across valleys and back again, as loud
as any thunder, the techno reside splunder of super mass oppointments, recitements and
invitements outward to captive audience, email exhale, inworld, outworld

psychoSPY02: i’m on a quest to get fucked up

psychoSPY02: perhaps i will talk to you later
TurboSwami: You are in the live journal
TurboSwami: No getting away from it, bub
psychoSPY02: lol what?
261
psychoSPY02: what did i doo?’
TurboSwami: I do...doo...doooo *echo echo smparkling*
TurboSwami: HEar it?
psychoSPY02: soon :-)
TurboSwami: Oh, I hear it now! and you wont here it then!
TurboSwami: I got it in my head, so fuck!
TurboSwami: You gotta not have drugs to have this in there
psychoSPY02: oh damn
psychoSPY02: then what the hell?
TurboSwami: I be Mr. Crazy Pants!
TurboSwami: Thats all
TurboSwami: Wooo, This whole window just went sideways in thought
TurboSwami: and now I am typing in from that direction
psychoSPY02: lool
psychoSPY02: are you sure you didn’t do anything
TurboSwami: amd I sure I didnt do 2cI?
psychoSPY02: now?
TurboSwami: and smoke your pot, girl
TurboSwami: See yeas
psychoSPY02: hmm i will try to figure you out later!
psychoSPY02: oh fuck rain
TurboSwami: Hee, I love it!
TurboSwami: It was waiting for me, yea? Kinda.
TurboSwami: My arrival here, in the moment.

10:24

The idea that our culture has no understanding for the inward path we follow...the un-
spoken belief that our bodies are intelligent, through and through, in ways we understand
and we do not, that our life is part of a larger life, an eminating inward source of awareness,
fathomless and forever down through scales of the Mind, beyond our mind, dead. I need to
put a mic outside and record it, because someone just went "WOOO!" and it becalled the
incomming of that communication, perhaps. The thunderous surrealist movement echoes
in my head, and the dreams of Post Modern man twitch nodding through the sand, and in
my poor wordless nothing, I mope in uneventful bands, I cannot come together enough will
to make a man. I cannot come to her enough to make a man, I cannot come together in
any form to make these fans, I must find the wave, the rational frequency to light the sun,
in seeing that below all spunn and everyone. To be general is the sideways fit that shoots
thoughts through to moons and lights which come from distances and unknown truths of
drewth juice, and backwards, without culture of this scale or the next, but thoughts of inward
culture who’s mass we are the brick. And latching realizing together, in final seeing of the
schtique, the joke is that we, all along, are merely forming along this sun’s further further
intellect, outward into awareness and frequencies unknown beyond the thundering bass of
passing currents, transmissions through our mediums unknown. THis love of frequencies
spendlor, this admission to a waveform is comming in times of graphic representation which
explain all I see, have or will. My beating heart, the course of my love, the treatment of loved
ones, who of you they finally know...

The awareness outward from that person, through live journal...the sensation of worth
that I feel with the awareness of these transaction culture does not allow for..*the sound of an
262
engine*-

ahh, to, at any moment, sit back and listen to the ocean of winds in neath surface of
social frequency, the micropohone of trafic and wind neath your sea, and in every passing
car, I monks drone to remember the sea, that calling away from science, to bind to the sea,
outward in social eye view through civilized worlds we see.

A presentation forms in my mind to give to a class on American History, in it Modernist

classics in surreality, Salvador Dali, Kurt Schwitters, John Cage, Brian Eno, Or William Bur-
roughs, dadaist at heart. We love these silent folk, whose outbursts so strange, in sudden
awarenss of a waking days dramples dress in accordance only sideways with culture of some
endless lifetime with dogs tilt head calls. Ego hiding ego, the negativity does ride down
through lifetime of silent waiter who writes for everyone.

(2003-11-05 00:00) - public

Years later, in attempts of my minds, I stagger exhausted away from myself only to see the
sounds and sounds resound through time’s shore, the animated pictures of my life, all of
them on a beach. I can never return to the beach, for I can never allow myself that degree
of purity again, for I can only clean what is seen, now, I can only show that seaside self
of me which the bathing suit whale depth can never perscribe, the stretch marks of some
internal scale, unfathomable, dealving and growing from the internal pressure, waiting to
pop, juicy with scales. These pixel reptiles, these crawlers of search and advert, become my
decor of persona’s transmitted through space and in sub, the tunnel I spill to the pavement in
screaming incessant demands, insist that my voice not be cutoff, in free brilliance it resonates
Inside.

Inside.

In

(in/out)

nondairy82: how was/ is your trip?

TurboSwami: still trippy....but residing
nondairy82: cool
TurboSwami: I made it a multimedia event
nondairy82: how’s that?
nondairy82: do you have footage?
TurboSwami: The advent of "print screen"
TurboSwami: Cutting and pasting my way along a beach, with real parking lot sounds
nondairy82: print screen?
nondairy82: isn’t that where you print exatly what is on your screen?
TurboSwami: Print Screen takes anything and makes a copy of it
TurboSwami: Yes
TurboSwami: and I had 13 screens
TurboSwami: Each one a different scale
TurboSwami: It ended up being quite beautiful, black and white...
nondairy82: 13 screens on your computer?
263
nondairy82: I am confused
TurboSwami: Yes, thirteen prints, got me?
TurboSwami: Thirteen different zooms
nondairy82: ok
nondairy82: yes
TurboSwami: And, soon, I was looking over "window ledges"
TurboSwami: and words became blurred past messages
nondairy82: well poop
TurboSwami: Does it seem worthy?
nondairy82: I would need to see these prints
nondairy82: It seems the aesthetic would answer that
TurboSwami: Yes, thats what I was asking.
nondairy82: I will view them sometime
TurboSwami: I am doing a powerpoint presentation on modernism tommorow
TurboSwami: It might seem appropriate for me to animate them
nondairy82: In what manner would you animate a screen shot?
TurboSwami: SHowing it in a speedy sequence with thirteen others
TurboSwami: Using the space bar
nondairy82: nice
nondairy82: so it seems to zoom smoothly?
TurboSwami: Only if you have enough shots, thirteen is a very rough estimate of the scale
change
TurboSwami: But, regardless, the scale change itselff will be a rough estimate of that which is
zoomed.
nondairy82: twue
TurboSwami: Very pixelized, the details of division unseen.
TurboSwami: It is only a foggy semblance of the real view at that scale.
nondairy82: in that same way, do you find it odd to think that time itself, which we percieve
as seamless, is actually quantized?
TurboSwami: Rather, its seemless
TurboSwami: It is seen.
TurboSwami: So, it would seem, but it doesnt.
TurboSwami: And then we fall.
nondairy82: down
TurboSwami: And laugh about the very notion
nondairy82: that was a strange hokey pokey
TurboSwami: Of building things that tall.
nondairy82: brb
TurboSwami: I admit, time is essence, and falling in its avoidance, however fun, the rolling
down hills of defined thought, that the end of that time we declare is a declairation of ignorance
to the moment "at hand," the moment is defined by work and self creation.

As worthy or not, and this exhausting labor, no doubt, must be worthy work, for I am
sure I have worked hard tongiht. Worked my brain stupid, surely, I have nothing left to this
intense trip inward, recorded in full...a film of rolling spent on the hills of a beach, the whole
of an event to no other one sent.

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Some Sensational Afterglowing - The Second Day (2003-11-06 07:30) - public

The young man and the forest is a combination which will never disolve fully from my identity,
as the two are symbols of much greater things than I am so fondly watched to be ignorant
of. The forest would never allow this of me, for it knows of both ancient roles, its own and
mine, and knows of the cultures within a single tree. Bacteria thrive in my own flesh, as in
the fleshy pulp rings of generations long outgrown. The forest is dark, but not unknown to us
or our ever brighter firery inventions. In following the leaders of this culture, we sedate the
spirit with more and more Super-facial communication, as if to deny it its singular identity in
the flourescent false sun office. Like a fine coat, we wear eachother, never empty of playful
ambitions or competency modeling, and so it becomes clear that, from here on, we’re in. In the
city, in the money, in the culture, our heating finally centralized with the food, power, waste,
information, and authority each provided and convided in an organized way each day at 6:00
PM. In this way, evolution too is centralized, each individual dropping the edgy defenses of
fight or flight in order to recieve the member benefits package of an Organized life. Every man
woman and child a child of a man and woman who had less Fight than previous set, and so
on until Fight and Flight both rise to mass scales unseen from the ground. To drop out, or be
born incompetant, without the capacity for this competition, is to be allowed and provided for
within the confines of the mass scale, society, and so, it seems, that even a child born bound to
a wheelchair has his potential value within the roles available to him through the society. We
have become cognitive in the definition of our roles, and information need no longer be carried
by so many able-feet, but has attained the nerve-speed status of our scale, called wire. With
light...I can be even more full of shit that much faster.

Further Exploits (2003-11-07 06:43) - public

Echoing mind games cohere into loose words as SEX falls and rises in its obscure quest. I sooth-
say its demands, and become flushed blushing by the sudden trout-mask truth trophies which
surface from the beauty inbetween realizations. And, so, it is the realization of these beautiful
things which defines appreciation and its marginal personality, the slurring nerve-trapper
whose nervous net obliges sideways, like the High LSD Spider’s obscurely patterned flying
web: so light and long string flingy, the fly carries it flying with endless spider forgetfully dying.

This entry was twice its length and involved a free-form skit involving a woman placing
her palm over my face and a set of words much like "minstrallic phaerallel," but, much as has
been the case with all my most meaningless writing, lately, it does not want to stay conscious,
but literally leaps from my pages in heaps of lost stages of record, chrashged, but recharged
in from trashy crash memories of the cache.

In the middle of a conversation about her, she puts her hand over my face, palm over
my nose and mouth, and I stop midword (end of full entry)

Staring blankly for seconds from between sweaty fingers...

"Nobody ever takes my own special parking spot which...IS...CLOSEST..TO THIS...DOOR’S

EN...TRANCE......(echo)"

265
marckaw (2003-11-07 11:18:18) ....LSD? I hate the word, as I hate Hell and all Montagues....
Actually, low doses of LSD cause spiders to spin _better _ webs!
http://www.psymon.com/psychedelia/images/spiders.html More: http://www.missblackwidow.com/drugs.html
and more, from Albert Hoffman’s "LSD - My Problem Child": Animal experiments reveal little about the
mental alterations caused by LSD because psychic effects are scarcely determinable in lower animals,
and even in the more highly developed, they can be established only to a limited extent. LSD produces
its effects above all in the sphere of the higher and highest psychic and intellectual functions. It is
therefore understandable that specific reactions to LSD can be expected only in higher animals. Subtle
psychic changes cannot be established in animals because, even if they should be occurring, the
animal could not give them expression. Thus, only relatively heavy psychic disturbances, expressing
themselves in the altered behavior of research animals, become discernible. Quantities that are
substantially higher than the effective dose of LSD in human beings are therefore necessary, even in
higher animals like cats, dogs, and apes. While the mouse under LSD shows only motor disturbances
and alterations in licking behavior, in the cat we see, besides vegetative symptoms like bristling of the
hair (piloerection) and salivation, indications that point to the existence of hallucinations. The animals
stare anxiously in the air, and instead of attacking the mouse, the cat leaves it alone or will even
stand in fear before the mouse. One could also conclude that the behavior of dogs that are under the
influence of LSD involves hallucinations. A caged community of chimpanzees reacts very sensitively
if a member of the tribe has received LSD. Even though no changes appear in this single animal, the
whole cage gets in an uproar because the LSD chimpanzee no longer observes the laws of its finely
coordinated hierarchic tribal order. Of the remaining animal species on which LSD was tested, only
aquarium fish and spiders need be mentioned here. In the fish, unusual swimming postures were
observed, and in the spiders, alterations in web building were apparently produced by LSD. At very
low optimum doses the webs were even better proportioned and more exactly built than normally:
however, with higher doses, the webs were badly and rudimentarily made.

iztyme2ryde (2003-11-08 17:51:01) Re: ....LSD? I hate the word, as I hate Hell and all Montagues....
that is fucking perfect! The whole world feels the power! (insert inspiring shit here)

marckaw (2003-11-08 20:01:33)

I, for one, welcome our new spider overlords.

(2003-11-10 04:02) - public

Piled pilled piles of shit into an abandoned two story theater, lost having gained in their bumble
of prozac-munching denial once strict self-denial. "Look at the mug on that one!" some fucking
degenerate redneck asshole gnawed mindlessly to the friend opposite his chaw-nestled cheek,
looking my way from beneath the thick protective canopy of an old low brow which wrinkled
with his sneer. I had forgotten to apply my creams; moisture retension schedual causing this
tension yet again, some four AM drug deal with the village shaman began and ended with
a bad taste in that bad taste in my mouth, but I trusted his path by five, unable to find my own.

And, so floated from that small fire on the first floor seating the new path; swirling in
and out of the picture’s frantic color forms, upwards ever upwards, diluting throughout
the breaths of those of the second or third stage, those of stories transcendent. Born into
well-medicated homes, I and my specific class deal in nasal sprays and Ionic Filters, weak,
asthmatic, allergy shooters swarming the high course concentrate like empty bawlers of new
dollars, the children of excessive parties on and in lavish manmade mountains and hilltops.
266
For 16 years, you watched _ _ _ _ _ _ _ as she came to develop into a beautiful, intelli-
gent woman. Now, standing tall beneath you’re slouch, you wish only to _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ there
and then, but you lost that _ _ _ _ _ _ ( _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _) long ago.

WTF, Uncle Buck? John Candy’s Fine and Dandy. (2003-11-10 11:33) - public

Sleep on a safety net, (an order.) Vertically, down through heirarchtical informational cat-
egorization structures of sleep, the details of self-destruction are archived away into the
building during the fire. A small fire, beginning in quadrant 16, and spreading through-
out slowly from there as the excited spectors watched. I am coming in from the cold all too
often, now, for it seems the cold has lost its way to me, the way of the universe a replacement.

Travel, travel, travellers of this and that can never meet. Different maps of the same
plot guide different stories of frequency and the meat of the issue is that bacterial landscapes
are no less beautiful, that the sound of my heart as it circulates this meager fluid lulls them all
to sleep, down there, where the sun rises and sets with my bright eyes.

EverFresh Juice, no living many will ever kiss the sun, but few distances are travelled by
the many who God forcibly emptied of desire. Desire is fuel and, without that want, travel is
unwanted. And, so, the beautiful, fullfilled spirits drift emptily through the northern night sky,
their chi a spectral spectrum band, the EM of ME, of which there comes no finality.

(2003-11-11 02:58) - public

10 cds of academic techno and 3 rare artsy DVDs all from the MSU library. Copy each, return
and repeat each week and I will be Mr. Strange Media Copy Guy.

(2003-11-12 06:06) - public

For Families who love conditionally, or do not at least pretend to love one another without
conditions, the roles between each member are bonded by merely the whims of temperment,
the moods of that day, and nothing else. Giving is awful business and, if I had a choice, I would
stick strictly to taking. Obligation, the hooks of responsibility which pull the foolish taker by
the greedy mouth, a catch from that moment of loss disguised as one of gain. A fish out of
water is some instant Mother Teresa, giving its life for the good of some hungry hooker with
gifts on strings.

Heartless, I am cruel beyond the great tugging of souls, the great love which changes.
And perhaps my ego will always be centric, and perhaps my concern will always be mine,
careless and shareless. A lonely cavernous existance, dark and wet, pale, skin like grotesque
paste surface of some loveless animal who’s lone abysmal eyes stare outward to light, dim
and distant.

Snap and arrive with-in sanity, for mother for mother, nothing to bless by myself but
myself.
267
(2003-11-14 01:55) - drunk reminding - public

Music: Brian Eno - Golden Hours

The salty gin nor greasy mess have filled me. I am without fullfillment, without contentness,
without the smiling pride which only clear, unabiguous intent can bring. The found times,
serendipitous, are stored away like all other treasures, never to be reviewed or shared, only
archived beneath the archives which come and come with every high moment. Serendipity,
you are a maiden of constant smiles, of laughter and carefree love who cues her arrival loudly
only to the deaf and is appreciated and loved only by those who listen to the wind. May you
always grace me with your presence and don my life with your bright emergences.

Emerge or submerge, the consciousness’ bouyancy cycles through the changing weight
of inhibition. I cannot raise the dead from their sleep, but can die in sleep, never to be raised. I
am death’s wisdom and surface only at the blackest point of night. I am the night’s unseeable
and fold within folds of nothing, the offensive to your nonexistant counterpart. And, thick
skinned, this onion that can make you cry, my soul is free to mock those who live in skin while
I cry, wishing to return to their unknowable which I know. I wish to unknow this which I have
learned in dying, this release which empties, this passionless uncaring senselessness which
reveals beneath the shields and armor of ego’s tireless hardening. And formless I was and can
never be again, now, scrambling..

"Perhaps my brains are old and scrambled..."

(2003-11-16 02:57) - public

Voice, without obligation, is silent.

My mind’s eye dull, tremble in haze, the tireless squint of something forever away from
my focus, old, lazy, defeated. This intensity could never have continued forever and, I have
not the balance needed to make selections from this remote location I watch motion towards,
mute.

Please advise...

biscuitboy (2003-11-16 18:27:40)

Smoke some grass, pop some reds, ahoot some fucking smack. Do what you need to do ...

Problems with My Face (2003-11-16 16:20) - public

Little known facts about Kaleb Smith:

My family’s real name is Quigly. In Ireland, there were three Quigly brothers, one of
whome got involved in dealings with the Irish Mafia. Not paying his debts, the mafia entered
his home when he was not there and killed his pregnant wife and child. His brothers and him,
in revenge for this, each got their rifles and entered the home of the mafia leaders, killing
each. The three brothers then fled the country to Canada where they split up and changed
268
their names, agreeing never to see eachother again. My great Grandfather changed his name
to Smith, remarried, and settled in the town of Cedarville in the Upper Penninsula.

My grandmother always told me that I am from Swedish Royalty. Her cousin, when coming
from Sweden, had been waited on all of her life and knew nothing of how to wash a dish or
launder clothes.

Its good to know your family’s history and to pass it on. More often than not, it is excit-
ing and theatric.

(2003-11-18 01:57) - public

Respond, respond...get her! *something something* "This is part of something big, I can feel
it."

—IMPACT—

I told you what the subject was to be, this objection was never discussed. No, goddamned
yuppy faggots prance his way into this living room and shoot up all the....what? Some fucking
drug addict huddles in the corner with both hands clasped over his ass trying stop the torrents
of gushing blood; no no no...not in this living room!

For
Nothing
This chaoth, shrell scarm forls though and through the gaping room, miss? A man hits another
man in the face. A man falls down from being hit in the face, but upstairs, I hear a man hit
the floor from being hit by another man in the face. A young man bleeds from his face where
he was hit, an old man bleeds from his fist where he hit a man who fell onto the floor from
being hit. The next man climbs the stairs only to be hit in the face by a man who then falls
onto the floor again. A man enters the room, bleeding from somewhere, and hits his face
on the floor from the wall which hit him in the face. I hit myself in the face and fall onto the floor.

3 men approach, one in space and one in detail I had ignored. The third man was right
on time, as usual, and I served him as he was the only one who approached me directly. I
began with a drink, but he could taste my spit. He entered time, which he had previously been
on, and began a horizontal aspect which lost my understanding.

It was then I realized that time, itself, has two dimensions, like that of the XYZ, so time
is not merely that linear progression we see before and behind us...

No, time, too, has a Y...a vertical nature, like the layered nature of sound itself, travel-
ling through time...for in order for 3 dimentions to travel through time, that time must, itself,
have three dimentions of carriage.

SIGN UP NOW!!! (2003-11-18 17:48) - public

Five dollars for 20 seconds!! What a deal!! Do it now or I swear to god, I will make you hurt!!!
I know where you live, remember...
269
[1]

1. http://www.newsbucks.com/index.php?id=116568

iztyme2ryde (2003-11-19 00:19:51)

Nah, I think I will take my chances with you, and the war I know you can not wage :-P

Subconscious Representation Of Pictures Of Laura At A Farmhouse In Autumn

(2003-11-19 01:39) - public

Program List P2, Section REB, Set 2, Pro 2-8:

::open::;
(2);
recieve 12:5:30 _60 image;
240x10 lengh: 500;
thought: mem.arb.sports.tennis.fall(season);
Connecting...
::min::;

::open::
(3);
view 55:30:30 _below binary;
packet _transfer _begin 60:
(picture, camera, flash, taking, memory;
(fall(season), Laura, farmhouse, smiling, car, Kojak;
{lover, travel, relaxation, freedom, vacation;
(sex, fear, self, naked, love, want, hunger;
(son, death, future;
packet _transfer _end 66;
::close::

::margin::
check _margin(44,14);
display;
"I somebomay killtroubles in this dy, room. She cannosex pictt see the ures breatts sfucchek-
ing ating"

—
270
An Old Day Rising (2003-11-20 03:40) - public

there.com is a barrel of fun. Within twenty minutes, I drove a giant jeep off the edge of a
gothic canyon and made out with a scantilly clad blonde in a secret mountainous hot tub. She
had a tongue like an angry venomous snake.

There is something about testes, about going for the gusto, the Vulcan Mind Games, the
sexy Green women. Who knew hair could get this greasy? Who knew I wouldnt wash my
clothes again today...and the half empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans are only pale reminders of
an empty, blissless haze of social forgetting, the coming and going of many spices through a
route of passionless passage who’s ruts are well worn, deep now...who’s ruts are shared by
so many now-rugged travellers of delicate, whispy social fabric, dissappearing like my once
wild hair. These are the signs of things to come, of a peak passed, of aa slope of slow decay,
speeding. This is the end which had been waiting to begin all through teen angst and naively
loud stances, the end waited to begin punishment, to begin its slow discoloration of forgetting,
the dulling of what was once sharp, dangerous, and wild, critisized to refinement and through
to the other side until the mind and personality is that closed, trembling fist of a shrewd, angry
old man, sick and pale in his dying days of waiting, empty of the coursing current which he
once defined, the wrinkled leaf is shuffled here and there by wind it no longer controls.

Three To One Evens (2003-11-22 17:52) - public

Too many Cigar Stillbirths and Diet Cancer Colas to count here, in this slim-finder anti-nature
coalition rent to own form home. I core less and less likely forseeing the heart to beat faster
through my nose; late night black made white only to fall back down, hitting my dark head
on where I was half the way down. Who’s fault but her own, her possession I am and, yet,
somehow, I command with an outside voice, she commands beneath with whispers while
I am inside. A drunken request for a third wheel of her choosing with a response of mixed
ambiguities I cannot boast with. But, I explained with eyes closed decades later in the night,
the politics of an orgy require paradox to succeed. Only with a paradoxically-organized policy
of mutual control can 3 people come to share love. This idea, best represented graphically,
goes in and out like so:

She is to control her, the new her,

As I am to control her, the old her,
And, with the control of me by new her,
There cannot be two teaming to sever.

All inclusive, all role bound and binding,

All act passive, both background and lording,
And in love’s merger of higher in lower,
Paradox-wound ’twines rulers of serving.

iztyme2ryde (2003-11-22 19:57:46)

I would not count on it just yet... it takes a lot to get some one to go for that... and it is a risk that
some might not be willing to take....

271
done runnin’ (2003-11-23 03:09) - public

The six custom machine is without error, I have no love for the error-acceptant dancer. I
have love only for the band who divves headfirst into the the masses, who climbes and
licks the fingers of hot touching. The gay keyboardist of admiration, the coarsing energy of
entertainment’s catalyst, the lovers of of ....

NICK I cannot say anything, they must take time to learn loving, play with them, love
the breasts,

these people dont llike my pillssl...

loving energy bands.. I love NICKNIK32

the idea of being with 2 others... me and two others,is a thought I had dreampt of. and
now that I know what it is likle...it is something I could be used to. There is an order to it,
and order that i know has to be there, One that makes us who we are in this relationship.
Without it, there would be questioning, and disrespect. Something that I do not think I would
appreciate. I like the idea of something as mine. People will share, but there are limits, and
expectations, that we all come to know at some point, and in a way, come to respect. This
respect is gained through experience. This is something that a lot of people will not give even
a chance to. We should all think about the act of experimentation. It is nothing, but when it
is done, it is then deemed as something, as it then gains meaning. Meaning which is then
determined by the way in which it was experienced, I know that I could go for another night
like tonight, only with limitations, that I would set.

(2003-11-23 20:24) - public

Music: Ron Geesin - A Raise Of Eyebrows

another day...another dollar. THAT’S...the way. STOP STOP STOOOOP!!!!

Trot, trot Old Lady. How was your body in the bath? ...or were you just disgusted?

Twitch, twitch Young Lifeless. How was tight members on the john? ...or were you laughing too?

The fine, upstanding fresh smokers see exactly how new it all really is, whispering through
restrained laughter down beneath the social ambience of the room. The stale, loveless
smokers know exactly how new it all really was and have come to take pride in their knowing,
abandoning first the whispering and then talking altogether, the pride of what they have
forgotten swallowing their face, completely, covering it with pose, the opposite of fresh
whisper’s sparkle eyed excitement.

There are those who kiss in makeup and sleep in it too, but what reasoning is in their
favor? What wisdom explains-away the impulse to hate them? The facade-theatric is a 24-7
business, closed all day. Ignorant, defensive, but charged with the ambition that only fear can
generate, the Acting Fist-Brain comes and gets here and there through image with vigor lost
with ignorance. The image built with this fearful zest is one central to culture, manifested of
272
society, its customs and roles fully embraced, even if the customs and roles are ones which
are made to appear seperate from customs and roles. The image of having no image, popular
in certain underground circles, is an image nonetheless.

(2003-11-24 04:24) - public

Outside the punctuation, vocabulary and grammatic style, what makes a good writer good?
How is it decided, with such apparent definition, what is to be worthy and what is to be ignored?
Alan Ginsburg was a sloppy writer who’s lazy prose and rambling irrelevance forced me to
question his supposed worth as a writer and, then, the idea of worth and quality all together.
James Joyce couldn’t care less if his readers understood what the hell he was streaming about
and, most definately, knew that they didn’t. I write with quality, as defined by me, something
which cannot be taught. I cannot rest and must be wicked.

anthropomo (2003-11-24 03:45:12)

1. Communicate something. Anything. 2. Convince enough people that you are doing anything new.

(2003-11-25 03:48) - public

The Cider House Rules was well worth picking up for free from the school library. I always think
about the good movies for a while after they are done, letting the full impact run through my
head. Sometimes, new meanings come to me during this time, spent only when the reflection
is well deserved. The Rules of the Cider House were burned, because the people who wrote
them did not live in the cider house, they did not make the cider, they did not pick the apples.
The true rules of the cider house were made by the people who made the cider. This idea,
however, applied itself throughout the whole of Homer’s life, the rules of being a doctor being
made by the doctors themselves. The idea of knowing "what your business" is, regardless of
certificates of beautifually-written rules. Outside this, the role of Christianity and the rules gov-
erning a mother’s control of her child’s life can be viewed through this same understanding of
the irrelevence of the ruler, the judgement of the individual, subject only to their own situation:
requiring its own rules. Blah, then again, I may be full of shit...

Moons Over My Hammy (2003-11-26 05:57) - public

Oh my god....the old old children I share in mind, with courageous nothing to protect; I lose
more and time again to this obscure record, this draining, insatiable word play. The winter
comes in unrandom flashes of white, like the blinking of a dying opposite, it curls beneath our
skin to make us sleep with. Angry, fighting, resist the sweet cold of self-analysis, for it’s frost
has bitten our tender temple before and we have learned the dangers of its intricate beauty
early on. Life, the life we refuse to acknowledge but personify, draws signs for us to read with
our appreciation of universal beauty.
273
2.12 December

(2003-12-01 03:19) - public

Without coming right out and saying it...

Doctor Beef exclaimed to a room of crying mothers (after some lightning was seen to
flash) and with a twist of his wrist, removed the convenient one-step measure cup.

I am not for the soaring finalists, no, for in their lacky find run, I c, c, curl in brief love
steps, for movies that never get seen. The right and wrong answers combine in sweet sexy
rage, riding for love in times of moneyless hunger and backwash pregnancies.

Lord, grant me the catlike speed and agility to spin twine stories of rejects and joke-goalies for
listless listeners towards heaven or hell. May the crash brief light life never distract me from
my Zest, the fully clean springtime fresh scent which is forgotten in obsession over the skin
its over.

Formless spirit, drift within and without all that I seem to have. Findless outfit, reveal
the hole of wholeness through a singularity I pretend as myself, the fire’s ignorant flicker,
raging against wood it does not understand, will only gain hunger as you feed it, like the desire
which eats us in definition.

iztyme2ryde (2003-12-01 00:40:57)

That was deep, In a weird kinda way, I have much respect for it, a respect that I do not think it is
supposed to put forth, but it is there. Get seen... all movies eventually ’get seen’, however, it is only
by those who have a desire to see the unknown. A distance that proves imagination, and creativity,
much like the workings of your brain, are far more desieable and held to high standards than the
knowlegde one may claim to have, yet is never displayed to the world out there, watching those movies.

(2003-12-01 17:08) - public

Oh, like I needed to skip these last days of classes to sit around in my underwear watching
"Swallow My Pride" porn and eating chips ahoy! (c) rows. The only class which seems to be
late enough for me to down-trodden into begins at 7pm, 3 pm just way to early for this dying
bird.

In other news, the found smiles of people in town trials over me began the days alone.
Decades later, birthdays wash over me like waves of self-critisism, cold lulling conscious as I
try to sleep through the present and hat. The brunette in the dream, tanned porcelein bashful,
looks down upwards at me with a smile of sugar this hungry man cannot help but gorge on
with the rush of messy abandonment of self for beauty. Her 25 foot long hair billows through
gusty winds like a dark cloud on the seashore, her breasts her body, round flesh orb tightly
waiting for some hungry waiter’s moistened service. I am far too neat to be her salivation,
her money form to fill or be filled, the shutdown night nail is growing colder in our dreamless
rolling and pillow holding, of what value is the sugary rush of gorging the gorgeous? Leaving
you empty and wanting so quickly after, with nothing.
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I believe, fair brunette of dreams, that we need some meat to this relationship...

Git in tha kitchan en make me a sammach!!

(2003-12-02 02:16) - public

Two Words:

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _t

turboswami (2003-12-01 23:26:30)

reduced fat

iztyme2ryde (2003-12-01 23:34:57)

What is that all about?

turboswami (2003-12-02 04:55:27)

Not much

biscuitboy (2003-12-02 05:02:23)

Bull Shit.

marckaw (2003-12-02 07:09:14)

rim job?

iztyme2ryde (2003-12-02 07:33:05)

Oh but what about the ’t’... there has to be a t...cmon Marc, you can think of something heh

marckaw (2003-12-02 07:55:32)

Rim Jobt. Past Tense. As in, "I got rim jobt last night."

iztyme2ryde (2003-12-02 09:40:38)

Ha ha, Nice. Now that is Kaweki style.

(2003-12-02 18:12) - public

Mating: This is harder. Obviously, being human, it is awkward, but not impossible to mate in
open water. It is easier to have the dolphin in a shallow area (like the shallows just off the
beach) around 1 1/2 to 2 feet deep. This is usually comfortable enough for both the dolphin
and you. Gently, you should roll the dolphin on her side, so she is lying belly-towards you.
You can prop yourself up on an elbow, and lie belly to belly against her. You may want to use
the other arm to gently hold her close, and place the tip of your member against her genital
slit. She will, if interested, arch her body up against you, taking you inside her body. There is
usually a fair bit of wriggling and shifting, usually to get comfortable, both outside and inside.
Once comfortable, though, females initiate a series of muscular vaginal contractions that rub
the entire length of your member. They may also thrust rhythmically against you, so enjoy
275
the experience while you can, since you will rarely last longer that a minute or two. Just prior
to her climaxing, she will up the speed of her contractions and thrusts. It is interesting to note
that the times I have mated with females, they have timed their orgasm to mine. Whether
they do this consciously or not, I do not know, but it is a great feeling to have two bodies
shuddering against each other at the one time.

One thing to note. Whether you masturbate or mate a fin, male or female, always spend time
with them afterwards. Cuddle them, rub them, talk to them and most importantly, show them
you love them. This is essential, as it helps to strengthen the bond between you. Like a way
of saying that this wasn’t just a one-night fling. The dolphins appreciate it, and they will want
your company more the next time you visit them.

marckaw (2003-12-02 15:49:47)

credit where credit is due: http://www.dolphinsex.org/

(2003-12-03 00:06) - public

Oh, you tear-loving greasy black goth fucks with your black rose poetry and cliched mascara
smearing, take a pill and go to work already because I am sick of your constant moaning of
dark dark black sad darkness in your tortured black dark artsy soul.

In similar regions, the dreams of days only pretend to leave, but curl in to layer in dreams of
dreaming, to awake in a dream unsure of what I see. This I can no longer control and, afraid, I
strain to open my eyes, frantically swimming to a surface in a museum of one single face of
many colors in my mind, but my face, itself, was made of foam beneath plastic all along, fake
fake. I couldnt put it back in place if I tried....

The errands of communication are sounds I make in listening, If only I could listen, but
not be acknowledged, like a telephone house or a night fire soul between confidants of the
forest retreat.

YOU LAZY FUCK! FULL FACED BEYOND ANY RECOGNITION, YOU TIRE IN SLEEP,
Greed
Loveless greedy puss knob, how diseased is your mind to squeeze these sick words out of
your bloody, enflamed mess. your body is numb to their wasted affection and the loving tones
are emptied as you return them filled only with anger, the stench of your sick negative bile,
breeding repulsive hateful isolation . Fuck Yourself, Tear Your Face With Jagged Glass, Scar this
fucking shell of disgust you carry for it will bring nothing but pain, forever...

Whew! Dont bother, I’ll clean all that up tommorow, thanks again.

Distortion Of Female Form - Series One (2003-12-03 18:58) - public

http://f2.pg.photos.yahoo.com/turboswami

Some modern cubism. The pictures with names other than "untitled #" are the ones I
am proudest of...the layers of edges represent motion. The original pictures were full screen,
276
but yahoo decided to make them smaller.

Is it crap, or is it good? I cannot decide for myself.

iztyme2ryde (2003-12-03 23:02:41)

You can make them full screen, you click on them from the icons

(2003-12-04 17:24) - public

Happy Birthday To Me

(2003-12-05 03:16) - public

A strange conception of dimension came to me last night. I have never liked the idea of
Time being the 4th dimension or of Space and Time being the same vague entity. It was
rather that one is a carriage for the other and that, upon some axis of space, a dimension
can "rotate" inwardly on itself, creating new or previously unheld coordination in space. The
X-Axis, at the point of origin, rotates to create the second dimension, Y, who’s Axis is defined
perpendicularly at 90 degrees. Likewise, it is this same "inward rotation" which creates Z, the
rotation "upwards from the page" of the 2-dimentional which creates our understanding of
physical depth. It seemed, then, last night that this seemingly simple rotational conception of
dimension could be applied to surface, the depth of surface, to extract some understanding of
what we have not the capacity to percieve.

We are aware of the depth of surface, the third dimension, but also have a vague under-
standing of a "deeper depth" beneath surface. This, I feel, represents the unseen 4th
dimension and that, if we are only to find the "axis" on which to rotate on, and take the leap
of self-awareness required to rotate in that new direction...

Rotate is a bad word for describing this depth beneath surface. In "zoning out," our
mind and awareness both leave this plane of awareness, entering one beneath what we see.
This is the direction...

(2003-12-05 21:18) - public

Music: LARD - Peeling Back the Foreskin Of Liberty

Some movies come or go from me before dreams. In them, themes present themselves
with appropriate audio and visual effects, soundtracks, and plots. A comedy last night, its
interpretation lost to my increasingly poor memory. I am left only with the long thoughts
before sleep, which I can remember with regained focus before the event horizon of sleep.

A cliched look by a set of arguing actors into the camera proclaim, like some bad Looney Toons
episode, "Well...? What do YOU think!!?" and, the protagonist, staring blankly into the camera,
continues...the camera slowly rotating away from the gaze of his eyes to reveal, in fact, a third
character, being addressed, when we had assumed we, the viewers, were being addressed....
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A young blonde boy in a high chair toying with a small television remote...

"Before resolution, press 1 to repeat this message, press 2 to cancel, press 3 to speak
to a representative..."

the boy does not look up, but stares at the television remote...the man staring down at
him, speaking in a robotic monotonous voice...

"Press 4 and tap 9 to translate message, press 2, 4, and 8 simultaneously to speak di-
rectly with a digital conversion specialist...."

...I then recieved a phone call, the phone was under my pillow and I jumped...

Perhaps the man of the forgotten argument will reintroduce himself to this strange, offi-
cial interaction between the boy and the man....naked, angry, telling him not to confuse the
boy with these useless numbers...to teach him differently so that this would never happen
again, that he would never teach his son the ways of automation....

Sure, I have a camcorder...

I need actors. and... you know.... real ideas.

Cute little babies, my mom talks about eating them.

(2003-12-07 04:33) - public

These men they love...

Throughth foresTruth formman foreign booth. I am to collect tonights 38th caliber shot-before
bullet shell casings for melting into personalized coins and complementary pins in my base-
ment’s downstairs underfloor metal smelting shop.

But who will wear the pins if they do not like what they say?*

Outside the basement, there are people I hear who say things to one another about
cars and the weather of driving for cars and travel. For this person, and their listener, I will
print these agreeable quotations of cars, their weather, and its travel. Each member, on the
4th of each month, will recieve free of direct charge ONE unopened folder ov..

Come towards the light so that I may entrance the sequence with my patented Mesmer
recitation eye cream and stout marker running water, who’s ink a cue for arrest within spans
of public in view, viewing.*

ens. Obligation developed film photograph picture to be of eating at dinner in the sec-
ond building will be placed in boxes at each entrance.
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(2003-12-07 16:36) - public

Drunk of dream, the deeply meaningful script of a black stranger’s liquor bottle on the
sideways stumble of some fleshy nightlife strip.

"Tight Fit..." the two lucious heat twins teased laughter in smiling white. How awkward
that I be riding a bike through these doors at this hour of night, they skimmering off across,
opposing, through the same doors carried by a less wholesome direction.

So disoriented...why, when I was so calmly reading his table books minutes or hours
ago. How did I get here, I was sure I drove a foreign car or van, but my chauffer tells me
otherwise. Why am I showering in this strange house? I hear them talking about me doing so
downstairs, why would I clean myself after the fight...

Oh god, I am still wearing my jean shorts...I am so disoriented...I have to take these off
and wring them out, yes...I must wear them, maybe they wont notice. They think I am jerking
off, I hear them laughing. What if I sit down and my ass leaves an sopping imprint much like
my Live Journal Icon...

Where is that girl? I want to....shake her hand.

(2003-12-08 04:51) - tired with miles to go - public

Music: ROBERT FRIPP/BRIAN ENO - EVENING STAR

Oh, who can I blame for beginning study for the most important tests of the year at three in
the morning? Or, not going to testing class for the last month and a half? Or never actually
purchasing the book for the testing class? Or...or...sideways fatty.

To begin, the most and least are sides of a room I paint with colors of my choosing and
mixing. The people who occupy my transition chat amongst themselves, a defition drawn
within definitions within definitions a thousand times over within the room, with dress and
face color all defining the location of themselves. A waiter waits, a smoker smokes, a painter
paints himself the color of his desired location.

Stigma, through a window, resides away from the light. Sex, like an undisolving cloud
of sweet-smelling smoke, carries itself, viscous, inner-spiralling, along the social currents
of the room. The wagging of an excited tail courses a slipstream of involvement through
its awareness of all surrounding. The waves upon waves beneath the smoke they carry lull
tread-waterers to drift into the cadaverous sleep of the reject’s social grave, where the best
view can be attained, from below.

GREG, DO DRUGS!

marckaw (2003-12-08 03:03:49)

You pansy. Miles to go, my ass. You went to sleep! Ha! Meanwhile, I have an exam in 1.75 hours
which I should probably study for. Watch the spinning spiral, man, watch it.

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 turboswami (2003-12-08 10:50:14)
Hey! Look, buddy, thats hogwash! Thats...that’s just bologna!!

iztyme2ryde

turboswami (2003-12-08 15:54:52)

Answers a lot of things, even things I didnt ask. You both blame and tell me who to blame all in one
fell swoop. I dont know what I would do without you.

(2003-12-08 14:08) - public

Exsqueeze me, my pardon, but my release was assured; filled up Form A through to Form
B and am still every single, one. Forgive me, for I did not intend to appear, degrading the
worth of my containment or its many Forms, but unseen be naked, I would rather not at all.
The buttons of my shirt like the cold comfort of steel bars to an elderly man in sleep; one
way or another, the outside to remain so and only we will ever know the rest (each to ourselves)

Give thanks you with one hand to pleasers who pleasure, for they pleasure selves with
their other hand, which measures.

A Wrinkling Leaves Cold (2003-12-09 06:26) - public

The old bag considers plastic, the last resort to hide an ever-drying bitterness. Once full, moist
beauty, with celery and falling underwear, now she grit her teeth in tense anger at night, her
dreams harsh grinding reflections of a hateful sickness, the tight faced glare, the hair of the
neck raised in sharp anger...

OH! Like Kevin Costner thinks his shit dont stink! We all know you get explosive diariah
like the rest of us, Kevo!

swarms (2003-12-09 15:03:35)

DEAR ANNIE, my woman has a picture of Kevin Costner on her refridge, does it mean anything? Lost
in Lansing, MI

iztyme2ryde (2003-12-09 22:44:14)

I would not think anything of it, like Kevin’s ’explosive diarriaha’ can compare to that which you can
do, I am sure.

turboswami (2003-12-10 03:16:32)

It means that, in the heat of passionate love-making, when she closes her eyes, she does it only
so that she can more clearly imagine Kevin Costner’s face. At the height of orgasm, she pictures a
torrent stream of warm diarriah, fountaining upwards into the air... This was all very HUSH HUSH,
until now...I have wrote the TELL ALL book.

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 gawthspork (2003-12-10 07:48:22)
that, my friend, is the most terrible thing i have ever read. ever. i feel very sorry for mr. swarms.

marckaw (2003-12-10 08:48:38)

A [1]fountain?

1. http://www.tubgirl.com/
iztyme2ryde (2003-12-10 11:52:46)
Now that is disturbing

turboswami (2003-12-10 13:48:27)

The was actually EXACTLY the picture that came to mind when writing...its a classic.

marckaw (2003-12-10 18:34:23)

Heh. Now if only we could figure out what she had to eat...that fountain looks powerful enough to
keep rioting niggers in check. Whoops, did I say that? No offense meant to my African brothers.
It’s all in fun. Except that slavery bit, that was all in cotton.

The Spirit Of Abandonment (2003-12-11 05:50) - public

I have so many more pages to write...and its 6 oclock...will this week never ending week never
end?

—
...

...It was the far-reaching and, also, in many ways, groundbreaking definitions and decon-
structions of culture which took place during the 60’s which seemed to deal the final “death
blow” to the essentially sterile and seemingly innocent ideals of the 50’s. Although, it has
been argued that it was not the people of this generation who were innocent, so much as
the wholesome portrayal of Americana which dominated the media of the time: the “Father
Know’s Best” model which we, years later, have been said to confuse with the actual, living
family model of the time. (France, 23) It is, however, certain beyond a doubt that, with the
development of the 1960’s Counter-Culture movement, the moral and spiritual framework of
a nation was seen to fall in upon itself, as if undermined by a “new youth” who’s attitude
was one of truth seeking through abandonment of traditional customs and norms, religious or
not. There are several very convincing explanations for the development of this “new youth,”
eager to drop out from a culture they claimed to be able to “see through.” The most relevant
of these explanations, however, is a purely physical one: the adopting of the psychedelic
drug as a social and recreational pastime. It is the psychedelic, or “mind-manifesting” drug,
who’s key side effects are the degradation of the personality, the abandonment of one upheld
social roles, and the general undermining of cultural-carriaging ambitions. These are the
defined values of the counter-culture, as well as the values of the many Eastern philosophical
religions which came into style during this time, ancient doctrines of social transcendence
from far off lands of ancient psychedelic use. Is it no surprise that the philosophy and dogma
of “dropping out” follow the same slow Westward crawl as marijuana? From China, to India
and further yet until, so many hundreds of years later, the mindset and personality of an
281
identity-questioning drug finally cross the expanse of an ocean, nestling deep into the fertile
minds of our home front’s children during a time of social unrest, the Vietnam war; seeming
to fuel the tireless questioning and critiquing of our Government during that time to the
devastation of our national identity, pride, and belief system. I like to call Christianity an
alcoholic’s religion; one which simply could not withstand the surge of redefinition though
self-awareness which the counter culture brought us. We came to embrace a different land,
with different release-substances and different, more complex, philosophies. Introduced to
ancient psychedelic concepts, like the Hindu term “maya,” translated loosely to mean “the
theatric nature of culture,” many found spiritual guidance which matched the realizations of
their newfound drug. It was during this time that intellectuals replaced the name God with
the terms like “The Ultimate Ground Of Being,” coined by Paul Tillich in his book “The Battle
Of The Bible” in 1965, the greater power supposedly decontaminated, coming to represent
more Eastern ideals like “the Self of the World.” Essentially, decontamination entailed the
reconceptualizing of God, not as the divine authoritarian father figure granting guilt from
above, but rather not a separate personality at all.
Yet, in our culture this is the touchstone of insanity, the blackes of blasphemies, and the
wildest of delusions. This, according to the previously-held Christian reasoning, is the ultimate
in megalomania - an infatuation of the ego to complete absurdity. As my mother used to say,
“You’re not the only pebble on the beach!” So we were taught to “know our place” and to
behave, think, and feel with proper modesty that befits one little ego among many. How, then,
can we connect these to seemingly contradictory spiritual philosophies, merge the East with
the West?
A recently discovered Coptic manuscript, possibly translated from a Greek version as old as
140 A.D. contains these sayings attributed to Jesus Christ, himself:

When you make the two one and

When you make the inner as the outer
And the outer as the inner and the above as the below…
Then shall you enter [the Kingdom]…
I am the Light that is above
Them all, I am the All,
The All came forth from Me and the All
Attained to Me. Cleave a [piece of] wood, I
Am there; lift up the stone and you will
Find Me there.

The “I” and the “Me” here are obvious references to this “Self of the World.” It was said
that for the Roman Catholic church to legitimize these ancient writings as those of the Savior,
himself, the purpose and power structure of the church, as a place of worship, would be
completely undermined, God’s place, as defined by Jesus, being in and of everything, not of
a specific building or place of worship. With this in mind, their rejection of these long lost
manuscripts can be well-understood.
As the mixed wisdom of the 60’s “consciousness expansion” movement surfaces up from the
rubble a culture’s fallen illusions, the pioneering thoughts of that expansion of the mind will
come to be refined into a form which the majority of this newly transcendent society can come
to adopt as the norm. The critical minds bred from our scientific and technologically-fueled
information society will accept nothing but the best of these refinements of spirituality’s
understanding. This low trough of spiritual disillusionment is a gauge by which we can predict
the height of the ever-forming cultural crest, a religious movement which will, no doubt, adopt
and encompass all of the held beliefs of our time, from evolution to the internet. Most of all,
282
whatever is to come will integrate the conception of oneness described by Jesus Christ, the
monistic vision of Selfhood, the well of which all spiritual depthis found.

Oh God! I threw Up On A Rapist... (2003-12-15 18:31) - public

Some exciting inovations in sound lab testing...

Worry not, young stinkbombs, all has been notated.

The fourth strike has fell to my calm, smiling face and I grit my teeth through restless
nights. How is it that these nightmares come and go all in exact coordination with one another,
single file order, without any visably attached strings. The fighting and the subtle insults
who’s sharp bite only comes with seconds, why am I cursed with their angry procurement.
Why must I be right...all of the time, forever and ever, amen?

My fillings are less now, as if I am preparing for war. They rattle temple shock with tin
chemical’s interaction and I cry in conversation about the weather, afterwards. Please,
mother, dont let this happen again. I have set myself up to be knocked down, so please, keep
your loving arms open because the strings I finally see are being cut with dull scissors so cold
and my soul may just ship out if I dont shape up.

Shipwrecked sailor, in the night..

I close my eyes and taste your plight.
My senses tune to far away...
To other rooms, to touch and play.
And pain and pain and endless pain,
Of all the children and their knees,
Pain and pain, never ending pain.
To cry, smiling, I silently see.

The games are all screaming now,

Near mastery inviting these wounds.
And will the car sit patiently,
For me in this empty room.
And will the love sit patiently,
For me who knows what’s not true.
My love is seasick all over the block,
A tender mess that came too soon.

I want to be Andy Warhol, the end.

(2003-12-16 03:31) - public

For the record, the coming and going of these . . .

.
. .
. . .
283
. . . .
Hyyrf, Hyyrf.
. . . . . .

Nobody talk and this will all be fine...Stay shut up, at any expense or defense, remain
closed at all costs. I had better take my own advice, for once.

Intra-Body Experience (2003-12-16 10:52) - public

I slept with eyes open, that is my only rational at this moment...

Staring at the shoulder of my lover, a second shoulder slowly rose from behind hers. It
looked almost exactly like hers, only warmer, redder. I saw it and immediately became
deathly afraid. It was then that she began to moan loudly, irregularly. Her moan was high
pitched and long, like a distant scream. Once, and then again, the mournfully high moan got
louder until I softly spoke "What’s Wrong?"

Immediately after the first word, her eyes were open and staring into mine, emptily.
She immediately held me, and continued moaning the same way and I felt as if I was being
hugged by a spirit and I became very very afraid and a deep, soul-shaking cold caused my
whole body to shiver and twitch as I cried and cried as I am now, still afraid.

Her soul was leaving her body in sleep and I saw it. Knowing that I was also in sleep
and could see her, she called to me through her distant body as loud and high as possible,
letting me know what was happening, seeing that I was very afraid.

Like a dream, I closed my eyes and opened them again and the hazy red shoulder I saw
slowly rise from behind my girlfriend’s disappeared, but the moaning was unlike any I had
ever heard, louder than she had ever made in sleep in over the year I have known her. I could
keep seeing it, again and again, replaying in my mind, the slow rising which I first thought was
someone who had been hiding behind her who was holding her from behind, spooning. I told
her I saw a man holding her, but this was just a reinterpretation I made to make sense when I
told her. I saw a woman’s shoulder.

My religion professor told me that the Shaman, deep in meditation or wakeful sleep,
journeys to different realms and interacts with spirits. I did not understand in class, but now
I do. My mother also had the strange ability to see spirits at night and, once in her life that I
know of, in the day. The one she saw in the daylight was inhuman and grotesque, a bald wolf
creature, which through a window caused her to curl over, dropping her plates, in absolute
terror which I can now relate to. The spirits she saw at night were just those of the house, she
said, old gentlemen. The period of time she saw them was about a year and peaked when I
was about 12 years old.

I saw them too though, because the would only sometimes come upstairs to my room.
When they did, my cat would stand up, arching its back, hissing and then it would run to the
window. The most fearful memory, still distinct even over a decade later, was the day I took
a nap in my mother’s bed and was approached by a spirit. I refused to open my eyes, but
trembled violently in fear and I felt it touch me and heard it’s anger. It sounded very much
284
like some kind of snarling cat, and perhaps it was. I have never questioned exactly what it
was, but know that this is a genetic trait passed on to me from my mother and that my father
always slept sound in that old mining house I was raised in.

I am still shaking, more than an hour later now. These instances are the only times I
have known to cry in fear. I dont think I’m crazy, but I cannot rationalize any of this very well
right now. I will talk with my professor...

(2003-12-16 10:52) - public

Ronny "Wrong-Turn" Coursch crammed crayons into the childs bloody face, cream sickle
harvest season for the undying weeds of another man’s garden.
—"Wax a fourth time Now you little shit twirp fuck"
The child continues its salty mess, mixing all a face could.
—"I’ve come here for our own good, and I will smear you like a second thought if you dare as
much think of what is happening to you right now"
The child farts and then coughs to cover*
—"You dirty little slut tyke, I aughta cram this big red crayon into your bullet hole for that
fucking disgrace to your name."

So began young Ronny "Cold" Coursch jr’s first day of school, and I quote:

"He’s a bright young lad with a lot of potential" *zip*

And, from Martha Cyte:

"He was once a beautiful child. Something aughta be done! There aughta be a law...oh,
wait, nevermind"

John Cash filled the dark room with his low, evil tales of murder. Jesus turned on the
light and saved a beer for after work...and the world was happy again.

Form a line in the sand with your foot and live on one side of it, this is the message
and this is me shitting on your line. Fuck you! Fuck your sandy system and its tempting idols.
I fear nothing but the absence of your life as you wait for death, I fear nothing but the squirms
of greed you snivel through days of tense driving and buying. Its all yours and you can fucking
have it you fat fucker! I wish I was a simple windowlicking ’tard, so money would be beyond
me.

(2003-12-16 13:37) - public

After I told her about what had happened, I asked what she remembered of waking up. She
said that she remembered absolutely nothing, but that it was a strange sleep she had had
because it was "empty" and that she had never dreamed that way with me there before. I
concluded that an "empty" dream is one in which the body is emptied, that the soul leaves and
that I, also being in a dream state, witnessed this. The intensity of REM sleep, the twitching
285
and convulsing of that dreaming, is the opposite of the empty dream and is memorable.

After breakfast, she was still tired and so we went back to the bed. The moment she
layed down, she had a severe sneezing fit and said "I must be allergic to you." I did not think
much of this and we layed, she holding me as we talked, until she fell asleep again.

Within seconds, her body began to convulse almost violently and her breathing became
almost severe hyperventilation. The moaning began again, only this time not as high and
broken up into syllable-like sounds:

"AAA-ah...uh!"

The "AAA" was like the first A of my name, Kaleb, the "ah" being the same as well. The
"uh!" was not one of anger, more frustration. When this moaning began again, I admit I was
a little scared, hearing a message to me in it. I became tense and she became quiet, holding
me and breathing deeply, twitching much less. It was at that point that she began to move
her leg towards mine, and I expected her to touch be but she didnt...

At the point of my leg, the back above my left calf muscle, where her leg would have
touched me, it became very cold. This cold slowly spread up my legs and torso filling my chest
all at once, causing my whole body to shiver. I immediately began to cry. The cold subsided
and became a beautiful indescribable warmth and I, too, began to breath heavily like she was,
fast to compensate for my sudden body heat. This experience was unlike any I had ever felt
and is hard for me to describe, but was very comforting, like the warmth of another person. It
then drifted away and she just held me, quietly, breathing normal again.

I turned to her and she opened her eyes and kissed me and I asked if she was awake.
We talked and I immediately asked her if she dreamt. She said that the dream started when
she was running, that it started with a twitch of her leg and then she was in a dream of being
in public, that there were many many people where she was. She said there was an authority
figure, a tall man with dark hair, who was watching her in public as she interacted intimately
with a close girl and that this man disapproved or was critical.

The moment she said "it started when I moved my leg," I broke down again. It all fit to-
gether and, somehow, I no longer felt strange about what I had saw in the morning, the slowly
rising warm body which I had been replaying again and again in my head relentlessly. I feel
like I understand more now and I am no longer afraid. I have interpreted the critical, watching
authoritative man as myself in the dream, watching the entrance of Teasha’s soul into "public."
This dream helped me and I must never forget it or her empty eyes which opened with my
whisper.

(2003-12-16 16:00) - public

Later still, Teasha, my girlfriend, said "Oh, I forgot...I dunno if it’s relevant, but at the end of
my dream, I saw me..." When she said this innocent thing, everything I felt at that intense,
indescribable moment was confirmed for me. I, again, became very emotional, uncontrollably.
Not sad or happy...no longer even afraid, just emotional in some way I have never felt.

I asked if, when she saw herself, how was it...from what perspective? From my perspec-
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tive? She confirmed, again, that yes, it was seeing herself from my own eyes. She then
revealed further details from the dream she had at that time...

I was standing, waiting, by a magic fountain, very wet, the kind that pennies are thrown
in. I was watching her in her dream as she followed and lost the other girl. The authoritative
man who was watching, who I interpret as me, she says was able to somehow "float between;"
that he was special in what he could see and seemed, almost, to float off of the ground where
he watched.

I cannot help but view this dream as a result of the interactions between the three "peo-
ple" I saw in my bed this morning. In order to avoid bias, I asked her to describe her thoughts
in writing, seperately, before reading my own. I hope for this precaution to lend credibility to
these things which I can only swear, in quivering tearful honesty, that I first saw and secondly
felt "inside" myself. The physical symptoms of this, my sudden chills and shaking followed by
intense heat and hyperventilation, were not witnessed by anyone but myself and, perhaps,
some part of Teasha who remembers nothing she said or did.

It is the distant, mournful screams which she made after realizing what I saw which I
cannot get out of my head, permenantly attached to the image of the second rising body of
reddish hue. And that she awoke, with just a whisper of "What’s wrong?" with those staring,
empty eyes and blank, deadpan expression...immediately clutching me around my chest...and
screaming one more inhuman cry from whatever depths she cannot remember.

(2003-12-16 18:24) - public

Freudian slips, among other things, are direct links to the subconscious mind. All day long, I
have felt a new respect for Teasha, a respect for a spiritual being I have never known. Eating
dinner, we both talked about this and how it is that it developed after "the incident" and why.
After dinner, we began to fool around and returned to the bed to make love. There was a new
connection between us, like I understood parts of her I never had before and the love we made
was, arguably, the best we had had and, afterwards, we talked about why. It was there, the
two of us back in the bed laying as we held eachother in the dim light, that the person I had
met last night seemed to surface again, as if called back into interaction by the bed, a trigger
location.

She began to talk about her grades, saying "I’m so proud of my grade in math, espe-
cially after dad doubted me. It was like I rose up out of it and you were there to see it"

I looked at her and said "You rose up out of it and I was there to see it?"

"Yea...my dad doubted me and...oh, wow!"

The subconscious spiritual being was proud and, without knowing it consciously, Teasha
was talking to me on two levels.

She began to talk about living here, upstate, and how we would be taking trips down-
state, saying "There is an upstate [pointed at my head] and a downstate [pointing at my
crotch] and they are connected."

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Again, I had her repeat what she said, so that its meaning would be revealed to her.

Finally, and what seemed the most jarring interaction with this soul who entered my
body was the Freudian slip she made while talking, fast and thoughtlessly, about the night:

"You were so sad and I wanted to help, so I couldnt just sleep. You were crying, so I
went to sleep. Then you woke me up"

In disbelief, I repeated "I was crying, so you went to sleep?"

She nodded, as if it still meant nothing.

"I was crying, so you went to sleep to stop me from crying?"

"Yea? So..."

"Did you say that on purpose?"

She stares me directly in the eye and nods yes...this was the face, the deadpan face I
had been introduced to only recently, speaking to me through a person who’s innocence
only confirmed her internal-other’s existance. I felt immediately naked, as if those eyes
were staring through to their counterpart in myself; the two insides now inextricably melded,
open, one. The realm of dreams is one of spirits, attached and disattached. The person I
have met is no longer frightening to me, as she was when I first saw her venture out into
"public." No, in fact, by the sounds of it, she intends to be making more trips "upstate" to visit...

Teasha also told me that this was the second time that this out of body sleeping experi-
ence had happened to her. When she was just entering adolescence, at around age 13, a
girl friend of hers spent the night and they slept together. Identically to what I experienced,
Teasha woke up, completely unaware, to her friend sobbing and shivering afraid of what had
just happened. She, too, described a deep, soul-shaking cold which caused immediate fear
and misunderstanding. She did not describe the internal warmth that I had felt after the initial
"entrance," as, perhaps, the warmth requires the love that we have and that her and her friend
did not. Her friend, apparently, was so shook by the cold that they soon went their seperate
ways, where this "soul warming" feeling has seemed to bond me to Teasha, a bond stronger
than any I have felt for another person, formed within those few short, blissful seconds of
absolute spiritual connection. Although, the words I use fall, uncontrollably, under the "soul
mate" cliche, this was something which was very tangible, visible, and sensual...more sensual
than anything I have felt, more than sex or the greatest of felt pain, this entrance of her soul
through my left leg was a sense, perhaps, seperate of skin or nerves...a "jump start" of bliss
which causes an instant Fountain of which I can only wait by, watching.

Alarming Evidence (2003-12-16 19:16) - public

http://www.near-death.com/tart.html
http://www.home.no/lucid/lucid/remobe.pdf
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...These were copied with a black marking pen, in figures approximately two inches high, onto
a small piece of paper. Thus they were quite discrete visually. This five-digit random number
constituted the parapsychological target for the evening. I then slipped it into an opaque
folder, entered the subject’s room, and slipped the piece of paper onto the shelf without at any
time exposing it to the subject. This now provided a target which would be clearly visible to
anyone whose eyes were located approximately six and a half feet off the floor or higher, but
was otherwise not visible to the subject. The subject was instructed to sleep well, to try and
have an out-of-body experience, and if she did so to try to wake up immediately afterwards
and tell me about it, so I could note on the polygraph records when it had occurred. She was
also told that if she floated high enough to read the five-digit number she should memorize it
and wake up immediately afterwards to tell me what it was...

... Miss Z awoke and called out that the target number was 25132. This was correct
(with the digits in correct order), but I did not say anything to her at this point; I merely
indicated that I had written the number down on the record. I then told her she could go back
to sleep, but twenty minutes later I awakened her so that she could get ready to go to work.
At this time, she described her experience as follows:

(2003-12-18 22:57) - public

Against the wishes of Teasha, I intend to write about what has happened the last two nights. I
have told her that this helps me and that, indirectly, I feel it helps her as well...

On the night after the "blissful comforting," we were both afraid to sleep, but did not
tell eachother. My dad had left the house because his sister had mysteriously dissappeared
the night of the entrance and he wanted to know why and what she took with her...

I realized, after some serious thought, why Teasha was having so much trouble in her
sleep; why she was so sad. The night of my seeing her soul leave her body, as I slept with
my eyes open, she had been raped in her sleep. Sleep is the most vulnerable time we have
throughout our life and it is not our everyday self who is violated in sleep, but a deeper, sub-
conscious "soul," to use the loaded term. It was this violation, during a time when her defenses
had been completely lowered, and her conscious self disolved, that caused her spiritual self
to cry out, afraid, in sleep; the high pitched wail which I cannot forget, as hard as I may try. It
is this rape which split her in two and which is, all at once, frustrated, angry, and afraid. This
is the explanation which came to me and, while talking to her in her sleep, I have been able to
ask questions of her who’s answers seem to shed light on the mechanics of her personal divide.

With dad gone from the house, I thought it might be a good idea to drive to my moms
and spend the night there, as to not be alone. We talked about the rape with mom and
everyone cried, some louder than others, and afterwards we talked about how best to seek
vengance through the authorities. Going into my old bed, upstairs, to sleep, I entered a state
of sleep I do not recall, not even aware I had fallen asleep during which time Teasha, again,
began to cry out distantly in her sleep only, as she did it, I clutched her arm which layed around
my shoulder, as if enraged, and then, gouged my fingernails into her arm, scraping them hard
like my hand a claw. Teasha, partially awake, became frightened by the high pitched mournful
cry she heard herself make and I apparently awoke, after the 15 minute ordeal, finding her
very upset. When she looked for blood on her arm, I too became upset that I had hurt her in
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my sleep and we decided that we did not want to sleep in that house, that it was too foreign,
somehow. Driving out, we found that we had been blocked in by a 3 1/2 foot tall wall of snow
which someone had built across the long long driveway to my mother’s home. I, still shaken,
said "Something doesn’t want us to leave." That was irrational of me, however. I think it was
just some drunk with a snowplow, now.

Getting home, I insisted that she write about the experience of rape from beginning to
end to "flush it out of her system" and, after that, we layed in bed from 3:30ish until 7 AM,
afraid to sleep, but not telling one another. I tried to make her happy and comfort her in any
way I could. We had intense sex, but intense in a new way I cannot describe. Slowly settling
eachother down, we slept deeply and I awoke at 5 pm feeling absolutely sure it was still before
noon.

I told everyone about what happened, seeming, by the end of the day, almost to be
boasting about it; no longer visibly shaking or wet-eyed when I talked about staring into her
deadpan, expressionless face. We went to the police to report the rape to an unsympathetic,
insensitive fist brain who screamed in my face for trying to help her to explain the night of the
rape. A friend came over and we smoked some pot and drank champagne, slowly coming to
talk about what happened once again. At night, however, she was still sick...

The first part was, within minutes, a return of the intense convulsive twitching and hyperventila-
tion, however not as intense as the night of their introduction. She was semi-conscious during
this and occationally awoke to describe her lack of control or fear. I felt tinges of sensual body-
play taking place, which also were not as intense as the previous, unbearably intense instance.
She would sometimes awake and stare into my eyes and there were 2 instances that I was able
to stare back into her expressionless face and her face became reddish and my eyes began to
water with nameless emotion. Several instances arose which carried the self-forgetfulness of a
dream, only not a dream, merely quiet, whispering conversation which, when I replied to, she
did not recall beginning. The first was after I had said or done something to anger her and she
pushed my hands away from her torso, leaving them on her ass when they stayed. Seconds
later, with her back to me, she said quietly "You can pet ME..." with a unique emphasis on "ME."

I simply whispered back "ok, if you like" to which Teasha said, confused, "What?"

Seconds later, the whispering voice returning and said "Don’t you remember me?" and I
became confused and asked what she meant. She again remembered nothing of what she
had said seconds before, but rather insisted I had made it up, becoming very defensive and
loud. I told her she should write it down, because I would forget about it. She said she wanted
to forget about it

Further into the night, I began to, when she twitched, moan to her in an inquizitive tone.
This produced some strange responses, some of them very long and detailed which I may
never be able to remember fully. The most meaningful ones seem intact, however:

She began to describe being bound by a kind of rope to her chest or stomach area and
that she kept getting "pulled back in" by things happening, like my movement.

Once, after the leg which came to almost touch me the night 2 previous began to con-
vulse and I felt a tingling on own leg which reached up to my crotch causing me to become
erect, she possibly awoke and began to talk about one of us being "a gate." She told me that
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only one can fit through the gate, that two never could. Almost cryptically, she described
that I would understand when it was 10 (oclock? 10th of January) when I would experience
what she has. I asked her why I had an erection and she said "because I wanted to play" or
"because I wanted you to."

She once awoke and looked into my eyes, and told me my face was decayed and horrific,
eaten by worms and maggots burrowing into my flesh. She went on to describe how, when
the skin rots off, you can finally rise above it, that it is no longer warm and you are free to float.

She said she saw me rise above the bed and fall back into myself, awaking with a vio-
lent jolt.

The most unbelievable thing to take place during the night, which I will write of only be-
cause I was conscious of it, was the strange, intermittant footsteps heard downstairs. Each
time I moved in the bed, there would be a light pounding on my downstairs door, followed
by footsteps which were not heard throught the extent of the supposed movement of their
maker, but which drifted, as if walking/jumping or light footed floor creaking. The third time
I moved in bed, I heard the handle of the door, the lock mechanism, turn and move, but not
click to be opened. This was followed by further pounding. I wondered if my dad, sleeping
downstairs, could hear the pounding; I asked and he said he did not. It was strange, however,
that when I asked Teasha if she had went downstairs in the night, she said that she very much
wanted to, because she felt bad about my crying and did not feel she belonged and felt guilty.
She even said she was about to go downstairs to sleep, but before getting up to leave, simply
drifted off to sleep and thought about it. This is not as credible as my the happenings of the
previously-active night, but I am not yet prepared to disregard what I have felt, seen, and now
heard as her spiritual self. I do seek closure, now though, as I am very tired as part of me
wants to forget.

Please advise...

I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! (2003-12-19 23:53) - public

7:48 am 12-18-03

“That’s Pathetic….you gotta stop doing that.” as she leaves the room.

I cannot sleep, I can only sit and wait to become her experiment, her science project.
She says the same of me, angry that I write down the things as they happen, as punishment.

I asked if she was up, afterwards, and she said “goodnight.” She said goodnight be-
cause she awoke the moment I thought the words “I just want to go to sleep.” I confirmed
this by asking her what her second dream was, she said she was vacant and that my thoughts
were hers. I did not tell her what my thoughts were, or that I had thought the words “I want to
go to sleep” before she told me goodnight.

I had began, the first time she came to experiment with my body in her sleep tonight,
to think long thoughts of her, us, and her spirit. These were drifting thoughts like those before
sleep…only, there came times, 3 times specifically, that I was suddenly and jarringly stopped
from continuing, my jaw snapping closed, loudly, and my eyes “closing” tightly while they
291
were closed. It was the third time that I began to drift off in this sort of a conversational
thinking that I heard her, in her own voice, think “I don’t want to talk about it” in my head.
This was jarring to me as well, and her body responded in a matter similar to the statement.
It was after that that I thought “I am just trying to sleep” and she awoke and I asked her if she
had dreamed…she said no, but after she awoke the second time, she said “I do not want to
remember what I dreamed the first time.”

I asked “You don’t want me to know what you dreamed?”

She said “No, I’ll tell you anything, I just don’t want to remember”
I did not ask and assumed her dream to be as disturbing as my thoughts.

Our bodies, during this time, were arranged with me laying on my back and her with
her head on my shoulder and an arm around my chest. In sleep, I came to feel my heart
beat intensely in my chest and head. After this sensation, I felt her face muscles twitch in
exact time with the beat of my heart…going out of sync with my heart several seconds after
I became aware of the connection between her twitching, felt on my shoulder, and my own
heartbeat speed.

On more than 5 occations, I came to think of a certain disturbing thing and she breathed
deeply in in a very fast way. Twice, I thought such a comment and she breathed out the word
“No.” I consider these intensely critical thought experiments, recorded, as punishment for the
deeply sensual body experiments she seems to be having with me. She said she has always
wanted to think what I think and see as I see…

I forgot, for one reason or another, to mention the bleeding scratches on my back, be-
low my neck, which I found the morning of yesterday, the day of the entry before this one.
I feel this was a sort of semi-purposeful forgetting, which I have fell victim to many times
throughout the extent of this painful ordeal. Police reports written, the beginning of a much
larger battle is only now unravelling. I will try not to bother my innocent live journal community
with the details of this or any other, decidedly more subtle, battles.

(2003-12-20 02:31) - public

For 5 days, I call four magic smiles to furnish any mood decided by any room. Each smile
carries it’s own distinct tone, a smile for time and a smile of mine, a smile of his and a smile
of the raging hate of inflicting pain upon a loved one...each of these I cherish, with however
much guilt one or the other may deserve, in a way which loves me down to nothing.

For 4 days, I close my eyes and feel nothing and everything shift through my tugging
guts, neither but both all alone with her as I do what I can to comfort my child’s mother. I
must remember her and her free spirit which makes me smile and laugh, frown and cry, grit
and spit; the freedom which I never allow myself an innocent comfort for the long days which
are sure to come.

For 3 days, I learned to love.

For 2 days, I fell in love with a growling angel who’s emptiness fullfilling beyond the
292
realm of words. I hugged her back into line, slowly rocking her from exhausting sleep. I said
"I love you" with every breath, exhaled. I dug a well with a sharp shovel, ground edge of
my 22 years, and with it’s icy pure water, pulled laboriously up from aquatic caverns far be-
low this heated stress, I wish to plant a fruit try tree, and with stern daily attention, feed a lover.

For 1 day, I taught what I learned of well-digging to a man who’s water streams deeper
beneath his stress than abysmal love could allow his self-restriction to thirst for.

(2003-12-21 04:50) - public

Events of interest worth notating:

While mentioning to a friend, Kyle, that I no longer want anyone to come into my house
and take things without me being there, the two dogs of the house violently attacked ea-
chother, biting one another’s faces, the newer of the two quickly jumping up onto my lap right
after. There was a strange tention in the room, causing more than one angry outburst by the
people and animals present.

While outside, I heard what sounded to be a Bob Cat, the only animal known, as far as I
know, to have a cry which sounds like a screaming woman. Soon, after I mentioned the sound
however, it became a man screaming loud and long "woooo!!!" It then began to warble like
a night bird, an owl and I grabbed for my recorder as, again, the dogs attacked eachother
violently, a usually mellow, non-aggressive dog biting the other one hard enough to cause it
to yelp loudly. I mentioned that I did not know what that sound was, and Jake assured me
it was a person, a man and a woman somewhere who had been listening to us. I thought of
spirits and described seeing spiritual beings of the woods as a child. Jake moved closer into
the circle...

I have not slept well for over 5 nights now. This is not healthy, but I am helpless to the
whims of the night, each night becoming less and less believable. Slowly, people tell me they
dont want to hear about what happened anymore and I cannot blame them. These are things I
too do not want to remember, but which I feel must be remembered as if they of some aspect
of nature which we do not yet have the capacity, by observative thought, to understand and
describe in a rational way. These lesser-sensed aspects of nature are still natural, supernatu-
ral, abnormal or, rather, paranormal all describe new perceptions of previously held beliefs,
commonalities, sensations, and understandings; merely a new perspective on something
normal and natural, death, the inner self, the unknown or unseen. All of these, the realms of
soul and spirit which are common, however exotic, belief systems require experience, actual
experience by individuals, to be defined. The shamanistic and tribal spirit-cosmologies are
more closely alligned with the experiences I have felt, seen, sensed, heard, and touched these
past 6 days and the descriptions I have collected (like the "worm face" rotting flesh vision of
Teasha’s) are actually century-old mythic spiritual characters commonly featured in Native
American spiritual stories, specifically the Navajo Tribe, where the inner becomes outer, the
"Dark Face" time when spirits come out or in to interact with the realm of vision and of the
living. This is said to begin at 5 am, it is 5:08 and Teasha is moaning behind me, each time I
jump, half expecting...

Please bear with me during this time which is teaching me so much and changing my
social self more and more each night. I will leave the keyboard open in Word to type, for
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reasons I have notated below:

By my opening this file and beginning to read it, Teasha moan "Uh uh!" or No! in a fear-
ful tone...please forgive me, God, if my attention to these details is a mistake or a dangerous
invitation...

—12-20-03 – 6:49 AM —-

I awoke, to Teasha shaking me…

I heard something, and asked “What is wrong?”

I told her about a dream of Pizza Delivery Missiles…

To be interrupted, rudely, by the sound of fingers brushing sloppily across the keys of
the computer, only occationally snapping, as if with a message, but mostly just being brushed.
I immediately awoke, as if angered, and Teasha said “Must be a thousand lost souls.”

I said “What?” while knowing what she said…

The brushing of fingers lightly against the keys of the keyboard I have been using these
past 5 or so days to record my night interactions with new sides of Teasha has become a bit of
a farce, a bit of a scene which has gained attention from those around us, obviously. I at once,
became afraid of the fact that, if she could enter me, who else could….noticing, sometimes,
the wind becoming too meaningful for me to handle in its screaming and knocking at my
room’s doors during these nights. I think this too makes more sense now and that I have that
much more potential for insanity, the doubting of ones self.

I do feel some intensity here, a lot of it, but I don’t know how to come across best….I
have to pee and Teasha is angry. I will sleep and see if our friend would like to do some
creative brushing, perhaps as quietly as I am carefully typing now…

(2003-12-22 01:00) - public

Down and out Player, cock and strut without sharing because I have joined you, once again,
in this fucking hole you have made a home. And it was Scrooge who, only after seeing ghosts
in the night, changed to become a better, wiser man...days later, however, I am grabbing for
the closest knife and spitting hate in the path of those who playfully compete. "Dont Talk...

...about the things I should have done, please." The "please" is like a sarcastic bandaid
used as a sharpening stone. I fall, being pulled by those who have fallen, and my strength
they drain, trying to replace what they have lost to the wind and snow, the dark days which
do not leave, but beat us endlessly down with every waking breath. These are for my nothing,
my song of dying sung in the bitter night to distant strangers; afraid.

I see and saw, seek and sought, back and forth through the cycle which repeats and
fortells. I can’t sit, balanced, because my present is from a deciding someone who comes and
goes through my interactions’ life. Toward, toward further I crawl....toward, I unbutton again,
but pose with areas in mind. I cannot allow this body, this cursed, and forever sleepless holder
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to lose his way...

I opened my eyes and realized they belonged closed, and was punished by a touch to
my right eyelid’s lashes, those closest to the side of the bed, of course...I fought sleep and
held her thinking, again and again, "You’re my baby and I love you very much" in a sort of chant.
In the morning, she said she remembered me talking to her all night. These confirmations
are sick and stupid. I left the door closed, and will again tonight, windless knocking again
expected...perhaps I have reached the level of acceptable experiemnces of the everyday and
havent realized it. I hope, more and more, that this is the case as self-doubt becomes a more
and more common, daily experience.

(2003-12-23 00:28) - Balding - public

Music: Jethro Tull - The Minstrel In The Gallery

I have come to...or through...

I have learned people don’t appreciate the idea of "vacation" unless it is their own.

I need balance. She skipped along the black squares only, which touched only the invis-
ible corner’s edge of one another, some point of unreachable, infinate perfection in mind,
sloppily represented here in this hospital by these ancient monochromatic colors. And which
of these was decided to be the one color, and which the absence of color? I am sure us White
Folk know, for sure, being scientists and all...but, in our absorbtions and seemingly unending
reflections, can we tell our distractions from our attractions, or is it the attractive who distract
us varied men of science from it’s track. Perhaps, in the pounding complex headache we call a
"successful life," we will someday come to admire the One Track Mind, its simplicity and direct
fullfillment through straight-line focus. The Reneissance Man is a Master of no individual art,
as his focus is dispersed wide and thin. Personality, too, can be thin and everywhere or deep
and intense; personality and focus, themselves, cannot be seperated into two distinct mental
constructs, as it is focus which underlies personality, the nature of one the nurturing other.

I have been critisized for beginning paragraphs with ’and." I think this maintains the
readers attention by relaying a feeling of continuity and transition from previous ideas, a sort
of cohesive aid to attention span which may not blah abrupt stops.

Blah

I cannot be ignored forever...I am too pretentious to be withstood that long. I intend to

make a messy scene and leave my children to clean it up. You can only pretend to ignore the
outrageous only to have it’s seered image mill through your mind before sleep...this is the
outrageous, the off center, and the unexpected which I will provide, free of charge, for the rest
of my life.

Claws on Keyboard (2003-12-24 01:18) - public

Another sleepless night, I feel as if I have attracted unwanted attention from certain commu-
nities, unseen. Turning door knobs of loud slamming doors awake keep us both awake and
charged with fear only so that the nails of some unseen hand are heard to claw across the
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plastic of my computer’s keyboard and mixer console. She described this sound to me the
next day, as well as another unmentioned sound, that of paper being scratched and crumpled
in the dark. I cannot handle these nights any more, it makes me weak, when all the sounds
stop with my turning in my bed, I feel the gaze of spirits, waiting...

I intend to capture this keyboard scratching tonight, if it takes place again, it will be
recorded in Word. I am not hoping for it to happen again, however if it does, I want to feel I
have some control over what happens, some evidence of some kind that the typing is indeed
taking place; that it is not some kind of mutual halluciantion shared between me and my
girlfriend, somehow.

The four time all star champ Plays It Loud (c) like some Nintendo Power generation win-
dowlicker with carrying case and Special Edition Members Only Pin and Refrigerator Magnet.
Choke, you sleazy fuck, choke on that greasy ball like it was something else. I want this whole
thing to be putrid with your rot, I want this damned room to turn stomachs through the stench
and the seisure-inducing strobe light which will never stop, in loving memory of your piss ant
life, ended far too late for us who knew you.

I’ll be better, this sickness must not last forever...none of this can last forever.

(2003-12-25 02:17) - public

Miniature Flood over Miniature Model, Magnified to appear real. This is how these disasters
become, and this is how they stir the emotions of viewers, the crashing and falling of delicate
works, toothpicks hidden under plastic forms; the toppling of intricacy beneath the rush of
spilled milk, and all ladies and their gentlemen cry for the cause, the war at hand, the disaster
of nature we cannot control...

Who are these intricate builders, with minds like pocket watches, ticking away alone
with eyes squinted into the bright night of basement light. It is forever that they quibble edges
and sides between lone self, who’s sides are brittle, varied, and ridgedly defined. I cannot
hold the tears he plans, indirectly, beneath the direction of a Higher Mind of a Macro Vision
towards the opposite of his own.

Scratches on my back, again...lower this time. Last night, I layed in bed, my face di-
rected towards hers as she slept. I thought the phrase "You know you can do anything you
want if you try."

From her sleep, she immediately answered "Yes, I know" in a low, muffled voice. It feels
like, since the incident, we are connected in this way. That, being the third instance of her
responding, vocally, to my thoughts that occured last night, I am convinced that, somehow,
the boundary of inside and outside has been transcended since her soul entered my body. I
use this words casually, knowing now, first hand, what they describe. My mother tells me she
knows what I am going through, as she has herself, and that there are good and evil sides I
must be aware of. We talked about how easy it is to begin to agree with what all the people
around you say and begin to doubt yourself, to doubt that you have seen and heard what you
have. I told her that is when you begin to lose sanity.

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Rationalization....eh....

There was a lot of scratching, typing, and chair creaking. Teasha told me the spirit be-
gan banging pots and pans in the kitchen while I was asleep. She tried to wake me, but I just
began to snore as she rolled me onto my back.

(2003-12-26 04:22) - public

"Attempt, While Held In Contempt...."

Me or her, the title some guilt ridden memory, recorded, as if to greet with intentionally
as a full blown, pre-meditated insult of some indirect kind. I tried to call Brad Koski twice today,
but reached the Marquette Children’s Clothing Store, some sick humanitarian effort layed
in place to combat Welfare Mother’s choice between gifts and dinner. I love it, but wished
486-6860 was Brad Koski’s number, as Lanky assured it was. Oh well, a strange, sad night
of some kind, I am sure....some comical setting into place of new rules set by newly arrived
people. I realized that my place is an ever-evolving amorphous fluid, and that all players in
this social role definition exchange are Fluid Mechanics, awaiting in expectation and setting
into place definitions for guidance and manipulation of all visions of the future, however
egocentric, towards self by way of proprietory image extentions which restrict the similar
of other alpha-dominating personalities in the vicinity. This is the role definition sequence
between competant males of potentially-dominant status. The physicality of this definition,
the clear ownership rules set by posessors of socially accesible tools or socially-acceptable
modes of interaction, can come to restrict the control or release of other competant alpha
males in casual social competition.

It is this transparency of normally unquestioned, socially-acceptable interactive roles which

causes disolutionment in society, in general. It is the realization of the "non-opaqueness" of
the aceepted role schemes and priority lists amongst the lowly physical service or information
lackey positions, which set into place accepted pecking orders, which slowly run themselves
down into the formation of your personality, either positive or negative beneath the daily
"work self."

My girlfriend offered to leave the Upper Penninsula of Michigan today, while I was asleep after
another troubled of presence. It was that time, preparing for sleep in the bathroom, that I
realized my back carried the bloody scars of angry hands, fingernails, claws...

In bed, I felt the same marks on my lover’s arms, both of them...I know only what I am
conscious of, and that which I am conscious of becomes more and more frightening and
unhidden each night, until I come to accept the acknowlegement of another person in the
room, and simply sleep with that in mind. It is during those nights, of fear and mistrust,
that my thoughts become hateful towards her, and I awake to things said not by me to her,
and I do what is possible to silence these, however, I do not feel as thought these often
harsh internal insults are mine, all I know is that her repsonse to them is always dramatic,
sudden powerful convulsive inhalations followed by distinct words of rejection and other
comments, some responses to my inquizitive dream questioing and basic interpretation. After
insulting her weight once in a dream, I awoke to find her dreaming of exercise equipment after
responding, with loud vocals, in response to the mental insult. The interactions between us,
the connectivity, becomes less and less apparent and more and more subtle as the days pass
297
from the actual date of "internal interactivity."

I fuel falls, tall and well-seen at first, the drowning becomes a child-like memory of los-
ing control, suddenly. I feel as if I have a strange bat hiding in my rooms darkest corners,
which entered and cannot escape through doors I now keep closed. He can only paw at
half-open doors, slamming them or barely turning their knobs. The door to the outside makes
noise and I open it for a moment...I must have gone insane now....appeasing the noises of night
in desperate need for sleep and closure. Perhaps, only now, more noises see entrance into the
publicity of presence I give to them. Perhaps I am coming to be viewed as a Medium of some
kind, a bridge to the "public" side described in Spirit Visions, or Strong Dreams, as experienced.

I have futures coming slowly, and I invite them. I have loose plans coming to form in
loose motions in a loosely-set direction colored by influences both academic and wise. The
four sides of this vessel which holds me each resonate with the same two sides, spuring vibrant
evaporations off into the air as chips of some sculpture, my image. I come to learn to control
these critisisms on my mass, the whole of my person, outwardly present with non-physical
interpretations absorbed by those of whome I am outwardly visible. This I call the "social
self" and cannot take seriously, as he is pompous, obese, and eats cactus; however gentle or
peaceful he seems in the day. Warm, human or grateful, his good things are said only for a
short period to be quickly replaced with confusing catch phrases and dull insults. Do not take
him seriously mid vacation, only early to pre-mid vacation, substance-decisive instantaneous
placement along the trough of vacation’s mindset. I come to learn the association between
inner and outer self during this deeply spiritual time I exeperience during my body’s physical
peak, 22 years. And, with the correct guidance or observative notation, these experiences
the two of us, me and my lover, come to share can be fully legitimized through credible
technology, the tools of monitoring the internal: heartrate, brainwave, and Magnetic Resonant
Imaging recording. These are the keys to proper Para-Psychological understandings of spiritual
interactions.

(2003-12-26 08:35) - public

Teasha began to describe, fully awake, the feeling of being touched and poked across her
body. We had been up for hours, talking about the spirits and why they were there and what
to do about them. Every time she said anything about leaving, there was a loud sound. Once,
she said “I have the power, they are on my side” and the computer monitor began to shake
back and forth loudly, as if being grabbed and shook…the second part of her sentence was
accompanied by a scratch across the vinyl of my mixer board.

I began to chant something to her as they attacked her crotch. “You are not welcome
in this room, you are not welcome in this house and you must leave…you are not welcome and
you must leave….you are not welcome here and you MUST LEAVE…YOU ARE NOT WELCOME
AND YOU ARE GONE!”

At my saying “Gone!” Teasha’s back arched up and she cried out. She was paralyzed
in shock, her body completely limp. She described someone grabbing deep into the area
above her stomach and trying to hank the spine right out of her body. This left her completely
helpless for many minutes, as they continued to prod and burn her. I jumped out of bed and as
I hit the floor, something heavy crawled down the stairs, and further down yet when I turned
on my room lights. Her right hand was seen to carry visible marks, red, where she said she
298
felt tingling pain. She is gone now and I am very afraid….something happened as I stared off
into the empty room with the lights on, waiting….

She had packed her car with all her things earlier today, preparing to leave the area for
the remainder of the vacation.

“I am not myself right now…get it?! Get off me!” A rage filled me as I said it, blaming
her for all of these sleepless nights and fear and stupid fucking games. I am so tired of her
and this now and I want it to end. I want to sleep in my own house again, like I did before her,
and not worry about the nails of angry people who watch me in my sleep, waiting.

She left to go fill up her gas tank on her car. I am willing to try anything, I said, to
make this torture stop. I told her I have done all I can do for her and that I am ready for it all
to stop.

It starts at 5 and ends at 8, but at 8 it doesn’t really end, it just prepares. The noises
are not completely gone, just subdued by the sunlight, somehow. I cannot deal with being
alone or being with her during this time and am considering going to stay with my mom, dad,
or aunt. Anyone ….

I turned on the light and her torment seemed to slowly stop. We both heard during the
pause after I told them they are not welcome here and must leave. They were distant
voices that sounded like the resonance of some object or enclosure. Certain frequencies
cause different objects in my room to resonate; perhaps this works for deep inner ranges
typically unheard, as well, for the whispers of two people were heard, as if discussing my stern
proposition.

(2003-12-27 04:36) - public

I win the final battle, of who wins the completing piece of self-rising Jack’s pepperoni and
sausage piza. It is mine to scuttle over, and I did with drunkan singing and foolish proofs. The
one favor I am left to give is my quiet personality, and it is expected that I hold it to myself
tonight when I have any intention but to play slack jaw for the extent of the interaction. This
allows for several opportunities, which I quickly take advantage of and reserve no retort for
the lesser. He expected this lacking and shouts loudly for me to release, but I hold still through
the extent of his human error. I love him in a way which hates and I come to hold him on my
knees as he puches them. My mother watches and takes sides as I play games of words to
leave him at arm’s length, forever and ever, amen.

The gifts he gave me are nothng compared to those given to me by my own sceming
genetic father; the seeer of futore times who has no lover to share broken tech with. I expect
his offerings, if only to be extented in death, to be lush and full as an only son should rightfully
expect. The lonely nights in his gift home are another matter, however, as the spirits take
hold of the helm I assumed to possess for myself and future children.

The thick sickness comes in waves long after the begining leaf has curled its green to
me, the turninging defense of choices left unmade by her for them, supposedly. My own
fading scull some emblem of a time to look forawrd to, whem men and women can decide
on scheduals amongst themselves like big girls and boys without the assistance of drunken
299
segway’s or half-assed lovers to nail, definitavely, the path of unsure and dizzy; together the
future of straight laced waiters who wait until the end of their miserable waiting to serve amd
inservable ghost until the end of his long ended days of rest, the resurrection as one of us;
long proceeded, and the waiting for signs from nameless spirits, dead and knowing of things
lesser known among the kingdome of the living.

"You have a...."

"Say it again...?

"Nevermind..*scratching*"

The Subtlely-Divine Proprietarization (2003-12-29 02:34) - public

"I know you’re going to write, but are you going to clesn up that big-ass mess!?"
"No, I’ll clean it up."
clanging of dishes*

I was told about the sadness of music, tonight...that deeply-emotional depressive music
is not good to play in sociAL settings; yet I played it as one whole "Music For the Dying -a
compilation-."

By the third song, those close friends around me were asking me to turn it off....as it
was my most sensitive compilation. His chosen tracks were defined "classic" by me, and I
encoded what I could, but could not encode a full album for myself.

My own work was left unpliad until, perhaps, some other time.

I understand the worth of a "found sample," manipualted, but realize the worth of a
message as well...maybe I can show it to him tommorow with all of the New Music I have
found in my "Music For Fist-Brain’s Compilation."

I have had all of the Legal-Psychedelic, LSD Analogue, Designer Drug, 2C-I, stolen by
those who wished to purchase it, refused. I searched for nearly 2 hours, with help from my
lover, Teasha, who became annoyed by my request quickly. I tried to show the Musically-
Appreciative guests the Rhythmic-Capacities of my new Sample-Optional Synthesizer with no
shown appreciation. I quickly turned the Sounds back to Can.

Overall, I wished to interest Brad Koski, somewhat, but was left withoutany over, com-
pensatory, interest. I wanted to create an MP3, 12-Disc, CD for him, digitally, for de-encoding
later, at his leasure (1 minute of hopeless re-assembly later.)

I wish to leave this useless social topic for some non=sud-ridden bit of a later reflection:
my courage is in a non-social, in accessable direction, what is inside my thoughts is a surface
to those who see empty words: my words are each one of minutes of solitary thought and
those hwo wish not to devote such time to non-personal thoughts should sit and watch
television for a time in a spirit of forgetting.

The rhythmic music is the key to reliable message and, the meloding interlude, however
300
complex, is reliably transistory and able to integrate black soul. My message is one of distinc-
tion between black and white culture, a racist worm whose rational integrates, racially, to a
specific ethnic category, athropologically. The agreeance of the laughing in a Def Comedy Jam,
Black Entertainment Television Comedy Program is one of discriminatory contrast; the 3 pages
of Black Lawyer’s Association, Black Culture Reference/Reverance, Black Pride Coordination,
Etc, etc," creates the impression of difference on which economic-influence on culture has
alligned with, with adherance to the Lowest Common Demoniator Theory, to a Social Netowrk
whose culture has seemed most popular, nationwide. It is the refinement of this "Blues" which
bacame "Rock-and-Roll," and the further refinement of this "Rap" which became "Nu-Metal;"
through the further cultural changes of Black-Culture to White-Culture in dilution.

OF THE CHANGES TO OCCURE WITH CHANGING MEDIUM:

1) The Synthesizer has introduced Microtonal/Pitch Shifting Music to the genre of Aca-
demic Electronica. The Synhesizer’s Gradual Pitch Incline/Decline, defined by a Wheel Control,
submissive to the Right Hand’s Keyboard-Played Composition, created inspiration for the New
Notation techniques of Subotnick, Iaanasiks SuperMan, and Henry David Through, the Cages
of Unseen Thoughts and Emotion.....

And these empty names provided influence for the "moment-sound-instrument" which
popularized the majority of early-tape-electrnoic composer’s work. The Early Gurus of Elec-
tronic Music were intricately-self-taught White Men whose complexity was one of physicial
measurement and the Time-Equivalent, expressed in so many inches of Magnetic Tape; played
at a given Tape Speed.

The loop was one of AC/DC, played backwards, of under 7 seconds long, with over 48
inches long in total length. I approximated, with a four-average median, of slopply mathe-
matical derivement of total loop length, a Beats Per Minute decimal answer which became
a rounded BMP tap figure of which all future music was approximated, poorly. I began with
Analogue-Tape and transmitted to a Digital Representation of appoximated Tape-Delay to
Double Speed Competant AC/DC Drummer’s Copyrighted Drum Intro, with Intro Scream,
reversed, Of a Song I do not know.

At ny rate, nobody wanted to smoke Pot to William Burroughs because Brad was there,
and that is an understandable excuse. Brad may be thinking many things, alone is his room,
none written, as I speak, writing, loosely...

What strange social circles formed with my absence. The ending of comfort, the begin-
ning of mutal distinction amongst the social-three. i finish my drink, with apparent double
vision, still-aware of what has taken place; the placement of my choices along a larger social
network. I realized the importance of figures along this chain and saw new worth in older
disregardants. I came to feel and fuel anew for older, unfelt, concerns which, however
unmentioned, were personal, solitary concerns, however unvoiced. I drank harder in their
presence and still do in their unknowing assumptions.

I was tought to remain inconsistant, in prose or Personal narrative, and this is the style
assumed, confused, altzymer’s diseased re=descriptive which comes and goes with the
faded-remembrance of each previous day, the short term memeory of a long-term mind, the
sad, disregarding personality of a thoughtful lover, the life of the Absent-Minded Professor’s
Wife. (c)
301
I come and go without direct adherance to any defined way of being, but follow only
the loosely-defined instructions of Personal Flossing, the occational remembrance of deep,
interpersonal, aspects of absorbtion which come and go with each changing fashion. My
appreciation and "taste" for each tooth’s rotting is understood, afterwards, as the night closes
in, alone. I come to let her sit in my path, on a sled, waiting for arrival, returning or otherwise...

The growing sleep-mind has full control over the physicality of dreams, as I come to agree
upon what mornings consist of and do not Eggs are too rich for an energetic, coffee-powered
breakfast which comes with advance along nature’s ever-growing, unintelligent course.

Taking "Hinduism; The Total Academic Course," I came to understand the Vedant Axcetics and
their Way of Being. The Uncacting Backstage Role became apparent to me, in the teachings
of that Brahman, Son Of King, Influenced by my Probing Questions....

I feel that Transcendance is a Common Direction at this point, and that the "Trunk of
Identiy" is a certain "Trans-Directional Arrival Point" which came to define the "Oneness"
of each Individual Leaf, regardless of the Quality of an Individual’s Rustling, through to the
Roles of Socio-Civil Adherance to Service Towards a Larger City=>Nation. The fully-functional,
Informational-City is a Consciously ORGANized Being who’s Social Categories are Intelligently
Assigned amongst Specialized Organs of Educational Development. "THE SOCI0-CELLULAR
THEORY" develops: the idea that Scale Levels define unique manifestations of One Single
Intellect, of which our Primal Cities’ Organization adhere to. The idea that THE ORGANIZATION
is Organic, and follows the Patterns of Nature; the Intellect of Organs, and their Specialized
Cellular Submission=>UNSEEN CONTROL. The Ideal Neurons of a Future Civilized Organization
of Control our scale has yet to see...

Virus’ carry our same goal or reproduction along to an advanced, highly scaled, way of
organization described along our own Cellular Scale. And so, with Study, a Virus was able to
adhere to a bountiful system who’s scaled future, nutritionally and medically, is controlled
by our own Everday Actions, indirectly. And so our own Weather Patterns could be described
by such interactions, the developements of MicroScopic control we have yet to fully - control:
AIDs among the Common Cold.

And, so, the unsee develops into Culturally-Accepted Ways of Being, the Contagion-Adherance
which becomes the Evolution on this Intellectual Scale of Protective-Understanding. And, so,
Bacteria is the Easy-One-Layer Solve, but Virii will always be the Unknwon, Unliving, Aspect of
Molecular-Formation. The Protein who’s intent is foreign to us.

As for the rest, we assume the molecules form of Random-Blind Energy, adhering amongs
one-another by way of Subtle-Unheard-Of Energies. These are assumed Holy and ones
following the Basic Gravitational, Tri-Scalar Forces which Define The Travel of Molecules. I,
however, talk out of my ass as Graphics Appear to me.

Tonight, I expect to hear compaints between uneen lines...

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(2003-12-29 10:34) - public

It’s bullshit nothing for hot air, got me? I have regrets, for sure, but none that I’m not used
to. For one, Vodka is an anti-social alcohol, it is liquor for angry people to make them angrier.
It just makes me a loud, obnoxious pushy sort of jerkoff and people leave the room and
talk about lights while thinking about leaving, and I dont entirely feel good about myself, af-
ter the fact. Eh, Vodka to My Mother’s Genes Scream, and then I get to be her for a night, alone.

Sure, they left early, which might have allowed Brad some solitary reflection, the type
of which the perspective of height is known to accent well; but I still think back to my insistant
beligerance, the yelling and Volume Cranking, and see some digusting monster, anything but
social.

I have come to doubt myself, it happens now regularly, as I hear voices more and more,
coming from different rooms or sleeping mouths or, perhaps, only from my diseased mind. I
want to feel wholesome again, like the memory of that time in childhood I am no longer sure
was real or a dream. A Whole would not have so much room for torment as I allow myself,
nowadays...The view through a Whole is like through a wall of surroundings, with the splitting
of a cell being the space inbetween. This is wholesome, but how I want to be on Christmas. I
want my innocense back, the feeling of shelter which only those Traditions of this Family could
have provided Then, and never again. Dad will be fine, so will Mom. I will probably just lay
down and have a heart attack.

(2003-12-30 02:06) - public

Here it is. I wrote your faded movie script and layed my hands out on your constant bloody
block to be chopped from my open arms. And, what the hell have you left to do but choke on
that nervous lump in your throat formed by my angry eyes, glaring through your own. Yes, I
wrote the whole damned thing down, like you wish you could. You fell down those stairs as I
chased you out; snakes dont belong in the house and I will never taste the air of your rotting
block again. My arms are no longer open and my heart forever void of the trust I wasted on you.

Block, your mask Bible black, you block my eye’s critical intensity away from your ugly
face, knowing the intent of their questioning curvature. Block, your secrets surface lies, you
block my open hands with a tight fist over a raised blade, cuffed wrists finally released, an
open hand deemed so forever, as it slowly darkens, lifeless on your block.

What a cheesy movie...Rod Serling was a very short man.

(2003-12-30 23:46) - public

I have disengaged the engagements of social gauges in a room, each one a measurement of
status and intent. I feel sort of lacking, represented physically in a sudden, severe cold. I am
making progress, slowly, upwards on a descending stare-case. I am a descending stare-case
thought, personified only barely. My zones come without pity through a blank, unaffected
face with eyes of no presence, of an empty vessel of a scuba diver lost in exploration, lung ca-
pacity of social life always calling him back to "reality," the reality of that distant surface realm.

303
I am rich with treasures of lost histories and death, however my place here and there is
notable, if only infrequent. I cannot push through sentance structure of a thoughtful, anti-
social manner with speaking in my ears or moving eyes in my range of sight. I must retreat
from the dim smoldering embers of my close friend’s egos, even though any flame once in
them has calmed, and go out, alone. This formless be-never is liked and inspiring, somehow,
in the state of uninspiration, the sickness of a bed ridden store-away. But, coughing from a
mumbled voiceless pale is some words which cause second wind in thought, which cause
a squint preceding a peculiar smile, and I turn my shoulder to ingore, away to myself, the
presence of those who touch me with love, unreturned.

An inspiration and it’s project unreel in my mind, a mere reorganization, but one with
keen insight into the need for transportation into this social realm. I bring the production
to the stage, where I can innovate with their encouraging fuel, acceptance. I will gain their
respect and, perhaps, their admiring claps or shouts, and with them, create myself anew. To
do this, I will need a lot of foam...

Cut into squares for shiping purposes, yes...perhaps a craft store carries foam of that
kind...insulates, or air packing...hmmm..

(2003-12-31 00:13) - public

So, my cheeks grow fat now and I chew at their sides, causing ridges on the surface of my
inner-mouth, I feel that all is forming as it should, in Bear fashion, towards a future of success.
This is optimism, and it is a positive quality held by positive, open personalities. Closed are
those who block others against themselves in brutish poses, shoulders up and back arched
in defensive-offense. I poot to you, I poot to you and your poot scooters, crap shooters, first
groupers and dick yoopers.

I am a child of media and attack with sharp-slicing razor pixels, the heart of the group
and it’s frantically-grabbing, tumbling control, the fire breathing raised-nose of beer-coasting
weekday warriors of social infuence. Stooping, with open arms and closed-bright eyes, to
conquor. Maybe submission is the needed personality trait of a master of any career, the
stooping, bright-eyed, young apprentice who’s meanial, laboreous tasks come with thoughts
of their purpose, of the organization of a the task, however great, into stages onto completion.

Play music one note at a time, and you become a soloist. Chords can come after the
basis of melodic progression.

I collect and wait to record my music with my friends and my customers, but some in-
ward, subconscious inhibition ensures this work is never-arriving, no matter how hard I think
and seem to try. "pianonanny.com" is something I cannot come to enjoy.

(2003-12-31 05:07) - public

White Widdow smells like mint, some strong herb which seems to clear the sinuses in a way.

"You know who says THAT, don’t you you little shit?!"

304
"...Great Aunt Gordo..." he whimpers in a faint decending tone.

"Come here!!!" he bellows, his tight hands suddenly out menacingly, stomping towards
like a cartoonish ogre, or later Bluto.

"...but I have medicines and need to get to the dermatologist at 8:45 to course the ma-
ternal in grace to the subject, she is gunna gr..."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" the patern belted, having rolled up a $50 bill, as he stuffed it, vi-
olently, down the throat of the oily scratch voice fairy.

A distant reverb tunnels out, the high end of the loud voice being the first of the vol-
ume to fade. I hear some whoever it was let all beknownst of some big shit and how they’ve
been bigger. I had closed my eyes, I realized, and the image of the room left them without
position to my dark black and red expanse. Here and there, they are still with my thoughts,
but only in remembrance, as in to finally be shook by ripples of a loud or quiet thing, the dif-
ference between, the climaxes and volumes, wavelenghts and magnitudes. So, we frequently
frequented by frequencies of measurable time, the speed of thought and of it’s distance,
measured by visible shaking, that is, convulsive or one solitary twitch seen seconds into the
silence after a comment. Those twitches can be read as many things but, most often, as
the second, subconscious meaning to something said. This "Second Sense Reflex" reaction
triggered by the full associative arrival from the conscious message to the subconscious
message is like a "second layer" within us; one which takes seconds for a message to reach,
as if a ripple-associative affect, the Priming Strength of a Node on the Semantic Network.

I have nothing but butter for source king Somantrust, aour sinth time becon of herd and
unhear her deard. But for eight full months, I felt nothing but shit form in clumps from this
classic case, the constant comfort of another to help me soak it in. And, it just came and came,
and got used to coming in and going out in tubes and packages for the simple price of lesser
and lesser. I came to love my mother, after I slept it off, but this is more ugly than I could
ever expect any foreigner to accept and sleep soundly. I feel like there is no more time to lose
and gain in such great intervals, like the manic-deep=ended conversation of a compulsive
depression ass. I hurl giant blocks down and over the fucking head and with nothing but soary
combinations to randomize my own self-defeat.

I hear "shit" and moaning, and louder and breathing faster now, with a whimper and its
deeper now and continuing, sometimes seeming to stop. I hold a cough to maintain her sleep,
although I dont believe she could she would awake, but could hold away her body for that
time and through the extent that sound and its reaction.

5:37, the wind seems to be forever worst after 5 am. This is a time of wind and of ab-
solute darkness. The Dark Face Time of the Crow Indians.

(2003-12-31 05:58) - public

I do not trust creaks and heavy breathing or scratching anymore, these things I, feel, are
not discernable from actual presence, reasonably or assurably. Often nature simply lets
herself known in angular, lesser sensed ways. For sure, I know of the existance of, what some
astronomers have come to call, "subtle forces," but what of these unseen aspects of nature
305
can we attribute to simple cause and effect or, rather, complex cause and effect, the effect of
infinate cause, effected to ripple.

The strangest things, however, come and go as they please, often attracted by the intensity
of our attention. It is an assumed fact that, as the intensity or "mass-depth" of our attention
increases, there is a direct affectation of the inclination of coincidence towards/around the
center of that seemingly-gravitational point of outwardly-radiated attention: that nipple of
sensitivity of which all

(2003-12-31 07:17) - public

The wind became so intense, so incredible...louder than any I have felt upon this house in the
near decade of my living here. I became cold by the hair, and sometimes shirt-moving, drafts
which pummelled my door, causing sounds upstairs and downstairs to answer the scream. I
rushed to copy the entry, suddenly afraid the lights would soon go out, unable to withstand
the force of these winds, which caused teh whole house to shake violently, feeling it in my
feet on the floor.

I don’t understand a lot about the wind, mankind knows little more than its prediction
than it did a few centries ago...it is something to be physically measured to calculate its
assumed path into the future. Barimetric pressure is only one of many unseen forces which
interact amongst one another in a mechanically
+

the door of my room busts open and the papers fly about and the downstairs door knocks in
response. I slam it shut and turn the light back on, as if unsure of what is...I find that "enter"
as well as both "shift" and "equals" were pressed, and I go a bit further insane

...pressure, unseen, merely one of many unseen forces. It interacts, directly, with tem-
perature along the physical plane, sea level, to heat or cool based on the overall depth of the
atmosphere, the distance above or below sea level. This system interacts with the Electromag-
netic Spectral System, the unseen energy which magnets sense, in adherance to the power
of duality, the polarity of large planets aligning with that of smaller positive and negative
elements to convey information about that larger planet, its allignment, magnetically, along
an axis of rotation whose powerful influence and visible control manifested in the movement of
the Earth is anything but imaginary, merely unseen. These various Super-Scalar systems are
not random, merely so large as to be considered immeasurable or unfathomable, and labeled
random because of this. The basics of polarity, of binary and positive/negative, its basic laws
defining both magnets, frequencies, their energy and it’s people, dead or alive. All energy,
physical or not, follows the rules of the Oscilator, and its two sides, Crest and Trough. Attention
is merely the reception of these various frequencies, solid/space, on/off, up/down, in/out. THe
basics which go on into all surface and beneath, the view of all, internalized, which follows the
same Magnetic rules, extending on upward through systems-astronomical or "Intronomical:"
the literal IntroSpection of physical systems of the body, and the slow understanding of the
communication taking place between bodies at that level, and its relation to the self of this
scale, ignorant of all the selves of which he/she is composed. Onward, through the Cellular
Scale, to communicative social systems farther yet within.

My chair creaked upon my return and I saw red shade curve across the bright white
306
computer screen, from the lower right hand corner to the upper left, the chair moving and
floor creaking about a foot and a half to the right of that screen. My dad was nervous when
I talked to him, the wind making him giddy like it would a nervous dog under the attack of
the same cold screams. It was the chair I heard at the top of the stairs back up into my room,
after going down into the living room to talk to him at his 6:36 arrival back from Night Shift.
We talked about how strong the wind is and I told him about the door busting open as I wrote.
Having him here has quieted the storm, I hear, the screaming subsided with his laying in bed
to sleep. I am comforted by him being in the house, him sensing, always, my mood and my
awaking from sleep. He is in tune with my biorhythmic cycle, occurances of us both awaking
from a deep sleep, from two different rooms of the house, our feet hitting the floor at the
same time, sometimes. Often, his hitting the floor as I awake and sit, listening to his awaking.
This is not uncommon, I think, between those who share genetic makeups, family members
or, also, the those of a deep internal attachment also share bio-rhythmic frequencies like I
and my father do. This simultaneous waking, like the simultaneous orgasm me and my lover
share, is evidence of an internal allignment which occures with deep-emotional connection
between two souls, or spiritual beings as I find myself viewing people, more and more, after
these experiences. Cliche is beyond these labels and shall not apply itself to my use of these
words.

The door has opened again, after my slamming it shut loudly as best I could and prop-
ping the chair tightly up beneath the door handle. It was like a crashing-barging anger on the
other side, pushing the chair and the garbage can out of its way as it entered, screaming.

This second door-barging occured between the words "Spiritual" and "being" in the above
sentance. The rest I cannot describe, only as movement, the movement of heavy things,
scraping plastic against plastic behind my head now, as if something picked up, weakly. I
cannot see anything, I looked closely the behind my back the second time I heard it. It is the
scraping of something heavy with textured plastic against an empty container.

I will stay up till dawn again tonight, probably, because I cannot sleep now, for sure.
My heart is racing and my eyes water only slightly now.

I have confirmed the sound now as fingers running along the air conditioner grill...I run
my own fingers along the grill, to check if that was the thing I heard from that direction. My
standing near the air conditioner was follwed by a pull on the door leading from my room, at
the bottom of the stairs of which the air conditioner sits atop of. This is the sound, and I am
comforted only slightly to have found this to be the sound. My first impression, the scraping of
textured plastic against an empty container, was, I think, a good one given the short duration
of the sounds first instance. Now, nearly 7 instancees later, including my own, I can definately
identify what I heard.

The gravity of my subject, perhaps sometimes, attracts consciousness from directions I

cannot readily identify. It is an inclination towards myself, caused by depth, which carries
with it known and unknown energies. It is 7 oclock now and, generally, sounds last between
5 and 7 diminishing, at very worst, 8 oclock, with the visible sun. I say "diminishing" like a
weather man, as energy is never, naturally, fully here or fully not here. There is always a bit of
White Noise or ambience to what we call Silence; we filter out, mentally, the hum or throb, but
this "Defined Silence" is anything but silent. Our bodies will always prevent us from attaining
perfect external silence. The keys now tap, lightly, behind my own finger taps...They do so in
a sort of rhythm "tap tap tap tap-TAP...tap tap tap tap-TAP"
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This stopped with my typing, and, at first assumed, took place on keys other than the
ones I was touching. This, however, I am unsure of. All I know is that, as a rule, the sound of
untyping keys has come each night between 5 and 7 pm. Untyping being keys which seem to
have no message in being pressed, only to be heard as appearing to be carrying a message.
I held back tears, but was very afraid. I feel this is a different fear than that of pain. It is the
most basic fear of the unknown, so close to my body and my perimeter, as to induce a primal
"fight or flight" response to that sensation which is unusual or uniquely-indescribable. Internal
senses or "gut feelings."

Gut feelings are the most common of what’s left of superstition, post-Science’s enlight-
enment. However, science can never convince society of the inexistance of the Gut Feeling,
for that is of ourselves and is cherished as a sort of Subconscious-Guidance, the Future-Aspect
of Dreams, the common experience of Deja-vu. All of this relates to the Gut, the deepest
of our physical body, and the point of obligation to and from the soul, described by Teasha,
several times, as a sort of rope extending from above her stomach, or maybe some Phantom
Ambilical Cord, remaining from our reliance on "other."

"Mmmm...other..."

Tastes so good, this outside world surely must.

(2003-12-31 22:59) - public

What the bloody hell...

ondairy82: shit, did you see that (disappears )"

nondairy82: those crazy Gods
TurboSwami: I convinced myself that, had I not smoked that strongest pot of my life last night,
that the strongest windstorm of my life would not have occured.
TurboSwami: Its an unhealthy state of mental affairs.
nondairy82: ah, that’s called paranoid schizophrenia
nondairy82: yes
nondairy82: you should unconvince yourself o fthat
TurboSwami: No, I have rationalized it and so it is truth, as far as I am concerned.
nondairy82: c’mon, man, pay attention to reason
TurboSwami: Or can be concerned, and I am.
nondairy82: you couldn’t rationalize your way out of a wet paper bag
nondairy82: But ok
nondairy82: ah, the sracasm gets out of control
TurboSwami: My thoughts, on subconscious levels, influence and are influenced by the
external.
nondairy82: you think that they influence it?
TurboSwami: Its a subtle fact, but one which comes up again and again in instances like I
mentioned in live journal, like my dad and me being timed identically, biorhythmically.
TurboSwami: Awaking at the same moment, from different rooms of the house.
nondairy82: it could have been a strong wind gust
nondairy82: that knocked you both awake
TurboSwami: Its not a "one way street" I am saying, sensation indirectly effects what is being
308
sensed...
TurboSwami: And, although it is a submissive sort of influence, the interaction is mutual, it
flows both ways.
nondairy82: ah, I guess i have not seen enough evidence to infer this
nondairy82: My thoughts influence what I do
TurboSwami: And the wall of my skin cannot contain everything.
nondairy82: which can influence external things
TurboSwami: Only the physical things
nondairy82: wind is physical
nondairy82: bah, I don’t really want to argue
TurboSwami: Wind which follows, percisely, the climaxes of deep thoughts or conversations?
nondairy82: maybe they just felt like climaxes because of the wind
TurboSwami: No, no, I just record what happens...
nondairy82: without it, the thoughts woudl not have felt as heavy or important
TurboSwami: Its unhealthy to think of the wind, I will stick to what I see and hear, seperate of
the wind...
TurboSwami: and this is the safest bet, to remain somewhat scientific, I suppose.

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310
3. 2004

3.1 January

(2004-01-01 01:56) - public

We are two wild and crazy guys, all of us are. From here to there, I have counted thin hairs
which fell, mid-passion, from the peak of my wave. Between here and that unknown there, my
cowardly-crawling is matched against a face and voice which could only triumph in the lonely,
reflective dark. It is that certain black, on the back of a mirror, which glass-skin-sand of a
million beach sweaters return to ominous glimpses, the divine hammer lowered, reverberating
radiance of deja vu outwards through the fluid masses. Viscosity, ever changing, with the
dynamics of temperate emotion, the stances of men and women, amongst one another in
the ocean, fill currents which travel through frequent-swaying carriages; absorbant cilia of ex,
maiden. (sp?)

Sour front tour through towns of red dollars in mounds, pile stacked grabbers frown, for-
ever bound to their town. And, regardless in mind, men cattle in time, the fourth day of july
can start on a dime, but can just as easily stop, believe it or not, as easy as a bribe, a bride,
or a lie. Slop! Slop it, allread

The Easy Bride: 6 Steps to Future Success In Dismarriage

Take her asside like she was a student, but hold her like she was your own daughter.
This places the fourth step into motion, predisposing the transitions which would, otherwise,
be assumed to be carried out inbetween. The fourth step, as described previously, requires
this "right foot forward" approach to seduction with
FOOD

(2004-01-01 02:35) - public

bRING YOUR HANDS ON YOUR STRONG ARMS READY TO LIFT THESE PILLARS WHICH LOOK
OLDER THAN THEY ARE. Sturdy, they will uphold a distant surface to be seen by those above,
but I need help to maintain, I need someone to hold...
For they are very heavy.

Please, hold this sturdy shaft, this cement form of intricate and detailed design, because I
grow too sick to hold it myself. I grow weaker each day, against my brittle will. Forgive me,
please, when my failings make me harsh or bitter to your touching. I do reject myself, and any
affection to him must be punished, just the same. And, please accept my assurance, that this
indirect rejection, however painful to you, is only the soft echoes of much sharper, plunging
critisisms in a self-battle led behind by my one tight eye.

This writing is useless, because the reader nothing to my roaming selfishness, notated.
It will never have worth because it’s worth is not social, there is no plot or line to follow, only
self, self self...endlessly, myself. Please advise.
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iztyme2ryde (2004-01-01 13:12:59)
That seems like my writing about you.. an apology.... you writing is useful, it helps you to be who you
are, and to keep sanity, and health. You are right, I did not wanna believe you, but, it is healthy. I do
not know that this was written for/ to me... but, just keep in mind, you are a beautiful person, even if
the criticisms take control once in a while. Take time, that is what is needed, time. I love ya, but this
is hurting my finger to type...

(2004-01-01 20:05) - public

I dont want any of those distracting sounds or glares before this point, and a very little more
after it. I hear sounds, waveforms and blocks, represented graphically in swirling melodic
swaying with the rhythmic frequency carriaged by the mediums upon mediums, systematized
and seperated into consolar intereactions. Looping, or the sound of one console playing with
itself, is not sexy in the least, but is a viable and reasonably-applicable closure to a need,
repetition and time-control, either symbolically in the beat through time, or the rhythmic
and, arguably, symbolic recording of a moment, a time of present, represented, magnetically,
after that present. So, the passionate desire for sex is often extinguished the same way, a
console playing with itself. So, the loop is not so fullfilling, as say a man interacting with an
immediately responsive, tuned instrument, like a guitar or piano, in that there is no interaction
between a man and his intimately-involved instrument, only a residual reaction of a magnetic
strip, manipulated post-moment or, rather, a layering of residual moments upon the moment
using console-driven repetition-mathematics and the mathematically-programmed translation
of an interaction into some form, true of manipulative representation of that recorded past
moment, repeated at the frequency of my choosing.

My dad said "I weigh less than you." instead of "Good Afternoon" this morning.

"235..." he said with that gloaty ol’ pappa-smitz styling, profiling, bald smile.

"..237" I said, wanting to scream "BUT JAMES IS 245, DAD!!" but convulsed instead.

The blood clot entered my eyes and began to pulse in firery restriction. My friend’s
scale is always there to tell me I weigh 230, and that he is 220 (of all muscle, of course...off
course)

The begining and end of the jeffersons is this flashing sound of mortal decay, the decay
of morals, held. I feel his heart stopping, sometimes, like stuffy old turtle.

(2004-01-01 21:28) - public

For the last time, I will not stand by while these creatures die, painfully, under your sloppy
ignorant boot, you skimpy-toed, roll out fuck. These furry loves require our protection, not our
infliction. We
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(2004-01-02 06:28) - public

The fine and dandy’s are all that, but grab for straws each day hoping to be better, well, or
off. So, their powdered wig is a front by the dandy to the dainty, who contrasts with sweet
back and a proper come, again. But, through all the sex covers, we see flesh covered in sex,
covered through to the end, hmmm?

No, completely covered sex, no, just give me a few minutes....

I held back the drapes which would surely fall into the crib, rod and all, were he to tug
on them from that angle. I held them back all night long, watching him squirm and coo
through to dawn, as if this was my duty, his father off some drunken week later, crawling on
the cement and crying for it to end. I wont let this quiet one see that model crawler, but will
block the view of the sidewalk with this thick, heavy, dark curtain. I wear it like a Jesus would
have, had he wore a cloak.

Shrink down, vile seeds, to be the escapees of the Hepa Filtration, and then you will see
the picturesque roomscapes of unseen scales. The expanse of this torn mess of a room
becomes a National Treasure, a fury of currents interacting, unseen to invisible warm masses,
who’s skin a thick oil-swamp forest, breeding ogre armies out of the greasy muck to shit, bite
and fuck for these 23 or 33 nanoseconds we call a life, here. The strong well is best deep, but
not deep from atop a mountain or hill, deep without needing to be deep below the surface,
deep without the effort of retranslation through Mask Play or self-conscious obscurity of one’s
own image. The Mask is a cliche only because it’s so immediately relevent to most of us, that
the more attentive of us will grasp the image and it’s personal meaning immediately, where
the ignorant football jockey may be quickly distracted from the idea of his own image by a
hang nail or obtrusive boogey in his nose. He ignores a lot of meaning in that way, it seems;
it is in his nature and his blood.

Blood bath, the melting pot of classes. Many intelligent American lawmakers, during
our nation’s first and second immigration waves, saw reason to filter out some genes and
accept more readily others. Bar none for later, the treasure hunt continues, with the new
Mexican Majority, we will come to dilute into less than we could imagine. But why this change
of heart amongst the Upper Class? This Static Hearted Lower Class has no eye for balance or
much else, their eyes generally big and dim. Yes, Class is defined by certain biological traits
carried by its members, this has come to be called "racism."

(2004-01-02 16:37) - public

Sideways head layer, close your eyes to me again...

For I am most comfortable at that moment of your absolute comfort,
Trusting me to your sleep, to your meditative transcendence...
And, I will tend to you’re earthly body as you drift,
Through and above zones of contemplation, defensive filters slowly loosening their grip on
everything heard or seen, as less and less are of both, away.

I talk twice, and clutter the room with my sounds....I speak loudly over the general so-
cial volume, my stature attracting attention, magnetically, like a podium. High, here, I sigh,
and the whole world can relate to my release of tension....I murmur of the right tone snaggs
313
them deeper than many words, I realize "hmm...." is the cliff edge off which there is either
silent flight or frantic, fearful plummeting. It is comfort and acceptance, or awkward, selfish
nervousness.

I get sick at the very thought of thoughtless, nervous, fast talking. How it so poorly
pretends to hide.

(2004-01-03 04:27) - public

Last night, I dreamed that I had the ability to see two sides to everything: one side being the
way it was seen by everyone, the other being the way it was once seen, by people who no
longer are alive. Out in public, in an old, abandoned house on my mother’s property, I saw
it as a beautiful glass home, clean with long dead children playing outside by the pond. The
moment I went to open the push the glass door open, it became a dingy shard in the chicken
coop the building was all the years I grew up playing in it, full of hay, dirt, and chicken feed,
floors soft and rotted open.

I was able to, if I looked a certain way, see the distant past again, and the messages of
the long dead were visible to me, again. The children had carved numbers along each of the
boards lining the walls, and I read each one off, so that I would remember, knowing that I
had entered a lucid sort of daydream within my dream. In the upper right corner, above the
doorway, I saw the message, carved larger and deeper than anything else:

"I I I I am I so I alone"

The first three I’s were carved very large, the second the largest with red inside of it.
The message makes sense to me, in a strange, surreal way. I really dont like it, though. I dont
like the second messages that form, more and more, from inside myself. The split between
acknowledged and unacknowledged sides of myself, slowly forming more and more distinctly
seperate from one, another. These are unhealthy times, now, and I fear the split-mind
syndrome has a growing potential to overcome me. "Schizo-phrenia" is loosely translated
to mean "split-head." An unrelated coincidence, I am sure, like the more and more distinct
messages which enter my mind before sleep...

"Kill the worm"

I am convinced I have the genetic curse of being a Medium, on some level, and that
the voices are not my own. The angry spirit, who attacked Teasha, paralyzing her and
spreading her legs apart, was angry at her and it is most reasonable to assume that the
comments which scared me and were not me were his.

(2004-01-03 09:08) - public

I see eyes staring back at me when I close mine...

I feel an elastic touch from my sleeping body, a seasick snapping back and forth into
and out of. I cannot sleep after that foreign touch, the touch of my arms on themselves. I am
bound by this elastic, and sleeplessly, bound, I stare, tense, focusing on the screaming wind
314
and my shared thoughts...

I coax the wind, as it screams only as I enter myself. I coax it by immitating its mourn-
ful, high scream, and it answers like a fire which I slowly build up or suffocate down. I invite
the wind, and it knocks on my door. I know the wind is spiritual now, I know more of spirits
now and their invitation...

I coax my lover’s twitch and moan, she responds to me only when I am inside myself.
It is when I close my eyes and drift far below my surface that she is perceptive to my thoughts,
the extreme ones causing her reaction time and time again. I am in touch with her soul now,
and with that realm which senses my thought bridge as a medium for communication. The
night is less and less scary as I learn, more and more, to gauge my perimeter of interaction
with it, slowly coming to expect what comes and to test it’s limits, perhaps. The Invitation
Rituals of the ancient Hindu, Pagan, and other religions were founded on the presences I have
come to experience. There is a set of general Rules of Ettiquete for interacting with spiritual
beings, or gods, which extends across the whole of these religions. I do not follow these, nor
set out to consciously invite the...

Jesus was a schizophrenic...

This is evident throughout the Bible in quotations which show his belief that his thoughts were,
somehow, "connected" to his physical surroundings. ("...the rocks, themselves, would begin
to sing.")

This classic symptom of schizophrenia is characteristic among most of the perticularly

influencial "insane." The idea of the "inner" becoming the "outer" is one of the most basic
principles of trancendental philosophy; a general term emcompassing all of the Eastern
"religions," if you are so broad as to group them under that category. As Vedanta changed
Hinduism, branching it’s youth away from the adherance to empty rituals, so became the
majority of Eastern Religious practice to follow: a sort of "transparency" fad which lost touch
with Non-Self Spirituality or Outer Spirituality roots, around which the ancient Invitation rituals
were based.

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-03 13:11:41)

It is good to be connected, even if it is on a spiritual level. That is a level that must be earned by any
person, but is only shared with some very special. I hope that you do not get angry with me, because
we should both know now that none of this is my fault, and I can not do anything about it. Believe
me, I did not want to be attacked by the same spirit you think told you to kill me... that was not my
preffered course of action...

(2004-01-04 03:59) - public

The father of time, who through thought is known, confides. His eyes are beyond us, like ours
on the toils of ants moving sand. Important sounding important sounds.

I curl up, unimpressed for no certain reason, depressed. But, the cold and the dark...
outside the singing of strings in this warm light, make the warmth of this light music much
315
more. The low rhythmic pulse of some throbbing right foot is a direct bloodline pneumatic lever
of a beating pump, the most basic of communication of which all still-living can relate: the
heart. And, perhaps, the most natural of melodies are modeled, too, by human breathing...the
meditative rhythms of our body sooth and entrance us, as they are our nature which we can
only emulate in expression.

Sick death mother, for psyche you cry...I am not all better, I still cannot cry. I fell some-
where along the milky trail you laid through this old forest. And now, as night darkens the
distant treetops, here where I sit alone, waiting, the thick moss seems more and more like a
soft bed which calls my head to rest. Intoxicating sponge floor, you mellow me at danger’s
door...I must stay stiff through till day’s safe light, this unknown place...this unknown place
seems so close to me now, in the warmth of absolute black, I feel some old connection from
before my my mother or her breast’s sweet trail, before my suckling growth, before my birth
into that light, there was something I knew, a surreal memory deep before my brain, a dark
waiting which I feel again, here...

Naked, I sprawl on the warm night bed, eyes no longer open or closed. I feel a tugging
outward through the dark to another place. My beating heart and drifting mind resist the
seperation, at first, but slowly I come back and all is known again. Dark above, as below, I am
the dark and see all else as another side which those eyes could not see. Light, light, forever I
am, above, the body a carriage which I exit upon arrival. All new, all knew.

silentwinds (2004-01-04 16:47:10)

The words you use are beautiful, and your writings are extreme. I have always been fascinated by
your thoughts. I will no longer be reading the entries of you or Teasha. I am currently deleting all
files associated with her. After the legal issues are done, I fear you will still hold anger..whatever the
outcomes are. Therefore I will be getting a PPO and moving. I dont expect you to believe what you
dont want to hear. Best of luck to you in your future. I’m sure you will find success.

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-04 22:58:07)

Becky, you are a great person, I do not think you will be happy with me anymore, but you are a great
person. I am so sorry it had to happen this way. Who you getting the ppo against? Please do not
make Kal angry with me, he knows what happened, and if it came down to it, to satisfy you or him, I
would take a test too. I did not want to lose you as a friend, but if it has to be, I wish you luck, with
your college, career, and kids. best of luck to you.

"Subject: Re: TVLWW, soul leaps momentarily " (2004-01-05 01:00) - public

SPAM email subjects seem strangely aware, from time to time. The message was a set of about
30 seemingly random words ending with "...lacerate infimum reddish irritable marijuana." I
havent been smoking pot lately, because of how angry it makes me the next day.

Directly beneath that attention-grabbing email subject was

"Re: JQWNJJJ, the investigator left"

This immediately grabbed my attention, because of the investigator my girlfriend saw

316
this week regarding her rape. Another set of seemingly unconnected, cryptic words: "embed-
der jagging column coat dilate arcana magician..."

I dont know if SPAM is getting so advanced as to scan Live Journal entries for key words
like "soul" or "investigator," two words which have riddled my writings and thoughts these last
few weeks, or if I am forced to rack this, too, up to blind, unintelligent coincidence, but the
junk email did succeed in grabbing my attention, and holding it longer than my actual mail;
souls, as I have experienced it now, having a tendency to "leap momentarily."

I delve no more, the mice of my cellar, for now, are dead. But I hate these late night
drafts, the cold I bring with me to the dinner table. My right face throbs, it’s eye swelling with
my heartbeat, grotesquely blood shot, as if squeezed to the point of bursting by the muscles
of my inner tension. I form a long story in my head and write it in my dreams. I awake to find
it forgotten, but I cannot forget my pride in it’s quality. My days fade in comparison to the
meaning of these nights, the day becoming a preperation for the night, now, as I lose myself
to the dreams in reality and to the reality of dreams.

Cold love to a distant frame, comforts like a memory of comfort. I feel like a second
self, like a man living on the shoulders of himself, watching the loose semblance of a routine
like a dozing driver. I hear patterns in my night, patterns which fuel those lucid night writings,
the nonexistant written word of my dreams. I want the rhythm to show itself to my bloody
open eye, to sooth the tension of a troubled mind that has lost grip, but this is an empty wish
whispered through another layer of dark.

I cannot see from this eye any more, because all I see it shadows with self-doubt. And,
so, my days are self-darkened and my mood like the weather I disbelieve. I am struggling to
win a battle with myself, one I will surely lose. I hold down my desires on my back, ready to
apply the final death blow to the bare, extended center of my throat, encaving him where he
breaths and ending this painful resistance... The eyes are so expressive and I cannot help
but feel his fear as I see them, tense, waiting, staring back into mine. They burn through me,
etching themselves deeper than I can understand, still staring and waiting in my own, closed.

There is nothing more frightening than seeing watchful eyes when you close your own...

I watched a signal blink after the "inhabitation." It blinked slower than my heartbeat,
but did blink, slow and fluid. Fading from a full round red shape to nothing and back again. I
closed my eyes in disbelief for many seconds and saw nothing. When I opened them again,
the signal slowly reoccured to my vision at the same frequency. I closed my eyes again, to
ensure that this was not some creation of my own mind or eye and, after nearly half a minute
of uneventful black, I opened to find this strange, external frequency still blinking in the area
of my night ceiling where it was before, the same predictable speed, for minute after minute,
unexplainable, but pulsing as if to let itself known, so subtly, during that unforgettable peak
night of other-worldly awareness which was the beginning of what would slowly develop into
more, and then less, as the days wore on.

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(2004-01-05 05:52) - public

The physical speed of actual writing, on paper, seems to aid the thought process behind the
writing; the extra time allowing for a more developed message, somehow. The breakneck
speed capable with keys often cheapens the words, which become more and more thoughtless
in the rush. My Pen and Paper writings will always be more meaningful for this reason, it seems.
My mood is, so often, more fully expressed by the character of my characters, as well; the
details of my script carrying aspects of my emotions which may not, so easily, lend themselves
to words. I believe handwriting is an artform for this very reason. Sometimes, in the rush of
writing from a certain position, the words take on a fluid quality that I appreciate only after
I examine closely later. I can read, beneath the words, the full body of my mood at that
moment, beyond the aid of my actual memory, I see tension or lush relaxation, thoughtfulness
or the result of an unfocused passing ambition to notate. This is all art, subtle expression so
rarely appreciated and yet to be recognized, academically.

The crows are teaming along the cold black wire, waiting to dive at the first notice of
death. They count the pauses, like the minutes, as if motion was a fire they wait to cool,
hungrily. I know this feeling, like I know them, but I do not relate myself to them, even while I
scavenge. They are burnt black, for the times they lost that patience to wait for the fire to die.
Burnt night black, like extinguished coals with meat left to burn, they are half dead and have
no care for the pain or torment of the living, the ethical concerns of the virgin-white lives. And
so, while I do scavenge and rack the muck for remnants of worth, I do so with my pastey-white
bare hands, vulnerable to the rusty edges and infected clothes.

(2004-01-06 06:22) - public

The fellow gathering of isolate group leaders, known to spend time making music of one
desolate sort or another, spent together in refining definement of roles in various modes of
Play. The Personality of the Child I knew, there, competing against me reveals itself from
behind the mutual rulings only on rare occation, generally an angry, tempermental sort of
release. We came apart and back together many times, but generally close for a long time,
throughout high school and these college years. We change eachother a lot, still, and its
sometimes quite enjoyable to change (back,) or, rather, stay the same, reminded by an old
friend.

I feel as though life is back to normal, now. I feel refreshed, as in invigorated by the
fast, loud jam, its assembled parts, the many takes of a fruitful session. I feel as if my mind
has been well spent, the casual smoking tonight aiding the creativity of my improvitisation,
the drums and clever orchestral filtering and looping. I am becoming a bit of a studio wizard,
slowly but surely, I will master the art of the mixer board, in all the subtle complexities of
controling the flow of a mic’d room. I am challenged by the Live Band, the quality recording of
a 3 or 4 piece live set, the maintanence of isolation of each instrument’s channel, as recorded
on an individual magnetic or digital track, without overdubbing of instruments. I ask the
musicians I produce to, if at all possible, record the song in parts, recording as few instruments
as possible at one time to allow for absolute isoation between tracks. This is often a lot to ask
of a musician, and I feel it is my weakness, as a producer, to not be able to provide ample
isolation and instrument control, or isolated monitoring, without having to break the band up
into time, or sections of seperate time to be layered.

318
"If I fall, ow, my dreams, anything is passable."

The surreal induction is always passable, because the surrealist is accepted like the cryptic
soothsayer or the rambled depth’s of the village idiot drunkard. Pushed from the center, like
they always are, likewise there is always room made for them at the same time. There must
be allowances made for their existance, some home or hospital to store them or shelve them.
And so, categories assigned themselves to hospital storage rooms and to medical text storage
rooms after the "patients" die. And, oh so PATIENT the nurses were, doding and hovering with
pills in one hand and water cups in the other. Social control, administered by the hour, as
needed. So Stern, the Patient nurses, in their "making well" of those who are not. "One Flew
Over The Cuckoo’s Nest" is a portrayal of the limits of the institution’s allowance, or the end
of a hospital’s "patience."

Double-line Deko-Font with Hole-less B’s and A’s, strong shades cast all ways. In forth
letter line, darkness taunts with soul-less eyes and soulful wants. Into a lifetime, a surface
breaks. Signing through waiting nights,

..a surface reforms and recites, coming to reverse back on himself, the doubt of an in-
teraction with a distant shore. Ripple-effect explainations of frequency interactions and social
con-trap-tions. I feel no confusion, post fusion, but rather a cold clarity which allow for new
depths in conversation and interaction. Perhaps, this has released my frame from a deeper
level of defense, some heavy plates of fear which fell during all the Soul-Shaking. I have
new eyes, from time to time, now which see movement more slowly, a new magnitude for
people and vision. I think concisely about things which once were beyond me. I have learned
some new things about that unseen side we all acknowledge, and did my best to record my
thoughts and interpretations as I dealt with a particularly trying time, helping, as best I could,
my lover after she was hurt badly during a very vulnerable time. An Unconscious Rape is a
crime against the Soul, and this I came to understand; the deep link between Sleep, The Soul,
and Death, how they are all almost the same. The Soul, the fading remnants of Ego in the
after realm, defining our time After death. And, the awareness of that.......

I just felt very strange, like my head was being pushed towards keyboard. Maybe I should give
it a rest, already.

Look What I Found. I’m a Sneaky Little Bitch. (2004-01-06 07:27) - public

patterns in paris: capital letter free since 1962

i know

i will tell you a story

a real scary one with ghosts

there is a little light

blinking it’s eye in the guest room
of my little house
trying to catch mine
i’ll never look there
i don’t want to find out that they called
319
cause they’re dead
and they should not be calling me

look at the time i’m too tired to tell the rest so you’ll have to exercise your imagination

take it for a swim or a nice jog

aw, see how excited it is? it brought you it’s leash

this qualifies as news: some lowish fidelity pip songs will be on an asaurus records ep
club thing due out february 1, 2040

hold your breath till then

your heart is a racer.

<-SNIP->

Don’t I feel special? Some people say we should have our own Shitty Olympics, but
maybe if I was to leave my chair, I could order one with bigger wheels. I get so that I dont want
to sleep and stay up all night, lately. I just stay up until 8, and then I rock her back to sleep
after I wake her. This is good, and the weed helps me stay cognitively-active and focused, as
exhausted as my body tells me to be.

I would like to hear this song, as far as I know, those are lyrics to some Journal-Friend’s
song, but it is too late to hear any such thing. Its a cold, breezy night and I get goosebumps
too easily now, as the air of the room carries drafts without wind which seem to envelope after
the door to my room knocks once, after another before. Or maybe twice, it seems. Or maybe
I should set another mousetrap, yes. Tommorow I will get another one, even though I step on
them in my stocking feet, I feel like I want to say I have "cold mice" from now on.

(2004-01-07 02:10) - freshly emptied - public

Music: Brian Eno- Apollo

The boredom of maintained focus, the inactivity of it: reading or writing. The electric screech
of the Frequencies Between Stations, the AM birdsong of spectrum’s unseen, the depths of
currents, abounds and surrounds us all like an ocean of various waveforms in transit. The
Electro-Magnetic is a vauge term referencing the vauge science of magnets, the force of
polarity. We do not truely understand the polar mechanics of lightning, for instance: the
ammassment of like-poled particals to their medium.

I melt, quietly in the dark, through resonant piano and dream of ambiences unheard.
The visions of slowly fading forms, coming towards or moving away, is the distant emer-
gence of an entrance frequency in the audible band, so high or so low as to be unheard
before that entrance of activation. This is like volume to the controller, held by a knob in
one hand, with the activating frequency of an AM radio, the direction along the spectrum
controlled in the other hand. Anything on the radio is your instrument, manipulated in a num-
ber of ways in real time, and a larger number of ways in post-recording time, "post production."
320
Bubbles come out of my mouth like I am Mr. Wise, but I catch a glimpse of the talker,
from above, as he talks and can say, for sure, that he is some fine, young wise ass coming
into form. The more I come to take myself seriously, the more brittle my form becomes, my
identity and image set, as if that of a hardening exoskeleton. For a time, there was peace
in the valley of that mind, but fire and clear cutting ended, with harsh restrictions on what
industries had developed, and the ecology of my manner was reserved and maintained by
personality.

Home court advantage, at home in the warmth, I cuddle by fires, stoked; the frayed
hair subsides. Warm stomachs, well good filled, no shirt left to hide; neath thick warmth you
contain me, fetal position I arrive, my soul to hers confides.

My output, here, is aided by my solitude, creativity fueled by the lifestyle of this place.
Scene makers, lend me your hands! Just like Winston Edmore, who is here about the job, I’ve
got the toolz and I’ve got the talent.

Faded, once-green plaid, torn around above the ankle of the right leg, Smitten Handi-
work. From the sick disease of a fleshy crack rises the stench of a pastey growth shown the
light of open air. This mistake will not be made again, she assures me, tucking me off to
bed from the peculiar guests. The ticking from the bathroom tub still echoes all night long,
grandmother’s furniture becomes slowly frightening in the dark. Awake, we lie in bed together,
listening to the clock glow from behind the door of the next room.

(2004-01-08 06:14) - public

I am Mr. Hot Shit, shaking my ass around like I just dont care...about anybody. Yea, so the
forging of a comfort in forcing came to represent a taking for granted, or a Male Superiority
Complex, unhealthy bits from where sanctity and sanity curl and become rancid. I am the
dizzy button pusher who’s got the buttons to push and all the time in the world to push them,
but who will come down with me after they drag me up and out. I have a bossy

For eight drummers,

with my friend and her father

two of the set of three abse

bathrooms on each floor. His ga

ace from that of the functio

There, there, its all better...it has passed. The Cage was released from the man, for a
moment, and conversations formed, sequenced, and alternated, by words, in mental time.
I dont feel like an asshole, maybe a little cold and reserved from time to time, but never
insensitive.
321
(2004-01-09 05:31) - public

A puddle of mouse blood on my closet floor, smeared 5 inches to the bloated corpse of the
overfed adult fatty, whose child I killed the night previous. There is time, with burrowing
worms in my face, to heal all wounds. The forever rest of which all memory’s attachments
dislodge, relieving the calmed rester.

HOOPS ON FIRE!! *chook*

terminalpudding (2004-01-09 14:32:10) Mouse Guts

Why did you kill the little mousies?

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-09 16:04:34) Re: Mouse Guts

They are OHHH so creepy, when they sleep in your underwear! IT is only fair that they die, because if
it were not for the trap, it would be the weird things in the undies...

turboswami (2004-01-09 16:22:40) Re: Mouse Guts

Those weird things in my undies weren’t mice, but they were mouse-lengthed and brown.

terminalpudding (2004-01-10 10:04:25) Mouse-type creature

Maybe it was a mole?

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-12 04:56:09) Re: Mouse-type creature

Now, that would make me cry!

(2004-01-10 06:17) - public

Withouth these "For The Record" half-hour or our long segments would surely not be so long, or
fluent in accessible-verbiage; the procurement and elegant use of whichever word expresses
fully the desired thought, feeling, or sketch. Or, maybe for a time, I ran low and needed to
scram up some shady rip off or huffy manouver; I fooled with myself many a night, let me tell
you...and, hopefully, fooled a good many others too.

So, down for the glossy-shine, hiney-sin 60’s, with those who cleaned, and cooked later,
not remembering anything concrete to retell now, I scanned for some remnant of a rumored
shamanistic wisdom perhaps carried from that time.

The sweet story of a man who jumped into the ice because he was bored of work. I will
get bored of work, as I do, and as my parents always have, and did today. If only we all had
an icy lake at that moment of bordom’s realization for us to dive down into. Maybe I would
rather dive into it to escape from the awkward silence of a conversation with my father, some
old friend who has grown distant. Different waters, but some are the same and, with time, a
person can learn to swim one in a way analagous to that of the other, familiar waters. And,
perhaps, social waters are more refreshing to leave than to remain enveloped in.

I’ll touch the light sugar burrs, and they will stay with me as their seeds inlay, and form
over time, to be disolved and changed from fruit. But, of what end is a burrowing parasite, a
322
vulture, a maggot? The sick zombie children of an underworld sculpter, no. I have no patience
to believe in personalities of life.

(2004-01-11 04:37) - public

Hey...that way you dont need to wash...

I agreeably undress and begin the maneuvers of sight control, the bits of happy smiling
I smear avoidantly. The coming of new sounds, new voices, new tests from her public place to
mine is not a welcomed transition. I ride a thousand stuttering responses straight on through
the absence of message, until I have completely quit. "I just dont know." is always a one to fall
back on, in the self-reflective slump of realizing you cant talk. Its a lot like getting suddenly
itchy in strange new places, adaptation is key.

Its an itch beneath the scratchable surface, a swelling, itchy brain or left eye socket. I
am going to hurt myself sooner or later, might as well make it worthwhile in the process. This,
the logic of the naked man sitting in a puddle of blood on the floor of his cell with a coat
hanger wire through the shaft of his penis.

The second coat hanger was left where it was, as he had jammed it through his stom-
ach, punctured his liver, and was found griding the sharpened edge into the vertebrae of his
spine when medical authorities were contacted. It was safer to leave it there, apparently...

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-12 04:48:11) I dont know, I just dont know

I hate how you always say I dunno, I have come to mean that it ’implies’ yes or no.

(2004-01-13 02:54) - public

Um...

I uhh...

Yea...I’m back, umm...I dunno if you, uhh, you know...knew.

Its great here, I love it! I love it!! Its FUCKING GREAT! I LOVE IT!!

...in lansing...

cough*

I brush my teeth too hard, wearing away the gum line. And, my skin is an amorphous
liquid on a very slow boil, quickening now with my inner tension and or body heat from excess
insulation. Personality, influence...all liquid interacting with liquid, the social fluid mechanics
which I only, sometimes, get a vague glimpse of, the broad dynamic shifts expressed in ripples,
dilution, viscosity, the properties of liquid expressed in the surface behavior and expressions
of me and those around me. Those who "go with the flow" or those deeply-anchored outliers
323
who stubbornly resist the Pop of generation of bubbles in the foamy wake of the broken wave,
receding.

I taste salty after the move, so I am told. Most likely a change in diet, yes...most defi-
nately. There is a certain someone who feeds and waters me regularly and I love her; I grew
to love her like some leafy stretch towards the direction of the sun’s light, I no longer see it
as such a stretch as much as a way of being and of personal growth. Dare I grow used to the
sweet water showering routine and come to expect it, all appreciation lost from my quenched
thirst. No, I must remain in control of this personal growth, and watch my asshole carefully.

Strum bubble’s in trouble, no wait, the crumb fumble to tumble led to an awareness of
bumbles, preventative measures and tethers to reign prime mine, her treasure.

Some odd....uhh...ITS GREAT!! I FUCKING LOVE IT! ITS GREAT!!!

...in lansing...

swarms (2004-01-13 08:44:12)

and we love having woo here

(2004-01-13 23:07) - public

Wrote my most disgustingly angry lyrics today and recorded them on an avant-funk song I
pieced together over the vacation. They’re really bad...

"slicing the face of the one I once loved...

Blood gushing glace for each lie that she whispered then.
Snivelling bitch kneels, my fist in a glove...
Pounding deep gash like she fucked him againd and a...

Jamming the shard deep inside her closed eye...

Puss oozing hole where I once kissed her sweet goodnight.
Harder I kick her for each wailing cry...
’No one can hear you. I may let you die tonight.’"

I had no idea I could make something so brutal...I sang in my patented "Evil Old Man"
voice. I need to get anti-depressants...

(2004-01-13 23:11) - public

Wrote my most disgustingly angry lyrics today and recorded them on an avant-funk song I
pieced together over the vacation. They’re really bad...

"slicing the face of the one I once loved...

Blood gushing glass for each lie that she whispered then.
Snivelling bitch kneels, my fist in a glove...
Pounding deep gash like she fucked him again and a...
324
Jamming the shard deep inside her closed eye...
Puss oozing hole where I once kissed her sweet goodnight.
Harder I kick her for each wailing cry...
’No one can hear you. I may let you die tonight.’"

I had no idea I could make something so brutal...I sang in my patented "Evil Old Man"
voice. I need to get anti-depressants...

terminalpudding (2004-01-14 19:17:03) Song about bunnies

You need to make a cute song about bunnies! haha You’s never made the Cridafer song yet....you
need to quit writing depressing shit.

(2004-01-16 03:24) - public

I had a reoccuring dream of on coming to a foreign home Christmas night, alone, and hearing
"Silent Night" playing softly from the stranger’s house next door. And, I heard "holy infant so
tender and mild" and wished, so much, to be loved and held as an infant is loved; like the
child in that house is loved by his mother. And this intense loneliness pushed me to enter the
stranger’s house, longing for that peaceful sleep. As I closed the screen door of their porch,
I could see a boy who looked like I once did sleeping and his mother protecting his worryless
sleep and, when the door shut, the mother awoke to the me, this tall dark stranger entering
her home, and I ran, trying to hide my face and my home, and I awoke from the dream, each
time, with that intense loneliness...

"He’s been a medium all his life" (2004-01-17 05:54) - public

The fall of the Roman Empire is played out in my bathroom mirror, again and again, and I do
my best to control my dismay. I see a scarred and tortured battlefield which refuses to retire;
a cursed and exhausted front who’s retraction is retracable back through the deep gashes left
carelessly to be tended by time’s diligent erosion.

The rusty taste of numbers crunched reverberates like a tin foil taste test travelling from my
back-metalled nerves, the charged echos of iron roots ripple, unwelcome, through shining
caves of sweet youth’s naive design. But, I cannot intellectualize the pain of my hunger
or rationalize the throb of my love, I can only regret my position as their victim after the
devistation. I am sure this humbling process of wisdom attained through loss is called "aging,"
but I would rather call it something decidedly more-descriptive; some word carriage capable
of carrying this heavy negativity I associate more and more with the process which the
impersonal descriptive of mere chronological progression fails to express. I will continue to
fall victim to my youth, forced to travel through this, my prime, in all it’s blind ambition until
restriction comes either willfully or not, learned or not.

Dreams, a lucid dream of my soul’s awareness whose brilliant relevance could not be
held by my incapable mind. Visions, my eyes, open or closed, see everything through nothing,
finally mastering some inborn ability to turn their view in on themselves. And, in waking sleep,
325
I come to finally bite my own teeth, to touch to the tip of my finger with the tip of my finger,
self-aware without consciousness.

Nixon and The King (of unorthodox capitalization) (2004-01-17 15:05) - public

Dear Mr. President

First I would like to introduce myself. I am Elvis Presley and admire you and Have Great
Respect for your office. I talked to Vice President Agnew in Palm Springs a week ago and
expressed my concern for our country. The Drug Culture, The Hippie Elements, the SDS, Black
Panthers, etc do not consider me as their enemy or as they call it The Establishment. I call it
America and I Love it. Sir I can and will be of any Service that I can to help the country out. I
have no concerns or motives other than helping the country out. So I wish not to be
given a title or an appointed position, I can and will do more good if I were made a Federal
Agent at Large, and I will help out by doing it my way through my communications with people
of all ages. First and Foremost I am an entertainer but all I need is the Federal credentials. I
am on the Plane with Sen. George Murphy and We have been discussing the problems that
our country is faced with. Sir I am Staying at the Washington hotel Room 505-506-507. I have
2 men who work with me by the name of Jerry Schilling and Sonny West. I am registered under
the name of Jon Burrows. I will be here for as long as it takes to get the credentials of a Federal
Agent. I have done in depth study of Drug Abuse and Communist Brainwashing Techniques
and I am right in the middle of the whole thing, where I can and will do the most good. I am
Glad to help just so long as it is kept very Private. You can have your staff or whomever call
me anytime today tonight or Tomorrow. I was nominated the coming year one of America’s
Ten Most outstanding young men. That will be in January 18 in my Home Town of Memphis
Tenn. I am sending you the short autobiography about myself so you can better understand
this approach. I would love to meet you just to say hello if you’re not too busy.

Respectfully,
Elvis Presley

P.S. I believe that you Sir were one of the Top Ten Outstanding Men of America also.

I have a personal gift for you also which I would like to present to you and you can ac-
cept it or I will keep it for you until you can take it.

(2004-01-18 00:09) - public

I awoke from a nap to hear a woman or child with a muffled lisp whisper 7 syllables from my
computer desk, the area of the room behind where my head lay. I jumped up and quickly
turned around, thinking my girlfriend must be in the room. This was followed by "Hey...You!"
whispered by the same voice from a closer location.

I dont understand...I am afraid of what a medical professional might say if I ever shared
something like that with them. I will not make that mistake, but still feel this may be able to
be rationalized and explained in a way similar to the other "brushes" with the unseen which
I experienced over vacation, while entering deeper stages of subconscious with my eyes open.
326
THe subconscious is a spectrum composed of varying frequencies and, perhaps, like a
radio tuner, there are ranges which we "transit" through, either coming into or out of sleep,
that carry other "channels" of consciousness. This does make sense, as it is irrational to
assume a whole different Consciousness Spectrum for, say, the dead; the aware soul. No,
the dead remain conscious after death, and "life after death" is nearly a scientifically-proven
fact by this point. They are conscious, however, at a much deeper level or range on the
Consciousness Spectrum or, rather, their "Natural Channel" is one subconscious to our own
Natural Channel, regular consciousness. In the brief period after my very deep sleep, the
Transitory Period which is felt as we both enter or leave the dreamstate, I heard a brief, slightly
distorted snippet of conversation not directed towards me. The source of this section of
speech, like normal, conscious speech, was able to be "located," by the same binaural mental
calculations we use everyday to locate the direction from which a sound enters our ears. The
fact that this same mental capacity applied itself to the soft, lisp-laden voice proves, at least
to me, that the voice was an external one who’s location was one similar to where I am now.
The source of a vocal hallucination, on the other hand, is said to be heard WITHIN the head of
the person who is hallucinating. Having a very definate external location, as I did, dissuades
me from assuming this was such a hallucination.

Other peculiarities about the voice which seem to legitimate it’s presence are the almost
RESPONSIVE nature of its second phrase. It was as if the speaker was suddenly made aware
of my hearing the conversation, midstream, and quickly stopped after I jumped, startled, and
looked towards where I heard the speaker to be. It was then, as I layed back down, that I was
officially addressed directly, ("Hey! You!") to which I did not respond.

My mother claimed to be a medium and to interact with spirits inbetween sleeping and
waking. Perhaps this aspect of my genetic makeup is, only now, coming to reach its discon-
certing potential. If I remain rational, however, I feel I can legitamate the less-normal depths
natural consciousness.

inthehorizon (2004-01-17 22:28:08)

is this serious? i’m truly fascinated by all this kind of stuff, and your entry really spiked my interest, so
hopefully it is something that really happened to you...??

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-17 22:47:42)

You have no Idea, read all of the stuff from December, you might like it, I know he and I did not think
much of it. It is weird and is something that is not easy to explain.

turboswami (2004-01-18 01:06:15)

Yes, I awoke to some kind of unseen conversation today. I do feel very comforted by the idea of living
back here in the dorms, now, since this strange inter-sleep medium ability, as I have come to consider
it, attracted the attention of what I will call a polterguist who tormented me and my girlfriend over
the course of a week after my Subconscious Vision and "occupation" in my home over vacation. I
consider the travelling spirit, who violated my lover in a paralyse-state of unsleep, to be evil and
dangerous. All I could do, during this frightening Incubus incident, as I think it is called in Christian
texts, was hold her as her legs were spread apart and she was raped, unable to move. All I am
saying is, the returning of these "interactions," however mild, is not welcome and arouses unsettling
memories I had wished to put behimd me.

327
Letter To Professor acheyne@watarts.uwaterloo.ca (2004-01-18 05:35) - public

My girlfriend experienced an incubus attack while fully lucid and awake in bed with me. She
spoke, first, of paralysis and then, as her legs were spread apart, a hellish burning and tingling
in her vagina and on her chest and arms. She had trouble breathing and, during this time,
all I could do was hold her and try to comfort her, during which time I also felt strange,
disconcerting tingling.

I jumped from bed, afraid, and turned on the lights. As I did this, there was an audible
movement, a creeking on the bedroom’s hardwood floor which receded down the stairscase
as I turned the light on. It was a very loud sound, of something heavy.

This incident occured after several other honestly-frightening incidents, including what
she described, and I "sensed," in a way similar to the tingling she described during the night
paralysis, as an "Out of Body Experience." I come to you, being a man of science, to help me
rationalize these night distrubances in any way which is more rational than my own.

Any correspondance or forwarding would be greatly appreciated,

Sincerely,

Kaleb Smith

PS: Enclosed is some personal writings from the time before and after the conscious In-
cubus attack. Please forgive the more poetic of these, as the more documentary of these are
more informative than any recreation of the events I could create now, weeks. later.

(2004-01-19 21:49) - public

I cant deal with people anymore, I am too angry to tolerate their talking as I once was able
to. Within a few hours of being around them, I begin to grit my teeth at every loud, mindless
cackle or big-mouthed, bragging huff. I must be medicated more-heavily to endure. I have not
the patience to pretend to take all of these children seriously as they scream wide-mouthed
laughter at me, inches from my face, with blank, waiting eyes scanning my flaws, as if finding
the best place on my face to bite.

I am thankful, yes...reciting thank you after thank you through this blinding bitterness
and head-numbing inner tension which I keep hidden, so well, behind these clenched teeth
and inside these clenched fists. If it wasnt for my eyes, I am sure I could pass as another quiet,
calm idiot, wandering from shiney thing to shiney thing, bumping only into the darker-colored
walls. These eyes are lenses which cannot hide the burning discontent as well, however, and
my eyebrow’s snarl is a sure giveaway of all the rotting hate I try to hide beneath words so
small.

(2004-01-20 02:18) - public

Oh, lackaday! Lackaday! Lackadaisical young beef eater, come forward to begin participation
in the study. Dangers of finger-sprain abound, but fear not, young fingerer, for I know the of
328
late night practice sessions you have so-estudiously Under Took.

Force this hotdog onto me no further, sticky vendor, for I have come to appreciate the
bite of a lesser-convenient sausage! No Cage-fee so great as to contain my love for the
meat-packed intestinal track, but, in quiet late night reflection, the hunger grows unbearable
and I, with shakey-kneed submissiveness, succumb to the beckon call of a cheaper Pole
Sausage.

Pass the ketchup, I’m in this thing for the Long Haul! Maw, take a bath, but keep your
self-disgust packed behind that closed intestinal door, freshening air as needed. The coming
of my favorite media, Search and Destroy eating pattern, slow sausage fatty fried in the
glaring heat of the shadeless Savannah sun, the Lion Sleeps Tonight, tiring only light from his
daytime fight, seconds past your flight. Who gives him the right? One granted right for each
tearing tooth.

Row trouble slipstream causality sway through current weeds, unseen.

(2004-01-20 06:06) - public

All I can do is lay in my bed and think of children’s names...none seem to be as good as the
one I created last year from a dream, "Shausk."

First Names:
Destin/Destina
Dose
Brilliance/Brillahn
Raum/Rahm
Phaedra
Faust

Middle names:
Allow/Aloe
X/Z
One, Two/dos (probably not)

There are certain basic sounds which I would are most pleasing to the human ear. These
sounds date back to before language itself, and I would like to maintain these sounds into
whatever name I create. These are "Shhh," the sound we have, across all cultures, used to
soothe one in distress. Secondly, there is the sound of soothing itself, "Ahh," which represents
sensitivity and inner calm. Creating a name, like Shausk, I would probably allow my paternal
pretentiousness full reign, to the point of actually defining the word I create. It would, of
course, integrate both of the basic understandings of the composing sections that I described
above, but may also integrate spirituality into the definition.

(2004-01-20 18:13) - public

Kant was German. The best music and philosophy seems to be always be German. They are
a very white people. The challanging and provoking thoughts shared in the class were as
329
humbling as they were exhausting. There will not be a class seen, this or any other semester,
who’s student’s tote as many coffee shop cups. Nearly half the class carried a caffeinated
drink of one kind or another from one intellectual gathering spot or another. Everybody oozing
pretentiousness from the gills beneath their high-held head. I felt, finally, at home! Whitey
loves philosophy and mathematics. He is a nerd, and I have found the class that he attends
after he leaves his snobby coffee shop, full of caffeine and himself.

(2004-01-21 03:43) - racist/balding - public

Music: Ron Geesin - Right Through (vinyl)

So much flesh-colored wax hardening on this walking face, I grows harder and harder to
express, the burning pain subsided now. I wont make that mistake again, my face is shielded
from the world now, yes, this social defense grows thicker with every eye that mine submit
to, in passing. No, I will not make that mistake again...I have learned the lesson through
punishment and this emotionless crayola facsade is a blessing, there to hide the scars of the
face it scalded.

Etc. Etc. The mental strain of this resolution to make a lasting impression on every
man woman and child who cross my path, no, he said that. I am a kind and humble fatty, here
to entertain as needed and then leave. No, they all see this get-up, they know their dealing
with an inhabitant of edges, no. No, they know nothing and are content knowing nothing. No,
they know me, no, ’YOU DONT KNOW ME!" -The Maury Povich White Trash/Negro Circus

Exploitation of the degenerate welfare class for entertainment media slavery. They dont
realize that their lives are comedy or that god-given stupidity is theatric. The upper class have
enjoyed this Natural Entertainment for centuries, it is no suprise that these Fist-Talk shows are
so popular. These toothless perverts and redneck wife beaters have never understood WHY
the successful laugh; they take themselves too seriously to consider it.

Light notes, lift this sinking ship back to calm consumer sugar waters, I’ll fructose this
portable child into a seizure in time for the 6 o’clock news and still have pennies to spare. But,
who selects the winner, nowadays? He must surely be the TRUE winner, for judgement is his
to pass unto us, his patiently-waiting subservient underlings. I gotta get me an authoritative
attention hammer to pound like an ignored child instead of using my fist. Will people listen to
me, then? Will it make my words worthy? I’ll pout until they ask me what’s wrong, and then
I’ll hand them my book.

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-21 08:07:25)

Anti social are we? Seems to be, and I had thought so. Do you hide that face with fleshy wax to make
everything a fleshy bliss? When you are with us all?

turboswami (2004-01-21 16:32:20)

Dont worry, things I say just SOUND meaningful. The truth is there were some crayons lying out...the
rest just seemed to plop out of my ass like MAGIC! Jesus is MAGIC!

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-21 16:34:18)

I am so proud of you, not many can say they pump Jesus out of their ass.

330
 turboswami (2004-01-22 01:38:38)
Fewer, yet, can say they pumped Jesus in the ass, or, at least, admit to that wine-drunken night.

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-22 19:03:02)

Ah, and the truth came out, literally, you and Jesus... I knew there was a reason you loved him and
LOVED him so much.

(2004-01-22 03:55) - public

There’s a dark man outside my loud window, peering through a crack in the venetian blinds,
who howls a low lullaby which climaxes and stops. The cold, dark watcher who shows me the
images of my death for he knows they are ones I will never share, confiding, soft whispers,
through to me from his side of the glass. And, perhaps I saw those two eyes smile at my fear,
the silent tears the sight of my own death induce from my right eye please him, and from this,
his taunting pleasure, I know there is no hiding.

Come, dark traveler! Come, for I invite into my bed and its visions. You have watched
me from cold shadows, masking your whispers beneath swelling screams, for too long and
it is time for you to reveal your widsom of distant realms to me and it’s macabre pleasure.
Commune through the screen of my waiting, open window, the boundary I know you can never
pass, and teach me all of that which is to smile at death and make these silent tears ones of
laughter.

(2004-01-22 09:14:36)
That is cheesy. I hate you.

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-22 10:53:43)

That is actually great! I love the dark man! He visits me ofter. I love ya TurboSwami....

Question Authority! (2004-01-22 17:19) - public

The most general distinctions will always be the most relevent and, as individuals inter-
acting with an outer world, the most general distinction possible is that of Self and Other:
Subjectivity interacting with the Objective. This most basic of distinctions arises in so
many different words throughout the multitude of cultures, but the definitions of all the
different words is always grounded on those base ideals of Internal and External, however
inaccessible be the new word’s definative flourishes of sophisticated vocabulary or the
needlessly complex explaination, common in academic circles, used to confuse, intimidate,
or give the general appearance of groundbreaking intelligence manifested in a new definition.

In Kant’s "Critique Of Pure Reason," he does just this. Where there already existed a set
of concepts, already pompously languaged in Latin to appear more credible, which distin-
guished Internality from Externality, Kant defined new words for the same two concepts and
then claimed that they were completely new ideas of his very own which were not synonymous
in any way.
331
Specifically, there existed "A Priori," or knowledge independent of experience. Given
the vague definition made by Kant of experience as external, we can assume that A Priori is,
in fact, merely Latin for subjectivity. "A Posteriori," or knowledge dependent on experience,
would then represent objectivity, or all that depends upon his external experience. With this,
he went on to spout new definitions, as certain proud types of people will always surely do...

"Analytic" was his word, which he defined as "predicate contained in subject." As you
can see, this NEW WORD describing things contained in a the subject could more easily
and understandably be left to be described in the word "subjectivity," or, for that reason,
"A Priori." Being that he did not create that word, it is understandable that he wanted his
very own version of it. "Synthetic" was his second NEW word, which described a "predicate
not contained in a subject." This, given his understanding of all experience as external, this
is, again, merely a more complicated word for all of that which is Other than Self, or Objectivity.

As if intending to complicate the two basic distinctions of Internal and External in order
to cover up the fact that there is can only be those two, he claimed that there is KNOWLEDGE
WHICH IS INDEPENDENT OF EXTERNAL EXPERIENCE (A Priori) which is IS NOT CONTAINED
INTERNALLY, within the subject. As if this blatent contradiction was not enough, he further
claimed that there is KNOWLEDGE DEPENDANT ON EXTERNAL EXPERIENCE (A Posteriori)
which is CONTAINED INTERNALLY within the person. Conveniently, he found no reason to
give any examples or proofs for the existence of these two impossible situations, because he
claimed his book would get too big and would accessible to all readers (he actually says he
made a conscious attempt to make his book HARD to read.) And, so, he has his new words
and nobody can produce any real world examples of their existence, merely accepts them as
truth out of their supposed complexity, alone.

The only imaginable way for Knowledge to be dependant on external experience and be
internalized within the individual is if you seperate the two contradictory states by time. That
is to say, what was external is, first, sensed, and, at a later time, percieved, internally, with
thought and understanding. These, however, are merely two completely opposite states at
two completely different times and do not legitimate Kant’s NEW words for "internal" and
"external" in any way.

(2004-01-24 04:41) - public

Social energy, my wordless influence on those around me, came to make me question my
sanity as I began to dance, there, enveloped by the group of beautiful strangers. And, closing
my eyes, I released myself to the music, allowing its composition to flow through me and out
of me. And, when I opened my eyes, I saw all those around me suddenly dancing with me,
like me, and the musicians on the stage, too, feeling this same social energy I claim to have
ignited. It wasnt a particularly special or crowd pleasing song, yet, when I initiated dance
among those who were not moving, it became something more, something pleasing beyond
the music, itself. Opening my closed, musically-focused eyes only on rarely, I would find the
eyes of the band on me and would quickly close them again, to avoid self-consciousness which
would hinder the music’s flow through my movements. I felt liberated, there in the theater of
public, to close my eyes, while my elbows and feet touched those who seemed to emulate
me, having seen them before and after my involvement. Movement, social energy, unspoken,
revolves around those of Gravity, or depth. Those who express, in whatever sense-able way,
332
this depth will attract the attention of those around them, identically to the revolving of our
Earth around the deeply-inset Sun by rules of Gravity and it’s spacial-fabric’s depth.

I have convinced myself, then, that I influence people around me without words.

Unhealthy thoughts, even if the people I went there with agree that they are valid, I
dont want to start assuming I have that sort of rippling influence on whole rooms of people...its
just a bad direction for thought to develop.

Over the past 3 weeks, I have come to experience lucid dreams on a regular basis, slowly
pushing the boundaries of my control over the dream to include things not physically possible
in the conscious world. In the second dream, I dediced I wanted a sledge hammer and, closing
my closed eyes, one became in my hands and I went on to smash natural formations of ice.
Last night, I closed my closed eyes, and focused on the horizon in a dirty city and, slowly,
began to float upwards, my stated intent, I came to float to the top of the buldings in the
distance, but the very unnatural feeling of this became disconcerting enough to wake me from
the dream

(2004-01-25 13:45) - public

Peculiar advice for nervous young people:

Close your eyes often.

Closing your eyes long and often reaffirms your place in the greater scheme of things, if
only for a moment, so that you have that strength and calm, which can only come from a wider
perspective, when you reattach yourself to the neverending distraction of surface images.
Close your eyes, and people are immediately comfortable as you with you, and can feel free
to finally stare at anything on you they want to without your troublesome awareness to hinder
their curiousity, generally innocent.

A kiss, as we have all been told, in order to be intimate, requires that its users abandon
the eyes in an expression of mutual trust, for just that short, shared moment. However, this
abandonment is equally fullfilling, generally, for most experiences. When someone touches
your face lightly, running their fingers along the hairline of your neck and behind your ears,
closing your eyes and allowing yourself full appreciation of this kind sign of affection can
become borderline spiritual, internally, based on the depth of appreciation you allow yourself.
Fullfillment beyond words, in this spiritual way, requires abandonment on a deeper level to
"empty" yourself, so that you maybe "fully-filled," top to bottom, with that moment’s soft,
sensual gift.

Abandonment, the prerequisite to this sort of deep fullfillment, implies that you keep
nothing for yourself of that moment, that the sensitive manifestation of that lover’s affection
towards you is immediately released; as to not impede the flow of the ever-coming "Current"
moment. To speak of the current in this way is to picture a current which is constantly running
through your relaxed fingers, open in calm abandonment. The very moment you stop to think
of how good it is, it becomes something of "how good it was" and you try to catch it and keep
it for yourself. It is this self-thought, this desire to capture a fullfilling moment, which ends the
refreshing calm of the current as you think of your future needs in terms of what happened in
the moments passed. In this frantic rush to "catch" all which once flowed through your fingers,
333
you make a closed fist, no longer open in self-abandonment; this endeavour is futile, however,
and all of the current leaves the hand as it closes and you are simply left with an angry fist full
of nothing but itself.

Many people go through their whole lives without allowing that tight fist even the slight-
est moment of waking ease. They are the KNUCKLE-HEADS, the unmovable stubborn FIST
BRAINS who are constantly afraid for what they might lose to the ever-moving, fluid current.
They hate being touched, and are uncomfortable with the idea of themselves. Their eyes
must always be open, blinking only as quickly and infrequently as possible, as to always be
prepared to defend themselves with Rocky fists and Rocky heads. Defensive ALWAYS and with
everyone, from their lover to their mother, they view every observation of them as a clever
attack. They tend to carry knives and take them out very fast and very often, constantly
reeling themselves over in their closed-fist mind, how they will jab the guts of the attacker
who waits for them everywhere in every body. They are on the run, upstream.

YOU Can Help! Do It NOW! (2004-01-25 15:12) - public

I finished what is, without a doubt, the most heart-wrenchingly personal, emotionally-charged
song of my life. "I Am Your Nothing" was just uploaded and it needs direction...and the
sharpest and harshest critisism you can muster...

Please, take a deep stab at me and my music, I need to know what is wrong with it, what must
be done, what has been done and must be undone, what is right and wrong, an honest critique.

Its a short, depressing lil ditty, wont take but a few minutes of your time to listen and
tell me what it needs. Thanks

http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/i _am _your _nothing _mixdown.mp3

silentwinds (2004-01-25 17:28:49)

Alright. So I lied. Once I saw you had me on your friends section I decided to peek into your journal
again. As you probably already realize, I have no experience with the music you make. Im going to
say on this one, the second half is better than the first. Honestly, the cracking in the voice can be felt
as a little overdone, yet undeveloped enough in other sections. While your feelings are presented,
there isnt a fullness in them so it needs a little more emphasis within the flowing of words. Again, I’m
just a ditz on the subject, but hey you asked for some comments. I did like your other entrie about
names. I combed through yours and combined with my likings into the name Fraust.

turboswami (2004-01-25 21:50:19)

Overdone? Do you mean you could tell that I took over 25 takes? Or that it was "too done" in another
way? Is it under developed JUST enough, or enough to be bad? My tried to express my emotions
fully, the intonation of my voice intending to induce the image of a man on the edge of emotional
instability, "breaking down." I dont know if this is what you did not feel came across fully, or needed
more emphasis, or if you thought I should emphasize a different feeling altogether. Nobody seems to
like the vocals...they are growing on me, though...I dunno.

334
 silentwinds (2004-01-26 17:01:19)
I do understand your voice intending to induce emotional instability. It just seems maybe you tried
too hard? It needs more truth, less rehearsal (the numerous takes) may have made it better. Pure
instability is better interpreted when it is original instead of recited to the point of likened acceptance.
But if its growing on you, does it really matter what others think?

terminalpudding (2004-01-26 11:55:55) little man

Kaleb - your icon is creepy :)

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-26 12:23:51) Re: little man

Dont you love it! I think it is great heh

silentwinds (2004-01-26 16:49:55) Re: little man

Yea, I find it to be a bit creepy also. It does remind me of him though, in some weird way.

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-26 17:19:44) Re: little man

Kal is good about being weird, I think we all know that heh

(2004-01-28 03:22) - public

Jesus H. Christ,
I have come to the conclusion that that that... thatatah

tuh...

cough*

I have come to the cooaaaaaa tch tch tch tchaha!!!

and with this I close, your sweet honey plumpin’ course designer,

Strobe Informer.

In fact:
Formless intuition, the stages of appearance and its recogging, can never see me.

In Truth:
Forming institutions, the stages for elevation and crashing, you WILL see me..

See my dark silouette tower through your burning rubble.

These binding clauses we come to believe exist, in fact, do not. Somewhere halfway through
"Finding Nemo" (c), the sedation took on the role of sublime rotting and, soon, our psychiatric
medication merely aided our quiet enslavement. But, with so many bright, flashing colors,
how could anyone say the message was wrong, a facade covering the end of a smoking barrel.

With the deadpan sincerity of the Red Handed,

335
Corporal Korea
Underdog of Shock Risk

(2004-01-29 02:18) - public

Who’s plugging this in? Is someone going to plug this thing in? Jesus Fucking Christ, can we
get this shit balloon off the ground, or not?!

Ok, so, I’ve got 12 crayons, how many do you have? 64? How about I cram them up
your uptight ass you fucking yuppy faggot! Yea!!! If its a red crayon, everyone will assume its
all one color, you know, like your mom when I slice her fucking cunt lips up in...umm...

...uhh...sorry, forgot what I was going to say.

I am sure it had something to do with...no, wait...

"YOU WERE GOING TO TELL ABOUT MOTHER AND THE BLOODY LIPS OF HER SLICED VAGINA."

Yea, ok, so your mom...her cunt lips, I remember that part, thanks, but, what about them? Did
I have any point at all....have I ever?

"PERHAPS IF YOU ALLOW ME TO INTERJECT, QUICKLY, A POEM SHE USED TO SING QUI-
ETLY TO ME AS I WAS A YOUNG BOY, IT WOULD REFRESH YOUR MEMORY. THE POEM WAS
CALLED ’MY SWEET DAISY:’

DAISY, DAISY, ALL FOR THE LOVE OF MYS..." Wait! I got it!!

Your going to die bleeding from your crotch you fucking degenerate cocksucking faggot,
just like your mom did when she...shit SHIT, I lost it again...nevermind, lets get back to Table
Tennis, your serve.

Like a man out of time, so was to be his life. A marginal pencil pusher, inward for a crit-
ical life sentance without chance of parole. In this, he crossed paths unseen for years of
dark waste, waiting for what was forbidden to come to him, waiting for day, for summer,
that distant thing he sometimes questioned if he remembered and sometimes questioned if
existed.

Some ancient fable told to children "do you believe in the day?" Most do not, for it is
beyond their born comprehension, it is beyond all that they know, this alien concept that there
is anything but this deep, unending, inpenetrable darkness.

Sit, be fit, I am an asshole and my ideas are dry like the fading inevitable. Peak, have
you come? Peak? Is this the peak? No, it cant be? Did it already come? Was that it? No, the
peak is coming...right? It must have been before, when I had it for that second...what is this?
Where am I?

336
 iztyme2ryde (2004-01-29 15:30:29)
You are disgusting. And... nice icon. Do you want me to scan those pics? You need to give them to me
first.

(2004-01-30 00:47) - public

"So, it happened, and now what?" She said...

...

"...your family never liked me. I always felt out of place, especially with your father.
Those fucking fishing trips he had me take, just me and him, what a joke!"

...

"...but, it can happen again. What if it happens again, Tom?! Then what??"

...

"...and then there was that thanksgiving that he I cut myself slicing the turkey. He in-
sisted I fucking do that, and never shut the hell up about ’oh, the blood on the bird, the blood
on the bird!’ I swear, I wanted to just knock him right in his goddamned bastard monicle!"

...

"...Tom! Our daughter!"

...

"..."

PERHAPS TOM DOESNT UNDERSTAND THE DEEP NATURE OF RAPE’S EFFECT ON THE WOMAN.
PERHAPS IF TOM WAS TO LIVE A DAY IN THE SHOES OF HIS DAUGHTER, TO GO TO SLEEP WITH
HER THOUGHTS, TONIGHT...OR, PERHAPS, TOM NEEDS ADVIL(C).

"...LITTLE"

...

"...YELLOW"

...

"...DIFFER...RACIST...DISTINGUISABLE FEATURES, YELLOW SKIN RELEASES IN TIME, BUT

WHAT OF OUR RELEASE? Perhaps, Tom understands the nature of weekend release, but what
does little Carrie, his loving daughter, understand of the stressors of the long workweek."

...
337
"...remember what he did at the wedding? I’ll never forget that drunk speech he stum-
bled through up there in front of everyone. He degraded me in front of my entire family! The
bastard jus..."

Through tired times, when all leaves are long dead, skeleton trees sleep above us with
light watchers.
There, with those cold dark silents, the inspiration of a thousand long thoughts courses
through my fingers, their history whispering through such a soft lead antenna, the words
barely touching the paper as I faintly leave, summoned by the drift of dreams.
Strong were my beliefs, long ago, in myself and in the infalliable wisdom of those older
than me. Residuals of such strong expresions texture, only recorded, my smeared fractures,
melting hidden what was once so brittle and unyielding to the changing tide, the flux of those
waves long frozen with me.
Tightening waste, frozen white caps layer further upward, but all I love shall fall and break
themselves against me, bleeding and crying, they will pound their cold wet fists against me,
blue fists of balled angery ’why!?’ will tire, unanswered by my sleeping shore lips, reddened
only by her bleeding fists and knees.

Sweet ice cage of crystaline shards, filter away the sun from me no more! I am awake I
am late for spring’s welcoming preperations. Something Something, Hot Tamale!

iztyme2ryde (2004-01-30 13:24:23)

I fear you will kill me with glass shards while I sleep... does that mean anything?

(2004-01-31 03:15) - public

Turn off all of the lights, so that if she opens her eyes, she wont see me bleed. Yes, apply
pressure to the area until clotting is apparent. Good...

Now, sleep and do your best to forget it happened. Do not trouble your tired mind with
questions of "why?" That will only make it harder to forget the details of the incident, and
will inhibit you from putting those details behind you, tommorow. Yes, thats it, breath deeply
in and, exhale, you forget the broken bottle. Breath deeply in and, exhale, you forget the
fight altogether. Breath deeply in, and exhale, you forget her stabbing the broken beer bottle
through your plaid shirt into your guts. Yes, it is behind you, yes, you have forgotten....

But, it was my fault. Right? She, no...you need to forget.

But, I started this mess and she finished it. That fucking bitch stabbed me. I’ll get her
back, I swear to god I’ll nev...NO...EXHALE....

Rape, but, no. "You have forgotten that, it never happened. You have done nothing to
deserve this." She’s my d...

She’s my baby!

338
"They dont know anything about that, and she will never tell...."

I love her....I love her too much, I love...I...I love her...wrong....ohgod! FUCK! Why,
god.....*crying*

"Shut up, they’ll hear you, then what!? They’ll know! You need to scare her again, to
keep her quiet. You need to hurt her if she is going to stay trustworthy. Its the only way, you
know you wouldnt mind a little more of thatt..."

Shut up! SHUT UP!! YOU FUCKING DESERVE TO DIE! YOU FUCKING...UHHHHGGGG! NO!!
NOOOO!!

"...."

....

"She’s waiting for you, Tom."

3.2 February

(2004-02-01 04:45) - public

It seems those days still haunt me. The original Solaris, a masterpiece of Russian psychedelia,
shook me, reminding me of souls and of those memories of them. I realized, then, that the
bloody cuts across my back and neck were not from Teasha at all, that she had not a single nail
that could dig through my skin in that way. But that, in fact, she was not the only one attacked
throughout the extent of that hell we attracted into my bedroom. I was both attacked, and
posessed to attack her, causing her too to bleed in my sleep. Her uttering "I went to sleep
because you were crying" several times before the meaning of it set in, the fact that a part of
her wanted to sleep so that it could comfort me from sleep, through the posession I felt, which
caused me to tremble and hyperventilate as I cried in absolute warmth.

I remembered, too, things which happened to me that I didnt notate. The feeling of my
soul, too, floating above and the sudden tug back down as I was awoke. How my arms and feet
both flew feet into the air, as if I was dropped from a high distance. She says I jumped a foot
in the air and that she was terrified of me, and that that was half the reason she wanted to get
away from me. A part of me is afraid to go back home. My religious professor seemed to near
tears when I told him of the "night paralysis" and he described South American shamanistic
commands to recite, instead of whatever I had chanted off the top of my head, which seemed
to intimidate the incubus.

Thinking back, I realize that these spirits have weight, that the movement towards or away
from our own which we both heard was caused by weight against both the chair, floor, or stairs.
The incubus, itself, seemed the heaviest as I could tell its path from the bed down the stairs to
the door which it tugged. Chills....oh god, I hope for all to be out of that house when we return.

We both talk about what has happened, which I think is healthy. Acknowledging that
we both remember, and can never forget, the night after night of attacks and possession,
339
helps us to remain sane and keeps us from ever doubting ourselves, which I feel is a definate
possibility over time and, really, is just the beginning of what can lead into much less healthy
states of mind.

I am convinced that Teasha was not the only spirit to posess me, as the thoughts which
entered me before sleep during that time were some of the most frightening of my life. Right
before sleep, as I held her lovingly, came the awful order "Kill the worm!!" This must be the
entity that tormented us through those nights, entering me the only time it could, in the
realm of subconscious. This must be the entity that grabbed her and dug its claws into her
through my hands and spread her legs apart to violate her. I swear, if it is not all gone and
to be forgotten, I will sell that fucking house without a second thought. It occured to me,
mid-conversation with my spiritualism professor, that I live on Church Hill and that that whole
area is an old church ground. He asked the valid question of whether or not this church had a
graveyard. I dont want to think about that.

So, the spirit pounding the keys and shaking my monitor violently, between angry scrapes on
plastic padding or air conditioner vents, was merely waiting for us to sleep so it could sharpen
its fucking claws on my back! To draw blood, through my shirt no less, it had to be one angry
motherfucker! What the hell am I going to do if it’s up there, just sitting up there in that chair
it liked so much, waiting for me to return. My professor said "never go back to that place
again!" I told him it was my home and he smiled nervously and said "oh..."

(2004-02-02 03:01) - public

I’m going to moan again tommorow, at 9:37AM, most likely. I will moan like John Cage used
to, on the radio or like Jimmy Hoffa did when he was exhausted from all that pressure he made.

But, is exhaustion all I have in common with these greats? Most likely, but I have much
more than them, so even if I had something else in common, I would sleep it off until it was
better again, like a bad cold.

Beefy little love, you’ve got all that to look forward to, maybe...perhaps another lifetime.
Savor the anticipation, as it doesnt get much better after they bring it.

And your father, and his you seed, sing long into the night:
"...through the blizzard, through the gale! Ever faithful, ever true...nothing stops him, he’ll get
through!"

Look out for Mr. Stork, he’s got you on his list! And, who knew it was a list of the dy-
ing dead, at the edge of life? Counting the days as they weaken further, all anticipating from
all sides of the flesh. We sometimes forget that this is a movie, much less who it’s for, but
during moments of clarity, we are able to see through the calm to the second surface far below
or, with some unexplainable shift of our eyes’ focal length, the same calm can reveal ourselves
on its one completely flat, mirror surface. It is only during the calm, when both extremes
have finally agreed to sleep, that you see all that their rippling laughter or fear, anger or
tears had come to hide. There, in the dark, emotionless night, you can see beyond your own
eye, beyond to the which under stands you, the soft, accepting ground, beneath all of what
you see through the torrents of day, which you impress upon and influence beneath that
surface-consciousness. And, indeed, there will come a time when your head will finally enter
340
that divine calm, the time of release from the daily toil of treading that water, and it’s fear. It
is when we release that final breath to sink and abandon the obligations of that sunny beach,
with all its lovers and haters, that we will under stand again, as we did at a shallower time,
and the movie finally becomes ours to enjoy, resting comfortably behind the lights of the stage.

Behind the sun, beneath that fabric of eternal watch, who drains beneath, pulling down
with massless Gravity, until we have spent all the movement it granted us. Until we are home
with gravity in its completed form, Grave without Action. In form we stop, but beneath it we
continue until the second surface embraces our fall like an understanding sand, carriage of
beginingless waves and vice versa since the life and death or rain; in its trillion individual
drops, each convinced of its isolate seperation during that brief stint of motion towards Gravity,
only to be reminded of a longer cycle it had forgotten in the frantic rush of that fall. It is after
the storm that the puddle of community becomes calm and, again, allows self-awareness.

(2004-02-03 04:06) - public

I’m an undergraduate student taking graduate courses. No, that is not some strange
metaphore, I’m too exhausted for metappphloors. Each week, 5 chapters of reading from 3
books, 10 pages of painful research analysis, with graphs and charts, one test, 1+ internet
assignment and 2+ internet posts. How the hell am I doing this? Why the hell am I doing this?
Who the hell am I doing this to? What the who am is doing for this? How the hey am I what
the hell? This. Where the haus in the love this?

When the hell are I doing to?

Why the how the hell in I through this?

I must fill in the form that automatically wins me a free folded piece of paper called a
USEFUL DIARY.

I see movement in the periphery of my vision...always...all day I see movement on the

sides of me, but always on the sides. Never above nor below, but near me, behind me.

When looking at the venetian blinds, closed, with the knowledge of snow behind them, I
saw snowflakes appear, in redish and blueish hues, across the blinds. They were the size of
dinner plates and reminded me of the inverted color you see after closing your eyes after
staring at the American Flag or snowfake for 30 seconds. But, no, my eyes werent closed...and
I saw them again and again...

More lucid dreaming...dreams in dreams, again...

—end transmission from the other side—-

swarms (2004-02-03 08:46:23)

Oh, I get it. It is a metaphor for the weather. The ten page paper is you trudging through the snow.
Clever stuff, Kaleb.

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 turboswami (2004-02-03 11:14:12) Re:
What can I say? It just comes to me...it just comes. It comes and it comes and its comming...its
comming...

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-03 16:06:04) Re:

And then it stops

(2004-02-04 01:53) - public

That saucy little dance you squirm just in time for bed or dinner, I’ve got your number! This is
a phallic thing, the whole recording process, and, I swear, if you push that goddamned thing
into my face one more time...TO THE MOON!!

Oh man, I feel so good that I start to feel real bad. Real bad that I felt so good so quick-like,
but not, Jesus, this is bad.

(2004-02-06 03:39) - public

From this perspective, you can see what people have been stepping in very well. Perhaps
even feel it fall to your face from those cracks of assured friction, but this insurance will never
stop me from falling further.

My head kissed the ground. I was half the way down.

Flame of wild hair, dont go out so fast as to leave mw here with just this waste, this
person who is only barely half-baked. I need the freedom of your empty eyes, the firey scream
of that leaping wing in the night to draw all those closer to my light.

Perhaps an herbal tea or hot cider. Calms the nerves, you know. Maybe a cold shower
will FUCK!

The time, what is the time? I am nothing if not there at that time, but is it this time
now? Tell me the path to get to that woman who waits, that queen.

swarms (2004-02-06 06:46:07)

doesn’t it feel good to be lost in the woods?

turboswami (2004-02-06 08:34:44) Re:

Sometimes its bad...you know, so quiet there....in the woods.

Original Version Lost (2004-02-07 21:28) - public

One hour from the start of the 8 hour trip home, a muscle in my chest began to spasm. It made
me incredibly uncomfortable, seeing and feeling the area beneath my right breast convulse.
This intollerable spasm continued, however, for over 6 hours until my that area, beneath my
342
right breast, became swollen and tightly cramped, aching from the strain.

I had not been home for the month of this semester, the last time I was there being a
traumatic spiritual fuck. Now, driving back to that place, some part of me became tense as I
slept, something which pushed upward from beneath the right side of my chest.

Arriving home, and attempting to sleep, I tried to descibe the pain. This description cre-
ated the pain as I described it, until I could no longer write and the deep ache within my chest
was too much for me to bear. This writing was lost, for strange reasons...

Laying down after the writing, my chest began to not merely spasm, but convulse. The
unexplainable tension began to spread, and soon my legs began to flail about, as if radiating
the tension who’s source was my chest. This became less and less controllable, until my whole
body was flailing about, there, in the bed which triggered all that happened before.

blah

I dont want to rewrite what happened anymore, I dont want a lot of things.

I had asked if people could see me shake, and they said definately in my chest, where
my shirt was being pushed upwards and around by the skin beneath it.

I have concluded that this tension, whose source was my own sleep and whose observ-
able symptom is so subtle, yet intense, as to appear as a simple muscle spasm, that this
tension is that of my sleeping, unconscious self who was afraid of this place, of coming back.
That, the shivering, without conscious reason or fear, is of a deeper fear. The fear of my soul,
fear which cannot be rationalized away.

In the night, after meditative breathing/thinking calmed the violent convulsions within
the time of an hour and a half, I laid awake and entered a tense open-eye sleep. Again, my
thoughts came with immediate response, from my lover and the room. I saw faces of men
within the dark of my closed eyes, dead men, pale and bleeding. I was able to see the warmth
of a whole being beside my bed, through closed eyes, and went on further to feel interactions.
Thoughts on the nature of what I saw, analysis, produced reactions in those who I could locate
in the room. One was heard to sit and stand from a lawn chair, which creaked from the weight
as did my wheeled computer chair. At the height of intensity, the floor carried the sound of a
heavy "landing" which was immediately followed by fast, angry footsteps from the area of the
loud stomp-like sound to the upstairs door of my room, which, as before, was pulled inward
as if to be opened. This, being the exact door-interaction seen after the incubus attack, leads
me to believe that this is the same angry entity who is Young enough to still be influenced by
material-door routine interactions. I thought of this after it happened, the action of opening a
door when, perhaps, you need not.

Teasha’s spirit interacted with my father’s girlfriend, downstairs. She described a dream
of "hiding" from a 2 parent figures, behind a corner, but being seen. She then went on to
describe communicating with the person who saw her. This morning, I overheard this woman
described "this is how they communicate, she was right there, we talked about you." (to my
dad) She also described her dog shaking and doing this it has never done.

I, myself, dreamed in a conscious way, my rational understanding of what interactions I

343
was sharing slowly being lost to the encroaching dream. I remember understanding that I
am the opposite of a radio, that information was being tuned and transmitted inwardly inside
of me, instead of outward from within, like radio. There was also an aspect of depth, like a
distance which was transmitted with the message, like a voice can be heard to come from
the other side of the room, so this opposing idea was a voice which carried an inward sort
of distance information, which corresponded to that part of myself, inside. It makes strange
sense, in a surreal sort of way, in the daylight. I went so far as to integrate ideas of resonant
frequencies and antenna devices, as the dream lost its cohesive qualities.

Of the many messages I recieved in this uniquely-conscious dreamstate, most are forgotten. I
was told, however, that the tension in my chest is a "rope" which extends out to my soul, con-
necting. He then went on to say that he was able to "pull himself in/into" to me using the rope.

At a realization, which came from the dream, hit me, all at once there was a full-bore
ram against the outside of the door to my second-story deck. This was so loud and strong, it
shook the wall and glass, but was not accompanied by any wind, before or after.

I am hoping all this quiets down tonight. I hate it.

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-07 19:28:13)

I hope that you do not think it is me... I do not really think I want you to hate me too...

(2004-02-10 03:33) - public

"So, I’ve got all these yellow pills and 4 of the pink girly ones...you know, for after dinner..."
She said, gulping to breath, eat, chew, and talk all in one ugly face.

The bottle of courage half gone, and nothing but quiet watching in me, no thoughts to
hope for...only that longing to undress her with not a single apparent word available for me to
do so with.

She offered me a girly one, even though I hadnt eaten since 1, and I took it and drank
it with the warm, uncourageous liquor. She was humoring me, shoving things in my mouth
and her own to distract attention from the silence which must howl on her side.

"Tom is such a good influence on young Tommy, you know, the boy. The two take that
dog, Knuckles, off for runs over by that lake... You know that lake, that one over behind the
drug store where you go...?" She pleads, pushing me to say the words, the names. I am
convinced she knows the name of the lake, but just wants me move these lips and pretend I
dont hate her.

I nod subtly and use the glass of bitter swill as an excuse to look away as I drink. I
want to flick her in the eye...

I want sweet stuff, you know, the stuff that smears and doesnt burn well. Yea, that
syrup that runs down my leg is too hot to handle twice, for her and me both, but I come back
anyway, like picking at a scabby wound, I love this pain, this pain of conversation which I prod
344
again and again every time I come here and get allergic to her fucking cats and leave in a
snotty, red eyed mess.

Those fucking cats, that fucking woman with her fucking cats. She is my Fucking woman, the
one I come to when I need some pussy, but I can deal with cats for the extent of it, as long as
there isnt much foreplay. Foreplay is a favor I dont grant her, generally. Foreplay is something
for the classy ones who I honestly wouldnt mind, but who come and go like rare moths to my
summer porch light.

Foreplay once, treated her like a sweet something that she and I knew she wasnt. And,
there, half an hour later, I am a snotty mess sneezing and running dripping with cold slime on
her face and chest, on a mission above her. She pretended not to notice, but how disguisted
she must have been...hearing me slurp that watery mess up my nose again and again, with
every other throbbing thrust.

I left by 11:30, the ins and the outs of a courageous young Republican swell to and fro
through a sweet blossom song I can never appreciate afterwards.

(2004-02-11 02:19) - public

I’ve got these 6 beautiful ladies open for auction, 6 nubile young virgins waiting to fullfill your
every command, waiting for your money...

Who has that cash?! We’ll start the bidding at $5000. 5 cattle head for one young vir-
gin bride of your very own!

Grab the family and come on down to the Ranch! Where all you need is a big appetite...and a
little bit of money.

strum strum*

I’ve got these and this and a few thoughts on abortion and thats all I have to offer tonight,
kids...sorry.

Possibly if I were to screw loose this picture tube from its cathode ray, I would have
some control over the content of this deeper message...

I am a reversed radio who’s message is transmitted outward, like a traditional radio, but
rather messages are transmitted inward to me from different channels...frequencies I am able
to be tuned to in sleep. And so, the spirit told me, like distance, the speakers location in the
room, can be gauged in the nature of the message recieved, so this reverse radio message
carries a distance, a depth, which corresponds to an inward distance inside myself.

And he told me, then, that I have a rope which extends from between my chest and my
stomach which he is able to pull himself towards me with, in order to give me these messages
of death and it’s communicative nature. I saw his face, the blood on it’s pale skin, and knew
he was showing me all that I could see, that I was his mind tonight.

And, I know what his pain was, what he felt and the joy of finding a way of expression
345
between states, but I did not enjoy this restless sleep he induced in my wavering subcon-
sciousness....the pain he felt was nothing I wished to share, his wisdom was not worth this
torturous price.

I saw the red figure watch me from my bedside, through my closed eyes, and felt its
warmth on my uncovered shoulder. Please, God, release these tortured souls from this, their
eventful realm.

(2004-02-12 03:10) - public

Music: Brian Eno - The Paw Paw Negro Blowtorch

Throught, fraught, fought, but not

really
Through the taut young flesh I saught lied she layed untaught but not
really
Boy, that was shitty...

Its done now, worry naught

<12.>
green jealous of jeans she seen him seen.
fertile made futile through small pill one month trial
..green

<13.>
blue faced newborn, I gasp through from fluid embryonic,
Without a veil ability of a once dying impression,
So, the faculty of this new died before it was born,
And my unopened eyes will never carry that brightness they sent

<14.>
Indigo
...where in lies
a young Italian’s sturdy back 5 1/3 feet done
who in lies?
"...go"
beneath digging, I am not gone, above digging, recedes all gone.

<15.>
violet
your turning violet violet violet (violent)
She’s got a chip on her shoulder, that one.
Roll out, roll out
She looks more and more urban by the second.

<16.>
346
(2004-02-13 03:31) - public

Convenience is a virus who’s slowly encroaching infection drains us of self-fullfillment and

work-energy.

I’ve got 24 days to do nothing until something must happen, and I count each hour in
my sleep, afraid. But this sweet day after day

ring ring*

A call, static-ridden and broken, from heavily accented man calling himself Alfred Smith.
Through the wash of white noise and transmission breaks, I hear the words "correspondence
via email" and identify him as the author of a set of several emails I have recieved, supposedly,
from a major South African bank over the past month. Enclosed is the first of these:

<<<—>>>

Mr. Alfred Smith.

Tel: 870-763648313
: 870-763648314
Fax: 870-763648315

Dear Sir.

My name is Mr. Alfred Smith, I am the operational

manager in account management section incharge of
credit and foreign bills of one of the prime banks
here in South Africa. I am writing in respect of a
foreign customer of my bank who perished with his
whole families on 25TH JULY,2000 in CONCORDE PLANE
CRASH [Flight AF4590] with the whole passengers
aboard.

There is an account opened in this bank in 1998 by

this great late INDUSTRIALIST who died without a
written or oral ’WILL’ attached to the account. Since
his death, I personally has watched with keen interest
to see the next of kin but all has proved abortive as
no one has come to claim his funds and no other person
knows about this account or anything concerning it,the
account has no other beneficiary and until his death
he was the manager of his company.

The total amount involved is 16,000,000.00 USD.

[Sixteen Million United States Dollar]. We wish
to start the first transfer with $6,000,000.00[Six
million] and upon successful transaction without any
disappointment from your side, we shall re-apply for
the transfer of the remaining balance to your account.

347
I have secretly discussed this matter with the general
manager of the bank who I must involve in order to
have a smooth and a successful transfer of the fund to
any foreign bank account which you are going to
nominate. On this note, I decided to seek for a
reliable foreigner who will act as the foreign
beneficiary of the fund from the deceased by
providing his/her bank account where the fund will be
transferred for immediate investment on any viable
project as no one has come up to be the next of kin.

The banking ethics here does not allow such money to

stay more than six years without claim hence the money
will be recalled to the government treasury as
unclaimed after this long period of domancy.

In view of this I got your contact through my personal

search to see if you can assist by providing your safe
bank account for the transfer or find a reliable
person who will be capable of receiving such amount in
his or her personal account. At the conclussion of the
transfer 65 % of the fund will be for me, I will give
you 20 % of the total transfer sum, 10 % for charity
both in Africa and in your country while the remaining
5 % will be set aside to settle expenses both parties
might incure during the transfer process.

Upon the receipt of your reply, I will send to you a

detailed information about the transaction. I will not
fail to bring to your notice that this business is
100 % risk and trouble free and that you should not
entertain any fear as all modalities for fund transfer
can be finalized within 7 to 9 banking days, after you
apply to the bank as the beneficiary of the fund from
the deceased.

When you receive this letter. Kindly send me an e-mail

or you can call me or fax me. You should also include
your private fax and phone numbers for easy and safe
communication.

Respectfully yours,
Mr.Alfred Smith.

<<<—>>>

Please Advise.

348
 randin (2004-02-13 08:25:19)
hahaha, that’s one of the biggest scams on the net. I hope you wernt really looking in to it.

turboswami (2004-02-13 09:18:37) Re:

no...uhh...nope

marckaw (2004-02-13 14:45:40) Re:

Greg/Kaleb...try playing along with them for a little bit, it’s very fun. Until they ask you to send them
a scanned copy of your license, etc. I can’t believe people fall for this.

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-13 19:55:57) Re:

I am so with you, I would take them for a hell ride! And make them cry, with Jake===> ;.. (

(2004-02-14 21:08) - public

The Hermit and the slave, both in other as one. But, coming through, all pain is shared and
none hidden from the other, in or out. Both heart beats felt in one chest, however large, is too
small to carry the burdon.

Loud crashes, laughing, pounding our forced into sync with this pulse which ripples out-
wards from us. And, so, our consciousness becomes a part of our surroundings, reflecting
back to us in elegent wave form, awareness a beautiful concert of all these sponses and their
responses through time.

Core value, release! Your deep-seated clutching causes me pain.

—@—
Stutter your voice across a ripple of attention, the social ambience is a surface of water which
the soul is both above and below.

The proof of the soul is the ability to stare in a direction while PAYING ATTENTION to
someone else in the room. The moment their subconscious becomes aware of your subcon-
scious attention, beneath the direct attention of your eyes in a different direction, there is a
VIOLENT TWITCH. This is generally

You display me to them through yourself.

They only know me by your doubts of me.

Your friends have nothing of me but what you give them, that doubt, and can return to
you nothing but variations of that in an act of reflection.

(2004-02-15 05:20) - public

The chest pains continue, tugging inner sanctum trembling, tightened screaming. They come
when I make her sad or angry. I dont understand, but have asked her to let go of me.
349
Closing my eyes last night as I massaged her legs, I was able to see my hands, their
red warmth, through the dark. Slowly, this red movement extended outward to include her
sensation of my hands, my deep kneading massage tracing itself along her now visible legs.
Slowly, I saw the whole picture, expressed in warm interaction, before my very inner eye. I
could feel the massage as it travelled up through her body’s senses, identifying myself with
that feeling completely, drunk with passion at the helm. She twitched a deep, meaningful
twitch, signifying her occational awareness of her own self-release, and, watching this, I could
not help but smile uncontrollably.

In experimenting further with these "warmth visions," I began not touch her, during which
time a "polar shift" was evident in the patterns of interaction between the two bodies; each
finding their opposite side of one another, yet again. However, a light touch of my pinky
finger would cause a definate boundary between the two warmths to appear and, as the finger
moved across her, disolve this definition of seperation with the once clear polarity. And, soon,
we were that single shared sensation, once again. I opened my eyes in tears of splendor and
awe.

(2004-02-16 02:13) - public

I realize, through dream, that instead of saying "YOU’RE MINE!" that my girlfriend needs to
say "you’re ours," as the same for me. There is no her in her life for me to imply by saying
"ours," however; there is only me. This is the tension, the suffocating responsibility of being
her everyday, everyhour everything and it is a weight on my chest and in my very heart, the
very emotion she introduced me to.

And, emotion! I have not known that, from some infinately lonely sullen depths of quiet
sadness, one song, one very simple expression, could lift me up beyond my self and it’s
worries, above the moment and it’s tension, to an ever-radiant smile who’s silent tears stream
down from the stoplight, there, until I feel guilty for the pleasure. From hell to heaven in under
two minutes.

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-16 10:42:43)

Damn you, why do you post that shit? I hate it! And you never told me that you are ’ours’ and that I
should think like that too.

turboswami (2004-02-16 13:49:35) Re:

Sorry, I will make it a point to have more secrets for you.

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-16 14:20:30) Re:

No, dont do that. I am sorry. We can work this out. I am very sorry, I will do what I can though. I did
not mean that like you took it. Lets not keep anything anymore. I think that is what has caused all
of this in the first place. I am not open enough. Will you give me a chance to try? Please, cuz I love
you. I want to fix it. Please wait for me. I will work fast. I love you. Very much. I will do anything you
tell me to. I will do anything to help the pain stop. For both of us, and for ’us’. Let me try before we
call it over. PLease

350
(2004-02-17 02:03) - public

I have had all the tests done, the electrodes hooked up to my head and chest, the x-rays
and magnetic tubes scan me inside and out; nothing....still, the jabbing pains that linger from
those intense days when her soul entered my chest. I have concluded that a part of her is still
inside me, which is the reason we can communicate without words, or even consciousness.
The reason we share the same dreams at night, the reason I can think the sentance "You know,
you can do anything you want to do..." and she answers "Yea, I know" that second from her
sleep.

It is this part of her which was afraid to go back to that place where she was violated,
that caused the 6 hour long painful spasm, the actual pushing against the inside of my ribcage,
the unending trembling which simply will not stop, over 11 days later. I am tortured because
she is tortured and my pain will never end unil hers does. The jabs accompany her words
of intense negativity, doubt, or pain, or my own words which cause those things to her. I
have insisted she see a counsellor, to finally get some attention shed to this neglected part of
herself which she has kept under lock and key for so long.

She told me her father had chest pains caused by her which left with her. She told me
that there was a time in her childhood, before she began to restrict her inner self so heavily,
when the pain of her surroundings and that stress would cause jabbing shards of pain in her
chest, that she knew exactly what this feeling was. I believe that she has so many layers of
self-defense now that all these pains are far away from her. I am defenseless, however, and
open to a world which I have not feared for a very long time. It is for this reason that these
fears manifest themselves so much more intensely than with herself. Where her shivers are
seen only rarely on her own body, her fears cause my whole body to quake in shuttering,
uncontrollable spasms with a subconscious source I had not, up to this point, been able to
readily comprehend or rationalize as it seemed foreign to me. I now have made sense of the
reason why, and will do my best to help her in order to help me before my fragile, open heart
simply caves under this immense pressure which only trauma as deep and painful as rape
could ever have created.

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-17 00:00:57)

You should have seen the shake I got from that meditation. I shall write about it. But I feel it was
very good. It was nothing like the ones at home, at your home, nothing of fear at all. I feel healthy.
Something happened, and I have no clue what it was. I need to write about it. It is time I share my life
with people around me, and not keep it to me. You can read about it later. It is a hell of a story, you
should read that. I will bring it up to the counceller even. Maybe I can make a habit of this meditation.

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-17 03:15:42)

Ok, not to be stupid, but I think I know why I doubt you all of the time. I mean when your friends tell
me things that you say about me, like "kaleb told me he took you for granted" from summer time 03
I guess. I recall us talking about that... and you not wanting it to be like that, so now I have come
to believe you appreciate me. WHat about "he told me that you are something solid in his life, but
something he doesn’t actually care for. something that is nice to have til he finds something better."
Is this true? Have we been just one big lie? I am not going to say I believe this unless you tell me so. I
wanna know tho. I believe, and have come to believe you love me. You tell me so. Did you ever say
that? I do not believe so because I know for a while this guy has wanted to be with me, not me with you.
Perhaps he is biased and wants to make me doubt you. Please advise. I will not doubt you until I know it

351
is or isnt true. He knows I do not believe him. I figured I can trust you for the truth more than I could him.

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-17 03:44:19) Re:

keep in mind, I am not doubting your love. I am not mad, or anything, just curious as to if he is
misleading me, or if it took you that long to ’grow’ on you. I know you love me now. You tell me so.
And that you wanna be together still. I have faith in that. I love you too, I guess I am just curious. Not
mad. This I wanna know, I do not want it to be another thing on my mind. I figure that by talking to
you about it, I am not bottling it up inside you and me, and us even. This is a start are being open. I
hope you respect that, and do not get angry I even mention it. It is your friend after all, who likes me.
heh Love you hot stuff.

(2004-02-17 23:06) - public

Reading her live journal, I realized that her meditation was connected to my own, which
started 15 to 20 minutes after she said she would begin hers. She described to me involuntary
deep breathing which "almost scared her because it wasnt her." That she almost couldnt
hold all the air. My breathing, during this specific meditation, was as deep as I could make it,
although I have not told her this, I was trying to breath in to my greatest capacity, and breath
out any part of her which was causing me this pain. It did not work, but, immediately after the
attempt to do so began, my entire chest stopped hurting and, instead, became the incredible
warmth which it was once, the time we are convinced that she left her body and entered mine
in sleep. It is at this time, too, that she felt warmth accompanying my heavy breathing in her
own body, only hers extended beyond that small part of the chest where she is contained in
me, but, understandably, affected the entire body, causing her to convulse, alone, in her bed.

She felt great comfort, as did I, after the warm feeling. I am unsure how to rationalize
this specific instance, felt by both of us over a half mile of distance, as I did the original first
instance. A lucid dream, however, opened my eyes to the connection and allowed me to
control it with physical results to her body. In the dream, as I awoke, I brought "something" to
the surface of my hands from beneath me. It was a warm tangible-feeling which was warm
to the surface of my fingers as well as beneath that surface...similar to immersing my hands
into body-temperature water. I delayed in confirming the effect of this dream on her, as result
of a certain degree of self-doubt which arose with consciousness. This doubt, however, was
quickly overcome by her response, as you may see below:

TurboSwami: Ok
TurboSwami: I just tried to effect you
TurboSwami: In a dream
Wikked Charisma: just now?
Wikked Charisma: sleeping?
TurboSwami: No, before
TurboSwami: Like a minute or so before I got online
TurboSwami: Its weird
Wikked Charisma: funny, what did you want to affect/
Wikked Charisma: my ribs started hurting
Wikked Charisma: left arm
Wikked Charisma: Much like the pain you have been having
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Wikked Charisma: funny you bring that uo
Wikked Charisma: *up
Wikked Charisma: that hurt! dont do it again!
TurboSwami: I dont remember. I just realized what was happening and did it back.
Wikked Charisma: I did feel it
Wikked Charisma: I do nto knwo how
TurboSwami: and then I woke up.
Wikked Charisma: but stop it
Wikked Charisma: heh
Wikked Charisma: I was laying on the floor rubbing my ribs....
TurboSwami: A little under a minute before you immed me?
Wikked Charisma: yes
Wikked Charisma: just before the beep on your name
Wikked Charisma: I heard the beep, and it stopped
Wikked Charisma: literally like 2 mins max from that
TurboSwami: Yea, it was a dream...I dont remember it much now, but I remember feeling like I
did when I was touching your stomach.
Wikked Charisma: you hurt me on purpose?
TurboSwami: Like, bringing something to the surface of my hands, and grabbing with it.
Wikked Charisma: We have to stop this
Wikked Charisma: we have to get this shit fixed
Wikked Charisma: stop hurting eachother

(2004-02-17 23:27) - public

This pain is exhausting, I can barely talk most of the day...words come out like a whisper from
under the weight on my ribs. I need help, anybody! Please!

I am so alone, I feel ridiculed, disregarded, unbelievable. But, this pain is killing me,
straining my heart by years each day. I am afraid, I am very very afraid that this will never
stop, that I will just collapse from the pressure. I dont want to be a part of that other side
anymore, I dont want to delve into subconscious connection, I am no longer curious, not at all!

Did she truely admire me so deeply that part of her never wanted to leave? Get out,
spirit! There is no room for you here! If you love me, you must spare me this clutching,
trembling pain. She is afraid, she was violated and wants me to protect her, knows she will
never get hurt again where she is now. Somehow, she needs to trust sleep again, trust that
she can sleep and not be hurt there. I feel like I have a baby in me, one which I can feel kick
and turn, one who is aware, but unaware, somehow...who listens and answers the pain of its
mother. How is it that this could ever happen to me? This unbelievable curse I am forced
to endure which no one, neither my family or close friends, will ever mention without that
disregarding smile and mocking tone. If I could only make all of them feel this pain, for just
one second, the way I can make her feel it!! And use the same mocking tone as I watch them
fall to the ground in tears of pain!

marckaw (2004-02-19 23:08:34)

Kaleb, your diagnosis is ready. Here it is: Crazy!!

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(2004-02-19 02:38) - public

I dont realize until after a song is done how deeply it expresses my feelings of that week
or that day. Todays strange bit of industrial gloom was drenched in the putrid moaning of
thousands of demons, animals of the night wailing out, and one angry cat hissing; all to the
beat of some strange druggy concoction of a skewed rhythm bed. Overall, a mess...but my
sculpting of messes is getting to a point where, with time, detail can foliate the outside of the
mess, making it pleasing to the ear. In such that, one curdling scream can be meticulously
inserted overlapping the decidedly inhuman, complex yet lethargic beat creating a unity
between elements for the listener to focus on, if she chooses.

Overall, the new musician need not play an instrument, but only have sound elements
to orchestrate amongst one another. In so much as a song as a composition of the composer’s
surroundings, so the expression is of the expressee’s pressure, de- or im-.

Why moans? Why a thousand moans, layered in time? I have moaned a lot lately, I re-
alized, and in listening to the hell I created, I realized that it is merely the hell burning between
my ribs, vented as intricately as possible. And, perhaps, sound carries so many words on a
scalar spectrum of tonality representing however many syllables, as a picture, too, must carry
so many words, beginning at a thousand, going upward through color and dimmentions. It is
safe to say, however, that sound carries out from us those demons which words will forever
be to heavy for mere words to carry. These demons must be rousted into movement by a
moving sound, one which shakes us and makes us feel, a way of speaking the touching words
which provides the force behind them, the intonation, the pause, the breath, all powerful
expressions which require that tense inner demon to vent.

DEMONS! HORNED SPIKE LOVER! Crap in ... hey now!

I’ve been tricked. Who saw that one coming, God will never fully forgive us.

(2004-02-20 02:58) - public

Some things feel real ...

Good good, she all knows them but mostly me, it seems at night. When sweet air clouds the
mind and I see her on the floor beside my bed, only then do I know that she is mine for that
dream side is the base of all of her I see with actual light.

Actuality, who minds or cares or fears the coming of real things to this warm inside place I
curl. No matter who or what speaks, I can know it is not to me. Any of those whole realms
of important actions are not intended for that place, beneath, where I, smiling, recede. Of
man, there is no such place. Of man, there is only flesh and the bones of those receded. I
am unnatural, I am the dead boy, breathing low where I shouldnt be. I am the flatlined one
who the undercurrent merely clothes. I am nothing to everyone but everything to someone
and I will surface from that cold black below bellowing a tune to get shot to, a song from a
grotesque place where fear is not acknowledged and love is for after, above.

Sweet sweet and low beauty, you’ve got me in your teeth. I beg a difference but none
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to draw from our synergies curled and forgotten in a drifting thought. Sleep beside me. Sleep
inside me. I love you. I love you. Sleep.

(2004-02-21 03:36) - public

Third day of not going outside, done.

Perhaps there is something going on to make me happy, and I just dont know about it.
There’s positive thinking for you!

I ran into older silence, the hue of thoughts I would have rather left forgotten, and in
time, reminiscing, we came to terms and I had everyone there sign. I’ll call my lawyer
tommorow and, hopefully, I can put the past behind me after the court hearing.

Jury of my peers. I’d assume, if they are my peers, they are heavily medicated.

I have such small lips for such a big mouth.

I’ve said too much already, these windows dont belong where I can be seen, now...its
not a good time, the information is to sensitive here. Prying eyes...*click*

(2004-02-22 04:29) - public

Who has a real idea of their own?!

My entries are far too long...the word on the street is nobody cares to read ideas which
take up so much space. Understandable, as my ignorance, too, restricts the words that I read;
sometimes so much so that I have nothing but scanning to compose my judgements of. That
is not to say I judge any less harshly the writers who I allow myself to read, however, I, within
a few sentances, feel I know the direction and intent of the writer (often, there being no intent
at all other than to report the trivialities of their daily life without end.)

I am a man with a past, and this past cannot be ignored or seperated from the thoughts I bring
to the present. I was born out of this world a deeply spiritual person, whether I like the fact
or not, and must record all which I feel as my attention, within the generous span which has
been allotted to me.

My reading buries itself in the details of perception; the very foundations of what is real
versus what merely appears. I cannot see to focus on these aspects of all I see with such
abysmal critisism, because this is to lose sight of a central aspect of one’s self; the med-
itative identity which transcends that seperation required for such exercises of categorization.

My words do have worth, regardless of whether or not anyone cares to appreciate it. I
feel I have quality and originality to my thought, and I will defend this claim as need be as
I know that there is no origin to many of my ideas other than those associations formed
within myself. I was asked whether or not I write to be read and have concluded that, like my
music, while I appreciate honest critisism, I do not require it and will continue to have those
realizations with or without it.
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iztyme2ryde (2004-02-22 01:52:36)
Wow, defensive words from a defensive drunk realizing the streets need oh too much defense. You
should get help from self criticism heh. J/K Crazy. Without people to notify others of intensity, we
could llose a world of thought in a sentence of stucture and meaning all of which is then degraded by
a meaning that was not perceived by the audience. AKA, your writing it soo incredibly intense, I do
not read it harshly cuz I can not understand it. Since we all seem to be criticising you.

turboswami (2004-02-22 02:11:28) Re:

Here, I was sure that made perfect sense....I didnt use any big words, did I?

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-22 07:41:56) Re:

OH, fear not, for it made sense very well. Since people are telling you their reasons for not reading, I
shall add mine. Most of them make no sense. Few do however.

(2004-02-22 04:59) - public

Or tomb will engulf the talk I wish to give.

The empty whole speechless cycles at distance
Father and mother have no son to give love,
Only a silence, cold hand less glove.

No restriction strong enough, no critisism deep enough

To satisfy this nagging goal, this unquenchable vision of self
The words and their meanings drift unheard through the air
And me, left alone, in a conversation I tried to care

I am so far gone, my mind beneath theirs.

I cant seem to function, command thick with distance
Latency, I’m late again, from sitting, staring from my bed.
Nothing urgent moving me, disattached, no outward cares.

(2004-02-23 02:36) - public

Put up an ad...

Wee little brain gots big plans for the the big city, but sugar plump fairy is a never mind.

Misty eyes, creep blue across black. I’ll please you as best I can from sleep.

swarms (2004-02-22 23:49:08)

That was short, but not as sweet at the sugar plump fairy going around giving heterosexual men blow
jobs so their wives won’t have to.

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 turboswami (2004-02-23 09:02:14) Re:
But she never lost her head, even when she was giving head....and the colored girls go ’doo doo doo
doo doodahdoo’

swarms (2004-02-23 09:08:49) Re:

You’re a goddamned racist. You can’t say "colored".

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-23 14:11:11) Re:

James, are you a nigger?

(2004-02-24 03:26) - public

The eleventh floor of "H" is designated for strictly storage. Old ornaments and seasonal
fashions, dusty cardbord boxes and faded displays for long forgotten product lines. General
public were not allowed to enter this area of the complex, it was strictly employees-only. I
knew that the South Entrance stairwell door to the eleventh floor was always left open at night
for janetorial access and would often make my way up and rummage through the remnants of
what was once public decades ago, forgotten ploys of a distant era.

I had a sleeping bag and pillow hidden in one of the back corners, in a box labeled "Maxwell
Coffee." I had some girly magazines I had found hidden in this box too, as well as a pack of
Reds and my dad’s binoculars. From the eleventh floor, you could see all the way down to the
river, the only other building as tall was the old Pioneer building, with the water tower on top.
I would bring Tony up, sometimes on weekends, and we’d just sit; him reading the Playboys
and me staring off in the binoculars, watching the people downtown. Talking about girls and
school and fights with our fathers.

None of this ever happened.

(2004-02-24 22:32) - public

I have nothing to say...NOTHING!

These varied inhibition-reducers merely remove the menu I had. I am left with strange
laughter and catch phrases. My social self is in shambles. How did I lose so much touch with
these admirables?! Where even 8 shots does nothing but make me dizzy.

Poor old crazy...sitting and watching the world laugh him by. How is it I was once, and
now am never again? Perhaps my brains are old...perhaps they are scrambled...

I’ve loved all, and can laugh enough to prove it. Understanding is nothing but agreeabil-
ity besides active runner or reciever. I can offer what remnants of that I have left, the shotty
ghosts of laughter once raised; the residual of memorable impressions once made on an
active crowd. I am so far gone, I have nothing but truth left to furnish these transactions,
boring, ungarnished observation left to deaden the air. Please enliven me, oh Muse!

Color, tone, characteristic smiling sound....nothing inside is to answer you.

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(2004-02-25 04:04) - public

Who’s sweet drum ride sends tears up into the sky?

Who’s watch and stride extinguishes cold doubt with one firey glance?
Burnt foil in back alleys with black puddles and blacker smokey eyes,
The whine of the sickness pours down from rooftops and boils up through bar dungeon
windows.

Who’s time sets itself by the thick aching blood of that inevitable morning?
Who’s course slices loved for the reviving stabs to that weak pump?
No heart can push that putrid sludge and love.
The children will not eat, and the newborn cannot breast feed through prison glass.

Who’s...

(2004-02-26 04:47) - public

For a time, there was a sense of myself as a person in control. This faded, with all other false
senses of myself; undermined by uncaring truth, the thoughtless destructive force of nature.
That first avalanche was so beautiful, as it was the most powerful and can never be recreated
again, so I and all the other drop-outs have learned. When you watch the whole brittle exterior
finally crack and give way onto itself, releasing itself to gravity, from a distance above, you see
a sort of....ppphhtt!

iztyme2ryde (2004-02-26 02:39:26)

Yea, just like in the lessons, let it all out. That is what happens when you forget your Beano. Phhtt!
You gone an’ done it. Not that I know what this is about anyhow. heh Your L J. *confusion* Shock!

the2minh8 (2004-02-26 19:05:06)

not sure how to interpret the sound. a fart? a paper-tearing sound? zipper? skating stylus? kaleb, you
may be the most interesting person i know. i need to get over there and hang out with you sometime
soon.

3.3 March

(2004-03-01 02:48) - public

I’ve got all these different ins and outs and not a single person to take the time. Give give
give! Makes a man feel guilty for even lying down.

Jesus

Where, in these endless advertisements, am I to look? For a second, for longer? These
people shift and shift again in nervous talking, but I can only refuse them, a lone sentry
protecting the act of protection, waiting only to fall to them, my face finally touched by their
358
frenzied, trampling feet. I will smile through their fear to my bloody death and maybe catch
the eyes of one and hold them steady through my dying gaze and we will awaken together.

Fucking talk, fucking drama! Fuck you, Chad! I’ve got gas, forever, amen!

(2004-03-01 23:31) - public

I stopped the Paxil, which I had started last month for my strange, decidedly paranormal
chest pains. Each night since then has been accompanied by intensely powerful out of body
experiences to which I wake up in convulsions, covered in sweat...

Last night, I became enveloped in what, in the dream, I called a white sound. It had vi-
suals, but, more than anything, I remember this sound had an amazing life to it, somehow. It
pulsed inside, while maintaining just a solid tone, it carried a pulse which caused me to con-
vulse. I awoke, my bed shaking violent from me, and heard a voice say "Your soul is back now."

Just now, I had an amazingly vivid dream where everyone at my mom’s house was go-
ing to sleep. My grandma was dying and layed on the floor. The television was emmitting a
high pitched scream and I could not make it go away. For a time, it played memories of my
dead friend Tony and me. Grandma tried to call dead Grandpa Lud. I became afraid, feeling
like I did not belong there, and went upstairs where it was much darker. I went to my old bed,
and it was filled with people I could not see in the dark. I went to the back room, and could not
see that person either, but layed beside them and closed my eyes because I felt a connection
to them, like I was allowed. And, I just layed there and they began to move and the bed shook
and it shook more and then I awoke, shaking.

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-01 21:48:13)

I thought the voice said, "Your soul left your body"

(2004-03-03 01:33) - public

I spoke with my spiritualism professor about the hours of spasms in my chest, the fully
conscious body convulsions, and my visit to the doctors. He told me that this sort of bodily
shaking is often common in Shamanism circles, especiall among young shamen where it is
considered a "calling" to becoming a shaman. He said, generally, they learn to work this
shaking down into their hands (as I have been doing, strangely enough) at which point they
come to use it for healing purposes.

He said, in Shamanistic circles, spasms and convulsions are generally accepted as the
partial presence of another spirit, which basically made my jaw drop. I then told him about my
lucid dream in which I was able to focus on the location of the chest pain and tension and, us-
ing my hands, grasp it tangibly, causing my girlfriend to fall to the ground in intense chest pain.

He gave me the name a Dr. Louis Gomez who specializes in altered states. I may look
into it, if the chest pain returns.
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(2004-03-03 01:45) - public

Finished a song. I am working more in the direction of Demonic Hawaiian Slide Guitar music.

Please, tell me what it needs or what to change. Thanks.

http://msu.edu/ smith502/hella _girl _mixdown.mp3

the2minh8 (2004-03-03 15:04:07)

that is really something. i love the part before the guitar comes in–i think you could do a bit more
screwing with the subsequent parts, though. in fact, i think you ought to.

turboswami (2004-03-03 16:15:36)

You’re welcome to have at the track, if you really had any ideas. "Really something.." IS something I
have been known to say about things I really dont have the heart to tear apart...heh. I dunno, I like
collaborating. Its kind of messy and without general direction. The levels are a bit of, but I have all
the track files if you are interested in adding, remixing.

the2minh8 (2004-03-03 18:04:37)

when i say that is really something, it is meaningless without context. i could be saying it in a
dismissive, derogatory, complimentary or amazed way. i guess it doesn’t translate to writing without
explanation. i am supremely jealous of your obvious feel for sound textures–how to create them
and use them, layer them and make them breathe. i fear my attention span does not allow me to
stretch this way creatively. i warn you–any audio files you send my way may be scammed for my
own artistic purposes. with that in mind, send away. by "that’s something," i mean i think your work
is alive.

melonia (2004-03-09 01:30:01)

eery...I like it.

(2004-03-04 02:52) - public

I’ve got 5, the hair milligram in the key...sweet fiberous layer obscure the watery gate to
black night currents I can feel through the strands. Warm, I am warmer now and feel the
closeness, a weight on my chest. The cage and the fiberous strands which surround hold me
here for passersby of daylight. When all is down, the gated cage opens and frees me to the sky.

Toward this, you form to please no more. I am freedom bound and can never unknow a
cursed knowing, taught in the low silent dark. Freedom strains pain through the constraints of
the day, sick with impatience. The sides contrast, stark and sober, tearing down the edge in
me.

TPenetrate me, Muse! Riside behind my closed eyes and waiting fingers. I amoearning
to open my gate wide. I will exploit my ancestors and hold their whitened bones close along
the register to be seen.
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(2004-03-04 17:44) - public

I have had, each night, the most vivid and detailed dreams of the afterlife since I stopped
talking Paxil. Like a long, twisting movie plot, I slowly solved mysteries and uncovered
secret rooms of observers watching from behind one-way glass. Upon entering this realm of
entertained unseen, I was immediately let-known that I do not belong and, with much laughing
at my back, made to leave.

But, I wanted so much to watch with them, there...as I do here, observing everything
with calm detachment.

I had had this dream before, I had been to this place, this cathedral lounge. I wished to
join the unseen and leave the flashy games of this side, but this was so unnacceptable, this
wish, that it made many angry and I was chased out to a distant place deep in the woods. I
had been here, long ago, as well and the deathly grey, wrinkled old widow, there, welcomed
me. She, too, had angered them once and her presence, like mine, was controvercial, but
for different reasons. I brought life to her home, me and Teasha. Love made the old woman
young again, and brought color to her grey face. The walls, themselves, breathed this love in
deep, swelling breaths, attracting the attention of drifters...

I am too spiritual...everything seems so meaningful.

(2004-03-05 04:45) - public

Dear Comrade,
Forwarded is my intended directions (for the device.) With any luck, it will pick things up with
the Frontal Claw device. For the record, I did not sleep with your life, she was lying there as
she is here. I’m not touching either again until we finish with our "special things" as alluded
to in our recent telephone conversation.

In reference to the submitted schematics, initial review by design research has been
positive. Final approval she came twice expected by December. Potential issues impeding
her inner thigh birthmark include the choking hazard presented by the removable side missile
attachments. While this was not a came on her face issue mentioned in the inital design
research report, more intensive undressing of your soul mate may conclude a recall of all test
models for my semen on your bedsheets. All this will be mentioned at the upcoming staff
meeting schedualed for 11:30 AM on December 12th in the Warshfield Room. Until then, keep
up the good work, your final draft of the Hats Bot project is due Wednesday.

Your Loving Manager,

Keith "Fucked Your Wife" Kytell

TYL
enc.

Form A; Section 3, Line 442:

else slelse sllesse esll..sslece..esslecessn

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purchase slurchase sellchase purrssnach
stereo reoalt erutch purth slarth echast
equalizer equallst sour stellaque for perch as

Form R; Section 3, Line 442:

else...
purchase...
stereo...
equalizer...

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-05 02:20:23)

Ha! That made me cry.... WE all love you... FEEEEEL THE LOVE!

the2minh8 (2004-03-06 11:10:13)

this is the funniest thing i’ve read in a long time.

(2004-03-05 21:34) - public

I am the guy with that voice, you know the one: the golden pipes of sarcasm’s final cliche. The
emotions of the deep sarcastic voice, bursting at the seams with true feeling, barely hidden
by tightening thin quiltpatch exterior of decidant organized patterns, each representing a role,
theatric down through convincingly genuine. I am a musician, goddamn it! I have no words
for these trivial matters, all I have is block rockin’ beats!

"For times of rutted social causality, carry the clean, cool marijuana cigarette to loosen
that drying rut." -Malboro 2010

For the times, for the times, forming lines for timely dine and crying time.
For wartime, brittle pricks throw out their dicks and ... to find them
A lifetime, spent looking about with no light on,
Still sometimes, alone strange optics of dark surface psychic.

To these things I oblige to, I drop my weakened head...

And close my tired eyes to leave, my breathing low imbed,
The muscles of a tightened frame, loosen with a thread,
And hands outstretched behind me, where once from sickbed bled.

Tug, tug away thread which pulls flyer towards backwards,

And fall hard down to my pillow again, causing me to awake from the noise.
I am the childbed sleeper, still unread, awaiting neglection.
Waiting through daylight, still dark wide surreal.

Further Developments in "Deep Touching" (2004-03-09 21:20) - public

The intense chest spasm returned the night before the trip to return home. It lasted all that
night, my entire right chest area, under my right breast, quivering consistantly for over 7
362
hours. Acid refluxing up into my throat, burning until my entire inner neck was raw.

Spent two days at camp, trying to fix my unstartable truck; each night in bed beginning
with tension, followed by many sequences of twitching, progressing in intensity over time, by
both me and her. I awoke to see her face in two places...one near her chest, the other on
the pillow. We "shared thoughts" consistantly, her reactions often simple answers, like "no,"
but often just loud deep breaths, similar to those of fear or strong realization, in response
to a certain type of "dialogue" thought which would surface occationally from the deeper,
non-expressed/expressable thoughts.

Arriving home on that third day, my chest immediately erupted with visible tension, un-
controllable, intollerable. Everyone left the house, unable to help me, and I layed down and
tried to sleep through the unending shivering which rippled down my chest and stomach along
the right side.

Another doctor appointment was made immediately. The same EKG and Blood Tests
were done in the same way, with apparently the same results. I told him about the main
points which were most intense after her unconscious rape. He doubled my prescription to
Paxil, currently at horsepill doses.

Visiting a drug dealer’s house, surrounded by his high wife and augmentedly-born chil-
dren, I grew uncomfortable. At one point, I was surrounded by 10 strangers of all ages. I tried
to relax and stare of, avoiding eye contact as best I could while still being part of the social
scene. Dipping beneath myself, I suddenly startled myself by touching the knee of the woman
standing next to me with my crossed foot. The second time I drifted into this sort of touch
while in this inner daze state, I looked and realized my foot was not touching her at all...

It happened two more times...each time, I realized I was not actually touching the per-
son, as her immediate reaction would have suggested in accordance with my own sensation
of contact. Following this interaction between me and the woman, there was a thick tension
in the air around me, everyone becoming quickly aggitated, talking loudly with passionate
nervousness. Eyes moved quickly about. The child of 7 or so who had been standing next to
me turned to me and grabbed my shoulders, opening his eyes wide as he pulled his face close
to mine, staring into my eyes, screaming "Aaahhh!!! What is wrong with you!!?" as if carrying
the social tension he felt back to me as best he could.

The woman I "deeply touched" began to say "I need to get out of here, me and the
kids!" and started to move about nervously with everyone else. The husband said "Yea!
Maybe you should." looking to me afterwards. I put on my jacket as a cue and we left.

The husband of the woman I deeply touched

(2004-03-11 03:44) - public

I worked 9 hours today, charging minimum wage for use of my studio equipment. I finally
got the 20 input MOTU Firewire unit up and running, recording a 6 mic drummer/guitarist live
set which sounded very professional. I pushed the musicians to retake and retake the songs,
enforcing my perfectionism onto them. The actual musicians loved it, mostly the band leader
363
Dave Mattfield. He said it was great to work with someone who "takes this stuff seriously."

I am proud, I feel I have found a niche where I can do work and take pride in it’s detail.
I didnt smoke with them the 3 times they did, making it clear that clusters of bus mixes and
adapted channel direct outs suddenly become catatonically-complex as the zone relentlessly
attacks the thought paths of the brain without sympathy for the intent or it’s task. This was
respectable, perhaps.

I attempted to create a second track for the bass guitar based on the natural reverb of
an enclosure. I placed a second electret microphone inside my acoustic guitar and placed
that guitar in front of the bass amp, the natural resonance of the individual strings responding
to their frequency, when it arose in the playing of the bass line. This created an occational
feedback-like natural resonance throught the song at certain points where individual notes
arose. That and the wood enclosure itself, with its resonant properties, created a very strange
left side to the bass line, which could be panned in or out. It was rejected by the bassist and
deleted.

Maybe I’m taking myself too seriously in my sobering age. Maybe the pride of the mid-
dle aged man slowly creeps up with time as it extends further down from peak, 18. I’ve been
an old man since I was 12, why am I so suprised, now, as my voice becomes heavy with social
convention and its strict intonations of "hellos" and "goodbyes," through the serious farewell
hello of a tired man from his sick bed. What is this sedation I feel beneath this image? What
dull empty words cover this hollow? A brittle defense of nothing.

the2minh8 (2004-03-11 09:07:25)

i wouldn’t have rejected your resonant bassline. though how you thought of the method is a mystery
to those less creative, like yours truly. sounds like you charged them minimum wage for the use of
both yourself and your equipment. i think you ought to get twice minimum plus a producer credit. just
keep doubling the price every time they come back. tell them that this is how it works in "the biz".

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-11 14:35:16)

Every one thinks he is being underpaid for the work... he does not take notice. His perfectionism is
well worth what he is paid now, alone.

(2004-03-11 17:48) - public

Last night, I wrote one of the most profound short stories of my life. It was about a boxer who
was dying in a dark bedroom, alone. It was long and detailed, using layered metaphore in a
subtle, indirect story telling style.

As if the most meaningful work of my life was not meant to ever be appreciated, upon
submission, my password was apparently wrong and I recieved the error message to retype
it. At that moment, the lights of the entire town simply went out and I was left in the dark,
anguish, silent.
364
(2004-03-12 04:33) - public

I began to close my eyes while, at the same time, remaining focused on my surroundings. The
typical shapes and colors appeared, dimly. A red shape formed where I knew her to be, beside
me on the bed. This form became more defined with my focus in its direction. I watched her
this way, watched the red form of her body from the dark of my closed eyes. It would move
upwards and, at a certain point, recede backwards as she twitched...

I began to open my eyes fully and stare directly at the side of her face, which was slightly
facing the wall. Slowly, the red from my closed eyes returned, rising in definition until it came
to obscure parts of her face. At a certain point, I was able to remain focused at a point of red
obscurity over an area to the right and above her right ear. I observed the peripheral of my
vision to begin to ripple in waves the speed of a heart beat, assumably hers. The red, again,
was seen to rise and its distinction, visually, was related to a sort of drifting my mind was able
to induce, like a shallow submersion into the beginnings of sleep.

I saw her red face, again, turned towards me from the side of her head, as I had at the
beginning of vacation at camp, only I saw the face near her chest in that instance. At one
point, I saw the red form rise and, above her face, I saw the form of an eye rise; a black hole
in the red in the shape of an eye slit. When I saw this part rise, the form receded quickly
and she twitched very hard and shivered. She became very anxious after that. I asked
her what was wrong. She told me she thought to mention to me that she knew I was watch-
ing her and that it made her very uncomfortable, but that she restrained herself from doing so.

She could not stand any of my watching her, either eyes closed or, more distincly, with
eyes open. I found I could make her twitch, with her face to the wall, by waiting for the red
form to rise above the bed and suddenly opening my eyes and looking in the same direction.
This was always accompanied by at least one violent and sometimes moans and breathing of
frustration. She said she was very nervous and couldnt stop twitching.

I began to massage the back of her right hand faintly. In doing so, I attempted, again,
to muster the same subtle drifting thoughts of first sleep. I found I could bring out some bit of
warmth while entering these first stages of subconscious sleep. Each time I was able to begin
the dream-state, sometimes by focusing deeply on the touching of her hand, doing so very
slowly using my palm, she would begin long series of larger twitches, sometimes shiverlike.
These would stop when I began normal petting of the back of the hand, not known to be
especially sensitive. All this happened within the span of 15 minutes.

She said every big twitch back to consciousness came with a fear of my rejection. She
said that she was afraid to make me hurt in my chest and to make me angry at her with the
pain. I stopped focusing on her in these different, unexplored ways and we both fell asleep
fast.

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-12 12:51:27)

I wish you would have talked to me about this.. here I am thinking u are incredibly pissed at me. And
that I am rejected, while at the same time you are fucking with me when I am sleeping.... or at least
trying to sleep... I wish you would talk to me about this stuff... so I can quit thinking u hate me... can
we sometime?

365
tragedy_nouveau (2004-03-12 21:49:21)
nice writing. found you through "interests"- add me possibly? well anyways have a nice night. :]

(2004-03-13 02:28) - public

Smoking a camel wide alone in eerie silence, coughing myself to hiccups from the harsh.
An old corncob pipe I stole from K-Mart as my ashtray for this loneliness. Dizzy from the
cancer. Senior year of High school, I stole this pipe. There, with that beautiful unstable
virgin introduced to me by my manwhore friend. When forced to choose who she would fol-
low, she followed me and I felt wanted and smiled with her. I was beautiful then too, I suppose.

Before I knew how to kiss beautiful girls, I would lightly touch their cheeks with the back of
my index and middle finger. She was no doubt mollested, like everyone else...no doubt could
have been mine, like everyone else.

(2004-03-13 03:32) - public

Let the gate crash open by force, the trembling pressure finally giving way. I am not inside
any longer, I have nothing to fear.

There was a point in the night when I felt a very faint rhythmic shaking. I was unsure if
I felt it or not as it was so subtle as to almost be undetectable. My own heartbeat became
so prominant as to be felt in my entire body, my hands and feet all pulsing with each throb.
The mattress moved, too, however and confused me; if I listened closely, I could hear the
rubbing against the sheets. I realized, then, that she was very faintly rocking back and forth.
Yet, as her rocking waned from time to time, the same pulsing motion continued in my own
hands, feet and chest at the exact same speed. I realized, then, that she was faintly rocking
back and forth to the beat of my heart, or possibly that her pulse was identical to my own.
This has been the case every time I have asked her to check her pulse during moments of
"connectiveness" between us. I have had witnesses to our hearts both beating exactly at 132
BPM. Her movement matching my intensely-felt heart beat last night, then, is not a stretch for
the imagination.

I awoke myself 4 times in the night with my own words, being spoken. I scared her
when I loudly proclaimed, without reference to any dream of my own, "You lie!" I also awoke
hitting her once and became afraid even though I did not hit her hard.

(2004-03-14 03:06) - public

The exact time of death was a prime example of how these coincidences have their inclinations
towards meaning. Or, maybe, if she had not bought so much asprin over the internet, causality
would have granted her a few more hours.

In retrospect, I have to pee from t-20 and flush away the wasted broth at T+3, still drib-
bling. But, who was so hungry for this snotty bit, here? Its really not much to look at.

366
Before the milky white carpet was stained with her blood, I would sprawl out on it, nestling my
face in the soft silky fur with my ass up in the air. I dont do that anymore, I dont have that
self-abandonment or, maybe, I have simply ran out of self to abandon.

I look forward to leaving this place. I am convinced that it makes me sick.

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-15 14:42:47)

Kal, I am sorry, dont worry about those entries I posted... I was just feeling shitty. I just keep
thinking about how much I want to make you happy... and how perfect you are. How I can never live
up to what you deserve. You are a great man... blah... never mind... Anyway, sorry bout that rambling...

synthesoid (2004-03-15 19:34:45) in response to your ad in the paper

first of all, i do not feel the slightest bit at home. this place needs a splash of color. my blue eyes
suggested to me "a woman’s touch". no, those rules of grammar always just fuck me. secondly...just
realized i don’t smoke cigarettes at all, or anything else anymore. then? those are their sticks burning
behind me...i mean not literally but well y’know, somebody sent the observers. i’m laughing out loud
with cold anticipation, i want to make sure they here me. i know they are talking about my grammar,
my run on sentences my illiterate punctuation. don’t worry they would’nt bother you. third item,
i’m too tired for this phone interview. the waist high rails i’m leaning on are for safety, in case your
wondering. this is a prime example why. i mean either i’m paranoid or my left heart valve is giving
out. i’m taking a stress test on the 31st. is this interview over? finally you ask, how am i? scared
all the time. it’s not any of that cowardly bullshit you can run to a drink for or shut off by locking a
door. it’s something else. it’s praying to god with absolute humility and desperation and hearing no
answer, no response on the back of the neck even. it’s reaching the hands out in profound passion
and despair for someone to love and end up reaching them down to touch myself. anyway the bills are
getting high with all of the medical tests and everything. if you agree to the conditions in our email
and can accept what in me what is considered acute neurosis then you can have the big bedroom. i
can’t stand it’s red walls. someone told me you find red stimulating. the spare key is under the rock
labeled ’winslow’. hello, hello? still there?

turboswami (2004-03-15 20:25:48) Re: in response to your ad in the paper

I have made reservations, everything is set to inhibit as planned. I’ll be wearing the relaxed shirt
with the quivering chest, waiting at the bar. I will have three glasses set in front of me, all half full
except the middle one; the inside one will be completely empty. It is the empty glasses I place in the
middle as they are so easily fullfilled when fresher moments come around. It is good that applicants
arrive punctually dressed semi-professionally to professionally. It is expected that interviewees
be cleanly cut, shaven, and groomed and not be black. Preferred front door seating for drunk or
"preggy-pumped" applicants and, please, no fatties.

(2004-03-16 01:53) - public

"For those who reside in darker cold dungeons, waiting, there is medication to the right of the
crayon aisle that will help you numb."
-Tired salesmen lift their lids to pitch once more, childsafe, they return with contents thrown
at the open mouths of faces yawning like he wishes he could. Popular doctors gleam smiles
beneath tables, the hands of the pitcher pay judgement towards his check’s branded name.

367
Cognition, sweet through sour, I taste beneath your sugar coating, with time and focus,
and find a self nearly swallowed. Up, for a swing, I released flying, we pretend, and failed to
scream my story on the way down through. Tried down forever, tried down she tightens till
purple bulge blood deadens to black. Is this my hell, to be hidden beneath with a story of bliss
that changes? To be mute in a lone wide dungeon of thinking, unable to tell a single soul of
the wonders I’ve felt up there?

Crack us open! I’m only half the way down!

(2004-03-17 02:26) - public

Music: Pitch Shifted Computer Error

Of the inner scale we can assume cities of pitch who’s duration is purely functional; but to
assume, using mere observation, the deeper intents of those who service or orchestrate these
micro functions in one lifetime would, no doubt, rely heavily on fantastic constructs of the
imagination and, therefore, must be avoided at all costs. No, the subtle systems which extend
down beneath our own cumbersome physicality both preceded and surpass our own in both
overall organizational complexity and interconnectivity. It is the microscope’s view which shall
forge the model for our future cities organizational structure, regardless of whether we see the
comparisons across scale before or after the walls and wires are set in place, the knowledge of
the roles defined is intrinsic.

3 Abstract Pieces (2004-03-19 05:05) - public

Submitted for publication in Offbeat Magazine:

(1)

Respond, respond...get her! *something something* "This is part of something big, I

can feel it."

—IMPACT—

I told you what the subject was to be, this objection was never discussed. No, goddamned
yuppy faggots prance his way into this living room and shoot up all the....what? Some fucking
drug addict huddles in the corner with both hands clasped over his ass trying stop the torrents
of gushing blood; no no no...not in this living room!

For
Nothing
This chaoth, shrell scarm forls though and through the gaping room, miss? A man hits another
man in the face. A man falls down from being hit in the face, but upstairs, I hear a man hit
the floor from being hit by another man in the face. A young man bleeds from his face where
he was hit, an old man bleeds from his fist where he hit a man who fell onto the floor from
being hit. The next man climbs the stairs only to be hit in the face by a man who then falls
onto the floor again. A man enters the room, bleeding from somewhere, and hits his face
on the floor from the wall which hit him in the face. I hit myself in the face and fall onto the floor.

368
3 men approach, one in space and one in detail I had ignored. The third man was right
on time, as usual, and I served him as he was the only one who approached me directly. I
began with a drink, but he could taste my spit. He entered time, which he had previously been
on, and began a horizontal aspect which lost my understanding.

It was then I realized that time, itself, has two dimensions, like that of the XYZ, so time
is not merely that linear progression we see before and behind us...

No, time, too, has a Y...a vertical nature, like the layered nature of sound itself, travel-
ling through time...for in order for 3 dimentions to travel through time, that time must, itself,
have three dimentions of carriage.

(2)

For 5 days, I call four magic smiles to furnish any mood decided by any room. Each
smile carries it’s own distinct tone, a smile for time and a smile of mine, a smile of his and
a smile of the raging hate of inflicting pain upon a loved one...each of these I cherish, with
however much guilt one or the other may deserve, in a way which loves me down to nothing.

For 4 days, I close my eyes and feel nothing and everything shift through my tugging
guts, neither but both all alone with her as I do what I can to comfort my child’s mother. I
must remember her and her free spirit which makes me smile and laugh, frown and cry, grit
and spit; the freedom which I never allow myself an innocent comfort for the long days which
are sure to come.

For 3 days, I learned to love.

For 2 days, I fell in love with a growling angel who’s emptiness fullfilling beyond the
realm of words. I hugged her back into line, slowly rocking her from exhausting sleep. I said
"I love you" with every breath, exhaled. I dug a well with a sharp shovel, ground edge of
my 22 years, and with it’s icy pure water, pulled laboriously up from aquatic caverns far be-
low this heated stress, I wish to plant a fruit try tree, and with stern daily attention, feed a lover.

For 1 day, I taught what I learned of well-digging to a man who’s water streams deeper
beneath his stress than abysmal love could allow his self-restriction to thirst for.

(3)

Sick death mother, for psyche you cry...I am not all better, I still cannot cry. I fell some-
where along the milky trail you laid through this old forest. And now, as night darkens the
distant treetops, here where I sit alone, waiting, the thick moss seems more and more like a
soft bed which calls my head to rest. Intoxicating sponge floor, you mellow me at danger’s
door...I must stay stiff through till day’s safe light, this unknown place...this unknown place
seems so close to me now, in the warmth of absolute black, I feel some old connection from
before my my mother or her breast’s sweet trail, before my suckling growth, before my birth
into that light, there was something I knew, a surreal memory deep before my brain, a dark
waiting which I feel again, here...

Naked, I sprawl on the warm night bed, eyes no longer open or closed. I feel a tugging
outward through the dark to another place. My beating heart and drifting mind resist the
369
seperation, at first, but slowly I come back and all is known again. Dark above, as below, I am
the dark and see all else as another side which those eyes could not see. Light, light, forever I
am, above, the body a carriage which I exit upon arrival. All new, all knew.

xbleedingfetusx (2004-03-19 13:58:46)

you should join..
[47b4dd35b3127cceba31119d8af90000001610] [1]eccentric _flair
1. http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=eccentric_flair

(2004-03-20 22:30) - public

Sniff de pop crackle, I’ve got 3 tuned crap apples.

I’ve got a lazy (stop)

I’ve got a hazy recollection of a name and date of birth, a stagnant small growing house in
a town much smaller than your thumb. Maybe this haze will be today when this name has
changed it’s shape, but pumping blood’s mind thickens with sleep and, soon, my moist shape
will dry with my humorless voice.

That moistest of phases has passed, with its budding interest and energy. I can recede
back to the child in times of stress, but never the early adult, with his zest through boundless
trust and social invention.

Attention-deficit culture of lowest commoner, how quickly you drain the well of the in-
ventive mind and forget its place all at once. Your span is extending through the innovations
of your medium, your faces exponentially dividing. Of what importance are these slow words
to your time, where even spoken, they go unheard.

swarms (2004-03-20 23:04:15)

now Kaleb, don’t be gettin’ drastic with your prophylactic tactics

(2004-03-23 02:01) - public

Begin by blocking all creative outlets with reuptake inhibition; the steady mind of emotionless
null void offers smooth protection. Have I changed so much so fast that I can’t develop the
ideas to express? Fucking Paxil!

the2minh8 (2004-03-23 07:56:50)

something is wrong when i can fully understand your post. what you need are reuptake ENCOURAGERS!

370
(2004-03-23 18:08) - public

Another intense lucid dream last night in which I closed my eyes, in the dream, and manifested
objects in my hands. This time, I created a book a pair of glasses and stopped all attempts
to control the dream as the manifested book, once tattered with a broken binding, became a
brand new glossy black edition of the same book with completely different illustrated cover by
the very movement of my arm. Each time I moved my arm, the book would change editions,
each with a different meticulously detailed illustrated cover.

My shoe had fallen off and was at the bottom of a small sandstone canyon, out of my
reach. Reaching my hand out and focusing intently with eyes closed, the shoe gravitated to
my hand as I had come to realize I was all powerful and could control all I saw. When I closed
my eyes in the dream, I became afraid I would wake up when I opened them, staring blankly
at the monotony of blinking alarm clock and venetian blinds hiding the light of day. The fourth
time I attempted this, the fear of waking up creating an image of my actual surroundings in
my mind, I opened them in a middle realm between the canyon and the blinds which quickly
became merely the blinds.

All this because I skipped a dose of that wretched Paxil. Amazing, really.

(2004-03-24 18:09) - public

All the young housewives put their hands in the air,

Trading tupperwear like they just dont care.

Sweet control, brighter response; you each encompass all above and below that surface,
consciousness, down deep into my profound sleep. This sample, this forgotten day, this
exhaustion which no yawn or sleep can satisfy, I turn inward from my bed and submit to the
lower guidance, alone.

I wish to be bored again. I want that fuel to change and move, fight and fly. I have
fallen beneath boredom, and it’s activity, in one brief moment of acceptance and now I watch
these busy lovers from below, unseen for days or years, I forget. I am so close to the bottom
of that deep end, I may never run out of breath. Death has understood me, and my feet are
forever cold from the drifting icy currents along its unseen ground. A realm which changed
my soul, changed my eyes.

swarms (2004-03-25 00:13:27)

I’ve always wondered why there isn’t much stay-at-home-mom rap out there.

I’m On The Radio! Woo! (2004-03-26 05:10) - public

Listen for my 60 second advertisement for WDBM, Lansing’s THE IMPACT 98 FM. IT took me 6
hours...my radio personality is at it’s cheesiest.

Here, I uploaded it. Tell me what you think of my radio voice!

371
http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/ahh.mp3

Dont worry, its small. Only a min.

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-26 03:25:41)

The echo adds a very nice effect. Seems you use it a lot in your songs, and homework. heh. Sometimes
the voice does not even sound much like you... only in spots. Maybe it is just me. not quite as crazy
as you can get, but still ’Smitty’ like personality. Good job.

turboswami (2004-03-26 09:03:35)

Thanks. I’m learning to tone down the crazy because they tend to punish you for it. There was a
whole nother voice for "at the office’ which you can’t really hear...kinda sucks, bad mixing.

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-26 13:23:47)

yea, I could not, and did not notice that office voice. And with the person below, I like the printer
stuff too... did you get that from the album, which I can not think of who, with all the computer
noises and glitches?

the2minh8 (2004-03-26 09:38:14)

your radio voice is outstanding. and the commercial is very funny–i particularly like the awkwardly
long dot-matrix printer noise. mind if i sample your commercial?

turboswami (2004-03-26 19:26:55)

Yea, I sampled it from an album by THE USER which was composed strictly from dot matrix printers. I
can send you the sample, or the album.

travelswithmilo (2004-03-26 10:56:36)

fantastic.

swarms (2004-03-26 23:58:51)

I thought it was fucking stupid. It was a complete waste of my time and hard drive space. The only
thing I liked was that it had The White Stripes "Seven Nation Army" in it, but you probably didn’t get
their consent to use it. I hope you rot in hell. ps-my girlfriend loved it

Amazing vivid dream experiment! (2004-03-26 15:55) - public

A multi-layered complex housing entities, each layer open to the other by flight. In this comic
realm, everything is happiness as nothing is taken seriously. It was a place somehow not
foreign to me, a very distant memory as if from a different dream. So many different people,
many strangers, but some were merely forgotten actors who looked different from long ago
when I saw them on screen. That is what made it all so funny and so wonderful were these
forgotten ones.

I dreamt of lucid dreaming. In speaking with a set of three individuals, I focused intensely and
manifested a small object before him for each of my fingers. There were digits, very basic
shapes, and fruit, all small as the tips of my fingers, floating before him at a distance. I then
began to focus intensely, moving my hands and fingers like some Wizard from the movies
372
trying to cause these manifestations to move. Slowly, they followed my fingers and he became
mildly amused. I then wanted them bigger and began to move my hands apart appropriately,
focusing on the strawberry and, soon, with a lot of effort, the strawberry was the size of a
lampshade and the man became delighted with me. Often, I would swirl my fingers with
intense focus and nothing would happen at all and I would be laughed at for my grandiose act.

At a high point of the dream, I had complete control over aspects of the surrounding
structure and of my location in it, flight and the definition of top and bottom both mine. Later,
this was reduced to pressing one of a set of two large square brown buttons which moved the
stairs from below everyone to the wall. It was a very awkward sort of swimming motion to
re-adjust yourself to walking on the wall, but I learned quickly and, soon, walls and ceilings
were also floors.

I was taught many things of this place, like reverence for the "floaters" who no longer
touched ground. These were the oldest of the entities in this place, and they had controlled
"were" these surroundings for so long, that they were slowly in the process of "fading" into the
backdrop, silent, pale, unaffected, I watched a woman float in the distance with long whisps
of her gown extending out behind her down through transparency. I had much respect for her.

Each layer was connected by a channel, and a change in one was seen throughout. Flir-
tation kept me from falling and everyone enjoyed me because I was so new. I wish I could
remember more, it was the most amazing and expansive out of body experience I have had,
since they started.

The Effects of Introversion Early Introversion On Later Intellect?

(2004-03-30 01:52) - High (after 4th week) - public

Music: King Crimson - I Talk To The Wind

Bloo

Midnight!

MarcKaw (10:45:25 PM): miss you

TurboSwami (12:43:21 AM): It’s strange to be out there, sometimes...
Auto response from MarcKaw (12:43:22 AM): i’m a conifer

MarcKaw (12:43:30 AM): out where?

TurboSwami (12:44:05 AM): Outside this cozy station.

The transfer of mations, automatically cross mates. Mations through stations known lit-
tle. There are walks and talks that transform and awaken, outward. I’ve been cocooned to a
"larvaliviere," some warm secluded feeder. I know only this window and the wind through the
night, howling far whispers through the doorway of dreams, long down through night corridors
of listeners I open; spiritual guidance.

(A symbol for time outward, zoning)

373
I enjoy the company of others, yes. Yes. Believe me.

"Boy, I sure am glad to leave this place, friend. Tee hee blush tee hee blush."

I interpret the voice of everyone around me in dark parking lots has a message to an-
other person about me.

BEGINNING:

Early introversion, like that of an only child in the first years of youthful development
through the single digits, has an effect on ones later median state of self awareness, as
in that single children of a certain parental type may have an unusually high median state
amongst the entire set sample population versus the larger population’s whole median of "self
intellect" and are, overall, more aware of self and ego, versus society and social influence.
An awareness of audience, sarcasm and its theatric personality are both born here. More
generally, an early defined state of self versus other on which all later development develops
inbetween, a split down each side of all later associations.

In extreme cases of the effects of this early parenting style in individuals born without
the capacity for its complex split associations, mental disease develops with the individual.
Schizophrenia or "split head" was used to describe this early observed psychological trait.
I feel I am able to maintain rational thought throughout the extent of this "splitting" of my
personality, although still carry the overly-complex verbal cues which indicate the "schizoid"
type; my words often heavy with double meanings I apply between what, to others, are merely
synonyms. The whole message for the listener, then, "falls through" the Semantic Depth
applied through my own Split Association Network, on Cognitive Psychology’s "semantic
network."

Ideally, the semantic network is to be interpreted as a three dimentional one between

Surface and Depth. Depth within this network is defined as the thought path along associative
"nodes" extending beneath the visible world of "Surfaces." Attention primed along these paths
is visible in staring or "distantly" directed eyes; since the 60’s, someone "zoning out."

Kids zone out a lot, along a curved graphic of decay also indicated by it’s opposite, REM
sleep. The Subconsious equivalent to zoning to a distance benathing from Consciousness is to
see Surfaces beneath closed eyes, the Rapid Eye Movement dream-state. So, the individual
child who can MAINTAIN that ability to "split away" from conscious awareness and stare off,
blankly, will also maintain a related degree of REM state in sleep.

Associative Drugs, like LSD or other "mind manifesting" drugs and, to a mild case, mari-
juana induce this "staring-outward" indication. "Acid Dreams’ becoming an often marketed
cultural phenomenon, known for their intensity and Rapid Movement which, in many individu-
als, extends outside just the eyes times of great associative intensity in a way mirroring the
intense realizations of associations in the day. That is to say, this development along the
Semantic Network extends and intends: inward and outward from self, the inwards of every
observable thing connecting back to self which extends downward through all Depth.

So, the "Healthy Schizophrenic," who is able to split away at self safely and rationally
without inner-confusion, can be described graphically as a tree. A trunk, flatline self, splits
374
branching outward through those associations of Surface. The "Subconcious Tree," then,
would be expressed in cutting it, flatly, revealing the beautiful Rippling-Pattern characteristic
of all energy, itself. We can never, however, see the thrown stone as it extends beneath those
visible ripples, for it is beneath in sleep, the daydreaming child throwing stones to himself.

iztyme2ryde (2004-03-30 11:04:28)

Funny... I was high last night too... higher than you I would bet. Which to my surprise caused me
to sleep last night rather than do my, or your, homework. That and the incredible lack of internet
connections to this ’claimed to be’ wonderful internetwork we are such a ridiculously lame part of.
Anywho, I could tell that was high writing... fuckin weirdo. Jesus... nothing is there to help you now...
cept that cage in the dark with a digi cam...

Dark Filtering (2004-03-30 02:00) - public

I thought of taking pictures in the dark as an expressive sub-genre of photography, using

flashlights and creative filtering. Ideally, I would not do this with my throw away grocery store
brand cardbord one, but maybe in a few years, they’ll be digital.

So, there is something boring about pure light, as there is an equally-obnoxious pure
droning sound, which bores most rockers and, much more quickly, thumpy dance crowds.
So, visuals best be flashy and colorful, ideally shiney, to grab at the attention of looker if
they are to get attention, culturally. Four different frames in a different color, some Warhol’s
psychedelic realization of Monroe, caught eyes. My own psychedelic art, then, was colorful
abstractions of large breasted naked women. This seemed like something red-blooded
American subcultures would come to appreciate. Animated nudes that allude to systems of
presentation of representation at work, perhaps made obvious by "slips" or minor temporary
errors in presentation. A Freudian slip reveals a deep representation in the same way.

I wish to load up an electronic drum set with Sequenced vocal/warhammer parts, reverbed
outward into oblivion, on the bass drum and a howling movie sample female chorus on the
cymbals, a crack on the snare. Any sound imaginable suddenly pulsing in rhythm with the
music, whatever kind be given, sub genres splitting away from the given parent genre at
a speed never yet seen by the culture as the digital electronic technology bridges among
sounds which, decades ago, could only be connected with unimaginable effort and time. (To
have the sound of elephants sequence with that of the deep see at a moment’s decision.)

Dynamic changes controlled by mathematic systems which can, seemingly, think by

themselves or employ the seemingly random.

SYNONYM: A word or an expression that serves as a figurative or symbolic substitute for

another.

(2004-03-31 02:09) - public

They’ve got sweet busting every square you look, digital or otherwise, to get me seeking alone
time or my wallet. Who was it that first ground these nipples into my eyes, I had best, wait, you
375
can’t see them that close or otherwise. What authority will respond with legislation guarding
my better interests, the unnatural ones. What will this lumbering idiot of a democracy do
to protect my self restriction? Within 10 years, the American government will be forced to
assume Child Care responsibilities for the lower class welfare population. At that point, when
the institution has finally become the salary-parent, the line of command between the family
unit and the larger social authority will be bypassed completely, disolved with the role of the
natural parent.

3.4 April

Subotnick Screams (2004-04-01 02:21) - public

I spent 8 hours on 3 minutes of "music" today...in which I attempted to abandon both melody
and rhythm, for the most part. Tell me if its like anything you have heard by any band or
musician and, if so, which one?

Give it a quick listen and tell me what is wrong, what it needs, what you’d change.

Thanks for the help!

http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/subotnick _screams.mp3

EVP and Emotional Intensity (2004-04-01 02:50) - public

Tonight, me and Teasha experienced the Electronc Voice Phenomenon twice. While I was
recording, very faint voices came, without any logical source, from my monitor speakers. The
first voice, as far as we heard, spoke my name. The second voices, those of men, were faint
and seemed in conversation.

After each voice was only-barely heard, I would ask her immediately if she heard it and
to describe it. She asked me what they were saying and I told her I could not tell, but that had
the fan not been on, we may have been able to more clearly hear the actual words.

This "Electronic Voice Phenomenon" has been present since the dawn of radio, when
many of the worlds top scientific authorities considered the unexplainable voices to be those
of the dead. I have several recordings, dating from this early period, recorded with early
microphones which are eerie in their sound and message.

(2004-04-01 03:50) - public

Oh memory!
Your clock of fleshy design,
shades over my life’s moment
In as many colors as causes.

You are the giving and the hiding,

376
The desire to change and its unhappiness.
The twilight film your own creation,
Entertaining me with deep insights.

Heads sharpen and role along your path,

The course layed by the words of the city.
With hardened grey beneath their feet,
you remind them the day of the week.
And all that they dont yet have...

(2004-04-02 05:55) - public

Dirty watching of full paths, laughing.

New views of old things reveal whole sides once unseen.
And if I rotate the focus of these eyes any further,
my feet may never know this ground again.

After last night, I am convinced that these voices are real.

The two heard by me and my girlfriend were followed by one I heard alone. Coming through
these speakers are words like those of a radio; like those we heard first in my home, upstate.
I feel presence, I feel watched. As sympathetic as the tone of their message was, then, it did
not comfort me.

There is a permanant change inside me, now, since the unexplainable events of Winter
Break. I have been touched by another side, I have seen through and beyond this state of
being and it has changed me forever; the very intensity of that touch still rippling across the
surface of all that surrounds me, through mediums who’s full range of energy carriage we
have yet to fully understand.

Intense attention is measurable, in so much that, like mass, attention creates depth, the
attention of a person, if intense, or "heavy" enough, will attract the attention of the surround-
ings towards in a way identical to gravity, itself. I say the attention of the "surroundings"
instead of people, because coincidence, too, is suddenly inclined towards by this Deep internal
state of Attention. So, this intensity, like the heavier stone thrown into the pond, creates
repercussions of equal intensity which ripple outward across time.

In a way, by this logic, I half expected my girlfriend to return home, that night, carrying
some intense repercussion of the most intense mental awareness I had experienced in my
life. In a way, I was not suprised when she told me she had been raped in her sleep that
very night, hours after I had tripped so vividly and intensely. As if that Highest of all Highs
NEEDED to create that equally intense Low in those immediately closest to me. The next day,
my Father’s sister disappeared mysteriously in the night, my Mother called me, broke down
crying, drinking for the first time in over 5 months, over intense family issues I wont even get
into. All of these very intense, life changing lows followed my life changing High by hours. The
slow animation of that heavy Stone, interacting with the surface of the water, was played out
along the surface of my life. Its a very basic pattern of nature which only changes in speed
and scale across the whole of all experience. It is only during the most intense examples of it,
however, that I can watch, realize, and expect the effects of my attention, manifested in all
close to me.
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(2004-04-04 05:03) - 1st 2cI (Since Winter Break) - public

Music: Clicking of Microphones that need to be Tapped Through My Ea

A deeper understanding of this laughable vagrant of our culture, the term "4:20." I understand,
here at 5 in the morning, that there is a certain black magic, spell and all, which comes around
about this time and stays until the first bird’s song. That bird who is first to wake on the very
crest’s tip of that morning’s crashing tide.

In Crow Indian cultures, this is known as the "Dark Face" time, where all image and sur-
face de send into blackest of blacks, the absence of Sun, and there is no face that can be seen
to be recognized. This time...off go the lights...on go the lights....who gives a fuck?

There is a song, though, sung by this night which is heard only in the far back of your
ear, the resonance so high it resounds curled inside. Far back, where your eyes resonate
from inward, there, that sensual song where penises ejaculate out from my eyes, in bloodshot
explosions of bodily-sensed lust grabbings, deep gorging expressions of this pityless rape on
me by my suroundings, coming whether I like it or not. Who hears these songs which resound
and float amongst thoughts, a thousand resounding echos of thoughts a voice implies.

*see tonal experiment 3.mp3***

Lets get to the salted meat of this issue, the waves outward from this point, center eye,
are to be considered astronomical. To be felt only at that those times of absolute mental
resonance...

*salllteeed mEAAAT!!!*** Gremlinssssss!!!!! breaaaaaaaaawawwww!!!!***

*Whoooshhh!!! Wiiiiiiiiiiiglleeyyy Gleee!!**

ha! Fuck!!!!

*Feris Bueller’s "Oh Yea!" by Yello***

—–
TC-310 STUDENTS – SPECIAL CLARIFYING NOTE FOR WQ #8, QUESTION #3
FROM: T. MUTH
DATE: 4/3/04

A kind student noticed and advised that in WQ #8, Question #3, there is no item or
sub-question “[e].” That question letter ([e]) was by my error not included in the WQ,

However this does not present a problem in responding to WQ #8, Question #3. Simply
answer each of the sub-questions posed by [a] through [d] you will find that the next sub-
questions ([f] through [j]) are questions not dependent on [a] through [d]. I’ll try to say this
another way – the sub-questions raised in WQ #8, Question #3, items [f] through [j] can
be readily answered without reference to sub-questions [a] through [d] of the overall question.

It seems that I used an item “[e]” rather than an item "[d]" the sub-question of Ques-
tion #3 in WQ #8 but since such an item is not nor would not have been dependent on any
378
other parts of the WQ #8, Question #3, I do not believe it presents a problem in writing your
responses for Question #3. If you simply answer [a] through [d], ignore the fact that there is
no “[e]” and then answer [f] through [j] you should have no problems.

If problems exist we’ll address them @ class on 4/6, before you submit your responses.

Sorry about this error but do keep it in perspective and worry not...
Simply enjoy the rest of the weekend.

—–

I want to break his email down into parts so that I can more closely analyze his person-
ality. 6 AM, what a perfect time to be at peak! I would like to call this idea of choosing to
attempt a psychedelic alone, ingesting at 3:30. ..when time changed....

Two clocks tell me two different frequencies, one the newly assigned one, the previous
to be disgarded, or stored away. Yet, its a progression which is to be marked along an axis,
forward, which, as a direction, resounds in many further directions outward, along a second
axis intersecting which we would call the prediction of forward, and further yet, the defence of
the self of the forward direction. Slowy, defence curls upwards toward the light of day, forever,
never to bloom at dawn.

Never to open with this beauty and begin a fruitful, productive life. I feel alive, here,
with the sun and the crisp wind which is, somehow, awakened by the sun with the movement
of waking birds wings. I cannot climb up this chair to see the morning window, I can only
watch its reflections and all that blocks it, through sadows and twitching through car pass
along the ceiling sky....

Why, stars, why do you persist to hound my closed ceiling!!!

-Mother
shouting before inspection, standing on bed.*

So, those are definately my words, so no quotes...just a history, I suppose. A Finnish

history. I was taught that, in the British language, Finne is a word meaning Sorcerer, a label
of Witchcraft. The Finns were woodsmen and brought the Log Cabin, which early Puritans
knew nothing of. The man who told me, Finnish, considered himself a Witch, or Worlock or
Wizard or...whatever, some spiritual being riding through the night alone on a snowmobile,
for hundreds of miles to meet me. Some strange coincidence in the night, extending late, my
mother there, he told me that this night came to happen for a purpose and that guidance is
often to another point, person, along a much longer route.

(2004-04-04 08:11) - public

Knowledge and Wisdom interchange, physically, within hardware’s software. The culturally-
automated software presets extend down to the introductory user, giving that user direct,
button pushed knowledge of Compression Thresholds and Expansion, it merely applies it,
without the user needing to know anyting of its .... hopping details.
379
— _-=- _-=- _ _-=- _ _ _
-=- _ _ _ _-===- _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _–===== _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _–=====– _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _—====– _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _–====— _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
poot*
Thats only Joe, dripping down that two rut road.
Jim, the guy cross where we live to get that done.
Stop buy on sunday, Perd, we’ll get inta lookin at that...
Actually, 70 minutes, but we, caller even der perd.
Stop by the church check out this audio, shotgun mic of jesus blaring right out of the sun.

Woot, poot. Fire a hoot.

Brain to last fry and,
cruise through where you’ve throughed.
Woot, loot, when’s that last hoot,
Or wassattroo to be true for who two?
Intro was duce two through to you two.
Where old tales in libraries became noble.

(2004-04-05 06:45) - public

Pastey pale marsh dweller,

Skin bubbling thick.
You have rotting silence
Inside and out.

Sick memory, faded paths and blockages. I wont pretend to hear anymore.
I wont pay or touch. I’ll unroll this tight flag and ride away into the brilliant unreachable
distance.

(2004-04-05 09:00) - awake - public

Who’s this random uncertain show who comes and goes with the volume of a voice?
Who’s the stumble bum strummer of heart strings wound tight enough to cause pain beyond
choice?
I know a man’s time from long ago when bootleggers drove wild, his hair shot out, electric.
Whose staring focused eyes were so intense as to shine through, distant point within those of
another.

The awkward stains and greasy holes come out and in if you’re clean enough.
Perhaps if we do the deed on an operating table under disinfectant sprays.
Globdest you and may you always have something to clean,
And if you someday run out, may it be in front of a car you dirty fucking bitch.

Sugar, bloody money,

380
You are my stay-puffed girl,
And I know you’ll always do.

(2004-04-06 08:20) - public

Strange sequers of daily voyages into seemingly mundane waters.

Sunlight shows nothing of what these patterns seek.
Only the fog shows what’s hidden, the faces of that side of the water.
Only the dark absorbs all, enveloping beneath our cloaks to naked spirit.

So, I got a job as a night receptionist, to welcome with bright eyes the walking dead.

Poot..

(2004-04-09 04:02) - public

Oh, they all like me...they all just fucking LOVE me...

I’ll take a wrench to their molars first week on the job, I can sense it. These types have
no Backbone for the type of wars I wage, nobody in their head kicking their ass... This is
the major difference between Man and Beast, this peculiar agent of self-restriction lacking in
the latter. No internal conflict to quiet those things which define the lesser being, or provide
conscience.

Fresh morning lust, the suckling of that firm, supple morning sun, is a time when there
is no distinction between my wants and her actions and I assume all is "I," that we are still one
body. WHY did this rising sun fade so quickly, abandoning the self it loved to the cold, hungry
night, alone forever? When will I rise to feed her, my laying beauty, who sleeps beneath the
horizon of death.

Distortion Of Female Form - Aniation 1 (2004-04-10 13:00) - public

Unedited, uneffected.

Created by compression error.

iztyme2ryde (2004-04-10 15:45:50)

Ha, you should really make that smaller, or put it on a L J cut... that is so big

381
(2004-04-11 03:20) - public

And with you’re quivering head wet heavy against my chest,

You cry for my sadness and release me from it.
Bloody fingernails frantically scraping to grab hold,
of a steeper rising sharp cliff, receding from my fear.

In the dream, I was at the tip of a Colorado mountaintop, toppled over the opposite
side, with no footing, holding on for dear life. Closing my eyes, I released myself to the fall
and plummeted beneath, far below through all above and below the sea. Manic fear to a
depression so intense, it made me physically sick.

There, thousands of miles below all I had come to know, I found a place forgotten from
my distant childhood, an island. A solitary shore of disgarded Easter candy and toys. Each
cave on this Government Island contained different treasures I had created alone, over the
course of many years I spent alone there, before I had forgotten that place.

I walked through intricate and painstakingly crafted scenes with mangled puppets and
their detailed images, all labeled appropriately by strange little man, whoever he once was. I
felt an intense calm here; alone, but not lonely. I toyed with the remnants of my solitary play,
and rediscovered old doors and machines which still tick, all these years later, beneath me.

(2004-04-14 02:07) - public

In sleep, I created the sounds of cars heart outside, the warm hiss of that place the inviting
strings of this transplendent orchestra, softening the bouyant transition from that level of
consciousness to this surface one. It was music and I, at the very moment of my choosing for
that cars passing sound to occur again, so it did. My lucid orchestration of the low fan’s hum
or the introduction of the passing plane’s rumble were all premeditated, planned by me.

All of my progress, subsided, with the sickness of sleep weighting my treading limbs
through the hateful sun which pours more and more. They resent their request to me and me
and I sleep and lie to lay, scheming, to sleep more yet. Scratching fat through thin excuses
for time to suffer alone without thanks, but no. Obligation, through sickness and in health, till
death do our part, the prying, critical eyes of a world of two parents pushes and pulls me to
bed. Cover me with dirt, let it fall into my mouth and over my open eyes. This is no place for
me, this is no place for me.

swarms (2004-04-14 00:20:47)

yeah, I hate getting up in the morning/afternoon, too. so, drip drip go the tears.

iztyme2ryde (2004-04-14 04:06:54)

Seriously, you are one weird sonovabitch.

the2minh8 (2004-04-15 17:25:00)

ha ha, you said "transplendent". it’s so *transplendent*! everything’s just so very *transplendent*!

382
My new Song (2004-04-15 13:57) - public

Music: My New Song (Noisy)

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September In Reverse (2004-04-15 14:08) - curious - public

Music: Brian Eno - Golden Hours

Sclic„pubes."xcitnd e"" a _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ "" _hichnt winmeerta ent theght:yesik, etricthe _"" _ _
_ _" _ _ _so "And ht. nig _ _"" _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _f ""id ohe aou twithght " fi _ _ _" _ _ _ _" _ _ _in "te)
whiight (bright L... downing Faller. Makt my meesoonill I wore,no melf

..PLase. pleone, anyere,nywh?,"AequeBarbMen Do ,Why5

i the forlookt I thas itat i,"Why""" Awatter Cha YouWhenion

y, t thee as lov whohoseof tons visiteleiss

I dough, thhing a t notI towward forh me pusperswhisthe and ant gnorbe

mhaw!haw

AnENO IAN BR 5).

;""Hourden "Golnd """ aning RunCome’ll ""Ilikes, songpop ent-ambiing oothlf sd ha" anes,"
TreDark"In nd """ ailesReptbre "Somke ",
(In Reference To "Another Green World" by Brian Eno)

BLOWABY OW B, BLBLOWIES BABLOW,BY BW BA BLOLOW,ES BBABIab s

(Blow Baby Blow)

On DVDtion Ediited Lim thefromnot was ich

cANICMECHUID Y FLy TH"" banic Orgn Isatioaniz Org"Thee,

(All above text created by converting to audio, reversing, and then converting back to
text)

384
And, finally, Michael Landon holding a large squid in anguish:
http://www.butt-tinkie.com/anguish.html

anthropomo (2004-04-15 18:44:36)

My first thought: "But I never!!!" Oh, hah, yes, it is easy to misread, hah, that last name, so that, hah,
it looks, hah, like mine, hah...

the2minh8 (2004-04-16 05:10:19)

looks like mr. landon was close friends with the squid, and the squid was tragically killed in a scuba
lesson gone awry. the squid fatefully floated to the top, where landon happened to be fly fishing.
somehow, landon knows that this is his fault; that if he had stayed with the squid as he had promised,
none of this would ever have happened.

(2004-04-18 06:09) - public

Our Mission:

To provide the artificial flavor, a saucy blend of cool concentrates for any unusual cir-
cumstance(s.)

one puts in this Article for that border expenditure by at least 2 declarations again are
examined: (a) physical cause abuse makes antisocial behavior of access model distinct.
Dysfunctional results in betwitching mangrove of the controls on the metacognitive supervi-
sion a task to the nature of measure immediate of the negative cognitive types„ is however
transmitted thus each is Zartheit can taste. He sees, consequently, this Sozialdeviancefaktor,
shown of the reduced answers of admittance of skin on the pleasant tones and disagreeable
speakers with ideas and the practice which is clearly to each department and with seamless
compliance in mind.

Summer patrons to be counted:

1) Oak, Darkened With Moisture
2) Dying poacher, tusk beneath lung.
3) Reach Far Pervert, Gaze above Lung

To Moms and Dads And Late Night Ab Ads:

1)TRL
2)Midlife Resolution
3)Formless Abandonment

iztyme2ryde (2004-04-18 04:24:43)

Thanks, you are the indian giver. I do for you, and like I said, you do not return. You would never do
that for me. You just leave after saying one thing, and doing another. You only stayed that long, even
after saying you were going to kiss me before you leave, because I was upset about it. I guess it is
only good that I do for you. I shouldnt expect things from you. Thanks, dont bother replying, I dont
expect it. Next time, dont say you will do something and get my hopes up, only for me to see it is a lie.

385
Cyber Sex Gone Wrong (2004-04-18 16:57) - public

bloodninja: Baby, I been havin a tough night so treat me nice aight?

BritneySpears14: Aight.
bloodninja: Slip out of those pants baby, yeah.
BritneySpears14: I slip out of my pants, just for you, bloodninja.
bloodninja: Oh yeah, aight. Aight, I put on my robe and wizard hat.
BritneySpears14: Oh, I like to play dress up.
bloodninja: Me too baby.
BritneySpears14: I kiss you softly on your chest.
bloodninja: I cast Lvl. 3 Eroticism. You turn into a real beautiful woman.
BritneySpears14: Hey...
bloodninja: I meditate to regain my mana, before casting Lvl. 8 Cock of the Infinite.
BritneySpears14: Funny I still don’t see it.
bloodninja: I spend my mana reserves to cast Mighty F*ck of the Beyondness.
BritneySpears14: You are the worst cyber partner ever. This is ridiculous.
bloodninja: Don’t f*ck with me bitch, I’m the mightiest sorcerer of the lands.
bloodninja: I steal yo soul and cast Lightning Lvl. 1,000,000 Your body explodes into a fine
bloody mist, because you are only a Lvl. 2 Druid.
BritneySpears14: Don’t ever message me again you piece of shit.
bloodninja: Robots are trying to drill my brain but my lightning shield inflicts DOA attack,
leaving the robots as flaming piles of metal.
bloodninja: King Arthur congratulates me for destroying Dr. Robotnik’s evil army of Robot
Socialist Republics. The cold war ends. Reagan steals my accomplishments and makes like it
was cause of him.
bloodninja: You still there baby? I think it’s getting hard now.
bloodninja: Baby?

Return of the King

BritneySpears14: Ok, are you ready?

eminemBNJA: Aight, yeah I’m ready.
BritneySpears14: I like your music Em... Tee hee.
eminemBNJA: huh huh, yeah, I make it for the ladies.
BritneySpears14: Mmm, we like it a lot. Let me show you.
BritneySpears14: I take off your pants, slowly, and massage your muscular physique.
eminemBNJA: Oh I like that Baby. I put on my robe and wizard hat.
BritneySpears14: What the f*ck, I told you not to message me again.
eminemBNJA: Oh shit
BritneySpears14: I swear if you do it one more time I’m gonna report your ISP and say you
were sending me kiddie porn you f*ck up.
eminemBNJA: Oh shit
eminemBNJA: damn I gotta write down your names or something

iztyme2ryde (2004-04-18 23:46:29)

Why does that seem like a Magic the gathering type of influenced cyber gone very wrong? That is
kinda funny, it is Greg trying to have sex online.... awww. *Tear while laughing histerically at Greg*

386
the2minh8 (2004-04-19 07:03:09)
i injured myself laughing. something, i think a bit of intestine or something, is now hurniated out of
my belly button and hanging out of me like a fleshy sac. it turns from pink to purple upon subsequent
laughter.

NOISE GUAR-ANT-EED TO MAKE YOU WANT TO PULL OUT YOUR DANG TEETHS!
(2004-04-20 23:14) - public

New noise song!!! I personally think it kicks MERZBOW’S ASS, but, I’ll need some feedback to
confirm this claim.

All is created using a parametric equalizer applied to me touching a damn guitar cord...

except for the fire drill alarm near the middle.

Please, tell me what you think...what you would add/change/destroy/eat.

...and, how does it compare to 1930 by that Jap bastard Merzbow with the Kurt Schwit-
ters rip off of a name.

http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/downing _faller.mp3

Thanks for your comments..

swarms (2004-04-20 21:33:45)

Well, I think it’s beautiful and more interesting than Merzbow. A couple things, though: -I’d destroy
the time between 1.15 and 1.21. I think it would sound better with just the fade out there, and then
quick come back in with the full frontal assualt without a pause. This will make it hard for people to
remember their math homework or that their coffee is getting cold. -I would eat a bag of pussies. -I
also think a thick, metallic bass sound would sound wonderful near the end. Something like an empty
oil drum hitting the cement floor of an empty warehouse. An empty warehouse with terrible acoustics.
-I think it would be hilarious if you had a cheezy breakbeat kick over top with an off-beat chipmunk
saying "work out". You could let Kid606 do that remix.

turboswami (2004-04-20 22:58:44)

You obviously havent been listening to enough John Cage...silence is some of the most relaxing music
there is... I’ll be barrel shopping this weekend...

turboswami (2004-04-20 23:01:51)

my actual intent was to make it seem as if it was (finally) over, that the awful painfull drilling of their
skull had finally stopped....and then.„6 SECONDS LATER...KABLAMMO!!!

swarms (2004-04-20 23:24:16)

If I want to listen to silence, I’ll listen to John Cage. Until then, I would like to keep my Kaleb Smith
and John Cage separate. Kind of like black and a new pair of staplers. John Cage has already tried
suing one band for stealing his silence, so I’d watch your back if I were you. I’d also watch your back

387
 if I were me, but nevermind that *sexual wink*

the2minh8 (2004-04-21 15:01:51)

awesome. i’d shorten the silence by about a second, though. experiment with the timing that is most
unsettling to the listener, and make sure the volume increases there. after the silence. actually, you
could increase the volume of the silence, too. now that would be awesome.

(2004-04-21 02:26) - public

Hiding gorgeous solitude, the selfing flesh mastery who’s bulge grows more and more with
each week of stress on stress on obligations ignored, their sharp edge dug deep behind all I
face to think. Pale bloating curled in the screaming dark, the burning fill churns acid memories
up, raw heaving sickness punishes my choking breath.

Tada! I’m pppphhtt and its gone! How about a jab to the face you fucking obnoxious
sound? Maybe a kick to that hungry tummy will stop its shrill whine. Let’s do it and say I didn’t.
Everyone knows how easy you bruise! As long as you laugh, they will...and you better laugh,
or god help me...

Shopping, Sports and Finance, this hairy thing needs more money, the web carries news
of my struggle to the dark corners, hungry in waiting. But, why, four years later, do I still hang
suspended, here, on this web? My once tense blood no longer so quick

COMFORT HAS SET IN

(2004-04-21 10:22) - public

Evanescence Lyric Maker... by [1]Melraad

Name:
____________________

Number:
____________________

Gender:
____________________

Lyric:
"Your face it haunts § My once pleasant dreams § Your voice it chased away § All the sanity in
me"
Fill Out Your Answers and Try it!
Created with the ORIGINAL [2]MemeGen!

388
1. http://www.livejournal.com/users/melraad/
2. http://memegen.deskslave.org/

(2004-04-21 10:33) - public

-Last CD Purchased: PLAGIARHYTHM NATION by The Evolution Control Committee

-CD You’ve Listened to the most in 2004: Baader Meinhof - S/T
-CD You Most Regret Ever Purchasing(Be Honest): Cocteau Twins Head Over Heels
-First CD You Purchased(Be Honest): The Immortals - Mortal Kombat Video Game S/T
-CD You Listen To When You Are Sad: Jethro Tull - Benefit
-CD You Listen to When You Are Happy: V/A - Vintage Hawaiian
-CD You Listen to When You Are Mad: ENO/Fripp - No Pussyfooting
-All-Time Favorite CD: (?) Thick As A Brick - Jethro Tull
-How Many CD’s Do You Own?: 3500+
-Favorite Grunge Album: Melvins - Bootlicker
-Favorite Punk Album: Television - Marquee Moon
-Favorite Hardcore Album (Digital Hardcore?): Big Black - Songs About Fucking
-Favorite Radio Friendly CD: Tool - Lateralus
-How Many Radiohead Albums Do You Own?: 15
-Finally, Did You Ever Own any Limp Bizkit or Korn CD’s?: heh. Whoever made this quiz is an
idiot.

Mass Fiction (2004-04-21 18:55) - public

young black man:

"KNOW YOUR ROOTS!" we said to those who came and went in the six days following
the disaster. I had been working as a patent clerk in Cursed for nearly 2 weeks and had
learned a lot about the field, energetic, once dashed with rocks which were collected and
stacked near the northern-most edge.

But, where did she spend the night when he was away? I tossed and turned alone with
the image of her slurpy mess in my mind. Towards the morning, however, I had CAME IN THE
CONE! CAME ALL INSIDE THE CONICAL HAT SPEECH!

*a telephone call**

"...but maw! I LIKE horses that way!...no? Oh! Lackaday!!"

*click** (the phone replaced onto its hook on the wet cement)

"I’ve got to clean this place" he said to myself, after replacing mom’s phone call to its
beginning.

"This place is a pig sty!" my self said inside in agreeably fashioned identity. No one
echoed back this time. Perhaps this concrete is not wet enough...most definately not moist
enough to ripple back. "This concrete must be wetter for answers."

389
"Oh, there you are!" we heard from between. Where in though world have you been!!?

[...reader additions here....]

<<>>>

(2004-04-22 22:12) - public

TurboSwami (10:06:41 PM): I feel sick. I’m gunna lay down. Can you call me in case I dont
wake up?

When I said "call me," my phone began to make noise. The bell inside being hit only
once, and then again seconds later. It wasnt a ring, but just a slight touch of the bell which
started immediately after I typed the word "call."

Of course, coincidence...but why do these things coincide with me so often and with
such relevance.

I also recorded my third EVP yesterday, with Teasha in the room, while experimenting
with extremely high frequency sounds. A male voice, this time, with two utterances.

marckaw (2004-04-23 00:14:01)

but why do these things coincide with me so often and with such relevance. Coincidence.

(2004-04-24 02:37:22) ahh this is don

i cant figure out your email ... im commenting on that fucked up entry about cyber sex gone wrong
either your genius or you picked up on the damned funniest shit ever but i am pretty sure you wrote it
anywho great shit keep it up dlangson@hotmail.com

(2004-04-25 02:56) - public

I believe all response is evidence of consciousness and that awareness slowly dilutes itself
throughout one’s surroundings in death. This dilution process is a slow one modeled by the
time one full fills in life.

I dont like to talk about things that are important, though.

Emotions cloud the mind with muddled thoughts and their impressions, the reflecions of
390
self returned from another close and quick as to suffocate and distornt. The vicinity from
absolution is, at first, sharp and metallic where one shared emotion slowly drifts apart into
two of seperate phase and tone.

Life, in it’s sharp focal point of consciousness, has an opposite which is not so intensely
focused, but reverts back to all, the lense released to the surroundings. In such, conscious-
ness, our gift from nature, does not disappear, but dilutes throughout in a slow process of
decay and forgetting.

Logic assumes that the observable patterns of nature apply to all of that Nature. That
duality is an assumable pattern and that its two sides model one another, as do summer and
winter, water and vapor, all the observable cycles of which nature is defined. And, of these
observable opposites, identically-matched in opposition, we can deduce the nature of the
unseen. The positive and negative of life and death are two sides of a frequency, defining one
another above and below the flatline, that transition between birth and death. Like the elderly
and the newborn, both only barely alive, so there are two reciprical points reflected to the
opposite side of that flatline, both in transition to or from.

In life, we watch the infant progress through till the peak of attachment and obligation,
middle age, at which point complexity releases the individual to exclusion, solitude and, in
the last years, disattachment and death. Death, then, is the logical opposite of this same
progression, the peak of death modeled by the absolute dilution of the individual into his or her
surroundings, the conscious energy no longer focused or localized, but distributed throughout
all surrounding response. This, then, explains "Polyglot" speech, or speaking in tongues,
as the combination of several languages in single sentances. This "oneness" or dilution of
death combines those communicative aspects of life together with the living individuals who
once carried them, consciousness slowly regressing backwards through sound until it is mere
resonance, the midpoint and peak of death, at which point cohesion, ego, and identity begin
again in a cyclic manner.

iztyme2ryde (2004-04-25 02:49:41)

You are so intelligent. I love you.

swarms (2004-04-25 10:32:12)

You are so intelligent. I love you.

swarms (2004-04-25 10:32:39)

Oh shit, Teasha already posted that.

iztyme2ryde (2004-04-25 15:11:32)

Yea, but we can all love eachother! Jessica can come too! * I am anxiously awaiting you to join me.
Kaleb is too.

swarms (2004-04-25 16:26:05)

by join you, do you mean dock you? by dock you, do you mean you want me to have conjugal
relations with you? by have conjugal relations with you, do you mean you want me to clean your
pipes?

391
 iztyme2ryde (2004-04-25 19:50:46)
I will let you choose. You can do ANYTHING you want to. I wont stop ya. Just make sure you beat me
really good. I deserve it.

the2minh8 (2004-04-26 14:22:18)

i would love you if you weren’t so coked up and gay! i noticed your general aversion to topics of
importance. you seemed alienated during the heavy conversations saturday night. looking back,i,
too, should have felt alienated... but you know how drugs can be. when was the last time to went to
grand rapids? you ought to come out here, perhaps on james’ or jason’s coattails, sometime. that is,
if a church on every block doesn’t bother you.

(2004-04-26 00:59) - public

http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view.php?id=85361

Whew! Nothing better than an ice cold bloody fetus after a long hard day at work!

the2minh8 (2004-04-27 18:17:09)

i came to this place thinking that i could win prizes or money. not aborted fetuses.

Underground Hallway Around The World (2004-04-27 00:12) - C Flat - public

Music: Charlie Feathers - Uh Huh Honey

"You swallow another pill and say ’Shutup Body! Shutup Mind! Shutup Soul!’....but they won’t
shut up."
-Brother Theodore

The beast men and the beast women trample about, elbow to elbow, waiting for pay-
day, judgement day, or refill day. They shake hands and smile at their watches, developing
subtle ploys to unbutton buttons more efficiently, but no. NO!! The eyes of God are not
windows, but mirrors. And, as a dog sees his own reflection and growls in defense or stoops
to play, so we must forever attack, love, and fear ourselves outside us.

Talk, talk, please. Talk, talk, please in that order. Get my attention, scream in my face;
you’ll need to. Cackle madly with my nose in your mouth and point where I should look.

"No doubt the funniest car advertisement I’ve seen." I should say, I should say. I dont
say, nor anger. I dont laugh or sigh. I refuse to hold, but listen to the beauty beneath all you
try.

All the best music and philosphy is German.

392
the2minh8 (2004-04-27 08:27:10)
most of the best disgusting perverts, sexual deviants and cannibals are german, too.

turboswami (2004-04-27 11:40:05)

All of the worlds finest art film comes from this place too. Why? They are so nerdy, white and nervous.
Also, sure, if I could catch a ride there, it would be great, some weekend. And, I made you two cds
that morning....one packed to the brim with ambient, mechanical and synth samples, the other cd
with just good albums. I dont remember what I gave you last time, Baader Meinhof? (American
Pervert Emulating German) Oh well..

(2004-04-30 23:55) - public

Music: Hot Hot Heat

I intend to borrow someone’s bass guitar so that I may tune two or three of the lowest strings
in a way so that the open string can be hit, percussively, with something; that something
decided by the timbre appropriate for the mood of the song. Drum brush, or ink pen for less
pronounced or slower parts, maybe spoon or drum stick for faster or more percussive bits,
using the synthesizer which would accompany to tune the open strings. Open strings struck
together, generally two to three acompanies with single string melodic base, would provide
lead sections for drum/bass duo.

As I have experimented, bass ranges of any kind lend themselves easily for input into
synthesizer, for "treatments" or augmentations by way of frequency and cutoff control.

whew, the chest twitches with a feature of my face, represented, the left eyebrow represented
by the left breast muscle*

3.5 May

1min48sec of Critical Attention? (2004-05-01 05:18) - public

A mere 6 hours and 20 minutes later, the minute and a half condenced nugget has been
created:

http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/lanterns _son.mp3

What’s wrong with it?

Finally being admitted into MSU’s highly-experimental Computer Music program, I felt in-
spired to push the computer, again using computer error as a central aspect to deciding
timbres and compositional melody.

I was amazed that a composer, Dr. Mark Sullivan, who I have listened to for over a
year, is a professor at MSU and has been the whole time. I met him today and arranged for
tutoring in the Sound Labs. They are everything I had hoped MSU production studios WOULD
393
be, towering racks of complex synthesis modules, rows upon rows of knobs which caused
awkward stains upon first sight. Sullivan has the CRAZY eyes, twitching about, shifty like
meee!

He described Granular synthesis to me for 20 minutes, complex mathematical algorithms

replacing scales as a compositional tool. Hundreds of thousands particles of sound, each with
its own distinct tone, being generated every second with band limits "shaping" the sound,
duder.

anthropomo (2004-05-01 05:39:24)

My answer is more to the question "What is wrong with the genre?" To which I reply, "There is no
immediately appreciable telos." A dance song is meant to make you dance. A pop song is meant to
make you fall in love (preferrably with me). A hip-hop song is meant to make the rapper a wad of cash
(ha ha). But what is [a] noise [song] for?
I am such a levelheaded/empty- fuck. I have no appreciation for anything meaningful. Ha ha.

turboswami (2004-05-01 13:00:37)

While it is true disonance is not IMMEDIATELY appreciable, the very intent is to change appreciation;
being the very cutting edge of compositional innovation. While sharp and abrasive in comparison to
the popular music you mention, many listeners seek out a challenge to their capacity for appreciation
and, while not liking the music, they pride themselves as being able to appreciate good aspects
of it from bad. Noise, which I do not consider this song to be, is designed to challenge in this
way. It does convey emotion, my honest-to-god noise piece expressing both tension and anger:
http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/downing _faller.mp3

anthropomo (2004-05-01 13:24:51)

Those angry looking caps were exactly the sort of emotive reaction for which I was looking. That and
the grammar error [which I point out only as a symptom of the flying-off-the-handle post] not easily
succinctly named (12th grade English called it the "Shakespeare, he" error) made me titter with
delight. Because I was saying shit just to say shit. I have not heard enough of the genre to comment
in a thoughtful critical manner, but wanted you to know that I had listened to it. And I liked it alright.

swarms (2004-05-01 20:55:08)

I thought it was decent. I’d compare it most to Oswald’s "dont". Are my critiques even helpful? I think
it could have used more of the bubbling sound from the beginning throughout the song. I also thought
it would be hilarious if some man was yelling "Oh Susanna" in a voice similar to that of a man having
just found his raped and killed girlfriend. I think that would fit nicely right after the part where you
said "blood". The variance in sound quality kind of annoyed me, too.

(2004-05-01 05:46) - High (2 weeks) - public

Come on, angry doors, rattle as if I lock you out.

The Wild Man is coming, charging towards through the hallway.
Run, prepare, our eyes search the room
For any expression of presence to resume.

394
Tear, stab away! Keep these men away, whom.
lay floor to my head long deliverer’s loom,
The crawler beneath sleep looks above to the lightning.
In anger is revealed the direction far below.

From crisis arose flight, the birds eye above us,

The map to our mind whose night voyager inside,
Beckons the mouth open in acceptance of the sound.
Hot dogs for everyone and pop for kid’s heighted.

Pooper sports radio love time for all times to find mine.
Rondell Sherridan for Coors LIght, in rejection of Crylab
Trauma to the mindset constentions form lightly,
In crime there is hidden the evidence no scan seen.

Trike forked to bikes in a smirk and blink handshake,

The come and go running sped till I read "stop"
But, reading it louder now can seem to make faster,
The times that loom over can try the crime(s) off.

(2004-05-01 19:15) - public

Not Deleted (but probably not worth reading)

I am willing to kill the former lover,

If you be my night crotch.
Misty eyes dont see all, but merely cover
Moist makes up the dark blotch.

iztyme2ryde (2004-05-03 04:01:10)

should I be scared?

turboswami (2004-05-03 10:08:28)

No, it doesnt mean anything. Just random.

iztyme2ryde (2004-05-03 10:09:50)

k. nothing big... I was just freaking out all week, that seemed to make me think it went along...
understandable I think

the2minh8 (2004-05-03 06:52:20)

i hear that. boy, do i hear that.

(2004-05-06 04:29) - not high - public

Music: Lou Reed - New York Conversation

I’ve got to ween, dearest cash I lit.
Forging through friends, the commoner made sick.
395
Two days and four hours till I’ve got my package back, and yet the swine turns in signs
of an inner whining fear made vague by self-restriction. Like the encoding of dreams, this
subconscious man seers horrors along the underside of my skin, on the edge of his land.

_ _á _¡½ _¼ _¿ û¿
éhä! Sploogerian Forager of Young Lusts Release, Give Me Your Plan!

Time keeper, body weeper, your stress is beneath you. You have a higher place, a side
without the weights that burden you, a release from your carriage.

Month F6: The System Fragmented

Upon entering the bedroom, the masked intruder pivoted as he scanned the room, rifle
rotating with him. Seeing the room was empty, be began to examine the pictures on the
dresser, beneath the mirror, eyes straining slightly in the dim light.

Fort 7 began transmission, the loud crackle jolted him awake from his picture gazing. 6
minutes later, the system was up and running, monitored downstairs by Evenson among the
scattered bloody corpses. The charged hub was heard to hum from the windowsill, meta data
cycling spedily now, a job well done...or so he thought.

iztyme2ryde (2004-05-06 04:13:40)

Yea, ok, and the system hits you in the face with a case of young lust. You must be high... though you
say u aint.

(2004-05-07 03:40) - public

Car. Shove!

Empty moving.

I have never missed anyone.

the2minh8 (2004-05-07 08:37:11)

Playground. Recent photo. Never thought I would waste my life.

the2minh8 (2004-05-07 08:38:46)

it seemed like the syllables were important. i dunno. so what’s your situation over the summer? you
back home or still at or around school?

futuracondensed (2004-05-08 23:36:32) *nodding of head has commensed*

Hey, just wanted to notify you that I finally got one of these evil squakboxes, and within the last day,
I’ve filled it with conspiracy theories about how Jesus and pi come together to make cheesecake. Or
not. Hit me up when you get a shot. - Ernie

396
(2004-05-10 01:30) - public

The trembling of the chest began again the night before I left to return to the UP. It soon
became more painful.

The first night back in my house was terrifying.

Her legs began to convulse, the leg which moved towards me that night, and where
that leg would have touched me then, my own leg began to spasm wildly, beginning on the
same calf muscle of the right leg and moving up, followed by chest disturbances.

She moaned and cried out in her sleep in a fearful tone. At around 5 am, there were
spirits in the room. It began with the same pulling on the door knob into the room, and was
followed by the walking about the room. While staying aware of all the loud things going
on in the room, I became frozen, my body unable to awake as I listened and watched. A
spirit approached the bed and touched the bed. I heard loud screaming and then it would do
something to the bed or wall near my head. A different sound was heard, during this time, the
same scraping against the walls and mixer board.

I wanted to turn to wake Teasha, but I couldnt move. I tried to cry out, but all my ef-
forts were futile, and all I could muster was an eerie, high pitched wail which was not from
myself. I did this twice, trying to awake Teasha. In this same way, my attemps at movement
were manifested in a way not of myself, I elbowed her hard. This made me afraid. I wanted to
shake her, so she could hear all the scraping and walking, but had no control over my body.
I moved my arms wanting to shake her awake, but there was something like a twich which
pushed me at my elbow, pushing my fist to hit her in the head many times fast. I was like a
puppet.

She sat up and I could talk and finally asked "Do you hear this?!" and she said, in a
haze, "I dont want to think of it." She does not remember this.

She awoke with a headache and I told her why. This is much more intense than the
simple scratches we had on eachother over winter break. I may go to the local library to check
into the history of the church in my backhard. As cheesy a suggestion as it may be, I know
many of those early churches had graveyards.

I had hoped I could put all this behind me, that it was over.

iztyme2ryde (2004-05-10 22:56:45)

I had hoped so too... if ya look into it, lemme know what you find. We both wanna move on, lemme
know if I can help ya...

(2004-05-11 02:28) - High- One Day - public

Find out about the ground water, the farming in this area is rich. The soil carries nutrients, arid
night wealth approximates negated equivalant. Twice the place was alive with wild presence.

397
A strange graying bearded man with a video camera came into my room with very strong pot
and smoked it as his friend sang on tracks. He sat on the bed during the recording of the first
take and soon insisted on moving to the other side of the room, insisting that he felt "strong
vibes" coming from that bed location in the room. He told me about his sensitivities:

"I am able to put my hand in a bag of different things and close my eyes and pick dif-
ferent colored things out...based on different frequencies."

I asked him if this was a natural ability or a permanent change in perception based on
LSD and he claimed it was something from birth.

The three time womb champion keg wrestler approaches the cage, 7 month class and
showing well. In the width the 2 and a half minutes after the bell, China, with her trademark
lactation spots showing through the tight nylon, tumbles backwards by way of XX’s patented
"button pusher," a kneeled clotheshanger slide to the belly button!

"Lets feel him kick now!" XX sneers, climbing the second rope, as China doubles over
into the center of the ring. She stands tall on the rope, belly protruding outwards intentionally
far, a characteristic display of womb wrester pride.

But, whats this? A dark silouette emerging into the arena from behind a set of shower-
ing spark cues the triumphant guitar theme everyone had been waiting for...

the2minh8 (2004-05-11 10:57:28)

last section reminded me of a novel by a friend of mine. in it, a main character slices a pregnant
woman open, rips out the squirming fetus, smacks its father in the face with it and gleefully sqeals "do
you feel the baby kicking!?"

turboswami (2006-02-04 02:28:15)

Sounds like one of those Romance novels my mom used to read to me...

(2004-05-11 03:49) - public

Teasha spent yesterday cleaning and heard a man talk to her, from behind her in the kitchen,
she says he first said "Yo!" and, while near her as she spoke to herself cleaning, he answered
her saying "I hope so."

I heard the same man in the night, talking downstairs in the living room. I told her that
I heard him and we were unable to sleep from that point forard lastnight. I have set mouse-
traps tonight, hoping it will stop the scratching and other noises. There is an entire deep
feeling which surrounds the bed, this whole room, since we have come back, that strange
bearded man was right about that much and knew enough to get away.

I have taken
398
(2004-05-12 02:18) - public

Coincidence is not random, but generally follows the strongest line of causality in any per-
ception situation. This "causal inclination" is directly related to that perception’(s’) attention
strength, the stronger attention drawing coincidence toward or, in a moment of broken tension,
causing other aspects of the perception situation to "break loose" falling towards that strong
attention to co inside.

Intentional Multimedia - combining audio and video with a distinctly intended message,
cue or combination.

Indeterminist Multimedia - combining audio and video sequences without any intended
message, cue, or combination.

By creating "sample tapes" of cable tv highlights for audio, I have created an interest-
ing sequence of video segments as well. These segments, generally, when played silently to
a set of appropriately moody or theatric music...or any music I have seem to try, will seem to
match video segments, in one way or another, again and again.

In this same way, video segments which originally accompanied audio, like a parade of
noodles marching to a beat, will SEEM to match the overlapped beat only to be discerned with
careful examination. This is an aspect of our mind used to relate different perceptions and
applies in the same way to the message or interpreted mood of multimedia presentation.

futuracondensed (2004-05-12 01:33:23) That sounds awesome, I’d like to check it out.
One of us is the multimedia artist here, and it sure as hell isn’t me. - Ernie

Dirt (2004-05-13 02:22) - public

Oh! Sweet TurboWait,

@Wait till I’m alone, get drunk and then write"@

at

tell them write about, dont write about

what? that’s not even what I said, that’s ok.

Wow

Hmm...

Any...?

Are you gunna...?

something really cold...* *yawn**

399
...plus or minus the creepy old things which touch your legs....

THATS NOT WHAT I SAID! *"cold things"*

You’re such a little boy, JESUS CHRIST!

It’s weird how you can be younger than me and older than me a the same time...DONT
WRITE THAT...

I’M GOING TO UNPLUG YOUR DAM KEYBOARD, YOU’RE A DIPSHIT *FART*

BEEECH! KKKKHHHHHH!!! will you quit. ’

just remember if your friends say that live journal is cool, they are indirectly saying that
I am cool,

NIGGA PLEASE, GODDAMN THESE BALLS.

(you’re misquotingme)

YOU’RE FACE IS A MASQUARADE, SOMMETHING SOMETHING. (and I throw this at yo9u

say oww)!!

tapp tapp tapp GRRRRR!!*

—–

fROM ME:

Credit is to be granted to the expelled, the sweet dying edge of what nods heads in
speach. To look to the glass at all is to assume a half way point, and so is a negative aspect to
the flow of that correspondence. The vague positive and negative we call interaction is drawn
to an end by an observation of a oartuakkt fukked gkass if kuqyud, be it filled or otherwise.

The summer cameras bloom in decay’s bouquette, the Frenchy version of blooming maggots. I
come around to forsee the work ethic, but my intrest free Car Card begins and ends from home.

I scratch the want, there in the angry night, and drink heavy in thought, leaving, whis-
pering at the exit.

I hold so many things clear, at which point I begin to drop: appointments and troublems
release sore, (the beating of a loved one in night scream.)

The twitch beneath my loved one’s enclose trial. The dry doc. benedril of sneeze effect.
The loose acid feeling drawn to sleep, soul I trude, the calm force which enters at night. The
beating hand which rises from the deep.

400
We do not sleep until daybreak, the fear of dead voice. Visitors express fear of our bed
and it’s low "vibe." Closest friend sees the movement of a figure, as do I in sleep-state of
morning, the figure a man exiting to bathroom. His voice well known to both of us, by this
point of seperate occations, we grab at jealousy’s apparition between all that is heard, the
individual perceptions splitting lovers. I hear her words of anguish alone, and wish to answer
as he did.

(2004-05-13 03:00) - public

She’s going to turn that guilty light out and mention sweat she sees and feels towards
goodnight, tonght. I well away drew conclusions which I expect, later on, to come out on top
after everyone gets used to this noise.

The light in the eating room stays on non-stop because the prison debt layed to rest
these wants, these late desires of guilt which gnaw proud the late night critique, the wake-up
hate monger of childhood. She returns in our talk.

Drop the double dare, drop the daytime lair, she is a waiting old box sweet spot who re-
members even less than you do. Take hold kind the sweet dry torch because she hates him
more than she does you, in all your error.

(2004-05-16 02:02) - public

Big guts, as she called him, was lying in the back seat with his head to the floor. I heard the
sound of slapping skin and started the car. How is it that I could be so frigid with all this love
in the air? Should I blame my mother or the medication?

Sixth warning, Big Guts! Who’s this character with the traumatic necklace memories
and love scars? No doubt she’s had a few times to think about what she’s done, but never
has. I love a woman with scars!!

She slaps Big Guts on his big gut and he moans from the floor, the passing headlights
momentarily revealing the anguish on his tightened face as he stretched as best he could
from the cluttered backseat of the Westward-Bound Dodge Minivan.

SUSAN roll out the TWIT CHRISTIAN FUCK NECK, before I crack that

ack!

eek, the cat!

-+

(2004-05-17 00:29) - public

The 9 smartly or dressed two drab lovers crawled along the cold underbelly of the glass ceiling,
preparing their coated tongues for the black shoe licking. There is a point, so each was told at
401
the Orientation Procedure, where you don’t need to try anymore, it just IS. And, at that point
of absolute saturation, all the hard work and inlet compression draw sharp the edge of self.
Truthful hatred and survival instincts disolved in the routine.

The Senior Director from Accounts Recievable stood up, clearing his throat, making it
known to the 13 other men sitting around him at the long stainless steel MOURNING CASKET
that he was about to SING. SUPER FART entered from the elegantly carved oak door at the far
left of the room, placing a small yellow note in front of the PORK. It read:

"Trouble! Can that fucking tool, BUTT, before fuzz stink up the witness deal."

Tipping over the table, SWAT men bomb the bass

(2004-05-19 05:21) - public

6 days after my hitting her from conscious sleep, my left eye has a finger nail scratch, with
blood drawn, going through it at an angle. While I was awake in bed, I began to think back to
that time when I hit her. Seconds into the thought she turned and sat up and hit me in the
face with her open palm. She then made a claw shape with her hand and clutched at my face.
That night also had many sounds associated to presence in the room.

"Some people don’t deserve girlfriends and others are less fortunate."

iztyme2ryde (2004-05-19 11:12:53)

Well, ya know it wasn’t me, I don’t have nails, and I have not heard anything since I said I would accept
them. And share this space. They seem to appreciate that. I do too, it is nice to be able to sleep
unafraid.

(2004-05-19 05:31) - public

Of Experimental Writing

The juicy chunks of swamp scattered the once-paved road.

The the

Promise me one thing, dont masturbate and cry at the same time; at least not over lit-
tle ol’ me.

Fractionalize writing for strong results, the slow breaking of fiction into small, poignant
shards made for ficion’s essay’s bite sized TV child. The twelve step program to draw in the
jaw drops, impress the ADHD watcher with a quick flashy image, written.

To many young people have fallen prey to the "Jesus Stereotype," the come-go ’round
fall to’er with a cold, frozen smile. I’ve got to and he’ finds fault in the fact. He wishes, more
than anything, to punish strangeness in the hopes it will help with the constant fear and guilt.
402
Oh quilt, Tom, come join. You’re woo! acid ick later is full blown AIDS, HEP C shoot the
shot, her kids dont like the taste of liver.

(2004-05-20 22:57) - public

Heat farms sprout crowded around the surface earth response to the pressure below. He hits
his leg with a shovel the moment I say "look at the crack!" grabbing at my scrotal area.

Too many fudge packers have fallen victim to this graphic depiction, slipping from grace
in the span of a a few words. Blood, under cloth, but white cells collide in the rush, nothing
like a crisis to bring microscopic people together. They know subtle energies like we could
only dream. They know modal scales of sensation we are incapable of imagining. In what way
can the mind organelles match our own organs? So how inferior? Howso superior?

Tom grass sprouts from her nights, the shredded testes of a manly stance feed her fur-
ther. But only Terra knows what she longs for through hot nights, the fantasy that she never
shares, afraid. Demanding, domineering, loud, impatient, she is all of these, parent drunk
past base.

(2004-05-22 02:17) - public

Bass:

Says "I’m horny!" or perhaps "Eat EAT!"

Treble:

Higher cognitions, reasoning, logic and self-restriction.

Says "Hey! Grab hold of those scissors and jab them repeatedly into you’re crotch!" or perhaps
"Don’t puke."

The console was littered with candy wrappers, pop cans, and junk food debris and ...
"fuck, what’s that noise?!"

fart-like static*

A glass of strawberry milk had been spilled into the power supply vent and popping smoking
sparkle sounds made stinky with the lactose sweet fruity mam-gravy.

But what fell from there was old and alive, a come-home from ether where time spends
you.

Sincerely,

º¿
403
(2004-05-24 00:32) - public

The time around here, the nothing that I twist inward to spiral, the form of feedback and of the
inverted infinity of self, is spent appreciating masturbation of all forms. The lights stay on, the
headlights for fear of crashing, but I used to shut them off quickly and stare off for just those
moments into the animated dark, visualizing all that I could remember of the road, summoning
all my inner fears and reflecting them onto the blank outward field.

swarms (2004-05-24 20:15:38) "My fellow Canadians g-g g-g g-g g-g g-g"
http://archives.cbc.ca/IDC-1-69-580-3080/life _society/hippies/clip1

(2004-05-24 01:55) - public

The voice of a man and a woman have been heard by both Teasha and myself. They are
connected, somehow, to the bed and I, today, could hear them only while laying in the bed
with the fan on. She claims to have heard them from the chair in front of the computer as well
and, from sleep, I have heard the man speak from both the stairs and from the living room,
sometimes becoming very loud.

There is something significant about the bed area, that strange man was right about
that much. It has history now, it has receptivity of some kind, perhaps. The voices, sometimes,
are so faint as to sound like the television downstairs is on. Today I thought, perhaps, the
neighbors tv might be on and very loud, but this theory was shot down when I stepped outside
and listened close for the voices.

If I did not have Teasha there to assure me of their existence, I would most definately
begin to question my sanity. Hearing faint voices, sometimes angry sometimes soft, is the
mark of the cliched crazy person, the topic of witty bumper stickers and t-shirts alike. Unless
another person is there to affirm their existence, there exists a strong inclination to doubt
ones self. Matters of the spirit, of certain kinds and depths, should be approached or dealt
with with a partner for that and other reasons.

"All these forced entries, these late night infinities, the comfort and guide in soft tones
and scream claws waiting in deeper dominant ones."

marckaw (2004-05-24 03:15:06)

Not to call you insane (although I most certainly think you are! as are we all...), but having a partner
hear the voices as well does nothing other than to prove that either you’re both crazy, the voices are
really there, or one of you is lying (the paranoid option). Pretty much the same options you began
with, plus one! Yay!

turboswami (2004-05-24 16:40:04)

I can safely say she is not lying since I had not mentioned my hearing the man and woman to her
before she mentioned hearing the voices of a man and woman to me. The odds of her mentioning
something so specific to me without any influence from myself are so small that I can confidently say
that both of our claims are based on the same, identically-described experience.

404
 marckaw (2004-05-24 18:12:42)
Or, alternatively, you’re lying. Or you’re both crazy.

iztyme2ryde (2004-05-24 18:26:05)

Well, I would not like to think I am crazy, but if that be the case, I accept. One, why would I lie? Why
would I shake in bed, afraid of something I lie about? Why would I say specific details, like Kaleb
mentioned prior to this comment. And if any lying, it would be me not wanting to talk about some of
the things I have heard, and the times that I heard them so no one gets worked up. Have you noticed
Kal talks about it and writes about it all the time when I say things? Well, there is basis. I have heard
it, more than I talk about. But that is for me to know, and no one else. Not being mean, just sick of
this shit bothering me, and taking Kal with it.

the2minh8 (2004-05-24 10:19:23)

couple years ago i was diagnosed as having "impulsivity disorder" in combination with "perceptual
errors" and given stimulant therapy. i suppose that helps quash the impulsivity, but certainly does
nothing to aid the perceptual disturbances (or "errors" as the doc put it so weirdly). i have a glow in
my peripheral vision, where i sometimes "see" movement of sorts, and i have very subtle auditory
hallucinations–these seem to be my mind making a pattern out of the myriad frequencies and arryth-
mia of "background" noise. i have apprehended this or similar occurrences since i was young–before
the heavy acid trips. my former psychiatrist/therapist tag team did not seem to think this indicative of
any sort of psychosis. they said it was an unusual reaction to stress. i wonder how many other people
have these minor, subtle perceptions–and if they notice them.

turboswami (2004-05-24 16:51:39)

If you look up the government studies of LSD on "antidrug.com" or most anywhere else, they cite this
detection of movement in the periphery as one of acid’s "classic symptoms." I experience it, myself,
since psychedelics and cannot definately say one way or another whether I saw this movement before
their use. In this house, however, the periphery contains whole figures accompanied by the sound of
walking. These sorts of perceptions are a bit more robust and are harder for me to simply disregard.
Friends experience this as well in my house. I am curious of the connection between these strange
"corner of eye" sorts of perceptions and the equally strange "edge of hearing" sorts of voices. I am
considering microphones and voice activiated recording equipment systematically hidden throughout
the house at night between 4 and 6 am. Whether or not its wise to consider these things is in dispute,
however.

iztyme2ryde (2004-05-24 18:28:13)

What about me? I have not done acid, and nearly enough 2 CI to count. So I think LSD and other
psychedelics have nothing to do with it. I think it is just shit we have to deal with. I am mostly over
it, and moving on. Learn from them and it...

biscuitboy (2004-05-24 21:05:48)

Yes. They’ve taken to selling ad space, too, which really pisses me off. Fucking pop ups. But seriously,
I get similar reactions to yours when I am tired or on edge.

(2004-05-25 01:07) - public

I have created 20 minutes of music using only an amplifier, specifically the classic 1971
Marantz Model 1060 Integrated Amplifier:
405
[1]Marantz Model 1060 Details Page on www.classic-audio.com

Using a unique direct in/direct out feedback technique, I was able to create perfect sine
waves whose pitch was controllable, either shifted or stepped, using the amp’s 3 band
equalizer. I was able to create a pitch so low and powerful that there was no actual sound, but
rather the sound of the sound, or the bat-like flapping sound of the speakers subwoofer. The
very idea of recorded sound creating this secondary "presence" in the room, the actual sound
of visible movement, is eerie and magnificent all at once, and forces the listener to question
reproduction and its instrumentation.

Today, using the computer’s latency error on an absolutely amazing program called MAX/MSP,
I was able to, again, use feedback in a unique way. The latency was approximately 4 or 5
hundred milliseconds, that sound between the actual live input and the computer’s treated
output of it. Placing a mic in front of this late treated sound coming from the speaker, I
reinputed it into the MAX program, the specifically applied treatment being a simple EQ,
and allowed the latency to feedback into itself creating a 4 or 5 hundred ms echo. Into
this computer error echo, I fed synthesizer which was fed radio through its various voltage
controller phono inputs. Later, a inputted a reel to reel tape loop of the ...

blah blah crazy sounds

I hope careful sweating for poses, but it still rains and rains. I apply and set goals all
for his image of me, letting go when he goes to town. I hope to find a reason to go to town, a
reason to dress up in uniform, a reason to wake up, to move, perhaps. The sun sets me up

Hat, vest, shining shoes and teeth. Show them what you’re made of, Maynard!
1. http://www.classic-audio.com/marantz/1060.html

Subtle Phases of Matter (2004-05-27 02:06) - public

In reference to time problems, I have come to several alarming conclusions. There is, of
course, the issue of looking down at yourself on your death bed, yet, somehow, the problem
of time and problems from two different times are, for the most part, unrelated; overlapping
only in the area of measurement.

Frequency, the aspect of energy which defines intensity in time, changes with time and,
in the example of the material world, changes in physicality. That is to say, as time changes,
so does matter as proven by the fact that all matter is energy, based in frequency.

Scale, which I believe to be in direct proportion to time’s perception, changes, not merely
experience, but the matter which it is composed of. Magnitude, thought of in terms of
frequency, the relation between spaces and solids, is a change in a wave’s intensity (where
the opposites of crest/trough are equated to the opposites of solid/space.)

Thinking in terms of these broad associations between dualities, and generalizing all du-
ality as an oscillating frequency of energy, one can begin to interpret the world differently,
associating known facts about observable energy with those unseen and vice versa.

406
Phases of matter, for instance, are currently limited to those blatently detectable, solids,
liquids, and gasses. Gas, however, was not always so detectable and, like it, it can be
theorized that there are subtle phases of matter, like those hotly contested "subtle energies,"
which, as of yet, are not detectable by our modes of perception or their varied aids. It is in
these "Subtle Phases" of being that we will find intelligent death.

3.6 June

(2004-06-04 23:28) - public

The baby is getting fussy. Long live the baby!

I can hardly contain myself these past few weeks, walking with my pants unbuttoned. 2
zippers have given way to this excitable stomach. Some former carapace or exoskeleton yet
to be disgarded. (previous)

To those who squirm far below those parts, and have come to know and become these
parts, the questions are simple and few. In the dark, they prepare knives and poisons for
tommorow’s defense from these thick questions they never thought to acknowledge. Ignorant
snakes, eels of cold stupor, I chase you back to your wretched abyss!!

In other news, a former drug pow love trial went...THIS JUST IN...we have just recieved
important information about scientific breakthrough in skin care called **INC(c)

"HOLY LIVING FUCK, DIANE, YOUR SKIN IS SO SMOOTH AND RADIANT! I MUST ADMIT, I
AM HIDING AN ERECTION BENEATH THIS NEWS DESK."

"Thanks Carl. The amazing thing about Herbal Labratories new **INC(c) is that I can...wait..THIS
JUST IN...we have just recieved important information about groundbreaking scientific research
proving, finally, that babies are stupid. More news at 11 when...I am going to, you know, come
back on...to, umm...you know, talk. No, I mean read. Sorry, I meant to say I will be back at 11
to...fuckING SHIT! GOD!!!"

"JESUS DIANE. WHAT’S WRONG?"

"Look Carl, how about you take your fucking skin creames and fucking microphones slice your
goddamned faggot wrists with them real slow like.

3:19 am
So, here it is, every bit of it. Everything but my life, written for you sorts. Yes, the confrontation,
you, yes YOU!

What a threatening style! To think some people live like that.

Bam!!*

Movement downstairs, a Bump onto the floor in the night. A lone coyote howls...or was
that a computer fan. Hmm...
407
Everyone is in place, I myself just checking in now. Surely there will be a few seats left
near the front. Oh, shit, my casket!

See, those momentary touches with what we have come to call spirits are merely, oh...no...no
need to even say things like that anymore. Nobody appreciates a creepy young boy.

Crash*
The silverwear tray in the kitchen clangs with a thudding fist sound...moments later, a
knocking sound against the wood. Starting a bit early tonight, it seems.

Faint bits, listening now. Definately better than before.

(2004-06-06 03:22) - public

"They heard us." is heard from a pre-dream state. From now on, its only whispers. It comforts
me to know I am not alone at night, especially when my bed is empty.

The wind carries so much and blows so far, down long corridors we never see. Perhaps
this chill, this inner tingle, is that wind from those cold echoing hallways. Perhaps it rides up
my neck, causing me to twitch while my body’s hair extends outward, with an inner sense.
This warm rooms and it’s deep icy feeling surrounds my small bed, the cold which comes with
a deep place.

The distorted creatures of depth, where nature’s light can never reach, develope grotesque
eyes and fangs too long to serve any function. Monsters existing unseen in those black
mysterious depths of the ocean whose pressure limits all other life. Beyond imagination,
nature exists even here and, like this place, so there are such unseen places where nature has
come to reside.

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-06 19:57:38)

you mean like me being downstairs or them being here in your room?

(2004-06-08 01:34) - public

The

Without a tomb

For six loves through

_ _7 FALSE STARTS _ _ _

Too many young...(etc)...lost to

408
My sweet Auxillary Model, old and unfit, begins and ends around my voice. The wit
grows stale, slow, like the tar inhaled. I dont push at guests so much anymore, stage fright
well seperated, disolved and diluated.

The "Residual Self" is to be the word I use to describe my relatively newfound concep-
tion of the human soul or all that which resides within. The residue of our ego, the defensive
surface which is our image, exists beyond that physicality which once defined its shape. For
a time after death, like the frosted intricacy of glass in cold weather, or the residual image
00000000000hey
waa

hot shower love drawing to stay invisible beyond

like heat, like life, like all left to be seen when eyes close. forever. amen.

(2004-06-08 03:18) - public

I feel as if my

Wild river

Tight asbs subb andux, revolunew ion devary ice called the Abflex.

For thousands of years,

♀
(↕)
♂
♪♥♫
That way, even I stay confused

Honestly intelligent people sometimes deserve to sound important.

People can end up sounding too important. I want nothing to do with that.
2:3:8M exactly

Instinctual, reactionary speech is the most meaningful to people. Instinctual words are
low and simple and move people on a lower level, near the hips like the throbbing ride of a
bass guitar’s dance. Soul is driven by this bass.

Refinement, complexity, all come with the restriction of low instinct through cognition
and inclination towards self-critisism.

There is a point along the way, near the end, where you can appreciate anything. You
have to absorb through the bad to get to the good. Not much I could expect in the beginning,
the very beginning
409
(2004-06-11 00:06) - public

Drug through the mud, laughed on a broken swing.

The time I select is then, when I only had me.
When I could jump up so hard, my soul would leave my body,
only to fall back down to my little body.

Etc etc, dramatic imagery.

silentwinds (2004-06-12 00:02:26)

Hey, new icon. I like it.

(2004-06-12 02:45) - public

Hot down,
Sweating while she eats
Vulgar lesbians drip between
The rolling wave of deep sea carries
All the pulling and pushing of a lover

swarms (2004-06-12 07:34:27)

I must say I absolutely love your new livejournal picture. It’s simply divine.

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-12 10:58:38)

Aint that just the shiznit? I got him drunk, and he screeeeeeeams! The kids tho... they always just
make him cry... he fears what they do to him in his sleep.

(2004-06-13 02:06) - public

I can’t walk here, My heart is racing. Everything is rushing, I hear another machine coming. I
feel disconnected, this same crash close and far.

Rising, faster, the metal thrashes about violently, the clanking motors and chains like thunder
as I crawl through the red dust towards the muddle voices by the rusty worn cliffside. The blood
from my hands burns on the hot as the terror subsides, the machine’s anger more distant now.

The voice, resonating clearly, comes through a different channel far below. I turn my
head to sense, straining to understand the speech through the pounding thunderous tension
still looming over in the distance. I hear music, distorted, but whose rhythm is definate. So
long since I have heard music, beautiful, laughter echoing through the ancient canyon. The
cool wind from far below carries the sound of insects. I do not know this place, darker now,
alone, the singing and dancing continues long into the night.
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(2004-06-15 02:42) - public

Slurpie is what we called him back then. Golf went to the Happy Reader, but twice as high I
go with the taking of a look...Too.

Quotations from "Trouble In Doggy Land:"

"There is trouble here. I’ve got the shakes and have covered my legs with my own vomit."

"I smell trouble, hurry, hide the Doggy Meth"

"Woa! You’re in big trouble when the Dog Father gets home!"

"Oh shit, I forgot my Mexican!"

Tax credits, shut your mouth. The soul wont put up the dough. Am I still writing?

Tax credits, Trevor Belmont, The cat, bat, bird perrenial energy rub for personal pleasure.

Tax credits *applause* ....

cough*...

...

the2minh8 (2004-06-15 11:03:42)

it’s too bad you are dead to me when not living within a two-hour drive. i keep thinking, "forget about
him; he’s dead."

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-15 12:01:15)

Ha, he is dead all the time anyhow. Any questions? ;-P

turboswami (2004-06-15 14:05:13)

Maybe you just arent driving fast enough. They have medication for the Lightfoot, Gordo. Check it
out and get back to me, get right back to me.

(2004-06-17 02:55) - public

Alone, I am recharged. Alone, from all these people that drain my personality of its vigor and
my mind of its creativity. Socialization, while being our peak and purpose, is secondary to self
and its silent calm. I want to lock the door, I want to leave their noisy stress.

What is the relationship between creativity and isolation? Between introversion and in-
tellect?

I must become a brittle ego if I am to make a lasting impression in this moist sand. A
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ghost cannot leave his mark and here, beside myself, I cannot feel in touching or desire in
loving. Empty of presence, no carriage to role, my company left lonely as they speak through
their host.

Too Many Cheers, the good times are killing me.

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-17 07:57:07)

Fine, lock doors, hide from me. The truth. Be alone, cuz deep inside, that is all I want permenently.
The times have already killed me, you have killed me. What is the relationship between creativity and
isolation? Between introversion and intellect?—- Easy, be alone now. For the rest of your life. Dont
talk to me, touch me, nothing. If I am just a drag, and drain you of everything, then goodbye and
move on. I don’t want you anymore.

(2004-06-18 07:58:50)
you guys are weird.

(2004-06-18 08:59:54)
I agree.

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-18 09:39:33)

Me too... I agree even. Sad eh? Yea, I thought so too... I always said we had to be one of the weirdest
couples around... now I believe it. Along with all the drama, all is well now. I just suck at getting to
the point of what is REALLY wrong because I am afraid to get yelled at. The medicine is beginning to
work... ( I still refuse to think I need it.)

the2minh8 (2004-06-18 09:28:34)

if i, in my limited knowledge and intellectual abilities, am to understand your feeling here correctly,
then i concur. i am deathly afraid of being absorbed into a union that is larger than myself, because it
is larger than myself and there is not any room for my own self in it. i am keeping parts of myself alive
merely by talking about them, because the doing has become impossible. there is a bootleg of one
minute, thirty seconds of my cover of digital going around. marc k. has it now, and soon so will james
w. and perhaps jason p. i am more a producer and musician now than ever before, and just wait until
msu gives me a fucking laptop. i’ve lost my turntables to other concerns. the next three years of my
life are devoted to coming out the other side with stacks of money you could use as a trampoline. i
said to james last night at the skinny puppy show, "it’s very awkward to run into someone you used
to know well, and you know their life has gone down hill or is headed down hill." i feel that while i am
"up and coming" as a member of this culture at large, i am at the same time "down and going" as a
member of myself. on a line graph, the two lines would form a sort of "is less than" (<), assuming
the two identities were ever really one and the same. i want to build you a new music production
computer that would be used for nothing else. i can accomplish this for $600. then i want you to start
slowly switching over to sonar as your preferred production tool. imagine being able to edit every
track, every effect, every midi note and every wave of another man’s song. well, just as i would love
to get ahold of your material for this, i would love just as well for you to get ahold of my material for
this. i can see i’ve overstayed my welcome.

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-18 09:41:55)

Hey hey Ted... you have not overstayed your welcome... as a matter of fact, I bet on it that the next
convo with Kal will be about sonar. Music... there is an unexpiring welcome for... you should know
this... but then again, you do not live with the man... I see it WAY too much for health. Good luck with

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 your musics... may they be loud!

biscuitboy (2004-06-18 09:42:11)

Booooooring! And where are your back-up comments from that quiz thing?

turboswami (2004-06-19 00:43:29)

You are welcome to overstay the welcome more often. I want to learn Sonar, although, it is less easy
to pick up by pushing buttons than Cool Edit was. I will be able to burn DVDs of all previous sessions,
with individual .wav tracks, for whoever wants to fiddle. Generally, my backlog of unfinished projects
have good rhythm sections and generally at least one or two changes developed. Vocals, however,
are a rarity. I do have a computer used specifically for sound generation. It uses all outdated old
versions of programs, but does well for what it is for. If Sonar has .wav tracks and these tracks all
begin from a single point, these sessions can be reinterpreted through cool edit. If multiple start
points are cued between tracks, however, this becomes more difficult.

the2minh8 (2004-06-20 18:25:31)

it would take a little finnagling, but i could work out waving everything from the start. in fact, it
would be minimal work since i usually work with six or fewer tracks. all i’d have to do would be add
silence to the beginning of each track. i’ll work on it. later.

(2004-06-18 05:06) - public

Slipped out of my tight bed and into my bathrobe, out the door without shoes. The 3:55 wet
dew grass was cold on my bare feet between my porch and my truck; the windows thick with
the moist morning. And so, I came to realize I was driving around downtown Ishpeming in my
bathrobe at 4 in the morning and suprised even myself, how refreshing!

McDonald Resturaunt’s hot french fries and soft cola drink as I watched the sky lighten
shady backlots where highway truckers turn their lights low to sleep. They are not so fresh as
myself or my hot french fries and I wished very much to hold my truck horn near to freshen
them quickly. I ate my hot french fries and left, leaving my mark with so much fast cardboard.

I will slip back out of my bathrobe and squeeze tightly back into her arms without her
knowing I even slipped. If she happens to smell me, I will smell fresh to her. *poot*

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-18 09:28:21)

Ok that’s it mister. No more food for you... no sammaches or nuttin. You leave to get food... I was
gunna go to BK, but you go to McD’s and get me nothin? I will not be bringin you any food... I would
have left too, but you have my side of the bed! Fucker.

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-18 09:31:10)

Actually, I retract that last comment... I am not the one with a growing subsection of myself... fast
might I add, due to midnight foodness... Leave me out of your fat food adventures... I wanna be pretty...

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3.7 July

(2004-07-24 04:38) - public

On time, this writing business is running into some real problems. Definately lost something
to the experiment, something big and meaningful-like.

As I carried siding, I floated from negative energy and Ron, seeing me float, pretended.
Dad layed steaks into a wheelbarrow of slushy dog piss and we fought. He mentioned A.
Hardon. harder and harder, tensions flaired and I saw him as myself, but up further from
where the through me, my negative energy propelled me like the meeting of two positive
magnets.

Beginning second and I then said I fear I think things that I should not and there was a
pause and a metaphore struggle admitting more than they once did.

I dreamed of two dogs, corresponding to two women, for horizontal and vertical; both
digging in fighting one another in their direction. Each created the same hole in the same hill,
I caused it all and Ron sensed it....

I re-entered (PPPHHTT! JUST LIKE THAT!)

(2004-07-25 03:42) - public

Fed gulls today, Ignored a visitor I had invited over, and spent time with a strange man who has
not used drugs. From this point forward, I shall refer to these types of strange people as the
"Purely Strange" and refer to my own strangeness as, at very least, Impurely Developed with,
Perhaps, a Biological basis in the Purely Strange. I will also Adopt a technique of Ambiguous
and/or seemingly random Word capitalization.

Six Wives countdown to the present, waiting for their time. Each one I will love, except
Susan, Of course. She never had a chance of a ghost, She never goes ahead of a chance, She
never had a Ghost of a chance. Culturally-Extreme is a term now used to Describe Minorities.
I coined the Term in the 9th grade While creating The Song "Culturally Extreme Diner" and
Have hated the term ever since since.

Sin sees through us, manifested without, with external influence.

(2004-07-25 03:55) - public

I cant seem to get out of this depressing, gothic, creepy vocal style. Its quite the rut and,
after three attempts at writing somewhat more concrete, lighthearted vocal parts for my new
industa-funk song, this is the best I have come up with:

"Come down through these hallways woven.

Far beneath their sunlit land. *substitute their for your
Lulled to sleep on my cold soft breath,
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Your clouded reason drifts into my hand. *substitute ’into my hand’ w/ ’b/t my hands’

There inside..."

I dont understand why I made these dark angry songs when I typically enjoy the bouncy
electro blips of DEVO, TMBG, and Gary Numan. I also am unhappy with the lyrics, and my
writing altogether these last 4 months or so. I have fallen into a creative slump encompassing
all expression’s fronts. I dont know how to get out, maybe a daily routine of toe touches
followed by a strenuous set of sit ups.

(2004-07-29 03:19) - public

Very much honoured mechanism of cordial thanks! Cordial fact mechanism and in order to
contribute, in order to publicise, an old column is extended. The salary greener style genuinely
changes a man, the principle of each new passion.

Our mechanism examines everything at fact into form. In the broader sense, convincing
arguments simplified for better service.

60 Euros plus post office tax expenditures, priority shipping, quality service.

(2004-07-30 01:47) - public

I have inhaled an unusually large amount of lead paint dust this week and feel dull, numb, and
stupid...even moreso than usual. Are the effects of lead on the brain strictly developmental,
effecting children only, or are there detrimental or irreversible effects on the adult brain as
well?

iztyme2ryde (2004-06-30 13:19:27)

You let that get to you way too much. I think your cognitive difficulties are from the lack of weed in
your life... you say you don’t write so well and all that jazz now..... connect the two ever?

3.8 August

(2004-08-07 04:17) - writing - public

Music: Leonard Cohen - Songs From A Room

Sweet Lazy Men, we must maintain rigid pose even when we feel alone and move quick
when the eyes of others cannot be seen. They wait for your inevitable slump back down into
whatever shape may carry but, brothers, we must remain strong, poised, confident until the
weekend releases us to entertainment’s soft expanse.

Grieve now! Mourn the loss of warm rubber buttons and digits of every imaginable taste or
mood. That is time too expensive to attempt; we are not so rich as we were then, sweet lazy
children of mist and shadow.
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(2004-08-07 04:47) - public

You who I cannot repay, I stutter as if searching for a lie. Absent king without a child, absent
for days and days, you who have never ventured out into that torturous side, your nights
nights are so long and so cold.

Do not leave me, not now. You can never feel the pain and suffering of the black man,
you can never know or feel "The Blues (c)."

I need you to kill our child. I need you to be naked for me again as I leave you again. I
need you to kill your girl before it opens its eyes to see your loving face. I need you to take
my fist again and wipe your blood. I need and need, again and again, only. I won and you are
mine to use, to discard fat and old, thoughtless into the blizzard’s forest trail. Hide your eyes,
too low, too needy, from mine. Come to bed for the last time.

(2004-08-11 02:36) - public

I recorded 55 minutes of crowd ambience today at Negaunee, Michigan’s Pioneer Day Festival,
at the fireworks show. By placing the highly sensitive electret microphone in a black sock and
squeezing this sock into a zipper on my backpack, I was able to carry my minidisc recorder
around the crowded beach, manouvering through bubbling cliques of teenagers and angry
rednecks alike, capturing coherent conversations too faint for the naked human ear to detect.

Sweet creeps, gather your perversion around my space. I have come to love your bad
reputation and the rumors of your botched lonely nights spent active. Exchanging business
cards with the hand opposite the one recording, we will will Bills to Richard, Dick came and he
whent. Quick, its do or die, Boom Boom! To Smitherines.

(2004-08-14 05:42) - public

The sweet nodding warm emotion, so quickly and easily made hot. I hear all of the subtle
thoughtless side...

I JUST HEARD A WOMANS VOICE COME FROM THE SPEAKER WHEN GIVING GREAT THOUGHT
TO HOW TO DESCRIBE WHAT I HEAR, IN THE ABOVE SENTANCE IN THE MIDDLE OF TYPING THE
LONG CONSIDERED WORD "THOUGHTLESS," THE WOMAN ME AND TEASHA HAVE COME TO
HEAR WAS HEARD TO SAY "...COME..." WHERE A MUFFLED WORD COULD NOT BE MADE OUT
BEFORE "COME."

I feel as though these observers of subtle realms have thoughts, voiced like our own in-
ner thoughts, which can sometimes be carried on the ambient noise or other environmental
sounds which we, for the most part, disregard or play little attention to in our everyday waking
conscious state. This environmental ambience, however, does carry energy and, we are to
assume, this environemnt and its energy extend downwards through all aspects of that world
external to us, perceivable and not perceivable to us. So, then, like a string dangled deep
below the surface of the water where we cannot see, we are distantly connected to that
activity at that depth and can, if acutely attentive, become aware of a fish tugging at that line
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far down below where we can never see.

And, perhaps, there is something of transcendence implied in talking to the howling wind, or
the laughing brook; of listening to the white-capped rapids and feeling a connection to some-
thing greater, deeper, spiritual. This is the connection to that beyond us which environmental
noise, white, pure noise, implies. It makes sense, then, that me and Teasha, eventually, could
only hear the voices of of that man and woman when lying in the "spiritually-active" bed with
the air conditioner fan running. As if, at first, the spirits "surfaced" from the depths of unseen
externality and made themselves known and heard loudly. But, then, as they receded further
back, they could be heard less and less, only on the crashing carriage of white-capped noise.

I believe that further developments in the measurement of subtle energies will reveal
these legitimate perceptions, deemed deep and spiritual, as relevant cues of something, like
the weather, which is just beyond our natural capacity of perception.

A study was done which involved the measurement of electrical activity on the surface
of the skin and pictures. It was shown that, moments before we are shown a disturbing or
frightening picture chosen randomly by a computer, there is a sudden rise in the electrical
activity on our skin which does not take place before the showing of calming or neutral pictures.
This implies that the connection we share with all beneath that external is something bound
internally as well and also involves time.

Similarly, what we have come to call randomidity, all systems in motion which we have
not the capacity to comprehend, is also predetermined by this inner)outer) realm and its
subtle perception. Random number generators, which produce so called "random" numbers
by monitoring high-frequency environmental radio noise, are not random but change with
human stressors and the stress caused by them; general excitement and the intensity of
attention. Over 30 of these random number generators were monitored around the world
during the tramatic hours surrounding 9-11 and were show to peak in "variance" or become
especially Noisey. That is to say, the size of numbers, positive and negative, became very
high, as the crest and trough of the waves monitored became suddenly more intense. It was
theorized this was somehow related to human thought, but, by my new understanding of
environmental noise, I know this is, in fact, related to the variance which necessetates human
speech, or its residue, the voiced inner thought, which remains after death.

(2004-08-16 02:44) - public

I’m taking a casual tally of those who agree and disagree with my reaction to a binding
situation tonight:

Would you let someone use your monitor and keyboard if they, in turn, take them and
block you from using the computer they are on? She had been sharing like a nice girl, and I
was careful to use the desktop only when she was not and had no intention to. She changed
the password for all users, leaving me feeling stupid for letting her use things of mine when
she, herself, had no intention to return the favor. Seemed like the end of a simple exchange
executed rationally and without anger. I feel it was a sound judgement, seeing no reason to
continue sharing with someone who does not like to share back.

I took my monitor back. I dont feel I was in the wrong. If I am told otherwise, I will ac-
417
cept the fact that people in the right share with people who don’t share, regardless of how
stupid or humiliating it feels to beg for use.

gawthspork (2004-07-16 09:25:34)

i, like many others, value my right to privacy. with that said: one should consider all aspects of the
situation before jumping to some sort of rash decision. was the changing of passwords some sort
of kneejerk reaction–perhaps a decision similar to the one you made in turn? also: what makes you
so angry about not being able to use said computer? just a curious question, considering that you
obviously have your own.

iztyme2ryde (2004-07-17 00:16:33)

He also did not point out that the internet on this computer he does not help me pay for. It is MINE.
And he got mad cuz I was using it when he wanted to. Doesn’t make sense... what about the Tv and
DVD player I share... he is dumb.

silentwinds (2004-07-16 16:16:45)

I always like to share, but if passwords that were mine are changed Id be reluctant to let the person
use the computer again. If I were to, Id monitor them and if anything is messed up again Id throw a
bitch fit and ban them from ANY usage. But thats just me... Im a girl and can get away with it :)

silentwinds (2004-07-16 20:21:14)

I must add .. since its most likely about your gal... I miss her being online.

iztyme2ryde (2004-07-17 00:15:48)

Thank you! Some one misses me! He also did not point out that the internet on this computer he
does not help me pay for. It is MINE. And he got mad cuz I was using it when he wanted to. Doesn’t
make sense... what about the Tv and DVD player I share... he is dumb.

terminalpudding (2004-07-16 22:00:09) Sharing is Caring!

Did we learn sharing in kindergarden...?

iztyme2ryde (2004-10-08 01:22:00)

yea, return favors, yet you can’t give me another chance, after all the fucking favors I have done for
you. it is time you learn to be responsible for your actions. I no longer regret calling the cops... nor
the other mis haps that are not yet complete...

(2004-08-17 05:07) - public

Like a time in July, a day packed with talk on drugs as much of. Towards the end, they stared
off and I kept quiet as I waited for them to slap their knees as they stood. Pleasant, useless
sharing and a process of relating through music on my rhythm. I like these friendly sorts and
their rumors of me. I like working with my hands amongst the people, really feeling the soul
between my fingers. Its gets me in touch with the nature of society, else I may forget the
spring and fall of the relationship.

Too man, me. I grabbed it up and fled the town, a time set, much wine to get. I felt a
thousand hot seconds and released a moist drop for every one, notated in excessive red. I
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tapped the attention getter from his collection and shared quickly amongst the cage. There is
no care of thin bars now, enterntained they nod off on my sedative gift.

Obligated life guard, quick to strip and dive. I am a ten gallon black

towards

Marlon Brando’s mother

scuttle from the light, scraping shell claw. Toe black in white snow, cut cut last in the
cold sun where blind I submit.

(2004-08-20 02:48) - public

All dried up on this side, thanks. The time I spend with these lowly hand-me-downs, dragging
myself down to the dull edge. Anger! A flash and a knife, he is sitting in the backseat of the
Jeep with his head nestled tight between the cheeks of his ass. Cheap rum and a set of fine
woodworking scalples.

Dark road and the wood’s spirits howl, half human, as they savage towards the vehicle.
Vivid, a ghoulish white figure approaches from the right, hands outstretched. This is reality,
the reality of a 6 year old boy 4am Sunday morning as his drunken father weaves ...

a sweater

along snow down and back through wooded and plowed dirt. Mom is through yelling
and focuses on the radio.

2x=2x+x (x=2,5,7,*5)

iztyme2ryde (2004-07-20 11:17:39)

You get into math, I am putting you in a cage.

swarms (2004-07-20 14:30:56)

it’s been a while since I’ve done math of any description, but I think you’re equation is worthless in
every way, unless x=0.

(2004-08-22 03:15) - public

I’ve got these big bawling muscles and limbs, made for climbing Spanish guys and high
mountains. I’ve decided to win, I’ve decided to ride my terror to the win.

Mountain man, Spanish mountain, make your move!

I havent been outside for 3 days. I fake creativity badly now that I am on food stamps.

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silentwinds (2004-07-22 08:23:07)
From what I heard, the lil lady has them and buys food for you. I dont know if that makes the idea any
better or worse for you. Your posts are still oddly creative though... if that makes you feel any better.

swarms (2004-07-23 11:28:49) Five Great CD’s From the Pioneers of Industrial Music
1. Throbbing Gristle’s 20 Jazz Funk Greats 2. Einsturzende Neubauten’s Strategies Against Architecture
80-83 3. Cabaret Voltaire’s 2 X 45 4. Skinny Puppy’s Bites 5. Front 242’s Front by Front What do you
think?

turboswami (2004-07-25 13:30:31) Re: Five Great CD’s From the Pioneers of Industrial Music
Strategies is a Best Of, so perhaps an actual album, maybe Zeichnugen de Patienten or whatever,
their second album. To use the word "Pioneers" would be incorrect if describing the "2nd gener-
ation" groups, like Front 242 and your fangled Puppy band. A true pioneer would be 23 Skidoo
or, even further back, Faust’s aggressively experimental self titled debut. A pioneering effort, fo’
shua. Other 1st generation pioneers to consider, Nocturnal Emissions, definately Chrome, anything
with a debut album before 1980. My personal favorite is the DAF’s "The Small and the Evil," even
though they never released english versions of their albums, its very angry, but clingy Industrial rock.

turboswami (2004-07-25 13:30:39) Re: Five Great CD’s From the Pioneers of Industrial Music
Strategies is a Best Of, so perhaps an actual album, maybe Zeichnugen de Patienten or whatever,
their second album. To use the word "Pioneers" would be incorrect if describing the "2nd generation"
groups, like Front 242 and your fangled Puppy band. A true pioneer would be 23 Skidoo or, even
further back, Faust’s aggressively experimental self titled debut. A pioneering effort, fo’ shua. Other
1st generation pioneers to consider, Nocturnal Emissions, definately Chrome, anything with a debut
album before 1980. My personal favorite is the DAF’s "The Small and the Evil," even though they
never released english versions of their albums, its very angry, but clingy Industrial rock. Hope this
helps.

swarms (2004-07-27 01:00:26) Re: Five Great CD’s From the Pioneers of Industrial Music
Hello Lansing Noise, First, I would like to say that your paper entertains me when the cracker factory
drives me to it. I take pride in the fact that I can force upstanding literature down my throat, but
sometimes it wears, and I turn to info-ramming (e.g. journalism) for my entertainment. I like to turn
to your Top 5 sections to see how many of the suggested media I own. I’d like to consider myself a
writer, but that may just be a trick to get myself to keep tickling these keys. ANYWHO, a friend of
mine, Kaleb Smith, has written a couple Top 5 music choices for you folks. He said you were decent
people to write for. This is why I am writing you. I would be delighted to write some pretentious
(I say this because it seems like when writing about music one should be pretentious) Top 5’s in
music. I don’t have any previously published pieces to show you, but I have done some writing
for sundry underground publications. I own over 1,000 CD’s of every description. I am a college
graduate, so I am able to write my way out of a wet paper bag. The main Top Five I’ve been tinkering
with is the Top Five Industrial Pioneers. It would include the following albums: Throbbing Gristle’s
"20 Jazz Funk Greats", Einsturzende Neubauten’s "Strategies Against Architecture 80-83", Cabaret
Voltaire’s "2 x 45", Skinny Puppy’s "Bites", and Front 242’s "Front by Front". I have other possible Top
5’s: Old School Punk (i.e. Black Flag, Dead Kennedys, Crass), Underground Hip Hop (Cannibal Ox,
Anti-Pop Consortium, cLOUDDEAD), Noise (Merzbow, Sonic Youth, Venetian Snares), Drum and Bass
(Dieselboy, Goldie, Roni Size), Hardcore Techno, and IDM. Just give me a couple days notice, and I
can give you a first-rate article that would put Rolling Stone to shame (well, nowadays, what doesn’t
put Rolling Stone to shame, eh?). Now for business: I am not very busy this summer, so I would
be willing to write regularly if you’ll have me. I can write for a nominal fee, as well. I have a huge

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 ego, so just seeing my article in a paper would satisfy me. I am always coming up with good ideas.
So, let me know if you are interested in my services, and I will direct my thought power toward the
betterment of your paper. Until then, I will remain, Quixotically, James Warmels 140 Gunson East
Lansing, MI 48823 swarms909@gmail.com I was thinking I would like to turn some folks on to Skinny
Puppy and Front 242, so I should probably reword the list to just be five old school industrial bands.
Or perhaps, James’s Half-Assed Attempt at Sounding Like He Knows Anything About Music. I guess it
is kind of a faux pas to have a best of compilation, but it seems like if you are going to own anything
by Neubauten it should be Strategies. Thanks for the input.

Providing Proof For The Existence of the Residual Self (2004-08-25 04:24) - public

So, what do druggie people say nowadays? Northern Lights were beautiful tonight, and
especially thoughtful, the radio picking up their varying pitches, the waves of visible Elec-
tromagnetic frequency coursing upward; a streaming, fluid entity. How is it that the unseen
spectrum’s realm of energy can so suddenly be made visible by a distant sun’s scattered
photons? Revealed to travel pole-ward in a firey flash, an invisible yet powerfully radiant
surface finally surfacing along the naked edge of our perception, enlightening our ignorance
of what was once mere darkness.

This unseen energy is one with Energy, seen and unseen, which spirals through scales
of spectrums through the depths of all material and magnetic phases. It is safe to say this
all-encompassing Energy is carriage of our closest unseen realm, that of our Residual Self, the
afterlife. Thought, itself, is subject to unseen phase energy; Lunacy, the waving crest and
trough frequency of the moon’s pull, is our mere bobbing along the fluid emotional response
to that pulling high and it’s respective low.

This thought, then is beyond the body and is affected by the same subtle forces which
affect the surroundings. Thought, being beyond the body, then, is, at at least the deep,
subconscious level of lunar gravitation, is independent of the body and exists beyond its func-
tioning. This unconscious "Residue" of consciousness gradually becomes more independent
from the body as Thought drifts further away from Surface Consciousness down deeper toward
the far end point along the cyclic spectrum, unconscious death.

Unresolved Issues (2004-08-26 21:32) - public

Last night, minutes after I laid next to her, my girlfriend, seemingly awake, began to speak
in tongues. She did this for several seconds, forming more than 2 complete sentances, and
became completely quiet again. She had never done anything like this in the two years of my
sleeping next ot her.

I remember drifting towards sleep near 5:30 AM, this incident happening at around ten
minutes prior. Inbetween sleep, I felt guided through scenes of a funeral and the family of the
deceased. The family was that of an old friend, Don Langson, who had left my house a bit
over an hour previous. This dead person, named Tom, was a brother or male relative of Don’s
Mother, Anne, and was very angry about something being hidden between family members
after his death.

421
I was made, in the dream, to write down all the answers he gave me for Anne in the
dream and awoke with several key phrases of his in my mind which I had been made to write.
I was awoken by my girlfriend nudging me upward from the bed with her elbow in a beckoning
tone, as if pushing me to write it down immediately.

I hesitated for several seconds, and she moaned questioningly "Hmmm?" and a man’s
voice echoed "What?!" angrily. With all this pressure to write down what I was told, I got out
of bed and got a pad of paper from the living room and wrote all that I could:

"Unseen picture, Don’s mother.

Tom’s family –
-Verbal cover up after death of brother."

It was a very intense experience and I could not sleep afterwards, even though I wanted
to write more. Teasha continued to vent Tom’s frustration, although no full sentances were
uttered again, she would respond to my dreamstate angrily for him and once even put both
arms into the air in complete frustration with my inability to communicate further.

3.9 September

(2004-09-03 03:43) - public

This night howls later and later, the unseen morning’s brilliant shimmer through dream’s
interpretation, while knocks and rings mean not a thing to we who quietly hide.

Newly nocturnal, our moist pupils open wide eating the clear night life on carpet to sand. Clear
again, but older now, with the thin mist of those people still visiting after unexpected rain,
following their long, dramatic goodbye, extended as service requires.

Fort night’s court, the self judgement eating within my defense. I have learned to com-
fort myself through another, no longer rocking myself to sleep alone. I have learned to release
stupidity to the world, and punish it much less than I did in the second grade. Duller, yes, but
the weight of those manners, however strong was forced to become, would have driven me
farther into the ground more quickly.

My thinly worn self is all the rage, so popular in fact, I consider wearing him myself. I
cannot pretend to be him, his frequent, hollow laugh made me quiver with disgust. I am twice
the man he is, heavier with layers I hardened over him to hide.

And, these fatal friends come knocking through with memories blazing to be loved. In-
nocent once, in filth they recall, attention looped back in an aging cycle they share with the
floor under my table like sickness.

theloniouszen (2004-08-03 13:05:05)

Hey, messiah. I’m back in town for the month (till sept. 9 when I go off to Franceland) and if you
want to play I’m not working, however today I got my tonsils ripped from my body so I won’t be up for
anything for the next week.

422
(2004-09-04 02:15) - public

This place I occupy is unclean. I am occupied by crude defensive noise, reminding me of

the2minh8 (2004-08-04 07:12:20)

so un-occupy it, you monster raving loony!

iztyme2ryde (2004-08-07 22:43:36)

are you suggesting he kill himself? Allow me.

(2004-09-06 02:37) - public

I’ve got all these little sick things that are growing. I’ve got more than I used to, since I laid
down. Like that fucking rotting sun and its burning mirror or something. You know, like I hate
to look at myself.

Umm...like, I’ll get up, right? And then its all downhill, you know, except when I’m creaming
all over myself. But, then I feel guilty, and its bad again, like, you know...I CAN BUY AND SELL
terrorist blow job anti-protection order.

And then I go to the kitchen and I find things a part of me doesnt like and then I ignore
a part of me. Maybe the part of me which doesnt like what I find, but possibly a similar part
with things disliked overlapping. There was some talk of a LEVEL 5, green EAT SHIT SMIT EAT
SHIT SMIT the second one was bigger.

(2004-09-09 04:32) - public

Ignoring a hiding man in a strangers room, the pulse quickens to power the reeling mind.
Maintain poise, ensuring that my eyes remain fixed forward, his gaze a burning pain tugging
for attention on the right side of my face from the dark closet.

I am ready to confront him. I stand and face the dark for long seconds, hesitant to speak. "I
kn/EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..."

The shrill scream, like red feedback, suffocates my open lips, drowning the thought they
were to carry. The intensity, the firey dark flashed open, my eyes flailing back, unable to stand
being seen. Convulsing as he monitored through the pain, speaking through cyclic frequency,
I faded below consciousness, dangling limp from his string of sound.

I saw all the current rush over and through me, a knot in a shimmering flow which quickened.

I pulled that little black bastard out of the closet and beat his fucking head in! Piped
that little fuck down with a KNUCKLE SAMMICH!
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(2004-09-13 04:08) - public

Further Words From The Future:

"A Squid Eating Dough In a Polyethylene Bag is FAST and BULBOUS, GOT ME?!"

(2004-09-13 04:36) - public

I sat this week out. Figured I’d wait inside for things out there to calm down, but they never do.

Aunt B’s hands were clammy cold sleepy strange as they slid beneath the covers to
tuck me into bed special. She knew just where to touch me to make me feel all good and
nervous inside. Nothing came out back then, but my smile told her it was all there, regardless,
and that was all that mattered. She said it was "practice," but I knew better. I saw how excited
she got with me right before and knew that the love we shared was a special kind, not like
brother and sister, but like the kind of love you have alone and secret.

Twice, I started to cry and she would stop. The first time she yelled loud, called me bad
and said my dad would be very angry when he found out. The second time, she hit me on my
face, but like a slap. I was a good boy after that and Aunt B said she was very proud of me
when it was done. I peed the bed that night too.

When ghosts fell far to my pillows dark side, it was Aunt B they told me. I was afraid,
but they werent angry at me. There was a lady there and her voice was nice and I felt good
and wasnt afraid anymore. It was good for me, but there were some that didnt have good
voices.

When the bath got cold in the dark, I felt a memory from long long ago, from before I
saw. It was something that made me feel very afraid, like I was dying, and I would cry for it
to go away for mom to make it not dark. I feel cold when I cant see anything and its from my
other time before.

I know some things about the before time I know from dreaming. I can tell when those
people from before time are watching and they wait for me to sleep so I can hear them, and
then they scream. And laugh and talk, but I hate the girl that screams, but she screams angry
at my Aunt B, but she cant hear.

(2004-09-15 02:32) - public

The first night alone since our return; the first day of our return, me, in a state of lucid
suggestablility, hitting Teasha many times quickly in the face, I become nervous. Near sleep,
on the edge of awareness in that same state of lucid suggestability, I was suddently bolted
into movement, my whole body shaking violently as I lie victim, without control, within. For
many long seconds, my body was shook back and forth, the force external force tight around
my hips, pushing from behind. I was shook so forcefully and quickly from my hips, the whole
bed moved with me, as if I was being shaken awake to remain tense, waiting in my bed.

When I was able to move my limbs, I moved my arms and quickly turned onto my back
424
so that whatever was pushing me from behind would stop. There was a sound of movement,
first, on the bed behind me and, second, on the side of the room near the computer. I felt
very numb and cold tingles ran up my legs and, strangely, my ass too was very numb. I was
crying. I had been laying in bed for 40 minutes, it was 5:20.

Near 6:15, I was forced awake again with a second, less intense, shaking episode at the
edge of sleep. I would lay in bed, listening to movement, trying to remain calm.

I feel that the spirits in this home sense fear, that it fuels their interaction in some cases. That
as tense awareness of them fades before sleep, they notice its absence and may awaken the
fearful individual, in this case by violently shaking them, so that they continue being tensely
aware their presence.

Dreams were intensely interactive and involved speech from within the room.

I spent 6 years alone in this house, alone in my bed every night in an empty house, in
the abandoned "haunted’ upstairs bed. There was not a single episode of anything curious
occuring. Now, I cower downstairs, a victim of strange forces that move about from room to
room, watching and interacting with me, since that first night nearly 10 months ago.

(2004-09-17 06:18) - public

Garsh! Zany "If" times are ending in the pair room. She showed me her baggage quickly when
no one else at the banquet table was looking, and I took them in a man to man. What relief!
You could see it beneath her face.

Feman smiles intelligently, a limp wrist angled towards the nipple of a plastic breast,
worn. Comparing the tight pale skin of his chest to that of the off-tan shaded plastic tahtahs
overlapping his own much flatter versions, his night life was accented.

The nighttime sniffling sneezing up all night medicine was layed out in three lines on
the mirrored coffee table in this strange neo-space age bachelor pad he called his studio. In
fortunate porkies he left his mark, occationally rechecking his territory on lower days. He was
edging headlong into a fully unblown lower week and called me trying to hide the fact.

Yellow 6, the grand Jap porn series, was themed around the wild west shootout. The
line always got

OH GOD THE PAINT!!

theloniouszen (2004-08-17 09:36:10)

I available I not injured

turboswami (2004-08-22 01:06:26)

I have finished recording Hero Point Zero, and may be getting another band named, ahem, Balls
Deep, or some mixing done Monday. I leave on the 26th. When can you come?

425
(2004-09-18 19:09) - public

Ignoring a hiding man in a strangers room, the pulse quickens to power the reeling mind.
Maintain poise, ensuring that my eyes remain fixed forward, his gaze a burning pain tugging
for attention on the right side of my face from the dark closet.

I am ready to confront him. I stand and face the dark for long seconds, hesitant to speak. "I
kn/EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..."

The shrill scream, like red feedback, suffocates my open lips, drowning the thought they
were to carry. The intensity, the firey dark flashed open, my eyes flailing back, unable to stand
being seen. Convulsing as he monitored through the pain, speaking through cyclic frequency,
I faded below consciousness, dangling limp from his string of sound.

I saw all the current rush over and through me, a knot in a shimmering flow which quickened.

I pulled that little black bastard out of the closet and beat his fucking head in! Piped
that little fuck down with a KNUCKLE SAMMICH!

iztyme2ryde (2004-08-18 19:31:39)

What is with your entry... the date is fucked up, and the post has been here b4

(2004-09-19 04:51) - public

Run the courage time out, flowing for the kids in view. Cry down this mob, these angry sit-
ters. Trouble within the me a hi.stori. cal fact. Inability blaster, the blinding speed of mistakes.

Time to let it all out, here goes:

(2004-09-22 03:52) - public

All my sleepins been fudged! No dang wink to for all a week, but not sexual. Its come time to
grab up any ol bottle with spirits for tipin back for shut eye, but not drankin like drunk. Old
lady’s been up der wit dinners, but I’s been throwin them on the floor mostly. Reckon salts
been keepen me up chipper.

Down forth for the acid, got seein how alls us familys a Jesus like like connected with
through shakin. Its got the wavin and I saw what witches get with dang spirts. I got spooked
and shot my load off the front porch, four rounds round that buggers head got him given ’er
out off my damn land.

True, young Capsasin, true dat. Double dragons, one out of each of my eyes saw a
swell Sunday miracle, moons light clear bullet in my face, baptized forever.

f.
426
(2004-09-27 06:34) - public

Who floats above me in sleep, only to so quickly fall to my chest and frighten in awakening. I
convulse through my unconscious with eyes wide open, awakening with arms outstretched to
the sky, as if falling. It is not me who has changed so drastically this wounded year, but some
other, silent dividual in. Drive away the cold, he never wants to go home.

In Paradise, beneath and up through the pains of Hell, all once seen is burned away, all
of the surface forgotten. And, spread rising, no longer contained, one tends to be home,
sooner or later, becoming that which he once saw and singing softly through the sound of
water falling.

Since early spring, an infection has festered deep in both ears and, now, I fear I have
lost a portion of my ability to hear. The pain is frequent, stabbing and deep and the sound in
the right ear is comparable to having cotton wadded in the canal.

3.10 October

Song Sung by David Byrne In An Amish Fence Dream (2004-10-03 15:20) - public

But here I wander...all through the nah-ee-aight.

Pull hard to rise to both feet

only to float up through the wheat.
I’m on the new fence on the old trail
No longer bound to that grounded scale

But here I wander...all through the night

Sliding on a floyd poster, hey hey!

Sliding on the floyd poster, hey hey!

Each lyrical section to be dramatically different in tempo and instrumentation, sampled,

and cut precisely into sequence with percussive and tonal flourishes adorned to soften the
transitions.

(2004-10-06 15:45) - public

Crumbling loss, the jagged edge of

cliche cliche*

These long days of wallowing sloth, how can I learn to care again? I crush myself under
my own weight, dying to sleep.

"Trouble In Doggy Land," troublesome doggies...

427
Forth day hiding naked, occationally peeking out from the heat to make a strange re-
quest. Help, help. I need help. Call mom or a fireman to pull me out of this heat. I cant move,
I cant move.

Lyrics For Something (2004-10-10 06:16) - public

Time for tending before they face away. I follow led hugways to tension down below slowly
surfaced in shifted eyes. To ward forth direct action away from my brittle success. The
process of melting selve’s surface one of flashing fluid brilliance, a disolving of certainty and
its confident pride.

The trouble is my son,

every time slows to accept his stop
The virgin was on top
loud forgiving love’s gotta take a gun

And my body is an empty vase which invites your pain,

Taking of the fencives will, ignorance and strain.
But the fortune of the silent speech they drown alone.
Wanting to begin again with a lonely tone.

Get out while the wire is dull beneath the eyes still closed,
For sharper will it stab in seeing to pull within the fold.
In the fear of closer rage you run tonight without a home,
Time between your fight and mine rides through till night.

I wonder if they are any good...who can say for sure?

I troll kick King, I hate my lumbering stance and rum flavored face.

!! (2004-10-15 05:42) - public

(Here I am again...)
Shaking hands and smiling at the clock

For so much, decline, my self hate remains steady throughout. I remain fully conscious
of my stomach and complexion, with a secondary awareness of their appearance in the video
camera of the ground floor. I’ll have to stop Paxil if any creativity is to be expected at all this
semester.

Welp. Here goes:

Fortune smiles on the troubled young teen, his head full off big ideas with bigger posi-
tions to inflict some night. His Free Trial of the new FireSmile(c) Network had produced several
promising invites to sexy parties in the Metro Detroit area and, with his new nose, he had high
hopes for trying out his new velcro cock ring.
428
"Good tuna salad"
"Yea, I gotta go

(2004-10-16 21:59) - unhappy - public

Music: The Casionauts

Fucking bile gurgling up out of my mouth onto the proper forms the growing line of anger
requires.

Screaming rednecks slide greasy fingers into my eye as phones ring and Instant Mes-
sage windows ding again and again and again, pounding and pounding against my grit teeth.
Pounding and pounding against the throbbing hate that beats louder against the inner surface
of my skull.

Squelching orders, as I am addressed from all sides. Gouge out my eyes as I scream to
the sky. I tear open your fucking face and grind them into the gaping hole you cackling
whore!!

"You’re going to need to sign here...thank you."

Keep on smilin’

Smile hard, smile tight. Bend over further for the toothless white trash degenerate pri-
mate. Stomach boiling disgust until I daydream of genocide. Of washing my hands of the
sight of them.

moonlitvampyre3 (2004-09-22 06:35:25) An appology

Ok Kaleb, I wasn’t sure which one to comment on since what I have to say isn’t quite what you’ve
wrote about, but anywho, I want to say I’m sorry for ever saying anything about you and Teasha being
together. I have a boyfriend now, and alot of shit is happening with it, and I’m basically telling people
to fuck off. It doesn’t matter what they think, it matters what I think. So I am saying I’m sorry to you,
because I was in the wrong to ever have ever said anything at all about you. I hope you can accept it.

turboswami (2004-09-27 03:56:13) Re: An appology

Thanks. I’m sorry you had to experience the same treatment in order to sypathize, but am glad you
sympathize none the less. Maybe we can get to know eachother now.

iztyme2ryde (2004-09-28 07:03:25) Re: An appology

Thank you you two! Tis about time! Amanda, what did you think of this post? Ain’t he weird? Feel
the love heh.

(2004-10-27 06:53) - public

Who floats above me in sleep, only to so quickly fall to my chest and frighten in awakening. I
convulse through my unconscious with eyes wide open, awakening with arms outstretched to
429
the sky, as if falling. It is not me who has changed so drastically this wounded year, but some
other, silent dividual in. Drive away the cold, he never wants to go home.

In Paradise, beneath and up through the pains of Hell, all once seen is burned away, all
of the surface forgotten. And, spread rising, no longer contained, one tends to be home,
sooner or later, becoming that which he once saw and singing softly through the sound of
water falling.

Since early spring, an infection has festered deep in both ears and, now, I fear I have
lost a portion of my ability to hear. The pain is frequent, stabbing and deep and the sound in
the right ear is comparable to having cotton wadded in the canal.

biscuitboy (2004-09-27 18:48:00)

Are you serious? Have you seen a doctor?

turboswami (2004-09-27 20:30:30)

Yes, I did, but apparently the out of body experience is beyond their meager understanding of the
human form. He prescribed Nexium, a heartburn medication.

iztyme2ryde (2004-09-27 22:30:44)

Ha ha, that makes me laugh... at work... very loudly and obnoxious like... you know... like... well
you know.

(2004-10-29 02:35) - public

http://www.thisislondon.com/news/articles/13336034?source=Reuters

http://www.edu.rcsed.ac.uk/photoalbum/ph32.htm

Gramma always told me it was a raisin, that it was good for me. It shuar tasted funny
for a raisin, wunt no raisin I ever been tastin. Too big fer one thiing. I...you know...reckon..and
some junk. OMG! OMG! Tater fulla sweet corn,

hooo-wee! The general lee. I’ve got hams for a nominal fee.
Garsh and darnin, piggy faced darlin,
etc etc, colonoscopy.

iztyme2ryde (2004-09-29 00:04:29)

1) the beating thing is mean 2) the raisin thing, just sick... I mean hell, what is that?! 3) this is one of
the first posts you have seemed happy like. woot woot

biscuitboy (2004-09-29 04:28:32)

It’s called a prolapsed uterus. You heard it here first. Kaleb, that was the greatest poem ever. Now,
is "etc" intended to be pronounced fully as "et cetera" or spelled out as "E-T-C?" For you see, I have
noticed that each line rhymes with itself, thereby implying "E-T-C => Colonoscopy." Please advise.
This will be in a hip hop track someday.

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 iztyme2ryde (2004-09-29 08:17:18)
you are too smart for me Jason, and... that is so sick... looks like a dog’s penis hanging out of her?
vagina?

the2minh8 (2004-09-29 10:24:20)

it would be weirder and funnier if there were a baby clinging to it, with an expression on its face like
"what the F is going on here?"

iztyme2ryde (2004-09-29 14:08:02)

yea, but then I would be crying in the corner thinking... damn I hope that isn’t me when I am like
175. Ha ha, that is f-in sick to imagine... Kaleb, you should photoshop it like Ted is describing. I
would like to see this.

biscuitboy (2004-09-29 15:12:25)

Ted, you just made up for 9 hours of employment disillusionment. Thank you.

biscuitboy (2004-09-29 21:21:42)

Never mind, I just looked at the title of the explorer window for the picture; I guess it is a prolapsed
rectum. Yum. Don’t ask why I was looking again.

(2004-10-29 22:21) - public

Falling dull, I wait to block the sun.

...Pompous poetry, dramatic sounding fluff...

I’ve come down from the upper class to bend you rotten ways.
My father was a man of power who everyone obeyed.

This angry clock and its dealings draw trials as I sleep,

12 alarms lick dusty books of rules of palms which reap,

Lost, lost highway actress,

Empty your words over me.
Lost, lost in some purpose,
Sold to the eyes of this city.

The grey glass hides us from the crowd, from their wretched sun.
AS we ride out to find what’s gone, a past without caution.
When silence filled a present mind with perspectives of height,
When down and through, the waking soul shared through moist eyes so bright.

Restrained, contained, knotted man clutching at each gasping breath,

Self battle, I’ve slain neath crowded critics of her piercing gaze.

These lyrics are awful for a boy band. Yet, thats the only way I will let them be sung.
431
turboswami (2004-09-29 23:22:39)
These are awful. The last two lines are fine.

Of The Dark And It’s Wisdom (2004-10-30 01:21) - public

I used to thrive on playgrounds and private beaches explored alone after midnight. These
places reconnected me to the isolation of childhood, that creativity, that perspective on myself.
The night was mine and mine alone, it was my entrance to and my escape from. Down pitch
black iron stained wooded trails, I would leap over creeks I could not see and keep my right
arm bent before me at the points of the trail I knew the apple tree limbs were weighted down
to eye level.

My mind was so healthy then, near the end of high school and the beginning of college.
Uncluttered, I could maintain a state of internal silence I no longer can. I knew who I was, and
seperated that person from who I appeared to be with a sharp precision who’s fissure extended
so far within, It encompassed my surroundings. This depth was radiated from my eyes and my
body’s movement and was beauty, a brilliance which attracted those around me like moths in
a dark alleyway. And, so strange, that at the height of this personification of internal clarity, I
was perceived most mentally unstable. All the loved ones I encountered asked me what was
wrong, why I was so silent, so empty, so distant. It is only in that emptiness that I was able
to be truely full filled with the present, to fully become everything that was happening to me.
Bliss their nervous talking simply denied them.

I was schedualed for psychiatric visits for my "problem." To the psychiatrist, I unravelled
all the marvelous depths of the ego; of image, of surface and of underlying identity. I
described the path of shedding the brittle shell of ego, which I longed to follow further, and
the path of money and corporate identity which was jeopardized in the satiation of that long-
ing. He used terms like "your world" and "our world", pushing the proper feelings of isolation
to their extremes and, in doing so, pushing me to doubt myself which, I believe, was unhealthy.

Perhaps I will come to know of that serene clarity again, and reap its boundless energy
and fearless pursuits. The nights are growing colder and, their frigid whispers analyze me
awake night after night, beckoning my return to their frost forests. I know nothing of the
implements of change, I only see the constructs of its progression as I turn my head behind.
Of direction and guidance, I see only chance and its subtle underlying wisdom I’ve come to
ignore.

the2minh8 (2004-09-30 04:15:20)

i reached a point of complete existentialism in 1999. it’s a wonder i’m still alive.

donsez (2004-09-30 10:51:47)

The isolation and quiet of a dark street, meadow or lakeshore calls to me also, where I can be alone
with myself and content with that fact. I call to the wind. I feel my surroundings. I listen to scratchings
and scurryings in the grass, the rustle of leaves, the lapping of waves. It is paradise. Alone, free, at
one with myself in the dark coolness. Although you seek no advice; no cure. I would suggest that if
you do have any goals in life, any interests that you would like to pursue, you write these down and

432
 take some time each day, or each week, to work toward them. Or they will be forgotten, only to be
remembered later with bitter nostalgia, for what you might have done.

3.11 November

Ego: Defined As The Social Self (2004-11-06 04:14) - fluid - public

The end!!

I don’t know. I want to be alone. I wish I could be away from people and society just
for a time. I am enveloped by speech, by the tugging desires of an audience. I am forever
separate, as if born in an internal state, developing with intentions to progress beyond. Physi-
cal, so many cannot see beyond this room and this person who they strut about becoming. I
am not without image, but I am prone double vision, to seeing two in one, to seeing a captive
beneath. Help me, for I am being tugged to pretend, to be a shell of what I was.

Forgive me for silence; forgive me for the emptiness that remains as I transcend. This
body is a lowly repository. This body is all that remains of a person who lived in time. I deal
in predictions and regrets, now. I deal in the laying formation of a dead man, without opinion
or response. To touch me is to enter acceptance, to feel me is to feel the impression of resis-
tance, intended. I wish to rise above before my time, I wish to be alone for the rest of my days.

Society, the interweaving of words, intimate and fulfilling. I am present, now, without
your help. I am speaking, now, without your guidance. Pressure me only when I am in need.
Trouble me only when I am without direction. I look upon you as the filler of my day, alone. I
look upon you as the weakness of the pack.

Fruitful, I bear the insight of silence, but society cannot read words below speech. Thought,
though silent, reverberates intensely below the subtle smile, below the theater of light. Please,
dig hard. Please, release yourself to find me. I scream from a distance, through woods you
rarely explore. I am the stranger who knows you. I am the fortunate victim, beaten into
acceptance.

--

Society is merely a form, structured upon individuals who abandon their hunt in service.
The social body is organized by role and only the highest report actual perception, the rest
merely feed upon messages sent from other "organs," or institutions. The perceptive game
is one of consensus, and we all agree to accept what is common. However, if those outliers,
without definitive roles, see otherwise, rejection is instinctive. That is to say, even within
ourselves, unusual perceptions are generally disregarded as illegitimate; even when many
individual perceivers experience the given experience. The consistence

monroe_the_fast (2004-11-06 14:29:23)

Brilliant, two entries under different user names, exactly identical except in the spelling of "consis-
tence" at the very "end!!!" and the current mood. I don’t get it.

433
 iztyme2ryde (2004-11-08 06:37:35)
different user names? he have a second journal?

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-08 06:39:16)

you dipshit... posted under me, on purpose I bet heh... and I am not loose and ready. You make me
look like a whore. fucker this is for you "raise middle finger" nuf of that....

naturalreason (2004-11-09 02:41:32)

Well said. I don’t agree with your mysticism, but aside from that, a lot of your points resonate. Now,
kindly have the decency to organize yourself similarly when posting in abstractthought.

I Dont Want To Write About My Night In Jail (2004-11-09 03:19) - tired - public

I’ve got these big ol’ honkin’ issues that I swallow down lately. Its like an awkward and painful
goodbye that refuses to end.

She constructs these elaborate scenes to get attention, since she was born with a deficit.

I’ll make a sweet beautiful expression of some kind, shaped like some cocky move to-
wards brilliance, and ride it with pretension through the rest of my days. With any luck, the
ladies will flock and dance to and around my cocky move, but I will remain passionless; an
eccentric destined to belittle and degrade himself and no one else.

Too? Me with you, Too? I and you and me to follow you through and through? No no!!
If memory serves, I once said goodbye forever and then, again, an hour later. If memory
serves, I have nothing but hatred for you and your kind and this fucking endless whining sound
whose screech beckons my immediate attention. I am through and through. I am sleeping
here, so warm, wrapped tight in my ignorance of your pain.

To light a sweet motion’s carriage is to encourage a throbbing future pain. Find your
black male if your mood is to blackmail, for I am too sly for this give and take you call.
Emptiness is so much work, a long strain through these nights. You will fall again before I even
consider my sweat, however. You will weaken apart long before I bend to hear you...so far
down there.

In trouble, in tumble, I learn from this hill as it marks my head. I know this now and
can use more of CROSS

CROSS OUT!! YOU WHO HATES AND LOVES AT ONCE!!

ITS DONE. ALL IT IS AND WAS IS PAST. I BURNED TO WATCH YOU BURN. YOU BITCH,
YOU FUCKING WHORE CHILD!!

ksawyer (2004-10-09 02:11:12)

"Its like an awkward and painful goodbye that refuses to end." yeah, tell me about it.

434
the2minh8 (2004-10-09 13:54:33)
so, why don’t you write about your night in jail? the thing about jail is that they don’t let you out or
have your favorite foods or play with music equipment. they don’t let you do much except sleep in
pee. but at least they let you do that, am i right?

silentwinds (2004-10-09 14:48:35)

you were in jail? whoa

iztyme2ryde (2004-10-10 10:31:37)

Long story.. just I screwed up when my dad was pissing and moaning about calling the cops, and
I listened. I shouldn’t have, because now I am waiting for Kaleb to take me back... praying, and
knowing he will, but knowing it is dangerous to think like that, because if he doesn’t I will cry when I
move into the motor home which will then become my new home with no heat, lights, or water, upon
his telling me it is over in Nov. I pray he can have sympathy for my mistake.

silentwinds (2004-10-11 09:44:15)

motor home? Well, you really need to stop being influenced by people, or at least blaming it on them
that you made a mistake by listening to them. I dont know why he was there. However in your lj
about a week back, you said that kal hit you. IM sure any dad would be pissed if told someone hit his
daughter. When my girls grow up Id be bitching to call the cops too. Abuse is never a good thing.

iztyme2ryde (2004-10-11 13:51:20)

I feel I have reason to blame my dad, but yes, I wish I hadn’t been influenced, perhaps then I would
have my Kal back.

iztyme2ryde (2004-10-09 15:59:27)

at least I am not calling names...

(2004-11-10 04:34) - motherly - public

I must learn to experience this pain more creatively. I must be louder in my pain, I must
strain myself, dragging it to the center of town, out into the crowded street, where I can finally
experience it with the observer in mind. And so we were each taught to "Talk It Out!" to drudge
up this wretched hate from repressed depths and vomit it up onto the nearest close friend or
loved one. Funny they dont stop by so much anymore...

"Share your thoughts with a teacher, guidance counselor or parent. They will help you
to make the right decision, do the right thing" My ass! Fucking Care Bears never had these
depths to spew forth from. They’ll be There for me...they are there for ME. They exist only for
me, they live only as a carriage for my problems, a deep inviting hole for burying my every
waking dilemma. Funny shit. HaHaTwitch.

No talking it out for this Hombre, nosiree...I’m swallowing this vomit back down. Thank
you, sir, may I have another. God knows I’ll be better for it. If I had my way, I’d be one of
those uptight twiddly fucks with a permanent smile, no longer forced, and a sunny popsickle
stick up their ass. A real Go-Getter! Hold those green teeth back behind those twisted lips,
else the bile may seep through.
435
Sickness abound, no foreseeable change in sight.

the2minh8 (2004-11-10 04:31:02)

that advice was invented and is propogated by women. their psychology is much different; whereas
half-formed ideas in the male mind may develop themselves freely, half-formed ideas in the female
mind reach fruition only when uttered in the presence of another. it is an awfully self-serving
mechanism, which seems to do more social harm than good. although it may be dangerous to ignore
problems, it is yet more dangerous to blow them out of proportion and ruin the world for others.

biscuitboy (2004-11-11 19:12:57)

You are fantastic. Remember, you can always talk to me, unless you can’t, or I don’t want you to.

(2004-11-12 04:11) - public

Mother,

So, yea, about all these drugs...I had been meaning to tell you, but, ummm...you know,
I was, uh, you know, too fucked up and Ringo Starr was singing at me and made me forget.
The thing is that I have found a drug, a newer designer drug available from "sexymama.com,"
which allows me to have sex with you. Granted, I know that what I am seeing and feeling
during the sex is a hallucination, it is a very realistic experience and twice I was even able to
bring myself to ejaculation as I lay atop your quivering body, looking down at your eyes rolled
back with the intense pleasure I thrust into you, harder and faster.

Admittedly, the sight of your body, your far-hanging breasts bumpy with acne scars and
hairy moles, your stretch-marked, bloated stomach and hunched back, sickens me and I some-
times wish for the drug’s effects to end so that I may begin cleaning the carpet. Somehow,
suckling again for the first time, my manhood slowly comes to rise, filling my mind with the
carnal intentions which you taught me, so many years ago, to suppress. In the 7 experiences
I have had with the incest drug, street-named "Oedipussy," I have experienced 2 full orgasms,
typically during the hallucinations of you orally pleasing me.

I send you this letter because I love you and want you to take the drug with me on my
upcoming 22nd birthday. If you agree, I would like for us to digest the drug by the fireplace of
the old camp, after a night of romantic dining and, perhaps, some time flipping through the
old photo album. Then, as we both begin to hallucinate sexually, you can hold me as only my
mother can. And, after a long night of perceived lovemaking, I hope there will be no change
in your relationship with grandma.

With Sweet Love,

Your Only Son

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-12 03:30:32)

The next time, I want to be a part of it. Your mom’s saggy breasts turn me on like your cock. Imagine
the two together! That is the most hilarious think I have read in a while.

436
monroe_the_fast (2004-11-12 04:04:22)
Did you seriously write that? You are fucking amazing.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-12 07:17:14)

I think it is some of his best... I am very impressed...

turboswami (2004-11-12 08:43:43)

Hogwash! Pig cleaning agents! This is lazy man’s writing.

(2004-11-12 15:58) - public

A freak error, and I lose everything that was said, never to be resaid again.

Show a child...something something...what to see in the world, and then ask ..damm
it...something of how he can see himself...something something....positive self imagination,
etc. It sucks, its gone I’ll move on.

pre whimper tone, low warm flow...resonance heard.

I look out into the sunshine, feeling the brisk air and stretch hard, exciting the spinal
column at the peak of the experience, and shaking it down throughout the body in an expres-
sion of refreshment, and reverting back, I see myself as a whimpering cold creature.

I think of my relationship and see myself as a grotesque wormlike thing feeding on de-
cay, on memory of a peak identity, the face of an intense bright eye.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-12 14:19:02)

So strange to compare to the whimpering cold creature as I did the same act tonight... connection?
hmm...

(2004-11-13 05:38) - public

How, in that rare clear moment, can I ever compare. A quick throbbing clutch and I am cold
again. Nothing.

Inward Attention And Defining Sanity (2004-11-13 09:57) - public

The remnants of a shiver course through me, I feel the brisk energy reverberate and decay
outward from my spine. This moving fluid entity that I feel inside, charged in fear or at the
height of a yawning stretch, exists within and without the physicality of the mere wires of my
nerves. It is not a contained entity, but one which flows in, through, out, one dependant on
attention, sensation, and their response. Yet, the source and destination of this internal current
cannot be defined merely by the observational externalities, as, while as surely as their is a
437
flow inward, of physical, outward attention and its charge, there is as surely a flow surfacing
upward, from within the self and the energetic sensations related to thought. Likewise, a
downward reactionary flow within can be pictured alongside this nonphysical counterpart to
outward attention, inward attention or, more commonly, "introspection." Surely more can be
determined, rationally, of this internal flowing sensation I sometimes allow myself to call "soul."

I heard, for the second time, the low humming resonance which corresponded to my in-
ternal sensation of vibration. The first instance of my hearing this rumbling bass tone, which
strengthened with focus and a sort of acceptance, was November 5th. Reassuringly, again,
Teasha was present to affirm the resonance hum in the room and, although she could not
verify my internal sensations of excitation and vibration, she heard the pure low tone as it
changed in volume and pitch, presumably coming from my stereo speakers. There was no
microphone or hardwire loop of any sort connected which could explain the physical source of
the feedback in either case. Last night, at the height of my high, at the peak moment of clarity
when the body becomes somehow energized and the "buzzing" sensation is most intense, the
feedback sound returned, mirroring the low vibrational feeling felt inside my body, yet again.

During the height of the transcendent experience, one feels as if they actually radiate
the internal, or "upward" flow, outward. The eyes burn brilliant with intensity, the blood
vessels visibly bursting red from the magnitude of the flow outward. Strangely enough, I
am typically the only high person in a room of high people who’s eyes do this, or at least to
such a degree. Many times people become amazed or disgusted by the sum amount of blood
visible in my eyes, the entire white region seemingly red, while theirs and everyone else’s
remain unaffected. This suggests an internal factor, seperate from the pot, itself, of which
the pot serves merely as a catalyst. Attention seems a safe word to use for the differentiat-
ing factor behind the blazing or dullness of eyes, depth of the inward attention acting as a well.

Voices, too, accompanied the low resonance hum last night, although they were also
low and indistict, I came to hear a man. In my current Shamanism reading, to receive a voice
is an overarching goal, approached using many different techniques. The internal dialogue of a
schizophrenic is even occasionally printed among the more mystically-induced messages and
is, for the most part, indiscernable from these more traditional spiritual messages. Overall, as
I consider this overarching goal of the traditional spiritual expert and the definitions set before
us by our Western culture of sanity, I come to think of these definitions as binding constraints
of a newborn culturally-specific institution placed on something much older, something
universal through all of mankind and his history. Spirituality has been consistant. Across all
time and all cultural separation, the same powerful abilities, interactions, and phenomena
occur consistantly to certain types people. This fact seems to undermine any footing this new
psychology fad may appear to have in dismissing this aspect of mankind’s past.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-13 21:08:15)

I wish I was there, because that incident on the 5th left me wondering, and curious... I wish I was there
in hope of explaining the event for my own mental glorification... though on that night, the 5th, I did
hear voices too... perhaps your being drunk had something to do with the vibrating and excitement?
Advise please...

438
(2004-11-15 03:04) - drunk - public

Music: pooper control

Nobody knows who I am anymore. Nobody comes to soothe. I’ve got bleeding, I’ve got trouble
all over, and they just pile up their necessity for me to store. No baby pin can hold what I’ve
grown, no small talk can cover all I’m carrying. The time is late, and these fuckers love to play
these games with deadlines they decide and the consequences I saw pass by.

Sweet lover, don’t wait for me to replace you. I am a silent hobo, begging for a glance.
I am nothing but your super, your fatty holder through tight times, ignorant of endless sounds,
your student from higher.

An ambiguous entry, another shady expectation fulfilled. I am nothing but a distant im-
age you read, you are a viewer, cold and distant. What worth is this?

Sadness comes again, the anchor depresses beneath all I am.

My Out of Body professor tells me my calling to Shamanism has come and gone. He
tells a story of a friend who, digesting the South American Babyrose Root, saw Demons from
the Stars who told him that they had created the world he lives in. Amazed, he described their
appearance and message with detail to the old wise Shamen of the area...

The said "Oh! Those Star Demons! They always say that. Don’t believe them, they are
full of shit!"

theloniouszen (2004-10-15 03:11:57)

How’s Kia?

silentwinds (2004-10-20 20:23:47)

aww that post made me sad. *hugs*

(2004-11-16 06:05) - public

The people you meet! Oh, Jesus, so sly! I feel the pressures spurt out in so many compulsive
releases and, soon, the stains of these representations will become permanent. Time, time
again. It comes and goes, hovers and haunts, the wailing regret. I am not a man, I am not the
man these words pretend to be. I am nothing but a silent wanting, I am nothing but all you
could make me.

Sex and your society, hold me down tight and warm, teach me to bend again after my
back is broken. Teach me to hold back tears and desires until I can grit my teeth no more, until
I fall to my knees in love. Abandon me, your wretched phraseless recluse, your dramatic child
from over and beyond the ceiling. This emotion is ancient, flooding out from a convulsing
frame, emptiness inevitable, with all else the cold air brings.

Nothing like antidepressants, like warm sweater, and the dull slumber of a warm home
through dark winter. Bring up the egg nog, the firelight nods off without a word.
439
iztyme2ryde (2004-10-16 03:18:23)
Do you regret getting back together? Do you really want me to come home with you still? I will prove
it wasn’t the wrong choice. You will see. Give it a chance, and lets see where it goes. At least give it that.

Letter To Parapsychologist (2004-11-19 00:50) - public

Hello,

I have been looking for guidance in regards to paranormal experiences which began in
my home during winter of last year. It started the night my girlfriend returned home and told
me she had been violated by a man in her sleep. That night, while staring off at her shoulder
while she slept and thinking about the incident, I entered sleep with my eyes open. I saw a
second shoulder, of a warm light reddish color, slowly rise from behind her. I immediately
became terrified, thinking there was someone else in the bed with us. At that moment, from
her sleep, she began to wail mournfully in a very high, unnerving pitch. She did this twice and
I whispered "Whats wrong?" to which her eyes immediately opened before I could finish the
sentance. Her expression was blank. She then clutched my torso and wailed loud and high
a third time and I became very afraid and started shaking and crying. She does not recall
looking at me or grabbing me.

After the incident, we had an early breakfast and I told her about the wailing. We then
went back to bed, as it was still very early. Less than three minutes after laying down, while
holding me from behind, she entered a violent convulsive seisure of some kind, the whole
body twitching and shaking as she hyperventilated. Slowly calming, she came to mover her
right leg towards mine as if her foot was to touch my calf muscle, but did not. However, where
her toe would have touched me, it became very cold and this cold slowly moved up both legs
and further up to my stomach and so on until it reached my chest. It was very cold and, soon,
I too was shaking with her as she held me. At the chest, this intense cold tingling became,
all at once, hot and I was flooded with warm comfort like nothing I had felt before in my life.
Tears streamed down my face as I, too, then began to hyperventilate from the intensity of this
internal feeling of comfort. It lasted for nearly half a minute and, then, slowly subsided and
she awoke unaware.

When she awoke I asked her what she had dreamt. She said there was a second girl
who was out in public for the first time in a long time. She was trying to chase this girl, who
ran to me at a fountain (which I interpreted as me crying.) She said I was somehow able to
see on two levels, she couldnt explain this further. At the end, however, she said something
which blew me away. As if a seperate part of the dream, she said "I dont know if it means
anything or not, but, at the very end of the dream I saw myself from your body."

This incident sparked a flurry of intense paranormal activity which peaked the next night and
has slowly died down, but still surrounds the area in which it all took place. The next night, she
was paralyzed as I watched, unable to help. She said there was something on top of her. It
spread her legs apart and she felt "pins and needles" as if being violated, somehow, vaginally.
I ran to turn on the light and, my bed being above a staircase, there was a heavy "thud!" on
the stairs below, movement, and then a pulling on the doorknob.

440
We both began to awaken with bloodly marks on our face and back, similar to those
caused by fingernails. In the time before sleep, I would have strange visions of people on
the side of the bed, sometimes violently screaming in my face, sometimes telling me strange
things or requests.

I, too, experienced paralysis during one of these sessions and, hearing movement and
voices, I wanted to a turn to awaken her but could not. I tried very hard, but was frozen, as if
trapped in my body. It was then that there was a strange feeling, like a twitch or reflex, which
caused me to hit my girlfriend in the face many times in rapid succession. It felt as if there
was someone pushing me at my bent elbow. I became very afraid by that incident.

Loud voices all over the house, loud enough, often, to awaken me from sleep. We both
heard these voices, often many in conversation, and both of us made the mistake of thinking
that the television was on downstairs. Typically, all the incidents occured around 5am and
continued through till daybreak. Both of us, at one time or another, were spoken to directly by
an individual, a man. Once, my girlfriend claims to have been alone in the kitchen speaking
to herself when this man answered what she said from right in front of her.

These voices have quieted, but still haunt us both. We refuse to sleep in the bed that
everything took place in.

I want to know if this is a common occurance. If spiritual activity tends to follow a trau-
matic experience and how best to handle living in this "active" house. Would a Quija board or
seance provoke activity?

I know this is a long email, but it seems like you were someone who might be able to help and I
wanted you to know the story in its entirety. Is there any reading you reccomend on this issue?

I’d appreciate anything. Thank you,

Kaleb Smith

iztyme2ryde (2004-10-18 22:20:27)

I wish you had written more about this. This time I have actually enjoyed reading it. It is a memory
that is instilled in my head, and will be for the rest of my life. We have been together through some
really hard times. I appreciate this writing more than I could have said this winter. I love you, and
am glad to have shared these memories, though frightening, with you over all others. However,
you forgot some things from my perspective, such as when I told you about that dream, there was
another man there as well, near what I thought was to be a magical fountain. Also the pains of my
hand when I was paralyzed to the bed that night that I had a ’soul’ atop me, and you could not help me.

turboswami (2004-10-18 22:24:31)

More specifically, that "soul" was an Incubus demon. Night paralysis is a lot more common than I had
thought. I hadnt really heard of an Incubus attack before that.

441
 iztyme2ryde (2004-10-18 22:38:32)
More common than you had thought? How so? Did you look this up or was that what the shamanism
prof told you? I had never heard of such TORTURE either, until it happened to me. I have to be
honest, I am afraid to come back to that house with you... that was one of the most scary events of
my life. However, I am glad you were supportive, it is just that the rape was bad enough, much less
the trauma that came after it. I was tortured in that house!

monroe_the_fast (2004-10-18 23:06:37)

[1]Whatwhat?! I’m not sure I even feel safe in my own apartment after reading that.

1. http://www.geocities.com/creating_2001/sword1.JPG
iztyme2ryde (2004-10-19 00:37:05)
It was really creepy, I am his girlfriend, and I am still terrified to live in he and I’s home... some of the
shit one sees and hears would make one nuts

theloniouszen (2004-10-19 02:25:28)

Does this have anything to do with the pile of Psychology Today’s in the bathroom?

iztyme2ryde (2004-10-19 02:34:19)

Ha ha, I wish it did, it would make getting over it a little easier. How did you know about that? Kaleb
must have taken you in... nevermind heh... It was creepy... scared the hell out of me to not know
why I was waking up to Kaleb crying next to me...

turboswami (2004-10-19 02:44:34)

Actually, it had everything to do with those Psychology Today’s. Those bastard magazines were
haunted the whole time... the tortured ghost of the evil behaviorist, B.F. Skinner...

silentwinds (2004-10-20 09:50:11)

Forgive me for thinking shes a drama queen sometimes dear. NUMBER ONE.. i doubt there was a
rape, even today. He passed the polygraph. She didnt drink much, none of us did. I like that you
totally bipassed her playing strip poker alone with him, me telling you about walking downstairs
one other night while they watched soft core porn, the photos she sent you of them online, and oh
yea, her and Tom all over each other multiple times the night she dressed in lingerie. She loves you
sure. Thats why she told the police what you told her to about being drugged with the pill (forgetting
to say she SNORTED IT). Sorry, im out of smokes. I like her and you but this nonsense about rape
makes me irritated more. You both need to use less drugs and focus on your present relationship issues.

theloniouszen (2004-10-21 08:33:39)

Quit taking the Psychology today viewpoint on things! You’re in it with the psychology today crew!!1!!

(2004-11-20 07:25) - public

Amazon’s all-too-simple "One Click" purchasing feature is costing me a lot of money...

In the last week and a half, alone, I have purchased:

CDs:
442
Cluster - 71
Dieter Moebius - Blotch
Dieter Moebius - Schl..

Books:
Computer Sound Design: Synthesis Techniques and Programming - Eduardo Miranda
Out Of Body Experiences: How to Have Them and WHat To Expect - Dr. Charles Tart
Transfigurations - Alex Grey
Shamanism - Eliade, Mircea
Adventures Beyond the Body: How to Experience Out-of-Body Travel- William Buhlman
The Joyous Cosmology - Dr. Alan Watts
This Business of Music: The Definitive Guide to the Music Industry - Blah

A grand total of $221.79...oh brother, what a fine week and a half.

—
Three of the books were required reading for classes. The OOB experience books are semi-
required for my independant study in Shamanism.

A strange book which was never published officially, but rather circulated by the author
during the sixties, which I must have is "Proofs of My Return" by John Palifox Key. That is all I
will say about this very strange relic of questionable sanity. If you have a copy, let me borrow
it. I need to know more about the 4 foot standing lizard men who occupy the dimensional
doorway of Montmorency County, Michigan.

(2004-11-21 02:53) - public

Trouble down blow, but it stays throughout the show...

And you know you’re loose and easy.
Time, you’re holding beauty now stench like a richman money till his dying day.
Ashamed, bow your head to the crowd, in debt.
Ashamed, hide behind all that you’ve made.

How long have I restricted the mind of a child,

To bloom stupid in awkward moments I know nothing about.
The time has come for me to forge a solid relationship,
With the sound of air, which no intention can penetrate.

Do you miss some confident ass, some show of affection.

Will I someday seen the myself of myself, the body of soul.

Mountain cabin, to eat soup and be alive.

To write Walden and to transcend.
I’ve got the nature, the lack of passion.
All I need is some rich friend.
443
Chest Convulsions And Their Undercurrents (2004-11-25 06:21) - muscle spasms -
public

I have been listening to the strange recordings created in my home during the height of the
paranormal activity which we experienced there. In relistening to the 20 minute recording,
made without a microphone, of merely the computer’s own output, I have distinguished the
voices of one man and, at least, one woman, who speak and interact over the length of the
noisy recording. This very act of revisiting that time in my life, and thinking about the hows,
and whys, has caused the muscles of my chest to spasm yet again, as they did, painfully,
throughout the extent of that winter break. I question the relationship between these voices,
recorded to file, and the male and female voices heard in that room from 5 am to 7 am each
night during that time. The loud male who’s booming voice awoke us several times from sleep
where he spoke from the stairway. Was he the same man pleading "please! help me!" in the
desperate tone on this recording? The busy conversations taking place each night downstairs.
Were they one and the same with the interactions taking place on this noisy recording?

I have decided to organize all of the sound data collected from that time into one cd,
possibly narrated, which I will submit to various sound processing and noise reduction experts
on MSU campus and, possibly, beyond.

My chest quivers. I thought of the presence of others in my room, focusing on my thoughts,

I came to breath deliberately. I thought of awareness, theirs of me and mine of them. Each
time I opened my eyes, there was movement near the bed, a change in temperature. At the
height of this intense attention to my surroundings, my bed was felt to move beneath me.
The quivering then began, first in the calf muscle of my right leg, then in my chest. I feel
as though I have attracted an attention from far and away, as though I have been touched
by an aspect of great distance and that its deep impressions on myself can never be reversed.

My thoughts also drifted to my writings on death, and the messages which came to me
the day afterwards. The note on the ground with the single word, "death," and the second
single word "sruti" which was beneath my feet at the bench, written on masking tape stuck
to the cement. I realized, laying here tonight, the odds of the second word, the Hindu word
for "divinely inspired writing." In all the courses offered at MSU, there is one Hinduism class,
which I was in at that time. The teacher of the class began class with "death" written on the
board that day. How is it that someone wrote a single word, "sruti," on masking tape with
green marker and placed it there, where I was to sit at the same time that I layed awake all
the previous night, questioning how I wrote what I did; how it felt I wasnt writing at all. Who
would write the single word, unless they were studying vocabulary for a class, and what class
if not Hinduism?

I become afraid by the conclusions of such reasoning. I think of my place, my potential,

my role in life and of the attention such blatently intelligent interactions suggests. I think of
influence on the actions of myself, as I wrote of death, and of that same influence on the writers
of "death," the single word, confronting me the following morning. Intelligent undercurrents
guiding the thoughts and hands of myself and all those, both known and unknown, around
me. A spectrum of influence, whose far extreme is defined by the thoughtless stream of
information which flowed, direct, from my hand’s pen that sleepless night nearly 2 years ago.

At the end of the 20 minute long recording, the very last word heard, a woman calls out
two syllables in the beckoning tone characteristic of expressive speech. Noisy, crackling,
444
distinct are vowel parts "ael-aub." I listened to it again and again, until my eyes welled up in
wet tension. Through the distortion is a woman calling my name, as if pleading with me to
continue the recording, which seconds later, ended.

theloniouszen (2004-10-26 02:49:12)

I knew I should have recorded the noise when we dropped the monitor off of the parking garage in
Marquette.

iztyme2ryde (2004-10-26 09:44:55)

You guys actually did that?! And I thought he was fucking with me when he suggested dropping one
off the campus buildings... wow... did it spark a lot? Probably not, that would be too eventful...

theloniouszen (2004-10-27 01:01:29)

Yeah we did. They gave me an old one that didn’t work at my job and I know that repairing them
is very dangerous (there are huge capacitors inside that really like to hold charges) so we figured
the best way to get rid of it was to destroy it. We were planning on throwing it off a cliff on presque
isle but the park closed right before we got there and it was impossible to sneak back in with the
cop watching us. So we went to the top level of the parking garage in between 3rd and 4th street
and thought it threw. This was a saturday night, there were a lot of cops out, but we just heaved it.
There were no sparks - it was gunshot loud, and the casing sort of separated from the glass and the
interior. It was gone by monday.

donsez (2004-10-26 14:27:58)

Kaleb. Just reading your post gives me chills. This is my second attempt to respond to this post. The
first one seemed to be interfered with by 1) my computer fucking up - not allowing me to enter text 2)
a fatal flaw after hitting the Post Comment button at a different workstation meaning everything was
lost 3) shaky legs, tingling skin (most intense behind my ears). You have tapped into something my
friend. What do you imagine it might be? I don’t believe anyone alive has the truth, but what do you
believe?

Look Maw, No Brains! (2004-11-26 18:05) - stupid - public

Music: Moebius - Contramio

How common are TurboSwami’s interests

Universal
[1]guitar (112014)
[2]poetry (200291)
[3]sex (165736)
[4]sleeping (189839)
[5]writing (355614)

Popular

[6]money (58843)
[7]philosophy (70821)
445
 [8]psychology (64729)
[9]punk (94508)
[10]rock (80052)
[11]sleep (75393)
[12]travel (50883)
[13]women (86487)

Common

[14]babies (16950)
[15]children (14230)
[16]creativity (27415)
[17]drums (47189)
[18]film (26499)
[19]flirting (29583)
[20]german (10970)
[21]humor (22819)
[22]insanity (12914)
[23]intelligence (21819)
[24]kittens (27857)
[25]marijuana (11962)
[26]nerds (13122)
[27]religion (29611)
[28]romance (44099)
[29]thinking (32424)

Specialist

[30]acid (4141)
[31]ambient (4275)
[32]angst (8411)
[33]breasts (5824)
[34]brian eno (2642)
[35]collecting (2451)
[36]consciousness (1596)
[37]conversations (3014)
[38]crazy (2831)
[39]creative (1572)
[40]curiosity (2620)
[41]depth (1262)
[42]distortion (1137)
[43]dub (1620)
[44]dwarves (1675)
[45]electronic (1557)
[46]experimental (1341)
[47]freaks (8757)
[48]funny (2237)
[49]ginsberg (1141)
[50]intellect (2329)
446
 [51]interests (1273)
[52]isolation (1880)
[53]lsd (3278)
[54]making music (3296)
[55]midgets (2786)
[56]mind (1486)
[57]naked (3231)
[58]nudity (9793)
[59]originality (5641)
[60]perception (1303)
[61]personality (2520)
[62]prozac (1453)
[63]psychedelics (1077)
[64]rambling (2417)
[65]reality (4014)
[66]recording (3608)
[67]self (1323)
[68]synthesizers (2838)
[69]synths (1203)
[70]terry gilliam (3413)
[71]tripping (1459)
[72]underground (2717)
[73]weird (2205)
[74]zen (7959)

Unusual
[75]abnormal (218)
[76]alienation (331)
[77]ambience (664)
[78]barrett (70)
[79]big (414)
[80]bizzare (94)
[81]brilliance (427)
[82]burroughs (778)
[83]buspar (43)
[84]cerebral (21)
[85]collecting music (107)
[86]cult (512)
[87]deep (402)
[88]detached (18)
[89]deviation (110)
[90]eccentric (344)
[91]eccentricities (239)
[92]effects (269)
[93]ego (610)
[94]eno (252)
[95]experiment (66)
[96]far out (15)
[97]floyd (353)
447
 [98]freaking (142)
[99]herzog (56)
[100]hesse (497)
[101]hobbies (339)
[102]hurting (981)
[103]huxley (413)
[104]insight (917)
[105]instability (107)
[106]interest (143)
[107]kicking (899)
[108]kraut (98)
[109]mental (829)
[110]mescaline (406)
[111]moog (769)
[112]nerdy (134)
[113]obscure (155)
[114]obscurity (995)
[115]odd (498)
[116]paxil (631)
[117]production (760)
[118]psychedelia (818)
[119]psychedelic (597)
[120]rambles (57)
[121]rare (103)
[122]reflection (925)
[123]round (36)
[124]sideways (22)
[125]space rock (323)
[126]strange (940)
[127]strangeness (571)
[128]study (490)
[129]tape delay (12)
[130]tesla (634)
[131]transcendental (17)
[132]twisting (76)
[133]unknown (455)
[134]unusual (297)
[135]viagra (251)
[136]watts (109)
[137]werner herzog (468)
[138]wild (612)

Rare
[139]aldous (2)
[140]bizzarity (2)
[141]druggy (1)
[142]far-out (4)
[143]introversive (1)
[144]introversiveness (1)
448
 [145]psilosibin (3)
[146]skewing (1)
[147]transcendendance (1)
[148]trip out (2)
[149]warping (8)

Enter username:
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Do it !
[150]InterestRank was bought to you by [151] [152] _imran _ and [153]MemeLand.org

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26. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=nerds
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28. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=romance
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32. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=angst
33. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=breasts

449
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35. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=collecting
36. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=consciousness
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48. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=funny
49. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=ginsberg
50. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=intellect
51. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=interests
52. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=isolation
53. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=lsd
54. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=makingmusic
55. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=midgets
56. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=mind
57. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=naked
58. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=nudity
59. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=originality
60. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=perception
61. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=personality
62. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=prozac
63. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=psychedelics
64. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=rambling
65. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=reality
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67. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=self
68. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=synthesizers
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70. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=terrygilliam
71. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=tripping
72. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=underground
73. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=weird
74. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=zen
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77. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=ambience
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81. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=brilliance
82. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=burroughs
83. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=buspar

450
84. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=cerebral
85. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=collectingmusic
86. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=cult
87. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=deep
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90. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=eccentric
91. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=eccentricities
92. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=effects
93. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=ego
94. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=eno
95. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=experiment
96. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=farout
97. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=floyd
98. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=freaking
99. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=herzog
100. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=hesse
101. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=hobbies
102. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=hurting
103. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=huxley
104. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=insight
105. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=instability
106. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=interest
107. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=kicking
108. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=kraut
109. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=mental
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117. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=production
118. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=psychedelia
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120. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=rambles
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125. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=spacerock
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130. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=tesla
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451
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135. http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=viagra
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swarms (2004-10-27 12:17:40)

HAHA! Unusual is an unusual interest, you flying magnet frame!

Social Bouyancy - April 01, 2000 (2004-11-28 03:04) - Self-Critical - public

Music: ENO - Golden Hours

Social Buoyancy:

As if certain identity traits seem to adhere to specific categorical-social spheres. In other

words, certain people have within them a class destination which they tend to gravitate
towards, and which influences social habits and circles. ****

Knowing when to let go of people is hard, but necessary in defining ones self. As we,
essentially, define ourselves by the reflected information received from others, to be selective
about your personality, you must be selective about the people you surround yourself with. To
separate, you must define categories and then stereotype to them. Messy business, but the
business of success at the category game.

Psychotropic drugs can show you the “lowdown,” the base beneath all that you can build
and have built in terms of self, but undermines the authority of those things in the process.
***How*** Thus, this inhaled wisdom could be called a wisdom of death. *** Socially and
culturally, the enlightened are void; having dropped out of the game at the moment of its
revealing. So, often, the teenager is immediately disillusioned and tapped of ambition early
on in his or her education. **** This is not the best way to approach, dropped out before any
respectable score has been made.

452
No, it seems the best way to approach this obviously valuable wisdom is to ignore it
and allow it to come at a natural rate. Zen is the philosophy of elderly men finally prepared to
submit to society and leave the competition. So, it seems, to capture the most from life, you
must construct a self like a skilled POTTER. Begin, first, by sculpting tall sides, with the clay of
knowledge and socially-applicable skills, and, only then, after that peak of success has been
attained, can you finally dive down deep within it all, gouging that center, to allow all that
streaming, shapeless thought to be caught within the hardened clay categories.

silentwinds (2004-10-28 08:46:35)

Often people stereotype others based off their Stage Self, which can be misguiding. Forming a
premature opinion at introduction can also be invaluable.

monroe_the_fast (2004-10-28 09:36:30)

So? What are you saying? So?

biscuitboy (2004-10-30 10:54:13)

So are you saying I should try to be socially contrived right now, and that actual self-integrity will come
later? But then again, why does social contrivance have to come at the expense of self-integrity?
Goddam it, I asked myself this question years ago, and it got me into a mess of trouble.

biscuitboy (2004-10-30 10:54:29)

Fuck you.

turboswami (2004-10-30 15:12:01)

Socially contrived, in reference to the first half of the post, in that you must learn to release those
people in your life who may reflect badly upon your social personality. (As you are merely a sum
whole of all the personalities you confront.) The "bouyancy" of yourself among peers suggests an
attraction to your own potential identity, personified in those "highest" peers. In the second half
of the post, I say that a contrived or, rather, ambitiously planned life is both natural and expected
and that psychedelics have the potential to undermine the fruition of that successful "game face."
The integrity of self, at the proposed peak of fruition and its success, would not necessarily be
jeopardized. The highest state of Integrity may be the highest state of Integration; integration into
society, being a pillar who’s happiness is found in the pride of ones accomplishments. Integration,
from a psychological point of view, is defined as "The organization of the psychological or social
traits and tendencies of a personality into a harmonious whole." This definition suggests a balance
to self-integrity. Blah, I dont have any answers, just trying to defend what I claimed to know 4 years ago.

Trouble in BrainLand: The Curse Of The Spiral Lesion (2004-11-29 15:33) - public

"Come on, Smith, you gotta get outta here!" shouted Dr. Smith to the breathing wall in the
dark.
"We’ve got a mystery to solve, so take this special medicine. Hey hey! Gentle now, this isn’t
candy." Smith, loud, slides, with water glass in hand, down the seat of the chair until his head
lays on the meeting of back and ass cushions and he is addressing the vaguely textured white
ceiling through the dark.

"Trouble, trouble’s doubled, I feel its low rumble approach below, where I am numb. Smith!
453
What have you done. Get the van, we must find water. I have a...time feeling that..I need it
like a...blanket tonight...the crum..by..elore..iftson..."
His words trail off, but continue with cohesion modulated at a rate of 30 WPM. In time, that
rate would rise to 60 WPM, as the speed of his half-speech increased, the tone, a slow boil, as
if the message was being ignored, angrier, the volume carried ambiguous portions up towards
clarity.

It’s all happening so quickly, maybe that’s why he’s pissed. Convulsions? Why, this
man is most obviously sick. He hates the way he wastes, the way he sleeps, the way Smith,
lazy Smith, has done nothing and now it’s over. Pine, oh he pines ’cross long days in search
of the clue.
He never needed to search for back then, but now he is lost and has burned back so much for
show.

"..rhythsonel..estrou..grabbings..slotrinesoNOW! NOW HERE THIS!" The eyes of the room

are felt to focus on the orator in limbo.

(aka: the tests results show)

"I have found

The Woman In White (2004-11-30 01:33) - public

Returning to the Upper Penninsula for the Thanksgiving vacation, I expected and feared
the unexplainable activity that has become commonplace in my home. Like the first trip
back following Winter Break of last year, intensely painful jabbing chest pains and spasming
accompanied my ride home, although subsided with asprin after a few hours. It was a duller
pain than it was last year, with less spasming of the chest muscles, although still frightening. I
believe it is related to my fear of returning to the place, or in some way related to the warmth
in my chest which occured there.

On the first night back, an angry entity of some sort stomped loudly outside our bed-
room, while Teasha slept. She told me she also heard footsteps while I was sleeping as well.
I did not enter sleep, but spent the whole night trapped inbetween asleep and awake, as
previously. Horrible visions accompanied angry and sometimes screaming male voices as
well as at least one female voice. Again and again, I would snap awake with a gasping breath
of fear after a horrifying image or voice. One that stands out is the image of a man’s face
being sliced open. I say "image" because, unlike a dream, everything I saw took place in the
bedroom I was in, as if I became susceptable to the influence of the presence in the room
at a certain point in the drifting through the subconscious before the unconscious dream
state. The understanding of consciousness as a spectrum, similar to that of radio frequencies,
which we descend through in sleep seems more and more relevent. This is how I have ratio-
nalized the "influence" on me by whatever it is we heard stomping about angrily at night there.

In this strange wakeful dreamstate experienced on the first night, I traveled, again, out
of my body and into the living room, immediately outside the entrance to the bedroom. Here,
in the dark, I watched the light from the fireplace as it reflected off of the black screen of the
television set. I reached out to touch the moving reflection and my hand began to enter it and
I felt energy, somehow. At that moment, an man barked angrily "Get back!" and I snapped
awake with a giant breath, with my hands outstreched, very disoriented and tingling numb.
454
On the second night, me and Teasha both were strung out and edgy from the lack of
sleep and fought. She slept on the couch in the living room right outside the bedroom and
slept in the bedroom again. I, again, felt an intense presence in the room as I went to lay
down in the cold room and quickly became tense. After laying with my eyes closed for less
than 5 minutes, the entrance to the room was flooded with the most brilliantly bright white
light I had ever witnessed. So bright was this light that, even through my tightly closed eyes,
it appeared intensely bluish-white, emanating outward from a vaguely human form. With eyes
closed, I was able to move my head and the figure’s location in the blackness of my visual
field would move appropriately, with its perceived location at the doorway into the bedroom.
Even the sun, on the brightest day, appears only as a light reddish hue through closed eyes.
The brightness of this figure was unlike anything I had ever seen and, even though I did not
open my eyes, I did not feel threatened by whatever entered the room. There was a feeling
of comfort immediately associated with the light. That night, I slept amazingly with vivid
dreams of happiness and lovemaking with a woman I did not know. I awoke very refreshed
with comfort that carried on from the dream into the morning.

I did not share the experience with anyone, yet that morning Teasha mentioned, without
detail, seeing a bright light from the doorway of the bathroom directly in front of the couch
where she slept. She later said that the light appeared to her when her eyes were closed
and that, when opened, the light was so powerfully bright that it seemed to "come from
everywhere." She described almost bathing in the light and feeling very comfortable by
its presence, not afraid at all, regardless of how unusual it seemed. She also described
very comforting and pleasant dreams and not a single instance of the disturbing sounds or
sensations felt the first night.

On third night, she again slept on the couch and I in the bedroom. I had been drinking
that night and awoke to use the bathroom, passing Teasha on the way. Returning, my
vision was suddenly bombarded by light at the entrance to the bedroom. This strong almost
glimmering or pulsing light came from the left side of the doorway and was overwhelming. I
looked back in the direction where the light was perceived, seeing nothing, but still the reddish
hued remnants of what I had seen continued to gleam in my vision. On that night, I again had
amazingly vivid and pleasing dreams of making love to a stranger, a beautiful woman. I have
not shared this experience with anyone, outside this journal.

Teasha, on this night, recalled seeing watching beautiful glimmering light course across
the ceiling before her, brilliant white, from her waking-dream state. She described it as
looking, very much, like the Northern Lights in its shimmering motion upwards and outwards.
Her dream on this night, apparently, was described as "feeling so real" and lifelike that she
could not forget it. In it, she was approached by a woman in a white gown who was so high and
mighty that Teasha felt a lowly servent in comparison. This angelic woman in the white gown
rode a jet black stallion with Teasha also on a horse. She loves horses very much, and this
was an incredibly pleasurable dream for her and, even though there was a sense of awe and
reverence for the woman in the white gown, Teasha was not intimidated by her and described
feeling deep security and comfort with this woman of great dignity. They were in a community
of similar people, all of whome held the woman in white with great appreciation and respect.

I have thought very much of this realistic-feeling dream, and of the woman who visited
my own lifelike dream, and of the white figure who approached my bedside as I lay awake that
night. I believe it is no coincidence that the frightening and angry voices and visions which
455
disurbed me so severely disappeared with the arrival of the figure of light. I felt protected and
slept calmly and deeply, as if all consideration for past tensions had been wiped clear from my
thoughts. I felt secure and believe I have, now, a better and more immediate understanding
of the concept of a "spiritual guardian" which was, for so many years, relayed by my sunday
school’s teachings.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-29 23:10:58)

It needed to be here. For us

turboswami (2004-11-29 23:15:32)

I agree, what ever it was was there for us. I know I felt protected.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-29 23:36:18)

I meant the journal entry, but that stand true too. I felt protected, and at home, finally. I slept
better than I have in my life. Woke so happy, content, and refreshed. I felt connected with
you more than ever too... like that spirit you saw above me, myself... I felt that. Not that it
means much, but I felt as though I was a part of you, and you a part of me. It needed to hap-
pen, like the rape, the souls, my soul... it all has a purpose, and I will not allow myself to fear it,
but to inquire. I have never been as sure of myself as I was that night... the light, you, me, OUR home.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-30 13:28:03)

I can see why writing these things is good. You tell more than you do when speaking. You never tell
me half of what happens to you, either because you don’t care to, and hide it, or you don’t think about
it. I know you think about it, because you wrote about it. When things like this happen, and we are
both there, tell me! You never told me of a man whom you saw his face sliced. I would like to know
these things, when they happen, so I can be prepared.

(2004-11-30 02:07) - public

The entry I wrote about what the White Light me and Teasha saw was posted succesfully and
there were two comments. The next day, as if it was not to be posted, the entire entry just
disappeared from the live journal server. Neither of the two comments were forwarded to my
email address, as they typically are, and the entire entry was simply lost as if it was never
written. I scoured for hours trying to find a way to get it back...Teasha then told me she saved
it. Lets see if it sticks this time, I feel comfortable having these sorts of things recorded.

Did you drop the dog off, think? Thank you good runaround also that’s a lie. I aint get-
ting up offa nothin till expenses are dealt plus days.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-29 23:38:22)

I felt very compelled to save it. I wanted it for my own concious. I guess it is good, there was reason
to have this writing on my own personal computer... I have some good urges time to time... oh and I
thought you took it down because I was offended...

456
3.12 December

(2004-12-02 05:38) - public

Frequency is a dimension and we will learn, over time, to see, think, and perceive in terms of
frequency, the fourth dimension of all matter. Our internal frequency changes and, outside of
the container of our body, the residual self, over time, dilutes into the surrounding frequencies,
losing the form once retained. Thought is powerful, and our internal focus is central to
sensitivity and self control. If one learns clarity of thought and focus, frequency, the frequency
of people and emotions, will become perceivable.

In moments of intense clarity, I have felt angry or excited people "vibrate," and watched
as they aggitated a whole room of people with their emotional intensity, "thrashing about."
Often, the intensity of these perceived frequencies caused me to actually feel seasick, as if
I was being immersed into a turbulant, fluid social atmosphere. This is the future of human
sensation.

Vibration, often intense or violent, is also felt when the physical self and residual self
drift "out of phase." I typically feel this vibration in my legs, first, as this tends to be where
to two selves seperate first. From that relatively minor sensation of phase shift and localized
excitation, the vibration may spread upward, based on my degree of internal release, or the
depth of my relaxation. At the chest, the whole body can shake and quiver, the degree of
seperation deciding the phase interaction. This can sometimes feel so intense, that the entire
bed seems to move with my body.

This same convulsive vibration is felt upon reentering the body. Once, at the end of the
experience, I approached my bedside, aware of myself sleeping there. Laying on top of the
corpse-like body on the bed, I felt it beneath me, convulsing violently. I then awoke, in a
sweat, convulsing, with a numb tingling sensation across my body.

I intend to learn more.

iztyme2ryde (2004-11-02 03:33:52)

After reading that, I feel very strange about considering talking to you about the things that happen to
me in my OBE’s. I really think I have brought you too far into this, that winter. I feel as though you are
learning valuable material, but something that I have pushed upon you. In the same respect though,
you are dragging me into it with an intense will and almost eagerness to learn more about what it
is I do so commonly. Reading this book of yours, which I can not seem to allow it to leave my side.
I just have to have it there, open, with my fingers sifting through it, page after page. I am greatful
for the knowledge, as I have longed to get into spirituality, and the depths of the soul, beyond what
people seem to have created some sort of ideal for it, and venture to realms less known, when I am
sleeping, and awake for that matter. However, it scares me, the things that happen, and the things
you will soon see. Be careful, and please don’t hold it against me, my secretive OBE’s. I fear them,
because it is too much that is unknown, and too much you are eager to delve into, and perhaps exploit...

457
(2004-12-05 06:08) - private

A degree of success or failure, notated and reviewed much later, spanning the length of a
social day. The failures repeat again and again in the mind, carving out the limits of self with
critisism. My disgust a sharp shovel dug dowanward and inward, the firm voice of parental
rejection which echos, painfully, with an unnacceptable mental scene.

Happy Randy Travis, a young 4 Time Grammy Winner with a horse and a cowboy hat. If
the siloette rises, defined by the light of the full moon, he ready his pistol on his side to make
big with the "stop it guys!" but, hey, really now, Randy, is that necessary? Let me give you
the number to a man I know, jor coat shrt paw.

If There(c) was more, if it resembed the filling of my needs more closely, it might be
worth the emulation time, the time spent pretending to work beforehand. I need to work more
on my avatar, they does a body good; the process after choosing is so quick and easy, and
with possible choices so few, individuality is a snap!

Prime time date line, Courick on the rated line,

Yall not comin down to to shine
For lil me who felt it time,
To cross the river, commit the crime.

Well, finally, I have fallen to my own time

Carried on silver rope by those who climb
And the tug on my chest is a call to return,
Down inside they scream to frighten me back into line.

I never soul have left there, I won the diving prize,

In coming to a distant home where alone a woman dies,
And barren from her empty home was emotion once alive,
In holding through transparent walls, redness drew their eyes.

I want to be better. I am sick in someway I dont understand, but must be better again.
I need to get back to my life.

(2004-12-05 06:13) - public

A degree of success or failure, notated and reviewed much later, spanning the length of a
social day. The failures repeat again and again in the mind, carving out the limits of self with
critisism. My disgust a sharp shovel dug dowanward and inward, the firm voice of parental
rejection which echos, painfully, with an unnacceptable mental scene.

Happy Randy Travis, a young 4 Time Grammy Winner with a horse and a cowboy hat. If
the siloette rises, defined by the light of the full moon, he ready his pistol on his side to make
big with the "stop it guys!" but, hey, really now, Randy, is that necessary? Let me give you
the number to a man I know, jor coat shrt paw.

If There(c) was more, if it resembed the filling of my needs more closely, it might be
worth the emulation time, the time spent pretending to work beforehand. I need to work more
458
on my avatar, they does a body good; the process after choosing is so quick and easy, and
with possible choices so few, individuality is a snap!

Prime time date line, Courick on the rated line,

Yall not comin down to to shine
For lil me who felt it time,
To cross the river, commit the crime.

Well, finally, I have fallen to my own time

Carried on silver rope by those who climb
And the tug on my chest is a call to return,
Down inside they scream to frighten me back into line.

I never soul have left there, I won the diving prize,

In coming to a distant home where alone a woman dies,
And barren from her empty home was emotion once alive,
In holding through transparent walls, redness drew their eyes.

I want to be better. I am sick in someway I dont understand, but must be better again.
I need to get back to my life.

the2minh8 (2004-12-07 18:18:44)

i enjoyed the hell out of this post. make more like it.

(2004-12-05 07:42) - public

A degree of success or failure, notated and reviewed much later, spanning the length of a
social day. The failures repeat again and again in the mind, carving out the limits of self with
critisism. My disgust a sharp shovel dug dowanward and inward, the firm voice of parental
rejection which echos, painfully, with an unnacceptable mental scene.

Happy Randy Travis, a young 4 Time Grammy Winner with a horse and a cowboy hat. If
the siloette rises, defined by the light of the full moon, he ready his pistol on his side to make
big with the "stop it guys!" but, hey, really now, Randy, is that necessary? Let me give you
the number to a man I know, jor coat shrt paw.

If There(c) was more, if it resembed the filling of my needs more closely, it might be
worth the emulation time, the time spent pretending to work beforehand. I need to work more
on my avatar, they does a body good; the process after choosing is so quick and easy, and
with possible choices so few, individuality is a snap!

Prime time date line, Courick on the rated line,

Yall not comin down to to shine
For lil me who felt it time,
To cross the river, commit the crime.

Well, finally, I have fallen to my own time

Carried on silver rope by those who climb
459
And the tug on my chest is a call to return,
Down inside they scream to frighten me back into line.

I never soul have left there, I won the diving prize,

In coming to a distant home where alone a woman dies,
And barren from her empty home was emotion once alive,
In holding through transparent walls, redness drew their eyes.

(2004-12-07 06:37) - public

Drawn together driving, the dark warmth inviting. Silent.

Inspired to sing and scream and gurgle about in the secluded night.
I scratch and paw at the window until you let the breeze in through my closed eyes,
Warm night currents to cool my soul, a time spent fully in feeling.

But, is it this wind that takes my hair,

The night that draws me to close.
I am merely recalling a rare form,
This warm wind merely a prop.

I am so protected from feeling,

Held tightly from the purity of fire.
The senses paralyzed from a heavy cradle
Lulling me to sink behind in stagnant sleep.

We draw together, driving faster now through opaque mists,

I feel the night behind, surrounding my suffocation.
Swallowed by vaporous forms, silence is filled from beneath,
As the ignored needs find voices in the warm wind.

(2004-12-08 03:37) - public

For just a little tyke he’s got a time honored tradition. A lot of spunk fell under the analytical
glow of my travel-sized black light’s flourescent bulb of inviting strangers into the Oriental
bedroom. There fallen young master sees that the unknown guests remove their shoes and
place them for a long time, there was no house his small band of drug ravaged reborn call
on the small straw mat behind the second sliding door. This was no suprise to Harold The Fine.

For it was on the third year of his recovery that long ago a man was seen to enter the
village from the Southern path. He walked with a limp in his right leg and carried with
him a cage with the young master came to master the meditative arts and attained the
highest level of internal focus as it was a book in it. Approaching the Yahong River bridge,
the injured man opened the cage and threw the book into the water and solomly watched it
bob and float along the whitecapped currents which decended down to the tallest of the Yahong

as his father had done before him

River Delta he sat down in silt and bawled like a stinking Jap bastard, but wait, there’s
460
more!

He called, now, out to the angry sea and waited for a response. He waited until the set-
ting of the sun, and long into the night, until his waiting gave way to sleep. There, laying
on the warm night sand, the injured man limped into the village square, holding the empty
bamboo cage. Standing perfectly still, with firey intense eyes staring outward, he seemed
to the sea responded in the form of a beautiful slender woman who glistened with sea water
in the moonlight as she approached from beneath the water. Hands outstretched, her eyes
seemed to wait. The boy approached the man with a small knife. The man knelt down to the
little tyke and allowed him to place the knife into the cage, followed by a small note painted
in red ink. The boy bowed once more to the man, who nodded with subtle grace the woman
spoke.

"In my Southernmost Finger lies a broken sparrow, released from his cage too soon. My
hand points, now, to the Yahong River tributary where you are to mend his right wing. In
return, the sparrow will teach you his ancient song."

Just the the boy ran off to a hut where a hunched old man waited for his return.

(2004-12-11 00:59) - private

I drink heavily with sister and mother, together we bond in hatred of the rest of the world.
Pointing and laughing at bad hats and bad faces brings us together, huddled around our strong,
expensive drinks. Uncle Al gets more drunk and gets kicked out of a company Christmas
party...twice. He is later seen making jokes with nameless stallees in the woman’s bathroom.

When I shake hands, I do so with a cupped palm. This technique saves the person I
shake hands with from having to wipe my clammy sweat from their hand after the exchange
has been completed. As soon as I got there, the whole family began to call me "gay boy" and
this awkward hand shaking did not help.

I feel drained of

hey, little man, you got a plan?

you best be grabbin up these freebies while you can,
You gotta impress that one, in the dress...
She’s got a purse. Dont puke in it.

I’ll be Fraught with time honored knots

The trouble I inherit from stinky.
But who snorts my half, and whos drinking last
I best leave before she makes A BIGGER FUCKING DRAMATIC SCENE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE I
LOVE

(2004-12-14 08:59) - public

You see his antenna? Good! Where’s my antenna? He’s a big one, ain’t he!?
http://home.att.ne.jp/sky/nah/Illust.htm
461
Night time, you’ve got a big ball of greasy remnants and you need to hide it before the
guests come and start sniffing around. "Spunk-B-Gone’s" patented, here Dr. Lori Mayo’s vulva
series forms a salty pearl until overwhelmed by the changes and decisions being made in
Washington.

Her sweet naval affairs, engulfed by her turbulant salty sea, the dive revealed a tiny
hot globe which watched and waited with one eye. Cleaning is prepared with heavy pulse
drops, and the flash and roar of a great gun thundered with jabbing majesty. Glory, greatness,
the diver and his unpredictable machine overtook and calmed the once violent sea, taking her
helm and steering her down firmly. The purity of riot and war, the release of deep unknown
explosions bubbles up, disolving the remnants of eager furiousity.

I draw inspiration from the sounds of wind, thecoursing of a thousand currents, each fol-
lowing streaming through my finger’s thoughts. The sounds which resound down, beneath,
are eroded by this flow, the silt of stone gathers rich further down, where above once a path
is now a canyon. And, even as I once scraped my bloody nails against the brittle sandstone
walls, screaming and flailing wildly against the unending release, all I grasp falls away in sand
and tired wet I choose to endure with lazy drama.

Old friends return from long ago and remind me of my place in line. The times I had
forgotten they help me recall, and push me to retain a hazy status which was lost to mixed
company. I’m afraid of what I might remember from that time before my descent. If, perhaps,
I have become misguided and ignorant in my hiding, my guide and teacher may surely reveal
me to late punishment.

Subconscious Perception and The Out-Of-Body Experience (Part 1)

(2004-12-16 04:17) - private

Awareness and consciousness, as mental states, are considered by most to be one in the same.
Indeed, it can even be read that awareness cannot exist unless an individual is fully conscious
and awake. And, yet, science is confronted with unexplainable instances of experiences which
seem to suggest a connection between the subconscious and unconscious states and aspects
of physical awareness. Lucid dreams, night paralysis, and the out-of-body experience are each
now recognized by the scientific community as legitimate occurrences worthy of academic at-
tention. And while the realm of mental activity just below the threshold of consciousness does
not lend itself easily to observation or recording, brave and forward-thinking theories and ex-
periments continue to expand the acceptance of the subconscious experience as one relevant
and deserving of dedicated study.
A major factor in the rejection of the idea of subconscious awareness is a limited conception of
awareness, itself. Psychology, as a field of study, is still limited by its infancy, in comparison
with the other sciences and, for the most part, there is still little distinction drawn between
inward and outward awareness; so much so that many still interpret awareness as implying
merely outward, physical awareness. This is a primarily Western interpretation of awareness,
where ancient Eastern practices of meditative inward-focus and the transcendent subconscious
state still seem alien; disregarded, for the most part, as frivolous remnants of the counter-
culture. Inward awareness, however perceived culturally, is a universal mode of awareness
which, human experience suggests, spans across the entire spectrum of consciousness, top to
bottom.
Different states of consciousness have come, only recently, to be measured as distinct modes
462
of brainwave frequency. The alpha, theta, and delta frequency bands each a scientifically
defined wavestate corresponding to a level or “depth” of individual consciousness. This con-
ception of consciousness as a spectrum of frequency which we slowly travel down through in
sleep and shoot up through in waking is infinitely meaningful. The detection of brainwaves re-
vealed consciousness as a form of energy which could be measured, a dynamic internal energy
state. Waking consciousness was, all at once, expressed as a frequency, a carrier medium on
which all perceived awareness travels. As we drift downward into the subconscious towards
sleep, the range of our awareness changes accordingly, and we recede inward, our thoughts
becoming “long,” as we approach the unconscious dreamstate. This change in the range of
our awareness slowly limits the upper register of perception, the physical “surface” awareness
of sound and bodily sensation, while at the same time opening our perception to awareness of
a lower brainwave frequency; the new lower state of consciousness

(2004-12-17 21:48) - public

Laying back in the scream, the heartbeat is felt to pump to your eyes.
The surroundings suddenly vibrant, a cold splash to the windows, pure, refreshing.
The heart fluttering rapidly, pounding out from inside,
No, my heart is calm, this is a pounding of nerve’s senses,
From the base of the spine, there is flow inward between the arms.

Closing my eyes, the pounding sense increases, I am able to see the visual field yet in
my mind. The redish form, I crack my neck, to both sides, and a tilt becomes apparent in
these apparitions of the immediate visual field. I come to envision the conception of being
immediately beneath the water, looking upward at all visible.

I become disgusted by the condition of my immediate surroundings. I leave a lot of

boxes.
I’m taking many with me, at the same time. Many retain their cardboard.
Oh, oh, all these cute couples! Tighten my ass and say precious, you little snivellling bitch.
God, the cold air defines the high so much, the absolute cold night is analytical, clear.
Culture is defined by the equator, by the line of rotating heat cyclic across the dirt.

I hear a man pound at a door, "HELLOWOO!" in some strange primal accent. It is the
last day, and they rush out into the cold to shake hands and flap about. Maybe the waddle?
They do look quite presumptuous,

they walk around in a better place. Maybe a relative from some higher place.Like I pre-
pare to watch and learn.

At the peak, I thought of the intelligence of fire and the spirituality of natural energy.
Our scale of time blinds us to the intelligence of forms of interaction, physical forms in time,
chemical and micro interactions within, the division of a second into millions to describe life
of individual bacterial forms, and beneath further to viral and further down through the nano
division of time and space, together.

Is it not apparent, through all the sciences, of the connection which exists between time
and space, described as a fabric, as it is the most basic of our conceptions of melding together
two entities, or strings of linear time thought also to imply space. In truth, it is thought,
463
specifically, to represent a surface, a meeting of two densities, defined by depth and an
inward pull. Yet, this physical implication of time/space has yet to be fully applied through all
the depths through physicality of all of the sciences, biological, natural, social, and otherwise.
To concieve of the burning of a lighter as the 400 billion year lifespan of a 400 trillion individual
suns. To concieve of the societies that form around heat, born of interaction, born and dead in
the flicking of my ignorant thumb.

I believe in the conscious intelligence of surroundings, the consciousnessness of subtle

energies, the limits of physicial perception on a larger spectrum of frequent energy.

(2004-12-17 20:06:29)
No offense man, but your posts kinda creep me out.

turboswami (2004-12-17 20:44:45)

Well, who are you? I want to know who not to defend myself from.

turboswami (2006-02-04 02:33:49)

None taken. I’m creeped out too... Are you in The Casionauts?

(2004-12-17 23:42) - public

Electricity is so much faster a medium of communicationthan the "natural" communication of

the slower, molecular scale. Yet, to call this scale "natural" is to relate natural evolution only
to an immediate biological, or bodily, interactions and physical scales known to our naked
eye. Interactions of the non-physical, energetic scale exist take place seperate from but with
dependance on our physical selves, the full depths of the energy medium we interact with not
fully known or understood, but relied upon and used, as best we can, to compensate for the
limits of the physical communication.

The new movie about EVP, "White Noise," hits close to home. I may experiment more
with this in my bedroom at home, I may not. I admit, the thought scares me and I suspect,
by recording the voices again, I may encourage more of the negative experiences from that
place; recording the computer with itself as I did in that instance. I shake about like Hepburn
around "Golden Pond," era or so. Strange to notice.

To say that this converting of electic impulses into sound along physical membranes the
speaker is not a significant mode of interaction which has the potential to carry more than
we intend for it to, is remain fully ignorant of the broader dynamics governing the interact-
ing bodies. This broader conception of these two bodies, or energetic scales, reveals the
limits of our understanding of the electromagnetic spectrum which, we can safely assume
encompasses more than merely our own loud talking. Indeed, the study of electromagnetic
frequencies and their physical representation, converted by "unnatural" or external means,
is more promising a search than that of NASA’s...big dish for finding aliens. It is much more
realistic a goal to establish communication with the dead than it is to establish communication
with a seperate physical entity, whos differences are defined by distance. Within, not along,
light and sound, there are the subtle depths of those energies which we are unable to percieve
naturally. Indeed, there are entities surrounding us, who can interact, infuence, and even
control us, which we are, physically, unaware of. The relevance of psychic mediums, who
464
show, reliably, the ability to induct intelligable communication from their surroundings, based
on their universal prevalence in society back through to the beginnings of culture and human
history, cannot be ignored as we come to broaden the scope of our perception through science
and the innovations of modern culture.

iztyme2ryde (2004-12-17 23:00:40)

Keep in mind that I live there too, and if you scare the hell out of me.... I might not be willing to stay.
Then what are you going to do living in that house with a room full of pissed off spirits.

the2minh8 (2004-12-20 13:42:12)

i regret i wasn’t able to hang out with you before the move. you should think of any excuse to come
back to town; for example, i have a very comfortable air mattress that i set up in the office/studio
when people need to sleep. i will also make a concerted effort to visit, perhaps bringing along mutual
friends. that would certainly not happen until summer, when i will (hopefully) have money and maybe
some time to work with. anyway, it’s been real. we’ll meet again.

(2004-12-28 23:22) - public

When alone last night, I began to consider my home and the fact I don’t feel at home here,
the fear that accompanies this place now, the bedroom upstairs now abandoned. I meditated,
silent alone, watching the fire and allowed my thoughts to wander, some calm, some strange,
some fearful. Footfalls down the stairway preceded other sounds in the room and a sensation
of presense I have come to recognize more and more. From the corner of my eye, the top of
the doorway to the bedroom flashed brightly, as if in response to my tension. Minutes later,
Teasha arrived back and we went to sleep.

Minutes after laying in bed, with my arm around Teasha, I closed my eyes and began to
think of what message, if any, it was wished that I receive. Teasha then became frightened
and said she saw a light circle inward from the doorway. She said she felt stupid for mentioning
it until I told her that I, too, had seen the light earlier.

Closing my eyes, I began to scan the room. Near the doorway, a reddish form became
apparent to me. At its center was a brighter light area. This figure seemed to move back and
forth, as if circling, between the doorway and the bedside. It came to approach closer to the
bedside until the red form became still there, standing alongside my left arm. Slowly looming
over me, and receding, on the third lunge towards me, I felt the bed move beneath me and
a tingling sensation overtook me from that left side. My eyes fell, immediately, into a REM
state and felt to pulse behind their lids. While not as intense as the 2 previous occurances
of being "inhabited," as I have come to interpret these instances, for many minutes I laid in
awe, my body seeming heavy, a charged or vibrational feeling coursing internally. I then saw
the form of a right arm extending outwards from my body above my chestst and my right arm
felt inclined to lift, as if somehow cold or empty. This arm was around Teasha, who had just
recently fallen asleep, and the two times I thought to move the arm, she immediately voiced
"ut-uh" or no from her sleep. I also had strange muscle spasms along the buttox muscles of
that left side which began immediately after the initial sensation of warm charge.

Footfalls were heard in the living room during this time.

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iztyme2ryde (2004-12-30 01:25:20)
No one cares anymore it seems, how come no one replies anymore? Perhaps you creeped ’em out. I
am going to EAT!

biscuitboy (2004-12-30 06:21:32)

It’s probably just the house settling. Count some sheep and try again.

(2004-12-31 03:49) - public

I took the baby. It squeeks when you squeeze it, like grab it hard in your hand. I took a big
step in stealing it like this and, I will admit, I sometimes get scared when I look at it flap around
and realize the sheer manpower involved in the search for the child, by this point. With the
authorities, no doubt, being contacted by the 7th day, by now the search is no doubt statewide.

I sometimes hold little ceremonies over the crib, reenacting aspects of "The Hunt" and
calling upon the help of the wind and water spirits to guide the child towards future success. I
dont have the proper voice for casting spells. From what little you see on TV, you’d expect a
nice deep, rolling sort of dramatic voice, like Gandalf, confident and fluid. I stutter and stop,
reading from the paperback "Celtic Magick," my frail voice cracking through the verses like an
insecure Jewish pharmasist describing hemerroidal creames. I really need to work on that.

I will teach it to play the piano, and it will do good and I will be proud, like a parent is
kinda. And when the thing messes up, I will hit it like I should and that will be just fine.

Yes, it squeeks when you squeeze it and squeeks louder when you hit it. It squeels when you
burn it and crys for food when I eat next to the bars, cook where the ropes bind tightly through
stressing

Troublesome areas:
—Ugly Hats
—Screaming Jap General Fatty Wearing Her Ovaries On The Outside
—Young Guns II

Like a street I once layed in, drunk on testosterone, belly full of Nickelodeon Gak(c)and
Mike ’n’ Ikes, the curb watched until dark.
In r

iztyme2ryde (2004-12-31 16:22:00)

When you use my computer, PLUG IT BACK IN! Gah, stupid parents, proud, of nothing.... How many
times you gotta be told, don’t hit the baby!

silentwinds (2004-12-31 21:58:18)

Well that was disturbing enough.

terminalpudding (2005-01-01 17:44:02)

Maybe I WON’T come visit after I have my baby....hmmm....

466
4. 2005

4.1 January

(2005-01-03 01:04) - public

Am I the world’s most endangered species? I suspect my kind have been killed, or worse, for
plummage like this for thousands of years. If, perhaps, I sink lower into this mucus-lined pit of
self-rejection, these sexy decorative flourishes will be fully enveloped by the dark, no longer
bothered by the light which furnishes their critical gazes. Cliche, I have not the energy to
match wits with you tonight. Tighten my collar and blacken this putrid coffee and, maybe, I’ll
pay more attention to my faults for you.

The booming doorway finally sealed, its floating rush and flash a surreal memory fading
into doubt. If a song has been written which expresses my nameless emotions in melody, it is
much older than me or the dry executives selling this place. I cry to think of the innocence
I once bared to the world, naked and naive, confident little man from solitude who was
thrashed against the grinding teeth of a laughing crowd, thirsting for acceptance on my blood.
I accepted as truth, exclusion, and the exploitation of blah by blah

In coerce, of course, implied, a coarse manner of refinement. Rather, I was made to

run with these scissors. She lied about me on the phone, and I listened and grew sick in my
noxious hatred of her. I refined my mind’s tongue with this hate, and all she knew of these
burning words were what radiated through my glaring eyes. She split me at the skin, and
forever cut the mouth and its emotions from my livid frame. Her own womb set fire whose
heat she will, no doubt, grow old and huddle over to sleep.

iztyme2ryde (2005-01-04 05:25:31)

That’s it, you are banned from my computer....

(2005-01-04 03:40) - public

I am inspecting myself, Go Go Gadget!

On the nature trail, enclosed by trees and night, I am hidden and inspired.
Into self I walk from the spectacle, that stressful mess of lights,
From the sleeping peak, I attain perspective on my dramatic bindings.
I can see my house from here.

The grass is higher at night

Pushing through fields to tool sheds of the long dead.
Gardens and rock piles, in the forgotten plot I am lost.
Only to return knowing the time.
467
(2005-01-09 01:56) - public

A sham family, fam damily, got lost and I ask, again, how low can they go? Without a single
bit of tupperwear or beverage container to piss in, they go out and find medication for painful
conditions they dont even have. Lupus, cancer, I know all the croakers in town, born off center
in a deeply-rutted circle, twisting and knotted with throbbing opioid pustules who pump,
relentlessly, the syrupy sickness out at a timed, monthly frequency.

Young upstarts dashed against stone withdrawl sing sad ballads of who they were and
pose on dingy burntcan streetcorners as men without fear. Humor, like all conversation, is
lost to them. They hear the deal and nothing else, the details of the exchange awaken and
excite them. No home but wide

tombs, to cry out into the conductor, to be heard in charge. Recorded in a different
place is my anguish, the details of my suffering expressed permanently.

(2005-01-14 01:21) - public

So, there is a lot of unhealthy business stewing about in the ol’ gulliver, stuff that is likely to
boil over when all these guests of mine least expect it. Maybe I should begin doing things
again, or getting up before 3 pm, or considering the benefits of steady employment, or
purchasing concealable firearms.

Oh, yes yes, mine is a family of skilled liars and my natural ability of manipulation, the
subtle art of wordplay, has afforded me many unusual requests and offensive observations.
The most truthful and insightful observations of another person are generally the most offen-
sive and must be worded with careful premeditation if wished to be tolerated. These careful
inhibitions, dissolved again and again in chemicals, become weakened with the insights they
filter. Adulthood, or its sedentary lifestyle?

Cross, a feeling of warmth,

These angels aren’t religious.
There are angry women hiding in the dark corners of this room,
Their thoughts reverberate in flashes of disapproval.
Am I worth this attention?

For a time, there was only my sighs and my expression to self,

My imaginary reader, a curious listener appreciating my thoughts in the future.
I am integrated now.
I am lulled inside.

(2005-01-17 01:44) - public

I can no longer induce inspiration, I have become smothered in laziness.

I hear speech upstairs, a man and at least 2 women. They converse, often in anger and
a woman’s voice was even heard from my speaker system when I was upstairs last week,
although I was unable to record this instance because of improper software settings. The
468
transmission was sudden, following a loud crackle, similar to wires touching, and suddenly a
high voiced woman was caught midsentance, and again seconds later. I shook very strongly,
but quickly tried to set up the recording gear. The faint conversation is heard to come from a
certain corner of the room, the corner one of the speakers is in although not necessarily from
the speaker.

When downstairs, the conversation is definately heard to take place upstairs and, the
night before last, the low voice of the man was discernable enough from the other voices to be
made out from time to time. I recall him saying, angrily "...all day long..." and something about
"going." This loud conversation is typically heard from 5AM to 6:30ish, but seems strongest at
around 5:30. I know I would have very strong results if I were to record computer ambience
during this time, but am quite intimidated by the thought of going up there during this loud,
active time. Further recording may only encourage more of the negative interactions in sleep,
which have disappeared since the comforting experience with the white light entity.

I listen to the voices I HAVE been able to record again and again, slowly becoming ob-
sessed, I fear. Who is this man and how am I to help him? I may post the clips online
sometime. I know they have been posted on some EVP website. I was told they were very
strong cuts, very clear.

Some Old, Unused Thoughts To A Stranger (2005-01-18 09:30) - transparent - public

You are writing from the brink of ego’s "chasm," along a path travelled by all who question
their own identity. You are developing vocabulary from what you see looking down from the
high, mountainous terrain and, if I may, I would like to make some key points which may help
you in defining these words drawn from this ancient path.

You mention surface and, indeed, the entirety of image, dramatically portrayed or de-
fensively interpreted, exists upon this sunlit superficiality. Yet, in dealing with the broad
generalities like this, you must come to understand the nature of duality and of opposites.
In identifying surface, and the existence of ego, or the social self, you must simultaneously
acknowledge depth, and all that lies beneath the surface of this sea of seen scene.

Emotion is a bouyant aspect of a deeper, lesser visible level of self which surfaces, one
way or another, to our waking consciousness and into the light of our days behavior whether
we like it or not. It, to, is subject to the whims of ego, however, and is shallow in comparison
to the unseen inner levels of personality, which extends infinately inward, away from surface
experience and its perception. Transcendent, to dive so far and open this imageless self is to
unlock the torrents of bliss known to most only in death.

mostconducive (2005-01-19 04:12:35) Thanks!

That was most enjoied here. Keep up the good work!

maetast (2005-01-19 23:51:16)

I am adding you to my friends list for lack of any other way to show my appreciation of your response
to that entry in abstractthought, I hope you don’t mind.

469
(2005-01-21 04:10) - public

It made me feel more sane when Derek asked suddenly "Is there someone here?" while over
tonight. When I said there was not and asked why he thought there was, he said he heard
someone talking, a man’s voice. Teasha then told him that was common in this house and
that she hears the voices as well (something she hadn’t told me, but rather left me to think I
was the only one hearing the conversations taking place around the house.)

My cherished stranger,
Eyes, once heavy, looking down.
Your bare lips full, near bursting,
Remain closed, pretending to have forgotten.

Your baited silence screams in thought,

As if wailing for me to join the unseen.
If in dreams I walk and love with you,
I will not sleep until I am lean.

iztyme2ryde (2005-01-21 15:49:47)

You are sad.. very...

swarms (2005-01-21 21:51:05)

come down and visit soon

turboswami (2005-01-22 07:29:06)

I am sorry, do I know you?

(2005-01-22 03:35) - public

Forest fires of the mind once cleared broad territories yet untouched, but all this smoke I
choke through now is merely the smoldering remains of that exciting, exploratory time. Only
Desolation remains, the dim remnants of virgin forests burned, thoughtlessly, merely for the
intensity of that crackling light which quickly dimmed and faded into death, forgotten. In
suffocating the ashen hole with accelerants of a thousand colors and forms, I became dizzy
and my place in the waste was lost to the smoke that stung my once-bright eyes and filled
my once-clear lungs with thick tar sickness; insight lost to excite, to the naive racing of a
juvenile’s search.

"Hey, hey now Champ! Run to woo the aging crowd with a quick one-two to the primal
urge. Get’s ’em every time."

Lets look foolish exersising together, er...extrasizing together. I had not the breath to
carry my massive erection for as long as you needed and collapsed back onto my hamburger
to nap. Lets forget I ever came.

470
iztyme2ryde

turboswami (2005-01-23 19:37:27)

Thank you for your insightful critisism.. I will definately start focusing on making my personal writing
more pleasing to you. You dont know how grateful I am of these constructive critisisms.

swarms (2005-01-23 19:59:40)

Hey Kaleb, what did the deleted post say? Also, wanna join me in my crusade to steal the battery
cover from everyone’s remote control?

iztyme2ryde (2005-01-23 22:37:09) PLease! not my remote!

The deleted one was from me, and said..."Can’t you ever write anything good? This shit gets so
old...like you seem to think you do. Stop being pessimistic, because it is just such a waste of
writing." I can’t stand that he is always depressed... or so it seems, I should kick him really hard...

4.2 February

(2005-02-14 13:31) - public

Intelligence manifests naturally in all organization identically regardless of that organization’s

scale. That is to say, like our own body whose cells are assigned specialized tasks and as-
sume specific roles, for instance the removal of waste, the modern city integrates identical
organizational systems, designating elaborate divisions between vital tasks and the individu-
als assigned to accomplish those tasks, like the removal of waste.

iztyme2ryde (2005-02-16 13:20:01)

poop?

The Chinatown Slide (2005-02-15 11:52) - public

First, a years worth of high grade jet engine oil is emptied from a low flying plane down
along the waiting corral streets of Chinatown. It is nightfall, the end of the first of five
days of memorial celebration. In honor of the Christian fighter pilots, small paper kites are
contstructed and flown all day, many adorned with fireworks at night in concession fields far
from the oiled streets.

The best slides are among the first 200, when the wooden inclines atop the cities high-
est hill are still fully coated with the low viscosity bluish transparancy. It is reccomended that
one be outfitted with certain nylon, plasticy or silk material to enjoy the run, but the college
students barrel down in their underwear, or less when crazed.

A young Christian woman from the year before, with long dark brown hair and a slender,
playful face recognized me and gave me a brief hug and, with a teasing eyebrow, asked me
to join her for the run as she continued to undress. I hesitated with what I thought was a
471
suggestive smile, but was interrupted by a man in flashy silk boxers who butted between our
interplay cockily, "You’d have to take those pants off, you have to be in your underwear to
slide." he said, jutting his chin outwards towards my face intending, casually, to intimidate me
into not accompanying.

"I’m not wearing underwear." I cocked up in response, while intending, as casually, to

hide the high edge of my ratty tight whites by pulling my loose grey sweatpants up and over. I
did so with the face of meeting a challange, as it seems like real men pull up their pants when
preparing to fight.

They and their two other friends, a man and a woman, shot down the street, chasing
one another with outstretched hands and grit teeth, at an incredible speed. The four of them
dissappeared over the edge of a second hill in the distance as I continued to watch the lines of
people barrel down the runway. Most of them were a few years younger than myself, although
I felt decades older. People above watched screaming and threw glittery paper down from
second story windows and railed walkways.

(2005-02-18 01:11) - public

Anyway, yea...I forgot to mention I slid on my ass down the weaving narrow streets, their
cobbled surface heavily coated with oil. On some hills, it felt I was going 65 miles an hour,
although I suspect being so close to the ground helped induce that feeling of speed. I could
see her ahead of me, in the distance, her hair a dark streak illuminated briefly beneath each
round paper parade light.

I figured, hell, and as it was before, it continues to this day without an end in sight. Ap-
parently smoking from aluminum popcan bowls causes alzheimer’s disease. I no longer know
the names of several members of my family and have forgotten much of my life previous to
last December and have come to suspect much of it did not exist or existed in a detailed dream.

I have learned key childhood memories never took place. These memories were so key
in defining my early personality that I and my close friends even gave speeches, retelling
the vivid stories as I remembered them, before classrooms of people. It is only now, years
later, in talking to my father that I come to the realization that these stories are based on
lifelike dreams. The most distinct of these involves me and my father on the frozen ice
surface of one of the 3 large ponds surrounding my childhood home. I recall, with incredible
detail, the darker coloration of the area of the pond near the shore where I approached
and fell in, my blue snowsuit immediately filling with icy water, my tiny arms holding me
above the ice as I screamed wildly afraid. I told my close childhood friend that this never
took place and he became very angry, saying he had told that story for a class speech project.

I also recall dreams from that time of leaving my body, walking through the wall seper-
ating the two bedrooms upstairs. I would awake and strain to look through the wall, as if I
expected it to be transparent as seconds before it was. I remember staring for long hours,
thinking of the sleep and the wall, assuming it was a common nighttime experience. To some
degree, I still believe it is.
472
(2005-02-19 00:30) - public

Gravy grave grave, I took what they gave and shook quietly through their laughter.

Oh, sweet Jesus! The parking is free...the space is mine without a dime, and yet I feel
so robbed.

This noise went on for some time, as they clammered in and out, shouting about the
weather in smart suits until, quite suddently, it was dark and everyone became naked and
began preparing to clammer in and out.

As if their asses are covered in the dark, they think they can get away with just about
anything. Sure, I had heard stories in Readers Digest, but had no idea truely how rampant
this moral decay had become until I arrived there, to the very heart of the city’s heart and
witnessed the perversion first hand, then lower. I became a clammer, a tightly-suited diver
scouring the depths of the clam bed for pearls using only my tongue.

In some countries, castration would have been the perscribed method of punishment,
but in ocho echaos form, my personality is free of such and such and the restraint implied.
One needed only to ask and the governing body, without a word, would grant

of itself, of hands, eyes, and mouth, so was received.

Inperience requires as much attention as experience, the same eyes become primed
and ready closed as focus inverts. But, troubled by questions and buzzers and dates, the poor
eyes tense, burdoned and forced still awake.

Which Drug Is Right For YOU? (2005-02-22 05:29) - public

Troubled teens around the country asking the same question: "Which drug is right for me?"

To this, caring doctors, priests, siblings and parents reassuringly respond or don’t. The
fact is that there is no easy answer when deciding which recreational drug is right for you.
Many factors, psychological, genetic, sexual or otherise can play distinct role in how your
body interacts with the given drug. Before introducing yourself to a new drug of leisure, or
undertaking a recreational drug binge (extending 3 or more days,) it is best that you first
consult a medical professional trained in the area of drug use. These knowledgable therapists
are generally listed in your local phonebook under "recreational/pleasure drugs" and will be
able to advise you and/or your child on which drug is most appropriate and the best way to
administer (intraveinously, orally, or anally.)

It is a stressful world, each day more tense and depressing than the previous. It is with
this fact in mind that government agencies were formed and continue to serve and protect
the American publics need and right to release, be that release chemical, sexual, or otherwise.
Like four young Asian hookers born without arms or legs, the FDA has divided into four
specialized agencies, each formed to serve the American public in a different way. With love
and tender care, the young Asian stump hookers grew and blossomed they encompassed all
drug use, the slow wheels of Congress enacting, in the span of 5 years, the decriminalization
and licensing of once abused and illegal drugs. This....
473
Fork spun in on itself to mislead the dying Catholic church to bed.

swarms (2005-02-23 17:23:26)

you should make a Maxi Statement-type commercial out of this and have some guy yelling in the
background like he’s being tortured in a dungeon somewhere

turboswami (2005-02-25 08:19:52)

Thats crazy. I dug up that Maxi Statement promo lastnight for a resume cd for a radio station. Heh,
its strange you remember it.

(2005-02-24 14:43) - public

I sure hope this reading thing works out for me. I mean, sure, symmetrical book stacking is
good for reeling in the chicks, but you can’t hide behind those walls forever while remaining
fully ignorant of their content and all they defend from. Ignore the inside or the outside, sure.
Ignoring both breeds a stagnant mind.

Surely all the tired types suffer from this strange affliction of the nervous system, the
deadening of interest and of libido in one feverish swoop from grace. As if one can ever expect
to be open again after such a deep, inward dive, insecurity a slippery slope down into the
chasms of ones own defenses.

The tired types, naturally, are inclined towards abandonment and self-release. It is some
relationship, some dharmic obligation to the world, which leads them away from these lazy,
meditative pursuits of spirit and down insecurities self-centered trap. A lonely trap, each
restrains their self behind tight, brittle defenses, having long forgotten exactly what it is they
were defending.

4.3 March

(2005-03-06 04:31) - friends

Oh, lackaday! The trials are underway, and no matter how hard I try, hiding, vain, beneath
their loud gaping mouths, judgement tumbles out and down my face like the disgrace of yolk’s
slime.

"HAA HAA HAAA!!!" They scream and cackle with their forever blank eyes inches from
my empty face. They are fishing for a rise, as all are to rise, the honorable judge is proceeding
to spit in my ear and I must show the respect he deserves. My pride is at stake!

"Why, oh why is he not rising in defense of his honor?!" shocked acrobats jumble through
teletype on live satellite feeds to edgeseated homebodies. So objective, their judgement.
They squirm and vibrate through my pounding head.

474
I want to choke them with my own bloody intestines, torn from their fleshy confines, my
own greasy weapon spilling from me onto the dirt. Sunday will bring the church crowd to
spectate in sparkle-eyed horror. I’ll be the talk of the church group for 3 weeks, no doubt.

I will die, sitting down, so proud of my lack of pride.

Where’s My Damned Hammer!? (2005-03-07 03:17) - public

[1]

[2]What
is your Anti-Drug?

1. http://thisisacryforhelp.com/quiz/antidrug/quiz.html
2. http://thisisacryforhelp.com/quiz/antidrug/quiz.html

(2005-03-08 04:38) - public

I was to bashful to hit the drum by myself. All that noise it makes, and here I am all alone
with nobody to consider. Perhaps if I were to think of an invisible but strange audience of like
minded peers who watch me as I hit the drums, I will become more confident in my playing...

But no, the invisible audience, in fact, just scares me away, back downstairs where I be-
long, well entertained. If I come through moaning and wheezing like I was, nobody will take
notice and I will go home with as much or less respect that I arrived with. I must be fit as a
fiddle, my chest and abdomen tight like its strings, so tempting to pluck. This confident viola
depends on a simplified perspective of its beautiful voice, self-assured with the shrill criticisms
of old well at bay. Dead babies will get JAMES’ attention...hmm...

I made a very intense bit of dittilingus named "The Afterglow Of Martha" and might add
strange chicken scratch redneck scat over only the most tippity of the taps. The name is
in reference to the local music group "Martha Behind Bars." Their band name’s relevancy is
much like my fleeting sex drive hair line.
475
What is spiritual "bad breath"? (2005-03-09 04:21) - public

Passion demons on them and around them as they prevent perverse devils from grasping
it readily and presenting a warped version to man. The "GOOD NEWS" is "bad breath," our
fleshy FAMILY flattered into thinking they can create and originate their own thoughts. Our
fleshy FAMILY, our fleshy FAMILY, brim-full of wine of fornication and enjoying, little midget
monsters are on them!

Marred clay vessels of flesh and blood are microphones to address, to corrupt, and to
deceive other men directly. These are your foolish virgins who have no extra oil.

* Randomly lifted from "http://www.goodnewsinc.net/wisdom/ucantsrv.html" **

(2005-03-10 21:16) - public

Priorities, while unemployed, are somehow lost in troubled sleep. I feel drained by the hole I
inhabit and reluctantly face each day as an avoidant recluse.

(2005-03-17 06:09) - public

I like to feel the suspense when I’m certain you know I am there,
I like the touch and the smell of all the pretty pretties you wear.
Snipping the clippers, snipping the clippers through the telephone wires.
The sense of isolation, inspires, inspires me.

The fuckup...
Like a cocksucker’s daydream, you rank near top a quick wasted cooling night.
Hidden to quickly forget, or call on for servicing, I seize, softfooted, the night.
My soul liposuctioned out from beneath a flap on a rib, while I slept, relieved, that night.
I cannot find my way back home without that light, quick wasted on that warmest night.

Smothered dull...

(2005-03-20 04:22) - public

Held against my will, with so much whining and sobbing becoming distant as I sink into the
nod. Why is it cancer patients are given downers and not psychotropics? It seems approaching
death should be

monroe_the_fast (2005-03-21 16:55:57)

should be WHAT?!?!?!

(2005-03-26 04:42) - public

The Festival of Death was cooling and maybe I was coming out of it.
Most of the day, I was at the machinery, fully ignored by the seasons.
476
Receiving word fragments in the reverberation of water meeting air
Deserted by reason long ago as the chase of dark stars grew most intense.

Subtle planes, above and below, carry drifters who attend to my thoughts,
But what did I do to attract their gaze, I am unworthy of their warmth and undeserving of their
pain.
Distorted flash, pulsing face surfacing to white. I do not know those depths of hate.
A guiding light has lost me as I have closed myself to all worlds but my own.

monroe_the_fast (2005-02-27 11:15:07)

Clearly you’re worthy. You know?

turboswami (2005-02-27 20:13:03)

Oh, I know you’re worthy of a GOOD KICK KIN THAR PANTS! *bludgeon* *bludgeon*

terminalpudding (2005-03-10 14:43:53)

March 26?

iztyme2ryde (2005-03-11 09:16:15)

His journal fucks up all the time! He just can’t get it right heh... he did that in mine and screwed up
all my entries... gah

Black Centipede (2005-03-31 23:59) - public

Armor plating buzzes as I stretch my arms behind my neck with a quivering strain.
The replications spiral inward, across a network before me, inside me.
I extend emotions and thoughts through the median set of possiblities, extending an internal
boundary.
Strange courses swirl outward from a wavering fluid focal center which frequents along the
wagging of my legs in the chair or the rocking back and forth which develops, mysteriously,
as if from the air.

Among the ruins, far below the sunlit hilltop, a 4 1/2 foot long black centipede squirmed
out from the large rectangular cardboard box beneath which it had curled, its mandibles
clenching as it thrashed its rear end wildly out from beneath the back of the overturned box
where it had hid. Immediately, I reflexed stumbling back, but felt that I must protect the young
girl who followed me hesitantly. I dove forward, unprepared, lifting the box from its back and,
with the edge of the right wing of its opened end, slashed blindly at its rear-most leg segment
as it turned its body towards my armpit, preparing to bite.

The cardboard quickly bent on The black armor-like plating, hardened over the rear seg-
ment. I looked up at the last minute to see her in the doorway, eyes wet, holding her hands
up to her face in horror, her bent fingers seeming to cover a scream that didnt come. I saw
blood form below from beneath my white shirt, but felt no pain. I felt nothing, only watched
as the long black monster swung quickly, crawling onto my chest, the sharp tips of its 100
legs scurrying up along my inner thighs to my stomach. The weight of the giant insect on my
chest collapsed the air from my lungs and I became paralyzed, terror coursing through my still
moving eyes. If
477
iztyme2ryde (2005-04-02 10:41:29)
Haha, you hate bugs! And they creep over your tense body while you sleep! If only you knew what I
saw the othernight......

4.4 April

(2005-04-02 22:08) - public

Hambone, what? Ham requiem, settling into a fleshy plant thought.

’And...there we are." setting the wall along the roles of convention, firmly in place, to
carry a primed and ready defensive ambition, said Don Juan finishing boastfully.

"A loud, hard cough sinks deeply through the diaphram," [A convulsive cought erupted
from the Detective, as if yanked] "settling in a dull pain that reverberates to the mid spine."
as he rose, turning to the Detective from lowest corner of the wall, still wet with cement.

"Dizziness accompanies a darkness spreading outward from the center of your vision un-
til you are blinded with bubbly white flashes pulsing wildly as you become faint." he said
calmly and quietly to the tall, dark haired detctive with a confident tone that tugged with a
subtle, deep insistance. With his right hand clutching the bottom of his rib cage, he leaned
heavy onto the cubboard with his other arm, his face quickly turning more pale as he began
to grasp for air, more loudly.

You cannot stand

iztyme2ryde (2005-04-04 10:07:34)

Neither could you! *trips on chair*

(2005-04-06 01:46) - public

Middle American hotbodies line the streets eager for just a whiff of that weeks strain of brown
street sage. Condemned buildings carry condemned people to chemical destinations they
know all too well. When poverty ravaged this area and its people, priorities were more natural.
Hunger was the source of their nightly pains, not junk sickness or collapsed veins. Just as thin,
weak and pale as those people of that earlier time, today’s malnourished had no shortage of
food.

Cross marginal delusions, and the moaning of a dark, bloody glass warehouse on the
old Industrial East side, Samual laid, the back of his right wrist encrusted with the semen he
had wiped from his red moustache hours before. The fat, bald fuck it belonged to was on the
nod in a ratty blue lazy boy who’s back was dimly illuminated by the moonlight through the
remnants of long slender window which extended up towards the apex of the cathedral ceiling
of the warehouse. Of the three needles near his ankle, he had forgotten which 2 were dirty
478
and which one was clean. It hardly seemed important, as there wasnt a soul in three counties
with a drop to shoot through any of them, clean or dirty.

That fat fuck laughed afterwards, Sam thought looking at the sack of shit dozing before
him. At that moment, Sam imagined the blood gushing from his slit throat, saturating that
disgusting yellow stained white muscle shirt. He let that sleezy fuck laugh and readied his
vein for the 1/2 g while those pudgy grease didgets chased around the plastic baggy, laughter
subsiding to a cough and sigh as focus shifted to the agreed-upon payment.

"You’ll get the other half tommorow when I meet with my supplier." the fuck sneered
through a sweaty shine.
"Doc Finger?"
"That don’t concern you. You’ll get it at 7, thasall concerns you, Mule."

Samual grit his teeth and began to hiss a response, but stopped himself thinking of the
other 1/2 g warm on his mother’s silver Sunday spoon.

iztyme2ryde (2005-04-06 13:14:02)

You are gross... that is so disturbing... Don’t let your music man Sam read that!

swarms (2005-04-06 20:30:42)

good shit

the2minh8 (2005-04-07 00:02:49)

i concur. could use the phrase "ropey jets of gism" somewhere in there, though.

turboswami (2005-04-08 18:46:32)

Thanks you. I knew you would like it, because there was semen. It was inspired by that long night we
shared last February. Who knew 2 men could go through so much paper towel in one night!?

iztyme2ryde (2005-04-19 09:02:15)

Hey, where was I on this?! You said we’d share!

Pale Man (2005-04-14 02:55) - public

I awoke last night to see the face of a pale, hairless man hovering over me, very close to my
face. I immediately started screaming "Oh God, OH GOD! Get away from me!" while crawling
backwards over my girlfriends body, terrified. Slowly, he receded and faded into the light
of my computer monitor which illuminated my doorway from the living room. She doesnt
remember asking what was wrong, and I dont remember what my response to her asking was.

Beforehand, there were flashes of bright light that seemed to accompany my blinking
and more distinct vocalization, cold spots, and the usual sensation of presence. Laughter of
a woman heard from the wall today. It seems we are not the only ones who get riled by the
spring air.

479
terminalpudding (2005-04-15 15:11:59)
Maybe you should go live at camp because you are going a little....crazy?

turboswami (2005-04-15 17:24:37)

Spend a night upstairs, then tell me who’s crazy.

iztyme2ryde (2005-04-19 09:01:33)

I am still scared of this house at times... hell there was one night I heard shit and demanded Amanda
come be with me, because you were gone and I was scared shitless... Couldn’t even take a shit I was
too creeped out... Many nights I have wanted to go upstairs and sleep or something, because it would
’should’ be peaceful, but to be honest, I am afraid of the dark up there.... just something about all that
shit... scares me to think about it... you get the nerves up there alone late at night?

hoss8366 (2005-04-21 03:14:33)

Yeah you were pretty freaked out that night. I didn’t mind coming over. That’s what friends are for. :)
Hoss

The Afterglow Of Martha (2005-04-15 03:05) - confused - public

Music: David Eno / Brian Byrne

Star-eyed drudge looks up to lightning’s crack, waiting for something to fall. JC empties down
onto her fire dyed hair, mascara of a thousand years ago streams down like black tears in
salvation. All this had been stored up and deep, building inside, and there, pre-burst, she
gazed upwards, spinning for all and none, screaming the inaudible scream of that moment’s
bliss.

How could her ancient companions know her any better? How could she be any more
open there, with her arms outstretched and eyes closed, surrendering in proper Christian form
to this one night and its awakened memory. Torn white blouse clung dripping wet to her thin
frame, nearly transparent, as pure open flowed upward and outward. Wordless companionship
deeper than known love, carried in the singular moist brilliance of 2 sets of fearless, staring
eyes. With defenses lowered, here in the dark, our pulse, our minds, our souls flutter as one,
intense carriage.

"THIS is it." said bearded Robert, foolish wise child out from hiding.
"The sound, the sound defines me. I have waited for this sound all my life." said Anne Foley,
elvish priestess, Celtic goddess, bitter pure like a full hearty bite of Irish Spring(c).

The sounds were those of some chugging electronic beat which gurgled from the throaty
porting of the trunk subs hatched from the back of Bearded Bobby’s 95 Ford Tempo. Who
could say, for sure, who belonged to this fluid rush of layered tonal streams; certainly not
Bobby. He had lost all the covers long ago, the cds blank and new to him. Vague associations
and labels combined into new names as he dug through time fog, searching for The name.
Was this name his? Is this who he was all this time? Staring off to the flaming head of Mary
Stough, who had climbed down from her cross, he saw her crying eyes staring back into his
own, as if she had always known his name. And, as if his expression conveyed a thousand
puppy dog questions, she descended with her one beautiful answer. And there, under the
porch light, her wet, boney embrace somehow filled his empty chest with warmth, overflowing.
480
The streaming mascara grease from the cheek and chin smeared on the shoulder of his dry
red flannel.

travelswithmilo (2005-04-17 03:06:14)

you <3 riddles

turboswami (2005-04-17 06:00:55)

...among other things.

iztyme2ryde (2005-04-19 08:59:44)

you are goofy heh. You crazy cake, I want a bite...

(2005-04-17 02:47) - public

"I lost a bark by biting. Now I can’t find it." - Louis Wain, c. 1930

(2005-04-19 21:28) - public

There, I wiggle into the helm, adjusting myself, in

preparation for control. My thoughts are a bombardment,

absent of maintained focus.

A degree of control makes itself apparent, as if all the

room outside your focus reveals inn rippling

electromagnetic nets, flowing between modules in a room

of wires.

Fire, the flames of crackling vinyl sway calm off the

skyward face of the Liquid Crystal Display.

There, I opened it, with a Stockhausen Pop, a shimmer of

crotch...

The error comes in waves now, three hours later. I think

of fabric, of intricate, dark blue plaid, wrapped and

glued between and across conjoined wood seams, like

puzzle pieces, mere accents neath a smooth, solid

481
surface.

There is a lot that has happened, as if dullened by the

inevitable laziness of having service rendered onto me.

Perhaps the self-sufficient bachelor carries a certain

creative charm, by necessity, until companionship is

fullfilled.

hoss8366 (2005-04-20 07:41:45)

I must say you have an interesting (in a good way) way with words. Hope you don’t mind my
commenting on your post.

Residual Class, Revisited (2005-04-20 17:27) - public

For what it’s worth, I enjoy scratching at my brain with the harshest of chemical abrasives.
Lately, it seems, I am merely going through the circular motion thoughtlessly, my smooth brain
unaffected, tattooed grey under the pleasurable, but short lived, scrub. And soon, I become
the scrub, my face a greasy bristled pad, as I fumble through scratch for some semblance of
personality.

For what it’s worth, it was once a beautiful thing; a detailed map, fully-assembled of
painstakingly constructed portions, drawn and pieced as best I could from the ground. It is the
perspective of height, however, which reveals a full map from what was once merely textured
terrain, extending outward into the horizon. The perspective of height reveals the curved
face of that horizon, the path, its pattern, and its destination all made visible by transcendent
flight, by the floodgates of the clouds, opened lids of a receded center eye.

For what worth, or potential worth squandered in burning, mindless passion in the turgid lap
of luxury, do I close myself from, ignorant, hiding blind from the sun? I can only remember
inviting visions, and my pathetic, selfish fear; the fear of a child in a room of benevolent
strangers. They were willing to teach, if I was willing to put down my clenched fists and open
them, to receive. Watched, like the beautiful decay of Autumn, the prime view of midsummer’s
firey peak merely shines down across my back now, casting a shadow over the steepening
slopes before me.

4.5 May

Two Rail Peaches (2005-05-01 04:52) - public

Words, the boiling remnants of piss and vinegar beneath a burning critical eye’s heated gaze.
These are inborn branded soul marks which 8 years of diligent emulation and a Rx script can
482
never imbue into a flake, pure and simple. Oh, and so many flakes! Rustle and swirl in the
wind, pretending to have something to say. Lets write a story about your little fucking rat dog
and how it likes to curl up on your lap for baby kisses when it isnt eating its own tightly curled
shit off Kentucky’s finest blue grass sod, imported.

Snobby little fitness fuck, tell me about comma splicing and rhetor...
breath....whew.... she’ll be dead soon enough...

I think so much, but clouded, now, with multitudes of surface chatter. I suspect the
echoes of daily womanly woes, absorbed, still bouncing around in my once empty head. Oh,
empty! It’s cracked up, but all will be. So much to be said, if only I was clear enough to be seen
through; these window eyes shift dingy, but not dim nowadays. Staring has become a match,
where once it felt paired. I cross eyes and spot T’s in guilt and fear that resounds through
to all those in a reactive, fluid room. As if the knowledge of what is unacceptable festers its
own gravity in the back of my mind, and soon everyone sees my avoidance boilspawn out,
infecting from my indulgent eyes.

Is this what the schizos mumble, overcoherently, about? The "negative energy," the
"poison" HALLUCINATION they claim to carry? They claim to be in touch with invisible
fields of social energy, to be able to control things and events on a spectral realm. What
is it about these symptoms that sounds so transcendent and worldly in an otherworldly
sense? Paranoia is really just social hypersensitivity, listening closely to collegues afterwards,
from the next room. So few people have the capacity for that sort of active listening, un-
less directly involved. Even then, the greater, ignorant majority actively listen only when
they, themselves, are speaking; long strings of comical feats of ignorance often following
these dark stars, who tend to cling to absorbant, spongy listeners until they, too, are ’full of it.’

Why? Have I made a horrid mistake? Am I full of empty words, now, where once I was
empty and of full words? Its a fat question that gnaws, unable to be swallowed through all
the pleasure of chewing. I view a caste system, littered with Gunas, which dilute amongst
personalities through interaction. While taught, from birth, that such a system of thought is
crude and erroneous, it surfaced in and of itself, without direct influence from any specific
locale. It simply developed through comparative interaction, and introspection, and started
during the first years of school. At that time, I was able to estimate my superior development
in comparison with the loud, redneck children on the bus by a specific number of years,
different for each individual. Quiet observation led me to understand success amongst those
Alpha males who huddled, brashly joking, at the back of the bus. When addressed, I was able
to, with hairtrigger reflex, provide immediate theatrical release, explosive hilarity in spurts,
itching, waiting to be released with just a poke. Intimidating away possible agitators with
sharp, deep cutting sarcasm, delivered loudly for all to enjoy at red’s expense.

Each night, laying in bed, I would review the days mistakes and observed successes.
My stupidity, or lack of restraint, would replay, again and again, as I grit my mind’s teeth
down hard on that part of my personality, sharpening in quiet, productive, self-hatred. It
was labor intensive, in a manner I could not imagine enduring today, but formed me as a
deeply-carved implement. During this time, I was a helpless victim, often several times a day,
to excruciatingly painful migraine headaches; my brain seeming to throb against the inner
wall of my skull, a screaming pounding ache which nothing could quell. By my bed was a
bucket and a washcloth, for many years. The washcloth would become warm to the touch
quickly, and I would have to saturate it again and again, throughout the extent of that days
483
ordeal.

All that is so far gone, beneath layers of shameless torrents remains.

Bwaaa Ha Ha! (2005-05-12 04:02) - private

I listen to too many dead musicians. I’m just morbid like that....

Rock Star
You scored 96 %!

You damn rock star. You know all the basics, and if you got any wrong,
I bet it was that stupid "You’re So Vain" question.
Your friends are probably intimidated by your knowledge of classic rock
and envy your impressive collection. When a classic rock song comes on
the radio, you can probably identify it before the vocals kick in most
of the time. You probably get good scores on the "maiden name of
Clapton’s mom" tests, too.

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:

[1] [2]
You scored higher than 85 % on notes

Link: [3]The BASIC classic rock Test written by [4]allmydays on [5]Ok Cupid

1. http://www.okcupid.com/
2. http://www.okcupid.com/
3. http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=9994175725051725569
4. http://www.okcupid.com/profile?tuid=1023073104876057970
5. http://www.okcupid.com/

theloniouszen (2005-05-12 13:25:19)

Sob, there weren’t any Rick Wakeman questions

turboswami (2005-05-12 20:09:22)

That would be "classical rock" more than "classic rock." Why not? They have a quiz for everything.
Anything you would consider buying off that mp3 cd?

terminalpudding (2005-05-15 14:38:53)

OK Cupid - why were you on a dating web site?

484
(2005-05-12 17:02) - public

"The way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouths."

Billy - age 4

I am safe in her mouth. It’s a soft warm room with a view. Mama Slackjaw and The
Blue Devils: A Tale Of Plush Love And Wet Nights On The Mossy Outback.

But the who’s and the why’s still haunt. In the back of my mind, there are the quiet
remnants of things said loudly lower, shouted angrily from the cold bottom of the lake. I
love my boats, don’t get me wrong, but their massive motors drown out all I was intended
to hear while the once bronzed muscles of my arms turn to fat, the oars long greyed and
cracked on some far away beach, forgotten. Big bad better man, hauling the weight of all
their expectations, was a slouch all along and now is merely fatty pretending. Oooh, and their
glaring, expectant eyes burn critical on his peeling red back! Youch! Bite tongue.

Its a fudge packers life, and they know they are men with better minds. If nerves over-
fired equates art, and the obsessive compulsion keeps their weak hands baby soft, why not
grasp that hand firmly in a confident greeting and exploit their awkward genius for all its worth.
The intricate girly men just need a man with vision to lead them to the gallery.

(2005-05-14 04:19) - public

A shadow in the corner blink of an eye draws a sudden gasp up from sleep. How is it, night
walker, that a chill can give you away, a pocket of cold your subtle signiture in this, the
most ignorant of realms; the insignificant notch of energy visible to us on an infinately larger
spectrum, extending inwards and outwards through space. Cold and dark, you are a scavanger
of the depths, your memory of this place and it’s people are retained, but decay with the
remnants of your physical identity.

The Salty Dog Resides Yonder - April 30th, 2005 (2005-05-18 01:24) - public

Turn, turn time, for the echoes remain pleasant. While loud, they renoun saydent for tie, less
trial, through a reclined, relaxed hearing position.

Fluid semantics, here at this med-tune...flow patterns, flow patterns ongoing through
the night. In fluid you, for staticless fortunes, regret what’s forgotten.

Some sad old sailer cowers like a dog in the rain, his camouflage coat doing the same.
To look on him is to remember, and only a shimmer from that slimmer time calls through to be
seen.

Perhaps an ignorant vessel of soulful bodies who choose, I have not shown myself to be
diligently inductant. If I worked half as hard as they would like, I would surely have something
inspired.
485
I doubt.

Rocking...

It is surely worth it: the mammoth laziness. I doubt all these machines, I doubt that
their words are worthwhile; their calm backwards talk. Minimal, I see now.

the2minh8 (2005-05-18 16:39:18)

oh, you and your anti-semantism. words are people, too, you know!

Gosling (2005-05-18 23:28) - public

Well on my way to spirited adventure the new, old fashioned way. I drink alone for the first
time. Whatever shameful demon rose from Hickey’s Bar wished to continue its wrath here,
alone, on the loveseat. So little love, painful rejection I deal again and again, refusing to
accept the acceptance in which I bathe. If I were to fall, in her arms I would bleed, after the
rocks and knives had taught me pain. Anger is the easiest emotion to react into, and the least
easiest to swallow and smile through.

"You were not merely born stupid, but stupid and ugly!! An ugly fucking bitch I no longer want
in my life!! Get away from me, the sight of your face sickens me!!"

Her pain resounded in my chest after my words sunk. Why is it that anger, the easiest
of emotions, has become my mainstay, my character. If I were to become an old man,
overnight, I know I would look, suddenly, like I feel; some miserable wretch coughing out his
resentment onto all who protect him in a sticky, thick phlem of words. I wish and wish, but
lazy days bombard me from the core.

(2005-05-18 23:46) - public

I refuse to answer them, but reverse the relationship. I know my rationale has diluted, but
adapting to their capacity, I sink to levels of manipulative greed hitherto unknown. Here she
comes...hurry, swig a shot before she sees...

Refuse, reuse, recycle for all those who still smile, reducing them to mere humor. I
can’t imagine her tolerance of this hole, this grave I dug for myself and all who accompany
me, trustingly. If my ball drops at the end of the line, may it kill us both, for metaphore cannot
contain this caliper of distraction.

"Oh, Shit! Hey!" she blurts in mysteriously inviting acknowledgement

"Shit,ey..." I reply with a tone that tugs downwards.

I close my eyes and allow the scene to drift somewhere away from me, the angry mum-
bles and clicking all but forgotten, so I would have myself believe. They are everything, but
486
they are not forgotten. I open my eyes to a rustling scene in the hollow wall beneath the stairs.

"...don’t forget your toothbrush." I said, calmly, with daring ignorance."

"Way to drink by yourself!" she returned, gathering her DVD’s from the the new shelf.

"While you’re writing, you should write about your weird, schizophrenic episodes."

She’s taking the router...

(2005-05-19 00:48) - public

Oh flashes! The quivering eye behind its lid rejoices. If by muse you mean dead peer, I suspect
services rendered can be interpreted broadly by both of us. If by end you mean she’ll be back
by tommorow, I suspect that the locked door will solidify her first choice. Bam!

Cum easy, little one. I have the techniques of a man who lies and shows little. I hope
my word sex has not moistened you so much that you cannot accept my deficit(s). If I came
around, the brash village drunkard, brutish in my observation, would you hit my round face
and tell me I am nothing? Or, cradle my head and be, for me, a mother?

I curl inward, hugging what little is left and throb in the sweet, sweet moment of null. If
these inhibitions were holding in my screams all this time, let their curdles stream, torrentially,
without end now that I am finally alone. I love my sickness, my inability to be accessed. If
ever the time comes that I must be understood, may my bones turn to milk and my words to
sugar for the sad, rapist few.

Stretch and stretch farther, your spine must crack open for all of its secrets to finally let
loose. If nerves were an oath to never let speak, I’ve crawled all my life in agony to release.

(2005-05-19 01:14) - public

Suspicions... suspects line sideways in double time for my hidden say. If she knew my
lingering words, the door would close more loudly. If she could read my thoughts like a doctor,
the time we’ve spent would be much less. The sound of inevitability, of gradual decline, is
something like a slow siren: curls in and oscillates along a curve until the criminal is found. I
am a criminal, do not know me and I will not know your beautiful children.

slow sneer*

This face carries the mirror, all of the laughter hidden behind the bathroom door. If the
coitus coil held all I once was hostage and freedom was, for three years, a forgotten ploy, I am
here to announce its triumphant return; the lone ranger’s late desert scream. I have learned
all I can of relating with another and have reached the deepest sands that two could muster.
It made me older and reliant on the chatter of servitude and I have prepared to become all
that I need.

487
Show off, show off, show it all till it dries. I won’t be that guy, I won’t be a victim to the
whims of a restless child. Before it is over, I will be heard. Before the vacation ends, I will show
that I am competant in the vocal arena. What expansion has taught me will fuel me and the
knowledgeable readers who relate. If, at any point, I become boring, I beg now that I stop and
wait for passing dawn’s light.

terminalpudding (2005-05-24 03:01:33)

Having nothing to do with your post...I miss marshmallow ass

(2005-05-24 04:38) - public

Our person’s personality is the stone of a well which juts up from the underworld. Many people
have not this personality type, and have not the capacity to fall within themselves. They are
superficial, their eyes a dull surface. The underworld, beneath, is filled with entities who view
us, and our ignorance of their place, a joke. They toy with us, prodding at our actions, inducing
our words through all our potential. A friend, who became aware of them searched for words
to describe with a long pause.

"The watchers?" I strained to help, suggesting in a questioning tone.

"The Keepers." he affirmed, unable to control his realization.

"That is legendary." I told him. "That is legendary beyond you."

A Rest From Rational Fear - 12-30-2003 (2005-05-25 17:53) - public

For 5 days, I call four magic smiles to furnish any mood decided by any room. Each smile
carries it’s own distinct tone, a smile for time and a smile of mine, a smile of his and a smile
of the raging hate of inflicting pain upon a loved one...each of these I cherish, with however
much guilt one or the other may deserve, in a way which loves me down to nothing.

For 4 days, I close my eyes and feel nothing and everything shift through my tugging
guts, neither but both all alone with her as I do what I can to comfort my child’s mother. I
must remember her and her free spirit which makes me smile and laugh, frown and cry, grit
and spit; the freedom which I never allow myself an innocent comfort for the long days which
are sure to come.

For 3 days, I learned to love.

For 2 days, I fell in love with a growling angel who’s emptiness fullfilling beyond the
realm of words. I hugged her back into line, slowly rocking her from exhausting sleep. I said
"I love you" with every breath, exhaled. I dug a well with a sharp shovel, ground edge of
my 22 years, and with it’s icy pure water, pulled laboriously up from aquatic caverns far be-
low this heated stress, I wish to plant a fruit try tree, and with stern daily attention, feed a lover.

For 1 day, I taught what I learned of well-digging to a man who’s water streams deeper
beneath his stress than abysmal love could allow his self-restriction to thirst for.
488
iztyme2ryde (2005-06-02 07:51:22)
So, I gotta ask... did Jake really say that stuff or are you the one leaving me behind? I know I embarass
you sometimes, but lets be honest... I don’t lie, cheat, or steal from you... I am honest... Did Jake say
that stuff? Are you the one that wants me to stay behind as you sprint out the door so I can’t follow?
Jake just doesn’t seem like he’d do that, or lie about it... he has confronted me before... why would he
lie to me now when he hasn’t before? Honestly...

4.6 June

(2005-06-09 22:20) - Mitochondrian Trance - public

There were red streaks that shone down through the thick air like falling pillars of fire through
the day.

"The door was red, but far far away with long long shadows. It was dark, but I could
see through it. I think that I saw something through them, like...from the side nobody can
see. It was..." The boy began to cry again, his whole body trembling as if a seizure moved
outwards from his chest, down his limbs. He grabbed at the liter of Pepsi. His father, eyes
moist, watched as as the bottle shook on the edge of his son’s lips.

"Mark, what was it? What did you see?" his father’s voice was quiet, but stern.

"It was awful, dad. I never want to see that thing again. He said he had watched me
for a long time, that he was always there. It said it watched all of us, that it was always just
right there inside the dark, but that I was the first to see him." The young boy spoke through
quivering, nasally tones; terrified even now, more than 6 hours later.

"Dr. Hart said you stopped taking your medicine, Mark. You know that medicine is good
for you, that it keeps these things from happening, right? I mean, Dr. Hart has upped your
visitations back to twice a week because he was afraid that this would start to happen again.
He told me you were hearing your thoughts again. Mark, you know that medicine makes you
better, right...? Mark?"

The boy had fallen back into his trance, staring emptily through his father’s left shoul-
der. He watched his only son there and tried to imagine what he could be thinking, what of
this earth could be in his mind when he simply leaves everything and everyone behind, like
that. What beyond this earth does he see, there, when he leaves his eyes behind, to stare
lifeless and glossy at nothing. His mother knew...

Chera was brilliant...

Kid, hey, wait this is real! Who scratched you?!?!

"It was that thing with the stuff and the ’grrr!’"

But no no, I’ve got to protect you. Dr. Hart wants to scan your brain...
489
But, daddy! Dont let the doctors cook my brains! I’m a visionary, like Mama in the asy-
lum!

"These overactive prefrontal lobes seem to be the source of the hallucinations. I would
like to publish these findings in the Big Ol’ Doctor’s Journal, but wait..."

YOU WILL NOT TURN MY CHILD INTO SCIENCE EXPERIMENT!

But, daddy, I’m bleeding!!

The Smash psychological thriller of the summer, "Inside Darkness." Coming July 7th to a
theater near me.

donsez (2005-06-10 05:23:19)

You had me at "hello"

turboswami (2005-06-11 03:59:00)

What does that mean? Are you stalking me?

donsez (2005-06-12 05:15:30)

It means - you have me hooked - I wanna see the movie. (t is a movie isn’t it?)

the2minh8 (2005-06-10 12:44:31)

sirens* "let’s kick some schizo...!" *explosion*

My Trip To Minnesota (2005-06-22 02:50) - greasy - public

Music: tailbone gurgle with anticipation

She stood atop an isolate picnic table showering my mostly naked body with cold water out
of a black plastic bag which she strained to hold up above her head. The water was gathered
from Lost Lake, miles deep into the woodlands of northern Minnesota. I hyperventilated with
every new portion of my body she showered, with a jumpy "HAAH!" sound that gave her a
guilty, indulgent grin and made the awkward process worthwhile for her.

I was unable to enter Canada. Canadian customs officials refuse entry to violent crimi-
nals. This depressed me, as I had never considered myself a violent man.

In Minneapolis, a live model in a darkened booth offered to show me her breasts for
$20. I took a picture of her, sprawled out in a tiny black bikini across the red-lit doctor’s table
on the other side of the glass. She said she was ugly that day, and I assured her that she was
not and took a second picture. I told her I had to go break a hundred and would be right back.
I then went outside and took a picture of a telephone pole.

At an A &W in the town of Mason, Wisconsin, a 9 year old boy took my order. He could
hardly see over the register. Some slack-jaw’d 16 year old flunky approached us at the rear of
the restaurant/deli/gas station where we hid in our booth. He was mopping away, giving me
490
some underhanded mope eye. He shoved the mop into my left shoe and said "Can you lift
your feet? Huh?" I placed the frosted glass of my root beer float back on the table and lifted
my legs, as he had requested, with a furrowed brow that he tried to ignore. I wanted to spit. I
wanted to spit blood all over the floor and make him smear it with that mop.

I think it’s refreshing to write for real sometimes. I think it may be be easier to relate
to, or access. Granted, I could have made it all up.

the2minh8 (2005-06-23 15:58:58)

are you a violent criminal? also, i think you ought to share your darkened-booth photos.

The Well On Church Hill Spouts For Her (2005-06-25 05:06) - public

A slow rumble working upwards from the floor...

And before you know, the nagging black wife upstairs with a roller and some syrup ruines my
trip

media.’

She sees something move out of the corner of her eye

"A shadow?"

sad shadows

I expain "There’s a presense"

The trip doesnt change, you. The personality does not awaken...

Shit man, come to think of it... the personality does not exist but merely to make a
gross

attempt at labeling something that not you or i or anyone can presently explain. the
beauty is

that it was just a tendancy to share the general idea- something we felt-feel and con-
sider just

a facet, a taste, a glimmer of the entities we are as a whole.

Ripple slipply son summer of shadows, you gleam from behind a christmas reverb hump,
smeegle.

The fact of the matter is,

491
Delicacies Of The Molten Horror Synapse

Its something, once you remember, can say very quickly.

Well you are looking at me in a different mode (this is not how I am)

Ideally someone would respond with "What, you dont like me?" in a louder, more inquisi-
tive tone.
Ideally, after that, someone would respond more loudly with something which makes even
less sense, at first.

Seasick on the picture, I could rewind and pa YEAA!!! TVS COMIN DOWN!!!!

sure it was well worth it**

They are appliance coming down to serve us with advanced realms, visiting us with nighttime
operations.

How else would you interact with The bombardment from within

Kaleb, you’re brooding!!

Intense intense intessex, .... clearing.... "I need to get warm,"

"Well, this energy radiates." the pedistal responds with thumb to chest.

I need a new furance

You saw my face??

You can feel my clams??!!

(2005-06-25 05:47) - public

A motherly figure rocked me from behind in my chair, where I relaxed along upstairs. It was
so comforting as I adjusted my head with my eyes closed, smiling with her hands on my
shoulders. I feel as though I have nothing to worry about in this place any longer.

The shadows form a net through which people can be seen moving on the other side.
This is a vision of a lower area of wakefulness and perception. The glance of a dark movement
out of the side of your vision. A sudden flash of light which accompanies you.

The underworld is neither an evil place, in itself, nor a place of which we are unfamiliar.
492
Evil inhabitants of that lower place can and do influence us, however, as they shout, growl,
and bark up from the bottom a well who’s filtered spout is our very mouth. The realization
of this influence, like the act of falling down through this well, itself, is both refreshing and
frightening. Their influence and inspiration can be direct or subtle, based on the degree of our
release into or acceptance of it.

The old "hot spots" became active again. We each saw lights and shadows at the door-
way to the bedroom, where they seem belong. My videocamera grew chilled cold with the left
side of my upper body, there where I recorded. My left arm seemed to viberate some shivering
frequency which I could walk into or out of. Just then, a flash of light on the right side of the
doorway, where I had seen it three times before nearly a year ago. Soothing and comfortable,
this was most definately a female presense. Another shadow was seen by Deanna from behind
my shoulder and, as I turned the camera to record it, the camera simply stopped and the chills
became more intense. We left the room, both of us instinctively shivering our arms outward,
as if shaking off a deep cold.

The dog I am watching, even now, continues to look into that corner doorway of the
room, with ears peaked in attention, whining. Half an hour ago, he barked at the corner,
defensively, and then scurried into the kitchen, whining, cowering, and wishing to be let
outside.

Throw Away Children (2005-06-25 20:22) - public

her second child was more of a throw a way...

And, whaddya know! Now she’s white trash.
Drunken fetus, don’t let that fucker drive,
Or leave your sleeping pills by her tired ass.

In cross-analysis of drunk mother’s sunken eyes,

which hope and scour the church refrigerator for a single blatz or goebels,
One can more conclusively deduce the basis of her second daughter’s failure,
In life, freedom, and the pursuit and prioritization of happiness.

And how that disregarded daughter’s own daughter escaped the fate that flooded her
mother’s womb,
Only to witness the birth of a little brother, who’s fate and flood would burn out his eyes and
deprive him of mind

and movement.
And, indeed, childbirth is surely painful,
Why must you inject painkillers for nine months in preparation?

Bake For One Decade At 250 Micrograms (2005-06-26 14:42) - rocking - public

Music: Children Stirring, Legs Entwined

Fucking quicky, comeon! While they are outside, lets fill your mouth that Mmmm’s and Ahhh’s
for a taste of what is to come. Like the bible? Like the debauchery of some NYC art den 30
years ago, you feel the floor rumble, the earth grow hot between your toes.
493
The trouble with a crumbling ego, with the molten heat that slobbers out of the cracks,
is it’s memory. The memory of climbing to the top of Sugarloaf Mountain, breathing hard
and deep at the peak, still exhausted as you make your descent down. Its a memory of a
perspective, one that can only be attained from that peak. Realizing that that view of life is
gone, all that remains is the story of its beauty and who you ONCE were, taking in and radiating
outwards that beauty of that windy, thoughtful place. Convinced you know the Sugarloaf trail
so well, having trekked upwards so many times over the years, you approach the incline sure
that you will see nothing new; that you have done this all before and have exhausted the
beauty and vision of that first time’s discovery. This is the crux of the potential sickness, the
hardening of image into a mannequin’s expression of being unable to fully express what you
once were. Forever frozen, with arms outstretched from sides, palms towards the sky and
shoulders raised, with those poor eyebrows screaming "I dunno!"

I dont know how to express it, I dont know what to do with it, I dont know how to wield
it, I dont know how I did it, I dont know if I can do it, I dont know if you can do it, I dont know if
I can change, I dont know if this is the end, I dont know if I will make it, I dont know why I try,
I dont know why I am lazy, I dont know why I miss it, I dont know who I am anymore, I dont
know why you would care, I dont know the answer to life, I dont know but see.

14 to 24.

All of our worlds great achievements were made by individuals between the ages of 14
and 24 years. If you were going to do something great in your life, it would have been there,
at the peak. I feel my time, I feel what isnt there and, still, what is dwindling there by the
doorway as it leaves. My life’s few ideas never given the ambition to become anything more
than an involved conversation or a late night ramble, unread. If that was all I had, and I let it
spoil while I wasted years on sex, will the smell of what was once was so hot and fresh from
this brooding oven haunt me as it rots and decays, there, in that oven it never left?

cometcrazie113 (2005-06-26 20:07:41)

Your writing is delightful. I don’t know you; i just saw your post on abstract thought, but i’m extremely
impressed and intrigued.

turboswami (2005-06-27 07:24:50)

Thank you. You are pretty.

gawthspork (2005-06-27 03:33:14)

i brought your amp back. i put it on a chair in your living room and then i drove back downstate.

turboswami (2005-06-27 07:22:52)

I am sorry I was not awake. I had a present I wanted to give you.

gawthspork (2005-06-27 20:58:14)

i am sorry that i didn’t stick around long enough for my parting gift!

494
(2005-06-27 03:30) - public

http://www.livejournal.com/community/abstractthought/579759.html

It’s getting heated...

swarms (2005-06-27 17:10:00)

i hate that fucker turkishb

the2minh8 (2005-06-27 18:04:56)

yeah. that guy can eat a dick. i’ve never been a fan of picking intellectual fights over metaphysical
subjects. then again, i also am not a fan of general hostility and ill will.

turboswami (2005-06-27 19:04:50)

I wished you would have posted that in the community.

swarms (2005-06-27 21:51:49)

be careful with what you wish for

4.7 July

(2005-07-08 03:45) - private

I stole a chainsaw from my local WalMart Supercenter. I did not put the chainsaw into my pants.

After stealing the chainsaw, I cut down a large apple tree. Nobody wanted me to cut it
down, I just did. It felt good.

I am, all around, a lot stinkier than I was this time last year. I also fart blood. My fart-
ing blood has nothing to do with me stealing a chainsaw; I did not put the chainsaw in my
pants.

I spent seven hours in my studio, organizing a system of routing 6 individual media feeds
through an already complex network of loops, buses, and rackmount patchbay madness. By
pushing one of 4 buttons, VCR, Radio, or Computer Software feeds can be routed or split
between the inputs of one or both of my two main synthesizers. The warbling and garbled
layers of echoing voices which result are then routed back through the elusive ADAT Optical
In, which I conquered near the 5th of the 7 hours.

the2minh8 (2005-07-08 13:22:06)

you probably know this. if you’re using a conventional mixing console in conjunction with, for example,
a 24-input computer audio interface, what plugs into what? do you use channel inserts on the
console to connect everything? i’m already planning the expansion of my studio for next summer,
improvements to include a new workstation, new interface and new mixer. for one thing, i’m tired
of all the plugging and unplugging, and the difficulty of using real outboard effects on digital-domain
tracks. i’m guessing a patchbay and decent mixer with per-channel inserts would do the job.

495
 turboswami (2005-07-09 06:02:52)
Hmm...my studio mixer interface took some time to really conceptualize. Essentially, I have a 500
lb monster analogue preamp. I XLR in each of the 6 non-condenser drum mics, and then direct out
each of those signals to its own analog in on the MOTU rackmount unit. The ancient Teac board gives
the snare and kick a very warm punchy sound that I could not get with digital alone. The overhead
condenser mics, however, require phantom power which the dinosaur mixer can provide, but only for
one microphone. For these, I use the Ultragain 8 channel preamp, and ADAT into the MOTU digitally.
This allows for a grand total of 18 tracks which could potentially be recorded at one time. While my
studio revolves around the enormous mixer, it is a "mixerless" studio," as the mixer mixes nothing,
merely amplifies 8 discrete, seperate channels. If anything, go analogue for the distortion. Most of
my routing is done in software. Rewire is essential, although the interface on Reaktor has allowed me
to patch software signals either into other software, using simple, uneffected loops, or into rackmount
effect units, which, as a rule, sound better. (My Lexicon reverb blows all plug in verbs I’ve ever heard
out of the water)

iztyme2ryde (2005-07-09 10:32:14)

Yay, I helped ya get the Lexicon, glad you like it so much!

4.8 August

Sexy Ebola Pants (2005-08-07 02:00) - public

I wake myself up laughing from sleep lately. Last night this occurred at least 5 times. My
dreams are sitcom-based; unique programming which shares my own unusual sense of humor.
I remember one instance of waking myself, quietly laughing at the beginnings of a sexual
scenario in which the ebola epidemic was introduced sarcastically. Oh! The hilarity!!

I was very tired this morning, being awoken by myself about every hour. It seems like a
healthy thing, though. My subconscious bubbling, effervescent, with laughter rising up to the
surface from some deep hot fissure, unseen. During the day, I tend to consciously restrain
my laughter, the inner pneumatics of which have been known to produce a sort of tense
chugging sound from the base of my throat in an act of supression, generally successful. In
the rare case that this self-regulated sense of inner happiness cannot be kept under control,
this chugging will become louder, as if a pressure is heard to build more and more, with every
convulsive, wretching pump upwards from the stomach to some air tight gate capping the
capable reservoir of my lungs, finally bursting, wet and loud, outward from the holes of my
face with great intensity, an explosion of rippling contagia, providing some sense or excuse
for release in all those nearby. So rare, this burst...

More often then not, this energy is made to submit to the strict allowances of my stern
personality; being pushed down, barred and restrained, deep into cavernous cells, dark
dungeons of unshared, unseen, cheer, marked amongst other soft, unacceptable forms of
potential expression, held in tension. If only in dreams do I allow myself the pleasure of
laughter, then my personality has become thickly solid, a density through which such light
can no longer pass as it once did the the clear, unobstructed pane of a bright child.

496
the2minh8 (2005-08-08 12:34:37)
i read a great short story a few years back about a pair of roommates, one of whom was a philosopher
and had a dog named heidegger. the other one routinely woke up laughing. the philosopher told
him that he woke up laughing because of the "darkening of the world." long story short, the dog dies
because the a/c in his doggy mansion goes out while he’s stuck inside and the philosopher is gone.
the roommate who wakes up laughing buries the dog. the philosopher digs up the dog’s carcass when
he gets home.

(2005-08-08 17:59) - public

Again, digging at those cavernous pockets, throbbing black recesses, mouths that once
sang soft lulling melodies to attention-starved children. Throat clogged thick with oily paste,
no longer able to swallow down this sickness, which would curdle up to burn my voice in sleep.

I dream of solder there, a contact point melded in the sinuous strings of my vocal chords. And
a golden beauty, face radiant through my eyes, who touches those dry, tender strings to make
them hum and laugh, to speak for her, if only I would. Clear white comfort, her drifting eyes
above me, open with my own. I tighten, clutching to see, and end what flowed through me.

A fuzzy landscape, the static white outline revealed overlaps black and I watch for min-
utes in awe of her figure as it recedes. Slender silouette whose single strand I climb through
my chest, what is it that you sang into me? Those currents of midnight ether which rose and
fell with distant words so eternal, purest beauty beyond heard sound revealed in the gift of
your moment’s glance. Wait for me.

wicked_sassy (2005-11-06 22:44:02)

i like this one.

(2005-08-12 19:45) - public

$600 worth of legal, meticulously cut psychedelic chemicals were stolen from my house, I
suspect while I was working at my new Master Control Operator job at the local TV station. If it
wasn’t my girlfriend, who has stolen drugs from me before and lied into my intensely-staring
eye about it, it was a member of my family, all of whome have stolen thousands of dollars
from me over the few year I have been on this Earth, from some 10 years old onward.

I awoke this morning to obnoxious yelling, and left the house returning the same with a
loud, slammed door. I sat myself into my truck onto a large puddle of rainwater which had
absorbed heavily into the trucks foam seat cushion. I realized, then, that the fully open window
of the vehical’s driver’s side allowed all of that night’s torrential downpour access. Turning
on my newly-purchase MP3 boombox, I soon realize that it, too, was fully saturated with that
previous night’s rain water, and that the passenger window was half opened as well.

This whole situation, the loud argument and the wet seat of my pants and ruined elec-
tronic which followed, angered me beyond rational operation. I fired my truck into ignition and
quickly performed an inadequate 2 point turn which finalized, loudly, in a direct intersection
497
with the jagged edge of a portion of a metal rack which was stacked on a pile of soft wood at
the entrance of my driveway. Uncaring of the loud jagged scraping sound which accompanied
the final arch of my furious turn, I drove onward to TV 6, where I was to clock in within the
10 minutes following point-of-impact. Only then did I see a swaying red light following the
terrain of the street along the right side of the vehicle. The headlight was totalled, only the
dim, hanging blinker remained.

Stopping to survey the damage I inflicted, I realizd exactly how severe the ignorant, an-
gry turn had been. This caused me to drive even faster, as if to compensate for the impotence
of my previous rage in delivering me to my destination efficiently. Travelling some 75 miles
an hour along the highway, whose limit was 55 mph, the forgotten contents of my truck bed
spilled across the highway. In my angry, slamming scene, I had forgotten the 45 long pieces
of vinyl siding which I had purchased the day before, which balanced delicately along the open
door of my truckbed. I sped away with a box of siding, made to unbalance, which sprawled
across the dark lanes of 3:50 am traffic, seemingly without intent or mercy. Running to gather
and replace the individual pieces of vinyl siding to their box, I encountered several loud semi
trucks which didnt seem to appreciate the sensitive

blah, I was late for work. My situation is worse now that all I had has been stolen. I
suspect this may be bubble float, like they say I am... the

turboswami (2005-08-13 02:05:07)

Bubble float! and it wasn’t me... :)

theloniouszen (2005-08-13 04:22:30)

It reminds me of when I see someone make a bad shot when I golf with them. The ball goes 3 or 4
feet, they get mad and try to hit it as hard as they can. I immediately know that because they are
going to swing as fast as they can, their form will be shit and they will do exactly the same thing.

silentwinds (2005-08-14 14:36:18)

Sounds like a rough day. We all have them, though I must admit yours does sound pretty shitty. Dont
worry, tomorrow should be better. *hugs*

terminalpudding (2005-08-17 19:00:47) A day in the life of dog poo

Sounds pretty ucky. Next time try one of my recipes and you won’t have such a shitty day. Teach you
to ignore my cooking skills!

Away Game (2005-08-22 02:04) - private

I’m not drunk enough....

Godamn it!!! I fucked up good and this tension needs some manner of fluid release...
I need to feel the drunk, I need to make a mess before I can truely feel as though I have
approached the weekend correctly. Bukowski, an inspiration to us all, his TOT, TAP, HIP HOP....

What, across big in the right places smiling, is left to be requested of the daily show?
Certainly, the consistant house care comes into play, but what of conversation? What of the
498
sharing or draining of essence? I am reminded of my indebtedness, and of the flow of energy
outwards from my chest and eyes, but am not willing to sit, celibate, and weigh the remainder,
after restraint. This is my weakness, no one elses...

"AWAY GAME"

Found on some beach, between my feet, the two words seemed to represent all I am,
outside those nagging 9 hours. As if, from every direction, my identity is overlapped by
"home" and its necessity. All at once, the away game, once common, becomes foreign;
a beloved memory of social freedom and freedom from society, intermingled within one
adaptive mindset. How unnapproachable!! How unemployable!! How incouragable!! How
catchy, this lazy train of thought the fresh ones call home!y mah a nd pa w join!!

Dont settle

(2005-08-25 03:37) - streaming cold - public

Music: The Ghosts Upstairs

Cross I crawl up on unless I’m alone. Please excuse my throbbing eyes; outward wind excuses
I concoct for them as they wander, their raw-no shifting an admission of guilt. Sentenced
to forever curl my head upon her hot-bruised breast, to sweat and toil through red ghost
mornings only to feed those fucking mistakes.

Flashes, the dizzying eye-lit rainbows of touched corners wisp apart my thick grey like a
curtain, revealing inspiration’s shine. Shit, I meant to say shit.

—*—

For nine weeks the earth was an eye, an inlet point impressed within a winter layer, a
spiral defining an inward-sloping curvature. A voice, the planes, floor and ceiling, signaled
across a narrow, predefined bandwidth. The ancient lizards then fell in black rain, and agreed
to commune within physicality there, upon the eye. There, they would hide within, composing
beneath the fluid of forms, interacting through the endless dimensions of life’s complexity,
blooming systems within systems which is their dynamic language.

theloniouszen (2005-08-25 21:21:44)

— * — = OEO in morse code

(2005-08-27 03:58) - public

I have come to learn that there is something unemployable about a person who constantly,
and uncontrollably, falls into a trance-like state; especially at a job like mine. Given a period
as short as 4 minutes, I can simply fall within myself, eyes still, glazed, unattended. My body
itself begins to buzz, legs and arms numb as I drift, unattached. This seems least healthy
499
while driving, however...the master control board, while not as deadly, is no more forgiving
than a car.

I notice this trance state has been a weakness of mine since childhood. I remember of-
ten preparing to put on my socks, getting ready for class in the 4th and 5th grade, and,
nearing the first foot, simply stopping and staring off-through, distant, for 7 minutes or
more. Young children can be seen staring, empty, often...but adults lose this ability, I believe
side-by-side with their loss of REM sleep duration. Eye movement during sleep at night seems
the opposite of still open-eyed dreaming during the day. Opposing sides of a low-frequency
waveform whose length is our very day, whose intensity is inversely-proportional to our age.

I am silent and nervous at work. That is all they know of me. They know that I tuck in
my dull, button-up shirts, even though I have been told I don’t have to. They make jokes about
me being "uptight" and "easily distracted," and I smile tightly through it all, as is expected
of me. I hold my words, allowing them to ferment. I hide my intensity, my fierce eyes the
only possible indicator of the depths I withold from them all, but behind glasses and full you
uniform...

the2minh8 (2005-08-27 16:09:35)

i believe this phenomenon is often called "spacing out." it occurs most often in people who are
confused, dissatisfied, imaginative, introspective, and/or suffer from ADHD. it tends to result in teasing
and resultant poor self esteem among children, even though it appears to evidence a certain depth of
abstract thinking abilities. you should come back to the mainland. people around here are cool with
impromptu trances.

terminalpudding (2005-08-27 18:53:37)

Slam a cup of joe and pay attention at work, fool!

iztyme2ryde (2005-08-28 15:54:10)

He does slam joe... it does nothing but give him gut rot far as I know heh.

the2minh8 (2005-08-28 16:00:08)

if it were less expensive, i would recommend red bull for situations in which the concentration is most
elusive. i’ve found that i still get a pretty good kick out of that stuff even though coffee makes me
sleepy. something about loads of caffeine, a bunch of sugar, tons of B12 (which acts as a stimulant)
and certain amino acids. it causes jitters something fierce, though. if his co-workers think he is
wild-eyed NOW...

iztyme2ryde (2005-08-29 05:06:26)

He has actually been into those weird hip-up drinks... his friend here swears by ROOSTER BOOSTER!
I know he has his caffeine pills and supplements heh... talking about wide eyed.... You’ve seen
nothing till you saw him when he came home from getting punched in the face by a couch... one
eye was dialated all the way, and the other was normal... now that is weird.

turboswami (2005-08-31 08:25:27)

If I were in Peak Form, I would have a treehouse with a big television mounted from a ceiling corner
of it. It would be tricky to climb up to, and I would not drink there, but would have and induce the
ability to enjoy one’s self with childlike abandon. I suspect I would sculpt a lot and not snort any
cocain that anybody would see.

500
synthesoid (2005-08-28 07:19:58) asdasfdsa
maybe you find the physical world of interaction bothersome. either way, you have to jump through
the social protocol hoops, or they label you weirdo...

turboswami (2005-08-31 08:19:57) Re: asdasfdsa

Its hard to say. I have near passed the prime of identity-exploration, and any insights passed my
upcoming 24th birthday will merely be extentions of previously realized associations, made concrete
and inflexible within an unbending, adult personality. Hard to say, Ineed.

iztyme2ryde (2005-08-28 15:54:56)

Easily distracting there... I mean, with that many TVs, whose mind wouldn’t be out on a limb... You
weirdo...

theloniouszen (2005-08-28 17:25:42)

What does Karl Bohnak have to say about this

(2005-10-04 04:06:59) yesssssss

"spacing out" your an ishpemite, we all space out!!! hahaha, its the high iron content in the ishpeming
water.

(2005-08-31 04:30) - public

The 6th Street gang was led by the 52 year old wino, John Harm. They talked a lot about
niggers, about how they all rape pretty girls and how theys all be needed to git strung up, and
what color their faces turn when their necks strain, swingen in the noose. Paul Harm had been
some kinda big Klan Wizard or something, and it was well know by all the kids at school that
he nailed cats and made spells around big fires at night back in the forests behind his old place.

The fact of the matter remained, however, that in the entire town of Regina, there was
only one negro family, the Huxes. They lived on the far North-most edge, passed the Baptist
church on Old 27, where the road turns dirt. They had 3 kids, the middle son, Ted, was my
age. Pitchforked him with a bunch of kids watchin in the 5th grade, but cuz they all yelled for
me to do it. I got him runnin, but he didnt cry and I was sure that I might have had it been
me. I thought much of him after that, but didnt ever tell nobody that. It was right to not let on
being a nigger lover, else Christ! I would never hear the end of it!

...much later...

No goddamned chairmans gunna come high steppin his fat white suit down main street
of Regina like he owns the time of day! No pudgy pinch fists slammin wet on my sweat-broke
back in any ditch less I decide it so, and I’ll fucking walk if that hog so much as sighs. I am
a respected man in this town, the whole church still talks about my Oldsmobile in the ’45 Fo
forth fortune for angelic farm machinery lay waste to breed otherworldly ghost bacterium.
The ethereal doctor told me that the Demons hand grows within me...and, like black roots, its
fingers twist to suffocate me, entwining in the ribs of my chest cage.
501
4.9 September

My Friend, Cherry: A Real Professional (2005-09-06 03:01) - private

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line.
MHI Cherry: Currently, we have two cancellation options. First is, pending cancellation, which
means that your account will be cancelled at 10 AM EST on your next billing date.
MHI Cherry: Second is, immediate cancellation upon your request with a phone representative.
Cancellation requests cannot be processed via e-mail or online from Billing Help Interactive.
ClutchMadly: Wait, so 10 am BEFORE my credit card is billed, or after?
MHI Cherry: To avoid being charged for future month’s service, we recommend you cancel your
account at least 3 days prior to your billing date.
ClutchMadly: Oh oh, well, yes...I had hoped that wouldnt be a problem. The fat bill drops on
the 7th..
ClutchMadly: Seeing as it recently turned over to the 6th, I thought I would get in touch.
MHI Cherry: Thank you for the information.
ClutchMadly: Can you cancel me for me?
MHI Cherry: How would you prefer canceling this AOL account, is it via phone, fax or US Mail?
MHI Cherry: I am sorry. However, at this time, we do not have access to process your account
cancellation request. We have a separate Department with specialists who can assist you with
your request.
ClutchMadly: Hmm...Cherry, what am I going to do?! It must be done TONIGHT... this is bad,
this is REALLY BAD!! I’m getting real nervous, Cherry.
ClutchMadly: OH NO...oh God!
MHI Cherry: I understand.
MHI Cherry: If you wish to discuss or cancel your membership with one of our Member Services
Representatives, please dial 1
-888-265-8008 toll free. Our representatives are available to assist you 24 hours a day, 7 days
a week.
ClutchMadly: Its going to be expensive, and I am not ready for that kind of commitment,
Cherry.
MHI Cherry: I totally understand your situation.
MHI Cherry: Please do call the number that I have provided and your request will be processed
promptly.
ClutchMadly: Thanks. So, they are still up, eh? Hmm...I was hoping you could make it better,
but I’ll log off and get to that soon....
not right away, but soon.
502
ClutchMadly: You sound very professional.
ClutchMadly: I’m glad I got one of the professionals.
MHI Cherry: Thank you. :-)
ClutchMadly: Cherry, emoticons are not very professional.
MHI Cherry: Is there anything else that I can help you with?
ClutchMadly: I was wondering, can you give me a little bit longer to fully decide if AOL is right
for me?
ClutchMadly: Can you do that, you know...
ClutchMadly: ...for ol’ Chadwick?
ClutchMadly: I just don’t feel I’ve gotten a chance to take FULL advantage of what the AOL
Service has to offer...
MHI Cherry: Please allow me to check if you’re eligible to receive a credit.
MHI Cherry: Chad, are you referring to the AOL account that you are currently signed on?
ClutchMadly: Cherry, I want you to know how deeply I appreciate all this work you are doing
to help me through this...
ClutchMadly: And that this help will not be soon forgotten.
ClutchMadly: Yes, that is the one. Its going to run out soon, right?
MHI Cherry: Yes, you are correct.
MHI Cherry: Your free months of AOL® Service started on July 7, 2005 and will end on Septem-
ber 7, 2005.
ClutchMadly: I’m not ready!
MHI Cherry: Let’s see what I can do to help you.
ClutchMadly: Thanks, I look forward to devoting any time you can give me to really digging in
and truely discovering what AOL has to offer!
MHI Cherry: Thank you for waiting. I apologize that I took longer than expected.
MHI Cherry: I can request one free month credit to be posted to your account. The credit will
waive your September 7 AOL membership fee.
ClutchMadly: Oh, no reason to appologize, Cherry.
MHI Cherry: Your billing will then start on your October 7, 2005 billing date.
ClutchMadly: Oh oh!
MHI Cherry: Will you accept the offer?
ClutchMadly: Will I?!!
ClutchMadly: Hot diggity! Thanks Cherry!
ClutchMadly: Your the best!!!
MHI Cherry: You are very welcome.
ClutchMadly: It was really swell of you!
MHI Cherry: Consider the credit issued, Chadwick.
ClutchMadly: Really swell!
MHI Cherry: Do you have any other billing questions I may assist you with at this time?
ClutchMadly: I think you are nice.
ClutchMadly: Umm...
MHI Cherry: Thank you.
MHI Cherry: Are we all set now?
ClutchMadly: Geez, I dunno. Do you have any questions?
MHI Cherry: I would like to continue chatting, but I need to assist other members who are wait-
ing on hold. I hope you understand.
ClutchMadly: Oh, of course! I’m sorry to have kept you so long with my stupid yapping! Once
I start talkin’....
ClutchMadly: It was nice to meet you, buh bye Cherry.
ClutchMadly: You can IM me if you get bored!
503
MHI Cherry: For your information and guidance, please allow me to provide you with a recap
of what we have discussed today.
ClutchMadly: bye
ClutchMadly: oh, ok
MHI Cherry: I have provided you information concerning account cancellation and I have suc-
cessfully issued a free month that will waive your September 7 AOL membership fee.
MHI Cherry: If you wish to cancel after your free month, please do call at least 3 days before
October 7, 2005.
MHI Cherry: You only need to call the above toll free number that I have provided a while ago.
ClutchMadly: You’re the best, Cherry. And I’m not just saying that because of the free stuff.
ClutchMadly: You are a true professional!
ClutchMadly: I will make sure to remember, thanks again.
MHI Cherry: Thank you very much for your kind words and continued support of America On-
line.
You are welcome. It was our pleasure to assist you. If you need further assistance, please feel
free to return anytime. It is always our goal to deliver excellent customer service and I hope I
did that for you. Thanks for being part of the AOL® community
To thank you for contacting AOL today, you are eligible to receive a free family history software
package.

iztyme2ryde (2005-09-06 18:01:05)

Next time you choose to make MORE accounts on my computer, how about you ASK first, because I
am tired of starting to work on class stuff, and my computer locks up! That has got to stop. Either you
ask for permission, or you just use my account. You don’t need an account on my computer, you can
just use mine. Next time, well, lets just say if you do it again, there won’t be a next time (chuckles
evilly) Just use my account, ok?

arfinspar (2005-09-07 06:21:41)

i almost worked for those bastards. they had an entire building dedicated to "member retention". i
interviewed and toured the place and everything. i felt evil and in league with the devil the whole
time. i would have taken the job because the pay & benefits were great (when you work for the devil..).
thank god i fucked up the phone interview..

Learning To Extract A Growing Claw (2005-09-23 21:42) - public

Last night, me and Teasha travelled a great distance to a large beautiful farmhouse together
in a vivid dream we shared. A tall, muscular man waited for me. I had never seen him in my
life, but knew him, and the place, from long ago. He was familiar to me, an old friend.

A adolescent farmboy led me to where he waited on a wooden porch, overlooking a sun-

lit prairie. When I saw his face, I began to remember him and the distant friendship we shared
that I had forgotten. I spoke his name and, somehow, with the long delay of his glance and
the final meeting of my eyes with his, he made clear his disapointment with me. I became
sad and worried, all at once. The opinion of man was deeply important to me, and he did not
approve of my relationship with a woman and what she had done to my truck.

In these vivid dreams, my physical self is always represented by a vehicle, my truck,

504
which I leave. These intensely visual, journey-dreams have been occuring in greater frequency
over the last few months. Sometimes one a week, always involving travelling to a friend with
an important message for me. After a few, I began to keep a journal, trying to record what
these individuals wanted me to know.

"The Demon’s Hand Grows Inside You..."

"Did you get the message, Kaleb?"

iztyme2ryde (2005-09-24 02:38:07)

i did nothing to your truck

swarms (2005-09-24 02:56:04)

you need to stop eating burritos before bedtime!

the2minh8 (2005-09-25 02:00:01)

like the cosby show, when cliff huxtable eats meatball hoagies before bed and has wildly psychedelic
dreams. vegetables and heads of lettuce talk to cliff huxtable in these dreams, telling cliff huxtable
that he is not a good doctor. cliff huxtable wakes up in a cold sweat. "cliff huxtable will never eat
meatball hoagies before bed again!"

(2005-09-30 21:47) - seemingly brittle - public

I put the picture with the other increasingly ugly family pictures…they chart a chronology
..a time line of exponential dysfunction based on variable, Child. Who knew?! Uncle Sam
shall extend his socialist hand and save the children of the SICK; the WEAKLING PAINT CHIP
MUNCHERS AND MONGOLOIDS…JUST BECAUSE THEY HAVE DOWN SYNDROME AND DON’T
UNDERSTAND FRACTIONS DOESN’T MEAN JESUS DONT LOVE ’EM!

If it does, then Hollywood is correct and God’s making plots too complicated for us to
deal with without a magic CIA-God badge…or smoke cigarettes in unmarked black helicopters.
Ha! THE MAN oppresses you in more ways than you can imagine, Mrs. UFO freak Gillian
Anderson porno star lovin,’ end of the road inhabiting, only child. You were always lonely,
weren’t you? Ahh how cuute…*smack, smack, smack*

TurboSwami: Are you willing to talk?

TurboSwami: Like a real person.

TurboSwami: Goodbye you little shit! God bless you.

The time inbetween…the complex knot of flesh we get so stuck on. Ha, just cant swal-
low it down…we are bound to it until it dies and, with it, dies all its blessed instruments. Who
knew?! And, when those instruments are gone? Ha! We are only the frequency itself, don’t
get confused…the darkness is part of the frequency. Light is only our other half.

That was that. She isnt you, got me? You are real, she is a lost, highway actor look-
ing
505
for a hit off anybody. She never knew...everybody tells her she needs reality in
a pill like mine.

iztyme2ryde (2005-10-01 17:30:55)

Who was that AIM convo with? Seems like something you would say to me who wasn’t home all night
heh. Interesting post, how blunt and straight forward... have you yet to have joined the freaks? Perhaps
you should do a deep analogy on yourself... who are you little lost and lonely life of reality, Kaleb Smith.

turboswami (2005-10-01 23:37:00)

Nothing you say makes sense. I try, I really do.

iztyme2ryde (2005-10-02 01:00:09)

It wasn’t supposed to make sense... aparantly it worked.

4.10 October

(2005-10-07 20:51) - crying at work - public

Did our generation win? I must have been watching Maury. I am sure I’ll be reading about
it right about when I start reading, but who will write that? Who will write about that peak,
that brooding shoegazer wrapped in that flag, his decline...my decline? Who will write my
confession, gather my remains? Who else was on the losing team, the home team? I have
forgotten the loss, the season, the away game.

The away game, in which I starred starting so strong, agile, vibrant. The cheering! Oh,
how I remember. I remember so well, that roaring rush, the warmth of pride... Radiant, I am
smiling, I was smiling. I forget how it ended.

iztyme2ryde (2005-10-11 17:17:09)

weird... that reminded me of that little green piece of paper that said ’away game’... the one on the
beach. Is that where this comes from? Seems valid.

(2005-10-12 21:06) - public

Vision to recall the task assigned.

Visions relayed along my bedroom’s inner seam and my eyes unfold before my dancing red
friends.
Visions remind me to see and, in seeing, I encourage the delicate to show.
Powerful in guidance and revelation through my transparent submission
The details of our mutual goals surface in divine coincidence

Blind physicality, I wait to shed your this thick rubbery skin

whose dry rotting cracks reveal a personality inflexible, paralyzed in a pose of self-defense.
A vessel grown unfit, a cup of black tar, hardened sickness unable to be poured.
Heated in rage, it boils slow, gushing from my tightened face in gurgled spurts of oily disgust.
506
swarms (2005-10-13 04:43:31) listen to this, dill hole!
http://www.uoregon.edu/ jloucks/I %20Want %20to %20Know %20What %20Love %20Is.mp3

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-07 03:16:28) Re: listen to this, dill hole!

That voice! Wow...

(2005-10-14 00:07) - IM w/ Coming To Bed - public

Food is being cooked on the stove top, as it is. Who scheduled this cooking? Was it an
educated decision? Is the stove top on fire? Is this a movie, but. I suspect this cooking is
an advertisement for cooking. My suspicions, all the suspicion I can muster, cause my voice
to change; the personality and pose of an observe _watched virgin or chef. Repressing the
pain of the pose, I attempt to find the camera as casually as possible, as to not indicate my
awareness of the unseen viewers. But I know this song, the song that plays here. I know this
part, I remember this scene and someone is supposed to be here. No, they are coming and I
will hear them and the music will change for them, my hearing of them, the one.

From beneath the floor of the kitchen, a screen door is heard to slam. Heavy footfalls
then follow, slow boots on hollow wooden steps. This sound turns, as before, becoming louder
from behind the thin wooden door to this. Every step gets the song roaring, like a cat woman,
more loudly. He can surely hear it, hear what he is doing in the kitchen. I’m so afraid, but I
can’t cut him, or we’ll have to do this painful scene all over. No doubt I did that once, because
I want so badly to stop it again.

Cat screams tear, now, through hot stove air and I think women whine behind them,
warning me, but the heavy boots stopped at the door. I should set the table and get outside
FAST!

He’s waiting, I better use my "move," but make it look like an accident so it doesn’t
look deliberate. Hopefully this food will be done by then, and I can clear the air like I did
imagined when I was sleeping through.

(2005-10-21 04:21) - public

There is so much to be seen in all we are bored of. *TV Blinks and a loud plastic crack follows
from its box as when I erase the proposed second sentance. A second quieter pulling sound
occurs on the door to the room*

Upstairs, my leather chair is heard to move*

I hear a quiet radio up there, no music, just talking. When I am up there, it becomes
louder, modulating along the hum of my computer and the quiet whiring air of its fan as it
reverberates off the rear wall and back to my ear. That sound acts as a carrier wave for the
voices of men and women, which are heard by everyone in the room and can be recorded.
A young girl is heard to say "Help!" A man is heard, so quietly, to voice some concern
immediately after I conclude typing a phrase. That is automatic writing, I felt my fingers twitch
507
on the keys, vague influence over my slightly-opened hands. When opened, as in consciously
released to a degree and surrendered to some level of subconscious influence, an aspect of
self-control is relaxed. When we relax, as in sleep or in meditation, we are "letting our guards
down" and closing our eyes, allowing the conscious mind a chance to rest, consolidate, and
prepare. The levels of conscious awareness, lowering along our brain waves, are traversed
at different speeds by different people. Some people can "sleep on a closeline" quickly and
others dont fall fully asleep for hours, if at all. Likewise, the period of waking follows suit, with
some people waking very slowly, occupying the areas of awareness between sleep and wake
for ...

4.11 November

(2005-11-02 22:51) - public

Absurdity and obscurity are self-conscious methods I have developed for hiding my actual
state. Over time, vague representations of thoughts I could have easily expressed unambigu-
ously became solidified at the forefront of my semantic

too much work, too much not

synthesoid (2005-11-03 08:03:10) safe speech

you want to be seen, but not without your tuxedo. do you like condoms too? me and a friend of mine
used to have vague-a-thon absurdist jokefests, we were making fun of reality, language and when we
were feeling prickly, each others mechanisms.

turboswami (2005-11-04 03:50:41) Re: safe speech

hats of your size can be found upstairs, but there is easy access to the basement. Will the thin doctor
be I AM GONE NOW! *duh doo doo doo*

synthesoid (2005-11-04 09:38:12) antenna removal

ah, i used to have the pointiest head now i swear while your tongue pumps dread.

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-03 15:41:31)

The more it is bottled up inside, the more it hurts you inside Plus your weirdness scares me sometimes...

travelswithmilo (2005-11-04 15:07:30)

you just need a nice fluffer, it worked for me... if i knew how i would post you the picture of the one i
picked out for you. xo

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-04 17:50:06)

fluffer?

turboswami (2005-11-05 02:28:08)

Oh, never you mind! Its soft and...innocent.

508
 travelswithmilo (2005-11-05 15:54:32)
exactly.

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-06 02:26:38)

LIke you! SOOO soft and... innocent? :)

(2005-11-04 21:57) - public

A Full House...OF ZIONIST-CONTROLLED MEDIA BRAINWASHING!!

http://abcnews.go.com/Primetime/story?id=1231684 &page=1 &CMP=OTC-RSSFeeds0312

wicked_sassy (2005-11-06 04:42:31)

wow. so, i saw that you friended me, and that’s what i saw first on your journal. hi kaleb, do i actually
know you? or do we just have a lot of friends in common?

turboswami (2005-11-06 07:21:39)

Oh, hi...yea, probably not the best introductory entry, by any means. I think racism is funny; an
aspect of my humor’s sense which has been misconstrued more than once this week alone. I think I
started poking through your journal by way of Matt or James. Maybe both, I dont recall. My old entries
are better, really!

wicked_sassy (2005-11-06 22:41:55)

hey, i wasn’t actually offended, just mildly unnerved. i read the article and nearly shrieked aloud
with laughter, myself. i don’t know james, unless you mean [ User: jezabella44 ]’s little brother,
which i suspect you don’t. i suspect you also don’t mean my ex-boyfriend, since i haven’t talked to
him in years. who is this james, i wonder?

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-06 23:50:18)

You’d remember James if you met him! He’s a good guy. Matt is cool too.

wicked_sassy (2005-11-06 23:54:55)

don’t assume much with my memory. remember, i’m a stoner and ex-raver. are you james?

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-07 00:21:36)

No, I am not sure I’ve ever met you. I am Teasha, Kaleb’s girlfriend.

wicked_sassy (2005-11-07 00:23:01)

hi! i don’t think we’ve met, either.

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-07 00:28:39)

I know biscuitboy and monroe _the _fast, from your friend’s list... and of course Kaleb. Are you
from East Lansing or so? The ’ms’ makes me think MSU, and you have a lot of the online people
that I know from campus.

wicked_sassy (2005-11-07 00:35:58)

yeah, i am friends with jason and matt, though i know them completely separately. i graduated

509
 from MSU last year. the ’ms’ is more like a feminist ms, though. :)

Hall Watermark Of Not Sleep (2005-11-10 21:44) - public

Got wise to the game of making believe, of making up, and of making mountain scenes
center around this seemingly-angry asshole. But, when the peaks are highest, I, inside, am
lowest and safest as who takes the time to truely scale mountains, when its safer and easier
to simply appease them, stooping to fill the unreasonable demands shouted from behind them.

I dream of screaming, of kicking my feet through rolling tantrums, and being appeased,
but not satisfied, by some older mother. Cocky little shit, my sharp hair stabs, and yet she
smiles through the pain of her doding affection.

Hardly enough blood, but clean it now and after my soft human shield. You scrape against my
defenses, tender, waiting, only to help extend, outwards, the walls of my cold.

Deep rest, deep rest...I end to hear your critique, your winged red underscene; the warm
vision above me, you brighten as I leave. Please...Please stay, for soon I will surely listen
again.

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-11 03:37:04)

would you care to explain?

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-11 03:39:07)

At least tell me who this is about, or what... because I know it is about something. I want to know. I
expect a reply...preferably telling me what I missed...

travelswithmilo (2005-11-11 17:31:12)

you are very demanding

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-11 19:14:42)

only when I am feeling insecure... when i think something is bothersome... my mind tells me I have
to know.. plus he and I had talked about his never replying to me, it just got to me is all :)

turboswami (2005-11-12 01:33:51)

Its about a dreams and ghosts. My dreams might be about you, but mom is in them.

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-12 02:18:02)

Weird... ghosts and your mom, I don’t even want to think about that connection...

(2005-11-10 22:27) - public

I am trapped in the basement of this fucking mall

510
wicked_sassy (2005-11-11 05:40:33)
bad place bad place

iztyme2ryde (2005-11-11 05:45:30)

you mean work?

travelswithmilo (2005-11-11 17:30:37)

i love the mall

First the face, then the eyes (2005-11-11 16:01) - public

Television: a floating point along a strand, a single current among many, combining in
fluence across spans of densities, some being or containing those beings more aware
of our own scale of perspective than others or ourselves. Reception, the subconscious
interconnectivity of people and states, is fluid in nature and, in fluent, its inlet and outlet,
while, for the most part, unknown to us in waking consciousness, is evident in studies of sleep.

Its all how we reflect outwards, the degree to which we change what we radiate, be-
tween inlet and outlet. Upon inlet of what we are aware, much is immediately ignored; such
is the bottleneck of perception. In terms of visible light, the reflection of all we ignore is our
radiance. All other frequencies in the stream are absorbed, and thus, there is color in all we
see. Visible light, however, is only a narrowly bound width of a much larger whole of the
stream. Defining all reflection as an interaction in this way allows one to draw a chain of
interactions across time, viewed most easily as a stream. In this view, a perspective of our
present or "current" time would be a moving surface point with a surrounding range of control
determined by the aid of memory. For imagery’s sake, a canoe coursing amongst the rapids.

With this common understanding of the motion of frequency and its time as fluid in na-
ture, conclusions can be drawn regarding density and the interplay of influencing bodies. That
is to say, influence can exist outside the stream. The ground along and beneath the stream,
however, is merely a less viscous density of that same stream, which moves in time along a
different scale. Bodies of this slower, denser, medium move along that frame of time, which
is much larger than our own. These bodies have the potential of influence and reflect along
the electromagnetic spectrum at different ranges, seeing and appearing only along the band
of frequent time which they absorb or reflect. Regardless of the density of that which reflects,
light defines the perception of time.

Densities in visible light are defined by boundaries; the boundary of air meeting water
and, at a different Range Influence, the sand beneath. The weather is a narrow band of
influence visible to us along the boundary of water meeting air. Cycles of change exist at
different frequencies of time along this boundary, and include cycles of heavier mediums, the
crust of the earth for example. When an earthquake takes place beneath the ocean, many
densities of weather are born, change, or die in response to the weighty influence of that
deep tectonic change. Tital waves evaporate to hurricantes, spiraling off the heated earth. It
is this same understanding of density and its active boundaries that can be applied to known
boundaries of known mediums which extend outside the range of our awareness.

The patterns observed in our scale of perception continue to exist as we "zoom outwards"
511
by some means and are allowed to view them from them from a perspective of height, for
instance. I imagine watching our canoe float down the rapids from the shore and then, by
some means, being able to rise above and see the river, the canoe, and its predicted path
visualized along the twists and turns of the river, now viewed in its full length. The imagined
past, too, can be easily drawn backwards from this "map view," back to the docking point.
This wider band of awareness in time affords me the opportunity to change the future of this
canoer with greater foresight than the natural, grounded perspective ever could. The degree
of this potential change to the canoer is reliant on my means of control from this unnatural,
higher Perceptive Scale.

We are limited, foremost, by our grounded perception but, secondly, by the short period
of reviewable time defined by our memory and, finally, by the short total experienced time,
defined by our life. As a civilization, the memory and life of one individual does not define
what he can be aware of. The culture carries the lives and memories of its members onward,
the lives of individual "movers" and "shakers" rising and falling through the record of our
cultural memory. This memory serves to textend the boundary of our awareness outwards,
beyond that of the individual, by using the perspective of history and of recorded changes and
their patterns. By using information passed on and recorded along communication media,a
much wider fram of observable time is revealed, the river’s whole expanse viewable through
the eyes of the culture. Through the eyes of the culture as a whole, recorded, we can attain
that perspective of height. With time, we can process the infomration gathered over great
periods of time and, in doing so, see patterns whols influence spans lifetimes.

(2005-11-11 22:37) - public

"It was at one time the fashion to affect a certain negligence, which was called poetic, and
supposed to be the result of genius. An ill-tied, if not positively untied cravat was a sure sign
of an unbridled imagination; and a waistcoat was held together by one button only, as if the
swelling soul in the wearer’s bosom had burst all the rest. If in addition to this the hair was
unbrushed and curly, you were certain of passing for a "man of soul". I should not recommend
any young gentleman to adopt this style, unless he can mouth a great deal, and has a good
stock of quotations of the poets. It is of no use to show me the clouds, unless I can see you
in them, and no amount of negligence in your dress and person will convince me you are a
genius, unless you can produce an octavo volume of poems published by yourself"

The Habits of Good Society, 1859

synthesoid (2005-11-12 20:28:30)

the good old days.

(2005-11-11 22:41) - private

Ghoules like me, similar in lurking, unspoken mindset, huff and puff in tophats, but do so
outside of their bodies. Our voice, tears, and commands don’t exist in tone from beneath,
for our face is only mist on a warm lake with night a woven invitation. Our canvas is unseen,
spanning the unnatural medium in which we were born. Waves in wires through needles in
our own blood throb and quiver in cycles, solidified and sold by those who care.
512
I sure like music! Dang! I’ll learn yallhat I be FRITZ LANG’S METROPOLIS.

Sorry dad.

(2005-11-18 21:44) - public

Be wild, err...invisible kids.

There are many things I could have said or sang, people to whom I could have smiled,
but looked away. All that work, hard work, that could have made me. Impressions I made on
others by laying instead of digging them, carving out deep memories in us.

"Someone from the hospital is supposed to come over and kiss me. The imaginary tv
lets me talk back from inside to my old friends."

When I realized that the pond and the woods were all false, I began to critique the small,
overlooked details. The lines of light green that receded back into pond weeds. I knew I could
get my feet wet, that the water could be whatever temperature I wanted, and so I entered
the warm summer swill, the deep silt smooth, massaging me between my toes. Sneaking low
beneath thewide umbrella of a sad willow, I am immediately enclosed, hidden from the road.

My own island, apart. A tree in a ditch on the side of the road, but I feel security, safety there,
sitting beneath that tree. I sleep there and watch a turtle surface from the thick water. He is
very old and on his back is a beautiful angel, who he carries like a queen. Approaching me
slowly, along the shore of my island, he knows I mean them no harm. He knows me from my
childhood.

synthesoid (2005-11-19 22:28:22)

this makes me want to post a private entry i made awhile back. we like this tangent. can these
thoughts have an origin you can comment on, or did they spring full formed like athena from zeus’s
head?

turboswami (2005-11-20 01:15:33)

There were 3 old iron ore mining pits, filled with reddish water, that surrounded my childhood home
on three sides. One of them, the smallest pond, had no barbed wire around it and ran along side the
driveway. An old twp story barn was there, and a ditch that extended to the end of the driveway. I
always liked it right there, nestled in the thick trees. I recall a lucid dream which took place near
that pond...it is place present in many of my dreams. A turtle with an angel on its back was reported
as stolen in a New Hampshire newspaper, and I liked the image. I have been reading tribal lore
and shamanic myth lately...I like the way its imagery is so meaningful, and the stories are so direct
and down to earth, while representing entities of distant nonphysical or mystic realms. I would like
to write on that level, the basic conflicts of storytelling myth, with Freud there to provide the characters.

synthesoid (2005-11-21 02:51:33)

i totally agree. i am trying to infuse the imagery of the timeless man of wisdom in with all of that

513
The Ceremony of The Bull (2005-11-19 20:21) - public

I found a beautiful woman in the city and, after watching her for a time, saw that she had lost
control of her life. She was very sad and lonely, as if sleeping while she waited for something.
A great ceremony to cure her began, overseen by a huge bull man who was not threatening
and had the eyes of a kind man.

The beautiful woman sat on the cold marble floor, her entire body loosely wrapped in
thin, blood-red silk. Her legs were spread wide apart, invitingly, and between them was a
bowl of water with a long, white candle burning in it. Her eyes closed, her face calm, she
began to quietly sing a sweet song. Her voice was high like a child’s, and quivered as if
she was crying and, all at once, I wanted so badly to reach out and hold her and comfort
her. I wanted to rock her like a child, because I felt her emotions in that song and they hurt me.

"La, lay low

La, lay low
The rain pours,
The rain pours.
The sky knows
What happened.
Only the sky
Only the sky.

La, lay low

La, lay low
The wolves they
circle round me
They wait,
They wait,
I am tired,
So tired."

synthesoid (2005-11-21 02:44:16)

keep writing, are you composing short stories yet?

turboswami (2005-11-21 09:31:14)

Some good ones from a few years ago. My best few around 2003, If I recall. My muse abandoned me
earlier this year, though.

silentwinds (2005-11-23 15:18:41)

Thats... beautiful.

(2005-11-23 18:01) - private

Music: Stockhausen - Stimmung

My friend purchased a strange little noisebox which he claims is not circuit bent, but was
built from scratch. It has about 8 knobs and 3 switches and makes incredible wailing bird
514
and farting noises, as well as amazing patterns of these noise which repeat, ideal for looping.
Incredible sensitive and seemingly random in the squealing farts, I really want one as my
synthesizers are way too predictable...

Any idea what might be in there? He says he opened it up and it was some badly sol-
dered mess on cardboard, which is why it picks up static electricity from the room. He
suspected some squarewave oscillator and...some other things.

Any loose guidelines for diving into building one of these things, blind? Any online re-
sources for "from scratch" wailing fart pattern machines? I’ve been kinda wading through my
Mouser catalog, trying to guess what I might buy to approximate the contents of the noise box.

Eh, any basic information to point me in the right direction would be much appreciated.

(2005-11-26 22:12) - public

There was, but enclosure calmed my eyes to pale.

Beauty, surely still, in a perspective of wilting,
as derived from any form curling inward onto itself.

Dark corner of a column of light, uncomplicated by the room.

If tortured to defend the receding sunlight,
to do so in solitude saves guilt;
never knowing who would have been seen,
less painful than saying goodnight.

Rapid moments unaware

shimmer over stability worn.
Slowly lost to endless white,
sang low to their soft torrent till the end.

4.12 December

The Selves Reside (2005-12-01 05:16) - life changing - public

Music: A dying fire

Yes, my turn. I turn, as I watched the thousands before me, and when my moment finally
came, I fulfilled the motion, as did they, without even a thought of conscious control on my
part. That is to say, that brightest, most meaningful of moments had been set in motion far
above me, and that I could not have stopped it had I tried. Yet, to say my movement was
not “conscious” would be to limit its significance. My turn was made Super Consciously, that
is, it was only a microscopic transaction made to fulfill the greater interaction between two
bodies. A greater touch, long and unseen, of which I exist only as a nervous strand attached
to a single, sensitive cell, defining the surface of a finger touching the unknown. My scripted
movement, and its nervous signal, was written far above; not for me, but for the millions of
blind, cell-centered selves who compose the tip of His finger. To finally serve him, to fullfill my
insignificant pass-onwards to that me that followed along that chain of time was the greatest
515
bliss, beyond all sex or selfish pleasure.

How is it possible that I have not seen; the potential of myself dormant until that very
moment. Not that I came to understand myself, but that I watch the future of my turn as it
approached, that one perfect turn, from my right side towards the window, fulfilled as was
intended. I was able to wait, I was able to understand the margin between two Greater realm
bodies whose touching I was not to understand.

Incredible! I understood, in that second, my importance (so small or so great) in that

cosmic system, the body of my thought existed as a split on a bud stretching out and
expanding outward from far within me; a beautiful flower whose pedals explode outward,
enclosing my deep recess. How is it, in our ignorant youth, that we have not come to
map, even loosely, these greater bodies for whome we compose. I was too simple a man
to maintain that perspective, the forethought and vision which, from beyond me, was enacted.

I know only now the true implication of that greater meeting, even if its meaning is des-
tined to exist forever beyond my scale. I have within me an inborn capacity which decides my
potential, and the potential of my infinitely resounding selves, and those which reside after
my every choice. If only my sleep, my tired, cold, huddling, which holds me back, or has up to
this point, then I shall never sleep and die manifesting the libraries of truth which burst from
that single, quiet moment, alone in the dark, when I turned my head from the fire to the sky.

megaswami (2005-12-03 01:22:17)

i really enjoyed reading this. sometimes late at night i trip out with my cats and marvel over how we
are cells. ok.

turboswami (2005-12-03 01:50:52)

Thank you. I have always admired your username. ok?

(2005-12-12 15:27) - public

Oh, I’m SOO smart. Look at me!

I got fired...not so smart.
Don’t look at me.

Please, just forget I was even here...

and I will try my best to do the same.
And when there is no one left to wake me,
all will be remembered in sudden light.
when all this is forgotten.

travelswithmilo (2005-12-12 21:57:40)

good

iztyme2ryde (2005-12-13 05:17:32)

Wow, that is really good... I like that.

516
After The Zombies (2005-12-15 14:20) - public

On an expansive stage, in the center of an arena screaming insanity, was a single massive
screen, rectangular. On it was simply the face: a freeze frame of Bob Saget, smiling, cheesy,
Full House era Saget. Lit only by the glow of his screen sat a loving family at a table, enjoying
Thanksgiving dinner and eachothers company.

He watches them. He, their only light, oversees their holiday chowtime conduct. Tower-
ing over their insignificant bird and mumbled grace. His smile, so transparent, but his eyes
burn...THEY BURN!!!

A tinny Vietnam megaphone on a stalk barks "MOTHER!!" and the stage rotates to the
next scene.

megaswami (2005-12-16 00:47:20)

MOTHER is a woody word, and not a tinny word.

silentwinds (2005-12-16 05:03:35)

Bob Saget’s face scares me.

(2005-12-23 05:32) - public

Let spiral upward and outward whisps of emotion, steam bubbling to the surface from some far-
submerged tension. If resentment must wait through self-control for a slip of humor to release,
it will come to bitter and stagnate the social self. The throbbing curl of sarcasm requires this
resentment, and its sharpness relates directly with the calipre of its weaver’s self-restraint. Like
knots along a web, nightmares fester beneath a tight defensive cap, the posture of insecurity
doing much to hide our scars; covered in shame to puss and rot. Poisonous tollerance, the
spreading of an infection, drained until comfortable.

synthesoid (2005-12-23 17:48:27) the bennet cult

like a string: the random tangents of a subject with no reserve, darting about aimlessy and folding
back upon the self. one small pleasure after another. the strands are clumped and their outward
looking omnivision is left in a self referential mass. let us not speak of knots! like a levy: i store my
intention and open the gate of spontaneity with the safeguard of will. for if ill recieved, the reactions
of others bound back and take away inner peace. for my orchestrations of harmony, need few notes
of dissonance for release.

turboswami (2005-12-24 01:26:38) Re: the bennet cult

They need us messy ones, if only to keep their house clean. If these thoughts are illegal, and
knowledge of self is indeed restricted, what will the grown-ups confide in.

iztyme2ryde (2005-12-24 04:17:37)

explain this? what do you hate so much that you tolerate?

517
Dream Journal #4 (2005-12-25 04:05) - public

My life’s work lost to an island of ice. A story so sad, I told it to her again and again just to hear
her cry for me.

"Sleep Blade" - Dream Journal #2 - 9/28/05 (2005-12-25 04:12) - public

Subtle realm contained within the range of nothing, which [houses the residual] remains
beyond the greater death.

The great cluster of dimensions exists, now, only as a construct of zero. The civilization
was quieted, its great thinkers now divine watchers and teachers of dreams.

518
5. 2006

5.1 January

Pretending Again (2006-01-02 19:04) - private

Music: John Cage - First Construction (

Double drat of a thousand snakes! Who curls fetal neath shade of teets.

I believe the more expansive one’s taste becomes, the further that performer’s work
strays from accessiblity. As if by integrating dissonance into his personality, and coming to
appreciate it in time, the musician loses some point of reference to what was once immediately
and fully accessible. At the same time, forgetting his original impression of dissonance, the
musician comes to express himself in terms of this music he has come to appreciate and
identify with.

The fact that dissonant music, initially, was not pleasing to the musicians ears is evi-
dence of its lack of common worth, or significance to the greater cultural body. In this, it
can be assumed that the most accessible and potentially popular music would be pleasing
immediately to most and have a high degree of common worth. Individuals with little or
no attained appreciation or "taste," ideally children, would guide the composition towards
the highest achievable accessiblity by judging, with little or no aid of comparison, what is
immediately pleasing.

(2006-01-03 01:14:02)
Well, its just an idea....I notice my changing taste has also changed my own music. ...and that this
change, overall, has been a negative one. The more I come to appreciate, the more my music reflects
that appreciation. Until, currently, I am making music which I, myself, would not have liked 6 years
ago. The fact that I like it now doesnt justify its worth...since I like MOST music now, it means I let
most crap I do slip through to record, where 6 years ago, I would have recognized it as crap and shown
restraint. I’ve come to appreciate sloppy, dissonant music... ...and that has made me, myself, sloppy
and dissonant. <> Since I identify with the music, my taste has changed my output as a musician...
Its really the music I listen to has defined what I can GET AWAY WITH... If they were able to masturbate
messily for 34 minutes on some drugged out, pretentious jam session AND then have it distributed
by a record company... ...then I, too, can take drugs and kick my instrument around for half an hour
and its totally acceptable. <<> ...granted, I know its complete crap while I’m doing it, as I’m sure
they did. I dunno, i’m thinking of jam groups like, oh I dunno, Brainticket or Guru Guru..or even Faust <>

(2006-01-06 06:10) - private

What greater purpose hides in light beneath eyes? As it seems so much easier to simply
change the world than to change myself, the purpose of these clammering, awkward days in
love seems much like skin grown thick. I would say to move to me had I just started watching,
519
and such a sharp judgement snapped, however uninformed, would seem light and correct to
most. To me, however, my own words would stab through to ground, anchoring me where I
sat. Unless I were to barge in and begin packing my suitcase for me, odds are I wouldn’t get
up the gumption.

(2006-01-20 03:08) - Wishing I was Being Dramatic - public

Juicy wet cyst brain throbbing, pulsing in time with the invisible forever stream. But its
self-description is evidence of an eye, a silhouette of a straining pose acting as a pedestal, as if
to glorify this festering decay. Of public display, there was apprehension heating a conductive,
dead plane’s edge from beneath. In the gallery, I formed insulate delusions, hoping to conceal
the swelling cyst in a silent guise of introversion. Fully aware of the date this silence would
finally break, I waited for the intimidating crowd of punkers and teeny-boppers to leave so
that I could undress my preparations and tend to the infection with some degree of privacy.
Nodding through customs while smiling at my watch, I waited...

Still waiting, its 6 o’clock you drunk fucks... Old Mexicali cockbag is playing pyro on the
speaker stand, and the noxious skinhead philosopher is still loud and ignorant. Who the fuck
just took my picture?!! Yea! You run to the basement you snivelly little cunt!! You’ll eat that
camera before .. WHAT!? ... smoke detector?, you greasy sleaze!

7:30 am:
I just sit, stare, observations fueling the diseased growth, which I am sure has spread down
my spine to my throat; its black tendrils weaving through my ribcage. The damage is surely
irreversible now. Soon, the sickness will boil up to the surface and I will no longer be able to
hide the thoughts. God save me! Relieve me of these nightmares.

iztyme2ryde (2006-01-20 17:33:29)

You poor thing. You still having nightmares?

(2006-01-22 01:43) - public

No flood of thoughts, only a troubled digestive tract. If these cramp-pantied jolly boys played
cracker jacks behind birthday parties, why don’t I remember them? Things were more innocent
back then, with all nights forgotten. Was it a senseless beating or simply a dream of one?
Why do I remember his mother entering the room and undressing him? (insert short story here)

The first 8 years of my life are an inconsistent dream, spider-cracked with horrid night-
mares believed true. In crossing over to this daylit surface, I kept a single night foot buried in
the cold sand at the bottom of the drop off. I would look up through the water to the moon at
night, and watch it dance with the ripples at the surface in my bedroom wall. Far down the
driveway behind the garden by the pond, there was a old birch tree with a thick, meaty scar
down its trunk, where it had attracted lightning to strike. I remember the night, I remember
thinking the lightning was directed at me...I remember the view of that tree and that hill and
the brilliance of that peak, and the charred sigh of a man that remained.

If the gravity of ones thought pulls the plane of attention inward, as planet centers on
520
Space/Time’s surface, indented, so is the social attention around the deep-thoughted who
remains suspended on attention’s thin, outward surface, before diving back down within
with eyes open; plumbing the depths with merely an internal light and a passionate curiosity
to fuel introspection. In the sciences of self, psychology and philosophy, there are only
these "Centered Minds," around whom light-minded stragglers revolve like so many planets
whirlpool in the heavy, brilliant sun wide, capped funnel. So the individual who’s attentive
state carries the heaviest charge shall always attract towards himself the coincidence of all
surrounding linear progressions, each of which collide forming an incident. The observable
impulses of action potential along social strands of a network are not random, as it may in
casual awareness appear, but exist as significant firings within a larger system, the scale of
which we cannot, currently, comprehend.

(2006-01-27 18:33) - public

I see heat in the dark,

The waves rising in a bedside figure
I feel weight, I see wings spread open
Answering my requests for guidance
And my tired, stuttering promises.

Vault father, able to help me through dreams

To help me remember your words is beyond your control.
Spirit lover, able to remind me of distant selves
To help me fullfill them here is beyond your control.

I accept what I have lost,

and all which has come in its place.
I accept my falling from grace
and reside here, no longer bitter with regret.

I saw cool comfort in the light,

Purity’s hand outstretched into surface
Dispelling the brooding of their anger
And releasing them from their memories.

Beyond The Stream’s Edge (2006-01-28 18:37) - liberated - private

Music: Heiner Goebbels - Gigue

Television: a floating point along a strand, a single current among many, combining in
fluence across spans of densities, some being or containing those beings more aware
of our own scale of perspective than others or ourselves. Reception, the subconscious
interconnectivity of people and states, is fluid in nature and, in fluent, its inlet and outlet,
while, for the most part, unknown to us in waking consciousness, is evident in studies of sleep.

Its all how we reflect outwards, the degree to which we change what we radiate, be-
tween inlet and outlet. Upon inlet of what we are aware, much is immediately ignored; such
is the bottleneck of perception. In terms of visible light, the reflection of all we ignore is our
radiance. All other frequencies in the stream are absorbed, and thus, there is color in all we
521
see. Visible light, however, is only a narrowly bound width of a much larger whole of the
stream. Defining all reflection as an interaction in this way allows one to draw a chain of
interactions across time, viewed most easily as a stream. In this view, a perspective of our
present or "current" time would be a moving surface point with a surrounding range of control
determined by the aid of memory. For imagery’s sake, a canoe coursing amongst the rapids.

With this common understanding of the motion of frequency and its time as fluid in na-
ture, conclusions can be drawn regarding density and the interplay of influencing bodies. That
is to say, influence can exist outside the stream. The ground along and beneath the stream,
however, is merely a less viscous density of that same stream, which moves in time along a
different scale. Bodies of this slower, denser, medium move along that frame of time, which
is much larger than our own. These bodies have the potential of influence and reflect along
the electromagnetic spectrum at different ranges, seeing and appearing only along the band
of frequent time which they absorb or reflect. Regardless of the density of that which reflects,
light defines the perception of time.

Densities in visible light are defined by boundaries; the boundary of air meeting water
and, at a different Range Influence, the sand beneath. The weather is a narrow band of
influence visible to us along the boundary of water meeting air. Cycles of change exist at
different frequencies of time along this boundary, and include cycles of heavier mediums, the
crust of the earth for example. When an earthquake takes place beneath the ocean, many
densities of weather are born, change, or die in response to the weighty influence of that
deep tectonic change. Tidal waves evaporate to hurricanes, spiraling off the heated earth. It
is this same understanding of density and its active boundaries that can be applied to known
boundaries of known mediums which extend outside the range of our awareness.

The patterns observed in our scale of perception continue to exist as we "zoom outwards"
by some means and are allowed to view them from them from a perspective of height, for
instance. I imagine watching our canoe float down the rapids from the shore and then, by
some means, being able to rise above and see the river, the canoe, and its predicted path
visualized along the twists and turns of the river, now viewed in its full length. The imagined
past, too, can be easily drawn backwards from this "map view," back to the docking point.
This wider band of awareness in time affords me the opportunity to change the future of this
canoer with greater foresight than the natural, grounded perspective ever could. The degree
of this potential change to the canoer is reliant on my means of control from this unnatural,
higher Perceptive Scale.

We are limited, foremost, by our grounded perception but, secondly, by the short period
of reviewable time defined by our memory and, finally, by the short total experienced time,
defined by our life. As a civilization, the memory and life of one individual does not define
what he can be aware of. The culture carries the lives and memories of its members onward,
the lives of individual "movers" and "shakers" rising and falling through the record of our
cultural memory. This memory serves to extend the boundary of our awareness outwards,
beyond that of the individual, by using the perspective of history and of recorded changes and
their patterns. By using information passed on and recorded along communication media,a
much wider frame of observable time is revealed, the river’s whole expanse viewable through
the eyes of the culture. Through the eyes of the culture as a whole, recorded, we can attain
that perspective of height. With time, we can process the information gathered over great
periods of time and, in doing so, see patterns whose influence spans lifetimes.

522
See Men’s Stall, Ground Floor; Wells Hall, East Lansing, MI (2006-01-30 04:51) -
friends

I went into a bathroom stall I had frequented at the start of the semester to see the intense
additions to a religious topic posting I had sort of led. It began with someone saying that
Catholic Priests should be allowed to marry, so that they would stop anally raping choir boys...

I said "Maybe if the choir boy outfits weren’t made so tight and sexy..." to which someone
replied "Maybe if the nun outfits were made more tight and sexy..." to which I replied "Maybe
if God didn’t make the act of love evil" which was too much for so many shitting Christians
to bear...them filling the entire wall surrounding my comment with desperate defensive lead...

God has deemed the act of love evil....this is not a reasonable God. From the replies to
my de-turding post that were still readable, I saw people saying that this law isnt a part of
the NEW CHRISTIANITY, or rather, that this is just another section of the Bible they choose
not to attend to. The fact is, this Bearded man can never admit what is under his robe while
presiding over us on his Throne of Gold. He is disguisted by the cock and all of its messy,
animalistic functions. The good Christian is, like God himself, to pretend that Fucking does
not exist...and the truely pious Christian would, ideally, believe it doesn’t, thus dissassociat-
ing himself, not only from the dirty act, but those pesky, throbbing thoughts of the act as well...

The fact is reasonable people have come to understand that nature, and all which comes to
us naturally, cannot be deemed evil and that sins, and all the awful eternity of burning and
prodding which come with them, are subjective and, like most other things, subject to the
shifting currents of fashion and culture. Good and bad will always be categories we place on
an outside, natural world which continues budding and coursing with unfathomable grace just
the same, with or without them.

the2minh8 (2006-01-30 16:51:47)

the bathroom stall is the livejournal of our fathers’ generation. church doctrine says that the joining of
the flesh is a sin UNLESS it is done 1) within a marital union and 2) for the purposes of procreation. so,
basically, only your favorite kinds of sex are completely outlawed, not all kinds of sex. so no, you can’t
have sex with your girlfriend. and even if you marry her, you can’t have oral or anal sex. you can’t
even get an h/j. and to be in the most spirited compliance with the dogma, you should probably figure
out a technique whereby you ejaculate as quickly as possible (fewest pumps and shortest period of
time) before turning away from your wife and falling asleep, deeply ashamed and embarrassed.

turboswami (2006-01-30 23:35:54)

http://community.livejournal.com/abstractthought/630743.html?view=11464407 #t11464407 That
community has gone downhill...but, some worthwhile thoughts.

iztyme2ryde (2006-01-31 05:32:54)

Funny you post about EL when I am here ha ha. Get on AIM and talk to me tonight!

523
600 Free Movies (2006-01-31 04:39) - friends

http://www.publicdomaintorrents.com/nshowcat.html?category=ALL

Hot diggity! I suar love them thar B-Movies! Some of these gems are quite rare...

swarms (2006-01-31 16:34:00)

They don’t have Nimoy’s first film: Zombies of the Stratosphere.

5.2 February

(2006-02-01 08:15) - public

I lay, spoiled and drugged, poised in August’s regret on these hidden steps. The path and
passion, the receding flame, I close.

iztyme2ryde (2006-02-01 16:27:29)

What is wrong? you seemed so happy yesterday, well most of the time when I called you and such.

Forge aught’n Forms (2006-02-02 07:05) - waiting - public

RESENT

A king heys much sleaving for them.

POOR

Introduced a second time to the inward, spore-laden lash.

CRESH

The store-born face pushes against to hard water pressure.

BOY

To full world seen is far and asked; look down and blush in prime.

ORNATE HATE

Esquireist freed all tone essay in them.

Barge barging secret barfly bested the bed.
My ice trap will melt in a clap goodbye.

"ELP HE MINE FALLING..."

524
Natural.
Distance between I’s
(A net boundary of signs
for safety swimmers still alive.)

Sensitivity Potential: The Gift of the Bright Eyed (2006-02-03 04:17) - exhausted
- public

The sixth day, a gurgling, volcanic sickness pumps up through my chest in waves of heat
that course outwards through my extremities, causing me to hyperventilate deeply with each
throbbing pump upwards. These thick, greasy gears have not turned in a while and burn at
being pushed to move once again. Resting, I tend to stay at rest with no objection having
been raised while I was in the room. The perspective from inside cycles outside and returns
again, a simple stream of focus which erodes outward and carries inward, sedimentary layers
telling a selve’s history.

Scars and well-worn ruts ripple in fluent interaction, some intense moment of our past
resonates through us, changing all those in our wake, until attention’s surface is calm once
more. The sting of salt water, the blood we hide or boast dilutes around us until our wound is
closed, fading beneath a new surface in time.

Sensitivity, like skin tone or eye color, varies between individuals at birth. The sum to-
tal of what a person can potentially sense exists along a spectrum and, while related to
intellect, is a capacity independent of cognition and the physical body. Since the calipre and
condition of one’s sense organs in no way predicts the potential sensitivity of that individual,
it can be assumed that physical awareness courses inwards, traveling through one discrete
function to the next in series. I recall proposed models of information processing in Cognitive
Psychology that arrange perception in this way. The grouping together of sensitivity and the
sensory organs seen in these models, however, is regretfully inadequate when attempting to
integrate observable instances which imply their division. The documented Hyper-Sensitive,
for instance, is often stricken with poor or completely non-functioning sensory organs. A
common belief, and the butt of many cliched movie plots, is the "intuition" of the blind; as
if, by being forced to live without the aid of sight, the other senses intensify to compensate.
While the physical condition of the remaining organs of sense, themselves, cannot be said
to change, a separate, internal factor, the "intensity" of the sensation, is strengthened. The
highest possible point of perceptive intensity attainable is determined by the given individ-
ual’s Sensitivity Potential, the inborn variable which establishes the sum total of perception
acquirable from a given sensation.

Cognition, or the information processing elements contained within the broad term "cog-
nition," exists at the end of this series of functions which compose awareness. The final
resting place for absorbed energy, after being filtered and digested through gate after
perceptive gate, dissolved and divided by level after perceptive level, is organized memory,
for a short term still hot, the steam of which ruminates as thought, rising upwards again to
the surface of which it was born, condensing into reaction. Words and experience stored and
intertwined in a dense, fibrous network of associations. The mysterious current which flows
through these fibers, however, (the purpose of these nervous strands, that fleeting charge
they exist only to carry,) shall not remain, forever, beyond the purview of observational
525
science. The measurement of this nonphysical, internal energy, through the technology of the
electroencephalogram, has rendered for our study a realm unseen, whose subtlety exists, not
beyond, but within the natural limits of our own awareness. This invisible realm, experienced
and described by the "touched," or hypersensitive individuals, since the dawn of language,
itself, is that of spirit.

SHAMANISTIC SONGS OF ROMAN ESTRADA (2006-02-03 08:51) - public

Medicinal herb, remedial herb

Cold herb, Lord Christ
Free this person from his sickness
Where is his spirit trapped?
Is it trapped in the mountain?
Is it enchanted in some gully?
Is it trapped in some waterfall?
I will search and I will find the lost spirit

Ave María!
I will follow his tracks
I am the important man
I am the man who gets up early
I am he who makes the mountains resound
I am he who makes their sides resound
I am he who makes the spirit resound

I make my tracks resound

I make my nails resound
I am the dawn
I am he who speaks with the mountains
I am he who speaks with the echo

There in the atmosphere

There amid the vegetation
I will make my sound felt
Whoever curses us won’t do us any harm
Because I am the spirit and the image
I am Christ the Lord
I am the spirit

The serpent is present

It is coiled up
It is alive
I give relief
I give life
I am the tall and handsome one
I am Jesus Christ
In whose dominion there are tigers

Whoever curses us has no influence on us

526
I give strength to the sick
I am the medicine
I am the damp cloth
Come back lost spirit
I will whistle to guide you [He whistles]

Return!

The big clown is calling you

The master clown is calling you
I will make the mountains sound
I will make their abysses sound
I will make the dawn sound
I will make the day sound
I will make the Father Mountain sound

It is time the miracle happens

—
Roman Estrada’s shamanistic songs open to the language of a contemporary Mazatec male
shaman. They also give some indication of the differences from singer to singer, poet to poet,
within a specific indigenous culture.

This is only a small part of the chant of the Wise Man. He has told me that the day his
initiation ended – Roman explained this in Spanish – he received a diploma from the hands of
the Principal Ones.

HEY POP! Where You....HEY POP! (2006-02-03 18:47) - public

THis as I drove 30 miles over the speed limit on an ancient logging road, giant rocks and
muddy, pond-like puddles making me grit my teeth and clench the steering wheel in doubt.

I came to a split in the road where I could continue going straight, along the less trav-
elled path, or diverge sharply to the right on the more travelled path. I chose the most
appropriate, as to not get lost, and watched as that path became a two-rut backwoods trail
which I could not turn back on. I sped faster and faster, unable to stop from crying, feeling
as if my life was out of control and that everything I knew was destined to dissappear in my
disolving accessability.

I dreamed of two dogs, corresponding to two women, for horizontal and vertical; both
digging in fighting one another in their direction. Each created the same hole in the same hill,
I caused it all and Ron sensed it....

As I carried siding, I floated from negative energy and Ron, seeing me float, pretended
he saw nothing, but continued to sense the paranormal negative energy from me...

Dad layed steaks into a wheelbarrow of slushy dog piss and we fought. He mentioned A
Hardon andI kicked the snow. He asked what IT meant when I did that. As we fought harder
527
and harder, tensions flaired and I pushed his arms away from me, he grabbed me and lifted
me off the ground. I saw him as myself, but evertying I wanted to be. Floating up further from
where the through me, my negative energy propelled me like the meeting of two positive
magnets.

Where I got high, everyone talked about me and how I was mentally unstable. They did
this while I was out of the room, but as I re-entered, I presented myself in such a way that
made their back-talking obvious and, admitting the awkwardess of the situation in agression
and metaphore, everyone accepted what was said and why it was. I said many things and
each was understood in the context of SEX and my lack of control over my wants.

After everyone admitted to taking about my insanity, it was asked if I thought I was in-
sane. I said that I think things most people dont and everyone agreed. I then said I fear I
think things that I should not and there was a pause and a sigh. Each thought something of
convention and insanity and, I think, realized my struggle more than they once did.

I Still Have Songs On MSU’s Server (2006-02-03 19:51) - public

April 1st, 2004

Subotnick Screams 02:21 am

I spent 8 hours on 3 minutes of "music" today...in which I attempted to abandon both

melody and rhythm, for the most part. Tell me if its like anything you have heard by any band
or musician and, if so, which one?

Give it a quick listen and tell me what is wrong, what it needs, what you’d change.

Thanks for the help!

http://www.msu.edu/ smith502/subotnick _screams.mp3

(Leave a comment)

iztyme2ryde (2006-02-04 01:41:27)

First off, I think I would make it stereo... perhaps that long moan sort of sound start in one speaker,
then move to the next? Second... the synth toward the middle/end is good, that should stay. Third,
some of the idle time toward the beginning seems bland and lacking. Perhaps an ambient/dissonant
sound quiet-like? Fourth, the end just cuts off, like music music music STOP... I didn’t like that...

(2006-02-04 09:04) - public

Jesus, this place is busy tonight! Active, loud and packed. All night I just listened to them,
whoever they are. I wonder what spurs paranormal activity? Admittedly, I have been active,
myself, lately; inspired, but how does my inspiration relate to their stomping about upstairs,
talking and singing long into the night...
528
I thought to attempt more EVP recordings, but decided against it, as I fear I could po-
tentally attract or encourage negative attention. My previous understanding of the mechanics
of the vocalizations was reinforced, however, as I paid close attention to where and when the
distant, mumbling conversations became most clear.

As before, nothing could be heard without first having a Carrier Medium of some kind,
in this case, the calm but constant white noise of the box fan in the living room. That blowing
rush of frequencies both carries and obscures the quiet, subtle, speech which sometimes
surfaces through the ambience of the room with great urgency and emotion. More often than
not, however, it is only deeply attentive, active listening which hints at the presence of others
in the house.

I learn, too, that reverberation plays a key role in the Modulation of the given Carrier
sound into speech. When a microphone is placed directly in front of the Carrier source, usually
my fan, there is little if no successful recording. Pointing the mic away from the source,
towards a corner, or even in a different room, generally produces clearer results.

swarms (2006-02-05 18:26:44) Have you seen these stories?

http://www.hollywood.com/news/detail/id/3478770 Herzog was shot during an interview and
just continued the interview like nothing happened. http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-
phoenix2feb02,0,6600731.story?coll=la-h ome-headlines Herzog pulled Joaquin Phoenix out of a car
accident.

Ahhh...McDonel Hall (2006-02-14 22:39) - friends

Kaleb Smith ([info]turboswami) wrote,

@ 2002-12-03 01:40:00

/\

Previous Entry Add to memories! Edit Entry Edit Tags Next Entry

\/
Current mood: nullified
Current music: M.E. - Gary Numan

1. LIVING ARRANGEMENT? I live in a small room with a small man from Down Under
and share a bathroom, which has no locks on its doors, with 3 other men.
2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? None. I have read The Book (On The Taboo Against
Knowing Who You Are) by Dr. Alan Watts 3 times, though. It makes me feel like I am walking
an inch and a half above the ground.
3. WHAT’S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? I have the Kimberly-Clark pharmaceuticals mousepad. I
stole it from an empty classroom at 2 in the morning.
4. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? I havent played one that was honestly enjoyable yet. I have
played monopoly twice, though.
5. YOUR FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Psychology Today is the most interesting magazine I have read.
529
I love how every month they have a section about how men are different from women and
blacks are different from whites (black people feel more pain than white people.)
6a. FAVORITE SMELLS? I like the smell of a hug, nuzzling your nose in someones shirt.
6b. LEAST FAVORITE SMELLS? I hate turds! I hate them! TURDS!
7a. FAVORITE SOUND? I like the sound of water when it moves or falls. I guess that is white
noise. I like white noise.
7b. FAVORITE MUSIC? I like intelligent music, as rare as it may be.
8. WORST FEELING IN THE WHOLE WORLD? I sometimes get this unexplainable awful feeling
when I am in a cold shower and it is dark...my heart beats fast and I feel helpless. When I am
in a shower, I cannot be in the dark or be cold. I think I must have died in water in a past life.
ha.
9. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? "Oh god,
Just 7 more minutes..."
10. FAVORITE COLORS? Forest Green
11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? I let it ring more than I answer it.
12. NAME OF FUTURE CHILD? Bzzzzzzzzt!
13. BEST THING(S) IN LIFE? Solitude and acceptance
14. FAVORITE FOODS? Moist chocolate cake, a sloppy cheeseburger
15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? chocolate
16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? No. I slowed about 10mph for every near death experience.
Now I go about 35 everywhere.
17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM A FUCKING FAG!!!?
*Grumble grumble spit*
18. ULTIMATE CAR? Delorian
19. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR WEDDING SONG? Child Brides by The Auteurs
20. IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON DEAD OR ALIVE WHO WOULD IT BE? Alan Watts or
Nikola Tesla..maybe Jesus, if he was lucky.
21. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK? Gran Spumanti Champagne
22. WHO DO YOU HATE THE MOST? I hate all babies! THEIR WRETCHED COOING!
23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? These questions are gay, yes.
24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT BE? A Sultan with religious
influence.
25. EVER BEEN IN LOVE? I fell in love with the nurse, then the doctor slapped me. That
association seems to continue.
28. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? No, only my right hand is on the
right keys.
29. WHAT’S UNDER YOUR BED? An australian.

Why did I just fill that out? I feel like I have been cheated, somehow.

(Post a new comment)

the2minh8 (2006-02-15 04:20:38)

ahh, nothing like the good old classics. i am working on a dub project involving the reverend jack van
impe talking about how you have to spell "czechoslovakia" at the pearly gates in order to get into
heaven. mrs. van impe talks about how it is funny when people die, and how animals go to heaven
while babies do not. it’s really going to be something. all done in nuendo. i feel so fancy. or i would
feel so fancy, if i could get my audio to stop HUMMING LIKE A MOTHERFUCK.

530
iztyme2ryde (2006-02-15 04:47:32)
This is still hilarious. Thinking about Ben with all of his friends coming in and out, rushing to put his
bed back together while sneakily pretending to have been watching television the whole time. Ah the
good time.

gawthspork (2006-02-15 06:45:16)

this entry reminds me of the 1990s.

silentwinds (2006-02-18 20:22:50)

Well this is a light and playful post! Im happy to read something like this from you!

iztyme2ryde (2006-02-19 01:46:58)

it was from 2002. I wish he was happier...currently.

(2006-02-23 14:49) - public

Naked sexy hamburger smearing, again, I got to thinkin’....

It began "There is no reason to deny my lumberjack layer, which I know must exist, if only as
young fatty’s silly rumor..."
And, sure, it got interesting after that, but later with "Its not my inside mom, my white
return*

PLACE
unwind a discrete set of words

EXTRACT
use the intellect of the room as your own

GENERAL ENTERTAINMENT
encourage audience participation here so I can get back to resting

(2006-02-24 04:44:28)
you know what, that icon is hot. It seems as though making yourself ’appear’ in the icon somehow
would be a nice touch.

iztyme2ryde (2006-02-24 04:47:00)

That was me

turboswami (2006-02-24 20:24:17)

There is always treasure at the end of a rainbow... *CROTCH*

Ten Maps of Sardonic Wit (2006-02-25 02:41) - public

Thusly thrust fatty into the familiar crowd. A related injury to the frontal lobe having impaired
his ability to socialize in local custom, he was forced to rely solely on vague, distant memories
of once-successful scripts, through which he fumbled and schpealed haphazardly onto the
531
floor.

Deja vu has finally merged with memory, and I am forced to second-guess all I recall as
having actually happened or remaining from vivid dreamstate. Conversations heard but
obscured, the degradation of focus and self-attention resounds in an unsure, disonant tone of
voice. Passionate questions grow dull if left unspoken, even if done so out of patience and the
kindest of intentions. How does one refuel a flame of the soul? By what means can one burn
away the layers of self which suffocate and stagnate?

atoms in space now drift

on a swift and epic storm

soft wind can stir a poem

snow fits an optic dream

into a scant prism of dew

words spin a faint comet

some words in fact paint

two stars of an epic mind

From A Recent Discussion Concerning Dimensions (2006-02-28 16:00) - public

To imagine only one dimension, what you call "length," is to imagine a line, nonphysical.
Since the relationship of this one line could not be determined with any other thing, it could
not be defined as either length or width. Since the line, itself, can have no dimensions, it is
non-physical and can have no characteristics outside its motion.

With these simple deductions of the first dimension, absent of space and plane, it can
safely be said that a nonphysical, linear ray can only be called "time" or change.

To think of the "progression" of one dimension into the next, and how further dimen-
sions come to exist from within the previous, you have to imagine a singular point of folding
inwards. A line, when folded inwards along a single point, becomes a plane. That plane, when
folded inwards, becomes spacial.

This perceived progression from one known dimension to the next implies the nature of
the true 4th dimension. The point of inward folding would be self. The next dimension would
exist beneath and within all surface. Does that make any sense?

Change exists in time, and we measure and observe it chronologically. Time does not
imply the occurance of change, but all change requires time or, rather, exists in the medium
of time.
I
n acknowledging the progression of one dimension onto the next, you must acknowledge
time as the foremost dimension. Since length, space and physical dimensions cannot exist
without their beginning, their very creation an instance of change, simply dismissing Time to
the "caboose" of known physicality, the 4th Dimension, implies it comes AFTER all we see and
532
is absurd.

To believe that physical existance develops onto itself, dimension after convoluted di-
mension, just to simply DROP OFF at Time, at nothing, is begging ridicule.

Ideally, to imagine The Big Bang; an explosion from which dimensionality sprung, you
must imagine a single position, The Beginning, from which the first dimension shoots outward
forth from, a Ray, or many rays, of time. When reflected inward upon itself, a plane is
formed. This could safely be equated to be the fabric of space/time, a surface medium of two
dimensions.

5.3 March

From Scrap of Paper Found In My Summer Coat (2006-03-02 01:06) - public

Cuddle up for the real deal.

Whisper out from who you think.
In portrait-drawn setbacks,
we ignore all the rejection.

Can You Hear My Voice? (2006-03-05 05:18) - drunk - public

I chose to recede to the stage for sitting, posing as if to appear involved, pretending to find
interest in dark corners far outside the floaty circle of leggy Barb dolls and their absorbant
counterparts. It seems I fell as a child...

Can I do you? Must I talk to stay afloat? Or, can you hear me talk, so quiet and distant,
from here to pull you down? To invite you beneath for a dip; nothing so intimidating as the
intimate. In mating myself to the ship’s confines, I came to relate through heavy petting and
varied grunts in the dark. I came to miss people I never knew, but who I allowed to know me.

As if I’m that special, that I grant membership to my exclusive club by reviewed applica-
tion only! But stricter days still restrain my voice; banned to silence, forever, the patient
child, seen and not heard. And, surely, I came to find comfort in the role of observant, backup
speaker. The observer has the ever-available option of standing two steps back, out of the
conversation’s circle, unseen and no longer subject to the critical gaze of the attention-fueled
"movers and shakers." Maybe those two steps the last resort, an escape which implies social
weakness which I have come to rely on. If I never needed anything to say, why would I have
something to say now? Years later, I am still a self-absorbed mute, spoiled by the silence and
solitude of an only child.

Swedish Pasteries Are The Baby Jesus (2006-03-05 05:18) - less drunk - public

"Swedish pasteries are the baby Jesus." was the loose translation of the small checkered
square engraved onto the thin metal foil. Black and white rows varied crosswise, but the four
dark blue corners defined the boundaries of the alien message.
533
Linolium floored hallways curved inward and downward, like wide slick chutes, down
which the tables, dishes, food and all, glided, ever faster, down from the cafeteria. The calm,
uneffected students surfed casually from entre to entre, picking and choosing both their meal
and their direction on the now turbulant, rolling, tiled floor. I grasped frantically at walls and
doors, fingernails grinding to keep hold while all gave way to the spiralling downard current
which these endless hallways carried in their steepening floor. I will surely be sick...

Falling, I still find time to fill my cafeteria tray with all that I must have. Maybe this was
a hospital all along...

I’m Moving To New York (2006-03-07 02:57) - public

5 children prison guards, sitting in a cramped office often used for casual eating. One has a
secret...

An overweight retired Navy officer allows himself one shot of Old Crow burbon for every
25 chin ups he finishes on the clothes hanger bar of his bedroom closet.

Tie dyed sheets, screen-printed with anti-war slogans, appear to ripple only on a surface
layer, over a dull, unmoved message; colorful patterns decorating the outer edges of a shallow
hole no one would, otherwise, care to dig.

Loosened uniforms attracted flies inside, to the saturation of thickening sweat. The sound of
their breeding, the tickle of tiny eggs being nestled in the hair of his underarms. Desperation,
a humid jungle, the sound of a growing, squirming nest...all this he burned with his skin until
he was a child again.

The big fast is coming, the big scraping clean. Starved of communication, of media and
distraction, I will become calm once again. I will burn away my outsides, layer by layer, until
my chest is, finally, empty once more. Only then will my rib cage be fit to hold my beloved
muses again, who I know have not forgotten me. Only then will I be prepared for war, for
cutting my name through their eyes where my passion will burn in their thoughts.

the2minh8 (2006-03-07 22:48:06)

move to wyoming. that’s where all the awesome people are moving.

"You Don’t Yourself Until Now From Tomorrow" (I closed as soon as opened
the door) (2006-03-08 00:52) - public

Non-Native tongue is quickly felt and focused upon by Natives who, surrounding, join
together and form an obscure, opaque pattern of light and shadow, dancing along the
boundary provided by the outsider’s difference. They love the regulation; waiting, antici-
pating the foreigner’s unknowing trespass in manner. If only they understood words as we do.

The footsteps, such loud raindrops that pound and tug in prejudice of the unknown, of
the helpless fallen man-child. I was not hypnotized by the drumming or its dance, though, and
534
strained to listen to the alien’s awkward cries:

"I can’t hear a sound now, till I have been heard.

But deaf’s man is living such a life.
I am the cast-off skin of human being.
There is the soul and not energy.
For that I am transparency person,
Longing, longing for to the sea..."

Just then, tears in his eyes, he looks up to me, desperate, and sees me staring back
into his eyes, listening to him. Outstretching his hands to me, a begger dying of thirst, and in
his eyes I see loneliness so deep and human that I become weak in my legs and in my face. I
cannot look away, as if he has clutched some part of my soul in that instant.

MP3s FREE: The Nasty Little Girl Habit (2006-03-08 17:24) - Unhealthy Grin - public

Submitted for your approval, two tight ’n’ dirty little ditties.
Perversion pumped from the tense, throbbing brain of a young DANNY ELFMAN some quarter
century ago.
He has the most amazing, evil singing voice! It twists and snarls.

Enjoy!

http://www.turboswami.mobstop.com/Nasty _Habits.mp3 (Beetlejuice Theme resonates)

http://www.turboswami.mobstop.com/little _girls.mp3 (Pedophilia has never sounded so

saccharine!)

Terror Is Disorienting To A Translator (2006-03-11 03:09) - Slavic - public

"Role-Spangled Babel"

Opinion or, can you see, by first light of the paddle, which so proud us hailed in the end
of the indicator of the twilight? Which those sufficient rays and to shine held the first role,
through the dangerous combat. Over the watching of fill, thus gallantly we ran? And the red
exuberance of the rockets, the pumps which burst in air, gave to thoroughly test the night
that our flag was always present.

Does the opinion of or, this flag to hold the first role-spangled always shake over free
ground and the house of the facing one? In the sight of the Devil of thou and the high border
in the fog of the deep one, where the arrogant host of the enemy, in the silence of the rest of
death which are that breeze, to the over-soak of that, as a fitful blow; half hiding place, half
reveals?

Maintaining that takes the spark of the first beam of the morning, in reflected-complete
glory, shines now in the current! Tis the flag to hold the first role-spangled: Or, it can shake
535
over a length of free ground and the house of facing one!

And where is this binding which has so much vauntingly sworn the damages of war and
the confusion of the house of battle, and a country should not leave us more? Its blood has
washed apart from the contamination of its stages of revolt.

No refuge could save the lackey and the Slavic of the terror of the flight or the discour-
agement of the tomb: And the flag to hold the first role-spangled in a wave over doth of the
triumph of the free ground and the house of facing one.

It is, thus, always in what citizens of honor will be stopped between, those houses of
love and desolation. Blessed with victory and peace, outputs the box praise and heaven-sent
ground Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then the conquistadors must, when their cause is exact, and this is our currency: "in
God it is our confidence" and the flag to hold the first role-spangled in the triumph will shake
over the free ground and the house of facing one!

turboswami (2006-03-12 01:16:54)

This is the "Star-Spangled Banner." The REAL one, before the lyrics were changed by the Slavics in
order to protect the interests of the foggy deep one, who is half hidden and half revealed.

I Am The Family Shirt, Purchased. (2006-03-12 05:23) - McDonald’s - public

Oh! Red and yellow spiral shells blur as I inquire within, shrinking in the fetal-self coil in which
I am both restricted and shielded. So smooth and beautiful, the maidens of puppy love. So
coarse and wordless I remain, beneath the tired basement light. I wash the forever mirror
and pretend I am the only one who sees through the aid of those cheap, unforgiving lenses. It
keeps me alive, pretending. It keeps our thoughts from hurting me.

536
"The Joyous Cosmology" - Alan Watts (2006-03-15 03:11) - respect revived - public

Music: Bram Stoker - Ants

T0 BEGIN WITH, this world has a different kind of time. It is the time of biological rhythm, not
of the clock and all that goes with the clock.

I am unusually aware that everything I am sensing is also my body—that light, color,

shape, sound, and texture are terms and properties of the brain conferred upon the outside
world. I am not looking at the world, not confronting it; I am knowing it by a continuous
process of transforming it into myself, so that everything around me, the whole globe of space,
no longer feels away from me but in the middle.

I am listening to the music of an organ. As leaves seemed to gesture, the organ seems
quite literally to speak. There is no use of the vox humana stop, but every sound seems to
issue from a vast human throat, moist with saliva. As, with the base pedals, the player moves
slowly down the scale, the sounds seem to blow forth in immense, gooey spludges. As I listen
more carefully, the spludges acquire texture—expanding circles of vibration finely and evenly
toothed like combs, no longer moist and liquidinous like the living throat, but mechanically
discontinuous. The liquid and the hard, the continuous and the discontinuous, the gooey and
the prickly, seem to be transformations of each other, or to be different levels of magnification
upon the same thing.

Decision can be completely paralyzed by the sudden realization that there is no way of
having good without evil, or that it is impossible to act upon reliable authority without
choosing, from your own inexperience, to do so. If sanity implies madness and faith doubt,
am I basically a psychotic pretending to be sane, a blithering terrified idiot who manages,
temporarily, to put on an act of being self-possessed? I begin to see my whole life as a mas-
terpiece of duplicity—the confused, helpless, hungry, and hideously sensitive little embryo at
537
the root of me having learned, step by step, to comply, placate, bully, wheedle, flatter, bluff,
and cheat my way into being taken for a person of competence and reliability. For when it
really comes down to it, what do any of us know?

- - –|– - -

Dr. Watts’ writing is so refreshing and cuts beneath illusion with such straight-forward
clarity that when I finish [1]reading him, I feel as though I am walking about 2 inches off the
ground for hours afterward. Incredible feeling.
1. http://www.druglibrary.org/schaffer/lsd/jcbody.htm

(2006-03-17 03:35) - public

"It’s sad we don’t talk anymore.

I thought we had some good talks..."

A small victory, savored,

cracked lips thirst on a frigid night in the desert.
I become the sand, it’s pure extremes burn away my thought,
Until even pain becomes without a place
Forgotten above the clarity of full inner focus.

ha. I try to meditate lately, but I can’t stop yawning.

What a sad, distracted creature I have become.
Huddled over my stomach greedily as if it were a bulging pot of gold.
I pretend to move, but am lost. I pretend to plan, but am hiding.

(2006-03-18 04:56) - public

Thin dancing voice sung steps with dainty articulation,

Unambiguously in-character, no pause for breath or regret.
I hear your nerves, charged with vitality, in your quivering modulation.
Inspire me to sculpt and I will give you form to stage.

I know you, quiet giant.

Please forgive me, I have not been myself.
I know you, secluded observer.
Please, just give me a single chance,
to revive the worth I once had and give it to you.
538
(2006-03-26 18:35) - friends

Your blemishes reveal where you have been, your age.

Bruised, punished, and fallen, you endured but did not lay to rot
There is history traced across your skin, without even a word.
A layer, a textured film of life lived which I look through...
To the just-ripened red hues beneath, that bashful blush colored to excite
But you are not so coy.

Your flesh, an indulgant pleasure...moist lips drip

and still more witheld from me, allure strung towards which I gorge.
Your seed, a bittersweet return, the barb hidden in your sacrifice.
One which I choose to cut from you as I finish.
...I should eat apples more often.

turboswami (2006-03-27 19:11:56)

This is, hands down, the most cliched horrible shit I’ve ever written. A new low.

the2minh8 (2006-03-28 04:27:07)

i was going to say, no, it’s not actually that cliched. it’s only cliched in comparison to most of the
very opaque and unique stuff you usually write. so, you’ve got that reputation going for you.

turboswami (2006-03-28 06:37:54)

Aww shucks... *blush* . . . *urinate in wound*

iztyme2ryde (2006-03-28 20:03:23)

haha, that comment makes me laugh

biscuitboy (2006-03-28 04:24:26)

The most AWESOME, horrible, cliched shit.

Creepy kids and redneck giddy ditties. (2006-03-27 14:36) - public

I met with executives from Channel 10 today...maybe I’ll write about those Fat Cats someday.

But for now, [1]this is making me very happy.

Once, before that was making me happy, [2]this was making me almost as happy.

ubu.com is a basement potluck for the thinkin’ man.

1. http://ubu.artmob.ca/sound/365/365-Days-Project-07-28-unknown-i-sing-about-blue.mp3
2. http://ubu.artmob.ca/sound/365/365-Days-Project-07-17-frugal-gormets-satans-blood.mp3

Light Dream Amid Fresh Prince (2006-03-28 01:48) - public

I pressed my ear against the tall, black amplifier that howled so quietly from wind I could not
feel. A monolith that relied on my every breath to wail and hissed the static from my mind, I
539
knew.

A loud crack introduces a sudden voice and I leap upwards in my seat, frightened. A
young man speaks urgently, "I will marry your future daughter..."

The tone of the sentence implied he was not finished speaking. But only a crackle and
hum followed...then nothing...
That can’t be, this can’t be how things are!
This is a clever trick and somewhere school kids are laughing at me.
But, the honesty, the direct sincerity that he addressed me with.
I am certainly not prepared to deal with these thoughts, not now.

Pediatric Dermatopathology “Cases of the Month” - September 2003

(2006-03-28 08:21) - Winky - public

Music: Unidentified Stings With Throbbing ’neath Talks

The child’s left dorsolateral wrist had a 3 x 1 cm well-demarcated, erythematous, indurated
plaque with central crust. With firm pressure, a small amount of purulent material was able to
be expressed from the center of the lesion. Significant presence of bullae, erosions, scarring,
milia, and dyspigmentation on the dorsal surface with hypertrichosis present over both malar
eminences. There was no associated lymphadenopathy or “sporotrichoid” spread of the lesion
onto the left arm.

Subject stained positive for interstitial infiltrate cells within the epidermis. Potential sources of
the sub-eosinophillic organism are a hermit crab which apparently festooned into the bullae
of the wading pool at his daycare center. History was significant for alcohol abuse, although
he stated that he currently drinks only rarely. He noted that his beard is increasing in size, but
denied any past or family history of such.

B. c-kit. Antibodies to the protein product of the proto-oncogene c-kit, a transmembrane

tyrosine kinase receptor, are detected on the cell membranes of the cells of the perivascular
and interstitial infiltrate (Figures [1]4.1, [2]4.2)
1. http://path.upmc.edu/dermpath/webcases/2004webcases/may04_b/Figure%201.JPG
2. http://path.upmc.edu/dermpath/webcases/2004webcases/may04_b/Figure%203.JPG

(2006-03-29 01:55) - private

I can’t read what the diploma says, but it is such a beautiful paper.

Consciousness And Its Levels (2006-03-31 05:02) - public

Music: Fripp and Eno - Swastica Girls

I can’t prove myself, my experiences, to those who are determined to doubt. There is an
aspect of faith involved even in observational science, and in the most rational of conclusions.
To this factor of faith I am without logic, infallible. I cannot prove, even with documented
evidence, a fact to an individual who chooses to ignore. Should I, then, throw my hands up
540
and abandon them?

The subconscious contains centers of influence outside ourselves. That is to say, be-
neath our waking consciousness dwell many things, some of which have little to do with our
awareness and are, in all physical aspects, not perceivable to us. Rather, they exist within
subtle fields of energy; beneath our natural range of perception. Radio waves being the most
immediate example of such fields. Yet, while we remain unaware of these greater or lesser
spectrums of electromagnetic energy in waking consciousness, is it safe to assume that they,
in turn, have no manner of influence over us?

5.4 April

The Genealogy Of Divinity (2006-04-06 00:18) - public

I have been reading of the Saints, both Hindu and Christian, and drawing similarities between
Sainthood across cultures. While there are many miraculous abilities and unexplained oc-
currences which surround these inspired personalities, there are several traits which seem
common “across the board.” These individuals tend to be supernaturally-intelligent, exuding
an incredible brilliance seemingly not-of-themselves. Our exposure to the individuals for
whom the term “gifted” was created to describe is, to a certain degree, common. The “bright
ones” are scattered everywhere and their label acknowledges divinity, in one form or another,
through which their gift was granted to them for use (or abuse) in their lifetime. Often
described in terms of “light” or “radiance,” for the gift shown in the Saint, these descriptions
are not mere analogy.

Saints tend to describe themselves as being “connected” to something greater; having

been born as merely an “appendage” to some larger, unseen Spiritual entity or force. Cross-
culturally, this entity is commonly referred to as a Divine Mother or Father who oversees
their life, providing guidance and protection. Miracles, too, are provided at the request to the
“Child” Saint by their Parent; the Parental request true in the life of Jesus as well in the Hindu
saints. By asking their Spiritual Parent, who exists beyond death, for a “favor,” many valid
and physically-unexplainable happenings were documented to occur.

I wrote 4 pages, but all were lost...soon followed by my ambition to retype them. This is a
faded, uninspired version of the original*

Songs I Sang (reel purdy like!) (2006-04-08 15:07) - public

(1)

Help me! Help me!

I’m lost in this slow, white dream
Ignored even as I scream...

Beckoned far by the air.

Only the air does care.
I cry out in your sleep.
541
Reaching up to your feet.

Help me! Help me!

I’m blind in a busy street,
Reaching out for the hand I need.

Blinded in her blue white,

Ventured down from great heights.
Singing through the bright sea.
She sings only to me...

(2) "Ludwig’s Arm (Ludsy Sudsy)"

Your finding always

This empty self maze
Of distant voices
Your scaring choices

Your fallen graces

Flash nightime faces
Your nightmares seen in
your lost next of kin...

iztyme2ryde (2006-04-08 19:32:09)

Your singing of these vocals came in at perfect times. We would be watching something which I believe
was Twilight Zone... and I remember breaks in the audio and only hearing chunks of your vocals before
the audio picked up again. Needless to say, it INSTANTLY became topic for conversation and laughing.

(2006-04-08 15:10) - public

all these poor sullen melting scared running tail hiding

Until later,I throb and toll my soul, resisting its passage through to the underside, the
icy cavernous orchestral hall which plays celebratory entry music and instourational
inspirementation-tion. To these thoughtful underworld players, what can be expressed
but thankful admiration of their virtuosic invitational themes, many of which have come to
represent rituals, both social and seasonal, and signify the moments of spiritual importance.

"Food Should Be Made With Butter and Love" (2006-04-14 23:49) - public

Music: Focus - Eruption

The executives from Channel 10 came to my house today. They were two heavy-set men in jet
black suits and Oakley sunglasses with their hair slicked back. Intimidating sharks...gangsters
even!

542
I had arranged a platter of meats and cheeses for these men, as well as crumble-crust
lemon bars. I am actually a soft-hearted elderly woman...I just dont mention it much.

I showed them an episode of the public access music program, "Standing ’O’", which I
had acquired the rights to only hours before. I told them there were 40 more hours of material
where that came from...which the university was prepared to allow ABC 5/10 to rebroadcast.
At one point, when getting the "studio tour," the eldest and most powerful of the Sharks
attacked the owner of the 231 Gallery, who I had asked to be present and to divert attention
away from me.

The 231 Gallery is a popular music venue which Ch10 intends to use for the broadcast-
ing of shows. Insisting on receiving a 20 percent cut of all revenue generated by The Gallery,
eyes started to water, being squished in the tension of the heavy words. Ryan, the Gallery
owner, began to raise his voice as he described producing and selling DVD’s "in house,"
without the interference of ABC 5/10! The Shark rose up, face reddening, as if preparing to
crush the little man... I put my hands out as I stood, speaking with a calm, reasonable voice
"Hey, hey hey...lets have some lemon bars."

the2minh8 (2006-04-15 21:35:34)

in retrospect, don’t you think things would have gone more smoothly if you had served butter tarts?

turboswami (2006-04-15 22:42:15)

I honestly just don’t think I had enough doilies... Some people call me Butter Tart. I don’t like those
people so much.

the2minh8 (2006-04-15 22:48:51)

i never thought of that. i almost always refer to you as "kaleb smith" among people who know who
you are, or "a friend of mine from the u.p." to people who do not. i talk about you pretty much
constantly.

(2006-04-19 03:18) - Ritalin - public

PREFACE:

I don’t know why I consider it a sign of personal weakness to write about what is actu-
ally happening in my life. As if, by sharing the "lowly" concerns and struggles of my daily
existence, I am diluting the creative outlet with mere personal experience. This seems like
quite a lofty standard, or rather self-limitation, to set over one’s mode of expression. And yet,
even while aware of this strict self-criticism which limits my writing and, to some degree, my
speaking, I still quiver, back and forth, along the boundary between self-doubt and self-worth;
constantly reminding myself of the downsloped progression we all shall speedily ride from our
prime...
...clutching the ground as I wait.

So here I sacrifice a distance of incline...an inch or a yard, I don’t know! And, if aging
gracefully implies the agile leaps of slender gazelle, quick and nimble, over the hill, may my
fingernails dig deep into the hill’s peak as I inch tediously downwards; a hunched antique
543
stone beneath a stream of grace.

THE RELEASE:

Channel 10 must have the Pilot Episode of their new local music program by Monday!
From what part of my ass they expect me to produce such brilliance, I do not know! I know I
shook hands in agreeance with the before-mentioned deadline...what else is there to know?

Stressing to my father the importance of this Pilot Episode, which is set to be shown to
the Sales Executives and their clients immediately following the agreed-upon deadline, he
borrowed me a new digital camcorder, which his girlfriend, Patty, had purchased only 3 days
previous. She took great care, wrapping the different cords and straps neatly in a handy
carrying case for me on which she placed a set of brand new Sony Hi-8 digital tapes for me to
record my important video onto.

It was a heavy videocamera, I judged it to weigh at least $500. Opening one of the
fresh new tapes, I experimented with the camera’s abundant zoom capacity in my driveway,
recording the neighbor’s cat at it shit on my lawn. Oh! Incredible video, so it seemed!

Later that day, I hauled all of my rackmount studio gear all the way to Marquette’s 231
Art Gallery, to record, in highest possible quality, the debut of The Redettes, Marquette
county’s newly-formed Supergroup! Calling on a videographer friend of mine, we covered the
concert using a grand total of 3 different high-quality digital cameras, angled towards the
stage from several tripods, one of which high in the air, above the anxious crowd, from a static
position. My rackmount audio unit recorded a total of 10 audio tracks, direct out from the
venue’s mixerboard and several ambient condenser microphones I arranged around the stage.

"Finally! This pilot is in the bag!" I ejaculated to myself with newfound confidence. The
shots were exquisite, and audio seemingly perfect. All flowed as I had intended, until the
finality of the flawless set, rendered by The Redettes. I hob-knobbed with the scene’s upper
echelon with seemingly-effortless wit. So impressed were "the smart set" that I was soon
invited to the private afterparty, to be held around a massive bonfire far off in the woods of
the nearby city of Negaunee. Quickly packing my the various gear into my truck, I was excited
to be offered a ride there by Ryan, the owner of The 231 Gallery and Executive Director of Sirr
Magazine! I declined, but told him I would follow his car.

Mine was the 3rd of a line of 4 vehicles which made their way out of the city, towards
the woods. I felt "exclusive" and bought champagne for the occasion. When we arrived to the
house, everyone quickly got out and started walking off into the dark, knowing exactly where
to go! Fumbling with my keys and champagne, I rushed to catch up, having ascertained that
we were not going into the house, itself, but somewhere far off behind it. I tried to maintain
the casual humor that I had carried on the sidewalk an hour before, but my company had
become solemn as they entered the dark woods.

....blah blah. Long long wordy stories... I got really drunk!

I blacked out while boasting shotty in a White Minivan, packed with at least a dozen
people, which barreled through muddy bogs and up heavily-wooded two-rut roads! Madcap
speeds, so I am told. And I was scream-laughing the whole way, expressing my doubts that
we would ever drive out of the deep mud pits. I vaguely remember watching Logan’s Run for
544
the first time, and being made queazy by the music or the boose that wanted to fountain up
and out.

When I got back to my truck, the 4 day old Digital Camcorder, and freshly-unopened
Sony Hi-8 digital cassettes, had been stolen. In the handy carrying case, now missing, had
been Patty’s new digital camera and older 35 mm. camera as well. When I told her I had lost
them today, she cried. I wanted to cry too...its so easy to forget "its just stuff" when the stuff
is just so expensive! Lost, too, were the precious video shots for the Pilot Episode, expected
Monday; without which, all 10 tracks of recorded audio are suddenly useless!

I suspect, too, that my new "upper echelon" scenester friends will think considerably
less of me after I have them each questioned by the police, as suspects in a robbery.

The villainous scum and wretched vermin which clutch and coddle, in attachment, to my
lower half shall never fail to tow and strain me back down into the feculance where, from
the defilement of some fallen virtue, I was excreted. Fucking trash, I scrape you off from my
underbelly where you leech!!!

theloniouszen (2006-04-19 18:07:44)

First thing I thought of: http://search.ebay.com/search/search.dll?sofocus=so &sbrftog=1 &from=R10
&satitle=digital+camcorder &sacat=-1 %26catref %3DC6 &fsop=1 %26fsoo %3D1 &coac-
tion=compare &copagenum=1 &coentrypage=search &fgtp= &floc=1 &sargn=-1 %26saslc %3D1
&fspt=1 &sadis=75 &fpos=49866 &ftrt=1 &ftrv=1 &saprclo= &saprchi= &so=Show+Items This is in
the Ish/Neg area.

turboswami (2006-04-19 18:56:20)

Ahh...it was a JVC brand, not listed, but I will definately keep my eye open on there!

the2minh8 (2006-04-19 19:19:47)

holy shit. i would kill. i would kill pretty much anyone, it would not matter. i would see a person
whose face didn’t look right, who just had to be the thief because his face was so perfect for it,
and i would rape him with a flashlight. i would go so rogue that there would be no turning back,
like charles bronson on the biggest pile of PCP you’ve ever seen. and who cries over electronics?
i own no electronics that are so close to my heart as to prompt tears upon their loss, unless of
course you count all of the data on my school laptop as electronics. i think i might shed a tear if
i lost all my class notes and outlines right now. but probably not even then. i guess i am a cold bastard.

The Roots of His Soul (2006-04-24 00:13) - day after - public

Music: Waters and Geesin

Young Merlin,
knows what else lives in the woods.
What else sees him, the reclusive traveller,
snarling spit from below, calling breathy from above.

Young Thaumaturge,
your eyes are long tunnels, inhabited
545
Two hollow branches stemmed of a lineage, divine,
from which we drink of ancient pure light, arriving.

If only you knew!

If only you remembered

your being, before
Your Mother, your Father
all forgotten here, in fruition.

If only I could share your Bloodline,

If only your Mother could bless me with such Love.
The bliss of wisdom beyond this age
Resonating to us through a Divining body.

Skit Brain (2006-04-24 02:53) - public

I found this random ditty on some lined paper today. I don’t remember making it, but
thought it was a fair chance to test my new scanner. The test was not a success since, as you
can surely imagine, the original was VERY colorful...vivid even!

Ppht!

Music For James (2006-04-24 03:07) - public

http://www.turboswami.mobstop.com/10-schneider _tm-light _3000.mp3

It’s, you know, the ORIGINAL version of that song you’re so into. A lot of even The Smiths’
hardcore fans aren’t aware of how much influence Morrissey drew from the early German
glitch-pop movement.

the2minh8 (2006-04-24 23:31:58)

interesting take on not one of my favorite smiths tunes. i like.

turboswami (2006-04-25 01:53:40)

Mark my words! The Germans are defining the future of electronic music.

the2minh8 (2006-04-25 02:03:18)

and they’re not borrowing from webster’s at all. you mark my words: the germans don’t give an eff
about webster’s.

546
 swarms (2006-04-25 03:38:15)
I disagree with you on all counts, and you’re ugly. And, Kaleb’s stories don’t make any sense. How
can the Smiths cover a song recorded in the 2000s? No no no, none of this adds up.

the2minh8 (2006-04-25 04:10:21)

maybe kaleb is trying to weed us real smiths fans out from the rest of the riffraff.

Latest Scientific Research Says "Woman, Git In The Kitchen And Make Meah
Sammach!" (2006-04-24 22:09) - public

http://www.azstarnet.com/allheadlines/108552

I can only hope that, whe I have a kid, I’ll be able to afford a small African monkey for
him to play cars with.

the2minh8 (2006-04-25 04:39:48)

the part that made me doubt the study’s integrity was the bit about female monkeys having a
preference for cooking pots. MONKEYS DO NOT KNOW WHAT COOKING POTS DO. THEY ARE FUCKING
MONKEYS. still, it has been my dream for some time now to own both a monkey and a dog, so that
the monkey could throw a ball and the dog could fetch it for the monkey. but then i heard about
those chimps that ripped off that guy’s testicles, and i thought maybe i should think a bit more about
whether i want those bloodthirsty fucks in my house.

(2006-04-27 02:05) - public

We are crickets, young and restless. Our endless chatter, over sex, food, or both, is a meshed
wall of distraction beyond which we cannot see. I would suspect that the greater beings look
down on us, our insatiable desire and its obnoxious call, neverending. Perhaps our endless
noise becomes background ambience, heard near the water, which our superiors tune out as
we do those thousands of ill-contented crickets.

Does self-awareness attract attention towards us from our subtler surroundings? Or, perhaps,
the silent, focused individual is simply more aware to his surroundings, perceiving interactions
and influences unseen by his chatty, ignorant peers. Meditation does, certainly, reveal an
interconnectivity between self and other, the potential depth of which I have only scratched.
But to say that the "attuned" individual is, somehow, hand-picked by the other side as a carrier
of sorts, a Diviner or Medium, is assuming a lot. The act of "emptying" one’s self does not,
necessarily, imply spiritual fulfillment. Still, I pray for such.

etherbunny (2006-04-27 17:03:09)

To say that the individual could attract attention from the surroundings would be assuming that the
surroundings were separate from the individual in the first place. I’m leaning towards the belief that all
you can do to be spiritually fulfilled is to become aware of and accept that you are not distinguishable
from the environment. *chirp chirp chirp*

547
 etherbunny (2006-04-27 17:14:54)
Wait let me summarize this conversation for the lay people. Kaleb: We’re ignorant, but are we special?
Kelly: Nope.

turboswami (2006-04-27 19:26:41)

By "subtler surroundings" I meant unseen entities, which seem somehow attracted to certain "sensi-
tive" individuals, especially following an intense or traumatic event. I just really try to avoid using the
word "entities." This hold up, among others, on my part makes the whole writing=>reading process
confusing for everyone.

5.5 May

Automatic Writing #4 [Dream Journal - 04/19/06] (2006-05-03 06:04) - empty -

public

I feel you!!
You who seize my chest and writing arm.
Filling me with warmth after your cold quake.
My heart’s cage cannot hold you all!

All God felt, request heard.

Light flash in a blink and I know!

The bare bones resonate spirit best –

Uninsulated, undampened.

Hold me, coddle me, Divine Mother, I love you!

Seat reasons less.

Two make best sense.
Always cross inside towards
gates that hold only one.

Try sending inside sound

Put —??—
Put someone before you.
Feel the option’s fingers.

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Dream Journal #5 [02/27/06] (2006-05-04 03:45) - public

"She wants razors to play with."

-Vault

Terrifying green skull suffocates to let me know that they know. Sounds surround my
body, a black flag wraps my face. I wake still hearing them clearly, ready to run to her.

THE LIAR

The two prison guards sit at a small table, in the dark, smokey break room. Both are
overweight, but only one has a secret. In a box before him sits an aerosol can. Glancing, shifty
eyed, at the can and then at the innocent guard, in just a moment’s eye contact between the
two men, the secret was revealed.

Realizing the guilt of the man sitting before him, the innocent guard reaches for a cigarette,
in hopes of relieving the tension. Patting his breast pocket for a lighter. The liar watches
his companion’s eyes closely. The cigarette only confirmed his fear...the bastard knew! The
secret was no more. How he was able to figure without a word, he did not know.

"If they all find out, I will be ruined! My job, my family!" the liar quietly turned his fears
over in his head.

"They cannot know! I must..." His eyes scanned the room: the unlit cigarette of the
man sitting before him, the man who would soon, surely, ruin his life, and the lighter being
raised to light that the cigarette. Reaching for the blue/yellow can before him, he grit his teeth.

(2006-05-05 05:52) - drunk - public

Introspection is a bore! I should move outwards from these corners of every room which I
occupy and casually touch the ones I love as I introduce myself. Ohh! The blood and gore I
imagine as an immediate result.

Slop about, a Pirate’s off-shore jig takes all night to extinguish. He is unreliable, but
tells the most incredible stories! If I had his charisma, I would surely be as unreliable, if not
moreso. The dirty sea and it’s desires manifest a brash tongue, and a crude mind to carry its
flapping through salty air.

The seaside downtown is waiting...the harlots butter their cleavage in anticipation. The
rapist’s eyes are wild and bloody. They bulge from their sockets, as if reaching out to touch
the exposed flesh of the innocent. He can hide his thoughts, but he cannot hide those eyes;
549
they reveal his true intentions, stabbing through the extent of his restrained words and
hunched posture. The starving carnivore gleams in his eyes, the scavenger of skin whose
long, hungry nights burn through her teasing clothes and their posing. Tonight, the first of his
two nights on shore, he will not sleep. Tonight he will rape her loudly in the dark, infested alley
behind the pub. Her palms and knees soiled in filth, she will be violated...as she has been so
many times before. The bar wench is not so offended by rape...not anymore.

Laying on her back in a puddle of cold piss, she does not fight him.
That would be dangerous.

The Bloody Needles In The Church Bathroom (2006-05-09 05:38) - public

I have painful nightmares of long needles being pushed through the tissues of my face, one
after another. Each needle is some 4 or 5 inches long; long enough so that each can puncture
my cheek, make its way into the nerves beneath my teeth and jaw, and still be able to surface,
spouting blood, through the opposite cheek. About 30 needles, altogether, each of which I
had to slowly pull out, shrieking in pain. Absolutely horrible.

I don’t know why my subconscious torments me in this way. It doesn’t seem very healthy.

Hospitality’s Pit (2006-05-10 14:10) - public

"Cocaine tastes like wanting more."

-Elder, Proud-of-Trackmarks

Long longing lingers low in their bones, waiting, burning tension through their contorted
smiles. So patient! Immediately alert to the slightest movement of my hand. Hungry dogs,
wet in cold salt, beg pale with need. Being 3 steps above on the 12 step porch gives me
leverage over its savage, in his weakened condition. His last goodbye to her was nothing over
the precious moments of bliss he could pawn her for. Surely she thought the same of her own
body. Everything has its price.

I purchased a minor place at the round dawn table. My face somehow seemed more
trustworthy, or my tone more naive. I met the balding dealer’s test head-on, matching his
colored powder with an equal amount of my own. All the stragglers fell aside, leaving the
room having approximated the potency of the resultant hybrid. She was so beautiful, brave,
and treasured by him.

I knew my sensitivity, my heart’s heightened predisposition to the base stimulant, but

accepted the mammoth off-pink unknown, regardless of the line’s length. She watched and I
felt like a brave hero, accepting his challenge. I quiver still, overwhelmed by the intensity of
its rush. Perhaps she shares these desires; these scenarios, unfulfilled. Perhaps my face will
accompany her through dreams, conjured to compensate for the silent self-restraint I exercise
in respect for her. I flatter myself with delusions of such imagined influence.
550
(2006-05-12 05:55) - Hot Dirt Milking - public

Three lively orphans must age at the same rate on the same night...OR THE BUS WILL
EXPLODE! Drama, mindless tension, exploding tits, and still they want more!

Who’s this greedy king I keep hearing about? My God, he’s all these douchbags have
been able to talk about the last 5,000 years. Why does "rice brain" sound so familiar to me?
Not as though it were a common phrase, but a derogatory one occasionally used in the 70’s,
which died off in the 80’s.

My God, real thinking is getting so hard to pull off. I havent been outside 4 days.

iztyme2ryde (2006-05-13 01:21:32)

Chris! don’t say that word.... tits... Oh yea! Well I am a fat retarded drummer boy! Or am I a girl?

swarms (2006-05-13 09:57:30)

mmmm, rice brains sound good, mmmm. But yeah, "exploding tits" is pure gold.

The Good Times Are Lost (2006-05-14 02:50) - public

A 250 gig hard drive, containing every song, photograph, and bit of writing I have created
since sophomore year of high school, slid off of the table today, falling three feet to the floor.

Everything is lost... every creation of my life, up to this point, no longer exists. I have
a few of the vacation photographs on a cd somewhere, but... my music, some 120 gigabytes
of music and samples I created over the past decade or so, simply doesnt exist anymore.

I am sad.

I want to gouge my face with a long shard of broken glass.

I am sad.

As hard as I try, I am cannot escape this constant bombardment of one heartwrenching

misfortune after another...as if being tirelessly beaten down, again and again, by someone I
cannot see.

More things stolen yesterday.

I am sad.

arfinspar (2006-05-14 07:27:19)

this ought to teach you a little lesson about backing things up, eh?

iztyme2ryde (2006-05-14 07:46:57)

that was the point of the hard drive

551
turboswami (2006-05-14 14:09:52)
Thank you, Carl. Yes, it ought to. Teach me. The cruel twist is that I was setting up my new external
hard drive to copy all of my recordings over to when the old external slid and fell. If only I hadn’t have
tried to back things up that particular morning! Sometimes its better to leave things as they are, safe
- comfortable - functioning.

iztyme2ryde (2006-05-14 07:47:29)

I will help you find your lost stuff, and take the drive in, they can probably help you. If not... I’ll be sad
too... there was lots of good stuff on there

theloniouszen (2006-05-14 17:04:10)

Probably the drive heads impacted and scratched the platters when it fell so I doubt they could do
much...it’s worth it to give it a shot though.

iztyme2ryde (2006-05-14 22:43:39)

I hope they can do something... there are a lot of files on there that I wanted too... some of my first
rebellious experiences....

turboswami (2006-05-15 01:40:27)

It makes a sort of high pitched scratching sound when I turn it on now...followed by a rhythmic
clicking. Doesnt sound healthy at all...but maybe onl the scratched portion was lost.

theloniouszen (2006-05-15 05:25:48)

common HDD noises http://www.hitachigst.com/hddt/knowtree.nsf/cffe836ed7c12018862565b000530c74/
4b1a62a50f405d0d86256756006e340c?OpenDocument Dead hard drive noise sampling contest
http://gizmodo.com/gadgets/announcements/hard-drive-dying-dance-track-winner- 151666.php

marckaw (2006-05-16 13:54:04)

DON’T turn it on anymore, as you’re probably doing further damage every time that it runs. The
little bits of cobalt-chromium-platinum alloy that have doubtlessly broken free from the platters
bounce around and fuck things up further. You could send it off to a professional data recovery
service (if they can fix [1]these problems, they can probably fix yours). It will almost assuredly cost
you four+ figures, though.

1. http://www.drivesavers.com/museum/index.html
turboswami (2006-05-15 01:43:16)
Also... [1]Badass Communist Mario reminded me of you

1. http://www.pankura.org/archives/mariocommunist.swf
monroe_the_fast (2006-05-15 06:46:15)
God that sucks... There are some files on that hard drive that I am a fan of. In particular the samples
from the abandoned mine, which are on my fried hard drive. Hope you can get it fixed. If not, hopefully
I can recover those samples from my HD somehow.

552
Powerful Charcoal (2006-05-15 21:28) - friends

Ghosts

Love Bite

[1]Laurie Lipton
1. http://www.laurielipton.com/

the2minh8 (2006-05-16 02:47:41)

shudder*

swarms (2006-05-16 03:14:01)

that is sick and wrong, Kaleb. You are a horrible person. You should most likely go to hell!

the2minh8 (2006-05-16 12:49:26)

we have an expression around here: get used to it, hitler.

By Request: Inland Finland Indians (2006-05-16 02:52) - preparing - public

Music: 2HB - Roxy Music (I don’t take requests)

I am [1]Apache!

Seriously, all I need are 3 young Injun girls to swoon over my wicked 3 tier synthesizer
solos.

Also, over these last few weeks I’ve been trying to get in touch with my roots; the music of My
People, the Finnish. We are a race historically known for our brilliant and stylistically-expressive
[2]background dancing.

In the 70’s, instead of indulging in the drugs and rock & roll so popular over here, our
Scandinavian brethren opted more for knit sweaters and He-Man frontmen. And, in all honesty,
isn’t it the better choice?
1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTKL8MNH95Q
2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3MCXJkWcmI

swarms (2006-05-16 15:18:17)

that synthesizerman is the straight dope, B!

553
 turboswami (2006-05-16 18:04:48)
He has a lot of things going for him...like that nasty old man laugh, for instance.

swarms (2006-05-16 21:06:28)

I can’t stop watching that video! I am mesmerized by the gyrating hips. I am impressed that a huge
fucking nerd was able to look so cool. I want to learn keyboard! I wanna live in a time when that was
cool!

The Demon’s Hand Grows Within Me (2006-05-17 01:14) - afraid - public

Oh! The inspiration of filth! I feel the rotting of a raw side, hidden, itching to be torn and
revealed to the world!

You fucking ingrate, you feculant swine! I know what turns you on, I know what sick-
ness your filthy mind churns, throbbing in the night! I will turn you over and cut you where
you were meant to bleed!

THE DEMON’S HAND GROWS WITHIN ME!!!!

AAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I am aware of what has spread. What was once beauty is now a hunched wretch, a
creature of disgust no longer so curteous to hide his face. I know the mind of man, for I
designed its fall. I can reach within your chest, clutching your god-given gifts in a fist around
your heart before the final tug. I can enter and whisper, you cannot resist. I can

I am not well, not well!!!

What’s grown within dwells...
and waits and screams
when I first wake
from horrid dreams
I see him above
...that grey face.
Its dead! Crying pain, but he’s dead!
Dragging me down to join
Pulling me down, but when?

"NOW! NOW!"
Sings his song in my head, he sings low...so low.

fuck poems, fuck lyrics, I am crude and write with shit, smearing the oily disease across
my chest and face...you will know me as such, as all which you cannot avoid or hide from your
mind’s eye...

I will be the blood and the corpse, torn from the car wreck you caused.

I will be the guilt and the pounding drunk cries against the door of the one who once loved you.

554
I will be your child, born dead. I will be it’s killer.

I will be the tumor that throbs in the chest of your mother, choking from her her last
breath as you watch.

I am the incarnation of evil; wild, pounding, raging against the ceiling of the subcon-
scious we share.

And, it is at moments of ill inspiration like this that those tortured muses from below
make their presence known to me, distant screams reverberate within a hallway I cannot see.

They are calling me.

wicked_sassy (2006-05-17 14:52:03)

and to think, just last night i was watching "rosemary’s baby."

iztyme2ryde (2006-05-17 20:24:13)

That icon looks like a demonic Christopher Lloyd. No?

(2006-05-18 06:07) - private

Shumble stoot me, I needed a sloppy release! So sue my pants off, if you must. I collapse
for easy storage, but spoil easily. I swish about fleshy desires, underground, never opened. I
curse to release their heat, their smothering needs, I wish I knew!

A snap, a footstep, I see red and soon forget. I hear the warning stutter in along a strand, but I
cannot speak. The crew outside let a mild wind carry their opinion of my life. The open mouth
in the corner needs no introduction.

(2006-05-20 20:12) - public

Resides yourself anew

With wet side facing out
If only they all knew
what time has brought about.

//\\
Flat color, a classic family picture.
No specific dancing or rhythm
Draws seniority in dust
Until filthy and dim.
555
5.6 June

Bulk Entry #1 (2006-06-04 02:15) - public

5-28-06
Receive this quiet pretender into your night
So that, all at once, the dark will shine bright.

The words for worlds-beneath are lacking.

The few words we have are overused cliches,
unscientific, but with good reason.
Observational science tends to focus on the observable.
And wastes all its best words, the long Latin ones, on physicality.

All those good ideas I climbed to reach where I am, today, are hazy.
And without them, I cannot clearly give directions to where I stand,
I can only describe what I see from this perspective.
And hope I never get too lonely or want to go back,
Because it’s that moment when I decide I don’t belong that I surely realize I am lost.

It seemed brighter there, though...back a few steps to that newer time.

I think I would like to revisit that adventurous self,

5-31-06
Spent years forging this towering facade, designed to overpower...
Only to slump and shrivel alone inside it.
Like an old man, dying in the dark recesses of the magnificent bronze tank
he devoted his life to create, in vain defense.

Never become comfortable,

remain tense and hungry.
As there is nothing more soft, warm, and cozy as rotting.
The tender massage of maggots can coax your belly to sleep.
Don’t forget what you had to prove.

Don’t hide at home and don’t feel at home.

Feel revealed in your home.
Reveal yourself outside your home.
Don’t go home and you will not suffer decay.

Don’t keep friends, but seek out the brightest.

Social pruning is painful only before the bloom.
New influences enliven us.
And force us to churn out charm from where it was otherwise forgotten.

556
5-31-06
The youth are for us to drain, their flexible minds and creativity ours to exploit for the greater
good. We merely provide the corral for them to funnel their boundless potential down through,
for convenient packages and targeted marketing; aimed backwards, towards their same
demographic. The angstful youth want to purchase youthful angst, and we can only pretend
to be so young and angry. Our piss and our vinegar have been dissolved away in so much
submission.. Our raging tantrums are not nearly as convincing as they were, say, a decade
ago. Our outside voices have been forever forgotten, our only voice is self-restraint.

6-1-06
So it began with 16 young women at my feet, all moaning and begging for my...approval. Oh!
How they wanted it...my approval. They could almost taste it....my approval. They had been
organized in order of height and, secondly, by hair color...but they all weighed exactly 108 lbs.
I approved. You could pick them up and put them wherever you wanted them, and that was
just what they wanted.

6-2-06 4:47 am
I just heard something enter the bedroom. These foot sounds were followed by the sound a
plastic bag and of a squeaky toy, both lying on the floor at the foot of my bed, the toy inside
the bag.

I think in tomb thought, below breath and HEY. I MADE A MOVIE!!!

Note To Self:
Perversion For Profit (1 of 2)
Aprox: 6:47
“Hello?”

06/03/06

All mhy sleepins been fudged! I set up camp only to bawl weakness in the dark, wait-
ing for a friendly promise in response. If only everyone could take pity on me like she did, I
might never have to solve my schedule again. I have no memories past the 3rd grade. There
is no doubt that the 4th grade will be different. I hope summer vacation never ends.

monroe_the_fast (2006-06-04 21:03:56)

So let’s see your movie.

Bulk Entry #2 (2006-06-14 02:43) - public

06/06/06
Optional heat and massage, clean shaven stump jumper back from the bottomless bay of
sleep and it’s islands of torrential despair. Fourteen sweet young snaps reside, Paul builds
their walls. Contained, like an ethereal bowl or collosium,

Saucy Redneck Talking: Of Spiritual Fullfillment and The 3 Gunas

557
That inside bucket won’t catch up all that be goin through if’n its full of your garbage.
To get filled up full, you gotta get all that outta there and wait and listen close, Pard.
Most folksn these parts are not being willing to that, least not the ones I know.
I get to feeling like I’m fighting them all at once, to keep what rubs off from sticken to me.
Because it’s the slow, deep changins that really moves your guts.

Of Creative Collaboration 6-13-06

The first work between strangers is always the best...

After which point, they become comfortable around one another,
and drift back to their original, relaxed mode of creation
Void of the sensitivity to that initial influence, shared.

That initial nervousness is the tense-fuel core beneath the relationship and it’s goal...
After which, neither is as willing to bend to please or strain to cohere.
Older individuals, in general, are more comfortable in all situations.
This makes them more inclined to remain, comfortable, in those personalized ruts.

The Calm Flat Line (6-14-06)

Wait for breathing

breath in wind
We must wait for home

Full eyes steaming

condensed in limbs
Old friends watch from home

If you love water you can fall in love easy,

Wont find strangers on the phone.
A voice speaks soft through the receiver
The flat line still carries tone.

She calls your name

reminding you of your pre-life love
when before your name
you travelled light through seas above

Why so imprisoned in this rib cage,

Pounding to escape and shine trying
To remember why I approached the stage
Lost in a movie watched in the dark.
by those who know us better.

What are all these references to?

I’m all catch phrases now.
558
Which voice is my inside voice?
The one unfiltered by my person.

my images (of images...)

my empty sideways pleasing
the layers of an elevator’s mirrors
leading back to the moment I saw I’m seen

(2006-06-15 20:19) - private

An alley, slick with black plastic,

SailI wait for it all to o away

I close my eyes and wait for it all to go away so that I may hear clearly.

Meditate paswall, ecayed foundation, past breathing

Pitbulls scratch at the insides of my eyes.
A density vibrates my legs from inside as it passes.
Oh god!

An intense buzzing shocked the inside of the tip of my left index finger, causing my hand to
whip back in the air, as if jolted by a charge from my computer.

"Stop taking a break for yourself."

Footsteps, loud.

Look through the eye of your beholder, let her cradle your head in her arms of bliss
from above.
They don’t do it enough

kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
559
Skit Form: Role-Assigned Improvisation (2006-06-17 04:01) - public

By proposing a scene for musicians to imagine themselves a part of, players are given a
specific framework to interact within creatively. 3 roles, for adoption by the 3 musicians, are
defined: the Host, the Guest, and the Setting. With each Role is a Descriptive which informs
each musician of a certain Personality Trait or Mood which he is to carry when “in character.”
This acting scheme provides guidance and intent, with each individual’s interpretation of their
Character providing inspiration for a reaction appropriate for their own assigned Personality.
In many cases, based on the Personality being “acted out,” the most appropriate reaction
would be to be completely inappropriate! (For instance, a drunken horny flasher at a funeral
reception.)

More details later.

alex27782 (2006-06-18 03:15:15)

Do you think it needs to be that strictly separated? Certainly, in music, players can take on different
roles at different times, can’t they?

turboswami (2006-06-18 05:40:21)

I had no intention for the assignments to be strict, or the limitations rigid or restrictive. It is merely
to serve as a loose guide for the musicians to interact through, creatively. The Character or Setting

560
 a musician is given is, ideally, detailed enough that it conveys an image and mood for him to try
to induce. That doesn’t imply that changes, even dramatic ones, cannot be made mid-song, it is
hoped that these changes, however unexpected, wold be made within the bounds of that Character.
If that makes sense. I dunno. The diagram came at the edge of a dream, and I did the best I could
to work it into a framework for musical collaboration. A friend said he didn’t think it would work for
all musicians, and I agree. But the most creative, sensitive, and expressive of individuals, I believe,
would find it challenging and invigorating; to think of sound "In Character" and, essentially, converse
with others who are in on The Act. I thought back, more than once, to "Whose Line Is It Anyway?"
and that Dinner Party skit that is a weekly staple. I think that "on your feet" impromptu creativity is
sometimes brilliant, when aimed using a proposed scenario and set of characters...as opposed to idle,
rut-laden improvisation, which can sometimes feel uninspired and without direction.

alex27782 (2006-06-18 06:19:45)

I understand and am intrigued by the concept of character and conversational improvisation. My
problem comes with the more musical assignments: "accomodating, rhythmic, attentive" etc.
When I think of a typical symphony, to cite an extreme example, I imagine that nearly all the
sections of the orchestra end up taking on that accomodating, rhythmic role at one point in the
work. Many of those same sections, however, step out front at times, and idly add to the mix in
a moody way. All of your musical roles are covered by each of the "characters" in the orchestra,
without losing their succinct identity. I guess I just have trouble locking any instrument into a
single musical function. The idea of a cohesive musical identity and conversational presence is
very interesting, and something that I agree that the improvising musician should strive for. How-
ever, I think that such a consistent voice and point of view can manifest itself in various musical ways.

(2006-06-17 04:37) - public

Chill travels down my spinal cord and out, my neck contorting with a shivered "Baaaahv!"

Shrill tones voice in twitched sequence, resting through a long sigh, only to become
confused and afraid.

Twice I have lost my interest and my way. Since that second time, the interest has not
returned and I fear the party is over. Not pretty, but truthful self-analysis rarely is. It tends to
hurt. A lot.

A realm sinker once, my curiosity led me only to fearful encounters, the anxiety of which still
remains. I am convinced that my pretending to be smart has caused a lot of resentment from
all sides, including the unseen ones. To think, at one time I really believed it was true, that my
thoughts were worthwhile or different. Trains of though, even if different, cannot withstand
the complex cognitive damage of a sedentary lifestyle.

On Wednesday, on Sunday, tomorrow I’ll be here tonight always.

Don’t you kid yourself!
I’m never coming.
I’m all talk.

On Tuesday, all last month, Oh! I’m so busy!

How long could I fool the world
561
when they can see the night in my face!
My voice inflates convincingly, but will surely burst.

On and on Monday I’ll be sleeping, on this week,

Don’t wait up, don’t visit, don’t reach.
Just keep believing I’m gone.

Just trust that I’m gone, not hiding from your pounding knocks at my bedroom door.

Don’t worry, rely on me.

Don’t worry, rely on ME!

I still have your life, I didn’t lose it!

Just believe I’m soo busy.
Just believe I’m spread soo thin
That I haven’t the time to sit
or rot or fear or wallow in the indignity of sleep.

What have I to show for my life, so far?

What will exist after me?
A meaningless name, a self-tormented child?
Is that all these thoughts have gotten me?

"Madness" Journal - June 1999 (2006-06-17 19:49) - public

Music: Moebius & Plank - Muffler

562
While Away.

Gag and Barf! (2006-06-19 00:40) - public

Inside Pocket - Lost Highway Actor

Crush, cram, pretend.

monroe_the_fast (2006-06-19 06:04:08)

Haha

megaswami (2006-06-19 19:35:34)

gag and barf? you’re right, lampreys are frickin nasty.

turboswami (2006-06-20 04:32:02)

It was from one of those World News magazines I picked up from next to the register at the grocery
store. I’m pretty sure the picture is fake...those eyes just look too plastic and crooked. It was supposed
to be some kind of microscopic sand worm, if I remember.

563
The Knife And the Carcass (2006-06-23 02:50) - private

Hidden beneath throbbing skin and bursting hair is light, imprisoned.

Reflected off a tongue with an eye to match, what is there to shape but patterns?
Awash in Schemes and scripts, what does he see in speech?
What could I ever offer to his brilliant thoughts shared but agreeance?
A dim light only making the bright one seem that much brighter in comparison.

But please dont resent me for this, my born capacity...

Or disrupt me as I baske in the sunlight of your mind.
Your revelations are all of ours, as your eyes scout all that the pack doesnt see.
From your perspective of height, transcending the fighting of the carcass.
Piercing complication, there is a path beyond which only you can see...
And, blind, we surrender our hands up to you to be led.

Forgotten Saved Draft? (2006-06-25 04:10) - public

Hidden beneath throbbing skin and bursting hair is light, imprisoned.

Reflected off a tongue with an eye to match, what is there to shape but patterns?
Awash in Schemes and scripts, what does he see in speech?
What could I ever offer to his brilliant thoughts, shared, but agreeance?
A dim light only making the bright one seem that much brighter in comparison.

But please dont resent me for this, my born capacity...

Or disrupt me as I baske in the sunlight of your mind.
Your revelations are all of ours, as your eyes scout all that the pack doesnt see.
From your perspective of height, transcending the fighting of the carcass.
Piercing complication, there is a path beyond which only you can see...
And, blind, we surrender our hands up to you to be led.

Psycho-Logic and The Mysterious Mexican (2006-06-25 04:11) - public

The moment you are blooming, all fortune smiles and blooms with you...
In agreeance.

These are the shining souls, the resonant smilers.

They close their eyes...

"’I did not just lose this game.’ that’s the best response a person to give to losing a
game."

I’m not hearing what he’s hearing...that’s my biggest dillema.

This is way more entertaining that listening to soccar....or baseball...

because the whole play is worked out right there, in words...
To follow, and watching the hit and the miss in so many pauses.

564
"It’s complex...I love complexity."

"It’s the Fibbnachi sequence..."

"You mean A,B,C,D...?"
"No, that’s the alphabet..."

"1,2,3,5,8,+ the sum, + the sum...on like that."

"... . . . *music* I’m going to give that up on that... *passes out in music*

...video

...dude, I’m sorry. I passed out."

"No!

heh, it’s good.

Woman: "Hey! Hello? It sure is foggy!" *fog machine everywhere*

Man In Oversized Sombraro: "Here’s looking at you kid." *his hat’s silouette vaporous in the
distance, heavy Mexican accent*
Woman, suddenly defensive: "Oh, wow...did that saying make it down to YOU people too?
That’s a pretty old movie."
Man In Oversized Sombraro: "Once upon a time...you’re government used radios as vehicals
for subversive psychological warfare."
Woman: "You mean, like my psycho-logical radio. Like...that Government talk radio I’ve
heard?"

Man In Oversized Sombraro: "Oh God, you know? ....You’re further in than I originally I
thought. " *still shadowy

*SAMPLE, HIGHLY REVERBED**: ’There are two things you don’t talk about, and one’s politics,
the one’s other’s religion. The reason you dont talk about them is that they combine with
eachother.’

"Thank you....Can I call you Fog Machine?"

...Video

It was not that SNL were so much funnier back then, just less established. They had
nothing to go on, and so romped for us without a corral....and, you know, the drugs too.
565
K?

Suggestions To The Sea (2006-06-25 04:11) - high - public

Of all the young ladies I disgust through the night, those who wear glasses haunt me the most.
As if to remain as I was through all that progress would have required that I be even more
reclusive, and not, in fact, progress as I have through the superficial explorations of "other."
The scars of my face, the scars of my face...

The scars of my face.

There, I said it! Fell good, here alone, to admit the least-acknowledged and most-consistantly
occupying of my innermost thoughts here, where all hides and is an advertisement.

Such beautiful fucking ads I’ve made! The words I can come up with, even under pres-
sure or on the telephone...or beneath the critical questioning of those who would rather look
down on me... and yet, doggedly beaten back down by the ugliness from which I speak.

"No, she never slept with me...but so nice of you to ask!"

Whispered questions compliment me, but I know he’s jealous, too.

I know all about him, really I do.
He may even, someday, build a bridge...
... but only for people to walk all over.

I cross wires for a living, I cross walls for a living.

I have crossed this world and seen the other side that quietly awaits us.
I have crossed these minds, and heard all that you think as you lay awake.
Your internal voice is like the one you spoke deeply with over wine and cards...
... only calmer.

If only you could silence that silent voice enough to hear mine,
if only I could silence my silence enough to speak clearly.
To transmit, in a deep wake, the coordinated will of God.
To suggest, with the most subtle and quiet of knowledge,
the miracles conducted before you in the sparkle of an eye.

All movement merely whim, aligned to this inner will...

and a genuine focus can reverse the ripple of one magnet.
If this sea of energy was, all this time, self ignored,
I have never resisted it tides, but only pretended.

I cannot resist this tide, only pretend to.

iztyme2ryde (2006-06-25 15:53:24)

If you should blow that interview for your actions, don’t say I didn’t warn you. At least you got the
jump start to get you there... and yet I had no fun.

566
The Body Of Bobula (2006-06-27 02:51) - public

"You’ve Won A Brand New Car or Jeep!" said the DJ, grabbing my arm in the far-edge hallway
where the drywall crumbled chalk onto the plastic floor covering.

"Hurry! Stop jumping and follow me! Let’s get the keys!" his words drifted as he half-
dissapeared into the plastic that hung from the drywall, unfinished, where it was darker.

I rushed to follow. I needed a car badly! I had been stranded and mine was lost.

The DJ was found in the adjacent room, sprawled out across the blue couch in blue swishy jog
button pants and matching jog shirt-jacket....chalk all over everything! Oh, the cushions! He
seemed annoyed that I had followed him...

"Oh? The Car or...umm....Jeep, yea. Actually, I’m kinda busy right now." he crossed his
left foot over his right on the opposite arm of the couch.

"Bobulaaaah!!" I screamed into the dimly-lit sewer tunnels, dust and glass kicked up be-
hind me as I ran, frantically.

"BOBULAAAAAHHh!!!" I exhaled before leaping across a crevace of ajoining fixtures be-

neath the floor of the tunnel. It was in that crevace that he told me to plant the wine, the
yeast within, to grow, ferment, and age, well-hidden beneath the feet of anyone who would
care.

Footsteps echo behind me; resonance building within like a monster jet, flying low, ap-
proaching.

"UUUULLLAAAAHH!! ...AAAHHHHHh!!!!" I screamed now only to release the matching-

tension within myself, no longer knowing or caring to find him or my car, only to escape this
hellish chase.

I collapse, dizzy, into the curved wall of the big pipe. Green light bled down to be licked up by
the poo bugs that hiss at my knuckles. I am drenched, this steam is unbearable! This steam
burns my face, the salt in my eyes, the taste of blood thickens dry, a thousand bitches whine
in my throbbing endless hate.

30 paces beyond me lies the mangled, bloated body of Dr. Ron Bobula, father of one.

swarms (2006-06-27 16:01:13)

That was beautiful. I really don’t understand why you don’t have any books selling like hotcakes in the
stores.

The Belly Flop (2006-06-27 02:51) - public

"Why go bald?"
That’s a good question...
567
but "forgive my birth." is the only answer this trap will let out.

"Why that body?"

Now there’s a root worth digging for.
but "Please, forgive my birth." is the only response to escape through these sharp grit teeth.
With a hiss...

I prostrate myself before the beautiful with a flop of sarcasm.

I knee the fudgepackers where their face don’t shine.
I, I, I, I, I....look!, this and that.
And other great feats of posture.

5.7 July

The effect of psychedelics on the mind... (2006-07-12 02:27) - throbbing chest, not
heart - public

In terms of IQ, as measured with tests, psychedelics provide little advantage. This is because
tests of IQ are designed, especially recently, to rely as little as possible on language and
semantics. It is in this way that a theorized racial bias can be diminished. Also in doing this,
cultural idea’s, associated by the test-taker semantically, are isolated apart from range of the
test. With this segmentation, the insights and advances of many forms of creativity is also
lost from the range of the test.

Word association testing suggests that psychedelics increase the speed of travel between
close nodes on the Semantic Network, and significantly increase, not only the speed, but the
likelihood of “far flung” associations on the Semantic Network.

As foreign or technical as the results of these Cognitive Psychology experiments may

sound, the image of a fluid surface, a network, existing internally which represents every idea
we have ever encountered has existed for a much longer time. The now taken-for-granted
cliché of the “far out” hippy, essentially, drew out this entire image, for the greater culture to
adopt, although not necessarily interpret fully.

The long gone burnout hippy, in his decline, starts talking cRaZZY and doesn’t make
perfect sense anymore, except, apparently, to himself only. It is at that point of seperation
of the person, and his thoughts, from society that the symptoms of schizophrenia begin to
appear and its treatments successfully appliable.

Essentially, the far-gone refugee of the Consciousness Expansion Movement, and the
reclusive schizophrenic each suffer from an inability to describe their location on the semantic
network; the map of their journey from that first node to the last very, far flung destination falls
out, as the train of thought becomes lost or jumbled by the eventual limits of their expression
for what they have learned or understand. It is simply acknowledge by the intended listener
that this man is “far out!” whether they comprehend his attempted message fully, somewhat,
or not-at-all.

As if he explored far out from shore, and learned new and exciting things from distant,
568
never-before-seen realms of awareness, only to turn around, pregnant with an understanding
foreign to his people, and realize he can no longer see the shore, his family, his people.
Cold isolation and its emptiness are felt, with a zombie-like personality being being the only
outward-sign of presence; the distant staring eyes remaining to suggest otherwise.

turboswami (2006-07-12 06:42:05)

According to Microsoft Word, “hippy” is not a word. It is assumed by Microsoft that anybody
who intends to record this word in time must be referring to the words “nippy” or “happy.” I
then connected to the internet at a record-breaking 9.6kbps. The lowest I’d seen previously was
26.4, outside my first AOL subscription in 1995. Coincidence is attracted to me in the “throbbing” state.

megaswami (2006-07-12 20:47:02)

i b’lieve you’ve ’it the nail right on the ’ead.

The Appearance Of Sickness (2006-07-12 03:26) - public

all reeds sigh...

releasing tired tension from their necks.
I know Killers pretty good,
We used to hang out.
Now he’s a Pain.

I am surrounded by junkies on all sides

they poke my tummy with pill bottles
and watch, waiting for me to giggle and itch.
Now it’s a Pain.

Souls pass by as I strain to make clear,

the dark room I meditate to them in.
Souls enter me, beauty wafting in silk above me
If I can thank her with the dedication of my life
perhaps she will bless and live through me.

For today’s very strong music... (2006-07-12 03:26) - residing - public

Mansions riddled with doubt

Theirn mentors seem like they owned.
All say they would not see,
but when they sliipped I saw what they fought

The morning came when all my breath was out

She breathed in all night for me
Lifting me up by my chest to be
Buzz throb floating with her eyes to see.
569
Further Exploits (2006-07-13 03:48) - public

Night tugs me in, quiet as edge along slumber.

Tonight I know better than the others.
Accommodating from behind the words I hide,
I eventually relaxed with my guest for a moment.

He said he felt a tingling in his left cheek from the television,

but I knew it was a subconscious tingle from my own left cheek.
I own it, and am pwned, pawned, proned, light and thin skinned.
Personally, an avatar rests beneath and my self-image is that image of self.

I want to be bigfoot
and to love his impression, and leave it.
These sands aren’t like they used to be,
and a man could sad sign a stick in a thousand layers of memory.
(in the water resistant sand of plastic)

Who knew my secrets were secrets?

And why didn’t they raise their voice?!
Or show themselves when my tongue was so loose,
when my family pride made a subtle contestant.

5.8 August

Spring 2003 01 (2006-08-03 23:13) - dying - friends

Swarms138: your vagina

TurboSwami: your vague
Swarms138: what are you doing
home on a friday night?
TurboSwami: Sitting half naked
covered with a clear perscription
gel
TurboSwami: Burping broccoli
Swarms138: propecia?
TurboSwami: I will say yes
TurboSwami: and think no
TurboSwami: oops
TurboSwami: How are you?
TurboSwami: What are you doing
on a friday night in la la land?
TurboSwami: Or wait, that’s sleep
TurboSwami: Sleep is "dual la"
country.
TurboSwami: awake is more bla
bla land
Swarms138: haha, I have no
570
friends around so I’m just sitting
at the computer watching shit
TurboSwami: Yea, I watch shit a lot
myself
TurboSwami: I miss your gentle
touch
Swarms138: I miss yours as well,
blah
TurboSwami: I love it when you
call me that.
TurboSwami: We can be Blah and
Lah
TurboSwami: and we can wear the
same clothes and do a little dance at
parties
TurboSwami: where we put our
arms in eachothers arms and shimmy
TurboSwami: sideways, most likely
Swarms138: in the delicate
somber, baby I’m on fire
TurboSwami: Here comes reptiles,
blank talking
TurboSwami: You know, like those
two guys.
Swarms138: isn’t it always
Swarms138: the pop of the
whistle and the stares
TurboSwami: If you want, I can get
high...
TurboSwami: It helps with the crazy
talk
Swarms138: sure, why the hell
not? I have to finish this game of
hearts anyway
TurboSwami: I love to sparkle at
the stares in the dark...
Swarms138: is this a thing?
TurboSwami: Electricity shoots
from their tight smiling face
TurboSwami: I am not sure yet
TurboSwami: Its bordering on
where it was
Swarms138: pop some aspirin
and put it in
Swarms138: don’t muddle about
TurboSwami: ok, you talked me into
it.....
TurboSwami: I will take the drugsx
TurboSwami: and begin the tape
Swarms138: which tape are you
571
putting in?
Swarms138: peepee
TurboSwami: You know, the one
where I make those sounds and then
you hear the clapping?
TurboSwami: aahhh....my lungs...
TurboSwami: In Courage children
are Able to fight convention....
TurboSwami: You know, the system
which beat us.
Swarms138: but at conventions
they have to fight Klam members
Swarms138: clammy members
with their beards
TurboSwami: Your Incouragable
Swarms138: oh stop it
Swarms138: you sure as hell
aren’t going to pop it
TurboSwami: One min...let me
finish the drugs
Swarms138: puff puff, passout
TurboSwami: manifestos, sure
Swarms138: great things can be
accomplished in this broom
Swarms138: I know why he uses
a holder now
TurboSwami: You are obsessed
with being clean
TurboSwami: like, "oh, look mom!
no poop from this ass!"
TurboSwami: You live in the
strands of her hair
TurboSwami: Like a broom
TurboSwami: You said it.
Swarms138: in what book?
Swarms138: I need to swing on
something
TurboSwami: Oh really!
TurboSwami: So now you have to
join in?
Swarms138: you complete me
TurboSwami: The complete you
drinks
Swarms138: and he is a
halucinogen
Swarms138: of life
Swarms138: of water
Swarms138: of old laughs
TurboSwami: I make everyone
drink, like the quiet party follows
572
me
Swarms138: always the revisits
Swarms138: dammit
Swarms138: it’s spring we don’t
need to rely on that
Swarms138: I guess I was just
running away from myself
TurboSwami: Spring is a time for
memory rewrites, sint it?
Swarms138: sounds like it
Swarms138: and pussy chasing
TurboSwami: You are right about
that...the sun is supposed to open
active doors
Swarms138: long udder chasing
TurboSwami: Oh, you mean the big
ones
Swarms138: porage
Swarms138: and thin
Swarms138: Nadine Jansen
Swarms138: I think you’d like her
TurboSwami: Easy to chase,
because they drag them behind
Swarms138: she visits me
TurboSwami: Step on them like a
leash of food
Swarms138: and then you’re
stuck with stuff filled with
perservatives
Swarms138: but at least you don’t
have to cook it
TurboSwami: I wish they could
preserve those puppies
Swarms138:
ribs>
Swarms138: you must create
Swarms138: they are
TurboSwami: Yes, just form them
from silocon
Swarms138: all you have to do is
believe in Christ everyone elses
savior
TurboSwami: see, low con.
TurboSwami: So low...
Swarms138: and silicon
TurboSwami: Fucking bitch
Swarms138: bees do itch
Swarms138: please do it
TurboSwami: I relate this talk of
breast implants to my own family
573
life
Swarms138: you’re the implant
TurboSwami: Implants make
outplants
Swarms138: that bursted and
infected
Swarms138: scotch tape
Swarms138: whiskey tape
TurboSwami: They grow out and
back in
Swarms138: roofie rape
Swarms138: can’t you connect a
damn triangle
TurboSwami: We are the plants that
plant, James...and we do it with such
moxy
Swarms138: it’s not two
Swarms138: and cool hair
TurboSwami: one min, let me look
up moxy
Swarms138: on my toilet seat
Swarms138: better be a hard
copy
TurboSwami: Do you ever make up
words and then look them up later
hoping they meant something
believable?
Swarms138: they did this sort of
thing on the bus
Swarms138: of course
Swarms138: they just sound right
TurboSwami: Oh, shit, you mean the
kids in the back?
Swarms138: yeah, the darkies
TurboSwami: I grew older than
them, over time...
Swarms138: they’re everywhere
Swarms138: next door
TurboSwami: but...they were still in
the back...
Swarms138: it’s sad
TurboSwami: always had the one -
man seat
TurboSwami: the first to the
emergency door
Swarms138: variations on a
cocktail dress
Swarms138: to shove a bench
against it to assure your
dominance
574
TurboSwami: I am so much older
than them even now
TurboSwami: But, still...
Swarms138: when do we start
getting younger?
TurboSwami: 45
Swarms138: lo fucking l
TurboSwami: I need another hit
Swarms138: all you need is
something to keep your shit in
Swarms138: hit in
Swarms138: the altoids
Swarms138: did it
Swarms138: right in the middle of
everyone
TurboSwami: I am worried about
keeping my shit in...and its amazing
you noticed.
TurboSwami: I sometimes worry
too much shit is getting out.
Swarms138: racing stripes?
Swarms138: Racine Stipes?
TurboSwami: As if, a mess outside
makes a mess inside me.
Swarms138: that’s the devil trying
to get out
Swarms138: let it flow
Swarms138: I have a bed that is
comfortable for two
TurboSwami: If I can keep him
under my thum, in my thumb, he will
become an angel.
Swarms138: as long as I’m not
one of them
Swarms138: lo fucking l
TurboSwami: If I let him sit calmly
on my thumb...
TurboSwami: he talks a lot like me
TurboSwami: Metaphore is our
friend.
Swarms138: don’t wipe the devil
away, it’s only through hard work
and dilligence that he will get out
TurboSwami: That he will leave
freely, without us pushing him.
Swarms138: Metabicycle
TurboSwami: and not have to knock
when he comees back
Swarms138: chemically

575
monroe_the_fast (2006-08-04 04:18:29)
I would ask you to help me make sense of this, but.

Spring 2003 02 (2006-08-03 23:15) - friends

TurboSwami: *slim grin* -cooling

sound-
Swarms138: "cracklin’ oat bran,
for when the devil just won’t
leave"
TurboSwami: HA HA
TurboSwami: you made me spit out
a big showering puff of smoke
TurboSwami: it was noisy
TurboSwami: I have wasted this
weeks mind
Swarms138: did it blow him off
the gazelle?
Swarms138: and body?
Swarms138: but not soul?
TurboSwami: My body will change
soon, I hope.
Swarms138: I would like for mine
to change as well
Swarms138: for the good
Swarms138: so the long udders
will rub against them
TurboSwami: I have a nice shape in
mind, picked it out from the Sears
catolog
Swarms138: we kill soap scum
TurboSwami: I looked like it would
go well with this new mind I have.
Swarms138: top of the line?
Swarms138: cutting edge?
TurboSwami: Very expensive
Swarms138: the wave of the
future?
Swarms138: the tide of the past
goes out and bring back waves
of the future
TurboSwami: Its a strange fashion.
Swarms138: straight range fat sin
TurboSwami: How could foreign
fashions feel so close to home.
TurboSwami: Fashions so foreign
TurboSwami: backspace
576
TurboSwami: ( ^ )
Swarms138: comma delete,
upper case, what?
Swarms138: she’s upside down
TurboSwami: Ha, I like it down
there.
Swarms138: it’s about the only
things that is close fo home
TurboSwami: My song came up on
random...
TurboSwami: It feels so strange,
sometimes
Swarms138: with wall nuts
TurboSwami: To listen to yourself.
Swarms138: like your soul is bare
to everyone/?
TurboSwami: It is very surreal
Swarms138: xtal
TurboSwami: Yes, a soul well
filtered.
Swarms138: is it really a soul at
all, then?
TurboSwami: Some of the gels
make me twitch.
Swarms138:
TurboSwami: As if, I am jarred
back away from my own actions.
Swarms138: larry’s sucking dick?
TurboSwami: Slow clapping would
be much greater
TurboSwami: much greater than this
we hear.
TurboSwami: another hit
Swarms138: are you being
investigated by the KGB?
TurboSwami: The CIA has read my
homework.
Swarms138: "my, you have ugly
hands"
Swarms138: which again?
TurboSwami: A lifelong
investigation was set underway.
TurboSwami: There is something
cooler that could be said than Set
Underway...
Swarms138: and done my profile
TurboSwami: Like, to place
something under the busy bridge
Swarms138: mass intersection
detonated
577
TurboSwami: yes!!!
TurboSwami: ha
TurboSwami: You have read the
writings.
Swarms138: they stopped
sending them long ago
TurboSwami: I was so young when
I wrote them...they should have
known.
Swarms138: I keep trying to
predict the pieces
Swarms138: fingerbib
TurboSwami: Ha, they are only
pieces....
TurboSwami: scant dots between
nodes
Swarms138: always peace
Swarms138: if only we could
connect the dots
Swarms138: if only it were that
easy
Swarms138: like with numbers
Swarms138: ascending numbers
Swarms138: buy gum
TurboSwami: Hm, at one time I
made it easy
Swarms138: BUY IT
Swarms138: !!!
TurboSwami: But, now I wish to
draw a connect-the-dots mona lisa
Swarms138: gertrude usually
murmurs
Swarms138: I usually hit
Swarms138: don’t mind if I do
Swarms138: a little dab’ll do ya
TurboSwami: but, my numbers
drawn for the pencil-man are
scribbled as if in some frantic rush.
Swarms138: but if you weren’t in
a rush, you wouldn’t do it at all
TurboSwami: I cant keep them all
together.
Swarms138: you’d do something
else
TurboSwami: You know us to well.
Swarms138: anything else
TurboSwami: too
Swarms138: as well
Swarms138: my brain tide only
changes now
578
TurboSwami: hmm, I cant stumble
smiling as well as I did on top of the
hill
Swarms138: jesus don’t want me
for a sunb
TurboSwami: The very top, where I
felt I was in control
Swarms138: son of a bitch
TurboSwami: Do you feel snobby,
sometimes?
Swarms138: the crown is all bent
out of shape
Swarms138: yes
Swarms138: usually after
spending too much time alone
TurboSwami: heh, I am smiling to
hard to raise my nose
TurboSwami: too
Swarms138: lo fucking l
TurboSwami: This is just to much.
TurboSwami: ...
TurboSwami: too
TurboSwami: Tell me a story,
James...
TurboSwami: a fast one
TurboSwami: a fast random one,
from papa james
Swarms138: he woke up
Swarms138: and he dreamed that
he was dead
Swarms138: he left the room
Swarms138: and tripped on the
cat
Swarms138: the cat ran away
Swarms138: and was hit by a dog
Swarms138: a woman kicked the
cat as well
Swarms138: Herald didn’t want to
go to church
TurboSwami: Dont Trip over just
this cat.
Swarms138: but he knew he had
to leave to so they could have
sex
TurboSwami: I need to another hit
Swarms138: it couldn’t be a one
night stand
Swarms138: it had to be one night
and one morning
Swarms138: he didn’t want to see
579
her again
Swarms138: but the veins
wouldn’t leave his mind
Swarms138: it was dark but he
still say blue
Swarms138: vericose lust
Swarms138: talented but empty
of meaning
TurboSwami: Oh, you know this
story way too well, James
TurboSwami: to
TurboSwami: a point of being
Swarms138: I will pee on your
grave
TurboSwami: obsessed
TurboSwami: You are obsessed
with sex
Swarms138: eight days, nine
hours, and fourty-three minutes
Swarms138: over a month
TurboSwami: So this is a total of
being with or being away?
Swarms138: anyway you cut it,
there needs to be an exit
Swarms138: total away
Swarms138: incommunicado
Swarms138: do you want
seconds?
TurboSwami: Its, really, a choice to
cut the cutting...
Swarms138: it’s a mystery to me
Swarms138: I will be more
stubborn
TurboSwami: As if to actually act
as if acting was normal.
Swarms138: and loose
Swarms138: isn’t it?
TurboSwami: Yes, but you arent
supposed to admit it.
Swarms138: we have to get
caught up in the role
Swarms138: if we want to be in
the play
Swarms138: shhhhh
Swarms138: rifuckingdiculous
TurboSwami: Ha, these are illegal
thoughts, James...
TurboSwami: and we must share
them under this bridge where we
smoke.
580
Swarms138: they’re screening
you, I can see it
Swarms138: katzesorge part 1
TurboSwami: Oh, the best kind of
oranges.
Swarms138 wants to send file
Hunter S. Thompson - Conan
O’Brien 2003-02-06 (VCD).mpg.
TurboSwami declined request; the
file will not be sent.
TurboSwami: are Katz oranges,
from near the Colorado rockies, near
my home.
Swarms138: UT1-dot
TurboSwami: I am on 56 k now
TurboSwami: Movies take days
Swarms138: don’t know what that
means
Swarms138: it’s ten minutes long
TurboSwami: Yea, cant download
that
TurboSwami: It would take me 8
hours
Swarms138: nevermind never
mind
Swarms138: the have radiators
for people like us
TurboSwami: Oh, you!
Swarms138: but I guess we’ll just
have to wait until we stumble
while walking again
Swarms138: sweet talker, blah
blah, I know
TurboSwami: Oh....You, you.
Swarms138: where would you
buy it if you would buy it
anywhere?
TurboSwami: Oh!
Swarms138: too many bats
TurboSwami: James its you.
Swarms138: WHERE?
TurboSwami: Oh! Its like she’s
riding a fucking tilta whirl and she’s
just like giggling and shit.
Swarms138: it’s like talking to a
parrot
Swarms138: that doesn’t listen
TurboSwami: You know, you see
her all like "oh!, I cant believe its
happening"
581
Swarms138: Nadine?
TurboSwami: and you just want to
fucking eat er up
Swarms138: out?
Swarms138: did you touch her?
Swarms138: DID YOU TOUCH
HER?
TurboSwami: you know what I’m
saying, its like your fucking crotch is
jumping at her smile like soul
fucking, you know buddy?
Swarms138: take your beautiful
hands off that
Swarms138: big ugly beautiful
hands
Swarms138: pee pee?
TurboSwami: is there someone
named nadine?
TurboSwami: honestly?
TurboSwami: Is there a girl I saw
who was her?
TurboSwami: Like, dream girl,
opennin up a can of Nardines?
TurboSwami: This has degraded to
THIS?
TurboSwami: Protective hugging in
the middle of the party?
TurboSwami: I didnt know you
were that cold!
Swarms138: nadine jansen, look
her up on Kazaa
Swarms138: you’d like her
Swarms138: where is this going?
TurboSwami: Your a cold hearted
heartless mother.
Swarms138: nestled between
pillowed flourish for mass
ogleing?
TurboSwami: Oh, you would do
that, wouldnt you?
Swarms138: you save this don’t
you?
Swarms138: for later pillowing
Swarms138: I guess I do
Swarms138: subconsciously
Swarms138: I can’t leave it
TurboSwami: You are so cold you
need her sharp pixels to massage
your dying valves
Swarms138: I don’t know how it
582
watches me
Swarms138: a machine designed
to watch one deficate
Swarms138: one dying valve
TurboSwami: You dont know how
it watches you....as well as I do?
TurboSwami: As if, I am more
aclimated to the machine?
Swarms138: are you working for
them?
TurboSwami: As if OH GOD!
Swarms138: purple shirt
TurboSwami: blood purple shit
Swarms138: cleaning with pillows
Swarms138: waxes
TurboSwami: oh, her hyman for this
highman
TurboSwami: given me shit the
whole while
Swarms138: yeah, what is that?
TurboSwami: it is broken during
virgin sex
TurboSwami: and bleeds
Swarms138: a little pile that in
theory shouldn’t exist
TurboSwami: people sop it up with
pillows..
Swarms138: and save it?
TurboSwami: its real vile shit,
painful....
Swarms138: where’s mine?
TurboSwami: it is not uncommon
for a woman to cry
TurboSwami: the first time you tear
her apart
TurboSwami: and use her
Swarms138: on an electric bull
TurboSwami: to masturbate
TurboSwami: master
Swarms138: does she know?
TurboSwami: debate
TurboSwami: Yes, but pretends she
doesnt.
Swarms138: where did that come
from?
Swarms138: the plumber
TurboSwami: As if to tear us open
at the same time.
Swarms138: and give us a time
TurboSwami: She snags our
583
heartstrings with the pain our love
causes her.
TurboSwami: As if, that was to be
the most vital of hooks.
Swarms138: like we are unable to
feel the strings
TurboSwami: That little bitch of
dirt
TurboSwami: from whome we shall
sprung
TurboSwami: we will be what we
were
Swarms138: epoxy?
TurboSwami: later
TurboSwami: Its the tri-poxy
TurboSwami: "Triple Bond System
For A Permanant Hold"
Swarms138: well here comes the
antipoxy
Swarms138: just add platinum
Swarms138: or dwarf star if
unable to find platinum
TurboSwami: If you are a Platinum
Member
TurboSwami: You get that special
Member Rate
TurboSwami: Money is a club of
happy people.
Swarms138: the retarded
member rate
Swarms138: I love the smell of
blood in my nose
TurboSwami: Did I do it?
TurboSwami: I have made
lightbulbs explode
Swarms138: no my finger did
TurboSwami: I have made calm
dogs jump and run with the pointing
of my finger
Swarms138: haha,
TurboSwami: They sense waves we
can not
TurboSwami: Waves we have,
since, filtered.
Swarms138: fear
Swarms138: fear waves
TurboSwami: With our growingly
complex consciousness...
Swarms138: my train has crashed
TurboSwami: We filter much we
584
were once aware of.
Swarms138: printer in the
summer cycle of fantasy poultry
TurboSwami: In order to more
closelly refine our perception.
Swarms138: for making
sammiches
TurboSwami: Fear is...
Swarms138: have you ever had
Buttery Kettle Corn?
Swarms138: timtastic
Swarms138: timetastic
TurboSwami: I cant say
TurboSwami: Unless I lie
TurboSwami: Well
TurboSwami: maybe there is a hit
Swarms138: what color?
TurboSwami: Did you feel kind of
high with me?
TurboSwami: Did it come with my
thoughts, at all?
Swarms138: a little
Swarms138: I can get in that
state alone, though
TurboSwami: That made me twitch
TurboSwami: As if I hit some sort
of defensive wall.
Swarms138: I think I can more
with you, though
Swarms138: haha
Swarms138: I thought you’d think
that
TurboSwami: Oh Meta-Smitty
cognition!
TurboSwami: Aren’t WE the
bomb!?
TurboSwami: Neener
neender...shakey shakey
Swarms138: i told you
TurboSwami: Um, I can activate the
druggy pocket of my mind as well
TurboSwami: But, there is
something about actually doing them
which....
Swarms138: haha
Swarms138: yeah
TurboSwami: gets that sort of
activation flowing post haste
Swarms138: portly
TurboSwami: May we never lose
585
our faithful druggy pockets
Swarms138: even if we want to at
times
TurboSwami: Where the cash is, in
the end
TurboSwami: You, YOU KNOW
BETTER!
TurboSwami: Wow, I am stuttering
Swarms138: bah, acid thoughts
can cause me emotional
problems at times
TurboSwami: Pot thoughts are
better for dreaming
Swarms138: fu fu fu fuck fuc fuck
ah, go to hell
TurboSwami: Acid thoughts are not
good for those who are afraid of
heights.
TurboSwami: Pot thoughts are good
for dreaming.
TurboSwami: heh
Swarms138: dreamings good for
acid thoughts
Swarms138: insert apostrophe
TurboSwami: I had to water my
plants
TurboSwami: I feel refreshed...
TurboSwami: It always makes me
smile, even when I am alone.
Swarms138: because you are
able to keep stupid plants from
dying?
TurboSwami: I dont feel dependant.
TurboSwami: No, because I am
high.
TurboSwami: ha ha! "It always
keeps me smiling, talking to the
plants while I am alone"
TurboSwami: "I keep them from
dying, and they give me their
friendship
TurboSwami: I like even more to
water them with my friends."
Swarms138: or water your
friends?
TurboSwami: I fertilize them.
TurboSwami: No fooling around.
TurboSwami: There is a business
for you!
TurboSwami: You can only hold
586
that stuff in for so long.
TurboSwami: Let it spunk out of
your wallet, giant fertilizer drops.
TurboSwami: She’ll let you play
bombadier for the right price.
TurboSwami: Is it an illness to have
your associations so heavily spaced
as these?
Swarms138: the devil makes
plants grow
TurboSwami: "Keep pushin up
those daiseys, ST, keep pushin them
towards the sun!"
Swarms138: I don’t think so, it’s
better than no space
TurboSwami: Spaced out space
rockers enter the space age.
Swarms138: of love
TurboSwami: And are greeted with
open arms
TurboSwami: of love
TurboSwami: and acceptance
TurboSwami: and love
Swarms138: and wave good bye
to the old rusted olden days of
old
TurboSwami: and gentle pushing
TurboSwami: pun ushing
TurboSwami: the ushering of puns
TurboSwami: some are left out (in)
TurboSwami: The bouncer is
thinner than he used to be.
TurboSwami: Getting thinner by the
day.
TurboSwami: The crowd is getting
older anyways...
TurboSwami: not as roudy as they
once were.
TurboSwami: They dont make much
of a fuss for these varied puns...
TurboSwami: Or how flashy the
sign is or once was...
TurboSwami: They have fallen into
themselves and are well established
as a fine place of spirits.
TurboSwami: Brewed within for
assured quality.
TurboSwami: This has lost any
meaning it could have had.
TurboSwami: I am just spitting ash
587
now
Swarms138: my head feels like a
night full of tripping

iztyme2ryde (2006-08-05 00:38:29)

Holy crap you need to cut that!

(2006-08-06 03:06) - public

Look at them all surround you, compete for you...you are a brilliant flame which attracts them
towards, to hit and rub against awkwardly, trying to become you. A smile, a reward, a subtle
tease leads one to envy the other and to fight or recede into the unlit staircase home, alone
and defeated.

"Not only are you pretty, but you have bright eyes. Are you as smart a cookie as you
look?"

"It’s not a good idea to ignore so many things. Before you know it, you’re ignorant."

I wanted to charge into that mess and stake my claim.

wicked_sassy (2006-08-06 16:46:27)

apparently, when i was wee, my mother called me a smart cookie. i put my fists on my hips and
indignantly told her i was not a cookie, i was a girl.

turboswami (2006-08-06 18:26:48)

Man, you must have been some kind of awful brat!

swarms (2006-08-06 19:18:01)

I love brats! Especially with sauerkraut and mustard on’em!

turboswami (2006-08-07 06:21:27)

...what in the hell are you talking about? Why do you have to constantly insult people like that?
Does it make you feel like a MAN or something? Big man with his big brat? She’s a nice girl, James.
She doesnt deserve this...

swarms (2006-08-07 08:00:59)

you just say that because you wanna get at her gully wags! she’s smarter than that, kaleb!

wicked_sassy (2006-08-07 19:45:32)

my gully wags are kept cool and out of the sun, with a pretty pretty parasol. worry not. ... i must
admit, the first time i saw a storefront reading "we sell brats!" i was highly amused, and wondered
what price children were selling for.

588
 wicked_sassy (2006-08-07 19:43:45)
oh, absolutely. i came by it naturally, though. again, when i was wee, i told my mother that i wanted
to be god. she told me the job was taken.

The Mouse That Raged (2006-08-07 03:14) - not so good - public

It was the third week she had been dripped on. By the second week, she had learned a lot
about her self. By the third week, she was considering her life after homicide, and imagining
the changes that would inevitably take place and how having learned what she had during the
second week would make those changes easier.

This was the bedroom of Anne Hathaway. It was a small and light blueish in the day-
light, but had no windows. Directly above was the bathroom of Mr. Anthony Venetti,(sp?) who
Anne had never met but soon would. She heard him sometimes, stomping around with his TV
blaring away. She could tell he was Italian, she could picture him, his whole fucking Italiano
life, more and more easily with ever drip that hit the pillow adjacent from hers. Luckily, nobody
had used that side of the queen Posturepedic for over a year and a half now. ...unluckily, I
mean.

She pictured him short, with those dark yellow sweat stains, edging towards green, in
the pits of his white tshirt without sleeves, what are those called? Wife beaters? Of course,
fucking suspenders! A real fat greasy fuck he was, lumbering around up there, bumping into
things on his way to the shitter. Balding. He was some crude form of Danny DeVito, she knew
it. She hated him, but he occupied her mind with his moisture, his dripping reminder. She was
aware that her curiosity had become obsession.

The third week. She was sure she knew people who, by now, would have marched up
stairwell to the 5th floor, pounding away at his door, insane with insomnia. This was not
Anne’s nature, though. Anne had been called "mouselike" by one of those "tell it like it is"
people college. Born into a feeble and dainty personality, she eventually learned certain men
found these traits attractive. These same men also tended to wear wife beaters.

The Sons Of The Forgotten (2006-08-07 14:49) - weak - public

Music: Kluster - Titel 1

So, I collaborated with Jesse DeCaire from Sah finally. It was very intense, impromptu, with
the strong moments almost too much to handle. I felt like I was going to puke after screaming
as loud as I could from behind the drumset I was hitting as hard as I could.

When he finished the third marathon 30-minute long song, he just looked at me and
said "Wow. That was intense."

At any rate, a lot of potential in this collaboration, and I hope it continues soon.

[1]
589
The Sons Of The Forgotten

No production, as of yet. This is merely a rought mixdown of the raw tracks, with 3
band compression on the mixdown. It reminds me of This Heat meets late seventies German
industrial.

Let me know, on first listen, what it needs. Its pretty bare, but bare MEAT!
1. http://www.turboswami.mobstop.com/01-Sons%20Of%20The%20Forgotten%20_%20Sons%20Of%20The%20Forgotten.mp3

monroe_the_fast (2006-08-07 19:45:20)

This computer is not letting me listen to it clearly

gawthspork (2006-08-07 22:29:10)

pretty awesome! a recent counterpoint would be maybe a primitive (in a good way), proggier lightning
bolt or zombi without the horror pretense? keep me posted on what you guys end up doing with the
rest of the recordings as i’d love to hear more of ’em... you spelled the deek’s last name wrong in the
mp3 info, btw.

arfinspar (2006-08-09 23:59:25)

you should roll it around in the dirt a little. also, i like it.

Recollection (2006-08-08 03:50) - public

"Finish your fuckiing drink!" that guy there was yelling, as if in a hurry.

I meant to appear appologetic, but drooled on myself instead. I really was sorry, so
sorry, to keep him here, as I surely couldn’t be the onlly one who wanted him to go. I felt like
a burdon on him; the reason for his harsh tone.

Just then my watch chimed a high pitch doublet of high pitched shrillness which cut and
was high in pitch. It was 4 oclock, and I was still sitting on the floor with my palms against
the coffee table, even though this was barely still acceptable an hour ago. I rolled my head
around my neck with some cracking in there, a mannerism of release. I rolled on the floor in
restraint, trying not to shit my pants. It was a strange mix tonight.

"Drink the drink!!" he attacked from the doorway, pounding at the floor with impatience
and inborne-boredom. I raised my hands towards his face with a half-seeing smile and felt my
old Buddha surface to comfort yet again. Halfway through a fifth, I fell into a wise old sage
and spoke slowly with a deep, breathy voice that emphasized. Empty emphasis, nowadays,
but still tugged their smiles and their attention just the same as when it meant something.

I leaned right heavily against the coffee table, meaning to get up for him. On one knee,
590
with the other foot finding the right carpet, I hesitated.

"You’re a fucking mess, dude! Hahaha!" Dave, suddenly sympathetic, came to lift me
from the coffee table I was half laying into.

"Still gotta finish your drink. You can’t waste it. That shit was expensive." he leaned
the strong screwdriver, just over half finished, into my palm. I heaved backwards, as if pulled
away 3 steps by my repulsion. I heaved upwards, with a wet groan, and he saw in my face all
that I meant to do. He placed the drink on the coffee table.

Where did that girl go? She was mine for all to envy tonight. I was sure it would last
longer than that! I think she told me she was lonely. I think I told her I loved her and grabbed
her leg, or was she waiting...

"Wheress she??" I forced out, demanding, as I leaned against the edge of some dark
hallway I couldn’t find.

"SHHHH!! Shhh! ....shhhhh."

threemanycooks (2006-08-14 04:41:41) The Wheels are in Motion

This is the livejournal account which we will be using. Please look at the first entry and comment on
what you think. The password is point #12.

Halfpipe Of Expression (2006-08-17 16:28) - public

My group continued our expression exercises along our journey from the Birth Mall, where our
exit required we either mimic the speech and movements of a toddler or guide and encourage
these from an actual toddler through one of 9 sectioned, numbered doors. My instructor saw
that I was not entirely excited or involved in today’s walk-through program as we declined
through the Nature portion of the half-pipe and asked me to lead as we entered the Depressed
Fat Man portion.

This particular dance involved the use of a large, bean bag chair-like mannequin which I
was to toss in one direction upwards or back, as a limp puppet representing a state of mind:
that of a Sad Fat Man. The halfpipe, itself, was composed of hard, glossy indentations or tracks
which extended up the varied height of each curved wall, similar to the potato sack slide from
the State Fair. Each of these was numbered and represented a “step” of this particular dance.
A sprint up the curved incline, along the given track, was to be highlighted at its peak by a
certain “in character” movement or expression, based on the dance featured in that area of
the pipe’s programing. The Sad Fat Man was a simple, uninvolved “Punch And Sparkle,” where
I was to accent the height of each track by extending my fist outward with a bright smiling
pose, opening my mouth as if speaking the number of that step.

My trainer was unimpressed, seeing I wasnt devoting myself fully to the accents. I felt
a bit dumb posing, and performed the Punch and Sparkle with a kind of lazy sarcasm. After 3
tracks, we were at the bottom of the hill and entering the more complicated Sex portion of the
track, anyway.
591
The Sex track was inhabited by the busy, impatient Top Dancers: models who would
race down it in timed trials, performing step sequences they’d practiced strictly since child-
hood. The hard glossy tracks were much smaller, more specific, and funneled more narrowly
as they extended down into the floor, becoming, essentially, a colored sequence of grooved
foot paths, representing aspects of sex and anatomy. Us novices held up the fast models on
the track with our stumbling awkward attempts at this complex dance, and they would rush
past, often with an impatient shove or unkind word.

The uncircumcised penis step was one of the only that extended all the way across the
track, its sequence developing through a dance which extended from Birth to Death. I was
balanced on one foot, trying to find where to put the next, on a portion of the track illustrated
by a penis’ foreskin stretched outward into a conical webbed surface, which slowly flattened
as the dance progressed into a more traditional web-shape.

I asked the instructor, who was speaking with one of the models, why only the male
portion extended through the entirety of the Sex track, while the female form was only
featured in parts. I asked more to get her attention than anything, as I was sure a question
of gender equality would stir her interests. His response was interrupted by a member of my
group, who stood and began talking about some other college, far away, where gays were
properly represented on the track.

“..and this one art director, with just a simple dream, went on to form the first gay prac-
tice league in the basement locker room of the theater department. Hiring young unknowns,
like a certain Robert Downy Jr, who went on to star in a certain movie called “30 Seconds,”
and, in doing so, opened the eyes of the world to the worth of homosexuals in Dance Theater,
and revolutionized the modes of competitive expression forever.”

Matt called at that moment.

monroe_the_fast (2006-08-17 22:28:15)

When do you typically sleep? I tend to set my alarm clock much earlier than I intend to get out of
bed in hopes that it will interrupt a dream (and thus make me remember it) and give me a chance to
re-enter it in a lucid state. I guess I don’t remember the last time that worked, but I do wind up having
several dreams.

turboswami (2006-08-18 00:39:56)

I’m usually in bed by 3 or 4. I have a dream journal, but dont use it a lot. Only for the very strangest or
most meaningful of the dreams. Dont you usually wake up once or twice in the night and remember
the entirety of what you just experienced in sleep?

Biological basis for creativity linked to mental illness (2006-08-20 22:20) - not
hyper-sensitive - public

Music: Danny Elfman

Psychologists from U of T and Harvard University have identified one of the biological bases of
creativity
592
The study in the September issue of the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology
says the brains of creative people appear to be more open to incoming stimuli from the
surrounding environment. Other people’s brains might shut out this same information through
a process called "latent inhibition" - defined as an animal’s unconscious capacity to ignore
stimuli that experience has shown are irrelevant to its needs. Through psychological testing,
the researchers showed that creative individuals are much more likely to have low levels of
latent inhibition.

"This means that creative individuals remain in contact with the extra information con-
stantly streaming in from the environment," says co-author and U of T psychology professor
Jordan Peterson. "The normal person classifies an object, and then forgets about it, even
though that object is much more complex and interesting than he or she thinks. The creative
person, by contrast, is always open to new possibilities."

Previously, scientists have associated failure to screen out stimuli with psychosis. How-
ever, Peterson and his co-researchers - lead author and psychology lecturer Shelley Carson of
Harvard University’s Faculty of Arts and Sciences and Harvard PhD candidate Daniel Higgins
- hypothesized that it might also contribute to original thinking, especially when combined
with high IQ. They administered tests of latent inhibition to Harvard undergraduates. Those
classified as eminent creative achievers - participants under age 21 who reported unusually
high scores in a single area of creative achievement - were seven times more likely to have
low latent inhibition scores.

The authors hypothesize that latent inhibition may be positive when combined with high
intelligence and good working memory - the capacity to think about many things at once -
but negative otherwise. Peterson states: "If you are open to new information, new ideas, you
better be able to intelligently and carefully edit and choose. If you have 50 ideas, only two or
three are likely to be good. You have to be able to discriminate or you’ll get swamped."

"Scientists have wondered for a long time why madness and creativity seem linked,"
says Carson. "It appears likely that low levels of latent inhibition and exceptional flexibility in
thought might predispose to mental illness under some conditions and to creative accomplish-
ment under others."

For example, during the early stages of diseases such as schizophrenia, which are often
accompanied by feelings of deep insight, mystical knowledge and religious experience,
chemical changes take place in which latent inhibition disappears.

"We are very excited by the results of these studies," says Peterson. "It appears that
we have not only identified one of the biological bases of creativity but have moved towards
cracking an age-old mystery: the relationship between genius, madness and the doors of
perception."

Ernst Haeckel: Die Radiolarien - Berlin, 1862 (2006-08-22 00:07) - public

http://www.biologie.uni-hamburg.de/b-online/radio/

I just hid a microphone in a sock in my backpack and stood awkwardly with it at my

593
side by the Nurses Station for 7:42 seconds, pretending to look at Get Well cards on the wall.

In the next room there were a bunch of people wailing loudly. One of the nurses started
pointing to the wires poking out of my backpack, and talking to the other 4 nurses. When I
turned around, they were all staring at me...and continued to glare at the sock as I slinked
creepily past them all.

I really wanted to record more of that sorrowful wailing!! Is that wrong?

iztyme2ryde (2006-08-22 04:28:10)

I wonder that the nurses may have thought you took the wires out of some old creep and were
RUNNING with them. Or something stupid... ha ha.

swarms (2006-08-22 05:04:18)

nothing could be more right

(2006-08-27 22:44) - public

He’s all smiles nowadays.

Yesteryear’s doubts and bitter impressions long forgotten.
Was it death that focused him?
that secluded intimacy with feelings once foreign?

His eyes show a focal point extended beyond the veil.

So many summers, so many long lazy sighs.

The years bulge and tire, heaving weather from one end to the other.
I clean my mirrors again in preparation for guests,
so that they may be distracted with themselves, away.

Dream of man with mirror mask,

who appeared as all he saw.
And all who saw him liked him
and found him easy to relate to.

His expressions never perplexing,

his mood a perfect match

swarms (2006-08-30 20:10:47)

1. e4

594
5.9 September

The Astrological Statistics (2006-09-02 03:22) - high - public

Music: strange pounding

A graphical representation of the probability of given psychological, sociological, and charac-
terological traits divided across the months of the year.
- Obesity may be more prevalent in "Winter Babies"
- Perhaps Capricorns are shown to, statistically, have a higher level of educations than other
signs.

The Great Civilizations, such as ancient India, reduced astrology to a precise science,
based on meticulous records of keenly observed human traits. In later years, uneducated
charlatans and false mystics did much to blemish the repute of what was a prestigious school
of thought, the forecasting tool relied upon for centuries by great kings.

It is safe to say there are systems, natural, cosmological, electromagnetic or otherwise

which exist and operate on scales beyond the capacity of our comprehension, or through
mediums far too subtle for us to perceive, even with the aid of sensitive technologies. Ran-
domidity is a myth. Our concept of "random" is a product of our limited perception; a minor
visible point actually integrated within a greater system of which we simply remain ignorant of.

Are we to assume that all life exists only and ends at the sharply-defined borders of our
narrow Visible Spectrum? That consciousness can only exist in those frequencies of which
we are conscious. That science is ignorant enough believe these fallacies, the assume that
there is only observable life, is akin to dark ages before Copernicus, when the unquestioned
assumption that we were the center of the universe and that all within it revolves around us
reined supreme. Still egocentric and ignorant as ever is man. He will always believe he is
central, be it his location in space or his location in energy: our channel on the electromagnetic
spectrum; our Earth "station."

Of these great systems of nature We can only observe, record, and organize information
gatherable through our narrow band of awareness and limited scale of time. All is cyclic, and
cycles of change surely exist at frequencies astronomical, oscillating only once in a billion
lifetimes.

(2006-09-04 00:30) - public

Time and a slow moving mansion.

A regal fortress hard to climb out of.
Maybe if I let my hair grow long,
and really let myself go.

Time and a constant thorn detail,

throbbing bloody in my right eye.
Punishment is my every glance,
as the smallest detail screams.

595
Spaced measurement implies rate,
but since when do I move?
Hunched cutting in the tiniest of nets,
I know enough not to struggle.

Time and a thought of change,

A strong will to become self, imagined
surfaces from thought in due time
In spite of all that was wasted.

The More-Recent Resurrection (2006-09-04 01:45) - public

http://www.crystalclarity.com/yogananda/chap43.html

The recently physically disembodied being arrives in an astral family through invitation,
drawn by similar mental and spiritual tendencies.

SPAM Email Entitled "Right Said" (2006-09-09 11:09) - appreciative - public

Music: Lull - Slow Fall Inward

can north hard made was other.

which give keep after hot

said made hard what learn as. from is house.
give from said, end city end is.

Ode To Colonoscopy (2006-09-09 12:35) - healthy - public

Music: Acid Mothers Temple - Phantom Of Galactic Magnum

Redbout leather bit restrains

In my pocket
Red, green crumbled with rot.

3 rugs - dog "we must remember...sauce net"

TV the screened
Feast of the oilwormellon
Held beneath the hairy tiki-totum.

Cowboys mourn badly.

1 computer all-fitted people screen hat

1-800 & then &
Q can ofizz black key
Sepia gland in too black book
596
Disaster Remains Locked (2006-09-09 12:49) - cleaner - public

Music: Olivier Messiaen - Diptyque

A 3-day course:
- to pretend
- to flatter
- to meddle

"Having an excuse to act crazy is sometimes all that is needed to become crazy."

THESE FUCKERS HAVE THAT

What a luxury!
To be able to whine and tantrum in the State’s appeasing lap.

<–| WRECK |–>

A crew-height morning sighs seaward in routine passion.

Who are they for, so far... so far...?
Who sings to stars, so far... so far...?

They who have forgotten the land,

and abandoned their abandoners.
Seize rolling forever oceans heave to them they pull.
Sky signs of everlasting, to the compass they pray.
to a maiden they pray.

Untouchable siren of ether they dream,

Knowing the wreckage of her soft song’s touch.
Fables of devastation, the weakness of love.
To pivot and puncture their exterior in the dance.

Negative (2006-09-09 13:02) - public

On angry breath bellows nightmares of the torment he answers all day.

Smoldering.

It’s good to be reminded that I’m socially-inept.

And attract resentment from everyone I open myself to.

To stream ambition, I must hide my affirmations.

Too many talks with arms outstretched to the sky!

Who could be expected to withstand my pomp and circumstance?

To slide the thought out sideways with the vague sarcasm of a dying host.
597
Positive (2006-09-09 13:07) - public

Intelligence intrinsic in nature and its organization, blooming transplendant through scale.
This is the One Intellect, manifested from within all physicality, whose progressing complexity
is defined by scale. [RECIPROCITY OF WILL & WORLD]

Our civilization’s future is modelled by the structures of our body. The roles specialized
internally are mirrored externally in the organization of our cities. Regardless of scale, the
single intellect of nature manifests into these identical, organized roles.

biscuitboy (2006-09-11 02:35:02)

You know, you would love fluid dynamics. Turbulence is all about the transfer of energy into ever
smaller, yet similar scales of fluid motion.

ksawyer (2006-09-12 06:37:08)

so i was talking to a guy in bar the other day and he mentioned something about tangerine, which i
guess is some sort of local band that’s been playing around these parts for some time now. and yes,
it rang a bell and i thought of a band that you sent me a song of many a defunct hard drives ago and i
had to think...is the same band? and i figured no, can’t be...what are the odds? then, he said it was
pink floyd-ish. which sort of sounds right. so, is your tangerine from the steel city?

turboswami (2006-09-12 17:32:57)

My band was composed of a set of Gentle Druggy Germans who twiddled synthesizers circa 1972,
out of Dusseldorf. Tangerine Dream. Marc’s dad was a big fan, so he says. I would like to take this
time to remind Marc, if he is reading, that he is going to burn in Hell forever.

(2006-09-28 23:16) - public

A single light spore current scribes its path in gel, and the outermost protective wall is
breached in the communication attempt.

Signal, a brilliant exposure is ended, a tropical gate, a satellite eye grants wishes.

Huge metal bowls drip with smoke, like bronze gong tubs resonating the pain of a city,
of a people.

(2006-09-28 23:37) - public

On days like those these loveless would throw wind in hand to their sky.
Arms and wrists writhing cramped the next day, long-forgotten muscles suddenly screaming
themselves alive.
Wail and pound, Hands! Your screams only make mine louder.
With yoke and whip, I will straddle you down-tied like a hog in filth to make myself known.
I will accept the medal from the queen herself...with my teeth.

all timed out, an excuse for every clock.

598
intersecting sheaths carry traffic with pumping force
"9-to-5, 9-to-5" the heart’s constant, throbbing beat
I awaken in his breath, and exhale 30 billion tense miracles
my beating heart moves wind,
flags and pine tree air fresheners all subject to my attention’s subtle slipstream
the quiet currents that tickle, so lightly, with eye’s touch
Untapped and unknown are these potentials of self-awareness
Ignored sensations, the unexplored depths of subconscious, seemingly infinite

On joe dinner meetings an alarming suspicion.

Messages in the laundry

(2006-09-30 02:54) - private

Yea, beautiful.
We all Love Jenny
Acne scars
I want to scrape her

scrape her clean

Alone, she denies loneliness over crab rangoons

Her father needs her hugs
But we get so nervous around what came out of our crotch
He faces it only in turning, eyes quickly down-turned.

Toy-Demon voices laugh slow, but only for us.

I can’t help but to nod my head in agreeance.
The big finish, the last year of sweettarts.
I must become more official, grab a tighter hold of my erection.
Lead the way with a cocky-antenna strut.
Shifting the gear-heads below you into place
It feels so good to beat them down.

Sweetheart, I’ve lost.

Now I can only remember and pretend.

5.10 October

The Science of Premonition (2006-10-01 00:18) - public

Can technology be used to forecast the future? As outlandish an idea it may sound, there is a
growing band of top researchers in varied fields who believe that such a proposal is not only
possible, is taking place currently.

599
The center of the whole phenomenon, the focus of rigorous study by 75 respected scien-
tists from 41 different countries around the world, is a small, unimpressive-looking black box.
About the size of two cigarette packs placed side-by-side, the simple device has a microchip
"brain" about as complex as that of a common pocket calculator. Called a REG or Random
Event Generator, its original intent was just that: to constantly churn out random numbers,
"1’s" and "0’s," heads or tails. It soon became apparent, however, that the numbers being
generated were not at all random...

Four hours before the first terrorist plane hit its intended target on September 11th, 2001,
these Random Event Generators began reporting huge deviations in probability; a sudden and
massive shift in the number sequences of 40 black boxes, monitored in different countries
around the globe.

These humble devices appeared, somehow, able to detect that an event of massive his-
torical importance was about to take place. The sudden spike in their graphed data having
appeared before the terrorists had even boarded their fateful flights. These random numbers
seem anything but random.

Disregarded as a fluke occurrence by many skeptics following the attack, there was no
denying the data when yet another dramatic spike was shown 3 months later. Researchers,
who were at a loss interpreting what the new shift in sequence meant, could only watch their
TV screens in horror as one of the worst tsunamis in recorded history devastated South-East
Asia’s coasts hours later.

’It’s Earth-shattering stuff,’ says Dr Roger Nelson, emeritus researcher at Princeton Uni-
versity in the United States, who is heading the research project behind the ’black box’
phenomenon.

’We’re very early on in the process of trying to figure out what’s going on here. At the
moment we’re stabbing in the dark.’ Says Dr. Nelson, who has founded the Global Conscious-
ness Project: a pooling of data from REG investigations taking place around the world. (see:
"http://noosphere.princeton.edu/")

Blind, Unintelligent Noise?

The REG boxes operate by use of "quantum-indeterminate electronic noise," or white

noise generated by the device’s resistors. This constant stream of static is sampled a thou-
sand times a second in order to generate the apparently-random binary.

Yet, it is apparent that the REG’s aren’t random and that we’ve tapped into some under-
lying field which we do not yet understand.

It is safe to say there are systems, natural, cosmological, electromagnetic or otherwise,

which exist and operate on scales beyond the capacity of our comprehension, or through
mediums far too subtle for us to perceive, even with the aid of our most sensitive technologies.
In time, as the range of our civilization’s awareness expands, we will surely come to realize
that what we once deemed "random" only appeared so because of our limited perception of
it; a minor visible point integrated within a greater, unseen system which we had simply been
unaware of.
600
Are we to assume that all life exists only and ends at the sharply-defined borders of our
narrow Visible Spectrum? That consciousness can only exist in those frequencies of which
WE are conscious? Science will always be, at its core, ego-centric. Akin to the Dark Ages
before Copernicus, when the unquestioned assumption that Man is the center of the Universe
and that all within it revolves around him, is our current understanding of our place in the
Electromagnetic Spectrum. Man, a competitive beast of territory and ego, will always believe
he is central, be it his location in space or his location in energy. Ours is only a channel on the
Electromagnetic Spectrum, one of many on the "tuning dial." Perhaps we will someday find
that ours isn’t all that popular a station.

A Report From The Old Office (2006-10-14 00:57) - public

Wind shade smears red in a howling scream.

Towards my right arm from within.
I see an incline of stepped shadow and carry this sleeping man up there.
I need someone on the other side to guide this couch up.

I am so easily led, but wait...

There is more to listening than I know
and a realm of silence courses watching
courses far-shallow from the frequent drift beneath

I refrain from looking into my black ceiling

as I have seen it grow blacker when encouraged

White slime dries into a smooth platelette.

a scorched black hole now sucks inward
all I want is to go home.

(2006-10-14 01:44) - public

"So, no. Lets go back"

Fuck food, fuck flowers!
"You doin alright?"

"I just got cold hands."

stroking hands together between his legs*

"Give me your hands! Hurry!"

wraps them in a freshly heated towel*

MMMM....HOTPOCKET! *muffled moaning from the closet*

Praying hands enter between her legs through the towel.

Using God and her caring as an excuse, he barged in.
Quiet rubbing along a brain-textured bedway entrance
These spires of thought are tearing thorns
601
Tightly spun stairways narrow to sharp tip

self-defense, a body curling inward

The huddled humble stoop,

Transit In Trance (2006-10-21 07:48) - public

The remnant negative color behind your closed eyes first streaks downward, pulsing the full
spectrum in layers as you quickly descend. This falling is through an entrance and the flood
that streaked your mind’s eye will last several moments more, carrying down with it memories
from before your birth.

You are overwhelmed with awareness beyond your capacity. A brilliant light enters your
mind from between your eyes and, with it, a sea of radiance is revealed around you, disolving
your memories of self and the inconsequential details of your tiny life in a deep, rolling current
of light which extends downwards into your chest and then outwards into your limbs in visions
of bright sun yellow and summer greens. There is a childlike nature to this entity, a playfulness
with which she descends into you...and you reach out your hand as she leaves you, your body
suddenly cold, watching wanting the receding moment as it drifts farther along an internal
wall of selves.

I Sing To The Archives (2006-10-23 05:15) - public

The energy, which I symbolize as the carcass of notes of the metallic leaf, is repeatedly wasted
by my animated interpretation of ancient tragedies. I sing to the archives. In order to be an
indicator of my other-worldliness, it was guessed/advised that I search for the spirit nut/mother,
relate-formed to be dedicated to inviting and is supernatural power, granted. The largest of
local spirits is assumed to have acted strongly, drawing attention to the spirit and the deities
around the highest thing. The illness was connected with the activities of the spirit and my
interactions had 1) the classification of an annoyed spirit, the source of disease of the my body
and 2) the return of the soul, that which was necessary to become fullfilled itself, while tired
was stolen by the annoyed spirit.

(2006-10-25 06:37) - public

Gore guts!!
Plant a seed to gush red from my chest
In a final wrenching heave up and out
It will be expelled and I can finally breath.

But screams in mother, screaming in the street of the city.

Scream fucking scream shrieking to this cold night.
Dont stop or think of why, less some may remain at the bottom of your lung.
This womb of cement will know my fist
In scraped knuckles and pounding rage’s blood.

No soft words or holding will console this knife,

602
This drunk blade I rest against your pillow.
The shameful weaknesses of solitude spill over
becoming the indignities of my public life.

(2006-10-27 07:12) - public

I am moving to Grand Rapids, without a reason.

Should I have a reason?

My house will be abandoned during this time, holding everything I cannot fit in my truck.

I will live with 3 other men of similar age, only one of whom I have met.
I will not be comfortable around them.

I will not be able to fully stand in my room, except possibly in the very middle, where
the roof of the house peaks.

My heavy doubts drag me to bed where I hide from these near-approaching realities.
If I can, somehow, wake up from where my personality has settled and walk...
I’m sure the pavement of downtown will lead me to change, to improve myself above the
stress.

the2minh8 (2006-10-27 18:34:42)

ah, you must tell me where you are moving. i need your address. i will need your telephone number.
i know grand rapids, where all the chinks in its armor reside, where to go for a cup of coffee at 3am.
plus, chances are pretty good that i will be living and working in GR beginning in august.

biscuitboy (2006-10-28 04:43:41)

It’ll put hair on your chest, Kaleb. Real hair.

etherbunny (2006-10-30 21:40:55)

Posting that your house is abandoned on the internet will not attract robbers at all.

iztyme2ryde (2006-10-31 18:09:16)

I’ll be living there. He decided he didn’t want to leave it empty, or rent it to people with a zoo. I’m
excited.

(2006-10-28 10:03) - public

Oh! Reside no more these monsters of red shade waiting!

I can only drink and wait and wait for the insight that these spirits once gave me.

Wait and wait, wait for the undressing of depressed air beneath tired cloth.

I cannot, I cannot, I cannot provide what they remember I was in words, only in faded
603
repeats and shpeals we have all grown to love and expect.

I disolve only what must be, and so I love and lose perspective in the pretension of coitus. All
is image, and how quickly we forget.

*shakes upturned thumb frantically**

"Thumbs up, fucker!! I’m all for it!"

This is how I will remember you, stooped in servitude. I regret only my years of sleep,
and its rot.

I can only pretend I have ideas of interest now...my soul is asleep.

I can only push at these empty seams and look for her eye’s response in my mind’s
eye. That is

Quoting Knoll quoted in Campbell (1967)

“The growth of trees is accelerated during sunspot maxima; thus the eleven-year sunspot cycle
is reflected in the increasing and decreasing width of the annual rings of trees. This effect is
so reliable that archaeologists use it to date the establishment of ancient settlements.”

Quoting Luce (1971)

“There appeared to be a correlation between solar flare activity (sun spots), geomag-
netic disturbances, and excitement on the [hospital] ward… Since sun flare are bursts of
gaseous material, high energy particles that influence the ionosphere, causing changes in
magnetic fields on earth, a relationship is not impossible. Sun storms sometimes cause a
noticeable deflection in a compass needle. Perhaps, since the brain is at least as sensitive as
a fine compass, it also responds to large magnetic disturbances.”

the2minh8 (2006-10-29 21:16:35)

quoting westbrook (2006) "perhaps since the brain is at least as sensitive as a swiss-movement
pocketwatch, it too can consistently display the precise time of day." "because some scientists use
a particular process in their calculations, it stands to reason that that process is inherently reliable."
"science is bullshit."

IMPORTANT DOWNLOAD (2006-10-30 09:36) - public

I have devoted nearly 20 hours of my life to these 3 and 3/4 minutes of audio:

604
[1]
http://www.turboswami.4mak.net/GLASS LUNG Mix 1.mp3

Please leave your harsh critiques in the "Comments" field of this entry.
1. http://www.turboswami.4mak.net/GLASSLUNGMix1.mp3

theloniouszen (2006-10-30 10:27:49)

Critique #1; fix your fucking hyperlink, i am a busy man and cannot devote time to cutting and pasting

arfinspar (2006-10-30 14:18:10)

the first thing in my head upon mp3 completion: "where’s the rest of the album?" i’d love to hear what
this segues into..

alex27782 (2006-10-30 19:33:07)

Very strange. Love how the drums are recorded. The samples at the beginning didn’t suggest much
to me, but I like the groove it eventually falls into. The one single sputtery manipulation of the drums
near the end is an interesting touch.

the2minh8 (2006-10-31 23:13:27)

i am not sure, but that might be the most offensive picture i have ever seen in my whole life. i haven’t
had the chance to play your track through my monitors, but it sounds promising through my laptop
speakers. i will give a full report later, note by note if there is time.

5.11 November

(2006-11-06 05:53) - public

Jolly Fat Man, lead me.

Lead me to the source of your smile.
You are an archetype, steeped in genetics.
God Bless the playful innocence of the Mexican race.

(2006-11-07 06:00) - public

The feet of the well-minded pound well-meaning over blood and cement and me.
Its an angry city, but it wont admit it.
It takes it out on the poor night when it drinks and lets go.

iztyme2ryde (2006-11-07 15:51:05)

How are you liking Grand Rapids? Not much for woods to poop in!

turboswami (2006-11-07 19:39:27)

It’s a dark and scary place, full of slut dogs and laziness. I worry a lot.

605
 the2minh8 (2006-11-09 17:16:50)
grand rapids sounds like my kind of town! i also am full of slut dogs and laziness!

(2006-11-10 06:54) - public

There are people running everywhere.

Thin frames, shrieking terror from tightened faces.
Implanted deep in their asses are machines...
Machines that monitor their every step
and calculate the burning of their every ounce of energy.

And what burning, glaring terror drives their pounding feet?

Aisles and spectrums of soul less eyes bearing huge glistening teeth
It is those empty images that see through the runners, and make them afraid.
But, confused, they run not away, but towards.

Big fat face wont get the job tomorrow.

Big fat face is all big fat words
which he huffs and puffs from big bloated cheeks
Louie Armstrong sleeps in my mouth, with apnea and no nose.

and our heads will surely explode.

and I will die

without a head
broke in a strange town
surrounded by people who resent me

because I can’t talk

iztyme2ryde (2006-11-11 18:46:17)

You seem so depressed. While I am here, in our home, you are there saddened broke and alone. I
push on, my work and school consume me. By day I do my natural never ending errands, all of which
I detest doing. Though by night I am usually blitzed. I do hope to hear from you, vocally, soon. Good
luck monday! And as usual, I love ya and have a good one! Good writings, the many of them!

(2006-11-10 07:12) - public

I stared at a nothing pale beauty though night and glass and mirrors
and she waited behind me, and I waited before and still and so still I sit
and wait for myself
and wait and wait as my hair falls out in patches
and lay awake
handfuls of pills
handfuls of hair
606
and still I wait

oh god, they’re back!

I have to hide.

quiet quiet

(2006-11-11 06:18) - public

Oh, oh oh ohhh...This is expression, for real from once where I hid.

Ohhh, the sounds of these words are wet, trust me!
! ! ! "!"
What does the word for the symbol of the expression even imply, but an excitable personal-
ity!?
Exclaim, drunkard, exclaim.
I need an
extend and bloom outward, virtual realms of conscious interaction.
These are selves personified in air, synaptic gap: the space between our eyes and the
monitor.
But I know this is a pretend thought

I know the sickness of pretending and covering a wound.

I know the pulse that accompanies a heartbeat in selfhood.
I have only come to rest here for a lifetime.
I have only fallen as sleep from light’s forefront.

True of death, these REM states of conscious receiving.

True memories, these watching friends who forgive my forgetting.
I feel

Flying Is Not Easy (2006-11-11 12:16) - private

3 Lucid Dreams In One Night

The third, an out of body experience.

Flying is not easy.

But, I found that if I look skyward, and simply reach towards things, I slowly rise.
In this case, a tree branch, which I was then able to pull myself upwards with, gradually
becoming lighter as I began to learn to control and manipulate my environment in new ways.

The 3 men downstairs were downstairs in the dreamstate, the tree was similar to the
one outside our house. I experimented with the concept of "wall walking," something I had
done in a previous, vivid OBE. I was soon walking up the outside wall of an old white barn
structure. The roof overarched far, at which point I began walking completely upside down on
the underside of the roof’s extension, noting the amazing and vivid nature of the lead paint
chips and barn dust as it fell towards the ground, into my eyes.
607
It was in mounting the roof, and seeing a second story structure, that I became con-
vinced that the dreamstate was one of an interpretive or temporal filter of my body’s actual
surroundinigs. Entering through an old red wooden hatchway, I arrived in a bare red plaid
room with a single bed. I was immediately overcome with a feeling of security, as in arriving
home. As I awoke, I spoke in the dream, stating "I’ve got new shoes."

Encouragement, in the voice of an enthusiastic woman, then came from my every breath. And
so I wrote.

Flying Is Not Easy (2006-11-11 12:35) - friends

3 Lucid Dreams In One Night

The third, an out of body experience.

Flying is not easy.

But, I found that if I look skyward, and simply reach towards things, I slowly rise.
In this case, a tree branch, which I was then able to pull myself upwards with, gradually
becoming lighter as I began to learn to control and manipulate my environment in new ways.

The 3 men downstairs were downstairs in the dreamstate, the tree was similar to the
one outside our house. I experimented with the concept of "wall walking," something I had
done in a previous, vivid OBE. I was soon walking up the outside wall of an old white barn
structure. The roof overarched far, at which point I began walking completely upside down on
the underside of the roof’s extension, noting the amazing and vivid nature of the lead paint
chips and barn dust as it fell towards the ground, into my eyes.

It was in mounting the roof, and seeing a second story structure, that I became con-
vinced that the dreamstate was one of an interpretive or temporal filter of my body’s actual
surroundinigs. Entering through an old red wooden hatchway, I arrived in a bare red plaid
room with a single bed. I was immediately overcome with a feeling of security, as in arriving
home. As I awoke, I spoke in the dream, stating "I’ve got new shoes."

I awoke with the textbook "tingles" throughout my entire body, and a definate sense of
heaviness or tightness, especially in the arms and chest area.

Encouragement, in the voice of an enthusiastic woman, then came from my every breath. And
so I wrote.

silentwinds (2006-11-13 18:26:20)

I had an almost identical dream a few nights back.. so weird.

608
(2006-11-11 20:40) - public

God is not all-powerful as he cannot

build a wall he cannot jump

alex27782 (2006-11-11 21:20:09)

y’sure?

turboswami (2006-11-11 21:38:32)

You are free to assume there is a wall God cannot jump... and I will still be right.

the2minh8 (2006-11-11 23:07:43)

god is way smarter than you are. god would not want to build such a wall, even though he could.
because if he built it, he would lose his all-powerful nature by not being able to jump it. just because
he doesn’t feel like giving up his super powers, doesn’t mean he can’t. would you want to give up all
of your super powers? no. i can build a wall that i can’t jump. so you’re saying i’m better at build-
ing things than god is? that’s blasphemy. straight up. and jesus don’t like that. and god. and the bible.

the2minh8 (2006-11-12 00:24:30)

so you now live in grand rapids? we should probably consume alcohol together during my thanksgiving
break.

turboswami (2006-11-12 06:30:42)

Yes, much. Turkey, stuffing, sloppy drunk bloodsport in the street, cranberry sauce...

(2006-11-15 07:02) - public

Stop.
Self, nothing, sky view too conscious to remain.
Self, stop. Stop.

Once.
Self, burning, all open charging through the rain.
Felt once. Once.

True.
Face, nothing, beneath the bounty of mourning.
Face true? Once.

Stop
This is a joke.
Stop.

Versions Of Slumber (2006-11-16 17:48) - public

Cracked dead the nigtht and silence weened

Furious I called out to an empty home
609
A black bed without a mother, a stranded curtain I pushed and walked through

This is a hellish limbo, and I know there are those who hear these raspy yawning screams and
see me move on this

side
because their eyes watch through the curtain

It’s so easy to forget yourself when trapped in death’s curtain, where memories are real
once more.
and I buried my nose into the soft wall and screamed why to the dark lonely remains of my
home
I held and moved things in the room I slept, but across some white strand of beautiful hiss.

small intricate triangles, each color rotating its own path in paisley...and so became her
beautiful eyees, watching

over my return

and I have opened my eyes in sleep and seen God’s light shine through the stained
glass of dreams...
and that too became his open eye

The Raconteurs (2006-11-21 00:52) - public

The margin one must leap to speak, to give,

to haul expression across the silent gap,
grows wider as the air grows thinner.
And the wind has abandoned me,
but I have faith it has not done so in weakness.

A trailerpark shootout,
hair greased back to a jet black gun,
seducing the explosive climax out.

The toy snap pistols step out on their side to whine and cry.
Doning our resentment like shade over eyes.
A perfect fit building between.

(2006-11-21 11:31) - public

"Lets see that game face, Fucker!" I scream through a slug.

I am a huge flea pretending I can choose from God’s entertainment systems.

His surprise party is only a surprise when he’s dreaming.
So we shout our surprise quietly, as we don’t want to kill him.

When the wet boney samba finally rolls, all the fleas must scurry below him arranging
610
sand.
And their intricate dance of business to him appear as shimmering waves of color, a fluid
surface weaving delicately through the beach loom.

! (2006-11-22 00:18) - private

COme on you fucking baastarrd!!

Oh Christ no...this voice is innappropriate to the desired character portrayal.

I best study my intonation more critically, for I am losing touch to intention, and am lost
in ranges of humor too abstract, as my tone and vocabulary become drier. Its not my
fault...please forgive me, and be patient as I change back.

I am sure their laughter downstairs is directed towards me.

The trouble, the constant racing heart, the throbbing of the chest that causes my shirt
and self to vibrate.

I keep them content with a low droning vibration.

I want to record it...much.

Oh, my chest is in pain it vibrates so quickly.

It must be the accelerantes leaving my system,
It interacts so intensely, the unbearably intense focus that causes my frame to shiver.

I cannnot care as much as I do,

"I can hear you, dammit!" shouted faintly from the bottom of the stairs.
Oh my god...I cant begin to a crackle snaps the speaker as I crack my neck in a slow twisting
of the spine which courses electric.

I must unbutton my pants and let my belly flop out to breath.

I twist in my chair, writhing and rubbing in slow stretches.

They know my secrets, and reveal it in casual talk not directed towards me. I I dizzy
myself in waves of inward focus...becoming sea sick as my eyesspan an inward field on a slow
oscillating modulation of an electric field.

"...hovering? and ignore him?"

The epilogue.

I must lay in their laughter and reflect upward with eyes calmly closed. I must be Drier
hints. I must

"Is this a habit you live through?"

Active listening...listen to the white noise When you actively listening

611
I gave you the chirping, and now you have it.
Its all about how you exhale

I hear my name stores lied

Its all so new...

If I scream loud enough in my mind, will certain people hear me? Those close to my
proximity, who I focus on internally?

The fun doesnt stop, a distanced entertainer till the end, when I shout to be heard a
song no longer to entertain. I brandish wild exaggerated poses, like auditorium theater. I can
just barely be seen, and must use new signal.

The room acknowledges a thrust wave of energy which caused books to fly from the ta-
ble. In a sudden fast motion, I swung microphones over someones head to place them,
unexpectedly, on someone someone else. A person across the room followed the motion in a
twitch of his arm and knocked over books, as if they had flung outward from the path of my
headphones.

I had looped a 3 second portion of brown noise and had it running through my studio
reference Sennheisers. I then snuck behind a roomate and placed the over his ears from
behind, mid his conversation. He took them off, instinctively, and I told him to put them back
on, only this time close your eyes, lay back on the couch he was on, which was empty, and
ACTIVELY listen. He said he heard a rhythm to the sound, and I then mentioned for him to
listen for the chirping bird.

He was astounded when I told him, afterwards, that there was no chirping bird. One of
the guests, a heavyset man, mentioned that he heard the voice of his friend.

In lotus, I begin to burp up sickness with every exhalation outward. It carries with it
acid, which I can feel on my vocal chords burning, as I swallow a constant stream of mucus
back down. The wheezing of asthma accompanies every inhalation, however slow I make
them.

My outturned belt rubs against the back of the large man’s chair as I squeeze by behind
him. Lifting his palm in presentation he looks to my roomate exclaiming "Duuude!" in a tone
of disgust. When I am in the kitchen, he reassured the man ’Don’t worry, it’s only 18 hours of
SWEAT he rubbed on you."

Then there was a 30 second defensive exchange about showering.

Followed by some quieted discussion regarding my medical history, a return from the sprouting
of the conversation 20 minutes earlier...in which one of the guests perried with the rightfulness
of tearing open a roomate’s garbage bag.

612
(2006-11-22 00:40) - private

I am not "He was doing some weird stuff." !

I am not "....

....

I wear an advertisement across my wall. One so clever and beautiful that it kept me
staring for over 20 minutes, and still. A pictured list of the greats in their prime.

I cannot continue wasting my time in self-defense through a floor. I must listen only to
the water, but even in the water there is my name, distinct in thought. And I repeated to him
a second time, with emphasis in explanation, "White noise can carry anything."

Mumbled in wavelengths rapid are the key frequencies of each individual’s thought. In
acquiring the pinpoint focus of attention of active meditation, saints have shown the ability
to act as a "receiver." That is to say that they were able to focus their attention in this
concentrated, directed way only after silencing their "transmission."

This all being a quite elementary understanding for thousands of years throughout the
Indus Valley, it was the Hindu saints who explained much more advanced state of directing
specific thoughts and suggestions to unknowing individual "receivers," whose influence

I type "directed" into google. The first link is "inner-directed," a definition.

Main Entry: egotistic

Part of Speech: adjective
Definition: conceited
Synonyms: affected, aloof, autocratic, boastful, boasting, bragging, conceited, egocentric,
egoistical, egomaniacal, egotistical, haughty, idiosyncratic, inborn, individualistic, inflated,
ingrained, inherent, inner-directed, intimate, intrinsic, introverted, isolated, narcissistic, obses-
sive, opinionated, personal, pompous, prideful, proud, puffed up, self-absorbed, self-admiring,
self-centered, self-important, snobbish, stuck-up, subjective, superior, swollen, vain, vainglori-
ous
Antonyms: altruistic, humble, modest, reserved, selfless, unpretentious

I view this as a blow, and become discouraged.

(2006-11-22 01:36) - private

I hear a full name, I hear talk of averages.

Surely they will leave with a memorable impression.
I must keep myself burning, I must fight the inclination to settle.

I wonder a lot,
wonder around idlely.
And defenses create a concave self which, when deep enough and thoughts rapid enough, can
create a whirlpool tunnel whose currents pull my wondering inward with walls created around
613
my eye composed completely of my surrounding surface.

"I think he’s a bit of an...’A.’"

"Yea, more like an ’A+’"

I come off like an asshole, a pompous exaggerating blowhard.

I wish to isolate myself from these thoughts, as they serve no purpose outside the idle
chatter of strangers...and, yet, I know from the observed psychological degradation of "my
type" maintaing a "sociable" self is essential to maintaining the accessibility of one’s expres-
sion. Alone, we wonder in indulgent silence until, in time, we stray developmentally too "far
out," and can no longer relate to others.

(2006-11-26 23:48) - private

See how sad it is when I smile?

I can’t help it, these eyes give me away.

I think there is a lot going wrong, but I am always the last to know.
I sure get lonely here.

arfinspar (2006-11-27 15:49:50)

can’t see a gmail image, my friend..

5.12 December

(2006-12-01 02:59) - public

Wild oat like nothing I felt,

Shit my pants and still no release to speak of.
These drunk children remind me of pretending.
and I raise my head above them only to tell the time.

But they are warm

they accept me into a game of punches.

and he assured me he was a Buddhist.
and I assured him he’d be taken care of.
So so-so I twinety six feet of my close.
I try no love listening and eighth place awaits a life like mine to forget.

I knew once a pantheon

I felt once a god’s sense.
614
don’t I forget, don’t I whine in abandonment.
as the young replace old lions in relevence.

iztyme2ryde (2006-12-01 09:26:10)

You should IM me back sometime. I been waiting for you to get home so I could chat with you. Now
you’ve likely gone to bed, could have said something! heh. Well, get back to me when you have time
I suppose.

A Stream Of Wolves (2006-12-13 22:06) - public

My God, the Germans are wonderful...

http://www.caiguoqiang.com/project _detail.php?id=196 &iid=962

Culture flows outward from them.

the2minh8 (2006-12-14 22:42:19)

the sheer logistics of the taxidermy involved in that project is stunning. just... wow.

Long Cine Numbing (2006-12-21 03:15) - public

Some time ago, late, disheveled, I made an attempt to stand for something through from a
graveyard of fog, each plot holding a sleepy memory I recite with hesitance until finally falling
through. Still, the raw nerves fired and quivered my eyes open, even though their content had
drifted elsewhere, darkened and blurred was that luminescence as it sunk, subconscious.

But I fight, with broken fists, and still win. Excusing myself from the smiling crowd so
that I may find a dark room to hide my pain and nurse disgust with sterile pity. There is slow
change we are too busy to perceive. So distracted by all which changes us, we fail to hear the
quiet song beneath our reflection as it sleeps.

The Joyous Epidemic (2006-12-22 08:57) - public

Slow sweet smiles as long as we can stand it, green teeth shown beneath lips forced apart long
into the night and so many returns oblige, concealing with skin so thin and growing thinner,
soon transparent.

I am to be the beacon of health, face beaming caring guidance out through this torren-
tial sea of sickness which storms furious from all sides, pounding agonies against the glass of
our tiny station. Their tension builds beneath, surfacing in huge gaping waves which would
surely swallow us all if not made tranquil by these handfills of pills we throw like stones. Taught
to look away as I throw, I find myself drawn to look, to see beyond the black of that inward
abyss I fight. I want to see where light has never been and feel consciousness at that depth.

615
I can’t fool them all; the real ones who, with quiet calm, see through the pretension I
am drowning in. Radiating bliss from eyes truely open, my defenses melt powerless neath
their steadfast loving gaze. It is this fearless innocence that was their crime, as there MUST
be something wrong with someone so content to just sit. He hasnt spoken for days! All he
does is sit and smile with his eyes closed. Surely, he must be sick!!

Physicality, Consciousness & The Electro-Magnetic Spectrum

(2006-12-23 08:33) - public

Every shade and temperament of man exists along the a single, brilliant, winding spectrum.
Each individual melding indiscriminate within the fluid dynamic band of their like. Extending
beyond and within the present state of our genus, beyond and within the discrete set of forms
knowable by the limited capacity of our consciousness and its time, is grand evolutions morphic
display played out upon bands of frequency infinite; all neath illusory stage, eternal. Through
the intricate observable specializations of species and divided infinitely along the surface of
this radiant stream, a hundred thousand babbling transient individuals whose birth and death
is decided by the frequency of their band within the greater spectrum. Their brief flash in the
sun, as a self seemingly divided, is unaware in that momentary life of all they were, ignorant
of the vast conscious sea in which they are immersed.

audiomind (2006-12-23 19:34:44)

what’s their frequency? :)

turboswami (2006-12-31 10:26:41)

"What’s the frequency, Kenneth?" I suspect about 80 years, if you’re lucky.

616
6. 2007

6.1 January

(2007-01-01 21:52) - public

Who the hell got gravy on my earplugs?!

Oh well...at least its still warm.

iztyme2ryde (2007-01-02 06:41:45)

this immediately brings to mind the day after we went to Big Boy. My boss’ wife was telling me about
the ’congealed’ gravy on her pot roast. Ha ha.

The Voice To Say It In (2007-01-02 08:23) - public

Cold caffeinated blood pumps my voices awake,

and like a skyborn jolt to my bolts, I am animated again.

"Why, baby, why?

I bleed for you!
Oil me now"

I’ll drench my over-excited cackles in pheromones...

and wait patiently for them all to come sop it up.
with eager tongues, like on that beer commercial from 1988.

"Spirit of poison
Howling spirit
Spirit creature not wearing the shape of a man"

Eine Montage von Camille Flammarion für sein Werk "L’Astronomie pop-
uläire", das 1880 erschien (2007-01-03 02:49) - public

Music: demonic night wailing of a schizophrenic

617
A German wood carving showing the mystic; striving to finally see and touch the other
side: the dark, subtle systems which he knows are just beyond this illusory prison of which he
was born, enclosed.

vive231 (2007-01-09 03:12:13)

anyhow that painting? is the shit. it is a tool for the mystic in itself

turboswami (2007-01-09 05:54:28)

I dont really know anything about it, I just pulled all that interpretation out of my ass. I think it has
something to do with astronomy, though. You know Alex. He’s nutty.

(2007-01-06 01:54) - public

a wet cough goodbye ends an awkward dull show

all she hid was all I wanted, believe it or not, I worked hard for it.
But not hard enough, obviously.

Sarcasm to inflate boring thoughts proposed in a different voice

I cough up a goodnight and wish for times.
618
swarms (2007-01-06 07:09:19)
"We should hang out again...as long as you don’t continue to try to kiss me!"

(2007-01-06 18:37:08)
I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

swarms (2007-01-06 20:00:48)

Oh, I tell him that all the time, and he still keeps trying, and I keep hanging out with him.

My first band was named "PapaGayos’ Morbid Serbo-Croatian Persuasion"

(2007-01-17 00:41) - public

Unhealth comes in the lovedeath grip of a tired sloth,

And how I fight the sleeper!
How I have been dragged across acceptance, through patience, and deep beneath into painful
tollerance.
Pulled down further and further yet by a clutching, terrified stone’s love.
To the thick mud ocean floor of repulsion where we quietly sleep without air.

How is it that a tone of voice can empty a man in less than a word?
So innocent a timbre that pulls my soul from its well, dry empty to listen.
And listen and listen, diluted by her wanting
My pity a cut on my foot she suckled, never allowing to heal.

(2007-01-19 01:23) - public

16 years
his father, my father
went to the ocean to die.

Before walking away, from me, his life, his family, he turned with smiling eyes, his focus
distant, and said "Don’t be afraid. My love for you exists beyond distance, exists beyond
death. As life was merely the birth of this body, so death will merely be the birth of this soul.
Goodbye, my son. I love you."

I was sad. I like cake. I am better now.

I have cake.

An evil genius hissed from the roof of a slow moving military jeep: "YOU LIE WITH YOUR
HIGHER MIND!!"

I think it was Dr. Wiley. Someone told me he was an angry baldy who built little guys
from cold metal. There were about 6 little metal guys hobbling behind the jeep, trying to keep
up.

619
One of them had a huge fan built into his chest! Wowza! What a "blowhard!" I named
him Air Man.

..but when I looked closer, Air Man was actually a box fan being dragged from the trailer hitch
of the jeep by its cord. Gee Willickers! That’s not a Doctor at all on the roof of that crazy jeep!
Its a balding middle-aged woman in a NASCAR t-shirt.

Golly! There sure is a lot of blood on my face, chest, arms, hands, and stomach! Holy
Cow! I sure am getting sleepy! I can hardly stand...

shucks. I think I gotta lay down for just a sec. Night sure comes early lately. Its...so
dark.

The effect of key meditative states on brainwave and neurona-environmental

charge ambience. (2007-01-23 10:41) - public

Inward mental, the environment as an internal state, a hand within a puppet.

I call toin me a beautiful soft hand, delicate and petite of white skin radiant, to environ-
mental me once more, to wear now this thick rubber glove, cold and stiff as to protect ones
arms while welding.

The sparkling blue-white behind the mask, the thick shade square through which we ob-
serve, shielded from the brilliance beyond the capacity of our soft weak eyes. And oh how it
attracted me, that brilliant explosion wielded and contained, within the size of my palm. What
I knew I could not stand to see, I saw and reeled back, each eye inwardly firing frantically in
a subtle ache. What is it in that blue white that entered me? What is it of an inward firing
that revitalizes us, the crack of a morning charge that awakens us in the stretching open of
the spine? That heightened breath, the focused peak of meditative fulfillment, before slowly
receding back within in the still hum of my inward self, his voice strengthened and made,
slowly, more independent, all encompassing back within the threaded spiral of that barrel.

From which shot, willfully, in wielded explosion of spirit meeting man, the reaction of
those realms meeting at that brilliant momentary point when the weighted attention breaches
the inward gravitational plane, sinking, grave, like a sun extending within the surface grid of
non-physicality’s border, the skin of our bubble, physicality, which we push outwards against,
waiting to be born in spirit. Phallic protrudance of a trapped ignorant man, who to those
outside is still a child, undeveloped and without comprehension to ground understanding of
anything but caring, divine love’s bliss.

If I can contain within record the spark of that bliss, maintained in the vacuum of focus,
I could read the palm of divinity’s muse, a picture of that moment of inward touch, I could have
some basis of that interaction on which to build understanding of that ejaculatory moment,
the flush of transference.

My Department, the East Wing of the Van Andel complex, has both a EEG room and an
Electro-Shock room. With the academic authority of my research director from NMU, Dr. Sheila
Burns, I could propose the study “The effect of key meditative states on electro-encephalic
patterns; brainwave and neurona-environmental charge ambience.” Or thereabouts with an
620
abstract directed through and forwarded by Dr. Burns.

But, how can smoke this intensely spiritual strain of designer pot in the EEG room? …I
do have a key and I do work nights…

I merely open my chest with a long, sunlit “Ahhhhhhhhhh…..” as if stretching out in the
radiance of a beach, and call her name, calmly with an inwardly-mouthed voice and she is
immediately with me…

“Open me….” I invite her to grace me with her smile, and so the twitching legs and
arms stop and my shoulders straighten back, my chest exposed down my resonant spine. My
empty lungs still hum, contained, awaiting a slow, still, seemingly unnecessary return. And so
I, the flighty, inattentive child, flit away, mindless of my disrespect to those who can only smile
and watch, overlooking the playful folly of an old friend, lost in the passion of his make-believe,
his elaborate role and costume made all the more convincing by the surrounding roles with
whom I am intermeshed

Such a brilliant cast we have this year! Lively and inspired!

We feed off the energy of the crowd; everyone feels it!
And the crowd feed off us as well, a whirlwind of shared emotion and inspiration.
There is no other feeling quite like performance,

that thrilling bliss of being the eye, the center of that energized whir of interaction, that
excitement of the lit stage, and the conscious, mirrored response from the attentive crowd
in the dark surroundings below the stage. The colored, timed, lights flash on us, inducing
moods, expressed. Blinded by the glaring light in our eyes, all attention flows inward towards
my absolute center, all sensation directed towards some innermost nipple, the most guarded
little hole for which all these defenses were designed. It is the “My,” the owner, referred to
when we say “My Arm,” “My Eyes,” “My Brain.” … . . . . . . “My Body.”

Tell Mama You Love Her....NOW! (2007-01-24 02:43) - public

So many images whose meanings combine and fade in this inwardly-flowing stream I am
from moment to moment. Sensitivity’s inlet eroding the delicate ruts of definion, of sharable
representation.

Oh Blah!

I be Plumb tuckered of these big vague nothing entries, are you as are we as are I have
written myself in all the corners but this dark one I watch from. That, and my quivering
voice, leads many to believe I’ve trapped myself in a fear of beauty, of tarnishing that newly
awakened self of a few moments ago with these lesser man’s feet. And so, covered in a bright
past, it is I that grows dim and dry, waiting.

I best speak up, I need a hand out of myself who was given a hand of applause and
froze in a smile. Thus, six foot hole in the form of a crisp sugar shell, a smiling exoskeleton
and here comes the cliche! Be Yourself! Be Sincere!

YOU ARE NOT BEING SINCERE ENOUGH!

621
You had best work on that, you sleazy fuck, you greasy nutter butter.

We are made to love, forced into reciting the name of a feeling, and then told we must
do it with sincerity. This is how we are introduced to the idea of loving: that which we MUST
do, but can only be done by WANTING to do it, by being sincere. And this idea, too, would be
quite something to expand upon.
Blossom
FlowNO
Bee, backspace
ahh.., backspace, l. ( I cannot relax, in pains of association and self-rejection )
a rock formation in the sky
a neon movie ad itches
a skin flick scratched in green
A childhood farmer (and I undecide not saying "Mr. Green Dreams")

and that is how worried people play vague

(2007-01-24 09:17:43)
and it’s nothing. big vague nothing, still.

Scarf Up Brand Video Dump (2007-01-28 10:23) - public

[1]Greatest Japanese Vocalist

[2]I’m Gunna Get My Despair!
[3]You and the Cap’n Make it Happen
[4]My People: The Nordics

I am losing my edge...
1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBq_mZQJ9pI&mode=related&search=
2. http://youtube.com/watch?v=a4Fgjzk5CKs
3. http://blogfiles.wfmu.org/BT/SpotlightKid.mov
4. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzqumbhfxRo

biscuitboy (2007-01-28 18:12:34)

That last one was awesome.

(2007-01-30 04:23) - public

Where is the down and out now?

Where is that cleaner time I watched with?
Sorting myself above him, disregarded.
Right before I realized I was lost and afraid.

To look at myself, I had to take my eyes off the road.

622
And I looked at myself way too long...
Forgot I was driving, forgot the destination which I used to dream.
And all I’ve passed recedes in the mirror with me, tugging.

Where is the burnout now that I am?

Where the fuck can I put these fists!?
I know they are empty, and that only makes them tighter.
Soft and pale, they’ve been hidden away for so long...

The Pinworm Fears Light (2007-01-31 01:26) - public

The Superintendent of all 23 of Lower Michigan’s Catholic Schools was admitted to The Asylum
this week. He had been found huddled in the back of a burning barn...in a bunny suit. He is a
heavy-set bald German man, stern, and articulate in both writing and speech.

Two days ago he called his brother and asked that he bring a brand-new black button
up shirt sized XXL when he came to visit later that day. The brother obliged, thinking little
of it. It was only after visiting hours were ending that the patient, who I will refer to as The
Sup’, turned the white cardboard collar piece of the new shirt around, shaved his beared and
moustache, created shoelaces from the seam of previous shirt, and approached the nurse’s
station...as a priest.

"I’m ready to go. Could you open the door?"

Looking the man over briefly, the nurse buzzed open the electronic lock of the unit’s
front door and the patient walked out. The Sup’ then had the Balls to walk over to the adjacent
unit, South, and ask for help out of the building! The friendly, courteous staff of VAC South
were more than happy to escort the kind old priest through the additional sets of locked doors
and out the front entrance of the hospital, where his gay lover was waiting in a car.

Police were notified hours later, after the patient’s room was found empty. There was a
frenzied 20 minutes or so, where oblivious staff tried to connect the dots and figure out where
the patient disappeared to. Police found him with the gay lover, who the patient’s wife and
children had known as the live-in housekeeper.

This was last week. The Sup’ was readmitted into my unit, the East Wing, under the as-
sumption that, seeing as we have fewer patients and two locked doors instead of one, it would
be more difficult for him to escape. I counselled him one-to-one yesterday morning and he
was both pleasant and cooperative, although continually redirected our conversation towards
the anuses of his family (two young boys) and fellow patients. He talked alot about Pinworms,
and how he would have to sneak into his boys’ bedrooms with a flashlight and spread their
ass cheeks apart, looking for the worms as they poke their heads out of the anus for air.

"Soon as you shine the light in their eyes, they suck right back into the asshole. *slp-
phht!*" he made a slurping sound, describing the worm’s retreat into the ass of his little
boy.

623
turboswami (2007-01-31 08:52:14)
The whole conversation with this Catholic man of considerable status did not really sink in until I
got home and started thinking about it all: the homoerotic imagery, the nightly bedroom visits of
little boys, the young gay "housekeeper." He claimed his wife was afraid the housekeeper might do
something to her children, but seeing as she had her husband institutionalized, I suspect she was
concerned more about him doing something to his boys.

monroe_the_fast (2007-01-31 17:24:55)

The imagery may be homo but it sure isn’t erotic.

turboswami (2007-02-01 06:00:22)

You’d be surprised... It seems like there’s a fetish for everything nowadays. Why, just the other day
in Throbbing Cock Worm Magazine there was a thought-provoking article about this very topic. Mr.
December had the coolest scars!!

monroe_the_fast (2007-02-01 15:54:41)

lawl

the2minh8 (2007-01-31 13:44:42)

my question is this: where did he get the equipment to shave his beard and mustache, if they wouldn’t
even let him have shoelaces?

turboswami (2007-02-01 06:31:03)

The buggers have free access to an electric razor here. Cuts like a blade or your money back...you’ll
need something to soak up all that blood.

iztyme2ryde (2007-02-01 04:58:26)

"Soon as you shine the light in their eyes, they suck right back into the asshole. *slpphht!*" he made
a slurping sound, describing the worm’s retreat into the ass of his little boy. I remember that... Hell, I
thought this whole thing was you playing on my gullibility. I find that I over compensate for that now.
Good one.

edensgray (2009-05-12 03:21:24)

uggghh! did he really beleive there were pinworms in there or was that his sick way of justiyfing his
despicable and loathsome intrigue...?

6.2 February

(2007-02-01 03:17) - public

To the world’s end I went, and found

Death in his carnival of glare;
But in my torment I was crowned,
And music dawned above despair
624
I Wish My Doors Were Always Open (2007-02-05 07:57) - public

Burt Reynolds Lives Like a Princess (2007-02-06 04:28) - public

I’ve interviewed scores of Hollywood stars, but I never took them at anything more than face
value, especially Burt Reynolds. I never guessed the truth behind this model of masculinity,
whose virile mustache has lit a fire in the dreams of countless lovelorn. But who would have
guessed that his mustache hides a pretty pout? Who would have guessed that Burt Reynolds,
manly star of Cannonball Run and Sharky’s Machine, lives like a princess?

When I pull into the driveway of Burt’s oceanfront mansion, I expect to be greeted at
the door by Burt and perhaps be offered a beer. Instead, I’m escorted down chandelier-lit
hallways by a wigged man in a frock coat and tights, who explains to me in hushed tones that
certain preparations are still being made. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a chamber filled
with bustling attendants, running to and fro in a storm of perfume and hairbrushes. In the
center of the room sits a figure in a silk corset whose face is hidden from me. I am moved along.

As I wait in the garden outside, I enjoy the blooming roses and the rushing water of a
splendid fountain. I sip peppermint tea, and cool garden breezes caress my skin. But these
luxuries are quickly forgotten as the air is filled with the dulcet soprano voice of Burt Reynolds,
singing softly.

After a rustle of petticoats announces his appearance, Burt steps into the garden. Re-
splendent in a pink velvet gown, he extends a bejeweled hand. "Enchanté," he whispers, and
we sit in the shade of a spreading magnolia.

"I’d like to show you something," he says, pulling a flower from an ornate golden case.
"This is a magic blossom—with one sniff, you can smell what anyone in the kingdom is
cooking! Would you believe I got it from a swineherd for 10 kisses?" We both laugh over this
charming anecdote. But when I ask about his past, Burt grows solemn.

"I had three older sisters who hated me, for I was the prettiest child," he says. "They
made me slave away in the kitchen, and called me names. Horrible names, like ’stupid goose’
and ’scullery girl.’ I longed to escape from that life, and with the financial success of Smokey
and the Bandit, I did."

"I am happy," he says, with a touch of sadness in his voice. "But sometimes I wonder
what the world is like beyond my garden wall."

After gifting me with one more lovely song, Burt regretfully announces he is retiring. I
join him half an hour later in his private bedchamber.

He begins to thank me for coming, but is distracted by some sort of discomfort. Even
with a dozen mattresses piled on his canopy bed, he cannot relax. Melancholy swells from
his pretty eyes as he weakly tosses and turns. Suddenly, his problem becomes clear to me. I
carefully reach underneath the mattresses and pull out a single pea.

625
Gratitude floods Burt’s face, and he allows me to kiss his hand before he sinks into slumber. I
am led to the front gate, where a carriage awaits me. I am filled with sadness at leaving Burt
Reynolds, and I find myself wishing I could stay with this precious soul in his castle by the sea
forever.

By Lancio
Onion Gossip Columnist
September 11, 1996 | Issue 30•05

monroe_the_fast (2007-02-06 21:11:52)

Awesome. I was surprised and disappointed to discover it wasn’t by you, though.

Loose Ideas Needing Active Focus (2007-02-08 12:56) - 1 week interval - public

Tests are set up by complex higher players, one is the ability to, while fighting in the lowly
cages of Earth, how quickly can you come to remember where you were shot out onto
the playing field from? Without the ability to remember, within the imposed limits of your
biological state, How well can you be born, identify the ETERNAL priorities from out of the
screaming hectic mess, and then leave your body to swim back home.

polysomnographic technologist
Miniature tu e one way flow through seen above...

Psychiatric Hospital Group Class:

"The Art Of Meditative Prayer"

Michael Harner

Please, let me have my wallet.

Fight the urgle to ask "Why?"

Sober schizophrenic art of Victorian England resembles several key cultures, and subcul-
tures, unknown to the artist Lewis..., during its creation. These are the arts of Eastern religious
Saints or dieties and the art of the "Consciousness Expansion Movement."

All three states, and their resulant art, imply an inward change necessary to think and
thus create under the direction of that thought. By understanding that Genre of Minset, by
locating it in "tell tale media" or art which served as a medium for that type of thinking.

-Hindu’s historic reverence for meditative realization

-The Schizophrenic’s often Spiritual Sensitivity
-The Psychedelic Users tendency to appear, outwardly similar, to the schizophrenic.

And cycle back up with the Hindu’s historic reverence for Ganges Soma realization.
Soma, in their language, meaning either Pot or God.

626
The molecular form of a blackhead, the cells it is composed in shaped by us, but filled
by independent "leech" cells, the black head, cephalus, is that point of access to the world
outside of their world, the open air and its open sun, and that black cephalic composition of
cells dies, unable to yet live outside of it’s skin-based environment.

The wood bore, and the maggot are each as-disgusting a composition of cells, indepen-
dant of that thing from which they LEECH while tunnelling inside of. Given the blatent visual
identicalities between the three, what differences can be drawn other than medium being
leeched and

With the doctorate should come the State-Endorsed certification for that Doctor to Participate
in MAPS, receiving grants for experimental studies he wishes to undertake in his field which will
be based on or collect and record data collected in from a perspective of hightened awareness.

Externalized EEG readings. Sensors, highly amplified, exist outside the head of the pa-
tient, in the whirlwind of subtle energy his mind creates under certain circumstances. This
hanging sensors would show a spectrum of varying frequency streams flowing inward and
outward in subtle fields of electromagnetic charge.

The most sins I hsave sinned is in this sensitivity saved; sin and savior saving.
SlS

And, further yet, the benefits of communications, the revolutions of such speed, which
come with communicating beyond a barrier so all-encompassing, we have forgotten what lies
on its opposite side. Communication beyond the thin stage veil, physicality, to the intelligent
live that live just beyond the limits of our eyes, just beyond the sensitivities of our physical
organs which define the natural capacity of our awareness in biological life.

But, "life" in Life(life/death) is not limited to mere physicality by any means, and the bi-
ological body exists as only an outgrowth of things deeper and unseen. (time, space, and
spirit) death is not the opposite of life, but is contained within "Life" (nonphysical, subtle
spiritual)

Life Logic, is all which logically has life. Yet, Biology was born of observances made in
life, before death, and, so, include life strictly as beginning and ending within the bounds of
physiciality. Thus, as it is, biology exists as a microstudy of things immediately observable in
our limited scale.

Our natural perspective of New York city, for instance, is based on signals and move-
ment within the city of which we are a member of. We see streetlights, and know their
interaction, we see delivery trucks, and garbage men, and each seem quite normal to us at
that daily percetive of the city that we live.

A single cell moving in patterns through to different parts of the body, setting goals and
fulfilling roles, has a near identical perspective on its existence. While, through evolution, the
single-celled organisms we are composed of today lost a fair amount of individual sense after
the "shift" to multi-cellular organism. This "shift" deserves a lot of attention, because it is not
some small random shift from one thing to another...

627
This is a dramatic and highly organized reversal of biological evolution, the point at which the
individual, fighting alone frantically to survive, ascends to a greater circle of agreed protection.
The primitave loner is brought into The Group, that is the gap over which the shift takes
place. But social pack animals, fighting and living "as one." are only the readying of the shift,
whose potential extends beyond observable biology to Civilization, and the highly organized
interactions and tasks we, now as a Multi-Cellular Organism, can build upward with, the limits
of our organization are defined within the limits of our communication.

Electronic, wire, energetic communications coil in a thousand forms outward from our
hands, mouths, and nervous system. This nerve net merely extends further, enlarging on the
greater External Net (Internet)

monroe_the_fast (2007-02-08 20:53:51)

I found this entry awesome and exciting. It majorly resonates with me.

monroe_the_fast (2007-02-12 06:34:45)

hey check out the lj group called humandress.

The Most Selfish Shave (2007-02-12 04:20) - public

The call girl knows the face only,

The face of a dead man, nodding
Off and off further, out.
Waves, she waves and I nod on.

I hear sighs and close my eyes to them,

I know they are for me, but I dont want them.
I have my own long empty release.
And with each exhale I sink,
Till awakened by the taste of salt.

Kaleb needs a consistent, nurturing caretaker

Kaleb needs to be neutered in a few weeks
KALEB NEEDS MORE APPLE JUICE, DAMMIT!!

They’ll neuter me on 28th street

Out in the Goddamned street, they’ll cut me off.
And I will scream a child’s scream and kick my feet
in a wild tantrum for the sex I’ve been meaning to get around to having.

Sell it, sell babies, sell sperm, sell all there is to love.
Sell it to the highest bidder, fat middle aged bald bidders.
Lonely fucking bitters, huddled over tugging on their cocks.
They have seed money, having sold their fertility and warmth.

Are they chattier up North?

Do they swell up to your voice in the night?
628
I sung once, beautifully, for someone other than myself
And they took it, and it dried up and cracked and is lost.

iztyme2ryde (2007-02-14 18:27:33)

You can’t be neutered! No, no... that’s no good! Chattier up North, hell yes... too chatty. And I’m your
caretaker, you got me so long as the sex you been meaning to have is with me har har. I’d come to
you any time if you asked. I miss ya. Happy V-Day

(2007-02-15 15:01) - public

So refreshing to have animals in my cab once again!

I journeyed out into the tundra’s garbage, and saw a mighty polar bear scavanging. I
tracked him for miles, and then he tracked me...and then we came together in the cab of my
truck and I promised him I’d take his picture. I fell in love with the face of an albino camel,
and wanted it to be my own and so it was. And I took them both back with me, back from
the forest of spirits, and now I am no longer dis-spirited. I felt them the moment I awoke. I
dreamt again, I have their powers, their energy, their friendship, their love, their guidance.
And if I suddenly sing with the tenacity of a bear of the snow, screaming out from down
below, so let it be recorded as I promised him. They know what is coming, what has been
planned, and I must do my part to ensure they shine through me as brilliantly as possible; un-
hindered by my skin they wear. I myself must become without desire, weightless, transparent.

In the hospital for the album "The Man Who Sold The World," Bowie described his jonesing...I
told him I do not yet know this Jones fellow, but that I should like to meet him. That me and
Jimmy Page will partake, and whoever dies first will get the album cover. David laughed,
and there was a spirited rendition of "Oh You Pretty Things" in the church, where those in
attendance, old heavyset preachers, were awakened from their self-conscious silence. And
mother made fart noises on stage, and belittled my psoriasis in song, but she was the fool.

monroe_the_fast (2007-02-15 21:24:25)

So... what is this? A dream? A free-write? Intoxicated writing?

turboswami (2007-02-16 01:13:12)

It was a dream I had after an hour of meditation...before which I had decided to devote the weekend
to a psilosibin vision quest. It was a very vivid dream, where it seemed different spirits were preparing
for my trip with me. I believe that we are not the only one’s who prepare for these intensely spiritual
experiences...

monroe_the_fast (2007-02-16 01:20:13)

I don’t know if you saw my latest entry–the one about snails–but I’m curious about how animals are
affected who eat the mushrooms. Have you tried synthesized psilocibin?

629
March 20th, 2003 (2007-02-15 21:21) - public

Boy oh boy, I sure hate *noun*! Snort and zone, snort and zone....I am not mathemtically
minded, like James....or may just not study-minded like James. He is a nerd and a scoundrel. I
hate the way he does his things and moves his lips with patented Vibrato-Air(c).

It has become obvious to me and all around me that this is a journal entry of avoidance
or distraction. I will not lower to the level of divulging specific nouns, but I admit I feel like I
am in a six foot deep rectangularly shaped hole which I dug with my very own lazy, ignorant
gorging.

I hope to god drugs are the answer, I hope to science injectable nano-robots are the
second answer after the first one fails. Tin can street rivers carry rust salt wheel change
through disinterested spoiled passengers and I. I think of anti-aging face tightening cream
once; I was so young then. 5 thoughts later, I am so old; cold; boldness spent and mind all
told, empty. Is the apex before or after the effects? Will I ever earn my sweat, that beautiful
kind that one can save and admire, show and pride self in the thought of showing off one’s
full vial. No, my sweat is not that kind, not yet if ever...mine is the greasy, sleeping kind; baby
sweat from soft skin.

Rum-Bumble and fumble the names and the dates tumble,

Out and down at rates plateaued pre-jumble.
And I ain’t got the time of all that,
And thats all fine that they call you Pat,
But fire’s fun, labels heat, dry and crumble,
blah blah blah...sex drive of numb bull...
Rap rap, black, rap black and rapping blackie

swarms (2007-02-16 03:30:43)

Hey! Hey Kaleb! Hey, hey watch! Look what I can do when I move my lips and push wind out like so!
I’m the hottest thing since Helen Keller!

swarms (2007-02-16 03:31:52)

And Kaleb, drugs are never the answer. Unless, the question is "what isn’t the answer?" Then, yes,
drugs would be a correct answer.

turboswami (2007-02-16 05:36:24)

Boy, you see your name and...OUT COMES THE AIR, specially filtered through new VIBRA-SPONCE(c)
technology!

(2007-02-17 04:59) - public

http://phet.colorado.edu/simulations/orbits/orbits.swf

We orbit one-another in attention, our personalities big and small;

each oscillating towards his grave...chasing the bright ones who we move so little.
Hoping someday they will come around.
630
monroe_the_fast (2007-02-17 18:54:13)
Yay, I made a collision. Fun tool.

arfinspar (2007-02-19 00:52:11)

did you try all the presets? my favorite one was ’four star ballet’, which was beautiful.. until you let it
run for a while. (i suggest turning the speed up) i can easily see these orbits as metaphor for human
interaction. i mesmerized myself for a little while with that thing..

turboswami (2007-02-19 05:00:46)

Yes, what you do with that preset is change the mass by about 2 or 3 (out of 120) on every other
planet...and they will mirror eachother in strange ways.

(2007-02-17 04:59) - private

http://phet.colorado.edu/simulations/orbits/orbits.swf

We orbit one-another, our personalities big and small;

each oscillating towards his grave...chasing the bright ones who we move so little.
Hoping someday they will come around.

"Oujwer" (2007-02-18 07:14) - empty - public

Sex, and the imagery of a orchestrated wavestate satire, I am not really trying to recall the
image here. I’m not really trying...at anything.

there were 2 bedded waveforms, interacting, with their mattresses upright, and rubbing
side-by-side with one another. This was a joke, the affection was portrayed as clever sarcasm.
Still, they influenced one-another just the same.

I meant to say I had a desire to save a thought that had started to drift ..b ut couldnt

There were egg’s hapes (herpes) hopes formed in patterns of interaction..

but hollow, these were not graded favorably. The image was introduced midway into the
spinning of a snail’s shell, spiralling 0nto itself a thousand times over, it becomes enclosed.

all the thoughts of all the people and everything left unfinished of that cubby is flooded
(I cannot sleep until I have a perfectly formulated excuse for every person in my life)

(2007-02-19 03:39) - public

There was a golden hallway extending forever upwards, and its walls were lined with watching
eyes.
I saw the eyes in keys, I felt an audience of spectators.
631
And, when the intensity finally broke and gave way, something made its presence known
behind me with a loud Thud! Like a chair falling immediately behind me.
And I searched and searched what made the sound, and there was nothing. The room is
essentially bare, but I knew otherwise.

And the furious solos I hammered out loud into the night...my fingers arpeggiating in a
mad electric blur.
And people outside honked their horns when I finished, they showed appreciation for what I
had made. And I had forgotten myself in the music, I had given that much.

It’s a messy thing which I was not prepared for, and I spent hours wallowing in painful
self-disgust; completely without peace, unable to sit still. Anxiety circled in horrid associa-
tions.
But, it was a pain like scalding water and scraping, and my insides needed it.
For, over years, such sickness had condensed within me, and I had forgotten the purity of
emptiness.
and maybe I’ll really change this time.

(2007-02-20 03:23) - public

There’s an interesting pretending that I’ve lost interest in.

I hope it comes back with my words.

pseudonymous (2007-02-25 13:49:49)

You’re weird. I rather like it.

(2007-06-17 11:24:10) z
. Regards

(2007-08-26 18:27:11) Thank You for site

Thank you for your site. I have found here much useful information. Good site ! ;)

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help me for download this great program for free! Thanks!

6.3 March

(2007-03-02 03:39) - public

I am starved of honesty.
They just keep smiling, they never stop.
632
Through the carnage, the thrashing, the disgust
they fucking smile so tight

There’s a dead body hiding stupid beside me

And a live beauty set to hide neath the sound of rustling paper in an hour,
and both use dark red ink, leaving trails of bloody numbers on leaves
And all I can do is run away and sneak back
Every fifteen minutes.

Forever

The sick and weary line up in front of her,

Ready to die.
And she smiles that weak sliding smile.
Empty, dishonest everything.
Hands them a pill in a little white cup.

I imagine hissing through grit teeth and swatting the pills from her hand.
Leaping to the countertop, slicing the air with sharp primal raging eyes.
Direct, forceful rape...pounding that young fertile pubescent girl from behind
Screaming with manhood, in all its honesty! Screaming orgasm, there with her bent over the
desk.

But I spoon the artificial sweetener into my greasy coffee... and stir so little.
I am a weak hunchback, I am dying.

(2007-03-03 04:58:54)
This entry really sucks.

turboswami (2007-03-03 13:56:23)

Why?

The 3rd/3rd Portion of "Notes of Notes" (2007-03-03 06:23) - public

So, many begin with "So"

as a general call to arms horn for the impatient. "There are things I know I sould say, as I am
aware of customs, but would rather not, regardless."

long clock cats with alarm clocks formed to enclose the majority of their head, minus
the area surrounding the ears of the young rat. F\Fgood, in this same office shirt. " sung

log, bone slumps behind the wheel of the pressing vihical. "I’m looiking

How overwhelmit it would be toInstant cube fox, crystalized, markspast not seen since
raptorsGheIsland ccleared night tapes of gorgeous white-green trim, inverteda car of shoe
laces only havetwo rows of seats. Neither fold under.

633
Its a welcom mix, at first....snorting seemed to escalate inwardness, andtooo whirl a
dusty computeranimationthe fear, my face? Was there someone here I was talking to, there,
in front of that fense? Heaviset, but all her childre nsurvived. *campicar boots...campicar
boots" march morning secretaries, grown old

a shitty wooden handmade X-doorblueeeeTeen Angel set the stage, for aSlick poper point
presentation describing the parts of"chaw" that are to be swilled, steeped in spittle, watch
peter david...climb into the back of awireframe man comfortaly sleeping. The sheriff, actually.

kkWas that a snobby person from th eapple orange discctrict, th cycle globicUGET THE
MOENY! tHE THE HELL OUF OT THEREE!""!

But old Fulca wanted to visit, to tell his stories and I think I want some more resepectful
muses here a squareconcrerterectangular discharge with mossadorning the "head" of the
piece, an obsidian or quarts stone of considerable proportions. Rounded and inlaid into the
very top of the cane, the wine ceooer meeting of expensive hygenic products and dtheir se-
crets went as pplanned, with few intertvav miniature triain ex0edi8tions. The family approves
of what little it knows.

-09 lost segments-

I gito’s going to be fine...the reptillian driver who took the seat is resentful, and thats
why he stole it.

"Notes on Notes: The Making Of ’Flame Bleeding Stallions’" (2007-03-04 02:16)

- public

At 12 min mark,
cue 4 mute symbol hits to introduce the anger of the word "NEVER" as it pulls us inwards from
ambience.

13.40:

Sample drum hits, loop, and pitch shift in tempo with square wave modulation of synth

Sample 6 drum loops for 1500 - 1788

Re record synth parts to those sections

Sample intro into 1730, no loop through transition

1825 through to 1910 loop with rim taps out

lone solitary monks once distilled the first whiskeys and liquors...
634
they drank for personal spiritual insight, not for social occasion.
Non recreational drinking?

I felt an internal aspect of myself recede backwards during a long, calm, focused exhala-
tion, in which I was able to hear my internal voice most clearly; to hear, in my own voice,
"Auummmmmmmmm...." as it extends me out, from where I truely speak. I felt the exit
through my front body, it followed the powerful exhale. I felt much calmer afterwards, as if
something of great tension had lifted itself from my body.

As if every breath is heaving buckets of heavy heat from down below, in a well whose
bucket’s rope dangles from the top of that highest, most fullfilling breath you can muster.
Posing for descent, the spine straightens. And, with the inlet your head falls, loose, back to
its place between the shoulders. This first pose is preparation for awakedness...of the surging
crack of morning’s stretch down your slumped spine.

My chest, beating with energy, feels heavier than any other part of my body. Each breath
causes rib cage trembling, as if about to burst.

Such sensitive devices, those of randomidity. The static they monitor is not random at
all, but subject to a powerful range of sensation whose focus ripples across the the electro-
magnetic surface of the room, influencing all nearby devices bouyant to rock about in the wake
of that moment’s splash, grave or otherwise heavy. Influence outward from that moment,
in so many crests and troughs, frequenting over time as radiated from that splash point and
beneath, where breath eventually releases.

I’ve done so much writing in the field of Psychology, that I have come to have defined
words which describe things pre-existing, in cognitive journals and advanced texts. Is it too
much to ask that my explaination of these words, whatever they may be between the paper
they were defined on, be acknowledged as such? For, dare I say, their perspectives may, from
time to time, garnish more insight into a manner of observed behavior, the angle of view from
which I see may show a previously unseen side of the concept, so let those perspectives be
Academically acknowledged.

A LOT OF PEOPLE SPEAK with (THROUGH) THEIR HANDS....

but not for themselves.

And I would assure the patient that he was merely speaking with his hands...and that
his feeling of dissassociation from the moving hand, of being "a puppet" for a moment, is
merely further proof of the incredible capacities of the human mind. And other cliched "The
Most Amazing Machine" Discovery Channel Original Presentation special sounds, recited to
convince this poor fool that his mind has areas devoted to dissassociating bodily control away
from the body’s user. This is hilarious cliche, when considered, but comforts him as he had
nothing to consider.

Accordinig to modern spiritual literature concerning the Samadhi state of deep medita-
tion, those who leave Earth and their physical life by way of this most powerful and "deepest"
of meditative states enter the afterlife with a knowledge of inner-self which affords them great
insight, awareness, and control during that period. It is common knowledge that LSD has, in
several documented studies, induced the meditative state referred to as Samahdi in sects of
635
Vendant Hinduism and Buddhism. It should then be a safe assumption that, when administered
to Cancer Patients in their final days, the documented changes in awareness described by the
Samhadi state may serve to provide some guidance through that "transitional period."

To Dr. Mour:
"There was a time, once in a two week span, where I completely lost it. I dont know what I
would have done without having something to calm me down! It was Ativan, from months
before.....I’m so thankful its there when I need it!"

Perhaps I am set for transcendence, in just this simple life situation which as been af-
forded me, by watchful luck. Beyond us, blindness does not exist. It is merely an earthly
punishment existing only in mere physicality.

Mere mere merely!

Noth-noth-nothing but a turn-over system.
A cycle whose exit involves nothing.
And the wisdom of the luck which to us is blind.

For I have not so closely adhered to the report requirements of properly documented in-
duction, I feel confident that, with concentration, I can recall the times and dosages, in relation
to those portions of writing or music.

Here, reclining in the highly-attentive state of the schizophrenic, mid psychosis, I can lis-
ten and perform with great response in sensation. The body’s fluttering beneath organs which
senses greater thought, inletted through a new inner-perspective, opened.

Brave, for sure, to abandon the building of a skyscraping thought tower, with the with
hopes of being able to recall its every floor, back. This is semantics.

and its metaphor replaced its memory

The 2nd 3rd - "Notes On Notes" (2007-03-04 02:50) - public

Such imagery I dream, I fully fluffed-out cock recedes downward, funnelling attention down
from that boastful mouth, narrowing to his thin legs that extend, like fishing line, down in a
blade of legs projected to meet.

while the mean state of our nutrtrition extends continually upwards, the short term memory
needed to create and package that thought for expression has been expelled; the cache is dry.

There is no writing structure more efficient in the formation of semantic nodes than a
text book.

This is it! This sense of disconectiveness from externality does not last long....is there
any reasonable medication which would extend this sensation, while allowing the main-
tanance of a cohesive and lucid manner? If there is, it should be made known that the side
effect is more beneficial than the intended effect, in this instance.

The speaking of an idea makes it your own, and in reciting as best he can, there amounts a
636
translation-integration with previous knowledge which allows enlightenment from a different
perspective intersecting that shared semantic point. By speaking another’s thought through
yourself, you shine on that idea from a different direction; enlightening a new set of surround-
ing points with your perspective. Personality is merely brilliance shaded. A colored gel over
the lighting of a television studio set and stage.

The comparisons between me and her fired a barrage of associations’ strands. She had
an office, I said "Great office! ...Man, I hope to get myself a personal office someday." and she
chuckled jovial defense of the newfound pride her position, above me, entitled her.

THe quick scraped scalp, scale-pulled, and the scalpel’s blade shall always have a doc-
tor’s case, as it is important and dangerous.

I have images in frothy crayon of great lumbering projects that have framed themselves
in a long

framed themselves...in what time?

there was a movement, like heavy winter clothing rubbing against itself followed by a
females voice saying "Hello?"

Isnt that worth mentioning? The sounds heard in the most subtle of white noises...the
rubbing of clothes against one another being perceived as an articulate means of communica-
tion. The quiet wheezing breathing of an alergic condition in one’s lungs, or a cold? I awoke
to long dialogues which acknowledged my each vocalized thought with an external artificact
detectable in that "medium" sound being recorded. But what influence did I have on that
medium?

It takes such dedication to establish a means of more-directly enabling this one-to-one

...GOD STUFF, ETC

I ride 3 intermingling wavelengths at once, doing my best ensure they compliment ea-
chother as well as 3 waveforms can.

I want, I saw a great peak down the shaft of some Ego release pipette canyon.
Stuggling, I thought of the opposite se xxxxx again, butthis too merely a lie.

because pornography and the lowest sewer feeds of feculant Japanese personality swells,
pockets of repressed sexual cycles, powered by fear of rejection, which encourage while
enabling this genre of mentally-compensatory media.

An impressive trow, stuffy throw. A signal flashes, a flag with a monkey and an impres-
sion of movement and then D. Magnuson (aka: MEGA, BIG D, MEGS) became much more than
a memory to the sensations that folllowed,. (picture of Mega to be added)

I hid the time shape giant apple helicopter eyes. Please consider these the best cathe-
dral gut torn down through this center street...the expressive knocking that waits for me, and
begs for my attention. (Rib Cage Cathedral)

It strays...the association between the mechanics of robotic massage and the EKG of
637
the hightened-stated schizophrenic. An EEG to find those sets of extremes, there as well. How
else could such a state be reproduced if not with some sort of chest-vibrating suit like this one.

The album whose rhythmic/systematic portion is based on the robotic massage sequences,
would have the blueprint diagram explaining the areas of the chest and back those particular
channels were devoted to stimulating. It would be a similarly therepeutic bodly relaxant,
as advertised, if the listener were to simply "plug in" or wear the album’s instrument, while
having its recording play through itself, now worn by the listener.

It would need 6 channels of surround sound, to be directed as a CV output for control of

the actual jackets/chairs. The waste I spend writing about enterntainment and self-distraction.

VC to VOLTAGE CONTROLLED components....?

2113:
loop and sample arpeggiate the end of drum transition into ambience
(perhapse over live, unsampled drum, with parameter knob controls over arpeggiation speed
and timed echo feedback. From that BPM, a rhythmic ambient sequence of the same, previ-
ously recorded submix instru mentsThere are a lot of
distractable media, out there, all around us. We surround yourself in what weF
DRUMMAGOG:focus more on The MIDI to DV conversion, and of sculpted samples beneath
each analogue bass key.
THe hand palm beat...and resonated through the stone being held in that palm so beautifully.
I

monroe_the_fast (2007-03-05 20:04:40)

You had a good night, huh?

turboswami (2007-03-07 19:52:24)

Tee hee *blush* .... Tee hee *blush*

audiomind (2007-03-06 04:17:48)

wow. .just wow.

638
(2007-03-04 06:25) - public

And then I say something

monroe_the_fast (2007-03-05 19:49:26)

That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.

silentwinds (2007-03-10 06:43:41)

How many licks does it take?

(2007-03-05 03:05) - public

I prowl the bare wet streets of downtown on the edge of 4am,

Arthur Brown’s bittersweet trill tugs at me hard and I cry again.
What is it about maniacs? The depths of their downs that makes me hang my head with them
Or for them...so that I can see them.

And maybe someone will bother, someday,

To stoop, forward and downward, to my mind.
So that I, too, can make them cry.
And feel and pound and scream with my echo.

What’s rage? This tiny chair, this xylophone jazz masturbates.

639
I’m rage. This hearth gently stokes me.
My home, receded in a wall I cannot back fully through.
But I hear them waiting on the other side.

I have to get out of here!

turboswami (2007-03-06 08:37:45)

The act of crying is a cliche. The very word is a sign of bad writing. But, there it is and there it is...

silentwinds (2007-03-10 06:39:41)

Your post could make me cry if I wasn’t already.

(2007-03-06 16:49) - friends

There is a woman on the floor with one leg, cntered. She is a flipper baby..she is a mer-
maid.There is a fetish to restraint, yes, but also a fetish of seclusion; the psychology of hearing
a steel door lock behind you, as beingdirectedtowards your corner.

The mermaid is drooling, everything is set up for midnight. When the Doctors arrive,
there will be tranquilizers in the dark. They are the tormented souls, the doctors, and every-
one else wants to be here. The mermaid is drooling, angling her single buttock and flapping
about, approaching.

It is very dark in the hospital hallways, and her body is white, pale, clammy. The bed-
frame she hides herself under has no mattress. Dark and cold, this is how the fetishist likes it.
This is the purpose of the hospital, restraint and seclusion for purposes of arousal.

I am to hide my disgust and appease her sickness. I hush and comfort her, rock her
like a baby. Black, oily snot streams from her nose and mouth onto my chest and stomach. It
soaks though my shirt...it soaks through my skin. Her eyes roll back into her head...

Don’t look at me, I just work here!

swarms (2007-03-07 03:36:23)

[2006-05-08 _064406.jpg]

The Spectrum of Energetic Selfhood (2007-03-15 06:20) - public

For heaven sake, choose carefully who you surround yourself in. They seep through your skin,
be them good or bad. Personalities are watery things and dilute, some more easily than others.
Dilute, and mix and merge until, after 40 or so years, married couples even look alike. They
are the same person, who knows who the hell they were before! It’s a biggie, that choice...the
choice of who you will become, who will meet you halfway.
640
I think a dramatically different, or nearly polar opposite personality, chosen as partner, will fuel
a sudden and robust shift in self.
And other words for clever posing in thought.
"How’s that working out for you...being clever?"
I wish I was! I’m sure my life would flow so much easily and towards success if I were clever as
opposed to honest. This truth business is giving me nothing but stress, as statements of truth
are like heavy brick walls and I vomit them tall and wide and then wait behind them, smiling...
The truth is it’s a nervous smile, the truth my brain has cemented, brick by brick, made stone
by the glaring eye of a serpent’s truth. And, chattering idle observations at it sank, the stone
has settled, without sentiment, sediment surroundings dark, cold, distant.
The residue of the moment of death, the last moment we could possibly change, is held, frozen
and fades beneath the flat line. Those who choose suicide, then, are choosing to spend death’s
extent locked in the depths of that self-torment. That dark mood they greet eternity with
decides their placement in the Non-Physical Heirarchy, the spectrum of energetic selfhood.

erauqs (2007-03-15 18:34:17)

We’ve got the merged personality thing on our mind a lot lately. First significant other that has lasted
almost a year and already we worry that we’ve gotten into a sort of "closed circle" instead of doing
our preferred spiral. We continue it because we ought to try and find out how these things work (long
term relationships) and this one most likely will end in friendship rather than !!! sort of thing. And
truth... truth may set you free but freedom among the enslaved gets lonely.

biscuitboy (2007-03-16 02:07:54)

I have long been worried that if I kill myself, the last few moments of life will become, in my mind, all
of eternity. I worry that I will be trapped with that bitter bile forever. Perhaps that’s what the ideas of
heaven and hell represent: Dying happy and at peace, or in shame and anguish. I guess that’s one (1)
reason I have yet to kill myself.

turboswami (2007-03-18 01:22:50)

Lets hang out again before you die. Greedy, keeping all that shame and anguish to yourself! You’re
selfish!

(2007-03-16 04:19) - public

There’s a leathery knob twisted open on a slave’s back,

and, with that simple flip of her wrist, he blooms apart.
Carnal carnation, his face curls aside flesh
And, in the center of red spun slices bursts upwards his white seed.

Spraying, delicate, from the slave flower she spins,

To carelessly toss, bored with all he has to show.
The curiosity, CLOSED FUCKING CLOSED!!!!!!!!!

HE’S GODDAMNED OPEN NOW!! YOU OPENED HIM YOU WICKED BITCH!
AND SO YOU’VE GROWN TIRED...HA!

641
I will open your eyes WIDE with PAIN, in a single bloody thrust of my fist.
And twist, OH I WILL TWIST IT HARD!
That fucking knife, and suddenly you’re awake?
Not a yawn, but a gasp
Looking down, gushing disbelief...
Right before the pain arrives.

Animal Neglect (2007-03-16 09:37) - public

after a night of inspired creation, my eyes appears fuller, somehow...as if they are about
to leap at me from the mirror. And a restless inner charge that stays with me for a time
afterwards, as if waiting for me to let it out. It’s an animal, impatient and untamed, and it
enters me when that potential opens and, suddenly, the writing is inspired; his firey eyes
shine through mine. And, like a stray dog I have no right to keep, when I neglect him and keep
him caged without an outlet, he simply leaves and I become dull and empty once more. I feel
"dis-spirited."

The Native tribesmen of this area would don the skin of this dog, and dance a loose, en-
trancing dance to make the creature feel at home in their bodies. The night helped, the drums
helped, the fire they danced around helped, and there, at some point deep in that night of
dance, they would lose themselves to spirit. They would enter the trance state, and full control
of their body would be granted to their welcomed guest, the wolf.

Why do animals latch onto us in spirit, and not people? The lesser will always seek out
the greater, and in the realm of spirit we are considered lowly, ignorant beings, deluded in
physicality.

And the greatest of these Native men were said to be able to reverse this order, to en-
ter the animal and to see through their eyes and have their body as his own. The watchful
Night Owl or towering bear was merely the old village trickster in disguise. And so he became
known as a ShapeShifter.

"What Happened? He Seemed So Bright...back then." 8-10-03

(2007-03-16 09:38) - public

eventtime 2003-08-10 03:49:00

subject Induced Trance Remix #9
The Progress Of Rock: The Successful Experiments:
The hardware defines what it carries, the leading edge of music’s most progressive artists
changing with the their technological pallete. Magnetic tape made time an instrument and,
with musique concrete or archaic sampling, time was many different times and could be
organized, sequenced, or spliced at different rates at one time. Thirty seconds of music could
be 2 hours of singing or 10 seconds of oboe, or any sequence of both at any variation of speed.

Without the invention of recorded sound, jazz would not exist. Impovatization cannot be
notated traditionally and so there would be no way for one to have any record of a Louie
Armstrong solo. The Hot Five recordings defined the genre because they were a recording of
impromptu genius shared among musicians who knew and developed eachother’s style.
642
I realized last night that there is a frequency to life/death...and that this frequency, whose
length is unique for every individual, defines the length of the life and death for that individual
for not just one lifetime, but each lifetime of that individual. This idealization of death views
fate as something cyclic, oscillating, kinetic, unchanging.

The patterns of all observable life stipulate that the period of death must balance equally
with the period of its opposite. This defines all energy and its frequency, the ying cannot be
eternal for an 81 year long yang. No, both shall last 81 years, according to the laws of nature,
and likewise...an 81 year long death must precede an 81 year life by this same logic. Karma
involves no morality...the soul is merely a set frequency oscillating through time and space.
This is the science of spirituality

security public
allowmask 0
current _music some tired mother’s sigh
current _mood Yet Lost

(2007-03-18 08:36) - public

Music: "Flame Bleeding Stallions"

[1]For James

[2]For The World

643
1. http://www.veoh.com/videos/v280285mcQD7ZeF
2. http://www.myspace.com/thyfluidmechanics

turboswami (2007-03-18 12:42:17)

I have created a new song called "Flame Bleeding Stallions." I am unhappy with it, can you tell me why?

monroe_the_fast (2007-03-18 16:13:00)

I’m lovin’ the sartres doc. thx.

turboswami (2007-03-18 19:55:56)

THAT WASNT FOR YOU!!@!! You belong only to the world. You do not belong in James.

monroe_the_fast (2007-03-19 00:22:36)

It was the James in me who watched it. James is in all of us.

arfinspar (2007-03-19 01:02:28)

grody.

(2007-03-19 07:40) - public

[1]Oh shucks...it’s morning time and here I am wiping my face.

1. http://youmakemetouchyourhandsforstupidreasons.ytmnd.com/

turboswami (2007-03-19 22:57:18)

Give the audio time to load.

(2007-03-19 22:57:51)
Ok, handsome.

swarms (2007-03-20 01:45:53)

that was awesome you bastert!

(2007-03-21 08:36) - public

Two worlds merge on a wooden bench,

And then three, and then four...
Until the fifth world is forced to stand.
And falls within himself, there
On the carpet, leaning against the radiator under the window

Each brings a different place with him,

And offers it up to share before the day begins.
Each brings a different sound, a view, a door,
And brush against one another’s sight in a crack.
644
(2007-03-28 04:44) - public

I sometimes cannot believe that this is real, that I am really here, doing this or that. It simply
seems too fake, this person, this scene. I will surely wake up soon and all these memories will
disolve back into greater memories and I will be back. This sensation of the illusory nature of
myself and what I do while I do it can be very disorienting and makes for a sort of numbness in
seperation from my moving hands and a strange tingle that can spread if I let it. All becomes
very alient for a moment, as I watch from beside myself.

I sometimes feel so close to something, entranced of insomnia, that when I close my

eyes all sound leaves. And I must fight to fit back into the room, I must fight whatever has
replaced me there in the gate. And the vision doubles as it surfaces slowly, unable to fully
regain composure, my eyes drift back.

biscuitboy (2007-03-28 18:59:51)

I often get the sensation that I can reach out, grasp the scene in front of my eyes, and rip it down like
so much wallpaper. I wonder what kind of machinery is behind there, supporting it all.

6.4 April

Overheard In New York City (2007-04-10 02:00) - public

Professor hobo: Now listen, folks. You got them crazies preachin’ the end of the world. They’s
saying God’s gonna come and un-begat us all the way to Adam. I’m not like that. I’m not.
Listen – I’m not – so listen, okay? Listen. See, I’m a man of science. No heavenly undoing
here. There’s a black hole comin’ this way. Those niggas comin’ at like a thousand light miles
an hour. I don’t need no wheelchair super-talk from my computer to know that. It’ll come and
it’ll steal your children. Pull ’em from bed and rape ’em and eat ’em. That’s what them black
holes do. Eat you. You and your children. Science!

–7 train

The Cavern Of Webs (2007-04-23 05:35) - public

For ever person in our life, a strand

Extending beneath us to them,
The few who have touched most closely,
Live on my most delicate heart strings,
And feel every quiver and tug of my soul
Along a web woven underground.
To a cavernous sea, our throats deep wells,
Whose bucket a dream hung from that strand
Weatherworn awash in that see we can but feel.
Asleep, bobbing subject to the web and the waves,
And the swimmers who wait to hold us again.
645
And the deepest seas whales, demon’s and kings,
Who, watching, could make our well’s mouth a geiser.
As easily as they could yank or cut handfuls of strings,
To a puppet they want to watch dance or sing.

For The Young Who Want To (2007-04-25 01:52) - public

Talent is what they say

you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done

after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you

had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don’t have a baby,
call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.’s,

take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else’s mannerisms

is that every artist lacks

a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you’re certified a dentist.

The real writer is one

who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.

646
turboswami (2007-04-25 05:53:51)
-Marge Piercy

alex27782 (2007-04-25 06:28:40)

Word.

monroe_the_fast (2007-04-25 17:35:47)

Very nice

swarms (2007-04-25 18:10:39)

You need this [heinoan9jb3.jpg]

turboswami (2007-04-26 08:32:50)

Heino is the German Roy Orbison. Isnt he...dreamy?

swarms (2007-04-26 09:10:32)

Are you absolutely certain he isn’t the Martian Roy Orbison?

Cudighi: Eat It, Shut Up. (2007-04-26 05:28) - public

[1]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cudighi

This is a flavorful spiced meat whose entire existance, apparently, begins and ends within a
10 mile radius of my house.
I’d been using the word for years down here, and had always wondered why nobody knew
what the hell I was talking about.
I had just assumed they were ign’ant of fine Italian cuisine.
1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cudighi

the2minh8 (2007-04-26 15:17:24)

huh. is there any chance you are interested in going to the following fine establishment so that i might
try some cudighi: Big Bon’s Exotic Dance Club (Mc Farland, MI)? have you ever been to this place? i
have never had this cudighi crap but it sounds delicious.

avsquad (2007-04-26 19:54:55)

i was just about to comment on this fine sounding establishment.

theloniouszen (2007-04-26 21:41:50)

http://www.bigbons.com/index.html watch out for the uglies

the2minh8 (2007-04-26 23:29:15)

seems like a hot ticket, and a very high quality website complete with 90 % broken image links.
only a couple of girls i would kick out of bed, too. i would feel an odd compulsion to go check it out,
but it’s about a six hour drive.

647
 turboswami (2007-04-27 05:10:03)
haha! Maybe sometime in the summer we can journey to my distant homeland, and enjoy a hearty
brew and signiture spiced meats! Adventure awaits! *places shiny black boot on a large barrel of
rum, which, for whatever reason, sits near my desk at work*

turboswami (2007-04-27 05:20:34)

No, I’ve not yet been to Big Bons. The Wayside Bar (Ishpeming, MI) is an ancient gangster bar behind
my house, a few miles into the woods. Its completely decked out with plush red leather, and the UP’s
finest fatties, once upon a time, would travel into the woods to dance there for the rich iron miners on
payday. Their cudighi is, by far, the best I’ve ever had. It is homemade by the bar’s owner, according
to my sister who bartended there for many years.

6.5 May

The Sea That Hides (2007-05-02 17:54) - public

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2464139837181538044

I love the bit on Tesla. In his autobiography, Tesla describes, as a child, being completely
blinded by sudden flashes of brilliant blue/white light. Falling to the ground, unable to see
through the brilliance of his own mind, he would wait, helplessly, for the light to subside. His
was described as being intelligent to a supernatural degree. At night, he would not sleep, but
enter a trance-like state in which he would meet and interact with entities not-of-this-world,
and journey with them, learning and teaching. He to often come to know these night people
better than he knew his everyday friends and family, forming close relationships with people
who did not physically exist.

(2007-05-10 03:33) - public

Journey with me, for a moment, into the REALM OF THE UNKNOWN!!

In that moment, realize that I can never come back.

Then come back.

For Only Anal Sex Shall Keep You Pure (2007-05-10 08:20) - public

http://www.sexinchrist.com/index.html

avsquad (2007-05-10 13:51:58)

"A Strong Erection is a Gift from God"

the2minh8 (2007-05-10 15:11:41)

this guy is either a great prophet, or just some dude who loves buttfucking young christian prudes.

648
 the2minh8 (2007-05-10 15:11:58)
or both.

avsquad (2007-05-10 15:15:24)

i’d vote both. i also really enjoyed the article about fisting: "Before attempting fisting, a Christian
husband and wife should pray together and ask for divine guidance. The husband should ask that
God guide his hand and work through him, and for the skill and patience to fist his wife correctly
and maximize her pleasure. The wife should pray for openness and readiness to receive God’s love
and grace in the form of her husband’s hand."

monroe_the_fast (2007-05-10 16:48:55)

Work safe?

avsquad (2007-05-10 17:32:13)

not at all.

the2minh8 (2007-05-10 18:41:29)

i’m afraid you won’t approve of much of what this guy has to say. his biblical interpretations seem to
justify his own personal, hetero sexual fantasies and predilections, while condemning those of others.
he is cool with: - male/female anal sex, oral sex and fisting - threesomes involving one man and two
women - female/female sex he is not cool with: - male/male sex of any kind - threesomes involving
two men and one woman

monroe_the_fast (2007-05-10 19:43:57)

Thanks for screening the internet for me. I hope I never have to come across anything heterosexual-
centric cuz when I do I might get real upset.

avsquad (2007-05-10 20:12:50)

zing!

the2minh8 (2007-05-10 22:02:50)

i’m just saying, you’re probably not going to want to join his cult.

turboswami (2007-05-11 00:52:02)

Wait...are you saying I’m gay? Here I am, just trying to post a wholesome Christian link for my
God-fearin friends to learn from and enjoy, and you have to barge in flinging these wild accusations!
*casually hides unmarked VHS tape*

turboswami (2007-05-11 00:47:20)

Everybody knows it’s not safe to read about the Bible at work. Because jobs are da devil!

avsquad (2007-05-10 20:17:43)

every new article i skim makes me love this site more. "The Necessity of Swallowing - The Sin of
Spilling Seed" "Masturbating for the Glory of God" just awesome.

turboswami (2007-05-11 00:46:01)

Have you decided if it’s an elaborate joke or not yet?

649
 avsquad (2007-05-11 01:02:55)
i feel like it must be....if it was serious i think there would be a lot more in the way of contact
information and the like, because what’s the point in preaching if you can’t make any money?

the2minh8 (2007-05-14 03:36:23)

well, spreading god’s word, ryan. that’s the point of preaching. and spreading other things, like
virgin christian ass cheeks.

Inspiration (2007-05-11 02:13) - public

One can distinguish several types of inspiration, which intergrade, as all things do in this fluid
and interesting world of ours, while yielding gracefully to a semblance of classification. A prefa-
tory glow, not unlike some benign variety of the aura before an epileptic attack, is something
the artist learns to perceive very early in life. This feeling of tickly well-being branches through
him like the red and the blue in the picture of a skinned man under Circulation. As it spreads,
it banishes all awareness of physical discomfort – youth’s toothache as well as the neuralgia
of old age. The beauty of it is that, while completely intelligible (as if it were connected with a
known gland or led to an expected climax), it has neither source nor object. It expands, glows,
and subsides without revealing its secret. In the meantime, however, a window has opened, an
auroral wind has blown, every exposed nerve has tingled. Presently all dissolves: the familiar
worries are back and the eyebrow redescribes its arc of pain; but the artist knows he is ready.

monroe_the_fast (2007-05-11 16:59:38)

Thanks for sharing it.

turboswami (2007-05-17 08:19:34)

Vladimir Nabokov, "Inspiration" This passage, as clearly as I have ever been able to, describes the
entrance of The Muse into one’s body.

(2007-05-17 04:39) - public

There is always something a person could say. At any given point in time, I could blurt out
whatever horrible little thought is running through my head, or, more often then not, the
thoughts about horrible little thoughts I’m not having, but must avoid giving the impression of
having. This complex is one composed of a shell of sorts, which surrounds the more-common
thought of hiding horrible little thoughts that you are actually having. And the eyes follow it
all, shifting to the melody like a toe you cannot help tapping. And, perhaps, it is just that my
song has become too Infectious for me to ignore.

Hay wire, dancing in the fray are mites I identify with. They only know the warmth of
the hum in the chewed cords they call theirs. And I "know" that their home is actually mine.
MINE MINE! Deeper yet, and still this clutching of broken housewares; clutching TO them, as if
convinced will keep me afloat, as I had been told they would. But the mite fears work no more
than the hum, and both fullfill their duties without the ambiguity or doubt that plagues us lazy
degenerates of the dreamy glass ceiling.
650
(2007-05-17 20:38) - public

I travelled far in dream, as I haven’t in some time. There, old friends prepared me for some-
thing which was approaching, stacking my arms full of armour, weapons, and informative
illustrated brochures featuring, among other things exotic Asian masks. The head of this
school, a man I feel as though I have never liked or respected, kissed my cheeks, giving me
his blessing and sending me off into battle.

I was then brought back, and saw the streets of Grand Rapids stretch out before me
from the sky. A gentle woman spoke to me as we flew:

"Soldiers once lined before you into the distance, as far as you can see these streets."

Again, these very meaningful dreams of guidance always come immediately before I in-
tend to experiment further with psychedelics. Awaking from these intense vivid dreams
always, an equally-intense buzzing sensational is felt through the body, but especially the
chest, head, and eyes. Closing my eyes again creates a vivid mesh of light, kalaidoscopic
patterns of brilliance, geometric in nature, which turn and evolve with great complexity.
With very vivid or lucid dreams, these patterns are strong enough to surface in my waking
vision, until dimming and dispersing into the shadowy corners of the room. I awake spiritually
refreshed, often with a goal not set by me, with a residual resonance in my chest which does
not disolve away, but stays with me through the day.

(2007-05-22 04:34) - public

A silent trophy won beneath,

A winning that no one can see,
A loss which was bound to surface.
There are spirits who open gate after gate for my troubled mind, hoping I’ll rush through.
Only to watch, dissapointed, as I lay down.
The trouble of the mind, one dying neuron in the Mind of Minds, is one whose core existed
before me, before this body. The trouble was one I’ve untangled and retightened through lives
and lives. Flinging my knotted soul around me with the raging impatience of a child, unable to
tolerate the painfully slow, deliberate loosening of each tightened knot, one by one. And so,
whithered and asphyxiated is my spirit; obstructed by itself in turn, the surrounding stream of
eternal bliss is lost to my impenetrable gordian vessel.

(2007-05-27 21:24) - public

There is nothing more truthful than silence, for the very act of speech began as a lie. As
entertaining and consuming as it was, our first utterance was scripted. Careless, we enacted
in acting, in acting in acting, in convoluted roles of spiraling layers, confident we could step
out of any character, chosen for that moment on a whim. But when pretending hardens, the
role we ride is one whose mirror no longer changes.
651
(2007-05-30 04:25) - public

Dialects flow, swirling through a stream of men.

With them, the mannerisms and customs of a pocket of culture, dispersing.
Awash in sense, we see only surface for our eyes are weak beneath.
We scream through water and are heard by those of a different language.
We speak where speech is useless and are understood by those whose medium we only half
inhabit.
Dancing, our elaborate distraction mere entertainment.
Powerful waters flow further down, flung by musclular blue arms where light does not reach.

6.6 June

(2007-06-03 02:03) - public

Sliver, a bleeding mongrel spins away from I, predator.

Shiver away the cold of the dying job I’ve become
Shiver awake to feel what is left of the sun on all that is too late.
And a 2-in-1 Shampoo and Conditioner to marinade the pieces I cut off.
I sanitize the surface of rot, spray it with Lysol and Prozac, and wheel it back to its moaning
bed.
Fresh Lemon Scent cannot hide the smell of decay, and I take that smell home with me, carry
it in my clothes, it sinks through my skin, I feel it in my blood.

"I’m Disabled," she claims with a mouth full of butter.

The "s" spills out of her mouth onto the cover sheet of the assistance form, and saturates
outward from the splattermark.

I sharpen my pencil with a long sharp knife.

I have no intention of using the pencil.
But I do have intentions.

swarms (2007-06-03 21:04:02)

If your writings were boobies, they’d be double D’s!

the2minh8 (2007-06-04 00:05:05)

perky, with medium-small nipples.

undercutt (2007-06-08 02:18:41)

I remember you. Are you still around?

turboswami (2007-06-08 04:43:40)

I remember you. I’m quitting my job at The Asylum in Grand Rapids and coming home next week.
Wild summer misadventures! Are you still around?

652
 undercutt (2007-06-18 03:27:23)
I’m living in Salisbury.. the Jewel of Ishpeming.

Things I Know About And Am Willing To Share (2007-06-04 05:00) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _1

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _1

Wonder Showzen is a very dark funny-ha-ha show with kids...only mature.

Get yours today!

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%261%26%26%26youtube%26y
BQxPUBks_U%3Afb422e116c45bc43fbc14a893f22529ba1bf0d48&
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%261%26%26%26youtube%26y
BQxPUBks_U%3Afb422e116c45bc43fbc14a893f22529ba1bf0d48&

theloniouszen (2007-06-04 21:09:44)

http://www.ifilm.com/episode/16146 PATIENCE!

turboswami (2007-06-05 06:08:14)

That one wasn’t the best. The whole reverse thing, eh... BIRTH! http://www.ifilm.com/video/2774802
http://www.ifilm.com/video/2774803

(2007-06-11 03:45) - public

What blooms of mind but sight?

And all the sight I’d never let through to be seen,
is of light so bright its focus opens a flame;
An inward-carnation spread apart to see.

Catch glimpses on your tongue, curled out for the first time,
Every glimpse is different and infinately-intricate
And the brisk air opens your eye’s wells to breath
And your spine to tingle those sparks upwards.

653
Past insights are mere fragments...
From this height, the whole is visible.
I had never, before now, understood self and other.
And I had never, before now, known the purpose of evolution.

Thin silver strand, stay strong and tight,

To keep me here through these storms.
I have much to say before goodbye.
I have much to do before the cut.

Prepare, World, To Make A Place (2007-06-16 00:59) - public

What is it of that rejection that hurts so much?

Is it the understanding which popularity ignores?
Or the simply-drawn line of intolerance for difference?
I’d like to believe it was that line that placed me in that headlock,
And dragged me away from those who had accepted me for a moment.

What can I tell them, but mistakes they make now that I made once.
And so resonates my precaution in seeing my mistakes repeated by the ignorant.
Ignored are my explanations of scene, and such is the pain of calmness.
Difference shall never be tolerated by those who define acceptance.

Deaf ears in sex do not discern,

Wisdom above flirtation.
Mine is an ugly word,
Spoken as a goodbye which I hide in apology.

The last word: the last empty wish.

I crouch opposite of those whose excuses lay across my back.
And the limelight is left mine,
To draw memory using the salt of our tears.

(2007-06-16 01:06) - public

How long can you ignore yourself??

Before isolation breaks in to reveal ego’s crack to the sun.
Everything below has gone blind in distraction.
Please, let me know the words to describe my vision,
And let future know enough to read, searching.

Self-important, self-reductant, self-absorbent.

Be true, through the important points which arise.

I am sorry for these delusions of grandeur.

I’d like to believe I’d proven some aspect of perspective, unique.

654
aseverednerve (2007-06-23 08:11:30)
do i know you?

turboswami (2007-06-28 23:05:58)

I dont think so. I just like the way you say things. I think I found you through a Grand Rapids
community or something.

doctor_stan (2007-06-29 00:10:09)

[1]here is the walkman distortion

1. http://brokenpants.com/?page_id=211
turboswami (2007-06-29 06:40:38)
This looks great. I wonder if a Pot on the read head solder points would let you change the distortion
amount. I’ll experiment with this, for sure. I have about 4 old walkman’s lying about. I’m currently
sitting on the sidewalk outside of the old Butler Theater...downtown Ishpetucky. Its 2:40 in the
morning..and a brisk 44 degrees. Also, are you free this weekend for casual collaboration? I have yet
to give my new studio wiring-scheme a go

doctor_stan (2007-06-29 20:33:47)

i could swing by on sunday i think, if thats ok with you.

turboswami (2007-06-30 22:59:25)

Yea. My number is 486-6451. I’m having a bon fire party tonight, if you are in the neighborhood.

All Summer Returns With (2007-06-29 00:27) - public

23 young scenesters plan in piles, layered in varying degrees of paralysis. The loudest the
most memorable, the ugly stares burn unforgetting personas surfaced hollow-brittle in a
quarter-lost dive. Impressions weighed on meat-spoken scales, my helpless distraction keeps
occupied these eyes, driving long silence towards the lone nowhere I’ve closed.

Over try, sweat fists clutching at the remnants of manner…and cover all I can with drink
after drink. I’m trapped outside, brave jabs recede back into a damaged, drug-ravaged actor
staging his escape.

Subtle Field Theory (2007-06-29 00:29) - public

Belief that thought and attention both carry influence below the capacity of human awareness.

The Subtle Awareness Field (SAF) becomes apparent only when the physical senses are
adequately calmed.

Thoughts manifest externally in the SAF. Involved scientific study would focus on those
spiritually-advanced enough to know of this field…if they would be so kind as to humor our
scientific curiosity
655
(2007-06-29 00:30) - public

Lugged, carried, drug, carted like a weighty appliance.

Carted up these stair, a body of voluminous fluff.
The “X’s” in these eyes glimmer, black.
The void-infinate of a cloudless night’s reflection.
Owning all reflected there-in, like a lover’s gaping palm.

(2007-06-29 00:34) - public

6-18-07

Seventeen is the youngest she’ll teach…

And we are all still easily-distracted toddlers in attention.
Show me a greater school, father.

As so many times before, my chest throbbed vibrant as I held it within, and the bed
throbbed with it’s every beat.

“Show me…show me…show me.” I pleaded, meditating. My legs felt vibrant, and the
weight moved up them once more. The air around me grew cold as the vibration moved
upwards. This was my welcome home.

Eyes of guardian saw through the dark to me, and the beast tore out to my left in gap-
ing red.

Internal Determinism (2007-06-29 00:38) - public

If the determinist assumes all occurrence has an observable, physical cause, than what shall
be the name of the man who believes in an unseen determinant? All which flows beneath
the surface of the currance shall be ignored? While standing in a stream, do we doubt the
force felt against our unseen feet? Like the invisible current traveling beneath the surface of a
copper wire, the observable is merely a medium for an unseen, internal determinant. Energy
of all ranges influence through mediums of space, self, and time in this manner of subtle,
Internal Determinism.

Indeterminant occurrence, then, is often merely labeled as such because no observable

cause is apparent. Seemingly random happenings do, however, have cause and this cause
acts internally, within the medium of space, self, or time. The unpredictable nature of
observable occurrence stems from its immeasurable number of subtle causes, not from a lack
of cause. The immeasurability of this causation does not make it random, but, rather, beyond
the capacity of our analysis and, thus, our prediction.

How can a non-physical entity control a physical substance? How does thought produce
brain activity?

6-18-07

656
How many years have pulled away?
Where a long black shadow watches
I know this tugging and have recited for these ghosts before.

6.7 July

(2007-07-01 21:20) - public

Try staring, try falling, try all you have feared.

Try letting hallucination define reality.
Try accepting night vision as fact.
And then rationalize yourself inward.
In to all of which you had com to doubt.
And then make a home in superstition.
Make a belief system out of that rare experience.
And write the new mythos.

Feel nice, feel so nice, until you forget your obligations.

Feel so relaxed that your purpose is forgotten.
And all you once dreamed of yourself is lost in comfort.
Till all you are is inspiration, remembered barely, forgotten by drunks.

Truth, gushing from a calm opening, is all that cuts through.

It cuts through knowledge, it cuts through personality.
It shines through eyes, it wets their fickle listening.
I recognize worth and set myself afloat in the tapestry of the world.

Bandwidth of colors, organized between the populace of the world.

Beyond death and our band of defined life exists conscious’ of many types.
Lives in lives, below and above, of a million frequencies, of a million planes.
Beyond physicality, like attracts like and our thoughts define our place.

(2007-07-06 01:06) - public

Alone is harder, but people make things harder, yet.

I cross my own thoughts from my daily list.
They are no longer a priority.
Today will be an ignorant day,
A day for getting things done.

The flashes of light continue,

Sparks zig-zagging from my feet,
And blue-white exposures near my head.
They expose themselves near my peak.

Currents of blue diamonds pulse overhead.

Reoccurring oaks invert down the room,
657
Their skyward roots drink in the diamond’s frequency.
And change its form through vibrant inward fruit.

Today will be a day of fruit-picking,

A day for getting things done.
Tonight will be a night of listening,
A night for meeting old friends.

The Story Of The Season (2007-07-06 01:06) - public

The salt worms maintain the shape and color of that which they consume.
Thus immortalizing their prey.
During their mating season, they swarm whole seaside towns.
Mothers, children, police officers, all forever enclosed,
By the translucent shell of a thousand hungry salt worms.

Back into the bookstore, to the movie section.

Each title is a glowing strawberry, arranged in a beautiful mini-town.
Movies of particular importance are tiny red men.
When their feet are planted into the ground, they glow their title in their chest.

Line up at your desk for the water drinking competition.

An insistent equal demands a free show,

I insisted, if he were truly equal, I could do no better.

swarms (2007-07-06 08:50:06)

[eraserhead.jpg]

(2007-07-06 01:08) - public

The corporation should become a more integral part of the family, and children should be
“work-schooled” into the ways of that family’s particular field.

The sons of competent workers tend to be competent workers, and by slowly cutting off
the outlier “incompetence” from the organization, an generational evolution of the organiza-
tion and its strains of labor.

Like the body, role specialization is something bred over many generations of cells. Tis-
sues distanced themselves and, in doing so, separated to breed and multiply amongst
themselves only. By doing so, they formed a “Nation” of sorts, with its own purpose and
“belief system.” Eventually, they lost the potential functions available to them in that “stem”
state, as whatever is not used is pruned over a lifetime.

658
Until segregation of roles is assigned among peoples, the “whole” will slowly dilute pre-
vious segregational species characteristics.

(2007-07-06 01:08) - public

I wrong side myself, and my buoyant spirit tugs me upwards to my place.

Tugs and thrashes until my heavy body bleeds at the cord attachment.
Unable to rise, I bleed until weak, until I lose consciousness.
Welcome Home.

Seniors Are The Big Kids (2007-07-26 02:55) - private

"Bus Poem" - 5th Hr, Mr. Bradley

9-13-99

Groomed for change

The schedualed voyage began
Choking feet drowned in stuffy shoes
And a clawing sweater of death to match
My lackidaisical crust was beginning to chip off
And I hadn’t even gotten on the bus!

’Round the corner, my brain exploded

When I saw those hateful flashing lights arrive
With me not there to greet them

Holding back shameful moist acts

I realized my ground was a stage
Only then did I see that all behind me
Were my wretched wireless wide ruled friends

Mind tempo increased as I turned and made haste

In the act of the sickening retrieval.
By the time the collection
Had come to conclusion
The were heard roaring with anger.

My pride was all shot

As I got on that bus
Huffing from the sprint to the door.

Faces said it all as I looked down a hall

Of rejection and yellow toothed cruelty

With out a single friendly seat

I felt like bothersom dead-meat
As the bus left port with me standing.

659
WIth fear in my face
The crule told me my place
Far below them on the cold wet floor.

Sticky gum mixed with sand

(2007-07-26 02:58) - private

Must Kill T.V.

10-26-99

Samual sat at the foot of the couch

Absorbing the late night news through his oily flesh
Mother’s tired feet sprawled over his lap.
His mid was comfortable and well-entertained.
His mind grew soft and ignorant as his
eyes remained fixed at the glowing box of hate.
Father was celebrating the end of a long day
with the help of Budweiser and his Lay-Z-Boy.
They all lay huddled around the electronic hearth.
They all cherish this - the only time they share as a family.

The animated depictions of rape, gore and death titilate their nulled senses
and paint a beautiful, plot-thickening picture of how the world works.

Samual marches to school the next day fully equipped with his newly injected
morals and ideals of rape, gore, death and torture.

Samual reflects the light of his diseased culture through his mental prism and
creates a beautiful Satanic specctrum of multi-colored corpses.

swarms (2007-08-18 01:35:42)

[lolshit5pt.jpg]

6.8 August

(2007-08-23 17:55) - public

Watery bed for the thinking man,

Dream by drowning after a long day of defining evil.
Think of a creek, a thief, a key cut sparks fly upwards in recognition.
A secret identity long forgotten is reawakened with a kiss
On his shoe.

Did the professor hurt you?

Cartilage: the only thing on a bloater to hold its shape.
660
Please don’t deny my erection, black lady.
A typing Mexican is a smart Mexican

Nobody, nothing, etc...

6.9 September

Expeditions in China... (2007-09-02 00:57) - public

Hello Kaleb’s friends. This is Teasha and not Kaleb. Upon his request I am posting this to
update you all on his China situation. He is there and well, although livejournal is blocked by
their giant country-wide firewall known as "the great wall" (ironically).

Here’s some updates incase any of your are curious. Direct from Kaleb.

"People stop dead in their tracks, walking or riding with others, so that they can turn
around and watch me as I walk away from them. When the pass, they turn their heads
completely around so that they can continue staring. I wouldnt feel as weird about it if I had
another American with me. It’s rough being the only one and I wish this school wasn’t so
fucking half-assed as to have only one of us. There are better schools I could go to, that pay
better, have many American staff, and are in a big city with a night life and everything else.
But it is too close to the new school semester (tomorrow) and I could transfer only for next
semester, I fear."

He is located 8 hours from Shanghai, where he thought he’d be living. He has a three
room studio apartment and is the only American around. No one speaks English and they all
stare and scream in their foreign words about him.

Incase anyone should want to mail him or anything call me, and I can give you informa-
tion for how to contact him (906) 362-0806

(2007-09-08 11:54) - public

There are limitations to fire,

and the fuel which feeds one’s light will end.
The brighter and more brilliant the flame,
the faster to be lost all of that raw passion
Which will never return.

Try, stoke and blow madly at what now smolders...

Dizzy yourself over embers, cry in the sting of smoke.
The bon fire you meticulously constructed for that one short night
Is forgotten.
All who saw you smile across the brilliance
Have gone home.

Curl up into ash, smear it upon your wet face.

661
Old, grey is your color and you prepare for bed, there,
On the remnants of spent passion.

Excerpt from "The Autobiography of Nikola Tesla" (2007-09-09 00:34) - public

"In my boyhood I suffered from a peculiar affliction due to the appearance of images, often
accompanied by strong flashes of light, which marred the sight of real objects and interfered
with my thoughts and action. They were pictures of things and scenes which I had really
seen, never of those imagined. When a word was spoken to me the image of the object it
designated would present itself vividly to my vision and sometimes I was quite unable to
distinguish whether what I saw was tangible or not. This caused me great discomfort and
anxiety. None of the students of psychology or physiology whom i have consulted, could ever
explain satisfactorily these phenomenon. They seem to have been unique although I was
probably predisposed as I know that my brother experienced a similar trouble. The theory I
have formulated is that the images were the result of a reflex
action from the brain on the retina under great excitation. They certainly were not halluci-
nations such as are produced in diseased and anguished minds, for in other respects i was
normal and composed. To give an idea of my distress, suppose that I had witnessed a funeral
or some such nerve-wracking spectacle. The, inevitably, in the stillness of night, a vivid
picture of the scene would thrust itself before my eyes and persist despite all my efforts to
banish it. If my explanation is correct, it should be possible to project on a screen the image of
any object one conceives and make it visible. Such an advance would revolutionise all human
relations. I am convinced that this wonder can and will be accomplished in time to come. I
may add that I have devoted much thought to the solution of the problem.

I have managed to reflect such a picture, which i have seen in my mind, to the mind of
another person, in another room. To free myself of these tormenting appearances, I tried
to concentrate my mind on something else I had seen, and in this way I would often obtain
temporary relief; but in order to get it I had to conjure continuously new images. It was not
long before I found that I had exhausted all of those at my command; my ’reel’ had run out as
it were, because I had seen little of the world – only objects in my home and the immediate
surroundings. As I performed these mental operations for the second or third time, in order
to chase the appearances from my vision, the remedy gradually lost all its force. Then I
instinctively commenced to make excursions beyond the limits of the small world of which I
had knowledge, and I saw new scenes. These were at first very blurred and indistinct, and
would flit away when I tried to concentrate my attention upon them. They gained in strength
and distinctness and finally assumed the concreteness of real things. I soon discovered that
my best comfort was attained if I simply went on in my vision further and further, getting new
impressions all the time, and so I began to travel; of course, in my mind. Every night, (and
sometimes during the day), when alone, I would start on
my journeys – see new places, cities and countries; live there, meet people and make friend-
ships and acquaintances and, however unbelievable, it is a fact that they were just as dear to
me as those in actual life, and not a bit less intense in their manifestations.

I was about twelve years of age when I first succeeded in banishing an image from my
vision by wilful effort, but I never had any control over the flashes of light to which I have
referred. They were, perhaps, my strangest and [most] inexplicable experience. They usually
occurred when I found myself in a dangerous or distressing situations or when i was greatly
exhilarated. In some instances i have seen all the air around me filled with tongues of living
662
flame. Their intensity, instead of diminishing, increased with time and seemingly attained a
maximum when I was about twenty-five years old.

While in Paris in 1883, a prominent French manufacturer sent me an invitation to a shooting

expedition which I accepted. I had been long confined to the factory and the fresh air had
a wonderfully invigorating effect on me. On my return to the city that night, I felt a positive
sensation that my brain had caught fire. I was a light as though a small sun was located
in it and I passed the whole night applying cold compressions to my tortured head. Finally
the flashes diminished in frequency and force but it took more than three weeks before they
wholly subsided. When a second invitation was extended to me, my answer was an emphatic
NO!

These luminous phenomena still manifest themselves from time to time, as when a new
idea opening up possibilities strikes me, but they are no longer exciting, being of relatively
small intensity. When I close my eyes I invariably observe first, a background of very dark
and uniform blue, not unlike the sky on a clear but starless night. In a few seconds this
field becomes animated with innumerable scintillating flakes of green, arranged in several
layers and advancing towards me. Then there appears, to the right, a beautiful pattern of
two systems of parallel and closely spaced lines, at right angles to one another, in all sorts of
colours with yellow, green, and gold predominating. Immediately thereafter, the lines grow
brighter and the whole is thickly sprinkled with dots of twinkling light. This picture moves
slowly across the field of vision and in about ten seconds vanishes on the left, leaving behind
a ground of rather unpleasant and inert grey until the second phase is reached. Every time,
before falling asleep, images of persons or objects flit before my view. When I see them I know
I am about to lose consciousness. If they are absent and refuse to come, it means a sleepless
night. To what an extent imagination played in my early life, I may illustrate by another odd
experience..."

[1]The Autobiography of Nikola Tesla

There are many things about Tesla’s descriptions that struck me. The sudden flashes of
light that I have experienced around my field of vision, and have described in this journal
seemed, for him, to be completely overwhelming. The fact that he states this brilliant light
accompanies moments of danger or profound inspiration implies a conscious nature to the
"entity," or an awareness seperate of his own making itself apparent; guarding him in those
moments of danger. This implied awareness is rooted in my own rationalization of these
occurances, as experienced by myself, which I am merely applying to him.

The vivid visualizations he describes seeing while closing his eyes are also similar my
own, which I experience, again, to a lesser degree. My closed-eye visions, interestingly, have
changed from childhood, becoming more elaborate and colorful with the expansions afforded
me by psychedelic experimentation.

As a child, the black field would, initially, be speckled with many small points of white
arranged along a plane. These points would multiply rapidly, fizzling upwards towards me,
as I fell towards the planar surface which held them. Passing through this, more colorful
constructs and figures would make themselves apparent, always beginning from my left
side and dissappearing at my right. I had always simply assumed, back then, that this was
commonplace and that everyone saw the fizzling madness before bed each night. It wasn’t
until my teens that I began to ask people exactly what they saw when they closed their eyes,
663
trying to make sense of the fact that most of my friends claimed they saw nothing at all.

At 25 years old, Tesla says this brilliance, the sun resident in his mind, mostly subsided.
Kinda sucks, being 25...
1. http://amasci.com/tesla/biog.txt

the2minh8 (2007-09-10 18:04:17)

i intend to read this post at some point, but it is of intimidating length so it will have to wait. i think
that a good strategy for tricking me into reading these long things is to chop them up into smaller
pieces and post one every couple days. it would be like a blog serial, to which your readers could look
forward with great anticipation.

Your Wife Is Dead And You Still Suck (2007-09-09 12:05) - public

I am bored by your grieving.

You will never make anything of yourself because you were born dull and unintelligent.
It is unfortunate you dont have good looks to compensate for that stupidity.
I am sorry for your ugliness.
I am sorry that you eat so much.

http://www.esquire.com/print-this/honesty0707?x

alex27782 (2007-09-09 19:13:26)

That article was entertaining. I go through a lot of interactions that way already. I am an awful liar,
and I don’t believe it does much good, so mostly I don’t bother.

turboswami (2007-09-10 02:06:04)

Yes, when I was younger, I would really "tell it like it is," and it was refreshing and would even make
people laugh. Superficiality somehow sneaks in, gathering around your personality like a creeping
mold as you grow older. I think the brand of honesty in this article is a bit more extreme, though.

biscuitboy (2007-09-10 11:48:54)

I love the line: "It’s the creation of possibility."

Drives Like A Dream Only (2007-09-11 04:16) - public

Drunken soul, dirty and forever restricted,

I know that anchor mind sleeps as a wing.
I know that freedom that liquor will never bring.
And it’s quiet, and it’s quiet.

To you, old soul, I leave this life,

A wasted car that drives no more,
664
Ugly to see even when it moved.
I leave it to you, as you remember what it was,
And where it went and what we saw.
For now it’s quiet, my life is quiet.

Store me all away,

In that garage of all unseen.
Amongst the toys your children play,
Let them climb behind a long dead wheel.

And if you see them climb inside,

the carcass of our shining time,
Let their imaginations fill with laughter,
all that past that had grown quiet.

(2007-09-17 02:55) - public

Quiet curve of a temptress sways,

in night’s humidity of confusion I strain
To reach her, to reach out to anyone.
I ache, I ache to be held without words.

(2007-09-17 07:14) - public

In the Old Country, my grandmother’s grandmother was the village witch and healer. While
feared and isolated by her fellow Finns through everyday life, they would never hesitate to
approach when they fell ill or needed spiritual guidance. She employed many esoteric and
Shamanic practices, which allowed her to channel the dead and contact our ancestors. She
also used the ancient practice of "blood cupping," a manner of healing also used by legitimate
doctors and men of science before and during the Victorian Era.

I feel this legacy in my blood, this sensitivity to spirit and an inclination towards the
non-physical life. This is the gift I received from my mother, my spiritual side.

My father’s mother, whose name was Nordquist, told her children of their rich legacy as
well. She swore our family had descended from a line of great Swedish kings and that our blue
blood could be traced back, most directly, through her close cousin.

The story goes that grandma’s cousin, a young woman of nearly 20, once visited the
family home for an extended period. This grown woman knew nothing of chores, housework
or otherwise, and had the beautiful, pale, soft hands of royalty. She had never cooked or
washed a dish, since she had been waited on since the day she was born, and this led to many
awkward situations during her stay with her uncle and cousins.

From this, my father’s side, I received the gift of an analytical mind and a spirit of in-
ventiveness and unconventional thought. I take pride in these roots, and will share the stories
of my bloodline with my children, as our ancestors appreciate being celebrated and, perhaps,
watch more closely when we carry their lives on with our own.
665
monroe_the_fast (2007-09-17 17:16:01)
Do you think a sensitivity to the spirit is something that can be learned? I suppose that’s what I’m
going for right now, but basically just sensitivity to my own spirit. More would be nice.

turboswami (2007-09-18 01:46:12)

Well, I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the Nature / Nurture debate, as it applies to this
variable of personhood, or any other. If it isn’t genetic, though, it’s safe to say it’s a bit late to start
"nurturing" it into your personality. Hypersensitivity is linked to schizophrenia, creative thought, and
an ability to associate ideas of great semantic distance from one another. (Does that make any
sense?) You got any schizo’s in the tree? Mine’s chock fulla fruits, both sides! I’m even named after
an uncle who "fell out" of the tree at 24, via hypersensitivity to a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the
brain. My dad’s side is all boring Paranoid-type schizophrenia...my mom actually has the full-blown
visions, hallucinations and the merging of sleeping and waking states. I have some books, if you
really wanna try some OBE stuff out.

monroe_the_fast (2007-09-18 04:49:27)

I’m not schizophrenic, nor is there schizophrenia in my family, but I have quite an ability to associate
ideas of great semantic distance from one another. And a creative mind that I would describe as
schizoid at times.

We Have Dreams Too, Matt (2007-09-17 21:06) - public

Floating along the edge of a speeding passenger train, with my legs steering above my head
before me, my fellow businessmen were peering down through to their icy blue leg clouds,
waiting for the perfect time to release their clenched fingers from the outside edge of the
train’s window.

Our mission was to intercept and overtake the outer guards of the massive mining industrial
complex, seen ahead heaving smoke along rows of dull yellow lights in the approaching
distance. Releasing and floating softly to ground, we find a shortcut to the facility by turning
an ungated concrete corner. We approached as sheep, with an attitude of confindence and
belonging. All but a few of the mining staff, returning from break, even noticed us. Those who
did raise concerns were quickly killed.

Over the next day and a half, me and my fellow businessmen slaughtered hundreds of
these lowest, unskilled staff and cyborg guards. The sheep disguises abandoned safely, now,
the first section of the Complexes Defenses had been destroyed, and the white fat of the
overweight cyborg guards was used to create smooth sculptures over the piled remnants of
the black tubed corpse underbodies. In primitave rituals, we drank of their blood, as that
bright red evidence had to be eliminated to avoid detection by The Mining General. The red
fat burned and curdled over the plains of the dead, appearing as dollops of whipped creame
topping, browned over the distant white mounds, like merrange.

The Mining General watched the American intruders through the blue reflections of a
fresh gelatanous footprint; using pins to adjust the refractions of light, creating a makeshift
telescope. Our vehicles from afar were so fast, they were able to speeed through the red sand
at speeds of 55 mph or over, a rate unseen by their alien counterpart vehicles. Pathetically
666
unorganized, however, we stumbled messily over one another and got stuck in ridiculous
heaps of buggies.

The General saw no reason to attack us, but rather considered us a new part of his great
organization. The American fleet were like hands, fast and powerful, but in need of direction.
He would provide that direction, and assign roles to his other units which would compliment
us, "The Hands" of the mine. It was then that the plan of a great body came into formation
and the doctors and organizers were called in to create the eyes, legs, and ears from the
advanced alien subsections.

(2007-09-18 09:01) - public

Sake, so sweet, poured over the mess of my life makes this pile smell less for single night.
For a single night, a wordless night held, for a single day without the infinate fear necessary
to match this outpouring of love these smiling eyes strain wet to quell.
Heaven and hell are extremes held in the same soul, and cycle deep, chasing torment from
bliss.

What cannot be entertained away or forgotten lays, waiting, buried in our soft conscious.

There is too much not enough to carry these sleepless night’s days.

There are Teachers, and Then There Are Educators (2007-09-21 09:50) - public

According to a news report, a certain school in Garden City, MI was recently faced with a
unique problem. A number of 12-year-old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it
on in the washroom.That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their
lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints.

Every night, the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would
put them back. Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. He called all the
girls to the washroom and met them there with the maintenance man. He explained that all
these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors
every night. To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, he asked the
maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long-handled
squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it. Since then, there have been
no lip prints on the mirror.

(2007-09-22 13:42) - public

What is this radiant brilliance inverted neath long days of fighting?

It is meaningful, this I know for sure; the presence of a watcher.
And how much did I lose to those badly-managed fires?
How much was burnt wastefully, in naive ill-preparedness?
I can only guess, but would rather not dwell on brain damage, irreversible.
As it is like choosing to live beside a grave, awaiting guilt and mourning to pull you under.
667
True breach finds a crack in face to spread,
and, sure enough, a bit of soul bleeds out.
As soon as self is exposed to the harsh air,
it begins to clot brittle again...
but we cannot forget.

(2008-02-01 17:03:59) Hi Kaleb

I am a Professor and know the college well where you are at present teaching. I have traveled and
lectured around China for the last two years and would like to share some information with you. Many
foreign teachers get cheated by schools in China and also researched by the Chinese Education System.
My advice to you would be to get out of there as soon as you can. Once you have got problems with
the administration you will never be able to win. I advise you to look for a new position and teach in
another province. What they will do is probably take your airfare and travel allowance and continue to
make your life hell by giving you more lessons and making you make up any time you miss. They may
also report you to the exit and entry Dept. of the PSB and try to deport you from China once they have
framed you for something. The foreign office can have your visa revoked at anytime. Cut your loses
and get out while you can. There are many schools in South Korea that need good teachers now, the
pay is better and so are the conditions and they will book and pay for your flight from China upfront all
you have to do is turn up at your desired airport once you have got the job. So if you find you are stuck,
then I am sure you can get to Korea and start a new. I hope this is some help to you. Good Luck!!! PS.
If you continue to stay in China this college will always be in your past and you will never be able to
get away from their threats... Believe me!!! once you piss them off as you say there is only "ONE PARTY"

turboswami (2008-02-01 20:04:54) Re: Hi Kaleb

So you taught here as well? I will send an email to the foreign affairs department tomorrow and ask,
directly, do they intend to reimburse me for the airfare costs, as promised. Seeing as they coerced
my signature on a document stating I broke our contract, I can only assume the worst. I can expect
they will stretch the implications of that forced signature as far as they can, trying to cover their
asses with it and avoid their obligations to me. This is not the best forum for this discussion. Please,
email me at "turboswami@gmail.com." I am truely torn on what to do at this moment, but I know if I
am to change schools, I must do it now – during the holiday.

Arctarus and the Cave of Mushroom Cloud Escape (2007-09-22 13:59) - public

Brilliant and vile, the young genius, Arctarus, met me a second time. He did not know I was the
one he had revered, as my name did not imply my reputation, which he knew. I immediately
felt his presence and recognized it however, in meditation. Automatically contorting into
elaborate curling Yogic postures to compensate for the sudden thrust of psychic energy I felt,
both I and Arctarus began to scream. Waves of immeasurable bliss and uncontainable energy
flowed through the room, outward from our touching bodies.

I swam beneath rock upwards through a cave where I could not be seen. Rounded edges, like
a honey pot, ridged soft in stone, smoothed upward to form black inverted mushroom shapes.
The explosion was coming, but I did not fear it this time. I was ready to face death. Still, the
dry part of this cave had beared so many explosions, I knew I would be safe there, above
the water. When the roar started beneath and all shook, I was exiting the water. The blast
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knocked me 30 years back in time....to the army halloween drug crew, mid toke, surrounding
a dark pool of thick fluid. The stone waves became this fluid and I exited upward from one
realm into the next. The high of this travelling was overwhelming. The waves became the
room, and the sound of the slow ringing tone was changing with the people. I closed my eyes
and was absorbed out, as all passed through past.

(2007-09-25 09:55) - public

Soft animal, touch me softly. I love you.

Touch me, reach out across your problems.
Touch me and I will close my eyes and be yours, all yours.
Touch me as if I were once inside you, and nothing will mean more,
Than the wholeness of that touch, as it enters and becomes me.

The sweet loss angles sharp down, darkening my playground search.

I played too long, forgot all I cherished as only the innocent can.
And the setting sun laughed dimly at my empty pockets, teasing goodnight.
Search sand for pretend, tell stories of the best side of a forgotten bruise.

I Know A Man. He Lives My Life. (2007-09-27 08:38) - private

My girlfriend is lives in my house, in the Upper Peninsula. Each day, a man drives to my home
and fucks my girlfriend long and hard in my bed. She screams his name and cums like she
used to with me, only she screams louder and cums more. Her breasts bounce with every
pounding thrust, then faster, he grits his teeth and really lets her have it through to the peak
of her extended shrieking orgasm. While changing positions, he pauses to kiss her long with
his tongue and whisper what he wants from her. Now, being fucked from behind she moans in
exhausted pleasure and he slaps her ass to excite her. Then, finally, after pumping my lover
to exhaustion, he speeds to a sweating triumphant climax and cums inside my girlfriend...and
she cums with him, one final amazing orgasm released with a wet quivering sigh.

Sweaty, panting, they fall back onto my comforter and hold eachother tight. The con-
dom, wet dripping, is thrown onto my bedside table, beside my favorite books and my dream
journal. They are comfortable in their intimacy, this is her home afterall.

Oh, the beautiful things he tells her there, in my bedroom. Grand hopes and aspira-
tions, a man with a real future! A genius he is, so she tells me. Better than me. Brilliant.

Oh God, these images really hurt unlike anything I’ve felt, but I can’t make them stop. I
don’t know how to react to this much pain.

I feel as if I’m being taken advantage of. I feel helpless rage, the worst kind.

the2minh8 (2007-09-26 17:18:36)

you may find some solace in the fact that you can deprive her of a place to live (and fuck). i think i would.

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 turboswami (2007-09-27 04:20:41)
If I don’t have anyone living in my house over the winter, the pipes with freeze and bust open, people
may steal my entire studio, and I will be helpless on the other side of the world. It’s all so incredibly
stressful, that feeling being unable to do anything to stop your life from falling apart. I can only watch
in horror, and predict what will be next to fall.

iztyme2ryde (2007-09-27 14:01:50)

How would that work? You figure we AGREED to let eachother be with others. By deciding a year
was enough time that we could see others. Fool around, satisfy urges. Considering he is with
some Chinese model, I think he has no reason to bitch. I am not jealously posting in my livejournal
that Kaleb is fucking asian women... And Kaleb: If you had a problem with it, then you shouldn’t
have agreed with me that it was a good idea to see others while you’re gone. Kelly told you this too....

the2minh8 (2007-09-27 16:04:13)

obviously i have no business being involved in this conversation. i am way out of the loop. i was just
hoping to comfort a friend, that’s all.

avsquad (2007-09-27 04:06:52)

option 2: webcam.

turboswami (2007-09-27 04:24:23)

Funny you mention that. This man she has chosen to let into my bedroom is a local pornstar. I know
of 10 women he’s fucked, and I hardly know him...only his reputation as a pervert. I found pictures
of his cock on her computer. He once bragged of being with 30 women in a night. I hate him more
and more, the more I picture him laying back in my air conditioning, relaxing; my girlfriend smiling
lovingly up at him as she sucks him off in my bed. I start breathing faster just writing that...

iztyme2ryde (2007-09-27 13:58:48) Kaleb Kaleb Kaleb...

Holy Christ mang... that is not appropriate. You want the truth? We agreed we would see others
while apart for a year. You need to relax. I am taking care of your house, you, and everything
else. I am not going to hurt you Kaleb, you know this. I do care about you very much, but Kaleb,
dear... you have GOT to learn that women won’t wait forever for you. And of course those all
famous words, "I could never marry a woman like you." Well, I have my dreams, and if you won’t
make them happen, someone else will. I am not going to put my life on hold and wait for you like
that. It gives you far too much power. All my friends, and yours too, are marrying and growing
with those they love. You just keep leaving me behind... I can’t keep seeing you and NOT seeing
you like this, it is not healthy. I feel as if you chase me only when you have been threatened.
Feelings are strong when you leave me, and I feel like I am breaking up and reuniting each time you
come home, get your fill of fucking, and move to the next fucked up place. That tears me up inside,
but I didn’t want to hold you back. Now you might have a glimpse of what YOU are putting ME through.

iztyme2ryde (2007-09-27 14:10:29)

Let’s see... you cheated on me how many times again? EXACTLY. Stop this Kaleb. However, you
are understanding why my trust was so affected when you were getting sucked off at that rave by
some random chick. How about OptionFour? I suspected you and you never told me until you felt
you could use that for closure. You have put me through hell. You have shredded my emotions by
your perversions with other women. I hated you for it. I looked past it. I had been faithful to you,
except with Dom while you were in Grand Rapids, and I told you when you asked. So funny... I have
permission, you didn’t.... I dealt with you’re unloyalties and loved you, though deep inside I wanted to

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kill you. Now it is your turn to deal with it. I don’t think it’s very fair you criticize me about this when
you fucked me over emotionally at times. You understand how I felt now?

(2007-09-27 12:29) - public

She is sensible of my sufferings. This morning her look pierced my very soul. I found her
alone, and she was silent; she steadfastly surveyed me. I no longer saw in her face the charms
of beauty or the fire of genius; these had disappeared. But I was affected by an expression
much more touching,—a look of the deepest sympathy and of the softest pity. Why was I
afraid to throw myself at her feet? Why did I not dare to take her in my arms, and answer her
by a thousand kisses? She had recourse to her piano for relief, and in a low and sweet voice
accompanied the music with delicious sounds. Her lips never appeared so lovely: they seemed
but just to open, that they might imbibe the sweet tones which issued from the instrument, and
return the heavenly vibration from her lovely mouth. Oh, who can express my sensations! I
was quite overcome, and bending down, pronounced this vow: “Beautiful lips, which the angels
guard, never will I seek to profane your purity with a kiss.” And yet, my friend, oh, I wish—but
my heart is darkened by doubt and indecision—could I but taste felicity, and then die to expiate
the sin! What sin?

turboswami (2007-09-27 16:32:00)

-Goethe

(2007-09-29 12:17) - public

There is much of love that should never be expressed in words, however tender and meaning-
ful.
It should be expressed only in sudden touch and a kiss of two.
To ask permission for these things undermines the traditional male/female bond,
Inviting rejection from the instinctual game of "not-interested" and "hard-to-get."

If one simply GOT and did not ask to get, there would not be this rationalization of plea-
sure.
Making sense of ones loneliness is like trying to fully express one’s libedo in a math equation.
It not only kills the mood, but disolves the spontenaity of passion, as experienced, uninhibited.
One of the few joys we can allow ourselves in this prison is passion, and when killed by guilt,
sadness engulfs the lonely heart in search of affection and its sense of acceptance.

I want to hold the Philipeno girl who lives above me.

Although she enjoys a hearty drink, she does not claim to enjoy being held or loved.
Her rejection to my words of affection was a dissapointment to say the least.
But perhaps asking a woman for a kiss is an unnatural question.

(2007-09-29 20:10:41)
as a woman, yes, that is a question that would make any given moment awkward. next time, just do

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it. if she doesn’t want it, you’ll figure that out when your lips only meet thin air :)

turboswami (2007-09-30 02:05:13)

This Chinese liquor makes me write in a cheesy archaic voice. All this no pot makes my pretending so
brittle and hard to write on.

(2007-09-30 02:29:20)
Are you apologizing for your entry? Is there no girl? Oddly, I feel this as a loss some how...

(2007-09-29 14:28) - public

I sometimes cannot understand how she can love another, how she dares love another, when
I love nothing in this world so completely, so devotedly, as I love her, when I know only her,
and have no other possession than her in the world.

6.10 October

(2007-10-01 03:40) - public

"A man said to the universe: ’Sir, I exist!’ ’However,’ replied the universe, ’The fact has not
created in me a sense of obligation.’"

turboswami (2007-10-01 07:41:13)

– Stephen Crane.

turboswami (2007-10-01 07:41:40)

Oh yea – umm...what the hell does this mean?

the2minh8 (2007-10-01 18:35:11)

the universe does not owe you anything. it’s kind of silly because that should be obvious to people.
there are so many things that would be obvious if people weren’t looking through the clouded
lens of religion. if you want to laugh your ass off, i would recommend you get your hands on "the
secret" by rhonda byrne, or the audio version or the DVD or whatever. i don’t remember when i
laughed harder than while listening to the audio version. the "philosophy" or "science" or whatever
that is presented in this material is stunningly, cultishly and slavishly focused on the idea that
YOU CONTROL THE UNIVERSE, that THE UNIVERSE WANTS YOU TO BE HAPPY and that EVERYONE IS
TOTALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM, GOOD OR BAD. honestly, you must check it out.

(2007-10-01 12:20) - public

These days, my restraint fails, puncturing a bag of flesh in a thousand hot tears.
Emotion like this is unnatural, sensitivity tormented and burnt dead, blackened neural
branches wither towards the sky in begging anguish.
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I know only a wasteland and hide it’s ogre as best I can,
These days, he tears out on claw and fist.
These days, all is lost to him but my drowning eyes.

There is still something good left in me, glowing faint beneath the hollow stalk.
There’s an infinite opening above that slows on this petal in her cold.
And I wish nothing more but to close around my center and bury my face downards.
But I know that this is only the first reflex of hurt, which I must fight.

I must reach upwards beneath the pain of this body, towards light.
I must reveal this damp claw within me to the greater brilliance above.
This is my hardened fist, of demonic marrow.
This is the natural response to an invasion of consciousness by a foreign entity.

Here Are Some Music (2007-10-02 09:11) - public

[1]Enjoy These Music From Me

1. http://spreadsheets.google.com/pub?key=pHczFiHG_lDLsvdTnlLJgaw

holdyn (2007-10-02 17:17:55) This is Sarah, btw. I’m on here now.

Darlin’, u just keep making my Sansa happy :D Thanks!

turboswami (2007-10-02 17:24:45) Re: This is Sarah, btw. I’m on here now.
Hey Sarah, Cool to see you over here on this side of town. The [1]Sordo Music Archive has more full
album music to choose from, but a lot of it is admittedly obscure indie business. Some real gems
there, though.

1. http://sordo.freehostia.com/index.php
biscuitboy (2007-10-07 14:53:11)
LOL!

(2007-10-02 13:46) - private

Choose a voice to shovel in and get back to digging deep,

Fucking same, no surprises from this vague empty pose.
This well is dry, this mine is old and empty...I am hard to dig.
Maybe a sip or a drop or a deep breath...again.
How many times can you pass out in a lifetime, drop beneath the busy bridge?
What is the body’s limit, before you can never climb back up again?

Or perhaps that dizzy troll stopped trying to climb above to the sunlit bridge,
To be gawked and degraded as he crossed the river to society.
And, alone and ugly in the cold wet recesses of the dark, he could tend his to wounds without
ridicule.
His thoughts reflexive to the footsteps upon his bridge, like a waiting spider on its web.
673
(2007-10-06 04:54) - friends

The drunken piano waltz, sideways on a pitch shift sidewalk struggling to maintain me.
I have not been outside for 5 days.
When people knock, I do not answer.
The phone rings 11 times, a beautiful worried girl on the other end.

She cannot love me, no one can love me like this.

And so, I cannot let her or anyone see me until I am no longer like this.
I must love her from hiding, from a distance.
And it is when she has forgotten me that my love for her will be the strongest.

Is this a sickness?
I will call in sick again...
An elaborate story of being near death,
so that I can maintain the requirements of my fear.

iztyme2ryde (2007-10-06 22:01:51)

You should openly love her. Open your heart to her.

(2007-10-07 11:49) - public

The plain time of day creeps under and in the men whose fire once caught rooms of minds.
Although burn victims still store a wet cool sparkle shared in 2 distant eyes in remembrance.
On to, a better you shines through but who? Who better but you who knew me once too?
Goddamn, I’m getting boring! Its a lot like drowning yourself asleep...
Trying to scream for help, unable to keep your head above a dream.

NASA Videos: Entities Emerging From Unseen Spectrums (2007-10-07 13:26) -

public

The discussion below was concerning the following videos:

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _2

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _2

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IFRAME: [3]embed _753488 _3

IFRAME: [4]embed _753488 _3

# 7 Dr. Donald B. MacGowan Oct 2nd, 2007 at 4:55 am

Guys, guys, guys…life is soooo short. Do you mean to tell me you simply have nothing
better to do?

# 11 jolly Oct 5th, 2007 at 7:00 am

To: Dr.MacGowan

You are so right in comment, that I hardly want to comment on it at all!

Actually, I´m not going to comment.

I´ll just take up your call: PEOPLE, GET A LIFE!!!!!!!

Kaleb Smith Oct 7th, 2007 at 1:22 pm

Thank you Dr. and Jolly,

I can only whole-heartedly agree with both of you that curiosity in and exploration of
what we see is a waste of time and that ignorance always has and shall be a more productive
endeavor or, rather, lack of…

This is observable life, however unknown and unstudied, and interest in it is, arguably,
more-relevent then your interest in…sports or sex or whatever “people who would rather
ignore” consider worthwhile.

Your capacity for understanding speaks for itself, and I think a life of sports or sex is all
you can hope for. Please, ignore the above recordings and ignore this comment. Ignore all you
don’t understand and ignore all you think you do. And when on your deathbed, still ignorant
and hateful, prepared to “have no life,” understand that upon passing, the unknown will no
longer be so easy to ignore!
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%262%26%26%26youtube%26e
0jpUPLqLhA%3Ad35d036f75ec9b24126e0b8dda1bb25d5c83b59e&

675
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%262%26%26%26youtube%26e
0jpUPLqLhA%3Ad35d036f75ec9b24126e0b8dda1bb25d5c83b59e&
3. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%263%26%26%26youtube%26A
s-wYmFYb3I%3A25ffeedfee7bfeca6b8b0963e7b9fa5035fdeece&
4. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%263%26%26%26youtube%26A
s-wYmFYb3I%3A25ffeedfee7bfeca6b8b0963e7b9fa5035fdeece&

the2minh8 (2007-10-09 19:55:28)

burn.

Travel Adventure! (2007-10-09 05:30) - public

In my childhood I had lots of friends. All of us liked to travel. We enjoyed the places where
have lots of trees and glasses.

One time. We found a good place to travel. Then I went there with three friends. It
was a small forest, and we found it was interesting. It had lots of things what we never know.

We played games and had picnic. Then we went to find some special things, such as
special flowers and bugs. We went along a small road. "God!" one of my friends Johnny said.
We didn’t know what happened.

"A baby!" Johnny said. We catch with him and see a dead baby.

"Why his parents kill him?" we said.

Then we found he was so special. He just had one hand, and it was so small.

Then we went on with our travel. When we got home it was evening.

turboswami (2007-10-09 09:37:40)

This was written by one of my students, Ellen, for the "Most Memorable Story Of Your Life" writing
assignment. Truely a TRAVEL ADVENTURE!

alex27782 (2007-10-09 20:31:38)

That’s pretty amazing. You also probably shouldn’t share assignments like this.

monroe_the_fast (2007-10-10 15:53:04)

Wonderful, though I’m pretty disappointed it’s not your writing.

Defining The Variable of Attention (2007-10-10 13:24) - public

The whole of an individual’s attention differs from person to person, and carries weight. We
feel this difference from a very early age, begging for attention, demanding it, and performing
or acting out to get it, as children (and some adults) do.
676
When the mass of a person’s attention is very great, we feel it. A "piercing gaze" or
brilliantly bright eyes that shine to us from across a room of people, pulling us in. We are
attracted to these eyes, like a moth to flame, but science does not recognize or acknowledge
this difference in individuals. It is not something easily measurable, as of yet, but that fact
does not in any way cast doubt over the existance of attention as a capacity of cognition, or
it’s variation from person to person.

The safest way to integrate this variable into existing theory would be by way of Gard-
ner’s Multiple Intelligences, but even this seems inadequate. Attention exists well before
intellect in the serial chain of consciousness, and so to include it under the umbrella theory of
multiple intelligences is "putting the carriage before the horse."

The reason it is so difficult to identify and quantify attention using the tools of observ-
able science is the same difficulty one has biting their own teeth. One can’t simply physically
observe the means of their own observation, as one cannot look back inwardly to photograph
the lense of their camera.

And so science would have us believe that attention is a one-way street, and that one
cannot gaze inwardly. B.F. Skinner was a fucking douche-nozzle.

(2007-10-12 03:06) - public

There are two people who, if they spoke to one another, would cause the world to explode.

Half of the Psych magazine had been torn out, and so I went about trying to fill in the
blank with an ink pen. I wrote of the beautiful pink sea leech, whose body’s billowing ripples
would reach out to meet your outstretched hand with playful curiosity. A loving social being,
they would easily and confidently follow one another to their death, off a cliff or into the jaws
of a hungry killer; the lemming of the sea floor.

The infestation of a hole, made a home, did not come without great care and attention
to detail. If thrown a cup of sugar, the table’s surface would have formed a spongey network
of tendrils, reaching the floor and ceiling in rampant growth. Yet, it was with the utmost
precision and care that I divided each individual germ into a section of it’s kind, and fed each
a single grainule of sugar. Each immature disease was allowed to multiply and slowly grow
only as I saw fit; a grid of filth which I intended to closely monitor and manicure into fruition.

And so each alloted cubicle in the grid came to hold a different color, texture, size and
shape of life. Some winding, tenticle-like appendages, some climbing the walls like ivy, other’s
forming brilliantly colored crusts that climbed upwards, reproducing in concentric ripples
which tapered into sharp angled peaks - appearing, at first glance, to be a frozen fire. Such
incredible beauties boasted by such horrid diseases. I held a balance between awe of their
splendor, and fear of their growing power.

Fear and awe both fade with familiarity, though, and soon I was comfortable, once more
in my kitchen, the table of which held my many deadly children, whose broad diversities I
arranged and color coordinated. I had my favorites, yes, and maybe spent a bit longer long
LONGGG TIME CHOKER, CHOKE OVER DEAD BREATH SUCKED THROUGH A RAINBOW SPONGE!!
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A CONE JABS THROUGH THE LAST EDGE TO SING A DEAD POINT BACK

(2007-10-12 21:42) - public

Music, perfected, has no melody;

Love, perfected, has no climax;
Art, perfected, has no meaning.

So, maybe these last 5 years were a long mistake,

One I noticed but continued to create with kind acceptance.
Always knowing it was a mistake, but letting it love me, attach itself to me.
And so I became the mistake, and the mistake me.

She walks away with the best of my youth, and I stay with this bitterness.

The Turn Of Potential (2007-10-13 10:48) - public

We’ve concluded she was a rare find, but only for her subservience.
Being repulsed by her initial impression (high pitched voice and hyper verbalization)
It is safe to say that it was her absolute infatuation with me and my every whim
Which carried the relationship. Me, learning to use a woman in the process...

It hurts, being dumped for the first time and, even though I expected this,
Five years is a long time to become accustomed to unconditional affection.
It ruins a man.

To have anything and everything done at a whim ruins a man.

I miss it, I miss her touch and her image, I hope to be able to speak intellectually with a
woman.
A woman who, at the same time, finds personal fulfillment in the pleasing of her lover.
I feel, while this personality trait is rare in Western societies, it is otherwise traditional.

Socially inept and ugly, how can I expect to fetch the interest of a competant player in
the dating scene?
Now’s my best chance; at 40 my window of possible mates will be much smaller.

Dear God,

The most influencial and potent years of my life, numbered five, have been squandered
in sex.

Please give me the capacity to fight biology and make an impression on this culture
with what is left of my life. Please let me succeed with the ideas I ignored, and allow growth
to what was hidden beneath superficial pleasures.

Yours Uninhibited,
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-Kaleb

swarms (2007-10-13 22:03:37)

That is crazy, man. But, I think it is probably one of the best things that’s happened to you. Girls like
to dump guys once they move thousands of miles away (see Jessica). I think it’s for the better.

monroe_the_fast (2007-10-15 16:15:24)

I second swarms’ notion. & I hope China supports the flowering of your awesomeness in spite of or as
a result of these difficulties.

(2007-10-13 11:02) - public

Fuck angry response.

Fuck instinctive denial.
Fuck the man and his truth.
Fuck the constraints of style.

Fuck your hat, fuck your coat.

Fuck your pride, fuck tones of your throat.
I hear them, they are sounds without meaning.
I hear music, it is of poses popular once.

I need a touch which is universial, without nation or language.

I need a love which flows beneath speech and custom.

Rituals whose meaning were lost to the recipe...

the recipe for speech with an ancestral guardian
interaction with a watcher, a friend beyond this time

(2007-10-13 11:42) - public

Ohp! Spinning branches

(2007-10-17 10:05) - public

http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,22556281-661,00.html

I’m clockwise. Very clockwise.

the2minh8 (2007-10-17 17:08:30)

i’m clockwise too. i looked at it from different angles and focal depths for several minutes and
discovered that i could get it to look counterclockwise. i didn’t have much trouble getting it to go back
to clockwise thereafter. i don’t know if that is really a good test of left- or right-brainedness, but it’s
kind of a cool optical effect anyway.

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alex27782 (2007-10-17 23:05:30)
I tried really hard to get her to turn counterclockwise, but she wouldn’t.

turboswami (2007-10-18 07:30:40)

Must mean you’re hopelessly creative...no turning back.

swarms (2007-10-18 01:27:41)

All I could do was look at her breasts.

biscuitboy (2007-10-18 04:43:55)

Ha! That must mean you think with your dick! Anyway, for the record, I was counter-clockwise. I had
to stare at it for about a minute before I could figure out how to make her go the other way.

turboswami (2007-10-18 07:36:16)

Oh! Leave it to Jason to always be practical and SAFE. Oh, sure he comprehends things...but does he
really "get it?"

biscuitboy (2007-10-18 19:52:09)

Kaleb, you’re so feeling, "big picture" oriented, imaginative, symbolic, present and future, philosoph-
ical & religious, able to "get it" (i.e. meaning), believing, appreciative, spatially perceptive, object
function knowing, fantasy-based, presenting possibilities, impetuous and risk taking sometimes I
could just shit.

holdyn (2007-10-18 05:22:11)

she keeps switchin on me, but not when i’m tryin anything... weird, but very cool

turboswami (2007-10-18 07:37:53)

Am I the only one who eventually saw her shaking her leg left and right at me?

(2007-10-20 12:22) - public

Such a precious forgotten whore I’ve called,

to tell her she’s not forgotten, nor is her beauty.
And a tone and I’m him to her for now, until she learns otherwise.
And I say I want to know her - inside and out.
And I say that she is a beautiful creature - inside and out.

And other such lulling lies sung in a our delicate pretending.

The whole time, I was thinking only of Thanksgiving stuffing.

Warm moist garlic spiced, thick with FUCKING.

swarms (2007-10-20 18:52:37)

I like stuffing...inside and out.

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(2007-10-21 11:17) - public

I try to etch the sensations I feel walking through this Chinese marketplace at night,
the neon-charged madness, the end of a real entry.

Fuck Motherfuckin New York...Fucking Fuck! (2007-10-24 06:35) - public

Professor: Well, we’re all fucking crazy lunatic motherfuckers anyway, so why the fuck does it
matter?

–NYU

Overheard by: observer

Angry black woman on cell: Yo, man, it’s like that old saying, ’Don’t fuck with your em-
ployees, you motherfucker.’

–23rd & Broadway

Overheard by: Damn Straight

Mom to infant waving bottle around: What the fuck? Are you fucking out of your mind?!

–Manhattan-bound Q train

Drunk next to wife: Hey! Where did those girls that I fucked go? Hey! I fucked you
girls! What the fuck?

–LIRR

Conductor: Union Square, motherfuckers!

–Astoria-bound N train

Overheard by: Caroline & Skid

Angry Russian thug on cell: You want fuck? I give you fuck! I stab my cock into your
heart!

–Houston & 2nd

Hi. I’m A Chinese History Teacher. (2007-10-24 08:38) - public

Our super-human ancestors can be traced to planets orbiting Vega in the Lyra star system
some 22 million years ago. Certain factions of the Elohim then migrated to and colonized the
Pleaides star system where we became a highly scientific and warmongering peoples, thanks
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to our many confrontations with our natural enemies the reptoids and dinoids. Pleaidean
colonizers followed a comet which brought them to our present solar system some 150,000
years ago.

They first settled on the planet Uranus, and stayed there for 50,000 years before start-
ing colonization of the other planets. They were known as the titans because they were huge
and because they had paps or "tits" with which to suckle their young. These blond, blue-eyed,
bisexual giants are the original ancestors of the human race, giving birth to the Saturnian,
Jovian, Martian, and other subraces of this solar system.

Martian demi-gods, with the help of the Uranian titans, first colonized and terraformed
the Antarctic region of this planet some fifty thousand years ago, building a network of
undergound tunnels and cities which would provide them with valuable minerals, serve as a
transportation system, and be a safe haven against their enemies; the reptoids and dinoids.

With the help of their allies, the Martian leaders and scientists wiped out most of the
huge and troublesome beasts put there by their enemies, paving the way for further colonies
and the creation of a servant or slave race known as humanity.

Mining was difficult work and the call went out to produce a solution which would allevi-
ate their burden. The Martian scientists were master geneticists and came up with the idea
to create the ideal servant or slave by artifically inseminating female apes. This was done in
Gondwanaland in what is now Madagascar, which was their second colony. The result were
the "black headed ones" of Lemuria(so called because of the many lemurs found there) who
served their purposes well.

Further insemination of the black people with Martian seed resulted in the lighter shaded
races of mankind, including Atlantis. Other animals besides the apes were also experimented
upon, producing half-human, half-animal monstrosities, which have come down to us as myth
and legend.

The Venusians, watching all of this, replicated the cloning and insemination technologies
for their own purposes. Their main goal, however, was to infiltrate Lemurian and Atlantean
society, which they did as black magicians in human bodies, and to destroy them. They
achieved their goal by subversively pitting the two superpowers against each each other in a
nuclear war which ravaged the planet and decimated humanity. The rays and explosions of
the war produced huge earthquakes, set off volcanoes, and tore up the water canopies around
the planet which fell and flooded most of the land surface, producing our present oceans.

Lemuria, Atlantis, and other civilizations, were sunk and buried beneath the floodwaters
between 25,000 and 12,000 years ago. Before the catastophes, groups who foresaw what
was coming, went underground, to other continents, or left the planet altogether, bringing
with them their precious history and belongings. They were later to return and repopulate the
planet’s surface giving rise to Arya or the Fifth World which included Egypt, Sumeria, China,
India, and the other ancient civilizations upon which our modern one is based.

http://www.librarising.com/cosmology/index.html

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holdyn (2007-10-24 22:35:22)
dude, what the fuck? oh, god, please don’t tell me this is Sylvia...

erauqs (2007-10-25 00:57:57)

Dude... we totally babbled about extraterrestrial involvement in the creation of humanity just two
nights ago. This explains some of the missing chunks, although we personally disagree with some of
the conclusions just because we feel them too grandiose.

(2007-10-25 10:58) - public

Give me a dark wooden academic death, in polished oak.

Let the spires write conspiracies in ivory, white men.
I’ll turn yellow from her, away beauty, fruit of Asian garden.
I cannot hold you here for my touch is inside born.

Quiver electric, vibrant eyes beneath these lids.

Your REM is alive and flows down from the cool spring of dreams.
Distant traction suspends along silver cord, turning in distraction.
Tug yourself towards, floating teacher, and I will open my gate.

6.11 November

10 Random Facts About China (2007-11-09 11:19) - public

1. If the population of China walked past you in single file, the line would never end because
of the rate of reproduction.

2. China has more English speakers than the United States.

3. Paper was first invented in China in 105 AD. It was a closely guarded secret and
didn’t reach Eurupe until the 8th century.

4. China is the 4th largest country in world.

5. The Chinese year is based on the cycles of the moon. This is called a lunar schedule.
The Chinese new year is different every year, but is usually comes between the end of January
and the middle of February. A complete cycle of the Chinese calendar takes 60 years, or 5
sets of 12. The Chinese calendar dates back to 2600 B.C. It is the oldest known calendar.

6. 24 % of the world speaks Chinese (there are over 200 different Chinese languages
and regional dialects).

7. The Great Wall of China is NOT visible from outer space. It’s too thin. The only man-
made structures visible from space are: The Pyramids of Giza and the Hoover Dam.

8. As of January 2006 30 % of China’s exports are now electronics.

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9. The United States has $7 trillion national debt, much of which has been loaned to
the USA from wealthy Chinese banks.

10. If you say somebody is 1 in a million you are saying there are 1,317 of them in
China.

the2minh8 (2007-11-09 17:27:41)

YOU, SIR, ARE ONE IN 2 MILLION! not many chinese like you at all. fewer than 700.

"All That Sex I’ve Been Meaning To Get Around To Having" (2007-11-09 12:04) -
public

I sometimes think I need the warmth and intimacy of simply holding the
person I love more than the fucking. This sounds completely
unacceptable, since sex is "The Big Intimate," but there is some part
of me that finds such fulfillment in the feeling of protecting a girl,
wrapping her up in my long arms and closing our eyes in a moment of
mutual trust, absolute security, and wordless acceptance. This is a
spiritual thing to me...sure, there is a spiritual side to "Inserting
It Up Thar Yonder" too...but it is not so calm. I regress to a near fetal
state of comfort when this feeling of absolute security is attained.
At there core, even those seemingly-dominant feminists long too feel
protected in the arms of a strong man...the roles adopted in an
embrace are universal, and I think there is no state that "mainlines"
beneath our exterior posing and pretending more directly than this
simple relationship of Protector/Protected.

Whew. So, yea...no erections, just longing to share this big lonely
bed with some dainty little innocent, to look up at me with dark eyes,
wide and deep, longing for strong arms to scoop her up and keep her
safe. Wow.

Redecorate Your Home With HATE! (2007-11-23 23:46) - public

This summer, I spent $1,500 on a legal research chemical called 2c-E. I used a total of 1/300th
of this purchase over the course of the summer; sharing with friends and loved ones some
very personal and "open" moments.

Hiding the remainder, I left my home for China – entrusting my house and everything in
it to my girlfriend, Teasha. She wasted no time in tearing apart my room, looking for the
$1450.00 worth of what she knew I had. Eventually finding it, she spent months painstakingly
dividing and selling my property, while living for free in my home with her boyfriend.

Moving out only at the beginning of this month with the thousands of dollars of profit,
she scoured my house for anything else of worth she might have wanted, including the XBOX
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I purchased, and had modified with Ryan Wert’s help. The only thing of hers she left were the
months worth of utility bills she had racked up in my name.

The degenerate social circle of drug fiends she had since adopted and welcomed into
my home were pleased to purchased what she had stolen from me. Knowing where she had
gotten it from, and the circumstances of my leaving the country to see the world, they made
quick work of breaking into my house in hopes of finding more. They tore things off walls and
shelves, tossing the contents of drawers, rummaging angrily through my closets looking for
what they knew I had had. Frustrated by finding out it had already been stolen, they smashed
my electronics, crushed and stomped my CDs, and threw delicate machines down the stairs.
They took a crowbar to my beloved studio, as there are few joys a lesser man will experience
in his insignificant life greater than the act of destroying the beautiful things he envies.

The greed and dishonesty my trust afforded Teasha destroyed not just the outlet of my
talent for music, but any hope I had of making a life doing what I love most.

the2minh8 (2007-11-24 14:35:26)

well, kaleb, there comes a time for starting over. this may turn out to have been a blessing under
deep cover, masquerading as the worst thing that has ever happened to you. limitations in equipment
foster creativity in musicians. just take a look at squarepusher, who used a single $2000 piece of
equipment to produce several hit albums worth of material. your will to create cannot be destroyed
by anyone or any event and will find a way.

turboswami (2007-11-24 15:27:22)

Hmm...this is true. I have a laptop. And I still have my cool analog synth. In all honesty, I dont need
much else...

avsquad (2007-11-24 14:39:38)

wow.

turboswami (2007-11-24 15:24:46)

Oh yes.... Perhaps I was a bit to proud of that modded XBOX. : ) Do you know if the XBOX 360 mods
as easily?

avsquad (2007-11-25 00:55:05)

yes and no. it doesn’t mod to do the cool media center/emulator stuff that the original will, but you
can install a modded dvd drive firmware to play burnt discs and the like. i have one myself.

erauqs (2007-11-25 07:27:24)

Wow... I just started looking for 2c’s and I’ll take this as a lesson of possible unintended consequences...
sorry to hear it... ouch.

silentwinds (2007-11-26 19:56:03)

Ouch. Thats awful and wrong.

monroe_the_fast (2007-11-27 00:53:27)

I’m with Ted, here. Loss can be really liberating. I hope (/know) you will continue to create fantastic
art.

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 silentwinds (2007-12-06 15:47:59)
I agree. I know he will.

(2007-11-24 15:29) - public

Ok, so...I told James I would divulge some of my elaborate Chinese Soap Opera to match his
drab Westward Ho! moans.

Ok, so tonight I went on my first double date. I always thought they were a bit cheesy,
and lo and behold! They are.

My futuristic British friend, Francis, who had redyed his hair white for the occasion brought his
heavyset clingy Chinese girl to a place called the Yago Cafe.

I brought my gorgeous 97 lb creature whose name is mostly unpronounceable...who I

have named Lisa.

Her eyes are jet black, like a demon’s. Two abysmal wells; moist, wide, and bashful.
Hers is a league of beauty above and beyond anything I could hope to even consider in the
states.

This was my fourth date with Lisa. After one of these strange Chinese pizzas, we went
to a Chinese dance club where I was quick to pull her out onto the spring-loaded elastic dance
floor. She stood awkwardly as I danced loosely around her, trying to coax her to move a little.
Outstretching my arms, I held her hands in mine, trying to show her the rhythm, but it was
quite hopeless. She could not dance.

Giving up, I tugged her back to the booth where we began to make out. She kissed so
nervously, moving her mouth around frantically as if she were chewing something while
late...she jammed her tightened tongue into my teeth, like a child with down-syndrome
continually running face first into the unlocked door of a bank. I could not stand it, but she
was so amazingly hot, I kept trying...struggling through the awkwardness of her apparent lack
of sensitivity to me and the mood cues I was trying to convey.

But ohh...but just look at her!!

By the second date, she blurted how she wants to come home to America with me to
live.

But she can barely speak English, hates dancing, hates singing, hates American food
and movies, and has said she is interested only in a man’s appearance and his money.
Arrgg...but those eyes, and the way she blushes when I stare into them, the way that tight
black dress hugs her thin petite frame... How can I deny her physical perfection?

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Ohh, just one more...

So, after the sloppy chew kissing and public groping, we taxi’d back to my place. I in-
vited her in for "tea," but she made it clear that it was too soon for seeing my apartment. This
was not a rejection, though... as she then promised that next time she will come home with
me...

Ok, she is 1 of the 3 girls I have been seeing here. Perhaps I will share more pictures
and stories if someone shows interest in these sort of soapy flutter-eyed exploits.

swarms (2007-11-24 18:05:19)

Well, that’s a lot more entertaining than my shit.

theloniouszen (2007-11-24 21:56:06)

the chinese have caught on to your image leeching

the2minh8 (2007-11-26 15:43:04)

yeah what the crap!? in place of these tempting images you describe is just some text i can only
assume is chinese. oh this cannot stand! tell her it’s an important tradition among your people to
teach a potential mate how to kiss properly. and that she better shape up her taste in music and
her dance skills or else be left on or near the curb, having been kicked there by your beastly, giant
american footwear.

Sharing is Caring is A Slow Downward Tug (2007-11-25 12:20) - public

[1]
Slow Downward Tug

Total Sequencing Time: 4 hours

Kick was created using 7 layers of digital feedback patched and sharply filter enveloped
to achieve self-oscillation through my [2]DEAD BABY, the signal of wwhich I then ran through
a Line 6 head and reamped.

Snare was my own, in three layers, verb gated and extracted from a previous session,
[3]Flame Bleeding Stallions. (Performance credit to Jesse Decaire of [4]Sah)

I’m trying to learn how to construct those schizoid IDM sequences I love so much... Acid seems
to lend itself most easily to these hyper-complex arrangements.

Does anybody want some hit samples? I have a collection of these heavily-distorted
analogue synth-based hits or a gorgeous set of metal/glass hits I collected field recording in
an abandoned mine this summer (with Matt.) The natural reverb from those massive metal
rooms of the Cindy Mine is absolute sauce!
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 –EDIT–

Uploaded, by request, some dark gritty [5]HIT samples, DI-rect from the creative brain-nest
which was Fluid Mechanic Studios, when it still existed in all its glory:

Ahh, memories...

You may recognize an old LJ icon from my studio flyer

Sets of my best Loops, Pads, and Textures are also cut, divided, and arranged, from
when I was trying to sell Sample CDs for money. If anyone is wants some interesting sounds,
let me know!
1. http://www.esnips.com/doc/22244d3e-1c76-46aa-9c82-e8bab97553c1/Slow-Downward-Drum-Loop
2. mopo.shtml
3. http://www.esnips.com/doc/4f879d18-dc0c-495c-b199-77894460b26f/Flaming-Stallilon-Drum-Loop-2
4. http://www.myspace.com/sah
5. http://www.esnips.com/nsdoc/b2206682-4382-4c3f-ba9a-7f45c965afec

the2minh8 (2007-11-25 17:59:46)

give me the samples. i want.

turboswami (2007-11-25 19:17:10)

[1]What Ted Wants, Ted Gets

The hits that were cut using an auto-splicer plug are not as beautifully manicured or descrip-
tively labeled. They still sound rotund and angry, though!

1. http://www.esnips.com/nsdoc/b2206682-4382-4c3f-ba9a-7f45c965afec

(2007-11-30 13:31) - public

Darling Little Jenny Botox - -

Her tool of a husband pushes her robot baby’s stroller along the oceanside dock while
she lounges back into the dysfunction of his retirement home - climbing into bed with anybody
who will talk to her.

Three little metallic silver hands reach out from the stroller; a litter of little Storm Troop-
ers.

Jenny waits patiently for daddy to call. He said he would pay for the abortion. Hell, maybe
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he’ll even adopt the bastards! (A wrecking ball crashes through a neighboring summer home.)

Sincerely,

Pillowld Kussy

(2007-11-30 13:37) - public

Climb the spicket like a ladder,

Climb back into the grave.
Some believe He made the grave so that he could rise from it.
(The Renounciation.)

A dismount and a single backflip from the top of the pipe.

One dive through the cold holy stream,
And I’ll never need to talk to dad again.

I have walked upstairs,

I have climbed The Fountain.

11-28-07

The person she saw doesn’t quite throw away a whole smile.
Stairs burst open with stench under feet that never heal.

6.12 December

(2007-12-04 03:47) - public

Some Old Chinese people get in a line in front of my apartment and dance very slowly to
whiney female vocals every day. Today I thought of lyrics to accompany the whiney vocals; to
be spoken over top in a calm voice, as if by a translator:

"The moonlight kisses the contours of your scars so softly,

Those pains you have endured,
those which hardened you, a once gentle traveller."

Sitting in the Accupuncturist’s Office, watching him crack a woman’s spine, I got this:

What rules we know of molecular interacion also apply to social interactin and its segre-
gation into bands of density. (Heat Rises.) But what is heat but activity, aggitation, unrest?
The active individual shall rise – and find his like – or be slowed to match his surroundings.
Where we are is not just contagious, but adhesive. Density is defined, not by he individual,
but by his level of activity, shared through predisposition of born material or "medium."

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swarms (2007-12-05 05:38:32)
Happy Birthday, Chinaman!

(2007-12-08 12:40) - public

Dates A thru V saw money and sweating and awkward me’s quiet "Umm" stumbles
Till V tumbles drunk in a wet lippy wrap, like us.
V is for "Vagoo."

There’s a long time coming, and for it I’ve waited

A long time.
There’s a beautiful touch I had almost forgotten how to use,
And maybe Yellow skin is thicker,
Even when as tight and smooth as this.

Dr. Sinkaneye and The Boner Patrol on the tail of a hot scoop,
The first to scoop up this tail, this wide American spoon still shines in the right light.

Etc etch vague vague...

Big Eddie’s Song (2007-12-09 09:04) - public

"Well a hand me downs, n aint that a fact?

Turn way a child to the cold anda leave him when he lacks.
Got a fool track....
Fool track mind!"

Big Eddie missed the old Vinnies, and so we’d all mope round that parking lot...parking
our bikes in the abandoned lot there. I picked a handicapped spot, and pretended to hobble
over from my bike.

The doors of the place was open, and there was even sum old junk that they didn’t all
figure was worth hawlin over to the new Vinnies 3 blocks down. In an old chipped ashtray on
a little wire bedside table there were some dice, and a little tin full of pins. I showed Eddie and
he acted all sentimental, as if he remembered seeing these things when the store was open.
He grabbed the bottom of the tin from my hands, and it came apart from the lid...the pins all
fell out in a big sharp tangle.

Everyone followed Eddie, and went along with his sad sentimental crap about the old
Vinnies. I went along too, but I was only pretending. I didnt really care. He was not so tough,
and I wasn’t his slave. I didnt care his mom was sick. That dont mean I owe him nothin.

We walked across to the sidewalk that led to the new store. Tony Smalls had stold a
bottle of his dad’s wine and had been keepin it in his backpack, but he took it out now and
tried to open it on the ground without Eddie seein. Eddie was all rightious since the sunday
school and told us all about how he’d beat us down if we were drinkin. When he saw the bottle,
he stopped.
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Noise noise noise (2007-12-12 14:28) - public

http://rapidshare.com/files/76119713/Feedback _Rhythm _Bed.mp3.html

I made this...

I like the last 4 minutes a lot.

__EBOOKS__ *for download* (2007-12-13 11:44) - public

LeVar Burton is WATCHIN’ YOU MASTURBATE!

But don’t take MY word for it!

Here are 5 pages of books:

http://www.anonib.com/bookchan/index.php?t=1054 &g=0
(The secret is to change the book picture’s .JPEG extension to .RAR when saving)

Here are a few more:

http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=ee0ab54c08e16cd1297a0211fc2927a5230ce61a93
08c31d

Enjoy!

the2minh8 (2007-12-13 18:05:04)

awesome. i have been wanting to read many books on those lists for some time. now all i have to do is
wait until i can afford one of those fancy new high-tech portable reading devices with the non-fatiguing
screens so that i won’t go effing blind staring at a normal computer screen.

(2007-12-16 22:03) - public

The crossing of the beneath river needs a boat of eyes captained by a blind boatman.
And is it on the floor I lay, a shore my body stays, from where I once sank, seemingly alone?
A floor, any floor, all floors are this floor and my eyelids the closing doors of this elevator.
Swim out into the ground, so dark but I hear their sounds and know their presence and feel
their eyes.

And I remember everything in a flood, all at once; the memory was born and buried all
within such a short-lived state of mind.

It did not die, but was abandoned with the land it was bore...and waits, forever beckon-
ing so distant, for its lover to return again and rejoice in blissful exploration of interaction.

These seas that seperate our native shores are long, but not of distance or of time.
The energetic seas, journeyed less by the living, are no less dangerous or expansive than their
physical reflection.
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The rapid sharing of a beyond touch, overwhelming grace her gift extended to an igno-
rant and distracted creature...

Sensitive as I may be, my biology limits the capacity of her expression. or I limit myself
to my body. She coaxes me out of my shell with a smile; a smile beyond known beauty that
overwhelms my lowly senses.

And that night I made love with an entity of purest white light, and colors rose up from
below me as I plummeted back to where I belong, where I was born into.
Longing, such longing unlike any earthly love I felt, even with her benevolent presence over-
looking me, I cannot live in such a prison again, having known the freedoms of her divine touch.

And if she has forgotten me, may I be thankful that she had a moment of which to re-
member.
And if she never visits me again, may I be thankful that I once, in this insignificant lowly life,
felt the full power of her gaze upon me...and was made warm by a love so full it cannot be
contained in a mortal thought or feeling.

Greater than the limits of this narrow life was her brilliance.
Beyond the limits of this vessel was her message.

I suspect we are the unknowing Gods of whole realms of thought...

As if our spiralling conceptions, represented so flat and lifeless here, are living scenes awash
with entities in the active fertile layer of dreams.

I have spoken with the dead, and looked out into halls unseen by the living.
And I have been shown that the dead do age, as we do, and slowly forget all of their life and
its identity.

But in this realm they choose to meet, this channel they share and collect within, I was
able to conjure up physical symbols using only my thoughts and will.
I was able to change my surroundings using only an intention to do so.

Powers that seemed to amaze those dead souls who surrounded me, but what does it
mean of this realm, this contained layer of consciousness?

The "Avatars" of India are said to have this ability within physical life...to be able to sim-
ply "think" beautiful palaces of jewels and gold into existence.

But are they, then, merely dreamers of another over-realm visiting a land which is not
their home?

Were they once mortal, these Gods of dream made physical? Do they live beyond the
Karmic cycles which torment us life after life, through birth after ignorant rebirth.

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OVAL - 94 Diskont (2007-12-17 22:48) - public

94 Diskont is undoubtedly a standout in the field of electronically advanced, glitch-heavy

music. In addition to having clear resonance with those primarily interested in process, this
record resides in an autonomous and highly aesthetic sonic universe, where bits of production
and granulated noise easily melt into warm, repetitive arrangements. 94 Diskont was made
with a lot of productive mediation and gadgetry, but the seams don’t show. The textures are
thick and the melodies are challenging, nowhere more so than on the epic opening track "Do
While." At 24 minutes, Oval take their time, but this is deep listening, and anything shorter just
wouldn’t do. A distant and fractured bell sound competes with a decaying, four-note organ
swell for the majority of the song, while clicks and unidentified manipulations make their
way in and out of the mix. Rhythm and melody emerge from unexpected places. What you
initially take to be white noise settles into an odd but discernible pattern. The clicks between a
skipping CD become an essential part of "Shop in Store." But perhaps even more impressive is
when rhythm and melody barely emerge at all. The uncommon range of 94 Diskont is indeed
one of its most powerful qualities.

I have not heard these tracks for almost a decade...the first track is a bit long winded,
but once you make it through that, its all delicate little spiralling glitch sculptures. Listening
to "Cross Selling" again, I am reminded of just how jarring and disorienting these sounds
were the first time I heard them. The process is evident: it sounds like they are using the CD
skips of an Jazz sax solo. This process of using skipping CD’s that they championed became,
arguably, more famous than the music, itself. When I learned about it, I began to scratch up
my favorite CDs (CD-Rs thankfully!) trying to recreate the amazing jerky rhythm structures. It
was not successful. Later, I learned that they actually simply drew symbols on the data side
of a CD with black marker...

"Commerce Server" is, I think, the strongest track. Here, they were actually able to
take the glitched read/processing time and allign the song around it, using it as the central
BPM; then creating predictable changes from this error-determined tempo.

Its a challenging album, but gouging a new aesthetic out of what was previously consid-
ered "wrong" is never easy for anyone to accept.

http://rs204.rapidshare.com/files/52754888/BOEth257O94d.zip

Italian Prog - - - 100% RDA (2007-12-19 11:28) - public

Artist:
Premiata Forneria Marconi
Album:
Per un Amico
Date of Recording:
1972

This is PFM’s brilliant follow up to Storia di Amico, both of which are considered progres-
sive rock classics, and for good reason. The diversity, complexity, and integrity of the
music here is as fine as anything produced during the early ’70s from other prog rock
giants such as Yes, Genesis, or King Crimson. The lyrics are in Italian and, while used
693
sparingly, make a valuable contribution to the session’s integrity. The music is constantly
shifting in style, tempo, and time, but are all held together by recurring themes. Mauro
Pagani’s airy flute is the perfect antidote to Francone Mussida’s aggressive guitar, while
Flavio Premoli’s keyboard work rivals that of contemporaries such as Keith Emerson and
Rick Wakeman. The music ranges from avant-garde to hard rock and everything in between.
Always intelligent, but without pretension, this is progressive rock in it’s most literal definition.

http://rs246.rapidshare.com/files/76517388/PFMSduMmp.rar

alex27782 (2007-12-19 19:43:39)

Generally, I don’t think people appreciate it when someone relinks to their uploads, as it causes the
files to be removed more rapidly when the number of downloaders increases.

turboswami (2007-12-20 02:49:01)

I had not heard of this, so I checked rapidshare’s deletion policy just to be sure. According that the
FAQ, I actually saved this file FROM being deleted. It had been posted over a month ago. Only after
30 days of inactivity does rapidshare delete files. I’m pretty sure it was approaching that 30th day.
The only other instance that files are deleted is upon the request of the original uploader. It wouldnt
make sense for the service to delete their most popular attractions; the files that induce people to
purchase their premium service.

alex27782 (2007-12-20 04:00:08)

Ah, but different sites do remove files after a certain number of downloads.

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7. 2008

7.1 January

(2008-01-06 11:38) - public

So many holes to fill...

In the forever-indebted conversation of eyes,
my side of which I can no longer maintain.

Gaping...like a slack-jaw.
This is the fate of the once bright eyes,
senile, drooling open halfway through the evening news.
This is the fate of the once bright mind.
Behind once bright eyes.

Mourn over a hole,

dug down so low from a peak so grand;
Some 6 feet tall, and proud...
So high, those closed, upgazed eyes
That never thought they would land.

And refine the subtle curve of that frown,

Into the most vague and artistic pouting yet shown.
This is my job now...walking backwards from the sun.
This is who I have become.

(2008-01-06 11:53) - public

All the stage is a world and all the wrapped god he peoples to become his for show.

Identify with a soft dark wall in sleep. Cut the edges of your lips on the inward edge of
695
a triangle on your side.
"This is a normal size for a man of my size size."

Knocking of a shoe against a floor is earthquake cacophony to a tiny man, zoom out,
zoom out, zoom out Whoosh!

Listening For The 5 o’clock Rush (2008-01-07 05:25) - public

More and more, it feels I have lost my voice to the experiments.

As if I am now bound to the image of having no bounds.
And only by ceasing what was once a dig within self for truth,
Can I ever hope to see the light of honest expression again.

Such is the ever turning, spiralled-inward wall of self-dentity,

And such is my age, revealed as an unnatural scar,
the freezing of a fluid impact,
felt distantly beneath concrete hardening of outer mind.

Coma carapace true known never of approaching morning,

And of the wings I’ve been told are beneath, I’ve never seen.
And like the locks of this room, so is that shell’s defense and all forgotten it still hides.

Who the hell was I looking for? Someone to make?

Of myself, of all genuine words protect, of all sincerity covers, what remains?
Do I need a light to see, or will memory suffice?
Do I need a light in this life, or can I shut my eyes?

Can I shut my eyes and do as she says?

Will there be someone beneath to lead me?
To lead me, after all that dissapointment I was?
To lead this failure back home to try again?

I know the answer, but its to wide to understand fully.

Its edges extend beyond, to where I am too distracted to see.
I feel the answer beneath me, and it is solid, it is luminous.
What else can I know now but trust, ignorant trust to surrender to and take for granted.

But to never fully accept all it grants.

To ignore all some distant memory knows, and continue working towards this smaller view.
What was it I learned, again? What changed me forever?
What is it of sunrise that drowns out that memory with the flood above come light.

The distraction of more important matters, consciousness calling, consciousness forget-

ting.
What is it that has faded away to a time of self distant, sunrise after sunrise?
I must remember...I must hold my subconscious close as when it was bared and remember its
depths

held when I was transparant as the night and its static revealed.
696
(2008-01-07 19:08) - public

Off and on, I get some seperate perspective on myself, through the eyes of "other," and realize
what a pretentious douche bag I must look like. Heading upwards towards the 6th month
without pot here in China, something I have relied on for well over a decade to deflate my ego
and clear my mind of the pretending that tends to collect there over time.

Without this bi-weekly refocusing routine, coupled with the constant attention I receive
from everyone who sees me here in China, my personality has changed dramatically. I wear
these elaborate outfits, color coordinating accessory garments, like the scarf I drape perfectly
around one side for flair. Haha! Peacock theory? When the fresh 20-something beauties don’t
give me that second look I’ve gotten so used to, I immediately think "What’s wrong?! Didn’t
you see the scarf?"

monroe_the_fast (2008-01-08 01:02:12)

If the parts of your personality that you like are your essence, personality changes are nothing to
worry about.

turboswami (2008-01-08 11:21:59)

I had always thought of Personality as a bit more of a superficial outer-covering for our true Essence.
That is, to recall the conception of our dynamic, shifting Personality as a filter, allowing some of that
pure essence through, and absorbing other bands of it in self-restriciton. At any rate, my personality
is less open now; as if, over the extended period of sobriety, the brambles of nerves just become
so thick, as to begin to suffocate all of what I COULD be and show the world in clenched wrapping
tendrils of hypervigilent tension, letting less and less of ME, my essence, out...

monroe_the_fast (2008-01-08 20:27:06)

fuck.

holdyn (2008-01-11 22:06:01) agreed, fuck

i suppose it depends on the particular psychological philosophy you subscribe to, but i will say, i’ve
been instructed (having been in a place near your current haunt) that most of what we think of as
"personality" is in reality behavior. Behaviors we choose to keep around. Apparently, personality
is only at our core, things we truely cannot choose or control. So, i guess what i’m tryin’ to say is,
don’t let the god damned scarf (or any other article of clothing, "personality" or psyche) suffocate
you. Fucking WEAR it, and continue to dispense those slices of Kaleb essence we all prize.

(2008-01-13 12:20) - public

Bloodninja : Wanna cyber?

MommyMelissa : Sure, you into vegetables?
Bloodninja : What like gardening an shit?
MommyMelissa : Yeah, something like that.
Bloodninja : Nuthin turns me on more, check this out
Bloodninja : You bend over to harvest your radishes.
(pause)
MommyMelissa : is that it?
697
Bloodninja : You water your tomato patch.
Bloodninja : Are you ready for my fresh produce?
MommyMelissa : I was thinking of like, sexual acts INVOLVING vegetables... Can you make it a
little more sexy for me?
(pause)
Bloodninja : I touch you on your lettuce, you massage my spinach... Sexily.
Bloodninja : I ride your buttocks, like they were amber waves of grains.
MommyMelissa : Grain doesn’t really turn me on... I was thinking more along the lines of
carrots and zucchinis.
Bloodninja : my zucchinis carresses your carrots.
Bloodninja : Damn baby your right, this shit is HOT.
MommyMelissa : ...
Bloodninja : My turnips listen for the soft cry of your love. My insides turn to celery as I unleash
my warm and sticky cauliflower :of love.
MommyMelissa : What the fuck is this madlibs? I’m outta here.
Bloodninja : Yah, well I already unleashed my cauliflower, all over your olives, and up in your
eyes. Now you can’t see. Bitch.
MommyMelissa : whatever.

biscuitboy (2008-01-15 23:34:52)

Please tell me that half of this exchange was you.

lover_of_anime (2008-02-06 20:59:12)

LOL

(2008-01-13 12:20) - public

I.F. : My shit is hard you ready to jump aboard?

1hOttYeVe : oh yhea im so wet right now
I.F. : Why you just shower?
1hOttYeVe : no im wet for you
I.F. : Did you ever play with supersoakers when you were a kid? or that gator shit you would
dive and slide down, there was that :badass pool at the end of it.
1hOttYeVe : What the fuck are you talking about? You wanna cyber or not?
I.F. : I do! Sorry...I just didnt know why you were wet...then you say your wet for me, and im
thinking I didnt even throw water on :you...
I.F. : Im sorry lets continue!
1hOttYeVe : alright then...I walk over to you and start kissing your neck and chest
I.F. : I pop like 16 boners
1hOttYeVe : what the fuck!
I.F. : what?

swarms (2008-01-14 03:21:04)

What the hell is your address and how the hell do I send stuff to China?

turboswami (2008-01-14 03:53:40)

This is where I live: Kaleb Smith c/o: Nancy Foreign Affairs Office Suqian College No. 399 South Yellow

698
 River Road Suqian, Jiangsu Province 223800 PRC That’s right, I live in a girl named Nancy. It’s a bit
crowded in here, but it’s warm... I think you may need to ask for assistance from your local Postal
Service Representative... They will tell you what they think about China, from a Postal perspective.

Please, PLEASE...Fucking Test Me (2008-01-18 17:32) - public

To Whom It May Concern,

Salary owed to Kaleb Smith for the work performed during the period of the 21th of De-
cember through the 20th of January has not yet been received. Failure of Suqian College to
provide this salary, in the sum of 4500.00 RMB by January 20th, as stated in Appendix IV of
Employment Contract No. 200707, shall be interpreted as a breach of Party A’s obligations,
as stipulated in Appendix VII, Statement 4 of that contract and shall result in a breach penalty
against Suqian College of $2,000 US dollars.

In addition to this breach penalty, Suqian College shall, at that time, be expected to re-
imburse Kaleb Smith air fare costs, for both his arrival from and return to the United States,
amounting to $1,400 US dollars.

Failure of Suqian College to pay these sums, as required by the contract held with Kaleb
Smith, shall result in the filing of 3 separate administrative charges against the institution:

1. A formal complaint will be filed to the arbitration board of the State Administration of
Foreign Experts Affairs (SAFEA) on the 21st of January.

2. A secondary foreign employment complaint shall be filed with the US Consulate Gen-
eral through the Shanghai EEB office on the 22nd of January.

3. A breach of administrative license complaint shall be filed with the Foreign Experts
Bureau of the Ministry of Education in Beijing. Upon filing this final complaint, the foreigner
certification rights of Suqian College will be called into question.

In addition to these formal administrative charges, a description of the the Suqian Col-
lege’s inability to adhere to their Foreign Expert Contract and general lack of respect for
national policy concerning the employment of foreigners shall be made through the Overseas
Organization Evaluation System and TEFL School Review Board, which will reflect negatively
on Suqian College through all subscribing international personnel agencies.

A recruitment warning describing Suqian College’s dishonest actions and failure to honor
the contractual agreement held with their American employee, Kaleb Smith, will also be
posted through the recruitment exchange of ITC International.

I am confident that Suqian College will honor the requirements of their contract and
that none of these formal reactions will be necessary.

the2minh8 (2008-01-18 17:55:41)

hey, i spot legal stuff. what’s going on here? they not paying you? i want to see the contract.

699
 turboswami (2008-01-19 01:42:35)
CONTRACT ISSUED AND PRINTED BY THE STATE BUREAU OF FOREIGN EXPERTS I. Party A Suqian
College Address: No.399 Huanghe Nanlu, Suqian City, Jiangsu Province, P.R.China wishes to
engage the service of Party B as ESL teacher. The two parties, in a spirit of friendly cooperation, agree
to sign this contract and pledge to fulfil conscientiously all the obligations stipulated in it. III. The
duties of Party B 1. Teaching Chinese students in the English department(20 lessons per week). IV.
Party B monthly salary will be 4500 yuan (RMB) 70 % of which can be converted into foreign currency
monthly. Party A shall pay Party B around trip airline ticket and 2200 yuan(RMB) for travel fee before
Party B leaves at the end of the semester. V. Party A’s Obligations 1. Party A shall introduce to
Party B the laws, decrees and relevant regulations enacted by the Chinese government, the Party A’s
work system and regulations concerning administration of foreign experts. 2. Party A shall conduct
direction, supervision and evaluation of Party B’s work. 3. Party A shall provide Party B necessary
working and living conditions. 4. Party A shall provide co-workers. 5. Party A shall pay Party B’s salary
regularly by the month. VI. Party B’s Obligations 1. Party B shall observe the laws, decrees and rele-
vant regulations enacted by the Chinese government and shall not interfere in China’s internal affairs.
2. Party B shall observe Party A’s work system and regulations concerning administration of foreign
experts and shall accept Party A’s arrangement, direction, supervision and evaluation in regard to
his/her work. Without Party A’s consent, Party B shall render service elsewhere or hold concurrently
any post unrelated to the work agreed on with Party A. 3. Party B shall complete the tasks agreed on
schedule and guarantee the quality of work. 4. Party B shall respect China’s religious policy, and shall
not conduct religious activities incompatible with the status of an expert. 5. Party B shall respect
the Chinese people’s moral standards and customs. VII. Revision, Cancellation and Termination of
the Contract 1. Both parties should abide by the contract and should refrain from revising, canceling,
or terminating the contract without mutual consent. 2. The contract can be revised, canceled, or
terminated with mutual consent. Before both parties reached an agreement, the contact should be
strictly observed. 3. Party A has the right to cancel the contract with a written notice to Party B
under the following conditions: (1) Party B does not fulfil the contact or does not fulfil the contract
obligations according to the terms stipulated, and has failed to amend after Party A has pointed it out.
(2) According to the doctor’s diagnosis, Party B cannot resume normal work after a continued 30 days
sick leave. 4. Party B has the right to cancel the contract with a written notice to Party A under the
following conditions: (1) Party A has not provided Party B with necessary working and living conditions
as stipulated in the contract. (2) Party A has not paid Party B as scheduled. VIII. Breach Penalty When
either of the two parties fails to fulfil the contract or fails to fulfil the contract obligations according to
the terms stipulated, that is, breaks the contract, it must pay a breach penalty of US $ 500 to 2,000 (or
the equivalent in RMB). If Party B asks to cancel the contract due to events beyond control , it should
produce certifications by the department concerned, obtain Party A’s consent, and pay its own return
expenses; if Party B cancels the contract without valid reason, it should pay its own return expense
and pay a breach penalty to Party A.If Party A asks to cancel the contract due to events beyond
control, with the consent of Party B, it should pay Party B’s return expenses; if Party A cancel the con-
tract without valid reason, it should pay Party B’s return expenses and pay a breach penalty to Party B.

turboswami (2008-01-19 02:07:46)

Yes. See, over Christmas I called in sick (I was intended to work not only my regular hours, but had
4 hours of overtime scheduled for me on Christmas day!) For this, I provided a doctor’s note, signed
and stamp, describing a legitimate illness. Yet, because I was not present on Christmas day, and they
entered my apartment on this day, used my laptop, and realized I was not on campus, they refused to
give me any money for that entire month’s work. On top of this, a meeting was called this week of all
foreign teachers in the college. The five of us met, and I assumed this was simply meeting to give us
the class schedule for next month. The dean, instead, publicly denounced me and implied I was a liar

700
and was not ill on Christmas day. He then openly fired me in front of the other teachers, saying sick
days could not be tollerated. He passed out the teaching scheduals for next term, and when he came
to me, he had no schedule. I dont know how familiar you are with Chinese customs, but in this culture
"face" or personal pride is the most important aspect of one’s life. And loss of face, or embarrass
someone, publically, is the greatest insult you can pay that person...essentially unforgivable. Yet,
this is what they chose to do to me. I began by being nice, and offering a formal apology. It was
then asked I provide this in written form, which I did. A real cute letter, three paragraphs of the most
beautiful Kiss Ass brought to the dean by 7am, an arbitrary "required" time given for turning the letter
in, mostly for inconvenience. When turning it in, the fucking secretary even took this opportunity to
light into me "In my opinion, you are not a good teacher. It is not that you lied about being ill, but your
BAD ATTITUDE that you should apologize to me for." I thanked her for her opinion and apologized.
It was hours later, when the letter I bent so far over for them in writing, was rejected and a list of
additional points of apology, as well as three non-contractual "guarantees" were required for inclusion
in my rewriting. I said "Oh yes. Of course, I will rewrite it." The above letter was the "rewrite" they
received at 7am, 2 hours ago. Not as much kiss ass in this version. I opted, instead, for the "surprise
offensive" ... and God, did it feel good!

the2minh8 (2008-01-19 13:07:00)

i had heard of this "face" obsession of far east cultures. i enjoyed how your letter back to them
played to this element of the culture by threatening to embarrass the school. good stuff. but on
a practical note, is there anyone to act as your advocate over there? are there legal clinics at law
schools there as there are here? legal aid organizations? failing that, what about the embassy?
hopefully you don’t have to try to manipulate a foreign legal system all by yourself. of course, ideally
the school will just get scared and do the right thing, but you can’t count on that.

turboswami (2008-01-20 04:37:50)

An update: Yesterday, when going to the office to collect my salary for the previous month’s work,
I was told I could not receive the money until I had signed a form admitting fault. I had no money
for food at this time. I signed the documents required and received my salary. Today, the director
announced that the cafeteria is now free to all faculty.

the2minh8 (2008-01-21 16:51:08)

do you think those two occurrences are linked?

turboswami (2008-01-23 13:18:58)

Well, the produce a legal form they know is filled with lies, and coerce a signiture out of my
because they know I need money for food... The very next day, they announced that food is free
to faculty. It seemed to me like she knew using starvation to blackmail her employees was wrong
and was trying to cover her tracks...

turboswami (2008-01-23 13:19:09)

Well, the produce a legal form they know is filled with lies, and coerce a signiture out of me
because they know I need money for food... The very next day, they announced that food is free
to faculty. It seemed to me like she knew using starvation to blackmail her employees was wrong
and was trying to cover her tracks...

theloniouszen (2008-01-18 21:02:34)

You don’t have to bother with this "Party A" stuff, because everyone knows there’s only one party in
China.

701
 biscuitboy (2008-01-18 23:23:20)
And they ain’t no party like the Chinese party ’cuz the Chinese party don’t stop.

turboswami (2008-01-19 02:37:48)

Haha! Did you ever have these "Contract Wars" when you were teaching english? Or are they more
respectful of Americans over there?

theloniouszen (2008-01-22 03:11:26)

I didn’t have any issues except when I let people stay at my apartment on school grounds during
christmas break without telling administration. They found out on christmas day and kicked them
out, and when I came back I had a talking to and had to sign a new amended contract saying I
wouldn’t do that again - that was about it.

A Wonderful Recipe I Found (2008-01-31 03:06) - public

Stumbled on a recipe in some kind of old cookbook for a tasty drink called The Elixir of Life. It
was submitted from the kitchen of a certain Eugenius Philalethes:

"Ten parts of colestiall slime; separate the male from

the female, and each afterwards from its own earth, physically,
mark you, and with no violence. Conjoin after separation in due,
harmonic vitall proportion; and straightway, the Soul descending
from the pyroplastic sphere, shall restore, by a mirific embrace, its
dead and deserted body. Proceed according to the Volcanico
magica theory, till they are exalted into, the Fifth Metaphysical
Rota. This is that world - renowned medicine, whereof so manv
have scribbled, which, notwithstanding, so few have known."

If your kitchen is a tad understocked, it makes for a good excuse to visit a neighbor an
ask if you can borrow a cup of...you know, colestiall slime.

metamadman (2008-01-31 19:57:10)

well I’m pretty sure that colestiall = celestial, so this slime shouldn’t be to hard to manufacture if one
had say a meteorite.

turboswami (2008-02-01 16:26:28)

Trust me, just ask your neighbor. That bitch got EVERYTHING!

7.2 February

Intraterrestrial Intelligence: The Rationale For Inverting SETI

(2008-02-04 09:11) - public

Music: Stimmung - Karlheinz Stockhausen

702
Revised from a letter sent to...someone you may well know.

Up through my early 20’s, before I experienced those powerful spiritual interactions in

2003, I believed that good and bad were simply labels we created and placed on a nature
which couldn’t care less how we pretended to divide her up. I believed that Nature was God,
and that the most natural actions and flow of all energy decided what was true and "right,"
and to deny or restrict the way of nature was "wrong" and dangerous. This view of morality
changed suddenly when I had those encounters with the violent and evil intents of truely
malevolant entities, followed by the brilliant purity and grace of that truely benevolant entity,
who arrived and dispell those malignant beings who tortured everyone in my home. These
encounteres served to show me that these two extremes DO exists outside of mankind, and
are not merely semantic constructs...

So, like you said, there are limits to what we are aware of. But do you believe that the
limits of what WE are aware of are also the limits of ALL awareness?

That is, can conscious beings exist outside of our narrow spectrum of visible energy?

My personal experience has given the answer, but I cannot expect anyone to believe,
wholeheartedly, the accounts of me and everyone living in my house during that time. Us
Westerners are a doubtful bunch! Yet, the answer those visitations gave me was to a question
I had never asked, and it was only in the slow process of trying to rationalize what we had seen
that I began to think in terms of "limits" and the idea that consciousness does not simply END
at the boundary of our 7 bands of the electromagnetic spectrum, but continues on without us.
To say all awareness begins and ends around ol’ Roy G. Biv is like saying the oceans contain
no life beyond the deepest distance we can dive down!

Centuries ago, off and on, one of those horrible ugly creatures from the very deep ocean,
where the sun does not reach, would journey miles upwards to the surface. 15 foot long
white eel creatures with midsections as wide as a man and eyes the size of dinner plates, or
grotesque bioluminescent not-fish with teeth so long they cannot fully shut their mouths, or
giant squid. The sailors who saw these "unearthly" creatures called them monsters and myths
of the Krakken and other such beasts were told to doubtful family and friends back home. 400
years later, science has captured and identified the beasts of these myths...

Yet the stories and myths of Beasts and Beauties told by those brave "sailors" who have
ventured far out into the distant seas of consciousness are still just that: Myth. And the
doubtful family and friends of the men who witnessed these entities of the deep have long
since died, and died again generation after generation until what was doubt has become a
sort of resentment for the very story, itself, and the person retelling it! To be so Naive and
Ignorant as to believe that there is anything "out there!" There is only us, there is only solid
land, physicality, which we have so carefully plotted and mapped and know so well!

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all
its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and
it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction,
have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge
703
will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall
either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a
new dark age.

-H. P. Lovecraft

Abraham, The Jew. For Jimmy, The Jew. (2008-02-04 10:25) - public

Of Moses, the Jewish prophet Abraham said he was "indeed a good man, but entirely ignorant
of The True Mystery, and of The Veritable Magic."

While studying under the Egyptian occultist Abra Melin, Abraham was entrusted by him
with a spiritual documents said to contain many invaluable secrets. These, in addition to the
many secret techniques Abra Melin taught his pupil Abraham by word-of-mouth, were recorded
in the manuscript "Sacred Magic of Abra-Melin," and given by Abraham to his son Lamech. This
volume was translated around 1899. The titles of some of the more important chapters are:
"Concerning The Convocation Of Spirits," and "To Procure Divers Visions." Further explanations
are given on "How one may retain the Familiar Spirits, bound or free in whatsoever form." and
how "To Excite Tempests." Another chapter is devoted to the topic of transforming one’s self
into "dive shapes and forms."

All of these spiritual feats were to be achieved by employing Kabalistic squares of letters.

DEMONIC POSSESSION IN CHINA (2008-02-04 10:30) - public

Demonic possession in China is as common as in most other cultures and a ceremony of

alieving the possessed involves 3 people, incense, and a Taoist charm.

"Yet, in China there is also a class of men who establish what is called a "Hall of Revela-
tions." These are, for the most part, literary men of great shamanic ability and their practice is
not one of spirits seeking to possess men, but rather of men seeking spirits to possess them;
allowing themselves to be voluntarily used as spiritual instruments.

Wang Wu - Fang, an university educated Chinese wrote:

" Cases of demon possession abound among all classes. They are
found among persons of robust health, as well as those who are
weak and sickly. In many unquestionable cases of obsession, the
unwilling subjects have resisted, but have been obliged to submit
themselves to the control of the demon. . . ."

In the majority of cases of possession, the beginning of the

malady is a fit of grief, anger or mourning. These conditions seem
to open the door to the demons. The outward manifestations are apt
to be fierce and violent. It may be that the subject alternately talks
and laughs; he walks awhile and then sits, or lie rolls on the
ground, or leaps about; or exhibits contortions of the body and
twistings of the neck. . . . It was common among. them to send for
704
exorcists, who made use of written charms, or chanted verses, or
punctured the body with needles These are among the Chinese
methods of cure.

The Rev. Timothy Richard, missionary, also writing in response to

Dr. Nevius’ circular, says:

" The Chinese orthodox definition of spirit is, ’ the soul of the
departed;’ some of the best of whom are raised to the rank of gods.
. . . There is no disease to which the Chinese are ordinarily subject
that may not be caused by demons. In this case the mind is
untouched. It is only the body that suffers; and the Chinese
endeavour to got rid of the demon by vows and offerings to the
gods. The subject in this case is an involuntary one. . . ."

An ancient Chinese book called Poh - shi - ching - tsung,

consisting of six volumes on the "Source of True Divination." It
contains the following preface: This secret of augury consists in the
study of the mysteries and in communications with gods and
demons. The interpretations of the transformations are deep and
mysterious. The theory of the science is most intricate, the practice
of it most important. The sacred classic says: ’ That which is true
gives indications of the future.’ To know the condition of the dead,
and hold with them intelligent intercourse, as did the ancients,
produces a most salutary influence upon the parties. . . .

True Myths We Are (2008-02-07 02:15) - public

On tour to shameful reasons for two timeless gun jumpers,

Oh, oh, troubles sightings linked to divorce.
Are lessons resonating as fear of punishment?
"Our slave you are, true myths we are are ours.

Stop relaxing! Remember us more, give us your hands instead.

Stories you tell are trouble upstairsnm"

(Mankind must remain contained on the island of physicality.

They must not be given the keys to open The Doors of Perception.)

By entering meditation and internally, or externally=>internally, resonating pure tone,

the cognition and physiology of the self enter a resonative state as well. While syncing as
many parts of the differing energy frequencies of the body together as possible, a purifying or
clearing out of all lower-frequency diseases or thought states is attained. The more extensive
the resonation through internality, as the meditator progresses through the exercise and
strengthens his focus, the more pure or "centered" the self becomes, inwardly and outwardly.
Health and contentment eventually resonante through his entire being, as any degrading
personality traits, tensions, or diseases are "sloughed away" and expelled.
705
The effects of pure tone on brainwaves is well documented, but an relevent theory ex-
plaining the nature of their relationship has not yet been established. The great difference
between the degree of the external tones effect on the EEG readings of internal tones, or fre-
quencies, between different subjects has baffled experimenters. Yet, with the understanding
of meditative resonation it could be said that the correlational difference between subjects
is is due to their attention and the differeing degrees of focus they direct that attention with.
That is to ask "Are the truly internalizing that tone, or focused on thoughts?"

During the focused resonation of tone, in meditative exhalation, thought is silenced or

"drowned out" by the inner sound "Om (pronounced ’ahm)" or "Amen (pronounced ’ahm-en.’)"

Ideally, it could be proven that the theta brainwave state shown to be incredibly strong
and prolonged in the focus of meditation among certain Buddhist monks is directly propor-
tional to the degrees of influence pure tone has on the self. The depth and effect induced
by psychedelics on brainwaves, assumably, would be more profound in these "theta" monks,
skilled in maintaining consistant and undistractable focus. The flood of attention felt during
the peak Salvia or Ayahuaska experience could be controllably focused and more reliably
recorded when experienced by these Buddhist "Focal Experts."

My Mystic Indian Neighbor, The Brahmin (2008-02-07 02:20) - public

Yesterday, I was invited by the director of the college to her home for a New Year’s lunch. I
brought a gift, as is customary when being invited into the privacy of a Chinese family’s home:
a painting I had done and a mix CD of American songwriters. With the other English teachers,
the director, her family, and me there were a total of 8 people at the meal. Conversation was
strained, tense smiles all around.

After the dinner, the Indian professor, Dr. Nand, made a comment to the director’s son
"Yes, I can tell that you are a hard worker."

"How?"

"I saw your hand earlier."

The boy immediately put his palm out and Dr. Nand read it, telling his future. Excited,
the director had her hand read, as her son translated. In turn, then, everybody had their hand
read. I watched and listened...the thing he said to everyone seemed very general. Things like
"You have a very open mind." or "You will live a long, healthy life."

"Yea, those things are so broad, they would be true for anybody!" I thought. This guy is
some kind of expert cold reader.

But then he came to the last person, me....

I opened my palms and the first thing he said, almost immediately, was "Wow!"

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"Wow? What is it?" everyone gathered around, suddenly more interested.

And then he just went off on a very specific discription of me, not broad or general in
the slightest.

"You were given great opportunity and luck from the other side when you were younger.
You did not use it though, you wasted it. Now it is gone."

I was amazed. This was something I have been pining about to my close friends, and
here on Live Journal, for years now. And yet here was a practical stranger telling me my hands
say the same thing!

He went on, "I can see here that you contracted a disease at that time."

"Wow, that’s right!" I said, while the boy translated for his wide-eyed mother.

I was totally amazed. He could see the ulcerative colitis I contracted 2 years ago, while
going through the cognitive decline I journalled.

He then said "You are destined for greatness. You will be very famous."

It made me feel very nice, a sudden boost of confidence came from what he said.

Such a nice compliment paid to me...by my hands.

the2minh8 (2008-02-06 19:57:24)

did he mention whether you would become very famous during your life? that is an important thing
to know. frankly, i would be annoyed to learn that i would become famous after my death. another
missed opportunity.

lover_of_anime (2008-02-06 20:55:51)

yo you’re a cool fellow. i friended thou.

(2008-05-13 13:13:26) Nice quote

Consultants are mystical people who ask a company for a number and then give it back to them. ———
———————————————————————- ——————— http://blurty.com/users/vaughndunlapsi

(2008-08-23 15:43:08) Hello

I’m new here, just wanted to say hello and introduce myself.

turboswami (2008-08-24 00:36:03) Re: Hello

New where? I’m Kaleb.

Gravitational Model of Attention (2008-02-07 15:25) - public

Everyone has their story of a coincidence that could not be mere conincidence.
The amazing find, message, or meeting that makes someone say "What a small world!"
Forcing someone to realize or acknowledge that this is NOT blind randomness...
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 This was meant to happen – it’s like it was orchestrated somehow!

We all know and feel this sense, and use words like "randomness" or "God" or "luck" to
fill in the blanks: the empty areas where we simply do not yet understand what is happening.

I do not believe that anything that CAN happen can happen without influence. That is, I
do not believe that randomness exists. It is a concept invented to explain the visible aspect
of a system operating on scales of awareness beyond our own, one which we simply do not
have the capacity to comprehend, as it extends beyond the bounds of our naked awareness.

I have written about the interesting relationship between what science generates and
defines as "random," binary ("heads or tails") created using REG’s or Random Event Genera-
tors, and consciousness. This relationship has been established statistically, and meditation
has been used to change probability in an experimental setting. Yet a developed theory
behind this data has not yet been drawn.

The fulcrom of this relationship is Jung’s Collective Unconscious and the force of an indi-
vidual’s attention carried through it. The imagery I’ve found fits best for this is that of a Well.
We are simply hollow tubes, as Watts said. We have a hole at the top and a hole at the bottom,
and our main purpose is to keep things flowing through, for which we’ve developed various
apparatus to assist. Yet, as light flows into us, and reflects through our personality back out
in one shade of frequencies or another, much of what we see remains "absorbed," or not
reflected. And so this hollow tube, above the surface of consciousness, is merely the mouth of
a well, which extends deep below into a great cavernous ocean, the consciousness aquafer of
the world, the Collective Unconscious we all draw from and fall backwards into it’s sleep each
night, to swim and feel waves in.

And so the attention an individual has, the "brightness of his flashlight," changes his
eyes – makes them bright or dull. We’ve seen people who "look like somebody," whose eyes
shine, radiating in a room of hundreds of people, making them stand out, somehow, from
across the room. Charisma, grace, the undefinable mark of a brilliant soul. This is attention,
the sum total of what a person is able to see, the power of their gaze, the sharpness of their
mind. With it, two people can see the exact same thing happen, but the MEANING or what
one person actually SEES is vastly different – the attentive is able to see "through" things and
people, to be aware of entire worlds existing beneath, in time, in influence, in implications and
their patterns.

This attention, amount of light controlled within the lense of focus, differs greatly be-
tween people. Attention carries weight, which we feel in the strength of a certain person’s
piercing gaze, the focal pinpoint that burns through the world around him with sharp analysis.
These are the "magnetic personalities," who the party revolves around – the charismatic, the
bon vivant. What are the mechanics beneath consciousness for this "magnetism," this strange
sort of gravity?

Well, the differing weight or MASS of attention carried by individual bodies can be ex-
pressed like that OF gravity; following definable paths in the manner of gravitational influence
seen in planetary bodies. Some individuals have more of this "MASS," drawing the surface
of space/time downwards, pulling everything around that body inward, "the party revolves
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around him." Yet, these "greats," with eyes shining with brilliant light, could be called Suns in
this Gravitational Model of Attention. Their mass is great enough to draw conscious bodies
inwards from great distances. (COINCIDENTALLY these people tend to be very "far out!"...but
the attention and the Semantic Network is a different entry entirely!)

So, the surface of the Collective Unconscious exists along the Electromagnetic Spectrum
of Space Time and is not simply one surface, but many different surfaces, or "walls," of bound
frequency bands. It responds as does any fluid surface, with waves and ripples, splashes
and currents; acting medium for all life and "in-fluence" beneath. When these great Suns of
humanity "make a splash," everyone feels it! The white capped waves, pushing and pulling,
sometimes truely rock the delicate lives of those "close to" them in as extreme ways, good
following bad, crest following trough, concentrically radiating outward from the point on the
surface of that interaction where he "fell through."

This is the Well of which we tubes are the mouth, this is the great ocean of subconsciousness
beneath, and this is the manner of influence we have, energetically, on that mediums based
on the gravitational mass of our attention, and our ability control it dispersion through the
lense of focus.

Goodnight San Francisco! Thank you all for coming!

metamadman (2008-02-07 17:09:05)

I’ve been thinking about this very subject lately. Even had a dream about some "coincidences" I
experienced recently and in this dream it was revealed to me by an old man, who claimed to be from
the future, that he was responsible for setting up the situations I had recently been in. Really great stuff.

(2008-02-07 16:39) - public

GENEVA—"Ahmadinejad? I can’t even say it, let alone write it on a Black Ops memo." President
Bush jested during the roast of Iran’s controversial leader.

DMT - Created By Our Pineal Gland (2008-02-07 16:42) - public

Hallucinogen is the most common medical term for psychedelic

and it emphasizes the perceptual, mostly visual effects of these
However, while perceptual effects of psychedelics are usual, they
the only effects, nor are they necessarily the most valued. The
actually may be distractions from the more sought-after properties
experience, such as intense euphoria, profound intellectual or spiritual
insights, and the dissolving of the body’s physical boundaries.

A female physician stated:

How simple everything is. .. . In front of me are two quiet, sunlit Gods.
. . . I think they are welcoming me into this new world. There is a deep
silence as in the desert. . . . I am finally at home. . . . Dangerous game; it
would be so easy not to return. I am faintly aware that I am a doctor, but
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this is not important; family ties, studies, plans, and memories are very
remote from me. Only this world is important; I am free and utterly alone.

A spirit molecule also leads us to spiritual realms. These worlds usually

are invisible to us and our instruments and are not accessible using
our normal state of consciousness. However, just as likely as the theory
that these worlds exist "only in our minds" is that they are, in reality,
"outside" of us and freestanding. If we simply change our brain’s receiving
abilities, we can apprehend and interact with them.

The pineal gland of evolutionarily older animals, such as lizards and amphibians,
is also called the "third" eye. Just like the two seeing eyes, the
third eye possesses a lens, cornea, and retina.

monroe_the_fast (2008-02-08 20:59:53)

Where is this from?

(2008-02-08 22:01:57)
DMT: The Spirit Molecule Dr. Rick Strassman If you want a copy, I can email it...or check out the
ebooks link on my journal.

monroe_the_fast (2008-02-08 21:05:17)

check out this BBC video on "psychedelic science" on google video:
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=6540905926032767614

Consensus of Truth (2008-02-08 12:59) - public

"Is there any escape?

From Noise?"

-Negativland, Neu!, Kraut Rock, LSD, America=>Germany

How is this influence, traveling back?

Reflecting off a people, the analytical Germans, and returning.
Can I call them The Nordics, of course I can.
It is their race, it is the race of The UP.

Us Scandinavia-fed Shamans, the Finns; the Lapplanders.

The Vikings who ruled us were whiter than we were, but they liked our women.
And, within centuries, we, too, were fair-skinned...

But before that genetic influence, what can be said of the Finlander?
The pure Finn has dark, leather-toned skin and an almost Elvish appearance.

My Uncle Lampi was pure Finn and was an elf.

710
He had a woodshop, he lived in the forest.
He ate fresh Maple leaves!
Why? ...because HE WAS A FUCKING ELF!

What is it of mythical creatures: elementals, and spirits that can be considered relevent?
Of course, the cultural relevence of, at very least, the lore has shaped the nationalities
contained within the different races of man.
But what is the basis of lore? What generates the myth? Is there some incident(s) the entity
of these many stories is based upon?

Is it reasonable to doubt the pre-Christian cosmology of every non-Western culture?

If it is reasonable, it is an ignorant reasoning...that is to say, those who dismiss all non-Western
cosmologies often do so without a full understanding, or often a with a complete ignorance, of
that established system, or "concensus truth" of that culture.
The Concensus Theory of Truth defines science in terms of a "mean average" of human belief.
And so Cultural Universals, beliefs which exist in every human culture regardless of influence
or distance, would be accepted as a "universal" conclusions. When the greatest human minds
of the world, since the the dawn of mankind, devote themselves to a problem AND all reach
the same, idenical conclusion, we must accept the relevence of that "answer" to that spe-
cific problem and accept it as a legitimate conclusion, until science can provide an alternative.

While pissing, I realized that the "residual self" or residue of identity left behind our bod-
ies at the moment of death is the an energetic inversion of the state of selfhood with which
one enters death.
To again draw duality of life/death graphically and trace pure, sine waveforms as representing
natural, uninfluenced birth/death.
In this uninterrupted single rolling waveform shape, death is approached naturally: graphically
exprerssed in an envelope of gradual decay towards the "flat line."
And every waveform’s crest will always define its inverse, the trough. This is true of sound,
seasons, light, all apects of nature follow the observable laws of frequency which govern
duality and DO apply to all natural dualistic relationships.
And what scientist is so brave and confident in the extent of his ignorance to stand up and
claim natural death is not a part of nature?

The point of realization during this piss, however, was not this wave form or the resid-
ual inverse of self, but of the Hindu Samadhi death.
It is believed in the Hindu Cosmology that those who attain the breathless Samadhi state in
life, and thus are able to consciously CHOOSE when to leave their bodies for the last time, are
given a special "overseeing" role in a higher plane of the afterlife.
As if they dive beneath physicality at the moment of death from a meditative PEAK of such
transcendent brilliance that the residual inverse is, of course, as high and as "transcendent"
inversely.
Not at all gradual is his CANNONBALL JUMP beneath the surface of the flat line, but a straight
plum-drop descent, in perfect, needle-point form like a trained Olympic medalist of conscious-
ness, completing the grand feat which would earn him recognition before the millions of
spectating spectors far below.
Rather, The Saints remain Saints – the brilliance of their eyes is not physical, and does not die.

So, given this proto-scientific Hindu understanding of a heirarchtical (essentially Caste)

system established after death, it could be safely assumed that the state of consciousness
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attained during this PEAK Samadhi entrance into death could be chemically-induced using the
self-awareness and reported aid Samadhi attainance, the psychedelic.

The fascinating studies done by [1]Dr. Jim Tucker of University of Virginia’s Division of
Perceptual Studies empirically studied the observable implications of reincarnation. Within
the first 3 years of a child’s life, it is common for them to say things like "Have you met my
other mommy?" or "I was a truck driver before."
In more rare instances, the children are able to actually give specific names, addresses, cities,
manners of death or other UNKNOWABLE and intimate details of the personal relationships
between still-living family members and the deceased. Tucker simply established a data
collection study, a forum for the information these children were born with to be recorded,
and then investigated the validity of these data.

Dr. Tucker found that, yes...the names, addresses, occupations, and manners of death
described by these toddlers, more often than not, matched exactly to the previously-carnate
personality they claimed to be.
Further, Tucker found that in cases of extreme or abrupt "plum-drop" deaths, where life is cut
in an unnatural or violent manner, birthmarks could be found at the site of the death wound.
A brown splotch at the exact point of the bullet entry, or an unusual discoloration in the shape
of the deceased’s fatal knife gash.

So, when these two life sets of Dr. Tucker’s study are plotted beside the the Residual
Inverse graph of Samadhi death I mentioned above, there are definate similarities seen in
waveform shape. Overlapping Samadhi and Violent death’s graphs, both have the sharp and
unnatural "cut" waveform decline envelope.
From these graphical representations of "flatlining," or an individual’s entrance into death,
rebirth states CAN be inferred.
1. http://www.lifebeforelife.com/

the2minh8 (2008-02-08 18:39:12)

so here is the thing: in the current state of growth in human population, every human could reincarnate
after death. there also must be some "fresh souls" being created in order to account for the population
growth. if, on the other hand, the human population were contracting rather than expanding, some
humans would not reincarnate–at least not right away. would there be some kind of queuing system
where souls would await their turn to be alive again? would some simply be left dead forever? what
happens when extinction occurs? for the matter, what happens when universal heat death occurs and
there is nothing living ever again? it seems to me reincarnation makes the most sense as a comforting
thought to assuage the fear of death. far more comforting, i would say, than the more realistic notion
that life is simply not important. well if life is not important, then what is important? it is the unknown
that lies beyond death that provokes fear, as well as the unlikely hope that, in the end, SOMETHING
has importance, SOMETHING is everlasting. this is why metaphysics never makes it anywhere.

turboswami (2008-02-08 21:59:39)

Ok, so if you return this idea of a graphical representation of an individual’s development and decline,
you will find the peak of identity. This is the most energetic, vivacious, adventurous, sexually-charged,
and radiant point of our life and, according to the Risk/Age, Crime/Age, or Genius/Age curves, occurs
around age 24. But, what this graph I propose introduces is the inversion of this peak, in order
to "zoom out" and view the full waveform, not the frequency to just it’s crest. What does this
imply, then? Well, the inversion or "opposite" of the peak of ego, the most fully-formed state of our

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 identity, would be the fully-disolved loss of identity, or "returning to the earth" as all things tend to
do. Evidence of this returning disolving back into the Greater Identity can be heard in the peculiar
qualities often heard in EVP recordings. While distinct personalities of once-living people are recorded
and recognized, often the recordings are of "polyglot" speech, or sentances formed of many different
languages and dialects together. What this polyglot speech implies is an identity "gone fuzzy."
Having partially degraded and disolved into their surrounding consciousness, the sort of "fertile
compost of identity," they try to pull together some manner of communication from this blurred mess
of differeing semantic memories and vocalizations. It implies a loss of identity. I’d venture to say
a belief that all observable nature follows the laws of frequency, duality, and energy EXCEPT death
would be the unrealistic one.

Agglutination: The Spaghetti Scene In ’Seven’ (2008-02-08 13:26) - public

Finnish extensively employs regular agglutination. It has a smaller core vocabulary than, for
example, English, and uses derivative suffixes to a greater extent.

As an example, take the word kirja "a book", from which one can form derivatives kir-
jain "a letter" (of the alphabet), kirje "a piece of correspondence, a letter", kirjasto "a library",
kirjailija "an author", kirjallisuus "literature", kirjoittaa "to write", kirjoittaja "a writer", kirjuri
"a scribe, a clerk", kirjallinen "something in written form", kirjata "to write down, register,
record", kirjasin "a font", and others.

From "ORAL ENGLISH 201 - LESSON NOTES" (2008-02-08 13:30) - public

Here’s a little ditty I used to teach emphasis to my students.

This sentence is interesting in that if you say the sentence seven times, each time plac-
ing the emphasis on a different word, the meaning of the sentence shifts.

Try it…

1. I Didn’t Say You Stole My Money.

2. I DIDN’T Say You Stole My Money.
3. I Didn’t SAY You Stole My Money.
4. I Didn’t Say YOU Stole My Money.
5. I Didn’t Say You STOLE My Money.
6. I Didn’t Say You Stole MY Money.
7. I Didn’t Say You Stole My MONEY.

the2minh8 (2008-02-08 19:27:32) language: awesome

extra meaning added: 1. someone else said it. 2. [emphatic] 3. i may have implied that you stole my
money. 4. i did say someone else stole it. 5. i said you did something else with it. 6. i said you stole
someone else’s money. 7. i said you stole something else from me.

713
From "ORAL ENGLISH 201 - LESSON NOTES" (2008-02-08 13:30) - public

Here’s a little ditty I used to teach emphasis to my students.

This sentence is interesting in that if you say the sentence seven times, each time plac-
ing the emphasis on a different word, the meaning of the sentence shifts.

Try it…

1. I Didn’t Say You Stole My Money.

2. I DIDN’T Say You Stole My Money.
3. I Didn’t SAY You Stole My Money.
4. I Didn’t Say YOU Stole My Money.
5. I Didn’t Say You STOLE My Money.
6. I Didn’t Say You Stole MY Money.
7. I Didn’t Say You Stole My MONEY.

(2008-02-18 12:51) - public

Dearest Hotpants,

I think you must be all grown up now. I think you have like 15 babies and named them
all alphabetically for convenience and easy storage. I think you might be getting married... a
3rd time and for that I can only say "Congraduations! ... again. "
3 was always your lucky number. We’re all crossing our fingers hoping this one doesn’t die!

Yea, I am a teacher at a college here in China. My students are all between 20-23 years
old. Oh yea... and they are 90 percent girls !!HOTCHA!!

Ahem...

HOTCHA!

Yea, well anyway, hotchas aside, there is more to life than travelling the world having
wild unrestrained sex with beautiful exotic women in varying positions. I am reminded of
that old Scandinavian saying my grandmother used to tell me... as she bathed me. She said
"There is more to life than travelling the world having wild unrestrained sex with beautiful
exotic women in varying positions. " And this woman spoke from experience (trust me!) Oh,
high school was a magical and confusing time. I miss her firm hands....

(2008-02-18 13:14) - public

Strong storm style with a will that whisk sweep up their hearts, this in the turn of his long
black coat and steadied by the nails of his piercing eyes.

Strong, but less time left than before.

Strong, but gazing upwards from that fall, in that turn, with a push back up, aided by a
714
subtle glow not his.

Strong long two less receives one, as there is finally room to pass through the surface
gate.

The Dogman Trickster (2008-02-18 23:43) - public

A recent submission to [1]Legend of Michigan Dogman

Hello Again,

I am unable to sleep, thinking about the night I mentioned to you. Ever since I saw
your page and realized that me and my mother’s stories were not isolated, my thoughts
about that night have been stirred up somehow. I admit, the dog entity I saw, as well as the
one described by my mother, is somewhat different from those described in the accounts on
your site. Yet, the fact that we both saw a tall dog-like creature moving on two legs in the
yard of our isolate Upper Michigan home bears enough association for me. And, perhaps, it
is just the degree of interaction with the being that makes my sighting a bit different. Anyway...

For many years, my mother would tell the story of what she had seen, to me, my sis-
ters, and close friends and relatives when the topic of unknown things came into conversation.
She says that one night, in the fall of 1980, she was carrying dishes from the front room to the
kitchen and in the window, glaring in at her, was a "horrible dog demon," as she described it.
Seeing it, she immediately fell to the floor screaming and crying, dropping the plates. This
is how my dad describes finding her, broken dinner plates, hysterical, shaking, on the floor
beneath the window. She always described the creature as dog-like and almost skeletal. To
peer into the house from that particular window, a man would have to be almost 7 feet tall.

Me and the rest of the family never thought much of mom’s story. I did not take her
too seriously, and laughed it off with everyone else. But then I saw the creature she had
seen. I was 13 years old, it was the summer of 1994. Me and my family were visiting
a friend, an old fellow by the name of Harold Berg who lived on the hill near National
Mine school. It was late, almost 11 o’clock, and I was tired of waiting for my parents to leave
and told them I was walking home. They said that was fine, and that they would be home soon.

I took the old school trail that cut through the woods, came out near the park and con-
tinued towards home, walking alone. My family home was a bit isolated, outside of the rest
of National Mine, near the old mine itself. As I came about 10 yards from the end of our
long driveway, the sillouette of a tall figure emerged from the woods, jumped down from the
embankment at the bottom of the hill, and ran across the end of my driveway. Jumping the
wide ditch there, the entity ran fast across the road and leapt, without hesitation, into the
thick brambles on the opposite side. I watched, and listened as the creature CONTINUED that
715
pace in through the thick saplings in the swampy area across from my house. The figure was
very fast, and held it’s arms slightly bend in front of itself as it ran. It very tall, with a dog-like
snout protruding. Yet his head seemed bare and thin.

I was still frozen on the edge of the road, listening for the rustling of branches that had
stopped. Was it gone? I tried to rationalized what I had seen, but I could not think of any man
who would or could run that fast through that thick wall of trees in that swamp in the day, let
alone in the dark at 11:30 at night! But that snout! That was no man! I ran the strange figure
over again and again in my head as I walked back, trying to make sense of it. Returning home,
I was very nervous, but began watching TV... yet it soon became apparent I was not alone.

Over the sound of the TV, in my parents bedroom, I could hear very heavy breathing in
the window. I listened closer, but did not turn down the TV volume. It was a deep throaty
almost growling. Whatever it was WANTED me to hear it. It would stop for a time, but then
start again...from the closest window in the next room, distinct. My chest was quivering, but I
thought I would just distract myself with something else and my parents would be home soon.
I went into the kitchen, sat at the table, and began writing a shopping list. After less than a
minute, I heard footsteps on the gravel rocks near the steps to the front door. I thought "Oh,
thank God! My parents are back!" and quickly went to the window to see them. They weren’t
there, I didnt see anybody at all. I sat back down and AGAIN, I could hear someone circle the
house, walking on the gravel outside. I ran to the window, and the single street light showed
nobody in the driveway. I knew it was that creature with the snout who had shown himself to
me at the end of the driveway.

The moment I sat down, a remote control car lying on it’s back on a bench near the
door BEGAN RUNNING BY ITSELF! Its wheels spun loudly in the air. I immediately just broke
down and just started wailing, crying loudly as I ran for the phone. My dad said he could not
make sense of me, I was so afraid on the phone, begging him to come back immediately. I
pictured that thin dog man outside in the dark, smiling wide as he watched my reaction to his
teasing.

He told me that airplane radios can maybe interfere with remote control car frequencies.
Yea, right. Thanks Dad..

I wrote the story of that dog creature I saw, that walked on two legs, in the National
Mine School essay contest that year and won. I had my artist friend, Cory, draw a cover
picture of that tall canine figure leaping across the ditch as he bounded for the woods. The
story and picture were displayed that season in the school glass cabinet with the comment
"Sounds like a case for Unsolved Mysteries to me!"

I hope I can get to sleep now...maybe I just needed to get it out. : )

Sincerely,

-Kaleb Smith

1. http://www.myspace.com/michigandogman

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turboswami (2008-03-28 03:03:12)
Hey Steve, Another sleepless night here. Awake, thinking about that incident, I made a connection -
one I feel dumb for not making before. The spot on that hill where I saw the Dogman descend from was
the spot where a little girl had been killed the year previous. The Nickerson girl was killed by a pack
of dogs. This seems relevent....not only to my sighting, but perhaps also to the killing. Hours after the
girl was killed, there were "big city" investigators from downstate going over and marking evidence in
that part of my yard. The owners of many of the dogs involved all swore that their pet could never
have done such a thing - that their dog would never attack a human. To this it was said that it was the
initial attack of some "leader" dog that spurred the pack instincts of the others into tearing the child
apart. It was concluded that this pack leader could have been the wolf-hybrid dog of a few houses
down from us, but even this family said their dog could never have attacked a human. Yet, upon killing
and dissecting that animal, some remains of the little girl were found. SOME remains, but not all. It
was in searching for the rest of the body that the investigators turned their attention to my own dog, a
huge, gentle, white Newfoundland/Lab mix. Luckily, in all the commotion of sirens and news cameras,
my poor dog had become so nervous, he vomited in the yard - proving his innocence. What was the
dog man doing at that spot that night? Could he still smell the kill? If my dog was innocent, where
were the other remains? What was it that triggered those typically-calm house pets to suddenly attack
and kill the Nickerson girl? Everyone knows that dogs will continually return to spots where they have
killed prey, sometimes even years later, to smell the ground and find parts of the animal which they
had buried there. But do dogs return to spots of kills they were uninvolved with? It may not be healthy
for me to let these questions cycle over in my head like this...this all happened a lot time ago, maybe
it’s best to just let it go and try to forget it! At any rate, a bit of history behind the spot of the sighting,
although how the two incidents are related, I will leave up to you. Sincerely, -Kaleb Smith

edensgray (2009-04-18 14:05:29)

that’s an intriguing chain of events there...but a horror story nonetheless

turboswami (2009-04-18 20:09:20)

The story will be published, with many other sightings of the Michigan Dogman, in the upcoming book.
Its a bit far out...even more so than the typical Dogman story. It is rare that the entity makes such
a point to FOLLOW and harass people, but its also rare that the sighting stories are made by young
children. Its interesting, though, that the Ojibwa and other indian tribe legends of the Upper Peninsula
and Wisconsin all describe interactions with a dog entity. In all of these stories, he is portrayed as a
clever trickster sort of personality, who enjoys playing and toying with humans - much as he seemed
to be doing with me.

edensgray (2009-04-19 19:08:01)

....trickster...

Spare Quotes (2008-02-19 00:08) - public

Much is realized that seldom can be expressed and when it might be

told—dissolves.

Heaven makes no moral laws, but gives us instincts towards rightness

and virtue.

Things more excellent than themselves are expressed through Art when
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our selves are expressed in them.

The artist illumines unseen beauties and awakens us to the utility of

beauty as pleasure of a more permanent kind.

We conceive from the whole until detail destroys.

Emotional depth can bestow originality of expression.

Over-modesty permits the unworthy to seek our company.

Our near relatives are the greatest insurance against belief in ourselves.

Birth and death begin, like everything else, before the event.

There is more truth in our erotic zones, than in the whole of religions and
mathematics.

"Dominant inferiority."

Man’s love of fancy dress, of masquerading, is true translatable

symbolism: one fiction guising another.

Where Ego goeth, there only is the sensation and perception of reality.

Passion is purchased by passion. Those of small desires will only bleed

you and make you as necessitous as themselves.

The price of Identity is suffering.

Life is an endless re-creation. Whatever we are, our value is in the next

existential: always a composite of some yesterday’s potentialities.
Whoever exploits the less probable as possible is a fine artist.

How can you be dynamic with small beliefs and small desires?

Rightly man is screened from much of himself— he already hates too

much.

Unappreciated ability becomes devitalized, breeds a self-indulgent

sickness— a self pity that suffers alone.

You cannot obtain anything from yourself, only through yourself.

The failures in life become the manure in death.

-THE LOGOMACHY OF ZOS

By Austin Osman Spare

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Random Letter To A Girl Who Is Random (2008-02-22 02:53) - public

Wow!

Babies and hubbies and Texas and moming-it-up like a madcap mofo! I had no idea...I
always pictured you fighting the inclination to Settle Down into that whole family thing...like
me. : D As long as you’re just settling DOWN, and not settling FOR, I am very happy for you. ; )

Yea, I mean, I put it all on my resume:

-Staircase Driving - 2+ Years Exp.

-Pushing Down Old People - 3 Years Exp.
-Explosive Diarrhea Dance Instructor - 1 Year Exp.
-"Surprise Penis Theater" (Romance Comedy) - 13 Years Exp.
-Peeing Pants With Smug Attitude - EXPERT!

I can only assume they liked what I "brought to the table"...or could not read English.
Although what I brought to, and laid on, their table sort of spoke for itself. I was hired on the
spot. G-wiz... They sure love us big Americans.

Haha, sorry. I’m all hopped up on some kind of hoo-haw-happy-busy-freakout pill I gea-
zled onto. I took it and made my China girl some wild fingerpainting...for like 3 hours. Haha!
Good stuff, Meinard!

Although, I was a bit out of it and didnt wash the paint off...and now my laptop keyboard is
OH-SO colorful. FUCK.

Haha.

Oh, yea. I’m totally a kick-ass college teacher. When the kids start talking and aren’t
really listening, I just start saying FUCKED UP SHIT in a quiet monotonous Mr. Betts sort of
voice.

"Oh Sweet Jesus, I am definately on fire now. Oh, the pain, the pain in my loins is un-
bearable. Won’t somebody do something, I’m fucking on fire. You dirty douchebags, you don’t
even care. Ohp. I think I just came in my pants...again. Yessire, what a mess."

It feels so good to just say whatever I want, instead of freaking out trying to get them
all to shut up. I can say anything in the Blaine Betts voice and nobody will ever notice because
it has such an innocent, non-threatening tone.

Of course there is always that one kid in the front row actually listening, and I love watching
his eyes widen halfway through the maligned but quiet rant. Oh, I like being a teacher.

-Your Smitty

swarms (2008-02-22 03:17:47)

"Peeing pants with smug attitude" I believe it explicitly says in the Urinal Gum fine print that you must
cite Urinal Gum when stealing from it. But, I probably stole it from you in the first place. Anyway, my

719
asshole lawyer will be in contact with you. He probably won’t bring this up at all.

turboswami (2008-02-22 16:20:39)

Yes, I finally got the issue of UG yesterday. The peeing with an air of smugness bit was...stolen, yes.
...from a hilarious comedian and talented actor named Adam Sandler. Have you heard of him?

the2minh8 (2008-02-22 19:40:51)

i note that you are within the boundaries of copyright fair use, but JUST BARELY! the language in
Urinal Gum relates "soiling" oneself smugly. your phrase is substantially more precise and thus
different in kind. BUT DON’T PUSH IT! "english immersion, i’ll give you an ’english immersion’!"

7.3 March

What A Cockbag! (2008-03-01 01:59) - public

Taking Frenchie home to bed.

Ol’ Maggot Legs McTassle Asian and the petalvomit mummy of treehorn.
(2008-03-01 02:03) - public

There are few things that bring a greater sense of self-satisfaction to my day than admiring
the length of my own turds.

lover_of_anime (2008-03-01 07:59:38)

that’s neat

A New Facet To Ganon’s Evil Plan (2008-03-01 02:09) - public

I hope my new girlfriend never finds my porn stash...

Could you hold onto to it for a while for me?

Here is something to look at while you, you know, hold onto it.

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It reminds me of that one ABBA song...
you know the one
oh, what was it called... you remember, it goes:

"I cum uncontrollably on a crowded bus.

But when I look down, I’m cumming bloody ants."

And then there is that wicked-smooth light rock synth solo?

God knows I love my light-rock...and my fusion jazz, and my New Age saxaphonists and my
candlelit scented oil baths and my infected scrotal piercings.

the2minh8 (2008-03-01 19:17:14)

that image is hilariously disturbing. i have no idea who it is supposed to appeal to.

holdyn (2008-03-11 01:10:38) Zelda never dug it anyway

she’s so gonna find it, we always do... just concoct your excuses now

Oh, How We Climbed... (2008-03-19 19:30) - public

I traveled 8 hours into the sub-tropical region of China, to the ancient garden city of Suzhou. Six
centuries ago, Marco Polo described the city as Heavenly, both great and noble. I spent 5 days
there, exploring gardens and crowded market streets that were sometimes only 2 feet wide,
but wind and weave into neighborhoods. It is a water city, like Venice, with many areas accessi-
ble only by way of the old canal systems. On the second day, I caught a ride on a little junk boat
and explored this maze of canals that are the streets of Old Town. I floated lazily through green
water, beneath arched foot bridges of carved stone. The boatman sang to me. It was surreal...

Once I stopped fumbling with my fucking field microphone, trying to capture the boat-
man’s beautiful folk song, and actually looked around, I realized how amazing the moment
was. So his voice and song may fade from memory over time, at least I was THERE and
listening to him, instead of hunched over, pushing buttons and untangling cords trying to
capture something I was missing.

The following day I climbed Tiger Mountain. This man-made mountain was the [1]inspi-
ration of one of my favorite albums, "Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)" by ENO. If you have
not heard this album, I will upload it later so that you may hear where I was.

While looking for a certain hotel, I began asking around for directions. An old Chinese
woman was kind enough to stop and help me. She was probably nearing 80, a bit hunched
over, but had beautiful kind eyes and smiled warmly, eager to help me out. She went far
out of her way, leading me through underpasses and down smaller streets, speaking to me
in Chinese the whole time. I nodded and smiled back, mostly oblivious. When we finally
came to the hotel I had been told about, I was so thankful to this cute old lady for going
so far out of her way to help me. Over the extent of our long search, I had almost started
to think of her as a sort of caring grandmother figure, in a way. As I was thanking her and
saying goodbye, she pointed to my penis and made a blowjob motion with her hand and
mouth... My cute Chinese grandmother then made a loud suckling sound with her tongue,
as if my cock was already in her mouth at that very moment. She smiled up at me with a
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questioning tone. I did my best to reject her offer with courtesy, but this was not easy to
do as my cock had actually receded deep into my abdomen, where it hid in repulsion and fear.

1. http://mfile3.akamai.com/14123/wm2/muze.download.akamai.com/2890/us/uswm2/_!/696/521696_1_10.asx?auth=daE
aRb_bkdLc.cjcOdlcrcva_aKdPakcac3-bh4r7Z-Ci-dedcc&aifp=1

the2minh8 (2008-03-20 20:18:01)

i can imagine nothing more clearly than your reaction to the old woman’s gesturing. it’s like i’m there,
watching you shift your weight uneasily from foot to foot, giving a staccato laugh, waving your hands
and telling her "no, that won’t be necessary; that won’t be necessary at all!"

edensgray (2009-04-17 20:23:02)

LMFAO!!! Wow! This post has me blushing! haha I’m curious about your endeavors. How is it that you
are able to travel?? BTW, I couldn’t find the entry where you posted a link to that conference you’re
speaking at in Peru. I would like to read more about the conference.

Things I Learned Today (2008-03-20 01:11) - friends

http://iwontwatchtheolympics.com/

So, yea...I guess China is setting fire to peaceful religious men, burning them alive.

Seriously, nobody in China knows anything about this. The big news was a very posi-
tive article about how the Olympic complex was built to highlight China’s cultural heritage or
something. There was also a section of the paper called "People Are Important." ...!!?!

Yes, people are SO important here that the government of the PEOPLE’S Republic of China
uses only the Highest-Grade lighter fluid to douse them in. Only the best for our citizens!

Holy Shit, I am totally going to be imprisoned tomorrow!

Anyway, I found out about the Tibet shootings when investigating why YouTube was banned
by the Chinese government this week.

See, I am doing a multimedia presentation on deep sea creatures and NEED to get the
Blue Planet - Deep Sea video for the projector, in the auditorium I will be speeking in tomorrow.
Talking about these fish, and describing how cool they look, simply wont be as effective as
showing the video of what they look like to this 100+ member audience.

Can ANYONE download some .FLV files from youtube for me?

I would be so grateful, I would provide some manner of gift in return.

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In Fact... (2008-03-20 10:11) - public

In Fact...

Gradually, I realise it was a ordinary miracle

A sunny day, or a cloudy day
As long as we can feel it...

In fact, I want to be with you every minute.

In fact, I want to walk with you hand in hand every day and the road beneath is infinite
In fact, I want you to be happy every second even if I make you unhappy because of my
meaness sometimes.
In fact, I hope whenever you want to meet me I will appear in front of you at a full speed.
723
In fact, I hope you will tell me everything about you,let me know you more,accompany you to
happen.
In fact, I hope we will watch sunrise and sunset in a peaceful atmosphere.
In fact, I hope every corner of the college have left our shadow
In fact, I hope we can have some snacks ,smiling and talking happily.
In fact, I do not want you to see my tears drop when I am in a bad mood;I do not want my
sadness make you upset sometimes;I do not want to be a busy girl who always have excuses
not to see her boyfriend;I do not want you to be a busy boy from now on...

It is a ordinary miracle

Turn your head up to the sky.

Nothing down below but me.
Never let go!

My girl writes me the cutest poems.

Her name is Jiang Hui.

turboswami (2008-03-22 06:51:00)

Yes, so...I love this girl and I’m all mushy about it. Only I dont keep that mush private, like reasonable
people. Here is my reply to her. " Your poem is so beautiful. Thank you, it means a lot to me. I am
going to show it to my friends, if you dont mind, because I am so proud. Beautiful Eyes, Enclose Me
There you are. Beauty. Beauty I fell into, and am still falling. Beauty I will try to deserve. And work
hard, not just to keep, but to keep open. Summer to Winter, and turning again But never back... I will
never turn my back to you, Beauty. I would hide forever in your eyes, if you let me. And perhaps,
Beauty, I will open with them. : ) "

I Can Make You Weep More Cheaply (2008-03-20 23:38) - public

http://rapidshare.com/files/100986544/brian _eno _- _taking _tiger _mountain _by

_strategy.rar.html

Continuing the twisted pop explorations of Here Come the Warm Jets, Eno’s sophomore
album, Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy), is more subdued and cerebral, and a bit darker
when he does cut loose, but it’s no less thrilling once the music reveals itself. It’s a loose
concept album – often inscrutable, but still playful – about espionage, the Chinese Communist
revolution, and dream associations, with the more stream-of-consciousness lyrics beginning
to resemble the sorts of random connections made in dream states. Eno’s richly layered
arrangements juxtapose very different treated sounds, yet they blend and flow together
perfectly, hinting at the directions his work would soon take with the seamless sound
724
paintings of Another Green World. Although not quite as enthusiastic as Here Come the Warm
Jets, Taking Tiger Mountain is made accessible through Eno’s mastery of pop song structure, a
form he would soon transcend and largely discard.

the2minh8 (2008-03-20 20:13:29)

what is your favorite eno album? i myself am new to his work and have begun at the beginning,
purchasing here come the warm jets a few weeks ago.

swarms (2008-03-21 02:23:13)

First, I loved Here Come the Warm Jets. Then, I fell in love with Taking Tiger Mountain, but Warm Jets
got jealous, and I had to fondle her a bit while still visiting Tiger Mountain. But now, now, I almost
exclusively spend my time in Another Green World. I listen to that album about three times a week
(for the past year).

turboswami (2008-03-21 08:29:56)

Yea, the Here Come The Warm Jets or "The Facial Urination Album" as it is sometimes referred, is still
my favorite... although this surreal China album is his most popular overall. His first 4 "song album,"
can be divided into his Glam Rock period, heavily influenced by David Bowie, T. Rex, and the Roxy
Music group he had just dumped. The latter of the song albums are slide slyly into drawn out Prog
territory. First embracing the lazy, cerebral, meditative arrangements, on Another Green World, but
them seeming to clutch fearfully at straws for the pop sensibility he seemed to be losing by Before
and After Science. The brilliant personalities, like Eno, are brilliant only because of how quickly they
burn out. 4 albums, such a sharp decline...until nothing was left but the noise of the room, the gentle
wash of lack-of-personality, ambience.

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theloniouszen (2008-03-20 21:31:11)
rapidshit appreciated Here comes the warm jets is amazing, even if "Sky Saw" isn’t on it

turboswami (2008-03-21 05:25:18)

Yes, you will find the arrangements on this album a lot less cluttered than those of the urine album.
The heavenly timbres he attains by filtering and treating the guitars are simply overwhelming – to me,
more powerful than the melodies, themselves! See, for instance, if you can guess how the amazing
percussive string sound on "The Grest Pretender" was attained...

Yea, That’s About All The NY Times Is Good For (2008-03-22 23:18) - public

Introducing the RSStroom reader by Yi Tien Electronics, with this gadget you’ll be able to print
the latest RSS headlines directly on to rolls of toilet paper. It also features Wi-Fi Connectivity,
USB 2.0, and RSS 2.0/Atom compatibility. This reader interacts with your toilet bowl
"biometrically" which basically means when you sit down this thing will weigh you.
Depending on your weight, it’ll deliver you a customized news feed.

doctor_stan (2008-03-22 17:19:12)

i had this really awesome idea that when you sat down the toilet would weigh you and then when you
were done taking a dump it would tell you how much your crap weighed so then you could walk out
and say things like "holy wah a ten pounder!" it would sell i think.

turboswami (2008-03-23 08:57:04)

Yes, but it would have to be one of those amazing Japanese toilets...the ones with rows of lights and
buttons for mysterious functions us simple American’s didn’t even KNOW we needed. They are YEARS
ahead of us, as far as turds are concerned. Anyway, in the life of my dreams, my toilet would tell me
specific details about my poo in the voice of a classy British butler...or burgler. Perhaps Stephen Fry.
Ideally, these "shat stats" would be followed by a few kind words, commending me on a job well done,
while assuring that he would be eagerly anticipating my next beef crayon. Also, this toilet would
never use the phrase "Dropping the Huxtables off at the pool."

"Please! Help Me!" - Succesfully Recording The Voices of The Dead

(2008-03-27 18:50) - public

I performed some Electronic Voice Phenomenon experiments in my studio in Northern Michi-

gan, and would like to share the strange results with the community.

After my shamanic and Hindu studies at Michigan State University, I began an indepen-
dent study of the Out-Of-Body Experience, under the guidance of Dr. Robert McKinely, a
professor from the anthropology department. It was then was introduced to the idea of one
"drawing attention" to one’s self from the realm of spirit. This, it seemed, could be done
in many different ways: prayer, ritual, vocalized invitation, hightened states of awareness,
726
inducing trance, or the receptivity aid of the psychedelic. Powerful or traumatic events, in
general, can attract the attention of spirits to your life situation, as if to imply pity or concern
on the part of the discarnate. Perhaps these most intense events of our life are merely
interesting to watch for them...and they all come running to see the show!

At any rate, Dr. McKinley told me this relationship between traumatic events and spiri-
tual interaction was well-documented.

With this more literal understanding of "the world stage," and the concept of drawing at-
tention to one’s self from the unseen, I approached the idea of EVP or the Electronic Voice
Phenomenon. From this perspective, I could see flaws in the work of individuals I’d seen
attempt EVP: paranormal investigation team from the college, who I had invited into my home
2 months previous...

THE SPOOKS WEREN’T TOLD ABOUT THE SCHEDULE!!

When that team came, everybody had been told the date over a week ahead of time.
The 8 person team, as well as everyone living in my house, were all included in the email
chain, being told the intended date of investigation, the address where the recordings would
take place, and the time. Yet, the individuals we were actually intending to capture the voices
and pictures of in this recording were NOT told. This seemed like a major flaw in the rationale
behind the procedure, and so I went about to attempt recording the EVP on my own, only
experimenting, for once, with a POSTED SCHEDULE.

As far as I had read, this had never been attempted by any EVP researcher. It was al-
ways simply assumed that our manner of written communication did not apply to the dead.
But, the disappointing results of those many EVP researchers who had not yet established
a name for themselves suggested that their recordings were of whatever random entity
happened to be nearby when he pressed down "Record."

So, I made a formal invitation to the EVP recording experiment. I do not remember the
exact wording, but it asked all well-meaning, good-natured spirits in the area to take part in a
recording and contribute answers to a few questions. I then listed several questions I wished to
have answered about the afterlife. I then wrote in large letters that the experiment would take
place on Saturday, December 22nd, at 5:00 AM (a time I had found to be particularly "active" in
previous experience.) I hung the invitation up in my studio on the night of the 19th and waited.

The results of thatSaturday’s recording were disappointing. Yes, very faint vocalizations
could be heard when the recording was later amplified, these were nothing like the clear
and loud voice recordings I’d heard from the classic researchers, like Dr. Konstantin Raudive
or Friedrich Jurgensen. Somewhat crestfallen, I took down the invitation and threw it into a
drawer and went through the following week without telling anyone about the experiment or
the Saturday schedule I had made.

It was not until the FOLLOWING Saturday that the crazy, unexplainable activity began. I
was in bed with my girlfriend. It was around 3 AM, but neither of us were yet asleep. As I
said, she knew nothing of what I had attempted the week before... yet she said she felt very
uneasy for some reason that night, and was afraid. She claimed she saw dark shadowy figures
walking in the corner of her vision. I, too, believe I saw one of these and was also a bit on edge,
trying to sleep through it. Soon, Teasha, my girlfriend, cried out that she was being watched,
727
and she clutched my chest, sobbing and terrified. Through her closed eyes, she claimed she
could see another set of eyes glaring at her, angry. I had got this impression in my mind’s eye
as well, but had not told her... I was very confused and laid in bed, trying to comfort her.

It was only after an hour or so that I realized that this powerful paranormal activity she
and I were experiencing was DUE TO my experiment of the Saturday previous. I had
successfully attracted the attention of spirits (though they did not seem especially "good-
natured!") They wanted me fucking upstairs NOW...to press down "Record." They had seen
my Saturday invitation, and were ready! ...albeit a week late. Maybe there aren’t calendars
on that side. Maybe it was intended to be an "ongoing" experiment. They had found some-
one receptive and willing to do this "work" for them on this side, and they were ready to speak!

When I realized WHY what was happening was happening, I was scared shitless. I didn’t
get out of bed...Teasha, quivering in my arms, slowly fell asleep over the course of an hour. I
stayed awake, listening to the loud noises taking place upstairs, in the studio. 5:00 shone on
my alarm clock. They were waiting for me....

I didnt get out of bed. I was fucking scared!

There was a "thump" and what sounded like a TV on upstairs. Conversations...

From her sleep, Teasha moved her arms towards my shoulder and actually began to
push me, however weakly, towards the edge of the bed! What the fuck!?! Were they pushing
me...? Through her? I was freaking.

I sat up. She flopped over, her two arms now sprawled across where I had been laying
in bed.

I didn’t go upstairs. I didn’t get out of bed. I was just too afraid.

I had succesfully attracted the attention of spirits, and then went to sleep on them! What a
disappointment I must be to them all. Haha!

Anyway, I uploaded a small vocal cut from the experiment. It is of a man who, in an-
guish, is heard to cry "Please! Help me!" Still gives me the fucking chills all through my chest.

Admit it, you can’t fucking blame me for being scared by this shit that second night.

Would you have gotten out of bed and heeded their call?

Anyway, I have been thinking more about that invitation and giving it another try. I was
hoping you all could help me think of good questions to post this time around. Here is what I
have so far:

What is distance in death?

How do you find loved ones?

728
What are the levels of spirits? What are non-human spirits?

What do you wish you had known while alive? (What is most important for us to know?)

May I speak with the high spirit?

How does karma relate to family tree, lineage, and heredity? (Are reincarnation and
ancestory related?)

(2008-03-27 18:53) - public

That’s why I think China will have to lose something - some species, some wetlands, something.
We [the Chinese people] are working very hard to strengthen our environment. But, as much
as I regret it, you cannot save all the things you would like. You cannot stop a billion people.

-From "Earth Odyssey" by Mark Hertsgaard

Body signifies any soul-encasement, whether gross or subtle. The three bodies are cages for
the Bird of Paradise.

Perhaps men of genius are the only true men. In all the history of the race there have
been only a few thousand real men. And the rest of us–what are we? Teachable animals.
Without the help of the real man, we should have found out almost nothing at all. Almost all
the ideas with which we are familiar could never have occurred to minds like ours. Plant the
seeds there and they will grow; but our minds could never spontaneously have generated them

-Aldous Huxley

Coincidence, Invited With A Toke (2008-03-27 19:36) - public

reflexivesalmon: LOL
is this nekidwhiteboy?
me: Why yes it is. Can I help you?
2:30 AM reflexivesalmon: probably, but youre all the way up in portland and my dick isn’t
THAT big :-P
2:35 AM me: I miss it.
2:36 AM What’s up?
2:38 AM reflexivesalmon: eh, not much, jus workin...fielding calls from horny old men and
trying to get them to stop jerking it when they talk to me
how bout you?
2:39 AM me: Same old. So, what’s the most fucked up call you ever got?
just2:40 AM reflexivesalmon: this guy flipped the fuck out on me accusing me of being racist,
hating uncut cocks and thinking he was ugly because i said i didnt care for bel ami style porn
2:41 AM no asshole i hate bel ami porn because they all have weird blank expressions and
dead eyes and dont look like theyre even slightly enjoying it
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me: You were racist against his well-clothed little man?
2:42 AM Haha, I dont even know what bel ami style is...but it sounds just lovely! Haha!
2:44 AM reflexivesalmon: its =eastern european gay-for-pay guys all viagra-ed out
and hell i loves me some uncut cock
er, ignore the erroneous = in the previous msg
2:45 AM me: I love these stories. What’s another? Ever had any weird fucked up requests?
2:49 AM Shit phone...brb
2:53 AM reflexivesalmon: no problem....surprisingly our customers are pretty tame...mostly
just deaf old men....i’ve only had one request for "guys with dirty asses" which, um, omg no.
2:54 AM me: Haha! Guys who dont wipe have a different tone to their voice?
Haha...he can tell! You use 2 ply!
reflexivesalmon: lol, i guess so
hahahaha
me: So, are you still single?
reflexivesalmon: yep
2:55 AM me: Aww...
Why?
reflexivesalmon: longest i’ve been single since i was 19 i think
it was a conscious choice actually...because i always end up in these ltr’s that i get bored with
halfway through
2:56 AM and i just wanted to have fun for a while and not worry about anyone but myself
which kinda makes me sound like a prick when i see it written out like that
heh
2:57 AM me: Amen. I think I should also acknowledge the fact...that I am the most important
person in my life.
haha. No, not prickish...just honest.
reflexivesalmon: which makes perfect sense really...we’re the only person to be there when
we die guaranteed
2:58 AM but now im getting all emo over a boy so old habits are kinda hard to break apparently
me: Haha. Buck up, Emofag. ; )
haha
reflexivesalmon: seriously
its fucking lame
me: What?
2:59 AM reflexivesalmon: getting emo ver a boy
anyway, so what do you do? work-wise i mean...seems like you travel a lot
3:00 AM me: I am a teacher.
I thought you knew!
3:01 AM How did you know I was naked?
...where are the cameras?
3:02 AM reflexivesalmon: hahahaha
seriously you’re a teacher?
3:03 AM me: Yes, but I forgot what I told you before...tell me what you know so I can fill in the
blanks. ; )
Heh.

3:12 AM reflexivesalmon:
sorry was on the phone with a really old guy who had no idea what he wanted and was
confusing the living fuck out of me
anyway, what do i know about you...hmmm
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aside from what i read in your lj, not a whole lot

http://nekidwhiteboy.livejournal.com/

Yea, anyway, I think it is safe to say this random gay phone sex Salmon guy would NOT
have messaged me randomly had I not smoked marijuana tonight. ...you may believe it, or
not!

(2008-03-28 02:33) - public

feet reincarnate song suddenly leaping

flameflung,mounts,inimitably to lose
herself where the wet stars softly are keeping

their exquisite dreams–O Love! upon thy dim

shrine of intangible commemoration
(from whose faint close as some grave languorous hymn

pledged to illimitable dissipation

unhurried clouds of incense fleetly roll)

i spill my bright incalculable soul.

The way I encounter the world, the way I encapsulate sense into meaning, has drifted so far
in 10 years, I can not remember that distant limited worldview that I once shared with those
around me. As arrogant as that sounds, I say it only because I remember the moment of light
and it’s full-perspective. I remember flying out from the well, I now know the lay of the land
from the perspective of height. I can no longer recall those thoughts well-meaning thoughts,
and interacting with those who still live there brings only awkward tension and disbelief.

The Locks On The Old Church Cellar - Lyrics (2008-03-30 15:11) - public

Key to the old locked chuch cellar.

How can I get back beneath my birth?
The stained glass above colors false the sky.
I must see all forgotten left by the builders.

Neath the calls of Western children,

and through these motors thick romancing
There is painless memory lasting,
Lasting, oh how its lasting...waiting.

Found keys to the old locked Church cellar,

Down those steps to rusted bolt, unowned.
2x

All I sense is far beneath Choir song,

731
All I know was learned inside, alone.
2x

From above, I see you from far above.

But in maps I can not touch you.
Far above, through images all think of,
The soft ground unseen is still true.

Words ending in love

Tell me a story without.

Walls climb, stars find, less men know time.

But in these try to day a line
Straight out across the rippling pines.

Fuck you.

There’s nothing usual, Fathers

There’s only pulse’s carriage
There’s nothing usual, Father,
This pulse of mine lays carraige.

Ahh!!

This pulse of mine lays carriage.

Ahh!!

This pulse of mine lays carriage...

Trouble baby, say goodnight!

Phht!
Hey hey Peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo Fuck you.

There’s nothing usual, fathers.

Don’t cry, less you bled.

Don’t flee, say Amen,
Don’t feed, till your fed.
Don’t fear, hearts of men.

Look all the pretty candy, I hope he’ll share some.

Oh how I want to touch his kind eyes...
Look all the pretty candy, But Where Is He From?
What does he mean to say "Say Goodbye?"

Ha ha haaa! *cash register/scream*

732
turboswami (2008-03-30 07:29:03)
Dont forget your promise to the frog. Dont forget the golden ball, golden hair. Or how I dove down
to fetch it, as only I could. Away from the sun, dangling from your hair. Black trace, a doorway
to some. Cold white face, a smile from the crossing guards. In space, she holds out a son. In
my place, far will I build him towards. Towards...towards...towards... ...two-wards...two-wards...
two...worlds...two...worlds Rest too me, Son where you me is too much. And then you do, as once
you did. Again and again, cycle mistakes that erode away. Life after death after life. Strode so the
mark of the witch is seen on your face. Strongth in all you try to hide. Late start, the damage is done.
Best ones are still better at half gone. All of this and more, All of this and more. A thousand lost
races live onwards in death. The strong and the lesser course neath lives they keypt. It comes, and it
comes...and its coming! its coming, its coming!

(2008-03-30 15:59) - public

Honest hopes and fears, expressed through limitations.

Or, is there something inherently untrustworthy about playfulness.

But, even as we scold the wrong doings of children, the desires and defiant stances, the
fights and tugs of want. We actually smile, secretly inside for even these forgettable quarrels
seem pure, as if shining bright those same emotions we have since hidden.

Ammendments strip dirty bad tearing where the black behind defines a sharp edge.
On thrown backs we dress afterwards, clapping and bowing both and to eachother.
What’s the light? What’s the stage? Who’s, wait, all direct but more still stronger, with vision
and height direct and that god, contained, sees his limits

in greater Gods of consciousness’ we carry only beyond the current. We carry, in con-
sciousness of mediums galactic, of frequencies scaled lightyears. What travels through great
dusts of space to carry through us wide and slow? Conscious intention of minds beyond a
thousand containments of scale! And he doesnt

care if we maturbate!

So, what of intelligence?

What is it? The most general definition possible?

"The ability to organize."

or, perhaps, more general:

"That implied by organization."

So, the definition of two sides, crest and trough, implies organisation and distinction. By
this definition, the ability to organize, all assignment of label

or semantic categorization is merely the result of intellect. But, also by this definition,
the distinction of duality, itself, is said to be intelligence.

733
All frequency, then, could be said to carry consciousness.

Awareness everywhere.

But, in this view, all intelligence we sculpt in spires of complexity in association is, in
fact, scaled within the intelligence of a greater consciousness of which we are merely medium.

Of Shrimp and whales within the same ocean, the frequency of the moon carries them
all. The community of bacteria living in the scale of the shrimp’s scale’s scale.

Her brilliant gentle tug, mother of pure blue white, lulling her babies, a world circled
apart. This is the greater conception of conscious bodies, and those within and those without.

"Who’s runnin’ the picture?"

In the highest circles of American power, there met leaders.

They met to discuss how to secure the remnants of the dwindling oil supply, to gain control of
the most powerful resource in the world.
Together, they realized that the only way to secure this oil was by military force.
But how? What reason could there be to attack?

The powerful oil family arranged the details.

Found keys

Electric stamps,
Checks in the mail.
Chopper arm rainbows of a robot baldy
The snowflake falls backwards into the stinkweeks.

Yet, I feel reminded of who I am in that monolithic snowflake wall, its intricacy declining...it’s
white frost beauty disolving into the humid stench.

myriad_mirrors (2008-03-30 18:19:12)

I very much liked your entry in abstract thought, which I see is duplicated and further elaborated upon
here. And I did not peek first.

turboswami (2008-04-03 22:42:43)

Thank you. : ) Yes, I don’t dare post the more poetic musings onto that community, unless I am in
the mood for being burned at the stake. Thar be some right-angry people up in them intarwebs!

myriad_mirrors (2008-04-04 02:15:34)

Hah. I know exactly what you mean about the angry ones. People will argue with the darndest things
online and ever so vehemently. I had added you but then I thought maybe I should ask you first
before friending you.

734
7.4 April

The Holy Cow (2008-04-04 00:46) - public

The traditional role of the mentally ill, or who are labeled "mentally ill," in society continues
to change. While the variety of colors and flavors of psychological disorders varies with more
and more specificity, the traditional structure of society, throughout history, has allowed a
place, however exclusive, within the social circle of the town: the village idiot of the town
square or, further back, the silent ascetic, or further back yet, the spiritually-minded Shaman.
So, the general line of place, and the social rank of these peculiarly-minded people seems
to have declined with the progression of observational science, seemingly right along-side
religion in general.

What reason can be given for this decline in the acknowledgement of spirit, and of the
unseen influence over our lives?

It is the observational nature of science which excludes spirituality, and it is for this reason that
psychology is so many years behind the other sciences. We will acknowledge that we have
a mind, which sees what can be seen and knows what can be known from what can be seen,
but anything beyond that is open to speculation. BF Skinner could define this hard-lined polar
extreme of psychology, refusing even to admit the existence of emotion. This, like so many
sciences still subject to the observational insistance of empirical study, is wholly unreasonable
and cannot be honestly accepted by anyone who has felt the tug of jealousy or seen the red
flash of intense, primal rage. We must acknowledge the unseen, firstly within ourselves and,
progressively, outside ourselves in fluid energy systems in-fluence with those same emotions.

Consciousness must be defined outside the confines of the mind, as it is a force far greater
than the discrete interpretations of a few sensory organs. What is it they are interpreting for
our brain? It certainly is something different from those interpretations, themselves, after
being broken down into that sensory series for "easy digestion and absorbtion," this much we
know. But how much is lost to the heavy filters of perception? To the fickle knives of cognition?

I believe the limited perspective we are born into and develop within, this "broken down"
view by which all we encounter is prepared and easily digestable, is comparable to traditional
digestion by individual cilia within the intestines. They know only these particles of protein
and carbohydrate, for which they are born to apply extraction processes through enzymes
to make a life on the sort of "Factory Line of ’The Man.’" Heh...their perspective is, naturally,
limited to those encounters; that gathering and absorbtion.

For an individual of that scale to suddenly know that protein particle as BEEF, from a
COW, a living micro-cosmology KILLED, PROCESSED AND SHIPPED, PURCHASED in a RESTAU-
RANT, is completely unnatural! All of this, OUR awareness of scale, is consciousness, as the
CELLULAR awareness of scale is the same consciousness...flowing and resulting from the same
actions, but limited within a different "scope" or view.

And, in exactly this way, our consciousness is limited within a naturally-defined scale or
perceptual bandwidth. The main difference, however, is that science has recently provided us
735
with the tools of seeing that HOLY COW which, for us, is whatever greater system of unseen
macro-mechanic cycles on scales well-beyond the confines of our mind’s natural capacity.
The theatric monotony of this tiny job in this tiny office with these tiny people talking about
tiny things like the weather: the greatest expansion beyond individual awareness they will
allow themselves, Meteorology. With this understanding, LSD should not be considered, like
other drugs, as a crutch for our escapist mind, but rather as a tool for examination and study
of what, by the natural limits of our perception, we cannot not usually see. As the microscope
should not be said to degrade the integrity of our naked eye, so the psychological equivalent
should not be said to degrade the integrity of our naked perception. Without the aid of the
microscope to the fields of biology, chemistry, and medicine, we would understand so very
little of the worlds within worlds within our own, being still limited to the primitive naked eye
view of our surroundings.

To think if those early German pioneers of the lense, and of magnification, had been so
quickly rejected by academia upon first unveiling the microscope to the world. To imagine
the reputations of legitimate and respected scientists being tarnished and attacked by their
curiosity in this strange new device, and the amazing worlds of existence it seemed to reveal
with its every use. This would be a horrible disaster, and would have set the development
of all civilization back centuries. And yet, this is what we see today; a fear of this strange
new invention, LSD, once herralded as psychology’s new "Miracle Drug," now banned and
restricted in a general atmosphere of distrust and negativity following the brilliant upheaval
of the counter-culture movement, referred to as the "Consciousness-Expansion Momentment"
in academic journals of that time. What happened?

Will culture ever acknowledge the legitimacy of these substance’s effects on it’s advance-
ment? The rapid shift in the course of social development seen between the 50s and the
60s? The Beatles, the psychedelic movement in general as it caught fire through music
and literature, to art, and further to television, until back through to the sciences that first
birthed it. The concept of the Compact Disc was one developed through the aid of LSD, the
branches of Cognitive and Transpersonal Psychology were founded in the late 60s by admitted
experimenters in perceptive aids.

It was the dawning of a brilliant new era of expanded understanding, muffled by a Gov-
erment scared shitless of its own people.

What future does the community see, when the pendulum of counter-culture cycles back to
serve as pedistal once more? For the final time?

By my math, I except this clock’s pendulum to strike loud and hard ’round 2012, and
resonate...a long, extended tone ringing out to a room who, perhaps, had not been paying
attention to the time.

holdyn (2008-04-14 02:22:27)

Dec. 21, 2012?? Jez curious.

edensgray (2009-03-26 01:30:59)

an ache in my head, it did bring forth. With this understanding, LSD should not be considered, like
other drugs, as a crutch for our escapist mind, but rather as a tool for examination and study of what,
by the natural limits of our perception, we cannot not usually see. As the microscope should not be

736
said to degrade the integrity of our naked eye, so the psychological equivalent should not be said
to degrade the integrity of our naked perception. Without the aid of the microscope to the fields
of biology, chemistry, and medicine, we would understand so very little of the worlds within worlds
within our own, being still limited to the primitive naked eye view of our surroundings. This is quite
an interesting perspective you have. Do you use LSD? If I may be so bold to ask. What is your major?
What U do you attend?

turboswami (2009-03-26 17:08:47)

It has been so long since I’ve had an opportunity to take LSD – over a decade. It expanded my
understanding of self dramatically in high school. I am pursuing a PhD in Transpersonal Psychology
from the institute I mentioned in Palo Alto. Its a little bit "woo-woo-New Age" for my taste sometimes,
but I am pretty sure it still remains the best fit for these sorts of interests and ideas.

edensgray (2009-03-26 17:12:33)

oh, impressive, indeed. i’m sorry i asked twice. don’t mind me. i wasn’t sure you received the
previous entry. so, tell me...where will this take you? are you currently in graduate level?

The Reptillian (2008-04-04 01:11) - public

As for the salamanders, the inhabitants of the region of fire, they serve
the philosophers, but are not over - anxious for their company,
while their daughters and wives are rarely seen.

Their habits, mode of life, manners and laws are

admirable, and the attractions of their minds are greater even than
that of their persons. The Supreme Being they know and religiously
adore, but have no hope of eternal enjoyment of Him, since their
souls are mortal. True it is that, being composed of the purest parts
of the elements wherein they dwell, and having no contrary
qualities, they can live for several centuries; yet are they much
troubled because of their mortal nature.

The salamanders, the Comte de Gabalis goes on to say, are

composed of the most subtle particles of the sphere of fire,
conglobated and organised by the action of the Universal Fire, so
called because it is the principle of all the mot4ons of nature.

Sylphs, gnomes, and nymphs are more familiar with man than are
the salamanders, on account of their shorter term of life, and it is
therefore easier to get into touch with them.

Each species can only dwell in its own proper

element. Thus a sy p may not invade the sphere of a salamander,
or vice versa, while both would be decidedly out of their element
in the regions of the nymphs or the gnomes. Four rulers have been
set over the four species - Gob, ruler of the gnomes; Paralda, of the
sylphs; Djin, of the salamanders; and Necksa, of the nymphs.

737
Though as a rule they are invisible to
human eyes, they may on occasion become visible to those who
invoke them, to the sages and philosophers, or even to the
multitude.

Sources: Abbe de Villars, "Comte de Gabalis" Eighteenth Century

Eliphas Levi

longlongwaytogo (2008-04-04 12:28:09)

Hi, I invited you to a comm, I hope you don’t mind. It looked like something you might be interested in.

jayyy (2008-04-05 21:23:56)

Hey, I am adding to my friends list. Is that alright? :)

All the dead whose sculls we cross are the guardians of this loss.
(2008-04-11 09:44) - public

All those calls to signs and rest stops nearby....I must pass.
All of this journey is trapped, and what can be said of thoughts behind the driver?
I must carry deeper, I must resort louder in association.
Please don’t lose me, I am a special basket. .
Case file a sample size with me at the peak.
I must release these ancient systems I have kept.
Keys to long abandoned doors I earned my way into.
I want to share, but the words there were long forgotten.
Mine simply didnt seem to translate to that contained Elvish tongue.

The areas of my scalp where the hair is leaving hurt when I run my fingers through my
long hair.

This is symbolic of my loss of adolescent selfhood.

7 year cycles? All those Bibles.

Recently poisoned? All that you moisoned.

It is only in resoonance that we are able to inlet consciousness...the allignment of fre-

quencies is the basis of all understandiing of external system frequencies.
You see, in deep meditation, the breath frequency is aligned with those greater streams and
currents of conscious attention....and suddenly a surge is felt through both systems.
This surge is bliss and carries packets of light energy through nervous polarity. A stretch, and
suddenly new systems of known awake with a shiver of extention through nervous systems.

A body and mind must be prepared for the sudden flood of breath carriage.( I willl ex-
plain it all later I say and I say)
To myself none delivers but in invitations to the sway.
738
All the path reclines me to a trough of night, yet that is only one half of the greater light.
A twitch, a push from pushy medians. But tw;aieso; toisto a heavy left hand waits for a call.
And in me he finds all trouble at no.

No old timers never saw these letters, but question their keyboardbility none-the-less.
Heres a belief system for you to interpret through scattered sentances in a web.

Touch your nose, feel it gross. As in me all I knows.

Recent flower, smelled like flowers, just a quick view of the tower.
Toed toad loss all the view outlandish palace and other such stories.
Fairy stories held high a nose that once knew only the finest air.
But smelled the born collecta and knew no betta.
And died in dark wet alley of scorn, a crushed heroin foetus.

Neuron view through the caravan, like square blocks of momentary perspective between
jobs.
A long less known highway for a life I’d rejoice, but only in the last listen could any hear my
voice.
Please carry me, please carry me my arms fell asleep, but my cries eat the darkness, I was far
too deep.
I know disgust, I share it with you. The loss I have grown has come up for plain view.

There is no proving worth their time. All that let let out is rhyme.
All the pain and constant trouble. Is for fall back less their double.
Difficult becomes a cult, lesser-known dont find this phone.
Let swirl all I mean to say, and let them see the better way.

"I am Rayden, almighty God of Thunder. Bow before me or meet death at the hands of
your merciful lord!"

I posted that quote throughout the many walls of my middle school. I adhered it with
perma-adhesive metal work tape. It was very difficult to remove.

I felt some deeper connection to the Chinese Thunder God...I wanted to live him out in
real life at that early age. I wanted to become something blue/white and powerful. I wanted
to carry that light in my eyes.

When the vice principle, Mr. Tasson, invited me into his office he said "Should I be bow-
ing before you, God Rayden?" and I laughed and sat down.
I was teased about it for years, all the way up through mid-High School.

I want to and do feel that Godhood on LSD. I become the glowing being of allness and
express the cradle of universe turn all up in my eyes.
If a bone for every frame for the eyes in my eyes, a corral reef remains upward tunnel through
the filter.

All the tongues of thought feel strange, where the dead of small remain.
But in these ancient houses dwell, those who once knew them so well.
All the currents and their plight are remembered at this site.
All the dead whose sculls we cross are the guardians of this loss.
739
Can i be behind my membership?
Or does my memory begin and end there?
In that band, where I entered and left.
(Who am I behind this memory?)

Toast to the host who’s the most.

More than you or I or this could carry.
A toast to our host who’s all-most...
all that that’s seen can be contained, and yet....

What if I were a lone man with 4 children?

Suddenly forced to entertain guests.
How would I deal with my Mexican inklings?
How would I hide all my horrible mess?

me: Did I tell you about Rayden?

WikkedCharisma: No
me: Its touchy.
A big part of my past...I guess I never opened up that far.
WikkedCharisma: you never shared any of that with me
me: Well, I share it with no one now.
Nobody here could ever understand anything I just wrote.
I was the Chinese God of Thunder...I got KP duty for many weeks
WikkedCharisma: because it’s a part of you they don’t know?
what’s KP?
me: Because the words are too hard.
Kitchen Patrol
WikkedCharisma: weird....
doesn’t sound like your work
me: Its punishment.
WikkedCharisma: oh
me: In Middle School
The National Mine School
WikkedCharisma: that’s gotta suck
me: You never saw The National Mine school...everyone else did.
Don stole video equipment, remember? That is where I was Rayden
WikkedCharisma: I didn’t see inside no
but did see the outside
yeah
you were Rayden?
weird..
me: We formed a group. Don painted the sign. It was pretty cultish.
WikkedCharisma: heh
me: He was really something once upon a time, Don...
An inventor and an artist.
WikkedCharisma: really?
I would never have imagined
me: Well beyond me, back in those young days.
He would make motorized toys.
740
WikkedCharisma: that’s hard to believe...
but then again, I met a different Don
me: He would paint and draw amazing things. He taught us all a lot, he built the clubhouse.
WikkedCharisma: what clubhouse?
did I ever see that? I assume not
me: The little building built behind his house, in the woods. We ran electricity out to it.
WikkedCharisma: when you were kids hey?
me: It was pretty rocking...that’s where I first drank beer...and a month later, smoked pot. In
the 8th grade.
None of these potheads or stoners were smoking as early as I smoked
WikkedCharisma: hahaha
I’m a pothead
me: I bet Dom started in about the 10th grade..
WikkedCharisma: lol
me: You started well beyond even High School!
WikkedCharisma: I know
me: I am the earliest of all of my friends.
WikkedCharisma: Dom started in highschool I think he told me
that’s nothing to be proud of by any means Kal
me: And every pothead I know was years later than me.
WikkedCharisma: yeah...
me: I think it is...I was still just begining to develop into pubert.
y
WikkedCharisma: I take the cake, aside from Amanda
How is that something to be proud of?
me: those are very powerful years, hormones spurning the brain to stretch out into new areas
We are suddenly becoming adults, very quickly...pot changed that development.
It spurred it’s shape in unnatural ways.
But I dont feel in unhealthy ways.
Sent at 1:53 AM on Friday

WikkedCharisma: I can see how that would happen

Well I guess I am going to go home... this girl still hasn’t shown up
which means I need to go home and do this assignment solo
you never did tell me when you’re coming home
me: I think I have always ’walked the line’ in that way. Would you call me a pot head?
WikkedCharisma: No
I wouldn’t
me: Even though I am more experienced than them all?
WikkedCharisma: there is a difference kaleb
at least to me
me: I never became Don, at least not totally.
WikkedCharisma: Pot heads are more social smokers... in my eyes... they are the people that
like to get baked and just waste it, talking, fucking, movies, gossip...
then there’s those that use it as inspiration
I.E. you
me: It is so hard for me to let people go.
You know that more than anyone.
WikkedCharisma: Yes I do
me: I let people in, and I can’t say goodbye.
741
WikkedCharisma: Why is it that you bring this up
there has to be something on your mind Kaleb
Remember, I know you.
me: Even though they might make a mess of my home.
I cannot kick them out, or ask them to leave.
WikkedCharisma: is this related to me?
me: There are many people in my life here...and some of them are better than others.
WikkedCharisma: as is the case anywhere...
me: Some of them I know could hurt me.
And yet I can never tell anyone I don’t like them.
WikkedCharisma: Like your girlfriend there did?
It’s not that hard dear
me: I am just too easy to form those harsh words.
I cannot tell people I don’t like them. I always find something I like!
And it is that that will bring me down, always.
WikkedCharisma: that’s just it, there’s never really individuals that you don’t like completely,
people have good and bad qualities
It is inevitable... you can’t do anything about it
No one can... I’ve been in that position before
and yet again, take for example Dom’s cheating on me, and yours for that matter...
the people I love(d) the most...
me: I need to learn to reject. I need to learn to express rejection.
WikkedCharisma: what’s there to learn?
you either do it or don’t
me: Yes, but that does not mean you express it.
I keep a lot in.
WikkedCharisma: true enough...
me: I tollerate.
I practice tollerance.
Of difference, and of distaste.
WikkedCharisma: That is where I started falling away from you... you never talked to me...
you kept your life locked in a security zone
me: And, so my taste grows.
WikkedCharisma: as your taste grows, so do you, in one degree or another
me: But tollerating disease is a lot like dying.
WikkedCharisma: how so
me: And many people grow a taste for disease, like delicacy of fungus or infected cheeses or
corn.
Haha. Disease kills.
WikkedCharisma: haha, agreed.
I must go
me: But the love of death...the excitement of being spectator to violence...this is a taste
and it is diseased
WikkedCharisma: I have to go call the city administrators whether or not my partner is here....
which means I have to go home, because I no longer have a cell phone
me: Ok, goodbye
WikkedCharisma: see ya
Sent at 2:06 AM on Friday

The Meditative Resonance Depaterment, within the Transpersonal Department of the

742
Psychology Department of the Science Department of the..... shall be allowed use of the
Dangerously Sharp instrument of LSD.

I dont care if it’s unruly or if it’s unrefined. I just want to give the view, looking up into
the dead frogs vagina, I must give a description of the darkest regions of this cavernous
unknown I see from this perspective.

The Top 5 Percentile of IQ shall be designated to the short term memory...the remainding 15
percent to long term memory. The remainding 45 percent to the quick acting nervous cells.
The remainding 100 percent shall be designated to the non-nervous bodily cells, who’s life is
servitude to the higher classes. This is both natural, fair, and realistic given the differences
between these genetic predispositions between cellular types. Over generations, these incli-
nations will develop into specific roles within a tissue of specialized cells constituting an organ.

A show of trust among hunted words.

But what is lost from what was first?

Grass vest of a singing handpalms despair. in learning the language of stones.

Forever doesnt screamout like the culture of a lovers arm’s hands to a nation of lonely jews.
The art of leaf beards should desere it’s own Dali painting.
But abstract art has declined with the talents and ambitions of men.

monroe_the_fast (2008-04-11 04:38:12)

Do we or don’t we change?

turboswami (2008-04-11 09:01:23)

Hmmm.... A Yes cycling within a No.

turboswami (2008-04-11 09:26:25)

Haha. Sorry.

Go Go Go, Just Go! (2008-04-11 15:33) - friends

One of my 22 year old students sent me a text message at quarter to 11 the other night. She
said "Teacher, my desk light in my bedroom is not working. Can you come mend it for me? ...I
think you know what I mean."

Her English name is Go Go - a name I’ve since learned fits her personality perfectly. I
did not go to see her that night (that’s all I need are rumors of the American teacher sneaking
around the girls dorms at night.) Also, the next day I was going to the old pre-revolution capital
of China, Nanjing and was packing. When she heard this, she immediately invited herself
along. I did not even know what she looked like, but I agreed to go on vacation with her. Sort
of a "blind date," ...only one that lasts 3 days and you both know you will sleep together.

Luckily, she was gorgeous. Slim and smiling in a sexy black dress, waiting for me at
the entrance of the school post office. And so we introduced eachother with some awkward-
ness and got on the bus. It was a 4 hour trip and I was thankful that our seats were far apart.
I dont think I could have strained to understand her broken English for 4 hours. I just wanted
743
to sit quietly.

Dancing, dinners, exploring, drinking, and all manners of sex. It was a really amazing
weekend, one I will never forget.

Nanjing has an old street of Victorian era colonial buildings that have been restored and
turned into hip bars and night clubs. It is called the 1912 Area. Saturday night, me and the girl
split a bottle of red wine and danced for hours. The best music was at a place called CocaClub,
where the dance was angry and grit bass heavy. Dancing loose and deep here, already well
into the bag by that time, I realized the entire club was watching my every move and would
even clap and cheer me on when I really dug in, lockstep with the beat. I would open my
eyes and see a hundred young Chinese college students looking back. I closed my eyes again!

Eventually, 3 boys told me to stand on the table so that the people in the back could
see. I declined, thankfully. One of the club’s professional dancers, a tight little Chinese girl in
a bikini, had someone translate for her to me. She asked "Are you alone tonight, American?
Where hotel do you stay?" Ahh... China!

Anyway, when my tipsy Go Go caught eye of that, she quickly clutched my hand tightly
and dragged me away from that dancefloor and the competition she perceived there. All of
the young Chinese who had been cheering patted me on the back and smiled congradulations
for what had become my "performance." Haha.

Returning from Nanjing, my regular girl Janet was eager to see me and the pictures from my trip
(of which I had to hide the 30 or so with Go Go in them.) Go Go also wanted to see me, to spend
the night. The foam of this soap opera gets very thick around this point, and I will leave you all
to imagine the tensions of this juggling act of beautiful Asians... it will suffice to say I knew the
two would meet, (not to mention Lisa who comes on Thursdays!) and that when they did meet,
there would be disaster. I just did not know this disasterous meeting would take place so soon!

I will leave you with an angry email from Go Go. How DARE she call me a radish!! I’ve
never felt so insulted!

How to live your this stamen big radish, I must acknowledge that you are truly scatter the
words and the deceit master, if you do not want to do something please loudly saying that do
not deceive, each people like deceiving, you are not exceptional, you with fierce, likes to the
friend deceiving equally

Lets me excited besides your gentle lips, your body’s any part disgusting, originally wants to
take you to be me to give vent to the object, but your penis is too big, simply does not suit
me, loathful. Perhaps one day, when I want to make love, I will send the information to you.
Good luck ,False American

avsquad (2008-04-11 20:34:25)

i fully intend to move to china, where i will immediately become somewhat of a celebrity thanks to my
incredible looks and small penis.

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monroe_the_fast (2008-04-12 01:03:30)
..........HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

gawthspork (2008-04-14 11:36:13)

good luck, false american indeed!

Binge Writing – "My Baby" (2008-04-22 01:05) - public

I think potentials in floods, too many to hold...

They flow through a body, unresponsive.
If I were an active medium, I could start fires with them...
Ones which would blaze across culture with shared awakening.
I say that with honesty, and awe... for this is not of myself.

But is it only the half-sleeping body that has the focus to even notice these subtle, un-
born potentials?
The quiet of meditation the only quiet able to carry them in across physicality to us?
Loud, banging, bright flashy machine walls of physicality, growing higher with each successive
generation outwards.
Outwards, away from something...away from our center, that sensitive eye,long forgotten
beneath layers of fashion.
Nakedness, purity, honesty, openness... forgotten in actions, televised acting, and our
act-likening.
Like lightnight, our thoughts transmit themselves worldwide...but they transmit from a storm,
and they transmit only cries for help.
Despair and violence, dark loneliness and self-imposed pain and sickness. Black will always
be black, the new black will only be blacker and blacker!

Sway fought! I ran through a million hands until I simply flew above, and away...in search for
purity, a heart of pure gold to embrace and take into my own chest.
I enter meditation when wrapping her tight, enveloping her completely within my long arms
and closing my eyes...absolute protection, her guardian, I carry her.
And for that moment, the moments of a long shared exhale, we alone sway together. We
alone enter and are held, safe inside.
And perhaps when I curl my around her and cradle my head in her shoulder, I am trying there
to simply squeeze back inside, returning for just a moment to that warmth I have always
missed.

Please don’t leave me, Baby.

I am open, my arms and heart are bared awaiting your release.
I don’t want to fight, so don’t fight our love and its pull you feel now.
Everything I am is yours. Everything you feel we share and is just love in a different shade,
curling back on itself.

Smoking in bed, I wont fall asleep.

I sleep awake, after many hours.
I walk around the bedroom, I see our bodies laying in the dark.
The cigarette is long extinguished...the hardwood night log still blazing through the glass of
745
the woodstove.
Lucid not-dream, I am aware that I am not dreaming. I am aware that this is the living room
and it is night.
The same living room I would see if I got up to stumble to the bathroom.
I examined the detail of the black television, inspecting it’s legitimacy.
The fireplace reflected off of its glass surface in the dark, I reached out to touch it.

My hand enters the glass, then halfway up towards my elbow... I felt the energy, as the
black absorbed all of my frequency.
A buzzing sensation, electricity, coursed through my arms. This was reality, I was consciously
aware. This was the living room, at that moment.

The legitimacy of that awareness has been scientifically proven. (See OBE Sleep Stud-
ies)

Shoulders breath back in open meditative inductance.

Creating space for the coursing-through of resonated tonality within my body; an energetic
medium flows through my hollow "tube," which captures and filters.

See Cannon Sponge Body Diagram Fig 2

Haha.

This sponge is one of the most primitive organizations of cells into tissue. It serves as
our evolutionary core: a tube. Medium Flows in, flows through, and flows out.
But if the tube, the mind and apparatus that sprouted from the top of this tube, knew only
that of it’s developed apparatus, that is, came to accept only what it captured, would it forget
the water?
Knowing only water, a carrier medium beyond its perception, it is safe to say this medium
would be ignored, only it’s particles, collected, would be attended to.
Water was the doorway into physicality, but life existed before that water was there to carry.
We are constructions of water, but the intelligence was beneath it, rising up to manifest into
physical form.

So, intelligence is buoyant or, rather, light radiates outwards. And so, intelligence can
be thought of as life, as organization itself, forever manifesting upwards, coursing through
energetic scales, spheres of bandwidth.
Ancient atoms, the inward planetary scale of organized energy, serve as medium for polarity,
forces of cohesion in many tones of molecular bond, and rise of intelligent awareness to
manifest that elemental scale.

The virus is alive, of course it is alive! As all it is constructed of is alive, and conscious,
and so on through downwards through the scaled realms of origin.
Consciousness does NOT revolve solely around the visible spectrum!
And how egocentric of us to assume it does,
Copernicus, watch your mouth! *a quick glance at the burning stake, the kindling beneath is
so dry...as it has been waiting so long*

The virus is an amazing micro-consciousness, designed nearly-identical to our own space

746
crafts.
Landing on a massive cell, as if it were a bounding circulating planet.
It’s mysterious "occupants" leave the vessel, having burrowed beneath the walls, and enter
the cell.
The city is invaded! The technology is advanced, and ever evolving.
Far more advanced than the common bacterial invaders.
These fuckers hack into the computer system of the cell!
The dont fight, the take over! They get inside, they undermine and deplete.

The Virus can be thought of as a malignant nation of our cell’s ancestors.

Developing right along side, but separated by billions of years of intelligent manifestation
through scale.
(Grandpa knows how to program the old computers. We all know Windows XP, but he somehow
knows how the ancient language beneath it, beneath the OS’ GUI superficiality.
He can write DNA programs, viruses, that sneak in through some backdoor, a burrowing
"Worm" or "Trojan Horse" whose occupants enter and burn the city to the ground.

See Spirrilium Virus Body Diagram Fig. 4

(A cigar-shaped worm ship)

Concept Album #1

"The White Carriage"

1 hour long piece composed of pure white to brown frequencied noise. This disc is de-
signed for use in EVP experimentation. It is to serve as a constant variable, a sterile
computer-generated static tone current without human influence or bias of any kind, designed
to act as medium for conscious energy.
The frequency band of the human voice will be prevalent, with a bell-curved EQ envelope
around the median frequency of that band. The accompanying booklet will explain different
white noise techniques developed by successful EVP researchers. The importance of reverber-
ation and resonance within the room will be described in detail.

The Buddhist monks of pphttt were known to build long arched tunnels to serve as en-
trances to rooms of solitary meditation. In trance, these hallways would resonate with their
own body, and change the sound of the white noise outside.
To build a resonating tube, similar to a speaker port, and design it to accent and resonate
within key vocal frequencies, perhaps a greater degree influence could be carried across to
physicality.
I imagine a rounded wall of ports of slightly differing lengths each set to resonate at a differing
tone, expanding outward from the central resonators of the median vocal frequencies.
Funneled into them is the generated white noise of this disc, as well as a fan for continuously
flowing air.

Contact and condenser microphones patched throughout the enclosure would create an
amplified feedback loop reliant on the white noise tone.
The horn of this "noise funnel" would be directed into a reactant wall of the room to create
reverberation. This reverb would be externally recorded from different angles and distances
747
facing the corners of the room.

See Spiralled Noise Horn Diagram Fig. 9

All surfaces of the horn will be pitch black in color. I believe the absorption/reflection
characteristics of surface extend beyond that of visible light; that the qualities of observable
frequency apply to all frequency, along a single spectrum. For this reason, the device should
be as absorbent as possible.

Ideally, universal standards in practice of techniques will be developed. Reliable experi-

mental tools to be used in conjunction, with results of studies reported internationally. This
is the only way to develop a scientific understanding of this phenomenon: by meticulously
recording resultant statistics between the differing techniques and tools. In this way, we could
improve upon the standards and practices behind the study of the subtle energies.

What is it safe to assume about energy and its relation to consciousness?

What extended theories can be derived from the limited studies that have been done?

We can assume the existence of an energetic, or residual, self has been proven. (See
Tart, Zimbago)
But what does this proof imply of spiritual interaction?

Well, for one, these studies imply that consciousness of physicality can exist separate
from the body and sensory organs.
It also implies that this consciousness is not limited to individuals with functional resting
bodies.
That is to say, the evidence implies conscious entities existing subtly within, but not limited
to, the physical spectrum who are aware of us, but of whom we are unaware.

Concept Album #2:

"Experiments In Binaural Trance States"

Using a minimum of 2 pure sine tones, wholly divided between the 2 stereo channels, I
would enter a trance state while maintaining a very faint and distant control over the pro-
gression of each tone across a discretely limited range of pitch. With one tone isolated for
each ear, the resultant beat frequencies will not be created acoustically, but rather wholly be
constructions of the mind. It is hoped that the change in consciousness frequency, recorded
by electroencephalogram during the trance-state performance as experienced, would also
be transmitted by these tones as the brainwave frequency is both born and subject to them.
Alpha or Gamma brainwave bands should correspond and resonate with the tones.

See Graph of Binaural and Brainwave Frequency Bands

748
The walls shall be composed of "home bodies," information inlet and processing cells,
arranged as a wall of high rise apartments.
These individuals bring information in, while inside the city, the information is divided amongst
the tissues nervously or via subconsciousness ripples.
Traveller Cells will carry needed nutrients and equipment to the key Distributing Cells in the
Wall of Homebodies, for dispersal within the institution.
Prisons will compose great portions of the wall, with cells pointed outward for electronic
monitoring. Jobs assigned to these Forced Homebodies will extend to their children who,
born within the institution, will be granted access to higher points within that institution of
outermost defense.

The occupants of these cells will not simply monitor visibly; that crude naked-eye physi-
cal observation is relegated for assignment to the lowest rank prisoners. Satellite monitoring
of specific locations of the earth will be divided among the millions of individuals. That will be
their area, their daily life devoted to its monitoring and data accumulation.
And so the many specialized monitoring technology, and its trained operators, will be central-
ized into large stations or institutes, for each non-physical band of consciousness-carrying
spectrum.

Backlogs of recorded information will be transferred and stored in Long Term Memory.

A Government Funded Educational Institution would be created to both train and employ
students. Within the institution, curriculum would be divided into the varying fields of aware-
ness, with specific departments devoted to the different consciousness-expanding compounds.
The study and use of these compounds would become the focus of that student’s later career.
Upon graduation, a license for Government Regulated use would be attainable, following a
formal research proposal. Grants shall be dispersed among those whose proposals show the
potential for expansion within that band of subtle awareness.

Of the consistently-perceived entities of the varying bands of consciousness, we could

record, sample, and study; defining characteristics and behavior as the early empirical biol-
ogists of observational science did centuries ago – those meticulous explorers who ventured
out into nature’s wilds with a lense and a Latin dictionary.

Cross-Departmental Research may require two research licenses, but it could be theo-
rized that a combination of compounds may produce an effect on consciousness different from
the individual compounds, alone. The merger of LSD and DMT peak experiences? The meeting
of the brief salvia divinorum experience with that of newly developed research compounds,
like 2c-I? Departmental communication would be essential, with each researcher being made
well aware of all other branches of consciousness study, past to present.

The intensity and robustness of individual experiences would be drawn in terms of dosage
measures and experiment frequency. In this way, a graph of the ideal dosage and rest period
could be established for the research subjects.

(2009-03-20 10:03:12) Hai

I recently came across your blog and have been reading along. I thought I would leave my first
comment. I don’t know what to say except that I have enjoyed reading. Nice blog. I will keep visiting

749
this blog very often. Miriam http://www.craigslistposter.info

turboswami (2009-03-20 10:21:27) Re: Hai

Thank you. : ) I am glad you like me.

(2008-04-27 01:05) - public

Style a hat out of held breath, a muggy Fog Hat breakdown in the cold for that sweaty glass
of milk the room rocks up towards,
Hormonal high of prime time primal youth’s fuzzy Oedipus drive, thrashing about in shared
aggitation.
"Calm down, Johnny! Mother’s nipple bud is tender. Don’t bite!"

When spooning, I can’t help becoming self-conscious of my breathing. Suddenly, I am

unavoidably breathing manually.
I try my best to make the size and rhythm of my breath seem natural, but this is all in vain.
Soon, I am taking deep haphazard breaths, my lungs expanding forcefully against the small of
my girl’s back.
This self-consciousness is contagious, and soon I feel her breathing become unnatural too;
faster, bordering on gasping.
After a few minutes of this, she looks at her watch.

(2008-04-29 15:48) - public

I invited the attractive 30 year old Philipino girl, Rubylen, who lives in the apartment above me,
over with the British guy for drinks. I cracked open a bottle of white wine and began pouring
everyone a glass. The British guy quickly made noise, refusing the drink as he always does in
his polite but firm way. A true goddamned gentleman! And a pussy. He hates the taste of all
drinks, even white wine which I consider kind of a girly drink. So I lined his full glass up behind
my own, for drinking next.

We talked there around the dim table for half an hour, mostly about work and other
teaching superficialities. Ruby said she had no speakers on her computer, so I produced a
beautiful new set of professional-looking headphones, still in the box, and gave them to her.
She is an excitable type and was immediately all jumping thank yous as she opened her new
present, while the British guy just watched smiling.

"Wow! What a great guy! What are you going to give him in return...? You should at
least give him a kiss."

She caved into the chair, blushing. I mostly did the same, only using my drink – which
was now halfway into the British guy’s drink.

Soon as I started filling her glass again, the British guy stood up saying goodnight. It
was 11-something, and some other excuse. There was a tension left in his wake that grew as
he made his way to the door. It was just half-drunk me and half-drunk Ruby, alone together
in the dark. The steel door clanged loudly behind him, and we were left looking at eachother
750
from across the smaller-seeming table. She just about exploded with nervous jabbering, and I
smiled calmly through it all, slowly pouring the last of the bottle for myself.

By the end of the second bottle, she had unwound most of her life story. Her small vil-
lage in the Philipines, her needy family, brothers and sisters relying on her monthly checks,
high school sleepovers with her gay friend, everything! I let her do the opening up, and just
asked good questions, as I am always most comfortable doing. I asked her about her lovelife.

"Oh, us Philipinos are very traditional Christians."

"So...what does that mean?"

"Well, I’ve never been married...But in my village, I would fetch 2 bags of rice and 2
head of cattle for my hand!" She said with sudden unambiguous pride.

"Oh, Ruby...I think you are worth NO LESS than THREE head of cattle and FOUR bags of
rice! Any man would be lucky to get you for that price."

She tried to contain herself through the blush, straightening her arms between her legs,
chin buried into her chest as she looked down, laughing in that cute nervous Asian way.

(...Oh I how I wanted to fuck her. Trade one bull for another, a strong Ram.)

At the end of the 3rd mixed drink, I asked her if I could kiss her. She said no, appolo-
gized, and immediately left. Now there is weirdness in our professional relationship. Not so
much weirdness about that night, but weirdness because I am not sure where she is going to
put all of these cows.

swarms (2008-04-30 05:29:54)

I was in love with a Philipino once. She had the most perfect breasts that went out to here. Her
personality was size double D. She was Christian too. The rams I would give her! Anyway, did you get
my Myspace message? Are you interested in writing the article?

turboswami (2008-04-30 06:50:42)

I am pretty sure you are lying. Asians dont have breasts like us white folk... Where one might typically
find breasts on the Caucasian body type is actually a concave area known as the inverted mammary
region to scientists. Quite literally "cups" of milk, designed by nature to hold fluids. Yea, I tried to
write the article... gave it 2 tries, actually. But I had trouble coming up with one of my patented
pseudo-scientific rants about an idea that wasnt mine. I will try to write something. Until then, you of
course have free reign over anything in the journal. 2003 was a good year, I think. Do you want my
CD reviews?

the2minh8 (2008-04-30 12:46:54)

no, i saw her, and her breasts were out to AT LEAST here. she was either of mixed blood or had some
genetic abnormality.

biscuitboy (2008-05-01 23:32:22)

Oh man, you know what I would do to breasts like that? THIS! Oh yeah!

751
 turboswami (2008-04-30 06:52:02)
I am pretty sure you are lying. Asians dont have breasts like us white folk... Where one might typically
find breasts on the Caucasian body type is actually a concave area known as the inverted mammary
region to scientists. Quite literally "cups" of milk, designed by nature to hold fluids. Yea, I tried to
write the article... gave it 2 tries, actually. But I had trouble coming up with one of my patented
pseudo-scientific rants about an idea that wasnt mine. I will try to write something. Until then, you of
course have free reign over anything in the journal. 2003 was a good year, I think. Do you want my
CD reviews?

swarms (2008-05-07 15:09:13)

Hmmm...I already have a CD that I was quite inspired to review for the next issue, so I did. So
yeah, I’ll give your journal a close look if I get some time. Basically, I would like something freshly
pseudo-scientific that has broad implications and is accessible to most readers. You’re a dove.

7.5 May

(2008-05-08 01:50) - public

I made $3,000 opening for the Neville Brothers, and they paid me in cash. That was a bad
situation, because I bought ridiculous stuff. I bought a snake bite emergency kit. Then I said
to my friends, "Don’t even worry about snakes anymore". My friend stepped on a worm, and I
said, "Lay down!"

A friend gave me a drug for attention deficit disorder, because he’s afflicted, but I’m
not. So what happened to me is I suddenly had an extra-long attention span. People would
tell me a story, and it would end, and I’d get all mad. "Come on, man, there has to be more to
that story."

Dogs are forever in the push-up position.

I wrote a letter to my Dad - I began to write "I really enjoy being here," but I acciden-
tally wrote rarely instead of really. But I still wanted to use it, so I wrote, "I rarely drive
steamboats, Dad - there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me. Quit trying to act like I’m a
steamboat operator." This letter took a harsh turn right away.

People associate long hair with drug use. I wish people associated long hair with some-
thing other than drug use, like an extreme longing for cake. And then strangers would
see a long haired guy and say, "That guy eats cake!" "He is on bundt cake!" Mothers
saying to their daughters, "Don’t bring the cake eater over here anymore. He smells like
flour. Did you see how excited he got when he found out your birthday was fast approaching?"

I hate dreaming. Because when you sleep, you wanna sleep. Dreaming is work, you
know - there I am in a comfortable bed, the next thing you know I have to build a go-kart with
my ex-landlord. I want a dream of me watching myself sleep.

I’m against picketing, but I don’t know how to show it.

752
I get the Reese’s candy bar. You look at that, there’s an apostrophe-s there. That means the
candy bar is his. I didn’t know that. Next time you’re eating a Reese’s candy bar, and a guy
named Reese comes by and says, "Gimme that", you better hand it over.

I haven’t slept for ten days, because that would be too long.

...I use that word totally too much. I need to change it up and use a word that is differ-
ent but has the same meaning. Mitch do you like submarine sandwiches? All-encompassingly!

Tony the Tiger usually thinks that stuff is great.

Every McDonald’s commercial ends the same way: Prices and participation may vary. I
wanna open a McDonald’s and not participate in anything. I wanna be a stubborn McDonald’s
owner. "Cheeseburgers?" "Nope! We got spaghetti...and blankets."

turboswami (2008-05-07 20:00:53)

Any guesses who these quotes are from?

the2minh8 (2008-05-07 22:27:17)

no need to guess. it’s mitch fucking hedberg. love that crazy kook... reminds me of you. except your
delivery would be more staccato and with more variations in tempo.

Attentive Gravity - Cont’d (2008-05-08 01:51) - public

Chordal beat frequencies, played on keyed hit sample phases, looped and arranged in a form
resembling the decay of the hit sample, itself.
The transient of the attack of the arrangement accented using distorted fast-attack synthe-
sizer, with filter and volume envelopes set to snap.

So, essentially, any pleasing Major chord progression, slowed to a rhythmic cycle to cre-
ate polyrhythmic beat frequencies.

Second, non looped kick buildups, in the set tempo (120bpm,) and basic snare/kick rhythms
will introduce and carry one chordal hit portion to the next, when not immediately following
eachother or inter-cut.

Minor chords create more complex polyrhythms, and are more difficult to follow. So
they should extend out further in decay, to allow the listener to entrain himself to their
dissonance.

1) Rename MP3 Band-Album folders correctly.

2) Backup Months Downloads
3) Format and Install XP
4) Install Acid 8 and Copy Hits/Loops Directories Over

What is it about subconscious connection that can be scientifically analyzed?

753
The statistically-known but theoretically-unexplained relationship between identical twins,
mother and infant, husband and wife.
The subconscious link is a fluid relationship between bodies, existing beneath physical aware-
ness.
But must that keep it beyond the grasp of observational science?
What devices or technologies could feasibly be used to measure and observe the subtle
energies of consciousness?

Over 150 years ago, the crude measurement of neuronal activation frequencies, the first elec-
troencephalograms, showed us that the brain regions influence one-another’s frequency and
that the average of this interaction, the mean brainwave frequency, relates to consciousness,
suggesting levels or "depth." But the reach of science into these subtle energies which carry
our awareness has extended very little past that unrefined point since then. These separate
brain regions, and their frequencies, have not been individually examined. That is to say, the
conscious mind exists on many levels, or creates and is subject to many "currents" in fluid con-
sciousness, simultaneously. One primitive region of the mind, then, is frequented constantly
beneath physical awareness. This portion of our mind, it could be said, is felt outside of the
head, beneath the sensory organs. The "gut" feeling, the quivering emotions of the heart, and
the sensation of soul, are all terms used to describe this more basic influence on us and our de-
cisions. These sensations do travel, and are not limited to our bodies, but rather exist sensing
and agitating within a greater energetic ambience we merely float within. Fluid medium to the
conscious energy and perceived emotions of socialization, it is the calm or intensity of a room.

1) Learn About Trans-Siberian Railway, Russia, and Finland.

2) Find and make plans to visit the Russian and Finnish embassies.
3) Learn Finnish/Swedish family names and addresses

Subtle energy is expressed as radiance or ripples outward from a being. It is classically

believed that the radiance of higher consciousness actually transcends the observational
limits of the subconscious and is physically visible in the area surrounding the eyes and face.
The perceived consciousness difference of the highly intelligent, or "bright; that which they
are born to live and experience with is evidenced by the visible radiance of their eyes. It
is assumed, when these bright-eyed individuals attain a theta brainwave state, that state
attained and held in the highest level of transcendent meditation, that this visible indicator of
a consciousness level’s height, the eyes, may brighten to a magnitude traditionally expressed
as a halo.

Of the multiple intelligences, self-awareness or intrapersonal intelligence exists inwardly

and has been more difficult to test than Gardner’s others, which are more representative of
physical interaction. But Spearman’s general intelligence, g, applies to all of them, and so the
intelligent person will always be born with a natural talent for introspection and meditation,
but may never be inclined to develop it. This inclination is decided mostly by culture, the
Western culture having little purpose or reverence for traditional self-analysis techniques
(Christians don’t meditate anymore. Jesus, however, was a big fan!) So the root of "Ahm" in
"Amen" was lost to the petty boundary fights and dogmatic bitterness. As pretty as it has
come to be sung, it’s original transcendent purpose is long lost.

Attaining Greater Social Alignment:

Meditative resonance, and the gravity of its attentive mass, draws surrounding aware-
754
ness inwards subconsciously. In group settings, this could be called social alignment or,
rather, the extending outwards of one’s influence over the subtle social energies of conscious-
ness. Any experienced psychonaut will affirm that in the heightened state, coincidence occurs
more often and with greater intensity. Graphically, this is the shared social present, the
gravitational tug which aligns all surrounding moments inward, to coincide at a single point
of attention. This linear relationship can be observed manifested most simply in groups of
individuals walking from different directions. The likelihood of collision increases, and many
people must suddenly change their course last minute, or stop walking, to avoid colliding with
the attentive. Many of the occurring coincidences surrounding attention, however, are not as
direct or immediately observable as this blatant physical occurrence. Many of the more subtle
mechanical, spiritual, and physical abnormalities surrounding the heightened attentive state
can only been described in terms of attentive gravity.

Guess The Author... (2008-05-08 01:52) - public

First let us postulate that the computer scientists succeed in developing intelligent machines
that can do all things better than human beings can do them. In that case presumably all
work will be done by vast, highly organized systems of machines and no human effort will be
necessary. Either of two cases might occur. The machines might be permitted to make all of
their own decisions without human oversight, or else human control over the machines might
be retained.

If the machines are permitted to make all their own decisions, we can’t make any con-
jectures as to the results, because it is impossible to guess how such machines might behave.
We only point out that the fate of the human race would be at the mercy of the machines.
It might be argued that the human race would never be foolish enough to hand over all the
power to the machines. But we are suggesting neither that the human race would voluntarily
turn power over to the machines nor that the machines would willfully seize power. What we
do suggest is that the human race might easily permit itself to drift into a position of such
dependence on the machines that it would have no practical choice but to accept all of the
machines’ decisions. As society and the problems that face it become more and more complex
and machines become more and more intelligent, people will let machines make more of their
decisions for them, simply because machine-made decisions will bring better results than
man-made ones. Eventually a stage may be reached at which the decisions necessary to keep
the system running will be so complex that human beings will be incapable of making them
intelligently. At that stage the machines will be in effective control. People won’t be able to
just turn the machines off, because they will be so dependent on them that turning them off
would amount to suicide.

On the other hand it is possible that human control over the machines may be retained.
In that case the average man may have control over certain private machines of his own, such
as his car or his personal computer, but control over large systems of machines will be in the
hands of a tiny elite - just as it is today, but with two differences. Due to improved techniques
the elite will have greater control over the masses; and because human work will no longer
be necessary the masses will be superfluous, a useless burden on the system. If the elite is
ruthless they may simply decide to exterminate the mass of humanity. If they are humane
they may use propaganda or other psychological or biological techniques to reduce the birth
rate until the mass of humanity becomes extinct, leaving the world to the elite. Or, if the
elite consists of soft-hearted liberals, they may decide to play the role of good shepherds to
755
the rest of the human race. They will see to it that everyone’s physical needs are satisfied,
that all children are raised under psychologically hygienic conditions, that everyone has a
wholesome hobby to keep him busy, and that anyone who may become dissatisfied undergoes
"treatment" to cure his "problem." Of course, life will be so purposeless that people will have
to be biologically or psychologically engineered either to remove their need for the power
process or make them "sublimate" their drive for power into some harmless hobby. These
engineered human beings may be happy in such a society, but they will most certainly not be
free. They will have been reduced to the status of domestic animals.

the2minh8 (2008-05-09 17:47:44)

i have never felt free in my entire life. have you?

turboswami (2008-05-22 23:32:43)

-Theodore Kaczynski

Attentive Gravity (2008-05-08 02:01) - private

In Response To [1]This Entry

What is it about subconscious connection that can be scientifically analyzed?

The statistically-known but theoretically-unexplained relationship between

identical twins, mother and infant, husband and wife.

The subconscious link is a fluid relationship between bodies, existing beneath

physical awareness.
But must that keep it beyond the grasp of observational science?

What devices or technologies could feasibly be used to measure and observe the
subtle energies of consciousness?

Over 150 years ago, the crude measurement of neuronal activation frequencies, the first elec-
troencephalograms, showed us that the brain regions influence one-another’s frequency and
that the average of this interaction, the mean brainwave frequency, relates to consciousness,
suggesting levels or "depth." But the reach of science into these subtle energies which carry
our awareness has extended very little past that unrefined point since then. These separate
brain regions, and their frequencies, have not been individually examined. That is to say, the
conscious mind exists on many levels, or creates and is subject to many "currents" in fluid con-
sciousness, simultaneously. One primitive region of the mind, then, is frequented constantly
beneath physical awareness. This portion of our mind, it could be said, is felt outside of the
head, beneath the sensory organs. The "gut" feeling, the quivering emotions of the heart, and
the sensation of soul, are all terms used to describe this more basic influence on us and our
decisions. These sensations do travel, and are not limited to our bodies, but rather exist sens-
ing and agitating within a greater energetic ambience we merely float within. Fluid medium
to the conscious energy and perceived emotions of socialization, it is the calm or intensity of
a room. Subtle energy is expressed as radiance or ripples outward from a being. It is classi-
cally believed that the radiance of higher consciousness actually transcends the observational
limits of the subconscious and is physically visible in the area surrounding the eyes and face.
The perceived consciousness difference of the highly intelligent, or "bright; that which they
756
are born to live and experience with is evidenced by the visible radiance of their eyes. It is as-
sumed, when these bright-eyed individuals attain a theta brainwave state, that state attained
and held in the highest level of transcendent meditation, that this visible indicator of a con-
sciousness level’s height, the eyes, may brighten to a magnitude traditionally expressed as a
halo. Of the multiple intelligences, self-awareness or intrapersonal intelligence exists inwardly
and has been more difficult to test than Gardner’s others, which are more representative of
physical interaction. But Spearman’s general intelligence, g, applies to all of them, and so the
intelligent person will always be born with a natural talent for introspection and meditation, but
may never be inclined to develop it. This inclination is decided mostly by culture, the Western
culture having little purpose or reverence for traditional self-analysis techniques (Christians
don’t meditate anymore. Jesus, however, was a big fan!) So the root of "Ahm" in "Amen"
was lost to the petty boundary fights and dogmatic bitterness. As pretty as it has come to be
sung, it’s original transcendent purpose is long lost. Attaining Greater Social Alignment
Meditative resonance, and the gravity of its attentive mass, draws surrounding awareness in-
wards subconsciously. In group settings, this could be called social alignment or, rather, the
extending outwards of one’s influence over the subtle social energies of consciousness. Any
experienced psychonaut will affirm that in the heightened state, coincidence occurs more often
and with greater intensity. Graphically, this is the shared social present, the gravitational tug
which aligns all surrounding moments inward, to coincide at a single point of attention. This
linear relationship can be observed manifested most simply in groups of individuals walking
from different directions. The likelihood of collision increases, and many people must suddenly
change their course last minute, or stop walking, to avoid colliding with the attentive. Many of
the occurring coincidences surrounding attention, however, are not as direct or immediately
observable as this blatant physical occurrence. Many of the more subtle mechanical, spiritual,
and physical abnormalities surrounding the heightened attentive state can only been described
in terms of attentive gravity.
1. http://community.livejournal.com/abstractthought/734996.html

(2008-05-08 03:39) - public

The major differences I have noticed about the people of China is that they are generally
quieter, less emotional, more attentive, less sexually-obsessed, and, overall, more intelligent
than people of America. Of course, these are general traits which I came to notice slowly over
many months of seeing, meeting, and speaking to thousands of Chinese people.

I just found this:

Please discuss...

biscuitboy (2008-05-07 23:46:47)

That’s Racist!

turboswami (2008-05-08 16:42:53)

It has been said that the word "equality" has no place in biological science. East Asians run even
less well than Whites. The same narrow hips, longer legs, more muscle, and more testosterone that
give Blacks an advantage over Whites, give Whites an advantage over East Asians. But admitting

757
 these geneticrace differences in sports leads to the greater taboo area -race differences in brain size.
The reason why Whites and East Asians have wider hips than Blacks, and so make poorer runners
is because they give birth to larger brained babies. During evolution, increasing cranial size meant
women had to have a wider pelvis. Dr. Philippe Rushton University of Western Ontario In 1275
Marco Polo arrived in China from his native Italy to open trade with the Mongol Empire. He found
that the Chinese had well built roads, bridges, cities connected by canals, census takers, markets,
standardized weights and measures, and not only coins, but paper money as well. Even a postal
system was in existence. All of these made him marvel when he compared the Chinese to what he
saw in Europe and the Middle East. Even though he was an Italian, proud of his people and well aware
of the greatness of Ancient Rome, Marco Polo wrote: "Surely there is no more intelligent race on earth
than the Chinese."

the2minh8 (2008-05-09 16:15:50)

i’m not sure what the graph is supposed to show. is this cumulative percentILE, as in a black person
with a 117 IQ is smarter than 99.9 % of other blacks whereas a white person with a 117 IQ is only
smarter than 82 % of other whites? the curves aren’t the right shape, even if they represented
otherwise accurate information, which they probably don’t. there should be extreme slopes to each
line at the left and right edges–otherwise it indicates that the minimum IQ for an asian is 72 while for
blacks and hispanics the minimum is 56. what about the mentally retarded? eh? plus these numbers,
even if accurate as a general trend (which i again doubt), are meaningless with regard to the important
question, which is whether there is a demonstrable link between RACE and INTELLIGENCE. let’s see.
in order to do that, all respondents would have to be raised under similar cultural and economic
conditions and provided the same education. that is a difficult–if not impossible–control to implement,
but essential to produce a stat that makes any headway. further, i don’t accept the following premises:
(1) pelvis size makes any difference, much less a determinative one, in running ability; (2) increased
cranial size at birth means larger brain at adulthood; (3) larger brain at adulthood means greater intel-
ligence; (4) increased cranial size at birth caused increased hip size in certain races to accommodate
increased cranial size; (5) increased pelvis size in women, if occurring as an evolutionary characteristic
due to death in birthing of large-headed babies, would have any impact on the pelvis size of men in
other words, dr. rushton is full of shit. and as for marco polo, i reject the premise that because a society
has advanced systems, orderly customs and complex services, that its average member is more
intelligent than the average member of a society without those systems, customs or services. the
difference could be explained very simply by other means; for example, brilliant and powerful leader-
ship with a great supply of resources at hand. most other members of the society could be quite stupid.

turboswami (2008-05-10 17:10:38)

Wow, I didnt expect such a strong reaction from you. I found the graph while reading about intelligence
on wikipedia. It is not a representation of the IQ scores of the sample size, but of the gaps between
testing results. "Cumulative IQ gaps by race or ethnicity based on 1981 U.S. distributions. According
to these findings, WAIS IQs for Whites (mean = 101.4, SD = 14.7) were higher than those for Blacks
(mean = 86.9, SD = 13.0); distributions for Hispanics (mean = 91), East Asians (mean = 106.)" The
debate among academics is not the same as yours. The evolutionary biologists accept the journaled
statistics as truth, but differ on what causes these disparities in average IQ. You know me. I was born
fighting the inclination to do and say what everyone else was doing. It was many years of careful
rationalization before I formed what I believe to be a solid understanding of genetic influence over
personality. I knew it was touchy territory, and so I tread carefully as I proved, to myself, that the
popular beliefs I was raised to believe were not based on truth. Men and women WERE different.
Blacks and whites WERE different. I came to realize the concept of equality could not stand to hold
my observations. I realized there was little behind the catch phrases, that it was all merely fashion,

758
a fad I would do my best to see through. I have learned JP Rushton and Arthur Jenson are pretty big
names in evolutionary biology. Its controversial stuff, the disputes are charged with emotion. I love
it, the crackle of that leading edge of definition. I know I can rely on you to have an open mind, free
of pre-judgment. LIE: We are all equal Simon Baron-Cohen, psychologist, Autism Research Center,
Cambridge University "When I was young I believed in equality as a guiding principle in life. My mind
has been changed. I still believe in some aspects of the idea of equality, but I can no longer accept
the whole package. Striving to give people equality of social opportunity is still a value system worth
defending, but we have to accept that equality has no place in the realm of biology." LIE: Races do
not exist Mark Pagel, evolutionary biologist, Reading University "There is an overbearing censorship
to the way we are allowed to think and talk about the diversity of people on Earth. Officially we are all
the same: there are no races. Flawed as the old ideas about race are, modern genomic studies reveal
a surprising, compelling and different picture of human genetic diversity. What this all means is that,
like it or not, there may be many genetic differences among human populationsâ  including
differences that may even correspond to old categories of ’race’â  that are real differences in
the sense of making one group better than another at responding to some particular environmental
problem. This in no way says one group is in general ’superior’ to another, or that one group should
be preferred over another. But it warns us that we must be prepared to discuss genetic differences
among human populations." Nobel Laureate James D. Watson writes: There is no firm reason to
anticipate that the intellectual capacities of peoples geographically separated in their evolution
should prove to have evolved identically." Charles Darwin wrote in Descent of Man : "The races differ
also in constitution, in acclimatisation and in liability to certain diseases. Their mental characteristics
are likewise very distinct; chiefly as it would appear in their emotional, but partly in their intellectual
faculties." So, yes, I believe it is naive to say there is no absolutely difference between the people
of the world. I believe in the power of evolution to change the human body and mind in many ways.
These genetic developments imply an evolutionary advantage for survival within that specific set of
environmental conditions. If these beliefs, which to me seem self-evident, carry with them the stigma
of bigotry, I still will not step down or state them with any less resolution! The truth, when glaring to
be known from beneath falsehood, will surface first in the voices of the brave. Haha. Wow. Sorry, did
that sound too epic? : D

the2minh8 (2008-05-10 21:07:33)

it’s not so much what i DO accept that i’m willing to make pronouncements and conclusions
about; it’s what i DON’T accept. in order for me to accept a conclusion as being "scientific" and
not just anecdotal and uncontrolled, i expect a certain logical chain from premises to conclusion
that accounts for all of the major variables. what i will say is that pronouncements about racial
differences in intelligence based on uncontrolled "experiments" or the anecdotal observations of
people with (necessarily) extraordinarily limited data at their disposal is going out on a limb, at best.
it’s also going out on a limb that’s going to really make your black friends angry. i accept evolution
as a scientific theory. however, it’s often too facile to explain perceived racial differences (based
on uncontrolled experiments or anecdotal experiences) by reference to evolution. these types of
explanation seem to rely on unexpressed, but essential first premises that could be called bald and
unsubstantiated racism. so you could describe my attitude this way: i think it makes more sense
to reserve judgment as to the science of race, particularly since the consequences of jumping to
the "wrong" conclusions (from a cultural perspective; i.e. that other races have genetic handicaps)
are potentially severe. for example, one shouldn’t expect to have much success as a public figure
if one has previously made known a belief that blacks have smaller brains and are, on average,
less intelligence than whites. i’ve never said there aren’t differences between people in different
populations around the world. this is particularly true of isolated populations such as the pygmies.
but keep in mind also that the human species present in today’s world is extraordinarily young

759
 and has not been subject to nearly enough catastrophic and deadly events that depend on high
intelligence for individual survival to put high intelligence at an evolutionary premium. i’ve also
never seen it claimed (and would not believe such a claim without some proof) that more highly
intelligent humans have a greater number of viable offspring that achieve sexual maturity and so
forth down the line. how humans have their current level of intelligence is a baffling mystery to me if
the development of the species has relied purely on natural selection. it would also be a huge stretch
to say that "we’re all equal." this is just obviously not true. you and i, for example, are much more
intelligent than most people. one individual will have different abilities and behavioral patterns than
another. that’s true on the individual level. it’s when you apply traits to whole groups of people that
the waters become muddy. it’s no longer convincing. now that’s not to say it IS convincing that all
groups are equal; that’s extremely unlikely. the point is, groups are made of individuals that differ
from one another. this is why we get the sports fan’s debate of who is better, Team A or Team B. And
you can rattle off all the individual abilities of all the players and yet it says nothing about how the
team will perform against another team. and what would be the practical utility of knowing that, for
example, asians are more intelligent on average than whites, anyway? it seems like there is always
going to be an agenda with this type of research: to prove equality; to prove inequality; to prove
superiority or inferiority. i don’t see any other use for this information. so if i were in charge, i think i
would call off all this research, such as it is, and focus on more constructive fields of study.

biscuitboy (2008-05-10 18:39:30)

It is a cumulative distribution with the horizontal and vertical axes flipped from how they are
conventionally displayed. The shape is right- the truncation at the low end is, I imagine, just for visual
neatness and doesn’t represent a minimum. Rather, it looks to represent a 1 or 2 % cutoff. Anyway, I
am going to go read a paper on the turbulent/non-turbulent boundaries of free shear flows, and not
about evolutionary biology, so I have no opinion on the foregoing discussion that could be considered
informed.

Poet Leif (2008-05-09 02:17) - public

Deep down Homey dumpster, lie swine fortunes extended.

Sugar Plum honey suckle sweet lipped night tulip purses both sides.
Style somewhile resides still, but warm, in the hot oil chest coiled ribs of an electric stove.

The time trickles faster when the trickster leaves your side.
Something behind the smile fades.
Running and jumping seem out of the question nowadays.
But I dare you to spell a memorable fun without them.
What is the time?
Some part always knows
Centuar, amazing fawns sing it beneath our ears.
A slow curling development spirals around agitation for a thousand years.

Defend to destroy, close your fist around a stream.

Keep it safe, kill it, cushion your loved ones in dirt to keep them from harm.
To keep them young, so you never have to know them as ugly.
Their memory will thank you for such swift but powerful protection.

A tall mark defined in a crowd.

760
A big blonde target of a head floating on the faces.
Jump on his back, tell him you love him.
Keep him still while I get the job.
Hold him down, there’s a house in him yet!

What is broken by that tying and binding together?

Some spirit, some freedom, some masculine stride or creative risk?

Guess The Author (2008-05-09 03:59) - private

First let us postulate that the computer scientists succeed in developing intelligent machines
that can do all things better than human beings can do them. In that case presumably all
work will be done by vast, highly organized systems of machines and no human effort will be
necessary. Either of two cases might occur. The machines might be permitted to make all of
their own decisions without human oversight, or else human control over the machines might
be retained.

If the machines are permitted to make all their own decisions, we can’t make any con-
jectures as to the results, because it is impossible to guess how such machines might behave.
We only point out that the fate of the human race would be at the mercy of the machines.
It might be argued that the human race would never be foolish enough to hand over all the
power to the machines. But we are suggesting neither that the human race would voluntarily
turn power over to the machines nor that the machines would willfully seize power. What we
do suggest is that the human race might easily permit itself to drift into a position of such
dependence on the machines that it would have no practical choice but to accept all of the
machines’ decisions. As society and the problems that face it become more and more complex
and machines become more and more intelligent, people will let machines make more of their
decisions for them, simply because machine-made decisions will bring better results than
man-made ones. Eventually a stage may be reached at which the decisions necessary to keep
the system running will be so complex that human beings will be incapable of making them
intelligently. At that stage the machines will be in effective control. People won’t be able to
just turn the machines off, because they will be so dependent on them that turning them off
would amount to suicide.

On the other hand it is possible that human control over the machines may be retained.
In that case the average man may have control over certain private machines of his own, such
as his car or his personal computer, but control over large systems of machines will be in the
hands of a tiny elite - just as it is today, but with two differences. Due to improved techniques
the elite will have greater control over the masses; and because human work will no longer
be necessary the masses will be superfluous, a useless burden on the system. If the elite is
ruthless they may simply decide to exterminate the mass of humanity. If they are humane
they may use propaganda or other psychological or biological techniques to reduce the birth
rate until the mass of humanity becomes extinct, leaving the world to the elite. Or, if the
elite consists of soft-hearted liberals, they may decide to play the role of good shepherds to
the rest of the human race. They will see to it that everyone’s physical needs are satisfied,
that all children are raised under psychologically hygienic conditions, that everyone has a
wholesome hobby to keep him busy, and that anyone who may become dissatisfied undergoes
"treatment" to cure his "problem." Of course, life will be so purposeless that people will have
to be biologically or psychologically engineered either to remove their need for the power
761
process or make them "sublimate" their drive for power into some harmless hobby. These
engineered human beings may be happy in such a society, but they will most certainly not be
free. They will have been reduced to the status of domestic animals."

Transpersonal Retreat Community Proposal (2008-05-21 14:49) - public

Transpersonal Training Retreat Community -

Revised and Forwarded To Transpersonal Psychology Masters Program Leaders and Depart-
ment heads, as well as CC’d to Financial Aid Dept’s of the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology
of California and Northampton University of Great Britain.

Mirror Buddhist Monk Garden Retreat In Many Ways

- Silent contemplation observed for long periods.
- Focus on calming growth tasks, like solitary gardening and stonework.
- Many hours devoted to attaining and maintaining inward meditative resonance, for focus and
task-oriented trance.
- Through graduated levels, when it is felt a competant understanding and capacity for
psychedelics has been attained, trance-induced training sessions will commence.
(of course, many staff will never graduate to this level of meditative capacity, and thus
will serve as non-psychedelic study subjects whose role will be to maintain sober-minded
perspective for comparison and observation in psychedelic sessions. These individuals may
also be needed, in subsequent reports of occurances or observed anomalies during intense
consciousness study, to eliminate any observational bias which may arrise between actual
and psychedelic perceptions.

Graduating to the psychedelic research state would require satisfory performance on

several tests:
- A 30 minute electroencephalogram test to determined the degree of time the subject can
maintain a gamma brainwave state.
- Wider Cortex Oscillation Synchronization, or "Meditative Resonance," test.
- The blood pressure / aggitation test.
- A written examination.

- Seperate divisions of medium study will be organized between buidings. These differ-
ent mediums of conscious energy will be:
sound, or the EVP technology center
light,
body, or the kinaesthetic induction center with writing room
mind, the brainwave anomoly, MRI tech, and new tech branches
soul,

- Strict limited or fasting diet studies

- Daily journal describing personal experience during meditative or trance state percep-
tions.

No entertainment, media, or technology for personal use.

762
- Writing centers will have simple word processors available,
- field audio recording and perhaps limited field video camcorders can be checked out on a
day by day basis.
- An audio recording and research lab will carry sensitive resonance-based and piezoelectric
experimental sound equipment, as well as general microphone and frequency control, reso-
nance generation, special monitoring, and parametric equalization microstudy softwares.

Dr. if you feel any of these theorized areas and methods of study may carry potential, I
ask that you please urge Northampton University to process an in-university grant to allow
me to attend on a residential basis. I would very much like to become a part of Northampton
University’s Transpersonal Psychology team and study under you.

I own a professional recording facility, into which I have invested over $13,000.00. I will
donate the professional equipment of this facility to the university, so that it may be used for
the advancement of audioscopic research and study.

I will also provide the audio and video field recording equipment, totalled over $2500.00
in capital worth, to be disbursed on a day by day loan basis between all research staff and
students.

I will provide a professional grade high capacity computer with over $5000.00 of audio-
scopic, oscillator-based frequency generation, graphical and track-based recording and
analysis softwares for use by the university.
- Binaural Generation and Measurement Softwares for comparitive trance studies
- Equalized Resonance and Software-Based Self-Monitoring Studies
-

The appraised $20,500.00 of donated research equipment would be a manditory clause

in this specialized in-house student grant.

Audioscopic research center

Native American Ayauaska Lodge, for specialized study in ancestor worship and tribal
"vision quest" states.

- "Dark Face Time" study, 3-5 AM

- sleep study approach to trance state

Science is waiting for the first brave souls to break the gap between legal trance-inducing
psychedelics and consciousness studies.
I wish to provide the whole of my energy and available resources towards the bridging of that
gap. As I have no doctoral reputation in jeopardy, I have nothing to lose!

Sperm Cloud says "Make love woman call room, she come no make baby" (Mah Sah
763
Gee)

2003 2c-I trip Materials

- The Photoshop Zoom Frames (Monster face => Gray Ocean)
- Adobe After Effects to animate Monster Freeze Frame as 5 second introduction, horror movie
murder scene with screaming.
- Zoom out to desktop view of movie in window.
- Thought vocalizations overdubbed, mouse movement.
- Gradual "zone out" develops into "zone in" through magnification of single window title bar.
(single frame zoom, into next)
- Grey / White Divides Whole Screen Into Two Sides...Ocean sound heard...
- Ocean/Shore Division Video Faded In, Color Filtered to White Sand / Grey Water

the2minh8 (2008-05-23 17:16:08)

is there even psychedelic research being done at the non-military/classified level anymore? if not,
that would be disappointing.

(2008-05-21 15:03) - public

All of these are mine. These are my records of achievements, do you believe me? I’m not
bullshitting, let me enlarge them for you.

I need to show you who I am, I mean who I was, I mean what I did, but dont do any-
more. I was once quite something – a handsome devil! I strung the girls up and spanked them
when they disobeyed. They let me do all of that...when I was handsome once.

Here let me show you a picture, let me enlarge it for you. Dont you see? Dont you see!?
I’d rather you didnt see, me. Let me enlarge me for you, and I’ll hide behind. Me, this isnt
me...don’t you remember ME. I was more me back when I was him more than I’m me now, see?

Not a head. More like a head container, get it? You don’t get it. That man there has a
big head. You must not get it. Its not a head, its a head container. What, are you too stupid to
understand? Leave me alone.

To think if I had, but...

The new wife isnt as smart.
Intellect assumed by fertility rate,
And she says I should give her 400.

Babies everywhere!
Learning to walk in my nose,
Crawling out, poopie diapers unchanged in my mind, unchanged.

764
But, she died.
No babies.
The end.
(where I die alone and bitter, in a mansion of enlarged memories)

Is there no one to remember?

Everything about myself I cant?

Lets ride home a ride to write home about.

Lets wring sides wet still in bright-eyed mistakes.
Don’t fall any way but head long, dreamer.
The course extends, so fragile, on the surface where the rain collected.
On the rentension of a boundary.

The idea is that our future is fluid, existing only on the surface of a pond where rain col-
lects
Subject to the weather, ripples we dont understand
But water is a bound medium
Without tension, we have no path.
Or ambition, or intention.
In - tension ( on tension ) we exist for a sunlit flash

"The suds, the suds, the fucking suds!"

All falls gently within the inclination of patience.
The aggitation of hurriedness destroys the ground once tended beneath path.
But what is it about that tender tenter who tentionlessly tends to the earth?

Why are you so numb to the touch of my eyes?

What is your numb-er? That quality-less prescript that glazes your eyes distant.
How many pills are left in the bottle...count them while I live.
How many times can you kill off self opinion, radiated, before you ignore yourself to death.

jayyy (2008-05-22 03:54:04)

rawr see ya, it’s been fun but not too fun

turboswami (2008-05-22 04:49:52)

I am sorry the writing of my personal journal does not please you. Maybe if I could tailor my online
diary specifically to you, somehow.

turboswami (2008-05-23 10:07:08)

Sorry for the sarcasm. But, could I ask more specifically what you didnt like about it? What lines
really turned made you wince? I mean, if you’re going to come out and say someone’s writing isnt
good, you should at least give him the courtesy of a "why." It was written from the point of view of a
dying 78 year old German accountant, never married, without children. He had a girlfriend who he
considered of lesser intelligence and often beat. She died over a decade ago.

765
Top 5 Most Bizarre Parts of Living In A Hive Civilization (2008-05-24 01:09) - public

1) Royal Jelly Storage Room

2) Self regulatory Communal Temperature Control
3) Insect/Human Hybrid Species
4) Eugenic Sculpting ("Mr. Kamikaze / Mr. DNA")
5) Lack of emotion.

The evolutionary future of our species is not a mystery but, rather, is a path drawn out
for us by the observable intellectual complexity of the organization which surrounds us. Social
complexity develops on the same frame, utilizing the same constructs, up through evolu-
tionary scale. This development is implied not only physically, in the form of the communal
city/state, but also evident within consciousness by the anomalies such as social intuition or
"hive mind" experiences.

Dream Journal - 5/22/08 4:12am

The daughter of Mr. Cash, a beautiful thin woman, was the nurse. She was stern and
had the cold piercing eyes of her father, Johnny. Her face was long and triangular, with a
smallish mouth at the tip of the form...seeming almost insect-like. I commented on her beauty,
and how she looked like her father. She gave a cold obligatory response without smiling,
and jabbed a long needle deep into my arm, seemingly resentful, without the delicate vein
searching or skin disinfecting that I was used to. The skin surrounding the needle dipped
downwards as she pushed it further and further back into the vein, at an angle. I cringed,
grinding my feet into the hospital bed. The nurse on the opposite side reached out across my
chest, as if to stop her. Ms. Cash quickly released and pulled back in completion; the IV was
in place.

"Aahhhhww..." I moaned into a whining tone as blood spurt across my arm before she
could cap the tubing.

"There’s a lot of blood there, don’t you think?"

I looked up at Johnny, standing under the room tv in the corner, with immediate embar-
rassment for my lack of masculine fortitude...my girly un-Johnny Cash-like whine.

As the flood of the drug began to enter me, the nurse on my left, who seemed more
like a psychiatric specialist, asked me what I was thinking. At first, it was all absolute bliss
bodily, but soon the mind followed suit. After I closed my eyes and fell back into the experience.
I saw images vivid and colorful. I was shown many things, as if guided through the experience.

Opening my eyes, I was alone in the room. I grew nervous in the hospital bed, waiting
for them to return. When Johnny Cash and Brad Pitt came back in, they seemed tense too.
But they found me bright-eyed and fully sober again. John shook my hand firmly and said
everything had come out fine. Brad actually gave me a hug and said it had went very well and
the results would be aired to the public very soon, at the lecture performance scheduled after
my hospital visit.

The visit seemed an obligatory one, as if they had what they wanted, and were all very
pleased with the results. At the
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same time, they knew my time there was limited and wanted to see me off warmly and say
goodbye as best they could.

I prepared some entertaining music and video on the room tv for them, using a remote.
They all turned and watched politely, if only pretending to pay attention to avoid potential
dips into conversational awkwardness. It was Futurama.

It was expressed that Johnny Cash was the star, and would be performing 5 songs at
the upcoming presentatkion after the experiment. At that point, I would have a section of the
event devoted to me and the results of this experiment. I was the "headliner!"

Johnny produced some legal papers and a pen and asked me if I knew the 28th amend-
ment of the constitution, or bill of rights, and I said cockily "Yea, I’ve seen it once or twice."

He nodded without smiling, glad that I understood the significance of the document.

I then admitted, in fact, that I had no idea what it was.

On the way back up, I saw the royal jelly room last. Huge amber-colored capsules and
vats of honey liquid on a thick gelatinous light dome in the center, with luminous shafts
extending upwards through a hollow portion of the ceiling. What looked like gummy tanks and
batteries were all stored here.

Other peculiar rooms were revealed to me. I saw them only in passing, on my way out.

This intense vision of our evolutionary future culminated in coincidence over the past 2
days. Having began daily running, and a difficult realigning of my sleep cycle, I soon felt a
presence return to my life that had been long away. The peculiar flashes of light in the corners
of my vision returned, again often near doorways, causing me to raise my head from what I
was doing to look for my cellphone or something, assuming it was flashing.

Powerful cues related to the relevance of my actions returned as well. While deep into
an inspirational state, I began to share a bit of the writing with my German neighbor, a poet
and linguist. He was not receptive and said he though his own writing was much better (Haha!
Oh, that unabashed German honesty!) But, within minutes, a bizarre popup window appeared,
as I was quitting the writing and returning to the internet to waste time on 4chan.

See picture: {screen capture }

The popup was not from a website, but was actually generated within the network archi-
tecture itself, an administrative messaging function. It mentioned China, God, and my being
monitored at that moment in time.

...!!!

Yea, so it’s all pretty sketchy, but it is important that I think in terms of when it wasn’t.
If we allow the extraordinary events which changed our life to be buried beneath the dry
767
sand of mundane inevitable change, those formative realizations which followed that peak
experience will fade beneath the sediment of daily routine until only self doubt remains.

(2008-05-28 16:02) - public

Rum bumble and stumble

All the ground shacks tumbled

I slept through the whole damned thing. But I hear the ground shook a bit, yea.

Loss of face, or embarassment, is the most intensely uncomfortable state a person can
experience here – and is to be avoided at any cost, no matter what. When embarassed, the
first knee-jerk reaction of the typical Chinese man is immediate ANGER. And yet, for the first
time, these proud people are experiencing loss of face on a GLOBAL scale – being thrust onto
the world stage to be belittled and critisized. They are not handling it well!

Like the reaction of the individual, the first knee-jerk reaction to embarassment was anger
– burn the monks, kill off the problem, shut them up! This self-conscious act of supressive
tension merely drew more attention to the problem, worsening the throbbing pain in their
national pride.

Nearly half of the world’s population, clustered tightly in this little country, suppressing
that throbbing anger and pain, being forced to watch and smile as nations from around the
world critsized, berated and insulted the game’s gracious host. With EVERY person in the
world thinking about China, on the brink of civil war, the world too took sides, the anger of
the globe directed wholly on this little plot of land for months on end. That is a FUCKING LOT
of tense heated energy, being either directed on China or supressed beneath her. But where
can all that hot tension go, how can it escape?

DEEP THOUGHTS (2008-05-29 05:07) - public

If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them

down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.
==========
To me, it’s a good idea to always carry two sacks of something when
you walk around. That way, if anybody says, "Hey, can you give me a
hand?" You can say, "Sorry, got these sacks."
==========
One thing kids like is to be tricked. For instance, I was going

to take my nephew to Disneyland, but instead I drove him to an old

burned-out warehouse. "Oh no," I said, "Disneyland burned down."

He cried and cried, but I think that deep down he thought it was a
pretty good joke. I started to drive over to the real Disneyland, but
decided to go home instead.
==========
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not our
768
children’s children, because I don’t think children should be having sex.

==========
If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell
him is, "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute
thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did."

==========
If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the
mirror, because I bet that’s what REALLY throws you into a panic.
==========
I think a good gift for the President would be a chocolate revolver.
And since he’s so busy, you’d probably have to run up to him real
quick and hand it to him.

==========
Maybe in order to understand mankind we have to look at that word
itself. MANKIND. Basically, it’s made up of two separate words "mank" and
"ind." What do these words mean? It’s a mystery and so is mankind.

==========
It’s easy to sit there and say you’d like to have more money. And I
guess that’s what I like about it. It’s easy. Just sitting there,
rocking back and forth, wanting that money.
==========
If you ever reach total enlightenment while you’re drinking a beer,
I bet it makes beer shoot out your nose.

==========
To me, clowns aren’t funny. In fact, they’re kinda scary. I’ve
wondered where this started and I think it goes back to the time I
went to the circus and a clown killed my dad.

==========
As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red
again, I sat there thinking about life. Was it nothing more than a
bunch of honking and yelling? Sometimes it seemed that way.
==========

Here’s a good thing to do if you go to a party and you don’t know

anybody: First take out the garbage. Then go around and collect any
extra garbage that people might have, like a crumpled napkin, and
take that out too. Pretty soon people will want to meet the busy garbage guy.
==========
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights,
even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re
talking to. Then on the way out, slam the door.

==========
If you’re a cowboy and you’re dragging a guy behind your horse, I bet
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it would really make you mad if you looked back and the guy was reading
a magazine.
==========
If your friend is already dead, and being eaten by vultures, I think
it’s okay to feed some bits of your friend to one of the vultures, to
teach him to do some tricks. But only if you’re serious about adopting
the vulture.
==========
Broken promises don’t upset me. I just think, why did they believe me?

Susan Approves (2008-05-29 15:38) - public

There was an old professor from NMU who used to ride the Marq-Tran, the bus from Marquette
to my town, Ispeming, back home. I don’t know his real name, but everyone just said called
him "Susan." He had a long dirty grey beard, greasy hair, and wore a ratty old blue and
white dress. He would carry a notebook which he would scribble in while looking at people
on the bus and things outside. Once, while sitting next to him, I got brave and glanced over
the seat to see what he had been writing so furiously in that notebook. There entire page
was covered with one word: Susan, written in a hundred different sizes, shapes, and directions.

One time, coming back from Shopko, my loud friend was being loud. Swearing, laugh-
ing and teasing some girls on the bus, he was annoying everybody – Susan included. Just
then, nearing Negaunee, my friend yelled at one of the girls "...oh yea?! Well why don’t you
just go fuck Susan then? I bet he’d like that!"

I realized the man had heard it, and there was immediate tension as Susan slowly looked up
from his notebook at my obnoxious friend, still talking loudly, and glared hard, as if some
torrential hate was building up behind the walls of his chest.

Susan thrust his fist out at my friend and held it there. The bus went silent. The si-
lence hung for seconds on that frilly blue/white arm, still extended out into the air. Slowly, so
slowly, Susan began to uncurl his thumb, with its 3 inches of dirty yellow-stained fingernail
extending upwards towards my friend, making the thumb seem, somehow, like a long angry
sword.

He had given my friend the nasty long nail thumbs up of pure hate.

My friend immediately shut up. None of us said a fucking word until we were off that
bus and away from Susan’s bizarre malignant approval.

It was one of those images that is so strong, it can never be forgotten. An old, grey-
haired, greasy man in a dirty blue dress, holding out his arm straight and tense with anger at
you, so he could give the universal sign of approval.

Professors are weird, but when they lose their job and don’t have anything else to do,
they seem to get a lot worse.

http://hublog.hubmed.org/archives/001079.html
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http://forums.orb.com/viewtopic.php?t=9867 &start=0 &postdays=0 &postorder=asc &high-
light=

(2008-05-30 09:55) - public

No, April, NO!

An important book.

I go swimming to look at the pretty girls...looking at the pretty girls.

Oh, God Bless those Wacky Germans! Their art is better.

Nothing says "Sorry ’bout that" like delicious cake.

I couldn’t figure out where my pet tarantulas were disappearing to every week...until I bought
the hidden camera.

THINK AGAIN MOTHERFUCKA!

So maybe just one last supper... He knew there was no pastrami in heaven.

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 Stonewash jeans? CHECK. Soft billowy mullet? CHECK. Absolute awesomeness? CHECK!

This used to make me laugh a lot. ...Why!? Why did I have to go out gardening after
midnight?!

My German friend said this WOULD HAVE made him laugh, but "Blitzkrieg" was
misspelled...so he could only frown and frown, alone in the dark.

What can I say? I live to help other people...

the2minh8 (2008-05-30 19:39:40)

stonewash kid is indistinguishable from a kid who used to ride my bus and beat the shit out of me daily
in fifth grade. if i had known how cool his room was, complete with nintendo power, baseball trophies,
high-top basketball shoes, ducktales poster, various model aircraft suspended from the ceiling, and,
most importantly, HIS OWN TV AND NINTENDO CONSOLE, i would have felt really bad about myself.
because knowing you’re getting beat up by the coolest kid in town only underlines your own inferiority.

turboswami (2008-06-03 10:27:03)

Yea, if he saw you on the public bus today, he would beat the shit out of you again... the fifth grader,
not the adult. After the second punch, blood dribbling from you chin, he would scream "Now you’re
playing with POWER!" Yeaa!!

7.6 June

Electromagnetic Spectrum As Sphere (2008-06-09 02:32) - private

Stay clear stickler.

I just wrote along an animated dragon to you.
I knew your proste htic buttox was only going to draw stares on the bus.
But, being a stickler, this was quite secondary.

772
The misconception of time as the fourth dimension occured as a result of interpretation
of outer dimensions in terms of our mind. Perception of externality is based a construct of
memory, and so it was only natural to imagine the "moment" graphically as, first a point and
then a line, a perceivable plane of moments, past and extending into and through present.
But this perception is one resultant of our cognitive faculty. The singularity of the MOMENT
extends straight through all dimensions, like brilliantly focused pinpoint, the intersection of a
line and a series of planes, defined in bandwidths of density.

That is to say, for every dimension, there exists the moment. The gradual inward curl-
ing of each dimension into the next does not progress TOWARDS time, but IN it. 2 dimensional
objects exist and are perceived as already having an aspect of time. The development of
human perception towards "seeing" the 4th dimension will not be made in memory, but in our
progressive senitivity to electromagnetism, in its infinate inward spheres. The bands man his
technology have been able to perceive are graphically represented along a single solid band.
This, however, was done mostly for the convenience of drawing the progression in frequency
of a single waveform through the spectrum in its entirety. Naturally, however, the spectrum
does not exist as that colorful block, or a long strip. The electromagnetic spectrum is RADIANT
in nature – her energies will always exist spherically, as frequencies concentrically radiatiating
outwards from a center.

The visible band we know, then, could be seen to exist, externally, as a specific out-
ward layer of a sphere. Like the ozone layer, the boundary of oxygen, or the dense medium of
water, bound mediums of electromagnetism are subject to the same natural laws.

But what association can be drawn between consciousness and gravity?

Do forces of radiation outward from center and gravitation back towards that center in the
spectrum have conceptual counterparts? (Time flowing outwards, and being tugged back
inwards, for instance?)

Emergency Open House, boggle together some letters and confuse everyone, why donchya.

With Relative ease, quietly measured dosages led to differing degrees of awareness change.
The mind’s naked eye can only see what surface nature has bound its capacity to. The
telescope and microscope of our central eye, similarly, shows all that exists inwardly and
outwardly from our limits, revealing the complex systems man had been ignorant of. These
two tools, when first used to aid our crude physical eye, defined the Enlightenment of
observational science.

Buy Instead, Ted! (2008-06-12 13:12) - public

MF-101 Low Pass Filter

For those of you who aren’t into synthesizers, Moog is a biggie. And the Low Pass filter, or
cutoff, is really the ONLY reason I ever bought a synthesizer. All the rest is just secondary to
that sound, the slow LP sweep. Truly epic.

While I have a whole section of my patchbay devoted to the filter section of my Korg, and can
easily route any sound in the studio directly into the synth to "play" it on the keyboard, that
773
 big wooden monster is anything but portable.

I needed something for field recordings and live gigs, that I could take out of the studio. Plus,
the Korg filter and the Moog filter sound distinctly different... This purchase will open up a
whole new tonal expanse for my samples, drums, feedback, and sequencer recordings.

The Voltage Control function is the real treat. While this allows me to, again, control the filter
using the fluid pitch wheels, modulation, sequencer, and keyboard of the Korg, it also
interfaces with the MIDI-to-CV conversion box I purchased last year. This allows me to wield
the analogue control voltage and trigger signal of both the Korg and Moog using software.
Sequencing analogue oscillators with digital precision, BPM locking, with evolving frequency
envelopes all layered within the signal path, with every parameter subject to a MIDI control
stream and the interface of the software.

The arrangement possibilities are endless... I just need to get back to the studio, and get all
of my machines awake and blinking again.

the2minh8 (2008-06-12 10:51:32)

now tell me, how much does a moogerfooger set one back these days? i agree that the LFO low-pass
filter is one of the greatest musical inventions/achievements/tools of all time.

turboswami (2008-06-13 02:55:36)

I was able to get the bugger for under $200. No way I’ll be shipping it to China, but it’s waiting for
me... The Low-Frequency Oscillation would actually be coming from the control voltage, being one of
the 4 modulating waveforms from my Korg. The box, itself, has no mod functions. An actual LFO LP
filter, or "auto-wah," is an effect I have never enjoyed as much. I need to control all of that... I am
sure you know one of the best parts of the old analogue filters is to crank the Resonation up, until the
thing begins to self-oscillate. At that point, Cutoff Modulation and Envelope voltages actually begin,
instead, to control pitch. Wide arching swells through whole octaves... sculpted slightly, the classic
DnB Ass Rumblin’ bass warble, a touch more, and you have the Low Rider Hip Hop Bass Slide.

the2minh8 (2008-06-13 12:18:16)

so the filter is cool, but it has no LFO control of its own? i guess in order to make full use of it i would
need at least a midi-to-cv box, or ideally a modular synth. i have neither. it seems to me that there
are other filter boxes out there that have sophisticated synced-LFO control. a virtual unit like that
comes with nuendo. maybe that’s a little more my speed.

(2008-06-12 21:03) - public

ME: When I pee, it smells like Grandpa’s house. ...must be the AIDS.
???: Let me have a look.

...

???: Your cock is a clown.

774
ME: Haha! Does the clown make you happy?

...

Why Did You Do This To Me, Boy... (2008-06-18 13:00) - friends

My girlfriend had a Grand Mal epileptic seizure in my arms yesterday. Face twisted into a
painful scream, foam dribbling from her mouth onto my arm, I was truly terrified. I did my
best to hold her down through the thrashing, to keep her from hurting herself... all the time
knowing that it was my fault she was having the seizure. My fault...

The Chinese national English examination, the CET-4, is taking place on Saturday and
every student in the college is very nervous, studying and practicing feverishly so that they
may pass. Jiang is no different, and after we woke up together that morning, she said she had
many hours of study ahead of her. She had bought a practice CET-4 and was going to spend
the day working on it. I, too, had a lot of work to do; about 40 six page compositions to correct.

When I have many hours of detail-oriented work ahead of myself, like that day, I some-
times will take something to help me get through it all. I have a prescription to Adderal, a
milder form a Ritalin, that I use to help me pay attention to work for long periods of time. I
showed it to her and explained it was "study medicine" from America and it would help us
finish our work. We both took three 15mg tablets, an upper-moderate dose.

She smiled at me, beautiful, laying in the bed. She thought so little taking it, her trust
for me unquestioning, her love for me pure and wholesome as only the first love can be. I put
on some of our favorite music and we slow danced in front of the TV. I wrapped my arms tight
around her and we both just rocked back and forth as I sang to her, softly, like I always do.
After 4 songs, she closed her eyes and pressed her ear against my heart. I cradled her little
head, and tears began to roll down her face...

"This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I love you so much."

I smiled, knowing I had made my baby feel so happy, and I held her there for a long
time more, a moment so slow and perfect. When her tears stopped, I kissed her and we sat
at the table and began our work.

This was at 1:00 PM. We worked straight through till 4. She got so much done, she said
how amazing it felt to be able to focus without distraction. I wanted to distract her, though,
and climbed behind her on the big plush leather chair, wrapping my arms and legs around her
as she wrote, kissing the back of her neck. I love her and was glad I was able to make her
happy in some small way, and help her to do what needed to be done.

Minutes later, she turned to me and said she was feeling a little strange, that her thoughts
felt scattered. From that point, she could not stop talking...talking fast and free, in strings of
loose associations and repetitions. She became more and more manic, and I said we should
lay down and relax a bit. She just kept saying "I feel a little strange..."

By 5 PM, her breathing was beginning to change. She was writhing in the bed, unable
to stay still, hyper verbal, asking "What happened? I don’t feel good anymore."
775
I just rubbed her back and told her it was all ok, trying to help her relax. At 6, her
breathing became very heavy. She clutched her collarbone in sudden pain. I became more
worried.

I went to the kitchen and got her an aspirin and a big glass of water. If her blood pres-
sure was really rising, the aspirin would thin her blood and reduce any strain on her little heart.
When I came back, she was rolled over on her side, sweating profusely, looking more sick. I
told her to take the pill and drink all the water. She did, still trusting her boyfriend would never
give her anything that would hurt her.

3 minutes later, she cupped her mouth and ran to the bathroom. She vomited up the
breakfast I had made her, as well as the aspirin. I was sure, once she threw up once or twice,
the nausea would be out of her system and she would feel better again...

The vomiting continued without rest for the next 13 hours.

At first, she was so embarrassed by the sound and smell of her throwing up, she closed
the door of the bathroom and did not want me to come in. By the fifth or sixth hour, she was
barely cognizant of anything but the painful waves of heaving; back arched, long exhausted
moans, nothing left to come up but acid, spit, and tears. I held her long hair and patted her
back and told her I loved her.

She sprawled out across the cold tile floor, vomit covered clothes long removed, a con-
stant stream of disconnected thoughts spoken from a daze. I sat on the shower floor beside
her, kissing her hand, checking her pulse, asking her questions to keep her mind occupied
from the painful sickness.

Every few hours, I would try to get her off of the floor, lifting her to her feet where she
would slump forward limply like a doll. Seconds later, she would be back on the floor, choking
up bile.

At 4:30 AM, I got a big Chinese wok from the kitchen, lifted her, and carried her to the
bed. She was incoherent, crying, asking if she was going to die. In the bedroom, she heaved
nothing into the pan for what may have been the 40th time. She collapsed onto the bed and
heaved again, dribbling out something dark colored. We tried to sleep...

She babbled on and on, able to control the stream of thoughts no more than she could the
upcoming waves of peristalsis. Every time she woke me, I would tell her about what I had seen
in the dream. After 9 dreams, I sat up trying to hide my frustration and listened to her instead.

"In fact, I am jealous of the relationships Penguin and Shasha have with their boyfriends...but
I should stop talking about that because..."

"Oh, no, please continue..." I said, with a slight edge.

She turned towards me, as if she saw something moving behind me. Her face immedi-
ately became tense with fear, her eyes widened as she frantically pushed herself away from
whatever held her gaze on the wall.

776
"What is it baby? Do you see something th..."

Before I could finish, she inhaled a shriek, wide terrified eyes rolling back in her head as
her jaw tightened hard to the left side. She fell backwards and began to convulse violently.

"Oh God! Baby! BABY! No!" I grabbed her tight in my arms. I had no idea what to do...
I was terrified, I could only watch.

What had been a tense scream through her grit teeth became short bursts of sound in-
between the quakes of her body. Foam began to form around her teeth and gums, her eye
lids still quivering, as if subject to the same electric shocks that pummeled her spine. I just
continued to hold her down, keeping her from falling from the bed, and keeping her neck
straight.

The convulsions continued, but their frequency began to slow. I could hear fluid in her
throat and lungs. She laid limp in my arms, and stopped breathing.

"Oh God! Breath Baby! BREATH!! PLEASE!" I was screaming, tears falling into her hair.
I shook her hard, her head falling back lifelessly. I was panicking. The love of my life laid dead
in my arms.

A single spasm coursed through her body, her unblinking empty eyes staring out into
my the cloth of my pants. Still no breath.

I was sure the airway must be blocked. Through her clenched teeth, I tried uselessly to
breath into her mouth. I pried open her locked jaw and pushed two fingers into the back of
her throat. She bit down hard on my fingers and began to cough. A single huge raspy breath,
wet with fluid, and then coughing hard–like a baby coming into the world.

She threw up fluids and mucus onto the bed and herself and looked up into my eyes
and screamed! Her eyes were wide, and as she fought to get away from me, crying out in
terror.

"What is it? Its me, Baby, its me! Its me! I’m here!"

I collapsed into her chest, holding her. It seemed it was her seeing my eyes that caused the
terror – the eyes of a stranger. Her memory was gone.

Minutes later, again, she saw me and cried out, high pitched and confused. She tried to
talk, but could not. The sounds she made were like those of a deaf-mute; incoherent, numb.

I just held her, hiding my face in her chest as I cried. Over the next hour, she asked
me who I was, where she was, who she was, and who her parents were. It was 6:30 AM when
I called the only English-speaking doctor in Suqian, who was sleeping, and said my girlfriend
had a grand mal seizure and that it was an emergency. I said I was going to the hospital
immediately.

Jiang could not stand or walk. I dressed her and carried her down four flights of stairs.
There was a three-wheeled bike cart in front of my apartment with a garbage man sitting
beside it. I tried to show him I needed the bike to cart her to the front gate of the school.
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This morning, she coughed blood up into her hand. She is weak and unable to stay
awake now, even days later. She does not remember the night...

She does not remember that, through it all, she kept repeating "Why did you do this to
me, Boy...? Boy, why did you do this to me?"

the2minh8 (2008-06-18 13:40:19)

ouch. fortunate for her that she doesn’t remember. traumatic for you that you do remember.
progressive experimentation with amphetamines seems to me to be pretty important, considering
that a giant number of factors determines their effect on the body. even though i react weakly to
most drugs (paradoxically considering my low body weight), including ritalin, i’ve always found 25mg
of dextroamphetamine to be adequate. take it easy on those chinese girls!

turboswami (2008-06-18 14:45:11)

I had learned over years that uppers are the most dangerous and neurologically-traumatic of
substances...and yet I shared them with her. Even though she has forgiven me, it seems I cannot
forgive me. Since high school, I believe I have seen around 40 people take doses of that strength.
Some headaches, some decidedly fast conversations, but never puking, never passing out–much less
having a full-blown seizure. I just can’t make sense of it. Even careful, non-recreational use of this
medicine carries more negatives than positives. Perhaps for those who were not born afflicted with
MBD, the disorder is induced.

the2minh8 (2008-06-18 15:24:35)

if it’s any consolation, this type of thing seems to happen to rock stars all the time.

silentwinds (2008-08-21 18:20:04)

Seizures are extremely terrifying, especially when someone you love has one. My kids have had
several complex ones and it doesnt get any easier to watch. When my oldest son was only 2 they
ended up stabbing an IV through to the bone marrow in his leg because he was seizing so hard they
couldnt get a vein. Hey, do you have any photos of you and your lady?

7.7 August

(2008-08-04 15:07) - public

Robert H McKinley

home

6343 Beechfield Dr

Lansing, MI 48911-5736

(517) 272-0449

778
277 1213

Amy
458-8555

Time honored treatis of warning, less less less I’

hole
fortunate young starlette born of voluptuous genetic strands
Dangle them and I will reach, for I want them as my own.
I will clutch them like colorful beads, thiamine this is mine.

Turn to gassy babies and frown, turn towards the sun and he’ll soon
Overshadow a suddenly weaker frame I seem to find mine.
I cannot carry him anymore, the voluptuous starlette dim and withered.
Curse him away, sailing on a card and a long sigh.

Days on boxes for pills I need.

My coughin opened something deep down wont come up.

Bind me a long strangers fear,

Wrap it around me,
so that all I can move is my eyes.
so all I can think of is them.
Where they look, and for how long.
Avoidance a tight two-step of the mind.

If they could know this hell,

but how cruel would I be to share it with anyone.
It is my mind, my weapon, my burden.
Sharp at what price, self inflicted.
Death before a dull life, drive to fight sedated away from me.

Vines: Wire Tunnels. What have they carried? (2008-08-07 14:38) - public

I have finally ordered and received the ancient shamanic medicine, ayahuasca, direct from the
jungles of South America. It has been used for intensive ceremonies of spiritual and physical
healing for as long as 3 millenia. The word translates to "Vine of the Dead" in Quechua, as it
is used to contact and maintain dialogue with the souls of deceased ancestors.

I have always been intimidated by the idea of ingesting the most powerful psychedelic
on the planet, and felt partly lucky that my previous order, last summer, was seized at the
border. This order, however, was received by my mother yesterday in an innocent-looking
padded white shipping envelope.

Inspecting the wide dried leaves, Psychotria viridis, and the thin, beaten, brown vines,
Banisteriopsis caapi, I worked a simple but time-consuming recipe over in my head. The Ban-
isteriopsis caapi acts as an MAO-inhibitor, taken first to prevent the dimethaltryptamine from
being broken up by our digestive enzymes. It is only the combination of the two ingredients
779
that allows the DMT to continue beyond digestion, into the bloodstream.

DMT is the also the only drug found naturally produced by our own brain. While no re-
search has been done to determine the actual function of this substance in the brain, we know
only that it is released during birth and death; its release an integral part of both the transition
into and out of this life. It makes sense then that, when taken orally, a transition from this life
is induced.

The moment the plants entered the house, something subtle changed. Tossing them on
the stereo, I went out shopping for the day. Returning in the evening, I plugged my new laptop
(also received this week) into the stereo and whipped up an MP3 playlist. The left speaker, the
one the plants had been sitting on, began to crackle and pop with static. I began to swear to
myself, "Brand new fucking laptop – and the soundcard is shit!"

I tried unplugging the USB harddrive, thinking its charge might be somehow working its
way into the jack along the chassis, which had happened with previous laptops. Nothing.
Finally, I unplugged the computer totally and waited. The crackle crept up from where the
ayahuasca was laying.

I tore open the whole entertainment center, thinking the clusterfuck of power cords, speaker
wires, and surge protectors must be generating static on the unshielded wires. I unplugged
EVERYTHING going into the amp, and every other electrical device of the living room, except
the amp. "Pop...hiss...p-pop."

Somehow the radio static sound, which had started when I began to play music, had
progressed into the amp, and now existing separate from that music. Before pressing play,
the stereo was completely silent. Now, a nasty rice crispy fuck fest. I slumped on the couch,
defeated, listening more closely to the strange unexplainable crackling coming from beneath
the ayahuasca. It sounded like a connection being made, and then broken again, frayed wire
breaking the static of a radio signal. It was 3 AM, I was creeping myself out, sitting alone in the
dark listening to freaky static. Turning the volume down all the way, I gave up on the whole
ordeal and went to bed.

At 4:20 AM, the bedroom was active. Busied conversation, excitation in the white noise
of the room fan. I could hear broken speech, an angry man, female singing. Radio? I got up,
and the stereo responded with a long warbling buzz, loud! My heart was racing, that fucking
stereo was still making noise, with no input and no volume, it was now louder and more active
than it had been in all the hours I had been trying to fix it. I rushed in, unplugging everything
in the room and took a handful of sleeping pills.

I half dreamt of spirits, dark shadowy figures, entering the bedroom. There was some
guarding or protective force preventing them from entering. There was a conflict, some kind
of fight over me. I am awaken with a gasp by something patting me on the shoulder from my
bedside. The whole bed seems to throb side to side in waves at 5 am. What the fuck have I
gotten myself into with this ayahuasca?

the2minh8 (2008-08-09 18:02:20)

man, that’s pretty sweet . . . a drug you don’t even have to take in order for everything to go all
fucked up. i have read some ayahuasca reports that describe a brief bout of vomiting that, within the

780
experience, accompanies horribly negative thoughts but is immediately followed by the sense that
one has rid oneself of all negativity–physically, mentally, and spiritually. contrast that with ecstasy,
where vomiting just feels cool. give a detailed report on your experience (if you decide to ingest it
rather than marvel at its apparent "passive" effects). i find this stuff fascinating but probably won’t go
so far as to use it myself.

(2008-08-07 14:38) - public

To: From:
Subject:

I write a letter, a simple letter to an older air that breathed easier.

In it, I ask how things have been and when thinks it might return.

"Yes, I wish I was there too... things got pretty heavy after you left.
I still love you, even if I don’t say it as much, I think of you often.
It seems like I had a lot more time back then, time to sit and talk.
I meant it when I said I want to know you. It was a true wish.

Maybe if I had tried harder, maybe it was you who were waiting for me.
I am so oblivious of women, even though, looking back now,
I see the signs you gave me were obvious.
And maybe part of me just pretended to miss them.
...but all of me misses you now.

Letters to an older air, that breathed into me fullness I never could.

And my lips would open to let you in.
And down through further you would open me.
Until to the bliss of your breath there was nothing left to surrender.

You told me to follow you each night just before sleep came.
You hid nothing of yourself, and that is why you are so beautiful and pure.
That is how you shine and know and see through all that I can’t.
And when beg to know you, I am begging to know myself like you do.

TRANSITORY PERCEPTION AND MYSTIC EXPERIENCE - 12-16-04

(2008-08-16 20:12) - private

Awareness and consciousness, as mental states, are considered by most to be one in the same.
Indeed, it can even be read that awareness cannot exist unless an individual is fully conscious
and awake. And, yet, science is confronted with unexplainable instances of experiences which
seem to suggest a connection between the subconscious and unconscious states and aspects
of physical awareness. Lucid dreams, night paralysis, and the out-of-body experience are each
now recognized by the scientific community as legitimate occurrences worthy of academic
attention. And while the realm of mental activity just below the threshold of consciousness
does not lend itself easily to observation or recording, brave and forward-thinking theories
and experiments continue to expand the acceptance of the subconscious experience as one
781
relevant and deserving of dedicated study.

A major factor in the rejection of the idea of subconscious awareness is a limited con-
ception of awareness, itself. Psychology, as a field of study, is still limited by its infancy, in
comparison with the other sciences and, for the most part, there is still little distinction drawn
between inward and outward awareness; so much so that many still interpret awareness as
implying merely outward, physical awareness. This is a primarily Western interpretation of
awareness, where ancient Eastern practices of meditative inward-focus and the transcendent
subconscious state still seem alien; disregarded, for the most part, as frivolous remnants of
the counter-culture. Inward awareness, however perceived culturally, is a universal mode of
awareness which, human experience suggests, spans across the entire spectrum of conscious-
ness, top to bottom.

The unknown falls into two groups of objects: those which are outside and can be expe-
rienced by the senses, and those which are inside and are experienced immediately. The first
group comprises the unknown in the outer world; the second the unknown in the inner world.
We call this latter territory the unconscious.
-C.G. Jung, “Aion”

Different states of consciousness have come, only recently, to be measured as distinct

modes of brainwave frequency. The alpha, theta, and delta frequency bands each a scientifi-
cally defined wavestate corresponding to a level or “depth” of an individual’s consciousness.
This conception of consciousness as a spectrum of frequency which we slowly travel down
through in sleep and back up through in waking is infinitely meaningful. The detection of
brainwaves revealed consciousness as a form of energy which could be measured, a dynamic
internal energy state. Waking consciousness was, all at once, expressed as a frequency, a
carrier medium on which all perceived awareness travels. As we drift downward into the
subconscious towards sleep, the range of our awareness changes accordingly; receding
inward, our thoughts become “long,” as we approach the unconscious dreamstate. This
change in the range of our awareness slowly limits the upper register of perception, the
physical “surface” awareness of sound and bodily sensation, while at the same time opening
our perception to awareness of a lower register, typically unperceived in our everyday waking
frequency state. As we travel downward through these frequency states, our awareness
does not simply disappear, but changes accordingly. For many, this transition from waking
to sleeping takes place so quickly, there is little notice of the changes which take place in
awareness during this time. There are those individuals, however, who drift slowly into sleep,
uncommon and strange thought associations occupying the trance-like state of sleep entrance
and exit. Their experiences imply a legitimate state of consciousness, based in reality, which
has been validated by waking observation.

For most shamanic cultures, the universe is believed to be composed of at least three
levels: the Middle Realm is the world as we know it, the world of normal human events; The
World Below, the Underworld, can be associated with the dead and dangerous spirits; and the
Over World, the Celestial Realm, is frequently characterized as the abode of the Sun, in some
places the realm of transcendent consciousness.
-Joan Halifax “The Shaman’s Initiation”

Willaim Buhlman, in his book “Beyond The Body,” shares a journal of out-of-body experi-
ences which spanned the course of over 25 years. In it, he details the progress of his learning
to induce and control the experience and describes something he called a “vibrational state”
782
which, over time, he learned to change and, in doing so, changed the nature of his perceptions.
Using something akin to self-hypnosis, Buhlham came to command the frequency of his
consciousness while outside his body. The change in state was accompanied by a sensation of
fast coursing movement, and often came with dramatic changes in the surroundings and enti-
ties perceived. He interacts with a deceased uncle who asks how he had learned to be outside
his body, telling him “There aren’t many who can do what you do. All of us are quite surprised.”

The implications of these interactions are many, and so fantastic, one is inclined to doubt
the validity of the seemingly outlandish claims. Yet, for those who have had an out-of-body
experience, there is no doubt that they were present in the room and that it was truly their
own sleeping body that laid before them.

In a classic experiment by psychologist, Dr. Charles Tart, a woman prone to leaving her
body in sleep for 4 non-consecutive nights with her electroencephalogram (EEG) recorded
each night. A 5 digit number, attained from a random number chart, was written discretely
on a small piece of paper and placed, facing upward, 5½ feet above the subjects head. 5
hours and 50 minutes into the 4th night, the subjects body began to convulse intermittently
for several minutes. This “vibration” of the body is a commonality described by most who
experience autoscopy and Buhlman explains it as taking place during the exiting of the body,
and occasionally upon reentry.
At 6:04 AM on this fourth night of observation, the subject awoke and called out that the target
number was 25132. She had correctly identified the number from sleep. She also stated that
she had expected Dr. Tart to prop the number up against the wall on the shelf, but that he
had, in fact, laid it flat on the shelf, which she correctly perceived. Several other experiments,
including those by Dr. Philip Zimbardo, arrive to similar outcomes.
According to extensive national out-of-body study conducted by Dr. Stuart Twemlow in 1979,
55 percent of the 339 participants reported “a sense of energy” during the experience. In
addition, 50 percent stated the felt vibrations in their body and 38 percent reported hearing
sounds in the early stages of the experience. A humming or roaring sound related to the
vibratory sensation as well as voices calling their name or laughing were all common. 78
percent believed they had received a lasting benefit, and 84 percent of the 339 participants
reported a greater awareness of reality. These were all healthy, reputable individuals from a
wide cultural background with no common history of mental illness or reported history of drug
use. The findings of this exhaustive study were presented at the 1980 annual meeting of the
American Psychiatric Association.
The perception of voices, both out-of-body and in transitional consciousness, is a universal
commonality, reported in every culture. Their messages are also common, universally, and,
oftentimes, are a call for help or action. The presence of perceived entities in the transitional
state before sleep is typically dependant on the area of sleep or some recent traumatic event.
That human beings hear the paranormal voices of “others” under certain circumstances has
been well established in all cultures for millennia. Schizophrenia and mystic rapture are
probably the most common catalysts, but the ingestion of psychedelic substances consistently
produces comparable phenomena. Admittedly, the message symptomatic of mental illness,
schizophrenia, is often identical in nature and intention to that of the mystical or psychedelic
experience. Here is a first-person description of an inner voice taken from dialogue with a
man diagnosed with schizophrenia:

The voice uttered only a sentence or two on each occasion that it appeared. The voice
claimed to originate from God… the verbal production of the thoughts-out-loud [ie inner voice]
usually takes the form of monologues attempting to persuade the ego to adopt a belief in the
783
authority of the agent behind the thoughts-out-loud, and to accept a messianic fixation… It is
impossible not to be influenced by the experiencing of such phenomena. Regardless of their
social evidential value, they represent to the person who experiences them, proof of contact
with some agent possessing sources of information broader than those of any factor of the
human organism.
[the author is referring to true predictions of future events made by the voice on
four separate occasions]

In my own experience, upon entering the appropriate transitional frequency range, there is
often much chatter or conversation taking place in the room which soon stops, as if there
is a sudden awareness of my perception of the individuals in conversation. From that point,
there is often a sort of “testing,” in which I am addressed directly, sometimes by name. These
voices are not always sub-perceptive. Often times, they are heard distinctly by all individuals
in the room in fully waking consciousness. This verifies the presence of the entities in reality,
outside the body and the influence of my own thoughts.

I once discussed the proof of identity for a long time with a friend of William James, Pro-
fessor Hyslopo in New York. He admitted that, all things considered, all these metaphysic
phenomena could be explained better by the hypothesis of spirits than by the qualities and
peculiarities of the unconscious. And here, on the basis of my own experience, I am bound to
concede he is right. In each individual case I must of necessity be skeptical, but in the long
run I have to admit that the spirit hypothesis yields better results in practice than any other.
-Carl Jung, “Letters, Vol. 1”

This physically audible speech was often loud enough to awaken me and my girlfriend
from sleep and, in one rare instance, I even was able to record the male entity as he pleaded,
in anguish, for help. From the transitory state of consciousness, I have been both paralyzed
and, immediately afterwards, “controlled” by forces outside my body. Unable to move, I tried
with great fervor to turn and awaken my girlfriend to the movement and speech in the room.
A twitch-like sensation, at the tip of my elbow, caused me to hit her several times rapidly in
the face. The openness to outside influence during the low transitory state has proven to be
both frightening and powerful.
The incubus is an ancient archetypical entity said to enter the bedchamber of the innocent,
typically women, and paralyze, suffocate, or sexually violate them. The influence of this entity
on the body, as I have witnessed, does not require that the victim be fully or even partially
asleep. The appearance of bloody scratches on the face and back, I assume, are related to the
attacks made on and through me and my girlfriend. The peculiar “twitch” sensation was often
localized to my hands, causing me to awaken with hand tightened in the shape of a gnarled
claw. I assume the anger which seemed channeled through me during this time was related
to the perceived incubus on the nights previous and immediately following.

Celestial beings of intense pure light, as I have witnessed, also do not require that the
visited be fully or even partially asleep. Fully awake, a comforting bluish-hued light filled the
room from the entrance, from an indistinct figure. So intense was this light that, with eyes
closed, the figure shone through the lids and still appeared bluish white through them, unlike
even the sun which appears reddish through the skin of the eye’s lids. Again me and my
girlfriend interacted with the entity at different times from different areas of the house on the
same night, both of us fully cognizant of the room and the entity’s location in the room.

The implications of transitory awareness and the frequency of subconscious states are
784
distinctly spiritual in nature. And, while it would seem that many of the robust experiments
and meaningful experiences recorded of these interactions would legitimate the field, opening
it to the academic community, this has not yet occurred. In much of my reading of shamanism,
worldwide, the act of receiving a voice is an overarching goal, approached using many different
techniques. The internal dialogue of a schizophrenic is even occasionally printed among the
more mystically-induced messages and is, for the most part, indiscernible from these more
traditional spiritual messages. Overall, as I consider this overarching goal of the traditional
spiritual expert and the definitions set before us by our Western culture of sanity, I come to
think of these definitions as binding constraints of a newborn culturally-specific institution
placed on something much older, something universal through all of mankind and his history.
Spirituality has been consistent. Across all time and all cultural separation, the same powerful
abilities, interactions, and phenomena occur consistently to certain types people. This fact
seems to undermine any footing this new psychology fad may appear to have in dismissing
this aspect of mankind’s past.

Transitory Perception and the Out-of-Body Experience (2008-08-18 18:07) - public

TRANSITORY PERCEPTION

Transitory Perception and the Out-of-Body Experience:

Interpreting Shamanic Trance as a Hypnagogic State
Kaleb Smith
Michigan State University

Religious Studies - Independent

Dr. Robert McKinley
December 11th, 2004

785
 Transitory Perception and the Out-of-Body Experience:
Interpreting Shamanic Trance as a Hypnagogic State

A systematic empirical conception of the perceptual anomalies experienced in the hypnagogic

state, and the distinction of these anomalies into discrete classes of experience, cannot be
realized until an equally-systematic conceptual framework of consciousness, and its many
levels, is first proposed. That is to say, in order to study the anomaly, we must first understand
the medium which carries it. This prerequisite theoretical framework, serving as the base for
further organized study towards an understanding of transitional perception, while undoubt-
edly based partially on aspects of that recorded perception, presents a far greater challenge
to the researcher; requiring the analytical reach of observational science to extend beyond
and within that of observation, itself, into the subtle energetic realms for which our naked
perception serves no purpose. The first step towards this goal, however, is in unambiguously
defining the various states (or bandwidths) of consciousness.
To establish a strong association between the transitional perceptions: those of the hypnagogic
or hypnopompic class, and shamanic trance perceptions: those pertaining to the supposed
transition into realms of awareness typically described as below our own,(Harner, 1980) I
will attempt to interpret both experiencesthrough studies of the empirical measurement of
brainwave state, or electroencephalography, as it relates to changes in consciousness.

Is Awareness A One-Way Street?

Awareness and consciousness, as mental states, are considered by many definitions to be

essentially one in the same. (Tart, 1969) The multitude of academic definitions for so many
internal states remain vague, conflicting, or indistinct, overlapping one-another in a sloppy
heap of semantic generalities. This is representative of our imprecise and crude understand-
ing of consciousness, made obvious when the defined vocabulary of modern psychology is
compared, side by side, with that of the ancient inner-science of Hinduism. Twelve Hindu
words can be found defining twelve distinctly different states of consciousness. In translation,
all twelve of these Sanskrit words become the single English word, “consciousness,” their fine
differentiation lost to us. (Tart, 1969, p. 11)
It can be read that awareness cannot exist unless an individual is fully conscious and
awake.(Freedheim, 2003, p. 35) And, yet, psychology is confronted with unexplained in-
stances of experiences which suggest a connection between subconscious states and aspects
of physical awareness.(LaBerge, 1991) Lucid dreams, night paralysis, and the out-of-body
experience, while controversial, are now recognized as legitimate and universally-human
occurrences worthy of academic attention.(Hartwell, 1974, p. 119) And while the realm of
mental activity just below the threshold of waking consciousness does not lend itself easily
to observation or recording, brave and forward-thinking theories and experiments continue
to expand the acceptance of the subconscious experience as one relevant and deserving of
dedicated study. (Tart, 1968)
A major factor in the rejection of the idea of subconscious awareness is a limited conception
of awareness, itself. Psychology, as a science, faces the seemingly-contradictory problem
of being bound to an investigative method developed for observation-based research, while
being designated a field of study which is, essentially, unobservable! The mind, and the
complexes of human ego and consciousness are internal processes with external ends. What
we can observe of manifest personality is quite secondary to those central inner processes of
cognition, itself.
For the most part, there is still little distinction drawn between inward and outward awareness;
786
so much so that many still interpret awareness as implying strictly outward, physical aware-
ness.(Freedheim, 2003) This, however, is a primarily Western interpretation of awareness,
where ancient Eastern practices of meditative inward-focus and the transcendent supracon-
scious state still seem by many to be foreign; disregarded, for the most part, as frivolous
remnants of the counter-culture movement. (Tart, 1969)
The unknown falls into two groups of objects: those which are outside and can be experienced
by the senses, and those which are inside and are experienced immediately. The first group
comprises the unknown in the outer world; the second the unknown in the inner world. We
call this latter territory the unconscious. (Jung, 1959, p. 93)
Inward awareness, however it may be perceived culturally, remains a universal mode of
awareness which, human experience suggests, has the potential to span across the entire
spectrum of consciousness, above or below the narrow bounds of the visible spectrum,
physicality (DeKorne, 1994).
Since Hans Berger’s first electroencephalography studies in 1920, our understanding of
brainwaves, and their intimate relationship with states of consciousness, has changed very
little (Freedheim, 2003). While REM and the different brainwave states have been outwardly
observed and defined, their actual function as corresponding to inwardly-experienced con-
sciousness has remained mostly unknown. It is known that the REM and delta band states
are related to mental development. The alpha, theta, and delta frequency bands each a
scientifically-defined wavestate corresponding to a level or “depth” of an individual’s con-
sciousness (Freedheim, 2003).

Consciousness: Above and Below

The conception of consciousness as a spectrum of frequency which we slowly travel down

through in sleep and back up through in waking is infinitely meaningful(Swartz, 1998, p. 174).
The detection of brainwaves revealed consciousness as a form of energy which could be
measured, a dynamic internal energy state. Waking consciousness was, all at once, expressed
as a frequency, a carrier medium on which all perceived awareness travels (Epstein, 1983, p.
31).
"One of the few things we can say with certainty about the hypnagogic period is that it is
highly variable, both physiologicallly and psychologically, among individuals. For some people
this is an experientially nonexistent period, with no conscious recollection of any experience
at all. For others this may be a period of enchantment, with beautiful visions, sweet music,
and insights into themselves." (Tart, 1969, p. 73)
As we drift downward into the subconscious towards sleep, the range of our awareness
changes accordingly; receding inward, our thoughts become “long,” as we approach the
unconscious dreamstate. This change in the range of our awareness slowly limits the upper
register of perception, the physical “surface” awareness of sound and bodily sensation,
while at the same time opening our perception to awareness of a lower register, typically
unperceived in our everyday waking frequency state. (Vogel-Foulkes et al., 1969, p. 82) As we
travel downward through these frequency states, our awareness does not simply disappear,
but changes accordingly. For many, this transition from waking to sleeping takes place so
quickly, there is little notice of the of the change occurring in awareness during this time.
There are those individuals, however, who drift slowly into sleep, uncommon and strange
thought associations often occupying the
trance-like state of sleep entrance and exit.(Bertini-Lewis et al., 1964, pp. 106-106)
While the majority of these hypnagogic and hypnopompic perceptions are obvious halluci-
787
natory manifestations of residual thought associations made during the onset of pre-sleep,
or the alpha REM period, (Vogel-Foulkes et al., 1969, p. 82) still other experiences imply
a legitimate state of sensory consciousness, based in external reality, and validated by
subsequent waking observation in an experimental setting.(Tart, 1967) Among the whole of
these rare hypnosensory experiences, the out-of-body experience remains a class of special
significance.

Is the Out-of-Body Experience

a Hallucination?

In a classic experiment by psychologist, Dr. Charles Tart, a woman prone to leaving her body
in sleep was observed for 4 non-consecutive nights with her electroencephalogram (EEG) data
recorded each night.(Tart, 1967, p. 253) A 5 digit number, chosen from a random number
chart, was written discretely on a small piece of paper and placed, facing upward, 5½ feet
above the subjects head. (p. 252) 5 hours and 50 minutes into the 4thnight, the subject’s
body began to convulse intermittently for several minutes. (p. 255)
At 6:04 AM on this fourth night of observation, the subject awoke and called out that the target
number was “25132.” That number was correct, perceived in the room she slept while, EEG
readings show, she was a delta sleep state. (p. 257) The subject also stated that she had
expected Dr. Tart to prop the number up against the wall on the shelf, but that he had, in fact,
laid it flat on the shelf, which she was also able to correctly perceive from sleep. (p. 257)
The implications of Tart’s OBE study are many and expansive of theory. An energetic internal
aspect of self, the perceived “viewer” of the autoscopic experience, had been shown capable
of awareness independent of physical sensation and waking consciousness. Given the evi-
dence of this replicated study, many skeptics have come to admit that, pending evidence to
the contrary, current research suggests autoscopy is not a hallucination. (Kehoe, 2000)
The convulsive “vibration” of the body of the female subject, shown as an anomaly in the EEG
reading, is a commonality described by most who experience an out-of-body experience as
taking place during the exiting of the body, and occasionally upon reentry. (Buhlman, 1996,
p. 38) It can be explained most parsimoniously as an effect caused by the disruption of the
typically harmonious phase relationship between the physical and subtle self during their
separation, lasting until the point of their absolute independence from one-another. (Hartwell,
1974)
According to extensive national out-of-body study conducted by Dr. Stuart Twemlow in 1979,
55 percent of the 339 participants reported “a sense of energy” during the experience.
(Twemlow, 1980, pp. 119-121) In addition, 50 percent stated the felt vibrations in
their body and 38 percent reported hearing sounds in the early stages of the experience. A
humming or roaring sound related to the vibratory sensation as well as voices calling their
name or laughing were all common.(p. 125) 78 percent believed they had received a lasting
benefit, and 84 percent of the 339 participants reported a greater awareness of reality.(p.
129) These were all healthy, reputable individuals from a wide cultural background with no
common history of mental illness or reported history of drug use.(p. 114) The findings of this
exhaustive study were presented at the 1980 annual meeting of the American Psychiatric
Association.

Are The Perceptions of

Trance Transitional?
788
The perception of voices, during both out-of-body and transitional states of consciousness, is a
universal commonality reported, in one context or another, in every culture.(Eliade, 1964) The
messages perceived are also universally similar and are commonly a call for help or action.
(Halifax, 1979, p. 92) The presence of perceived entities by the hypersensitive individual in
the transitional state before sleep is typically dependant on the location of the sleep attempt
or some recent traumatic event. (Kehoe, 2000, pp. 185-186)
That human beings hear the paranormal voices of “others” under certain circumstances has
been well established in all cultures for millennia. (Eliade, 1964) Schizophrenia and mystic
rapture are probably the most common catalysts behind the supposed interaction, but the
ingestion of psychedelic substances is often used to attain such rapture states, or one analo-
gous by outward observation to the naturally-occurring schizophrenic state. (DeKorne, 1994)
Admittedly, the message symptomatic of mental illness, schizophrenia, is often identical in
nature and intention to that of the mystical or psychedelic experience.(DeKorne, 1994, p. 43)
Here is a first-person description of an inner voice taken from dialogue with a man diagnosed
with schizophrenia:

The voice uttered only a sentence or two on each occasion that it appeared. The voice
claimed to originate from God… the verbal production of the thoughts-out-loud [ie inner
voice] usually takes the form of monologues attempting to persuade the ego to adopt a belief
in the authority of the agent behind the thoughts-out-loud, and to accept a messianic
fixation… It is impossible not to be influenced by the experiencing of such phenomena.
Regardless of their social evidential value, they represent to the person who experiences
them, proof of contact with some agent possessing sources of information broader than those
of any factor of the human organism.
[the author is referring to true predictions of future events made by the voice on four
separate occasions] (DeKorne, 1994, p. 57)

An articulate and sensitive man who, due to a schizophrenic condition, is subject to discarnate
voices which he truly believes are not of himself. While the message of the voice is one
identical to both hypnagogic and shamanic trance state perceptions, (Halifax, 1979) what
conclusions can be safely drawn, if any, of his state of consciousness? Do entities contact
him through the some collective unconscious, as he so adamantly believes? (DeKorn, 1994,
p. 57) Perhaps the opinion of the man who created the term and concept of the “collective
unconscious” could shed some light on these difficult questions:

I once discussed the proof of identity for a long time with a friend of William James, Professor
Hyslopo in New York. He admitted that, all things considered, all these metaphysic
phenomena could be explained better by the hypothesis of spirits than by the qualities and
peculiarities of the unconscious. And here, on the basis of my own experience, I am bound to
concede he is right. In each individual case I must of necessity be skeptical, but in the long
run I have to admit that the spirit hypothesis yields better results in practice than any other.
(Jung, C.G., 1975)

Conclusions

To integrate the observations of the cited studies of hypnagogic perceptions (specifically the
phenomena of voices heard while transitioning below the waking brainwave state, through
the frequency ranges of subconsciousness towards sleep) into a theoretical framework
which provides that the perceptions of this transitional state can be consciously induced (ie:
traditional Shamanic methods of entering trance and OBE states) would require additional
789
study to determine: 1) the true effectiveness of one or more methods of trance induction
and 2) the influence or requirement of key cognitive precursors to subtle perception (ie:
schizophrenia,hypersensitivity.)
Given the striking similarities in perception which link the three experiences: the hypnagogic,
out-of-body, and ritualistic trance states, I would hypothesize that further study would reveal a
direct connection between the perception of subtle non-physical energy bands and the lower
boundaries of our physical consciousness of the visible spectrum, the traversal of which is
represented by electroencephalographic brainwave measurement.
The implications of this hypothesis portray consciousness as not being limited to observable
physicality, but as an energetic sea extending above and below the narrow bands of our
sensation in the form of bound frequency bands, composing a spectrum. To simplify using
analogy, our awareness, by this conception, would be thought of much like a radio dial which,
by one means or another, may be turned and tuned through the many “stations,” many
exciting and different from our own. And perhaps, in someday learning to tune our perception
and explore this expanse of frequency, we may learn our station
really never was the most popular.

References

Buhlman, W.L. (1996) Beyond The Body. San Francisco: HarperCollins

Bertini, M., Lewis, H.B., Witkin, H.A.(1964). Some Preliminary Observations with an Experi-
mental Procedure for the Study of Hypnagogic and Related Phenomena, Archivo di Pscicologia
Neurologia e Psychiatria, 6, 493-534.
DeKorne, Jim.(1994). Psychedelic Shamanism. Washington: Breakout Productions.
Devereux, George. (1961). Shamans as Neurotics.
American Anthropologist,63, -1090.
Halifax, Joan.(1979). Shamanic Voices: A Survey of Visionary Narratives. New York: Penguin.
Harner, Michael.(1980). The Way of the Shaman.
San Francisco: Harper .
Hartwell, J., Janis, J., and Harary, S. B. (1974). A Study of the Physiological Variables Associated
with Out-of-Body Experiences. Research in Parapsychology, 13, 127-129.
Jung, C.G. (1959). Aion. New Jersey: Princeton University Press.
Jung, C.G. (1975). Letters – Volume 1. Princeton, New Jersey: Prinston University Press.
Kehoe, Alice.(2000). Shamans and Religion: An Anthropological Exploration in Critical Thinking.
London: Waveland Press.
LaBerge, S. and Levitan, L. (1991). Other Worlds: Out-of-Body Experiences and Lucid Dreams.
NightLight newsletter, 22, 42-55. Timeline of the history of EEG and associated fields
Tart, C. T. (1967). A Second Psychophysiological Study of Out- of-the-Body Experiences in a
Gifted Subject. International Journal of Parapsychology, 9, 251-258.
Tart. C.T. (1968). A Psychophysiological Study of Out-of- the-Body Experiences in a Selected
Subject. Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 62, 3-27. Twemlow, S.,
Cabbard, G., Jones, F. (1980). Transformative Qualities of the Out-of-Body Experience, 1980
Annual Meeting of APA, 33, 112-132. , G., Foulkes, D., Trosman, H. (1969). Ego Functions and
Dreaming during Sleep Onset. Arch Gen. Psychiat., 14, -248.

790
turboswami (2008-08-18 22:20:57)
I just submitted this to the admissions department for the PhD program of the Institute of Transpersonal
Psychology in San Francisco. It took me 13 hours to write. I havent slept yet. Does anybody see
anywhere I fucked up? I’m nervous about it

biscuitboy (2008-08-19 02:31:44)

I didn’t read it, but that you spelled "Princeton" as "Prinston" did jump out at me. Hopefully they don’t
scrutinize the references.

turboswami (2008-08-20 04:43:59)

Wow, yea...that was around the 11th hour, burnt out and half sleeping at noon the next day. Spelling
gets rough round those parts.

(2008-12-31 18:03:55) Ayahuasca Experience

I found your words to be quite interesting and believe that others would have an interest in hearing you
make a "Presentation" at the 5th International Amazonian Shamanism Conference held once a year
here in Iquitos, Peru. If you are interested, I’ve certainly love to continue a conversation about this.
You can contact me at alanshoemaker@hotmail.com I have been living here in Iquitos and studying
shamanism for the last 16 years. The website for the Conference is: www.soga-del-alma.org click on
shamanism conference. It is almost ready to go live... all the good things and may all your dreams for
the future come true, alan shoemaker Iquitos, Peru soga del alma is spanish for Vine of the Soul

Visions (2008-08-18 18:29) - public

I had never before seen such a beautiful befewelled mountainside, with caves of purple hued
crystal columnes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. I tried to steady my camera against
an old stump to photography the eerie glow of this cathedral-like house that had been actually
built inside of the largest of these crystaline caves...but through the camera, I saw all manner
of movement in the dark corners of the LCD screen. I saw what appeared to be an even greater
second house looming behind the first, like some greater residence which had been unseen.
A shadowy figure jumped near bottom half of the picture, to the left side and suddenly I heard
the sound of a breaking tree limb. I picked up the camera and quickly headed back for the
bridge, I had an uneasy feeling.

The bridge had caution lights, like those seen for a railroad crossing, which never shut
off. Yet I could see no railroad tracks only a river that cut through the trees far beneath the
bridge. The rhythmic clicking of these red lamps on this old bridge did not help my uneasy
feeling, and I was walking very quickly now. My phone rang with a message from the school
"Stay where you are. We have contacted someone from that city to find you."
Like hell I was staying where I was, in the center of that bridge walking into nonexistent
oncoming traffic well past midnight, into whatever unknown danger those red lights forever
warn of, I don’t want to know!
791
With a flash, the walls become transparent, the frame of the room’s corner rocks back
and forth with a purple inverse mystery behind.
The light comes on from behind and to the right, but it’s slow with the closing, like a passing
car in the night is this knower I sense.

I’m as dull as I love you

Until the torch has been passed.

Laughing very happily, gently.

Laughing very happily, gently.

My taxi guide through old Chinese tunnels,

my spirit guide taking me home where my body rests.
The hum of my chest upon returning,
I breath deep and heavy after my long journey.

Bring it back, bring it all back.

what did I say that set me aside?
What was the sadness that overflowed my hiding?
As I cried to an old stranger who then was leaving.

It hurt.

It was the hurt that released 2000 more.

Until I was lost all control to the torrents of hurt I didnt know I held.
I wanted to flow out with it, I wanted to just drop limp and die.
I wanted to flow out with it. I wanted to just go back. I want to be done.
It is too hard for me here, I am attacked as a threat, although I mean no harm.
I am a gentle soul, thrown to fight out a life in this prison Earth.

Numb hand kiss a forgotten key like the ring of a Goddess I still love.
Life is hard here, but physicality makes for the easiest climbing.
Or falling from.

To strike out with the kindest of words

I place the needle of the record player against my tongue
and again
and again

(2008-08-30 06:12) - public

On the fourth chance, a small space was built to hold no more than two.
Into this place, a small square of light which acted as a gate.
All of this was clouded by my fearful porn collection, extended as far out as mother, and easily
visible to all curious visitors.

I’ll play exhausted and hide in the first place they’d look.
I’ll read about the creepy, wait, how do I look?
792
I know I must look at least as interested as him.

I miss the instant, the poor man have distracted himself into a bright-eyed hole, scared
to well-medicated death.
I need a moment, please, help yourself to the door.

Coincide, a young formula flutters through my ribs.

I feel its charge course helixical information up my spine.
Maybe if waking up while awake could last, sudden lucidity within.

I am sorry for days, with nothing to show for it but lines on my face.
I know what you thought,

I will organize a recording in the basement of the Republic Mine,

The epic concrete metallic sound underground, pidgeons and long silent machines reverberat-
ing in the dark.

Right songs fall in glimmering red curtains, rolling in continuous echos.

I am surrounded on all sides, musicians I cannot see play behind.
Stars sweat across an approaching wall, as if faling face-first towards towards the reflection of
the sky.
Diving into the calm silent water at 5:00 AM, the darkest hour of the night, when boundary of
the water is most clear.

Perhaps what we see in vision is a reflection of another place far above.

And, upon entering the reflection, another realm is suddenly apparent beneath.
A system of conscious entities, interacting in a density which has settled into the lowest area.

7.8 September

(2008-09-16 12:20) - public

My home in Michigan is a powerful one; powerful in ways I still struggle to understand.

The first night back from China, sleeping in my old bed, there was great activity...as if a
"Welcome Back, Boy!"
Lights flashed from my bedside, beyond. That old woman called out "Kaleb!"

Days later, angry entities, those me and everyone in my home had come to know years
previous, had returned; stomping around in the living room and moving things loudly upstairs
in the studio. Horrible images, pus bursting faces stabbed with needles, old men’s cheeks
sliced open, and always the eyes glaring, angry. I would hear them stomp into the bedroom,
feel the matress dip as they sat at the foot of the bed, near my feet, sometimes crawling
upwards, followed by a heavy weight on my chest. Twice, the whole bed was shaking so
powerfully, the rhythmic sound of the matteress hitting the wall could be heard.

2 days into the second week, I experienced the first demonic posession since 2003. I
was paralyzed, like before, unable to move, but aware of what was happening. I felt a sort
of...fire, passion, a vibrating energy course upwards through my chest: the entity. I was lucid,
793
but had no control. I could only listen as it screamed through me, my back arched. It was
not a human scream, it was the high pitched wail of a beast. I tried to supress it, to move, to
regain control of my arms. Internally, I was able to push the scream away, back downwards
into my stomach and further yet. As I did this, the sound coming from my throat changed,
becoming more gutteral - a low choppy growl.

All at once, I could move again. My guts and crotch were "humming" with that furious
wailing, whatever that I had pushed down away. Looking up, there was a light to my left and
in front of it I saw a sillouette of the entity - a huge hunched beast, moving away from the bed.
I could finally see what I was dealing with!

I pushed that angry screaming energy down into myself, expelling it, but not fully. The
resonating sensation, the remnants of that fire, could be felt vibrating in my guts and crotch.
It lasted for well over a minute. (Not) coincidentally, that area of my body became incredibly
"inflamed," with internal bleeding and pain.

Understandably, I became very nervous going to bed each night in that same room. For
years, I had been away from the house, living in Grand Rapids and China. I was healthy living
at those places, and no such spiritual interactions took place. Yet the first day back in this old
church, it all begins again...

I began, as before, the 3-5 AM meditative "interaction" experiments. Again, as before,

these sessions would become incredibly powerful, with energy sensations, shadows, lights,
and visions. Hearing the stomping entity in the next room, I would take long deep breaths
and exhale, asking the "White Light Spirit," who manifested physically in 2004, to guard and
protect me. Alternating between internal tonal resonation to deepen the focus of my request,
I would continue requesting the presence of the powerful protective entities by many names:
"Divine Mother," "Holy Spirit," "Divine Guardian," etc...

Again, I would spend time focusing and intensifying my request by silently exhaling a
pure tone, internally. When done most intensely, this tone seems to resonate through all
areas of the brain, inducing a total "clearing" or "emptying" sensation throughout.

Nearing the third hour of this intense and genuine requesting of presence, the prayer
was answered as I knew it would be. What began first as an open-eyed vision of ascending
across many levels of some kind upwards through what looked like a tunnel, I continued to
calmly exhale, again and again, "White Light, Come To Me!"

The travelling sensation ended. A great Lion appeared and looked down upon me from
a field, standing noble behind a swaying patch of grass. I was in absolute awe and suddenly
realized "Yes! A cat, of course!" I gazed upwards for long moments, as the great being
seemed to smile upon me. (In Shamanism class, we were taught that each person has a
guardian animal or "Power Animal. I never thought much of it, outside simply the required read-
ing in a textbook for a class...but suddenly it came back as something immediate, meaningful.)

I tried to close my eyes, and realized I could not. My gaze was held, somehow, onto this distant
place so far above me, my body. When I tried to close my eyes, they only fluttered, as if held
open in some REM-state or trance. When I could close them, all at once there was a great
flash of light and the ceiling was black again, yet my whole body seemed to vibrate powerfully.

794
The next day, at my mom’s house, sitting on the couch after my morning shower, my
little nephew came up to me holding out a little baby kitten.

"Uncle Boy! Look at the kitty I found. Her name is Angel."

turboswami (2008-09-18 02:55:42)

Let me just say that that little kitten saw me, and stared me directly in the eye...something I’d never
experienced from a cat. From that point forward, the cat was by my side; essentially when I entered
the house until I left. Curling up on my lap, walking across the computer keyboard chasing the
mouse cursor, laying around my neck. "Wow, Uncle Boy! Angel really likes you!" The cat had been
found tangled in the rusty barbed wire surrounding the old mining pit in our yard. She was wet, and
assumably had been tossed with the rest of the litter into the pit to die. It just so happens she survived
to influence my life in what felt like a very meaningful way.

edensgray (2009-04-01 17:31:35)

in not as morbid as it seems way, i am pleased to have found someone that has had similiar, if not
more powerful, experiences to which i can relate to.

Dr. Arthur Hastings (2008-09-18 00:12) - public

I have started the first introductory classes of my PhD program at the Institute of Transpersonal
Psychology. I am honored to work with Dr. Charles Tart, who is a legend in the field who I have
cited so many times for his research in the out of body experience.

Dr. Arthur Hastings has been with the Institute since its inception in the 70’s and lived
in San Francisco before that time, living and experiencing the consciousness expansion
movement. He specializes in Buddhist meditation techniques and has written a lot about the
study of electroencephelography of mediums, and its marked changes during the supposed
act of channelling. Today, during our introduction to the theory and practice class offered by
Hastings, something very powerful happened.

Dr Hastings has a certain "presence" in the room that most people I spoke with noticed,
but myself most distinctly. Sitting directly across from him in a circle of about 40 people, he
began to talk about the out of body experience. He said that many people don’t realize exactly
how common an experience it is.

"People have the out of body experience. People look up and see an see angel at the
foot of their bed."

He then faced forward and stared me directly in the eye saying "This has happened to
someone in this room."
795
He continued to stare, as my eyes suddenly widened, chills ran down my spine from my
neck. Something profound happened right there, some manner of connection. My visual
field became much like looking down a tunnel; a reddish hue surrounded his unrelenting gaze.

I dont understand what happened, other than that it was powerful. He was talking directly to
me, and knew something he could not know...

swarms (2008-09-19 02:30:04)

Interesting. It sounds like you are having an awesome experience. On a selfish note, I have a bed all
ready for you if you ever want to make the trip up the coast to visit. There are reasonable train rides
that will get here and back in one piece. Maybe, we could roast up a Turducken for Thanksgiving. Or, I
may just come down there. I think I may have a friend driving down to see friends around that time.
Titties.

turboswami (2008-09-19 08:10:14)

How much did you pay for your Masters? I am looking at over a hundred thousand dollars of debt
before I get a PhD...does that sound about normal?

the2minh8 (2008-09-19 11:48:42)

Yes.

turboswami (2008-09-20 08:24:22)

Seriously, what are you looking at before you’re all done? 150 grand? Oh, I just found this...
http://www.vnnforum.com/showthread.php?p=794212 Wouldn’t it make the perfect gift for that
aunt or uncle around Christmas...err, I mean Easter. No, a birthday present. It would make for a
light-hearted birhtday present.

swarms (2008-09-20 16:33:00)

I probably piled up about 40 grand, but I was in a two year program and my tuition was waived one
term because I was teaching at the school. The PhD students in the U of O Psych Dept always have
teaching positions and don’t have to pay tuition. That link was hilarious.

turboswami (2008-09-20 16:53:23)

Also, yes...I wanna meet up. Train might be better for me, my car is getting all old and bitter towards
me. I can leave this expensive PhD program now without a scratch. If I decide to in a few weeks
however, the scratch will be about $11,000 deep. I just had a dream where I had to explain to my
friends back in the UP that my car doesn’t go in reverse, but in the dream even this was a cop out for
not really wanting to stand up and move around. I can’t go back...

the2minh8 (2008-09-22 17:54:28)

I would try not to worry about the debt. The repayment schedule will be negotiable based on your
income. The studies also might be a once-in-a-lifetime sort of deal. No contest.

The Santa Cruz Monastery Retreat (2008-09-25 21:00) - public

[1]
796
This picture was taken last night at a spiritual retreat organized by the school. I was playing a
drum, while people sang and danced around a bonfire on the beach of Santa Cruz.

It was a peak experience, dancing along the edge of the water, playing the drum for my
new friends, screaming out into the Pacific as loudly as I could, holding hands with the
beautiful girl, Mailan, on the left of the picture, and spinning until we both fell.

I dont understand the light above me that showed up in the picture.

I’ve been seeing flashes of bright flashes of bluish-white light at night, with my eyeshades on.
Last night, I saw the clearest pair of eyes when I first closed my eyes to go to sleep. They
were female eyes, they smiled at me.

This feels like a very important time in my life.

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/00003ebk/

swarms (2008-09-26 06:17:01)

She doesn’t look that beautiful. You’re making shit up!

797
 turboswami (2008-09-26 06:28:07)
Haha. It’s a goddamned shoop! You can tell from the pixels and because I’ve seen plenty of shops in
my time. She’s not on MY left, but on the left of the picture... Mailan Thi Pham, my Vietnamese lover.
We’re going to make babies, and I’ll make you kiss them.

(2008-09-26 13:57) - public

On the last day, who bothers to blame?

In realizing those words are his last.
Who ignores the phone calls for the sky?
Or sleeps away their final goodbyes.

The last day, and then the first.

A change we knew was scheduled.
Don’t look back at what was worse,
or you’ll stay that way forever.

NOTEBOOK ARCHIVE - China through California (2008-09-30 14:43) - public

12-12-07

"The Quivering Chest of the Chinese half."

This brain wasnt doing me any good anyway!

MONK EEG MEDITATION EXPERIMENT

Retry with psychedelic peak measured with monk/non-monk gamma states compared.

Hypothesis: Non-Monk meditation approaches gamma EEG state of experienced monk,

w/ aid of LSD

What is this flame?

This layer of knowing
That courses across neath
like the borialis between the allignment of aether.

12-22-07 - Nanjing

These men of the old main have mastered the delicate art of the neon wet dream.

Purpose – to traverse energy bands in death is impossible. Our residual form is merely
a basis from or remainder of the physical self. Francis is more energetic than me, but if I were
to exercise, my metabolism and "radiance" would change. In death, this change may not be
so easily made.

12-29-08 - Shanghai

798
In each man, a balance tipped for or against me. And, at first glance, I can see his
shade, his noise, his pitch...his timbre is revealed in a surface encounter...and it carries all it
holds, unseen.

12-30-07

My family own great tracts of land internally and, as a boy, I would rexplore these ex-
panses freely, learning and interacting within all that was my birthright.

The weight of the world, like the weight of your stomach, will naturally disperse in time.

"My love is not in time,

My love curls in to wait
in time
in C C C...
Ohhh!

Reasons, reasons
Overwash Unseen
Will
Though this empty house will not be filled,
it once was home to an angel.

3-11-08 - Suzhou

It was loss of face

For a face worth losing.

Wow...downtown is beautiful!
"Yes, must be a real feast for the eyes"
A feast of lights is nothing,
when my eyes starve for you.

4-6-08 - Nanjing

The Fruit of Development

(The taste has been Acquired)

1 Billion, 750 million people demand convenience.

1 Billion, 750 million people scream and push, elbow to elbow, in lines and crowds expecting
entertainment, desiring to be seen.

4-10-08

The greatest error of mankind was the development of a seperation between one’s ca-
reer and one’s life.
Children are no longer born into their profession, and so all civilization feels this weakness.

799
I will have conscious buy a new harder;
Tonight, tonight,
the moon will see my eyes.
And she will wrap her baby in a cold sharp quilt.

The song wasn’t bad...

The one we danced to in my dreams.
My mind isn’t bad...
Even if my dimly remembered past once convinced me otherwise.

-BUS SCENE-

Woman blankly stares at man on bus with one eye, while gently petting the eye lashes
of the other eye.
Man smiles. No facial response from woman.
Man looks forward, nervous for 4 seconds, and then back.
Her gaze is unchanged.

Know - the greater ones loom above, smiling, unacknowledged.

4-18-08

The Sun in me rises for each close-eyed smile.

The Son in me watches it, Orchestrating his love to match
...but none.

Welcome,
Please come this way.
We have prepared an informative film entitled "We’re Great! Look At All This Shit We Made."
Enjoy! There will be a discussion afterwards.

It’s very dark,

Holding the railing.
Black, the gate is Open.
The guard is asleep.
Be quiet.
They are building ships at night. It is secret.

Pineapple thorns point inwards towards each nipple, expanding.

a thousand baseball caps of a thousand colors flip away with the declining notes.

"Adult" should mean more, I thought as a child.

More than the base crudeness of sex.
I assumed things labeled "adult" contained some greater knowledge, beyond my capacity to
comprehend.
Genuinely believing that what drove adults was beyond my own basic bodily desires – but it
wasn’t.
What a disappointment!
Western culture restricts individual development, squandering spiritual potential on cumshots,
loud noises, and the habitual feeding of addictions of every shape and color.
800
True Adults are taller than those things.

5-3-08 - Nanjing

Wish You Were Her!

Mass Associative Shift - change in consciousness causes trans-nodal priming change with
each thought. (Wider, less specific activation - like in sleep entrance)

A grid lowering into a fluid surface, coursing deeper associative thoughts.

The scourge of ego returns - strengthening me stiff once more!

6-22-08

To draw a balance between the need for the "raw material," creativity, and the means
of "mining" it. The flexibility of personality required for the peak creative state requires, itself,
that the ego’s natural solid, defensive state be loosened; no longer serving as a base for social
interaction.

7-13-08

Explain to child that his weight is actually a rate of speed.

That fatties age faster, live less, and die sooner.
"You don’t want to die early, do you?
And leave us all here to miss hugging you!?"
(Put down that twinkie, Child.)

SUBOTNICK:

Q: What is the ratio of usable/unusable material on the Buchla recordings?

Q: How much of the modular arrangements, tones, and timbres rely on serendipitous arrang-
ing?
(SAOTM tonal rhythms pre-planned or improvised?)

1) Exploit their fears, Buy A Gun

2) A drunk with a megaphone in a dark Chinese alley.
3) China will reestablish its foothold at the forefront of Civilization
4) Chinese VS American Construction Workers
Data: 1/10th time / Same Project

Get: Fahreed Zakardia (sp?)

Saw 4 Chinese women with black eyes today. I guess they still run into doors in this
country.
It was a brand new door too - her husband must have been angry.

5) China: Home of the Hollow Plastic Safety Railing

A people who love their walls!

801
Gates inside gates, with new guarded gates ON the old gate,
with a gated fence on the outside!
Defensive!
They are known as the guarded people behind the Greatest Wall.

"How do I get into the Forbidden City?

There are so many gates, and walls on gates, and gated...gates."

6) Travellers are slender, physically fit people, packing light.

I am just a fat guy with a camera, packing a thousand conveniences I can’t carry for 8 hours.

7-12-08 Xuzhou

My negativity radiates as bad luck and sadness in all those around me.
A powerful mood acts through others - as if it is too much energy to escape just through you.

7-14-08

Mao’s big mug plastered on the front of The Forbidden City - as if to say all 5000 years
of China’s history are now overseen by him, as he is their owner.
Jesus would tell you the same - if you’re trying to build a reputation, simply plaster yourself on
something older than you. (Bible: Old/New)

The deeper meaning of a wall ( I am sure Waters could go on and on)

But is it representative of fear, insecurity or, rather, superiority?
Defensive people build outwards from themselves, to extend their brittle ego beyond the
flesh.
They hold tight their fists.
Capture, contain, force, restrict
all which would naturally flow into place.
And so the Walled People will have much!

7) Our means of travel are so crude - Physical.

We remain prisoners of our ignorance of energy.

8) I am inside a weaather system now.

The whiteness of the cloud seemed to radiate and I closed my eyes to feel the divine presence
of the sky guide me home.
Thank you!

9) "Wait Young Man. You can’t escape destiny by running away!" -Nosferatu

People impress people,

using small ideas with big words.
The truly impressive feat is to create a big idea,
and share it with small words.

10) Where did I put my Eyes?

Back before I thought of where to put them...

802
11) Delicious food fucked up my life.
We must be slender divining rods of energy for our souls to exert themselves in physicality.

12) Fighting aging on 3 fronts - but the ugliness MUST come out, boiling up like heated
tar, what is inside will always see the surface eventually.

13) SCENE: Packed Bus

Loud black people swearing on cell phones, cackling, etc...

Tense Whitey: *stands, looks pleadingly* "I am unhappy."

Black shrugs*
"I am tense."

14) Mine are just folded paper lies, written to be tucked away.
No harm done - at least not to anyone important.

Never fear!
I’m here to stay,
Stave off the day.

7-16-08

Lunch room dynamics as evidence for the natural tendency towards racial segregation.
Disparity defined by degrees of difference (2 centuries later, most in Chinatown still don’t
know or want to know English. A city in a city, naturally segregated within)

"Priority Semen is a non-profit humanitarian organization.

Your cooperation is requested."

9-10-08

On a dirt road called Retirement, outside Reed Point, Montanta at 5 AM, the stallions are
sleeping – all but one, the black one.

I say goodnight.

9-11-08

I am the tortured and blessed. The tormented grace who gives birth to culture.

9-19-08

The intelligence of evolution is governed by the guiding force of quality, which is both
intrinsic and universally recognizable.

Intellect is most generally defined as division (organization or its acknowledgement)

The intelligence exists without us, but manifests through conscious bodies as organiza-
tion, evidenced by the mirror of scale.
803
9-21-08

Addiction is due to lack of fullfillment caused by a limited self-perspective. Ayahuasca

has been shown to induce a greater sense of self-perspective.

What is the opposite of freedom?

Trust. Submission. Restraint.

Self-direction sacrificed in TRUST of the greater vision of the Governing Body, towards
some greater purpose beyond our immediate and fickle desires, is evidence of an evolutionar-
ily advanced person.
(the greater good is the pursuit of the good)

9-22-08

Being the priest in the path of sexual tension, flapping and squirming beside a girl who
hasn’t slept.

He is caught in a triangle of eyes that curl and glare.

Can I release this heat that poisons? To pollute the air with all this chest that boils?

the2minh8 (2008-09-30 19:56:34)

Love these entries. Awesome.

turboswami (2008-10-01 01:01:30)

Thanks. I had never thought of putting any of my little pocket notebook stuff on here.

7.9 October

(2008-10-01 13:46) - public

Women don’t REALLY like soft, sensitive men.

That’s a funny lie, a cute lie, a lie made obvious by actually looking around.
You could call it an inverse to pretending we are comfortable around domineering, powerful
women.

The truth is, women like feeling protected...and we love wrapping them up tight and
protecting them.

Will that truth slip back out, slow and sneaky, like the natural returning of a pendelum?
Or will truth burst out from our restraint, in an explosion?

(My bet’s on the explosion.)

—
804
We can’t even notice the systems in place in what we see...
Ecology, culture, race, society...
Like we could ever notice the systems in place in what we can’t see.

swarms (2008-10-01 06:10:15)

[1]Here’s the science!

1. http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/india_knight/article4837668.ece

(2008-10-06 14:37) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _4

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _4

FUCK

I wonder what his yearly salary was...

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%264%26%26%26youtube%268
Dj-4RYjbdY%3A5d121d496601314018ee90c3f5621b20809a6cc5&
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%264%26%26%26youtube%268
Dj-4RYjbdY%3A5d121d496601314018ee90c3f5621b20809a6cc5&

Shameful Bullshit (2008-10-06 14:51) - public

Of Psyche: The Transformation Of The Soul

To realize the roots of psychology in those ruminations spun by men of ancient philosophy is
to acknowledge the original intent of both of those systems of thought, so often buried and
forgotten beneath the fads and fashions of science’s voluminous pretensions, that of the
psyche: its understanding and development.
Aristotle’s observations of the psyche, or butterfly, mirror the Grecian conception of the
immortal soul. To think of that dull, groveling, caterpillar existence, the hardship of known life
as merely a single stage of a greater process we could not pretend to understand or control.
Entering the “tomb” in the autumn of our life, seemingly dead behind the cold, still walls we
lie buried beneath, only to burst forth in brilliant rebirth to transcend the earthly limits to
which we were once bound, taking flight into the blazing light of spring, to feed of its most
fragrant and delicate offerings.
805
This Greek root word of “psych ology” represent everything the straggling young science has
yet to understand and fully integrate. The fact that the field, whose literal translation is “soul
knowledge,” still considers “soul” to be a four letter word should not necessarily draw
criticism or sneering calls of hypocrisy through clenched teeth, but acknowledgment of the
limited capacity of the tools at our disposal, as the scientists of soul transformation.

The concept of directing attention inwardly, as opposed to outwardly, is the tie that binds
philosophy to psychology, while serving to divide divine noumena from lowly phenomena. In
this understanding, however, it could be said that psychology is not a science. Science, being
born of methodological observation, is bound by those methods to phenomena; the “unreal
seen.” To expect to approach divinity by such crude methods designed for capturing
measurement in observable physicality is an intention destined for failure. Physical
observation is not adequate, and often wholly incapable of a definitive approach to “soul
knowledge.” Stern hard science must either broaden to integrate the non-physical, or risk
losing it’s foothold at the forefront of human advancement.

wanderlust85 (2008-10-06 20:48:14) Hi!

Hey, I’m writing you because I’m considering applying to the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology in
CA for my graduate degree, and after reading your post about getting to work with Dr. Tart I wanted
to ask you about your life there. What kind of research are you doing? What’s your life like over there?
My interest has always been the study of consciousness, EEG, and telepathy-related topics. Anyway,
write me back if you feel so inclined - I’m trying to get more information about this place because it
seems like the right kind of program for me. My email is pikorz@gmail.com. -Jessica

The Things They Make Me Do (2008-10-10 15:38) - public

So, one of the requirements for the PhD program in psychology is, actually, receiving 20 full
hours of psychiatric therapy – as to get a sense of what a clinician actually does. In the Bay
Area of California, this therapy averages about $200.00 an hour.

I stated in class that I would not pay for my therapy. People laughed at me... I glared
back, determined.

The first step towards this goal of 20 hours of free therapy began well over 2 weeks
ago – surfing about the Social Services building, lifting all of the community action program
and public assistance brochures, pamphlets and glossaries. California has thousands of such
programs: emergency rent/utility payments, free housing, free food and transportation, and
an entire 2 pages of medical and behavior health programs, based on a sliding scale fee
system. Sweet Jesus, a free loadin hippie’s paradise!

I called 5 numbers, trying to setup an appointment today. First 3 had no luck, new pa-
tient queues extending far into December. I got a flash of inspiration around the 4th phone
call, however. All of these intake secretaries were asking the same questions "Do you have a
psychiatric condition? Do you need med refills? Are you currently suicidal?"

I had been answering "No, no no..." and, of course, being relegated to the endless line
806
of patients who just want to chat and aren’t really sick. After this flash of inspiration, the
phone call took a decidedly different tone:

"...are you currently having suicidal thoughts?"

"Yes! Yes, I am!"

Within 15 minutes of the phone call, I was in handcuffs.

Carted off in a police cruiser to a mental health facility in San Jose.
At a long stop at a gas station during the 40 minute car ride, I asked the friendly Asian police
officer if he could at least put the handcuffs on in front of me, as the metal cuffs were digging
hard into my wrists and I felt the tingle of circulation loss.
He told me, in the most pleasant, smiling way, that I would surely try to kill myself if the
handcuffs were on in front of me, as opposed to behind my back. I smiled and nodded.

Something felt very wrong about the whole procedure. A person calls in, saying he is
feeling bad about himself.
What better response is there than to put him in handcuffs and rein him around in front of his
neighbors, with lights and sirens to add pomp and circumstance to the Grand Failure Parade
that is him.
...or her.

biscuitboy (2008-10-10 15:01:37)

Wow. That’ll teach you to follow inspiration. How did it all end? Did you kill yourself?

swarms (2008-10-10 15:05:34)

Well, he didn’t want them to find out he is a liar!

turboswami (2008-10-10 19:40:45)

I was institutionalized, but talked my way out of an extended stay. I did see a psychiatrist...so, I guess
chalk up one hour towards my goal. As much of an ordeal as it was, I’d take a car ride in handcuffs
over a $200 medical bill any day!

monroe_the_fast (2008-10-10 21:37:59)

lolz On very much a side note, you’ve crossed my mind every day since I saw a certain burrito stand
that appeared to say "tits burrito" because its back door was positioned just right when it caught my
eye. How are you?

the2minh8 (2008-10-10 16:51:18)

Your first mistake was being poor. On what authority were they allowed to take you into custody? I
can’t imagine that you did anything illegal or that anyone had probable cause to believe that you were
doing or about to do anything illegal. This is a civil rights case waiting to happen.

erauqs (2008-10-10 17:35:44)

Called 5150, they can put you into a mental hospital against your will if you may kill yourself or
others, we once admitted to a police officer that we had considered killing ourselves and ended up in
the county mental health center with a bunch of genuine crazies, a bunch of speed freaks, and one
or two other messed up kids. Lovely eh?

807
 the2minh8 (2008-10-10 18:49:22)
I can’t believe it would pass Fourth Amendment muster if challenged.

turboswami (2008-10-10 19:43:44)

Yes, and once arriving at the institution, they can be held indefinately, physically bound and
medicated against their will, without telephone calls or the ability to contact loved ones.

raybraxas (2008-10-10 17:31:53)

Did you get your 20 hours?

turboswami (2008-10-10 19:44:12)

1 hour. 19 more to rustle up, somehow.

monroe_the_fast (2008-10-10 21:35:29)

LOLOLOL

Life Placed In A White Room (2008-10-12 13:26) - public

"a sudden inhale, a gasp for air.

What happened in the bathroom, what surprised her of that place?
What had I done?

Should I go out? Should I hide here, nextdoor, with the strange music whispering away?
What of the high, and the strange coincidence of it with this awkward scene?
Is she cleaning up my turds, slowly strewn floating across the floor?

I wonder a lot about Chinese people, in wonder and in pity of.

I saw five men in business suits today at 5:20.
Driving beautiful sleek sporty glides for rides.
All five asians...those were all the business men I saw today.

They wore beautiful sleek sporty bodies, gliding smooth oakley sun glasses and wives to
match them.
What the hell am I doing in such a place as this .. in life, placed in this white room.

A thousand centers expland downwards

The land explains as it enters.

Dali dreams of a tangerine enters its main title, introducing itself.

But this gate, too, is passed in throbbing descent.
Lights in streams of pulse dangle above me, teasing, tugging me towards their further source.

"White light, come to me.

White light, enter me. "

Oh, powerful slabs of tone glide into and out of being lit by attention...
Some fall hard, like thundering fists of defiant "thus!"
808
The table shakes energy I feel.

Defining Guidelines For The Therapeutic Use of Marijuana

- A Study Into The Ideal Frequency and Dosage For Maxiumum Psychological Benefit
- State by State Legality Permits Academic Study

(2008-10-12 13:27) - public

I need to learn some curses.

Not just the words, the spells themselves.
Casting, wait..what?

The idea of flinging energy, of requesting spiritual assistance to bring pain onto those
you meet throughout the day.
Sure, the talk about a "family curse." The whole clan just destined, by some otherness’ will, to
be stricken with the same cyclic negative traits.
Nowadays we might call that DNA, but what do we truely know about the external influence
on DNA?
The newspapers concerning this area of the world used to have these frenzied claims about
just that:

"Dangerous Narcotic LSD Found To Mutate Human DNA"

Little did they mention that everything influences chromosomes, LSD no more or less
than asprin.
Heat, cold, body weight, sleeping habits all change, in peak formation or degredation of DNA
in eggs and sperm.
The health of those reproductive chromosomes is reliant on one’s age, and after age 35,
a man’s children have been shown to be less healthy, more prone to illnesses like mental
retardation and downs.
And while people are waiting longer and longer into their lives each decade to have children,
this cutoff age, 35, is not changing.

In most eastern Asian countries, it is believed that ejaculating causes men to lose vital
life force, that the more powerful and central of all human physical releases has a spiritual
or energetic aspect. This was used to explain why solitary ascetics and warriors have great
personal power or strength, inwardly and outwardly. Coincidentally, their explanation of sex-
ual/developmental decline essentially mirrors the Age/Cognitive Ability Curve, the sharpening
of downward slope around age 24 for men; distinctly diffrerent from the more erratic curvature
representing a women’s cognitive state across time.
809
Negative (2008-10-12 14:41) - friends

Oh, more and more, hiding takes over.

Coming to and accepting the realization that I am no longer an attractive man.
Aging took place quickly for me, in both body and mind.
As if to say there are those who burned through youth quickly, in a blinding flash, a quick
streak across the dark night.
"Oh, yea...who do you think YOU are? You think you’re better than me? Is that what YOU think,
You Goddamned Precious Little Falling Star? Fuck you, you ain’t shit. You crazy what you are!"

I accept, and appologize for such feelings of self-worth, or, in this case, the memory of
self-worth.
I appologize for remembering my peak, or saying it even existed.
Hell is other people, hell is applogizing as you are hurt and fall.
Hell is this market of faces, this heirarchy of acceptance, the spectrum of beauty.
Untouchable caste, the diseased, the unlit, the deformed and ugly, hidden from the light of
acceptance and its burning pain.
I am the Hermit. Don’t worry, I wont be here long. I know where I don’t belong.

The Buoyancy of Truth (2008-10-14 04:10) - public

In coming to terms with the Renaissance as an “awakening” from some 5 century dogmatic
slumber, I needed to define “waking” in terms of cognitive traits: creativity, truth, quality,
and simplicity. Quality of thought, the elegant proofs of mathematics, served as a base for the
theoretical understanding of observable nature. Truth, quality, and simplicity manifest through
quantities, balanced, but what of creativity?
The great philosophical minds of the Renaissance period relied upon meditative solitude to
realize their full creative potential. Descartes saw the quarrelsome fallibility of philosophy’s
“experts,” and realized he could rely only on himself for truth; delving inwardly to construct
his great towering fortress of logic, impenetrable to the waves of attacking skeptics. He used
solitude with intention, as a stone wheel to sharpen his critical eye. Turning the edge of this
analytical eye inward, he was able to carve great monuments of principle from what was crude,
unfinished self-understanding. While a bright social being, musician, and dancer, it was this
self-exile from the world, isolation from the fads and fashions - the bickering and idolatry that
ruled the day - which gave his understandings their creative strength.
The breaking of observational inquiry from Catholic dogma was really the first and deepest cut
to God’s stomach. He has been bleeding to death ever since. Scienceism has reached the peak
of its pendulum sway, as all observable nature has been captured in the net of category, reeled
in, weighed, hung, and packaged. The beauty and enchantment of mother nature has been
dissected away with microscopic precision, but truth has an irrepressible buoyant quality. The
Catholic church learned this, as will the Science which burst wet passionate through it, only to
harden to a shell much resembling that brittle stained glass.

the2minh8 (2008-10-14 21:03:20)

Bah. Descartes ultimately failed because he could not surmount his belief in God–a belief clearly
pinned under the weight of social pressures and teaching. What was the product of his grand
solitary experimentation? A pronouncement of the existence and goodness of God. The story of

810
Descartes teaches that withdrawal and solitariness causes certain artifacts of society to be displayed
emphatically and magnified, not that something new and unique arises out of them.

turboswami (2008-10-15 05:47:30)

Maybe it was seeing his contemporaries, like Bruno, beg for forgiveness before having a rusty nail
hammered into his tongue...not for questioning God’s existence, but for thinking about nature.

Scan-din-aaaaa-viaaahh! (2008-10-17 14:03) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _5

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _5

I havent been able to talk for 3 days. When I try, it becomes very painful for everyone
involved.

I walked into bathroom and met the Russian guy from my class, Sergei.
I am never comfortable talking with men, while holding my cock.

But, he said Hey, and I said Hey...and then... silence....

I felt the edge of panic in the silence, and blurted out

"So...what you thinking?"
Standing side by side, there, in the bathroom together.

"Umm...about what?"

"Oh...I dunno. Anything."

"Well, uhh... I am thinking a lot of things. So are you." He says, looking nervously at
my neck.

"Yea...
That’s true."

I walked out and realized that exchange may have officially defined some legendary
new level of awkwardness which I had, as of yet, been unable to induce into conversation.
811
Is making people feel very uncomfortable considered an employable skill set? Anywhere?
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%265%26%26%26youtube%266
umgjdGSd-4%3A5a7e3a28014d93ea001f1498a63b42fa991f5852&
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%265%26%26%26youtube%266
umgjdGSd-4%3A5a7e3a28014d93ea001f1498a63b42fa991f5852&

the2minh8 (2008-10-17 16:02:46)

You need to pretend to be on the phone next time. "No, I’m in the bathroom . . . taking a leak. Nah, I
can talk." Never be actually on the phone in the bathroom because this is awkward. There is definitely
a market for awkwardness. The ability to identify awkwardness is probably most sought after. Even
that only lends itself to jobs in entertainment–comedy, writing, and so forth.

swarms (2008-10-18 07:53:57)

You can call me in the bathroom and tell me about how awkward it is for you to be talking on the
phone at that moment. Awkwardness is a noble trait. It endears others to you. We can’t help but
empathize with the socially clumsy. We’ve been there. That guy in the video has distractingly large
ears.

edensgray (2009-04-16 22:06:58)

wow, you’re right...hahaha, it appears strange as I’ve never seen anyone with....that large of ears.

You Smooth Aching Beauty (I Miss You) (2008-10-19 19:56) - public

Pretty girl, tell me all your troubles and I will listen with a glimmer to match your dress,
Tell me all about the children you love, and tell me about how you want only to be held.
And I will hold you.

It is far simpler a thing than you let on.

You have this beautiful body that needs to be protected, and I happen to have some free time.
Show me, after all has fallen away and you have nothing left to be stingy about,
Show me, after my focus becomes an issue to us, and I share it with you, unfortunately.
Show me, tried and true, show me myself again though you never have.
And I will reject myself through you in that same silent goodbye...

I give it to you to deal with, and honestly who would?

God knows I’ve accepted these faults, these imperfections I’ve devoted a life around,
That doesn’t mean I ever expected another to be able to do the same.

It is hard, and I am sorry...But I still love you so much.

Regardless and in spite of this body.

I love you.
I love you.
I miss you already, you smooth aching beauty, arched in a glance behind, waiting for only a
moment.

812
Before deciding we are best friends forever.
and ever.

Curse these erections I hide,

Curse them more when they hide from me.

I am a man, I must remind my manhood of that.

I have years to go before I rest in my fertility.
And this beautiful mess knows she is undeserving of that surrender.
I scoop her up and love her fully, none the less.
I scoop her up with arms so long and wide, and rock her to sleep wrapped tight in the safety
of my love.

Dear Grandma (2008-10-22 03:30) - public

I was just thinking about you a bit ago.

I hate being a nice guy.
I wish I could be more of an asshole.
You know, just a bit more pushy and demanding.

Those guys get a lot done! And they get what they want!
Can you picture me being that guy?

So, yea...who would you be?

a more pushy demanding girl? No!
I bet you wish you could be more of a "girly" girl...
all petite and waiting for some pushy domineering asshole on a gorgeous white horse to come
scoop you up and save you.

Haha!
In dreams...

[1]

813
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/00004aq9/

COEXing Out A Troubled Baby: The Perinatal Framework of Stanislav Grof

(2008-10-22 03:31) - public

In the article “The Consciousness Research of Stanislav Grof,” Richard Yensen and Donna
Dryer describe the clinical experiences of Dr. Grof with thousands of patients who were ad-
ministered the psychedelic compound LSD. It was from his observations of the inner influence
of memory structures, specifically childhood and perinatal memories that arose during these
LSD sessions, that Grof created the COEX, or Psychodynamic Experiences and Systems of
Condensed Experience: a model to categorize these experiences.

Grof’s BPM’s, or Basic Perinatal Matrices, describe the 4 death-rebirth themes which
were surfacing in his LSD therapy sessions. The experiences described by subjects as they
progressed through these matrices ranged from the most profound existential extremes;
overwhelmingly negative to a seemingly-cosmic expanse of positivity. While obviously one of
the most intense experiences many of these patients had had in their lives, I was forced to ask
what actual benefit such therapy provided in the most grounded, everyday, real world sense.

Proposing the prohibition of LSD was to be loosened for use in such therapeutic contexts,
would psychiatrists treating patients for depression really wish to prescribe a medication which
produces “overwhelming feelings of guilt and inadequacy, enormous anxiety and a total loss
of hope in an experience of complete despair?”

What are the ethical considerations of administering a drug which induces overwhelm-
ingly powerful feelings of self-disgust, fear, suicidal thoughts? Do the “benefits” of suicidal
thoughts outweigh the physical dangers of heart palpitations, dramatic increases in blood
pressure, and intense physical pain reported by Grof’s subjects? While it is certainly true
that the medical community remains mostly oblivious to the actual subjective effects of LSD,
studies like Grof’s, admittedly, do little to loosen the mythic substance’s Schedule I status.
The fact that at one point in the research Grof, himself, began to question if he actually was
killing his patients seems to fit into the seemingly-contagious chaotic atmosphere of the study.
Picturing thousands of mental patients wailing on the floor in pain; crying, shaking in cold
sweats in fetal positions as they writhe across cold institutional tile at Grof’s feet. He had
given those patients something which caused great pain, both physically and mentally. Of
course he would begin to worry for their well-being, if not for the legal repercussions if even
one of those patients was telling the truth when they screamed that they were dying and
needed help.

More than anything, this outline of Grof’s psychedelic research left me wanting to know
more about all of those spiritually-transformed patients who made it through the doctor’s BPM
gauntlet to be reborn on the other side. Specifically, how long did all that cosmic unity and
blissful oceanic existence last? I refuse to believe Stan gave birth to a synthesized Buddha
and simply sent that glowing soul waddling out the door never to be spoken to again. Hell,
even just a quick phone call to check in and see how those oceans of transcendental bliss
were fairing 6 months into that “9 to 5” at K-Mart.

I want to hear that all these transformations were permanent, that Grof has found that
elusive formula to lifelong wellness in transcendence – however, my own experience finds that
814
even those grand energetic oceans of inward expanse tend, in all their majestic beauty, to
harden to a brittle shell resembling that ocean. For even transcendence becomes merely an
image of transcendence when we turn to look back at that past self ego has come to defend.

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000569k/

the2minh8 (2008-10-22 18:59:49)

Gary Spivey wears a furry helmet to absorb blows from the spirit world’s minions. The U.S. Patent
and Trademark Organization has expressed little interest in his application, rejecting it numerous times.

raybraxas (2008-10-23 00:40:30)

I better go get myself one of those fros before it’s patented.

The Scenic Trap (2008-10-23 02:37) - public

On amber sap that slides viscous between rib bars within me,
This cage is no longer fossilized docile, nor born remembering.
It is born of forgetting, no longer froze in remembrance.
A scenic trap I once set of whirls of trees and baited with faded beauty.
It once fell from above with triumphant glory, followed by posh and circumstance I secretly
attended.
815
Long buds extended outwards like uncurling palms of hands, through green towards red.
Each hand opening towards me, to be given each their share of what I so naively believed I
had caught.
But the sun to each approached along the line, passing through my moment I watched it from,
through then as slowly away.

And what was that line from that distant, intersecting in passing.
Its approach expressed in echos of selfhood.
Shamaddict tationation creames eyes frothy up behind their lips.
I’ll cross this "t" of his on "c’s" I no longer live above.
Wait, what?

I must learn to write without pain, they say.

I say good writing could only come from soul-wretching pain.
They tell me of prolific writers, as prolific men, with so much worth saying.
And I meet them and its all hidden somewhere, behind some form of dementia.

Back to glory palms, gone sour:

All this happened when something energetic drove me more often.
And then I turned 25, gianted and hunched further into wait.
But for what? For after the nap? But then its already 5 and you’re a loser.

What the fuck up to the wake. And how!

The mexican barks to a wail, a long howl of obscene prayer honoring the great moon to
attend.
Civility wild, a ritual song shared with my pack, carried through the descent of the nocturnal
spirits into dream.
I shared a lot today, and perhaps something drew inwards in response. Receptive hearts
awash in the emotion of the room.

Splish splash, mothafucka! I got somthin to say!

Look at me, mah! I’m doing wave tricks for coochie.
And nothin to say after the show, only the sound of washing and combing my hair.

I look back to see the life I left falling apart.

I called a girl, she chose not to answer.
I called my girl, she chose to ignore it.
I called out to some girl I might be allowed to know, but she did not know, or pretend to.

I put out my hands, Mercy Me! A group therapy act. "Oh God! There is no one. I am
alone."
It was to dry eyes, irritated eyes. My voice was too clear, maybe if I choke up something
special and wet?
Maybe if I call to the four corners of la-dee-dee, and spread my arms open wide to the world.
And recite the 3 cliches in perfect order, a mantram of monetary success.
And all will granted the class of servitude they so deserve.
By the four corners of la-dee-dah fargo.

Cross-legged, cross -eyed, all the beasats of burdonous beseechery, so bound.

I don’t want to pretend, unicorns, gnombs, and fairies.
816
I’ll believe it all! Line em all up, fo’shua! Just tell me when I’m gunna be paid.

"If there’s a steady paycheck in it, I’ll believe anything you say." -Winston Zedmore

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/000069er/

My Having of Need For The Now Service Is Great! (2008-10-25 05:05) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _6

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _6

Me and a little hottie named Sha-sha...

and an angry half naked man.

I love how he defiantly places his tea on the counter.

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%266%26%26%26youtube%26s
ijptpcKWLA%3A6f687df95526d01dbb91caff6426f5a85e07bd56&
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%266%26%26%26youtube%26s
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817
The Fullest Nothing (2008-10-26 12:08) - public

Invest deep and heavy into purity in and pure stock out.
Surround yourself with the fullest nothing and internalize nothing fully.
Cross the cyclic failure which ripples from the scars of our mistakes,
They be rough seas! But you must cross that gaping wound that hardened the heart in
defense
to let that momentary funnel of impact carry you upwards.

To know when and how to distract one’s self – to distract attention most effectively, in
ways which produce.
I am distracted from thoughtlessness with thoughts of the most precise intention, and in
moving to enact, I freeze in the transcendent pose of lazy abandonment and rethink the sound
of that thoughtless original.

The bursting flood of oxygen to the brain activates inward through the alpha bandwidth,
expressed a spike of occipital flow activity.
This flood of attentive activity can be "primed" or "pumped" upwards from the lungs using
techniques like Grof’s Holotropic hyperventilation.
Contact Dr. Grof through Alicia, to ask for direction in EEG study of the Holotropic technique.

On time, come in, come in, come in....

Write poetry and spiritual writing under a pseudo-name to protect academic credibility.
Fall out of the outside world, and into a routine of organized daily study.
(remove penis and testes)

Sure, I love em all...

But I cant shant tit shit for shat.
Those T &A moist drives should be channeled through the most high developments, grand
towers of selfhood.
Before the drive dries up with routine libedic release, and the softness of fatherhood.

Those for whome the all-around is less keep all awash safe at bay, often behind beauti-
ful Asian walls.
What is it about those rising closed walls, encircled, that resembes a cannon.
Explosive focus, aimed and directed with precision.
If I had such inwardly-directed power, I would use it to gain respect.
That is why I am not Asian.

All together now!

Volunteerism (2008-10-26 12:10) - public

Furthermore, evolutionary principles

are without purpose. Natural selection simply
means that organisms possessing traits that allow
adaptation to the environment will survive and reproduce.

Thus humans cannot even take pride or

818
find meaning in the fact that they have survived
longer or differently than other species. Evolution in
no way implies improvement.

Wundt opposed materialism, about which he

said, “Materialistic psychology . . . is contradicted
by . . . the fact of consciousness itself, which cannot
possibly be derived from any physical qualities of
material molecules or atoms” (1912/1973, p. 155).

But what of electromagnetic energy as the carriage of and force of consciousness?

Divided into energetic bands of frequencies, divided in composition of a whole.

In lucidity was attained and induced by half waking, and maintaining the hypnagogic
state.
There, aware of my body in bed, my legs extending out from the misalligned blanket, I was
also aware of a figure.
And of her grace, I felt and shared her emotion, that of a caring motherly figure looking down
to her adored.
My body awoke, buzzing with vibrant energy.

Whereas other sciences were based on mediate

experience, psychology was to be based on immediate
experience. The data the physicist uses, for
example, are provided by various measuring devices
such as spectrometers (to measure wavelengths of
light) or sound spectrographs (to measure the frequencies
and intensities of sound waves). The physicist
records the data these devices provide and then
uses the data to analyze the characteristics of the
physical world. Thus the experience of the natural
scientist is mediated by recording devices and is not
direct. For Wundt, the subject matter of psychology
was to be human consciousness as it occurred.
(we now know that human consciousness IS measurable as frequencies and intensities of
waves and that measuring devices merely aid our observation of the energetic influence of
consciousness)

Wundt distinguished between pure introspection, the

relatively unstructured self-observation used by earlier
philosophers, and experimental introspection,
which he believed to be scientifically respectable:
Experimental introspection made use of laboratory
instruments to vary the conditions and hence make
the results of internal perception more precise, as in
the psychophysical experiments initiated by Fechner
or in the sense-perception experiments of
Helmholtz. In most instances saying “yes” or “no”
to an event was all that was needed, without any
description of inner events. Sometimes the subject
819
responded by pressing a telegraph key. The ideal
was to make introspection, in the form of internal
perception, as precise as external perception. (Hilgard,
1987, p. 44)

( current technology of magnetic resonance imaging, or the superconductive quantum

imaging devices of even higher energetic sensitivity, allow the external perception of internal
spective states with precision history has never before seen )

Everything, according to Spencer,

begins as an undifferentiated whole. Through evolution,
differentiation occurs so that systems become
increasingly complex. This notion applies to the human
nervous system, which was simple and homogenous
eons ago but through evolution has become
highly differentiated and complex.

(Division is intelligence, and manifests as the organization of roles. Intellect, then, is a

system of association carried by consciousness and captured by minds of conscious beings,
each being with a differing capacity of memory)

The fact that we now have complex nervous systems

allows us to make a greater number of associations;
the greater the number of associations an organism
can make, the more intelligent it is. Although
the term intelligence goes back at least as far as Cicero’s
use of the term intelligentia, Spencer is credited
with the introduction of the term into psychology

Anderson’s ACT3 Semantic Network describes the associations of organized thought in

terms of a "net" of nodes and points, each representing a concept. This "net" resembles the
brains own neuronal net, it is the physical carrier of it. But it is NOT intelligence, merely a
carrier of it - able to capture divisions from the flow of attention, inward. Thus, our mind is a
representation of the divisions present in intellect, and the organization of social interaction
(unicellular -> multicellular) is mirrored across all scales of life. With each expansive "step"
in scale, organization is carried upwards through capacity of intellectual capture and its
association.

As Spencer said, cellular organization evolved into our current bodily form over eons.
Once, individual cells - unicellular, antisocial "hunter gatherer" cells lowered their defenses
and formed a "pack" of socializing cells. This JUMP from unicellular survival to multicellular
organization mirrored in the definition or roles through all scales of life. By this understanding,
the complex differentiation apparent in our own body is a "roadmap" defining the structures
of organization resident in the subtle fluid force, intellect, as carried inward by consciousness.

This concept of scalar progressions aligns more closely with the theories of Spencer, as
it suggests a continual upward development, or generalized pattern towards socialization and
the expansion of intellectual capacity.

820
Social Darwinism, a theory of the influence of evolution on a social scale, was created
by Spencer ...!
How insulting to him!

That "jump" from solitary survivor (unicellular) to socialized pack animal (multicellular)
changes nature of that species evolutionary development in a very simple and specific
way. That defensive "fight or flight" survival of the fittest developmental schema ascends
to a cooperative or "civilized," societal developmental schema. This upwards ascention in
complexity, in this most simplified "pack" form, is organized first by the centralization of order
into a leader figure, a governing or Alpha force provides and guides group dynamics.

"The Strong Shall Survive....

Yet the Unfit May Live."
-The De-Evolution Band

Glossary of Realm Classes (2008-10-26 12:13) - public

Ask ACK about creating a survey, so that the direction of interest for specific reasoning behind
our questioning of the dead.
Specifically, the organization of the afterlife into levels, as described by Indian gurus (cite,
cite)
And if the differing capacities of perception of these subtle realms, as divided by classes of
spirit.
(define spirit classes using strict adherance to culture universals, using the consensus theory
of truth.)

A school can
be defined as a group of individuals who share common
assumptions, work on common problems, and
use common methods. This definition of school is
very similar to Kuhn’s definition of paradigm.

Survey form...just like on this side.

Invite interactive meditative tone recording for 30 people.

Introduce pure tone, to act as reference for "Om" exhalations.
Define two meditative "soloists" to alternate pitch, while 28 remain harmonized into octaves.
Set up stereo electret microphone in center of circle.

Replay recording into Kaoss Pad mk3 with juice funk break.

[1]
821
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/00007www/

(2008-10-27 14:25) - public

I wonder if the creative burst of smoking pot is truly worthwhile, given the days or often
weeks of struggling to maintain a daily social life through a personality, degraded. It is a quiet,
awkward struggling sound, the sound of a frantic desperate search in silence. In rereading the
flood of thoughts and intentions from last night, I realize they are just about as inaccessible.
What the beef?

The high has changed, and will continue to change; subject to influences and systems
of cognition, some of which I control, some of which I alter, none of which I can pretend to fully
understand. The degradation of this chirpy playful little ego I had going for myself these past
months leaves several people impressed by its outlet, channelled creatively, and dissapointed
in trying to talk again to this strange figure who brings that production into the group.
What the beef?

I walked with my tiny shoes last night. They are tiny because I was too nervous to dick
around with sizes when I was stealing them. By the end of the first hour, there was a lot of
blood. As the skin on the back of my heel peeled away, layer by layer, I thought of guilt,
expressed as tension, carrying a sort of gravitational weight expressed as karma.

At 1 AM, I entered a sort of dark hallway sanctuary of palm trees in beautiful huge pots.
Fully enclosed from above by their foliage, I tried to make sense of the surreal place – where
the fuck am I?

I was lost in a goddamned tropical tree farm at 1:20 in the morning.

Fuck, I can feel the back of my socks adhering to the open sores being scraped deeper.
822
At the end of the hallway of palm trees, there was a narrow winding foot path extending up
to a little rounded wooden door, surrounded on all sides by bushes in a adorable little nook.
I wasn’t going to go through the door, for fear of getting more lost, but just then from the
light of a streetlamp, I saw a fat Mexican man in puffy flannel. He pointed at me and shouted
something, begining to walk quickly towards me.

I turned and walked in a casually fast way up the little path, into the safety of the trees.
I felt like fucking David the Gnome as I crouched down to sneak through that door.

7.10 November

Well, Well, Well... (2008-11-01 19:00) - public

The expression of creativity is the expression of selfhood, the release and freedom of personal-
ity from the confines of brittle ego. In all of its many outlets and forms, creativity is therapeutic,
with benefits extending beyond mind and body, into spirit. These deeper spiritual benefits of,
say, singing from the soul, dancing with the flow, or painting what’s “down low,” are also what
make those works of art so personalized, meaningful, and, in many cultures, sacred. In the
slow process of learning to access that deeply powerful “soul” side of expression, I had to first
acknowledge that I had an expressive side at all; I had to say, unabashedly, that “Yes, I am an
artist!”

When diving into many of the modalities in class which I had, previously, not experimented
with, I often had to mentally shift gears in order to channel that “soul side” of expression into
that new terrain which I was not so familiar with. I thought of that source, that “soul side” of
the creativity, as coming up through a deep well of cool fresh inspiration. Extending through
my throat and ribcage, and further yet into and beneath the floor, far below into the deep
cavernous aquifer, the oceanic expanse of the collective unconscious. The mouth of the well
is my own mouth, and when I tap into it, the subconscious, in all its currents and aquatic
life, speak through me – spilling freely onto the page, onto the canvas, into the air. It’s that
loosening, that half-sleep sort of relaxed state, where I learned to submit to the muse, to
whom I served as merely a calm but gracious host.

The well we each carry within, and dive through each night into dream, carries with it
powerful implications. The most significant of these implications is that the inspirational state
is derived by some “other,” the classical concept of the muse as the divine source of creativity.
All of the greatest voices of mankind, back through the millenia of civilization, have confessed
that they cannot take credit for those masterpieces; that they were not that work’s creator, but
were acting merely as an instrument, wielded by some greater being. The implication, then,
is that the peak inspirational state is more a sort of subtle mediumship, an act of channeling
a consciousness other than ourselves and granting that consciousness physical expression
through us. This explains the descriptions made by those countless artists and musicians of
the “thoughtless flow” experienced when they fully submit to the inspiration of the creative
state, allowing it free expression. To envelope this into the metaphor of the well, it could be
said that that subterranean oceanic expanse of the collective unconscious has living within it
entities of every shape, color, size, and intention, like any other ocean we can know. These
conscious muses swim and splash about and, if they so choose, can easily make their way up
through our well to sing through our mouths, or perform through our fingers. We each have
823
the capacity, to one degree or another, to act as a gateway for the muse, if that spiritual entity
so desires to influence culture and chooses us as her outlet.

Yea, I know you all just LOVE reading my midterm papers...

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/00008k6w/

the2minh8 (2008-11-04 16:02:07)

Supernova Kitten has a very cavalier attitude about religion. And sunglasses.

turboswami (2009-04-18 02:20:35)

Haha. Practicing Christians rarely wear aviator sunglasses. ITS A FACT!

edensgray (2009-04-18 02:09:55)

I think this is beautiful and I steadfastly equate to your use of methaphor to the ocean. many years
back my poetry consisted considerably of waters: rivers, streams, and oceans It wasn’t until recently
that I realized what you describe here in your paper...that my work was always created in a sort
of self-induced hypnosis state...i didn’t have to be under the influence of alcohol or drug to write
or artistically express something profound. i am an artist and in the past never had faith in who i
am/was...but now i know that i paint my path through art and words sorry if i write too much...your
posts echo within me

turboswami (2009-04-18 02:25:07)

No no, your replies are wonderful. I am glad you find some meaning in there... Thank you.

824
Thursday, December 25, 2003, 7:30:44 PM (2008-11-02 00:31) - public

Miniature Flood over Miniature Model, Magnified to appear real. This is how these disasters
become, and this is how they stir the emotions of viewers, the crashing and falling of delicate
works, toothpicks hidden under plastic forms; the toppling of intricacy beneath the rush of
spilled milk, and all ladies and their gentlemen cry for the cause, the war at hand, the disaster
of nature we cannot control...

Who are these intricate builders, with minds like pocket watches, ticking away alone
with eyes squinted into the bright night of basement light. It is forever that they quibble edges
and sides between lone self, who’s sides are brittle, varied, and rigidly defined. I cannot hold
the tears he plans, indirectly, beneath the direction of a Higher Mind of a Macro Vision towards
the opposite of his own.

I was a sharper, healthier, and more productive person in 2003.

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/00009a81/

825
"Not Merely A Dream, This Knowledge of Love Which Goes To Me"
(2008-11-09 15:12) - friends

I have fallen deeply in love with a girl from school, Mailan Thi Pham.
Amazingly, on a very powerful night of soul connection, both me and Mailan each received an
email on that day, each from our most recent lover.

Each email said the same thing, that they knew we had found new love, and that this sense
was something they could feel and which depressed them deeply. My girl in China went as
far as to scream, in all bolded caps, "I HATE YOU!!!" Triple exclaimed, with bold button pressed!

It is a powerful love, to influence those close to us so intensely – rocking the delicate

threads of our deepest relationships to their core, causing disress to those who are tied so
intimately to our soul.

from Kaleb Smith

to tran*******rders@yahoo.com
date Sun, Nov 9, 2008 at 3:11 PM
subject Fwd: .
mailed-by gmail.com

Wow, my China girl just wrote you a poem...

Translation can be tricky, but I figured you had a right to read it...since it is addressed to you.

Dude, I have the house to myself here. We should have hung out a bit at my place....studied
and stuff. ; )

Oh my God.
....I just translated it and I feel so sad. I am crying. There is so much pain she is pouring into
these words.
What have I done, what can I do... I have hurt her so deeply. My heart aches, across the earth,
to comfort her.

Not Merely A Dream, This Knowledge of Love Which Goes To Me

I have lost him, his love never to be known by me again..

If our love’s memory is a book, may I never open it again.

For I was afraid of losing him again, I now have no fear. For I know his love will never
be known by me again...
The pain, it never ends.
The pain I had never anticipated, I vainly hoped for what I could never have.
Carried by that indifferent pledge, carried by my waiting.

I have lost him, his love never to be known by me again...

I, who once loved him so much, so much more than he could ever know.
826
The vast despair within me leaves, passing with the distant soul voice saying,
You are also loving him.

———- Forwarded message ———-

From: Hui Jiang
Date: 2008/11/9
Subject: .
To: Smitty

.
.

.
.

[1]
827
 Jiang Hui, in Rickshaw, Summer 08

[2]
828
 Mailan Pham (On Left in White, with Phamlies)

To what degree do you believe in the influence of subconscious connection between those
whose souls have touched and loved?
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000agh1/
2. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000ba9k/

Driveway Dreamer Hates Bitter Old Chinese Prostitute (2008-11-22 19:04) - pub-
lic

On Halloween, I went to a massive 3 story San Francico dance club. I was dressed as something
described as SUPER HAPPY BEDTIME L. RON HUBBARD, which worked very well for me.
There were 7 actual dance floors at this place, some merely intimate little bar cubbies with
booths and chillness, and then there were the larger expanses of dance orgy with live bands,
DJs and multimedia busy-ness.

829
At any rate, my SUPER HAPPY BEDTIME L. RON HUBBARD costume had no pock-
ets... I was smart enough to give my wallet to the pretty girl driving me around, but not smart
enough to give her anything else I was holding. When I arrived home to my Chinese trailer at
4 am, I realized I had no key to open the door! As if the hour and a half of flat tire stranded
drunk freeway procedure was not enough of a trick, I found suddenly being unable to get into
my house or car a rare fucking treat.

I pounded on the door, loud pleading fists against cold glass.

Thoughts to self: "That fucking bitch! She knows its me... She is just laying there, smiling,
listening to me. I am not sleeping on this porch!"

I broke into my car and slept in the driveway.

They keys that fell onto the floor of the club were not turned in. I was told they were
probably simply swept up with the rest of the garbage by someone who didn’t care enough to
bend over.

The intense altercation which followed that night, the second tour of my quaint little
trailer park from behind the metal bars of a police cruiser, is probably well worth sharing.

monroe_the_fast (2008-11-24 04:14:24)

Wow... a) nice entry b) c) home life awkward now?

Life Is A Test Graded On A Curve (2008-11-25 16:52) - public

At age 4, success is...not peeing in your pants.

At age 12, success is...having friends.
At age 16, success is...having a driver’s license.
At age 20, success is...having sex.
At age 35, success is...having money.
At age 50, success is...having money.
At age 60, success is...having sex.
At age 70, success is...having a driver’s license.
At age 75, success is...having friends.
At age 90, success is...not peeing in your pants.

7.11 December

Vol.II. p.16. TAB XXII. - "Total Recall." (2008-12-17 02:03) - public

the2minh8 (2008-12-17 14:24:48)

I keep staring at this image, thinking I should know what the fuck is going on in it. But I don’t. At all.

830
 monroe_the_fast (2008-12-18 08:14:02)
Whatever it is, she sure doesn’t seem to mind.

turboswami (2008-12-18 08:47:40)

Scarier, still, is if you begin to figure how many young pubescent boys have masturbated to this
image in the past 120 years. Don’t tally me, though. I’m post-pubescent.

The Pom-Pom Daydream (2008-12-19 02:19) - public

Deeper fortunes found in so much blood

The splashed red cross corners and walls

Distanced thoughts claw open all that was good.

Entrancing glares ended a life of beautiful mirror sex.

I came, she rolled over and yawned.

All the time, I eyed the ripples’ congruity. (congrunacious, congruitivity, congrats)

The surface disturbance shows itself the next morning.

An uneven fucking wrinkle, and another behind that bulge of unspecified age.

Yea, a fucking gate

What happened was lost to the sex?

What message could clean her out?

I’m so sorry to hear about the Drain-O.

The insights shot out fast, that was all that came. (I’m sorry. Trust me, it was better
once!)

The ring of the moment flooding in cycles mad, never to be released.

I know these pom-pom daydreams...

They end how we change.

Tainted by vibrant sleep, they will all forget you.

Haha, you’re so fucked, dead and buried at sea.

cheery galloping music, flutes and shit*

831
Nu-ur-urple. Nurple the gnomb
Riding dashing everywhere. Jumping here and jumping there.
Nurple, nurple the gnomb.
PUT THAT AWAY!

Echole (2008-12-23 23:13) - public

Remember I wrote once? Crazy things I used to write!

Wow, what a crazy person I was back then. Shucks! Who wudda thunk? Hehe!
Then down under, all sorts of things gone plasticine and funny sounding.
I wrote up a list of things to do and got lost downtown during rush hour.
And, before I knew it, it was 5 o’clock...all the doors closing, darkness setting in.
5 o’clock, to a day that felt like a lifetime, a day like 10,000 other days.

Who’ll be with me when they close up shop on me?

What will be her time? Our time until I grow older?
That was another day I spent on her; another her, another day...
Like the brightest point of the day, which I took from her and wasted.
The time she could never get back, her first time.

Across a dayless place, the land opposite the midnight sun, I will travel.
Across the souls ceiling to our nearest dimension, that just beneath physicality.
The depth of that physical plane is the 5th, the inward expanse.
As the 2nd was inward of the 1st, and the 3rd inward of the 2nd.
So the 5th is inward of our life.

Inward.
The calls jump like a frenzy of flying fish up out from beneath, seeming to boil with intense
aggitation, a thousand shooting thoughts.
How can I cool the mind, as vented molecular tension, the unfocused blurred conductance of
my medium.
In what way can I better conduct this energy? Strengthen my capacity for directed focus? Yes,
of course...

But meditation is so boring! Who has time for all that hard laying about.
Difficult exercises done sitting still, and who opens the floodgates of bliss and when?
I grow impatient, even as I see them opening....so...slowly! Fuck!
Don’t they make this in pill form? Some kind of energy shake or something?
I’m a man on the go, dammit!

Haha! "That BUSY American lifestyle!"

Where did advertisers come up with that one?
Listen to my attitude, and I will say the words Ass! and Fuck!
As I am a busy man, busy fucking people in the ass. So make way!

[1]Echole - Part 2: location heightened

1. http://rapidshare.com/files/176311120/Echole_-_Part_2__location_hightened.mp3.html

832
turboswami (2008-12-24 11:09:45)
Wow, ok... so a lot of it could be cut out. But out of all of it, there is a very solid 15 minutes or so.

What problem comes first? (Ctrl-V Your Response) (2008-12-25 00:58) - public

What problem comes first?

Jumping up in a twitch of solution, supressed.
I crawl, again, outwards from the hole in my bed.
I see light, the kind that hurts my body to see.
I talk about myself on the beach, thinking of my stomach.

Portal, she said. My face is a poretal to the subconscious.

And I have to deal with that.
Rough.

I’ll build a mind around a body, and a life to match.

Radiating knots of self, tension pounds beneath.
Raw throbbing knots, begging in pumping pleas for release.
The scars of this suboncscious, the vents of heated earth miles beneath.

I have so much to hide from her, so much that the inverse tumbles over.
Fillingn the negativity of that concave surrender with truth, with open honest self.
She is free to swim in this fresh cool springfed lake, drink of its depths, taking them.
Making them her own, feeling my soul inside her, the energetic humming tug in her rib’s
cage.
She has caught me, and I her.
And as much as she resists, it is merely enclosed exploration.
Of the inside of a warm cage, wrapped up tight in my long arms.

How real can I be, Bukowski you hateful old bastard.

What things have you shown women? All those ones, the depths of your passion, both
extremes.
Up sloppy slumped, puking. What truth gushes out to get you there, bare and empty.
I want it. I want that mess to let out, I want the rage and glory, the eyes that escape above.

Metabolicity, the techniques fall to shambles in the flood.

What is tech nique but a personality developed?
One that can be, just as easily, eroded away, the remnants of its moist, active form.
When magma of release first surfaces to the world. The opportunity of direction, before it
hardens.

I can draw that metaphoe across a life. I can say a man only grows so far,
before he simply stops, in the shape his magnitude carried him, and settles back into that
moment.
As much as the heat within him fights that urge to settle, the inward state of the energy leaves
when it leaves.
AS much as he fights to maintain it, so it is maintained...a brittle ego, ingrown to strict
adherance to a personality.
833
A technique which brought him very far.
The common “outside time” into physicality carried by our medium is approximately 24 years.
Before fully hardened, and being “over flowed” with fresh, hot youth culture.
The sediment of his identity can even extend and be carried into this fresh flow of civilization,
but, after 24, he is no longer at the peak of his identity, he is lost beneath the ever, expanding
surface of Maya.

Only the flow knows, only the flow I can only try to maintain now that I sense the per-
sonality hardening of my late 20’s.
I sense the inflexibility, the natural tendency to sit more, to settle into a routine, the comfort
of finally reaching a routine of stability, a woman insuring my every step towards fulfilling a
future goal.
My continuation, my reflection in society, my boy.
All I have learned of this moment alive, I impart to him with hope and care.
With intention, to create him in my own image. To sculpt all I know, not merely am.
To fulfill the last of goals, the first natural branch of the non-selfish pursuits, attention directed
towards growth outwards from self.

What can

How much breath can I release into the world?

How much of this burning surface can I claim as “mine?”
How big of a splash out into this world can I make, with ripples carrying outwards through my
brilliant exploding release into this moment will be echos of my voice?

Crouds calling my advance into the air, hardening along my edges like the pistol of a
gun formed to direct me.
Dare I peak back into that black expanse behind me, behind my dynamic expulsion into
physicality.
It is a well, a tunnel extending back into the heated core of death, of subtle energy’s expanse
outwards into physicality.
The core of the earth, expressed outward in divisions of dimensions, expressed as bound
layered depths.
The visible spectrum, when seen as radiated heat expressed through densities of mediumship
surrounding, reveals the “Visible Spectrum Band” of physical existence, and all 5 sensory de-
vices developed through scale to capture these ever expanding frequencies of interconnected
systems.

All these different sensory systems, we learn, are interconnected and wholly alligned to-
wards a central intrinsic force, an outward flowing expansion of attention, of light, which were
are merely reflecting upwards through ourselves.

Saying all of too much, over the top, honesty wasted on the limitations of convention.
The capacity for cultural adhereance t to hold novelty, the subculture’s specificity to the
release.
Receptivity to key thoughts, patterns, and behaviors.
The wind flows strong through isolationi’s inlet.

Howling, through intensities in all those around me.

834
The carriage of attention inward fully primed and pumping through the gravity of coincidence.
A fluid surface whose tugging waves are subject to forces unconscious and separate from
myself.
These forces, conscious, are capable of carrying conscious intention.

The Trickster knows more than us.

(2008-12-25 01:03) - public

John, the baptist was a rouge spiritual guide,

Offering fresh release from social self, there, in the river.
And perhaps Jesus went to him, knowing that he would know
Knowing that he would know he was Jesus,
Knowing that he would know he was a big deal.

Sensing inward energy, he sought acknowledgemetn of his inward state.

Even performing miracles to outlet his strengthened subjective powers into physicality,
He wanted to be known, to be regognized for his achievements;
By performing powers of inward capacity which, to the Hindus, were quite common.

What is it if this need for acknowledgement Jesus sought?

The almost cocky need to "show off" everything he had achieved in the desert?
To imagine what he would have written had he been able to write.
And venture to say it would be better than what was written ABOUT him,
The Bible.

Blabbery on Trial, sweet grains and oats developed in the wild.

Train them to know and know only.
Induce the self-realized state from birth,
before the fall from grace which is exiting the womb.

That transition, that pre-birth intention, should be disturbed as little as possible.

In fact, any technology which may aid the transferance of the bre-birth consciousness, and its
intention into physicality, should be embraced.
Chemical or otherwise.

Beneath Breath’s Essence: Interpreting Traditional Chinese Ch’i As Attention

(2008-12-26 00:21) - public

Aikido is the Japanese approach to self-development, but reflects not simply a differing
approach to personal growth, but an entirely different system of understanding of the self, and
it’s development. While the concept of a subtle energy which flows through our body could
be called a cultural universal, existing in one form or another in all areas and belief systems
of the world, the development of a systematic understanding of this biological energetic force
was suffocated in the west by an observational science obsessed only with the physical mea-
surement and classification of the objective world. And while the electro-chemical processes
of our nervous system, the ebb and flow of action potential as it courses, electric, through the
delicate webbed network of nervous strands, this understanding of our inner energetic state
835
still leaves a massive gaping hole of common human experience unexplained. Luckily, the
Chinese have been meticulously studying this energy a lot longer than us, and did not limit
the extent of their understanding to mere physicality, as we have. Ki (or ch’i) is the name they
have given to this ever-dynamic inward flow of vital energy. Central to Aikido is “centering,”
and center to centering is ki, the Japanese conception of vital energy, derived from the older
Chinese metaphysical system and cosmology.

Ch’i, to the Chinese, has 3 major meanings – air, breath, and energy, as if to imply that,
at their core, ch’i is central to all three. The combustive force of metabolism is fueled by air,
and its respiration – the literal release of that intrinsic energy in that medium, converted in the
flaring chemical reaction taking place in every cell of our body. Yet, even beyond this literal
understanding of the body’s reliance on breath energy, is the “essence” of breath, the more
subtle aspect of its purpose, beneath those biological processes.

Energy is such a vague word! How else can we define this powerful force we (oh so)
slowly learn to direct and center via the practices of aikido? I would say attention, itself,
is a force – one which can be directed, sculpted, or sharpened to achieve any task of will.
Perhaps, with the perspective of this inner energy as, in fact, being a flow which is carried by
our attention, we can better get a grasp of its direction (or, rather, soften our grasp and our
eyes’ attention of all we mean to flow with.) I love the metaphor of a flashlights beam: light,
directed over all we see and attend to. Like so many flashlights, the beam is a composition of
rays directed by precise reflection to enlighten all before us – but this reflection can change
the intensity of this energy, this light. Like our attention, this beams can be focused broadly,
expanding outwards to reveal the entire room in fuzzy dim light, or narrowed this light can be
tightened down to a single burning pinpoint using the lens of our focus; sharp eyes’ critical
glare burning deep attention into a single point of analysis. This energy of perception, ki is
something I believe aikido does much, initially, to simply build awareness of – and, perhaps
with continued training, allows us to strengthen our control over.

Sex. (2008-12-26 00:26) - public

[1]
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[2]
837
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000cxhx/
2. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000d7rh/

838
My God. (2008-12-26 00:28) - public

me: My god...
4:01 AM What do you think of commercialism?
4:02 AM Consumerism as a means of self-expression.
4:03 AM Do you think self-expression can be achieved without buying things?
4:05 AM Do you think self-expression has gone too far? That it has become self-isolating?
Everyone is an individual...alone, without the sense of community society once provided?
Sorry, answer each question, beginning from the first...
and working your way down

I adore lots of kinds of products, but don’t actually want to buy things

As far as I can tell, if a self does exist, it is always changing, and I think that expressing
it is done with actions much more than appearances

4:23 AM me: The "Self" has gone too far! It needs to be cut back, pruned!
me: I am deep into this self thing...self, as consumer...
4:24 AM It is popular to call consumption a bad thing...
4:25 AM But, honestly, is such colorful and wide-ranging self-expression, such an explosion of
plastic multi-leveled art, a negative?

me: Is it not just a more elaborate form of peacock theory?

...the most colorful, the loudest, the most beautiful creature wins?
the girl
He who expresses himself best, using the brightest and most elaborate designers?

me: It is a fluid expession of culture, and it is beautiful... but is it natural?

4:28 AM I dont believe so.

4:29 AM When ever I ask myself "Is this the way society is SUPPOSED to be?"
I am able to get a real and direct answer from myself: from the organization of my own body.
4:30 AM Where neither conformist nor individualist systems rule...
4:31 AM But advancement through specialization. The joyous beauty of segregation!
Haha.
M@: so, what’s the answer?
4:32 AM that you get from your body?
me: Segregate the races, and let them each have their own culture with which to express
themselves.
4:33 AM But that expression is, also, their career
Specialized.
4:34 AM M@: But there would be plenty of people who wouldn’t want that separation
me: In the societal role best suited to their nature.
M@: in fact, I imagine most would resent not having the option to cross whatever borders you
made

4:35 AM me: I know, I am just saying what is natural.

M@: and there would be wars between the races for resources
me: No no. Think in terms of the specialized roles divided amongst cells in our own body
839
That is the future of society
me: Resources are provided equally, as needed, across all subcultures
but those subcultures are contained
4:37 AM M@: Well I don’t think that that stratification of appropriate roles would be along
racial lines at all
Specialization, over generations, would have genetic implications eventually, over time
4:38 AM Something like that may be happening already
I have read articles about a genetic split for humans
but they only talked about two divisions
me: Yea, of course its happening.
me: Natural things tend to happen.
naturally.

4:39 AM But, its being able to have perspective of the path of nature, its intended direc-
tion and outcome, that lets us know how best to live.
It is best for us to be with like minded people.
We are drawn to those who are most like ourselves.
...cafeteria dynamics...
4:42 AM The natural tendency towards segregation.
4:43 AM Be it of fluids, oil and water, insects, animals...anything that is dynamic follows that
basic rule of cafeteria dynamics.
To be attracted towards those most like yourself.

4:45 AM M@: I thought opposites attract?

me: So, ideally, the system of sub cultures would define itself...yes, into races on one level or or-
ganization, but further down into sub groups as required by the growing complexity of society.

4:46 AM M@: Anyway, I don’t get the whole "I am God" / "You are God" thing
I don’t feel that. I don’t seem to fill in the blank that I see God as filling
4:47 AM me: I am sorry. What I meant to say is that we are each a cell in God’s body.
Does that make more sense?

When I say "I am God" it is acknowledging that greater perspective of my identity.

4:48 AM The true identity, the super being I devote my life to create.
To manifest and nurture the God I am.

M@: meh

4:51 AM Trying to make sense of the direction of this culture...I’m trying, the idea of mir-
roring the body upwards through scale is a start, maybe.
4:52 AM Soon as I say "segregation" though...
...people dont see the beauty anymore

me: I hope people become honest about differences at some point in my lifetime.
4:54 AM M@: I just think there are some kinks in your image of it, and I do not see that vision
as inherently good, or better
or worse

me: The vision of...having a purpose to life?

4:55 AM Of expanding the awareness of our civilization outwards?
840
4:56 AM Learning, reaching through and interacting with energetic systems beyond our
individual capacity
Thats good, thats betterment of the species, truly

4:57 AM The single muscle cell is essentially blind, but is necessary to give us sight,
sound, touch, taste...perception beyond the individual is provided by the civilization.
4:58 AM That is the purpose

M@: It’s still completely empty

4:59 AM me: Likewise, the city provides us with weather, ultraviolet and microwave per-
ceptions, predictions and awareness of patterns in energetic systems beyond our naked
perception.
...and its just the beginning.
me: Of what our Greater Body could potentially become aware of
5:00 AM ...and interact with..
...so far beyond our small lives

I feel like it is not empty...

5:01 AM But gives our small life purpose, direction, and intention.

M@: If we are currently part of the precursor to that, how can you say we don’t already
have that purpose, direction, intention?
5:02 AM me: We do...it is something developing, but it is developing without that intention in
mind...without that perspective over what we do.
5:03 AM So, culture is so easily misguided
5:04 AM By fashions of thought and customs, fads of philosophy and religion.

M@: Things do seem inevitably pointed in the direction you speak of, though

me: If we saw our own body as the blueprint of our lives, as a magnificent map, a suc-
cessful system of organization...
we could develop more naturally, as a society.

M@: I see things very much the same way you do

I am just very doubtful that the end result is happy people

me: Neuron cells, muscle cells, rods/cones, marrow

Defense
5:09 AM all these cells already exist in society, but in a messy, misguided free for all
Specialization will become biology...

5:10 AM The roles will align with genetics, and the predisposition it affords.
and the efficiency of the greater organism will benefit

5:12 AM True happiness comes from helping others, helping society. By truly taking
pride in ones work, there is nothing so fulfilling in life.
And so, by being an integral part of the greater society, seeing that improvement take place
by your hand, I could only expect happiness

841
5:34 AM M@: Let’s have it right now
Ok nite!

[1]HAECKEL Actiniae Forms

1. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a9/Haeckel_Actiniae.jpg

"I MUST Stick My Fingers In The Sandwiches" (2008-12-28 13:39) - public

What I meant to say is that I am constantly impressed by these Asian people. . .

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _7

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _7

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%267%26%26%26youtube%26k
EH7cphEODk%3A471c9a2f4dd564374955264da92b9b56554c2a11&
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%267%26%26%26youtube%26k
EH7cphEODk%3A471c9a2f4dd564374955264da92b9b56554c2a11&

monroe_the_fast (2008-12-29 05:52:48)

Awesome.

The Sun Is Calming Down (2008-12-29 09:08) - public

An antenna inside pumps activation across a fleshy net.

When my situation no longer comforts me, I scramble to get away.
How quickly I forgot how grown ups fight through their day,
(lets pretend I ever knew.)

Lets pretend I worked a day in my life, lets pretend I accomplished once.

Lets line up great inflations of accomplishment, projections of self fulfilled.
And then I’d like for the whole line to bow at once,
and I’ll ask that you dont look too closely.
In fact, close your eyes while you clap.

I am ready to admit the worst, to admit troubling things

With honesty and openness,
842
release myself to the long cold rails,
Close my eyes and admit I waited too long.

Is it worth staying, to scrape together remnants of the receding season?

Is it worth leaving, setting out towards the calming sun on the ship of sleep?
I don’t want to be seen to set, but am growing tired of fighting for the light of day.
How can you be forgotten if you’ve done nothing worth remembering?

"I MUST Stick My Fingers In The Sandwiches" (2008-12-29 14:16) - public

What I meant to say is that I am constantly impressed by these Asian people

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _8

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _8

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%268%26%26%26youtube%26i
M_E6sRQQAg%3A76139da0be566258448217d5f1596a520b72e3f2&
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%268%26%26%26youtube%26i
M_E6sRQQAg%3A76139da0be566258448217d5f1596a520b72e3f2&

turboswami (2008-12-29 10:21:07)

[EMBED]

On the Legitimacy of the Organic Neurotransmitter (2008-12-30 21:07) - public

The molecular composition of organic hallucinogenic compounds mirrors that of the neu-
rotransmitter, serotonin. This identical molecular shape of these compounds (psilocybin,
dimethyltryptamine) allows them to fit into the same cerebral receptors as serotonin - but
what does this natural receptivity imply?

Serotonin is not simply a hormone, but a bundled set of messages transferred from one
neuron to the next. Upon fitting itself into the neuronal receptor, the compound prompts or
"opens" a chain of cerebral activations which compose the various functions experienced by us
as "normal" consciousness. When these lesser-common psychoactive molecules fit themselves
into the neuronal receptor, the same "opening" action takes place, but with a different bundled
set of messages being transferred; these messages being specific to the organic molecule
entering the receptor. While the messages inherent to these naturally-occurring molecules
843
are different from those of the serotonin molecule, I do not feel that that fact warrants them,
or the expansion of consciousness gained by their integration into our receptive system, being
deemed false. That is to say, until it can be proven as such, it is improper and wholly un-
scientific to assume that the messages bound within these molecules are mere hallucinations.

While the new set of messages, and their resulting consciousness, seem foreign to us,
that does not change the fact that actual neurotransmission is taking place across the synap-
tic gap. Our neurons are carrying legitimate information from a physical source and the greater
interpretation of this information into perception is the basis of the shaman’s knowledge. That
is to say this new information received and exchanged by the neurons manifests mentally
as new regions of experience, energetic perspective, and communication: the expansion of
the boundary of our consciousness outwards, into new and unstudied frontiers, inhabited by
whole ecosystems existing within and alongside our own.

It is not only ignorant, but dangerous for academia to assume the neurotransmitter DMT,
produced by the pineal gland in our own brain, is not one capable of carrying legitimate
sensory information. Even more dangerous is the idea that our government has prohibited
the use of a compound used and produced naturally by our body! As if to be born human is to
be deemed a criminal in possession of a dangerous hallucinogenic narcotic! Haha! The dark
comedy of the West. Ignorance of that magnitude will always be laughed at, and is especially
hilarious when the ignorant party enforces his stupidity with a straight face!

The government’s stranglehold on science suffocates not only our civilization’s advance-
ment, but our spiritual advancement as a species. The term "hallucination" does not apply
when the information perceived in the state of expanded consciousness is scientifically
verifiable - as is the case with medical knowledge attained by the Amazonian shaman through
his study. The Peruvian ayahuascero often returns to normal consciousness having been
given very specific instructions for the creation of medicines. If the success of this medicine
in treating the ailment in question is not evidence enough of the legitimacy of his awareness,
perhaps the astronomically remote statistical likelihood of finding, on that first attempt, the
particular combination of compounds which interact chemically to create that potent medicine
- out of a jungle of over 60,000 plant species.

For over a century, pharmaceutical companies have harvested these powerful medicine
recipes from the "primitive" people of the Amazonian jungle and made hundreds of millions
of dollars, compensating everyone involved with the production and marketing of those
medications EXCEPT the people who invented them! We will admit the medicine is real, but
not the means by which it was realized and created: those "hallucinatory" perceptions of the
shaman and his ayahuasca consciousness. And, perhaps, he would say the real "hallucination"
is not the ancestors he sees, but the living realms of spirit we refuse to...

More Ayahuasca Paintings (2008-12-31 00:58) - public

844
The artist is an Peruvian shaman and ayahuascero named Pablo Amaringo.

He explains that he paints the spirits and realms exactly as he sees them, using a pho-
tographic memory ability he claims to have had since childhood.

the2minh8 (2008-12-31 15:59:26)

Pretty similar to some CEVs I experienced during experiments with LSD.

turboswami (2009-01-01 10:56:26)

CEV, a very hip abbreviation Ted! Heh. Yea, LSD is usually considered more of a "pseudo-hallucinogen"
since it does not induce full hallucinations. Visualizations on LSD are typically KNOWN to be non-
existent. Where, on the other hand, with ayahuasca, you will feel fully obliged to excuse yourself
while stepping over the giant vibrating neon snakes at your feet.

the2minh8 (2009-01-05 13:08:42)

In that case I would stick with acid. I have such a death grip on self-control that when I don’t realize
the effects of the drug are the effects of the drug and things stop making perfect sense, I get very
uptight and have a bad time of things.

edensgray (2009-04-18 01:59:40)

LSD,hehehe I’ve had the uncanny ability to part a pathway through the clouds to the moon and to
summon tarantulas...there were no less than 20 crossing the street under a purple glittery mist that
fell from the street lights... i’ll never know if the tarantulas were real (even though in the area we
lived there are plenty enough to believe it)...my friend was spooked...and the summoning - she knew
- they were attracted to me... i’d try it again with the right guidance...

845
846
8. 2009

8.1 January

An Informative Film (2009-01-04 04:00) - public

http://video.google.ca/videosearch?q=Zeitgeist %20Sequel %3A %20Addendum &emb=0

&aq=-1 &oq= #

(2009-01-07 21:57) - public

I have found this incredible Mystic Knights CD of Danny Elfman performing with his burlesque
troop live...

I thought of you. The songs are amazing, even with the low recording quality...the ar-
rangements and tightness of the players is just unbelievable.

[info]enodiamond

Seriously? I would love to hear that disc, I’ve only heard bits and pieces of that stuff!

[info]turboswami

I went ahead and uploaded it for ya.

http://rapidshare.com/files/180939658/the _mystic _nights _of _the _oingo _boingo.rar.html

Have you heard "Only A Lad" or "Forbidden Zone?"

I love the subversive evil sexual tone to all these songs. (Personal Fav: "Violent Love")
Heh. Danny Elfman really has one of the most flexibly tense singing voices I’ve heard -
beautiful modulation. His voice twists and snarls around the perfect accapella harmonies.

rachelbutoh (2009-01-08 06:14:30)

thanks again!!!

rachelbutoh (2009-01-08 06:15:30)

oops logged in on my girlfriends account- right now I’m groovin on ’Always There’, what a melody!!!

turboswami (2009-01-08 07:29:45)

Seriously, You need to listen to the Raymond Scott jazz too... its just amazing.

847
 enodiamond (2009-01-08 17:48:54)
Raymond Scott I know very well! We have performed a number of his tunes live, most notably
’Powerhouse’, cause his family is so awesome if you send them 10 bucks (the postage and printing
cost) they’ll send you a full score for any song you request!!!

The Tubes - W.P.O.D. (2009-01-07 22:20) - public

For there is a growing apprehension

that existence is a rat-race in a trap: living organisms, including people,
are merely tubes which put things in at one end and let them out at the
other, which both keeps them doing it and in the long run wears them
out. So to keep the farce going, the tubes find ways of making new
tubes, which also put things in at one end and let them out at the other.
At the input end they even develop ganglia of nerves called brains, with
eyes and ears, so that they can more easily scrounge around for things to
swallow. As and when they get enough to eat, they use up their surplus
energy by wiggling in complicated patterns, making all sorts of noises
by blowing air in and out of the input hole, and gathering together in
groups to fight with other groups. In time, the tubes grow such an
abundance of attached appliances that they are hardly recognizable as
mere tubes, and they manage to do this in a staggering variety of forms.
There is a vague rule not to eat tubes of your own form, but in general
there is serious competition as to who is going to be the top type of tube.
All this seems marvelously futile, and yet, when you begin to thinkabout it,
it begins to be more marvelous than futile. Indeed, it seems
extremely odd.

-Alan Watts

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _10

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _10

On Duality

I love how Alan Watts says it, how there is this idea in the West of "eliminating black
completely and forever!" So that there will only the goodness of white will be left, this
Christian idea of "snuffing out" evil once and for all. George Bush spoke in these terms very
often. And, as we progress in our battle against darkness, with no conception of the, in fact,
848
cyclical nature of these two twins, we find that the harder we push the darkness, the faster it
sneaks around and boots us in the ass! : )

Watts was so much more elegant than I, but the image of the cycle is an important one
that I try to recognize and keep in mind, like you. It seems the harder we push to eliminate
darkness from our lives, the faster and more frenzied the cycle, and our lives, begin to spin.
We speed our attack, to compensate for the ever speeding retreat of black. This constant
and ever increasing speed and complexity of our lives is thought of as "progress," as a very
linear upward advancement. A child NEEDS the mindset of attention deficit disorder just
to keep up with the constant barage of flashing sounds, screaming advertisements, and
explosions of frenzied messages demanding his attention from all sides at once. In this, it
seems he is merely adapting to his surrounding...the frenzied chase to stomp out silence, and
its intollerable boredom, forever!

What Watts showed was that this idea of a line, of a linear progression "up and up" that
we have round these parts did not traditionally exist in China or India. The idea of life
having two discrete endpoints like that, the line graphs of constant economic or corporate
development which define the direction we see and project into the future of our lives, were
simply foreign to them – as they could never imagine this line as not, eventually, circling back
onto itself. Be that line representing progress, identity, or the nature of life, itself, they found
that there are never simply two endpoints, some sudden beginning and some mysterious
point where everything will just as suddenly stop dead, but rather that those extremes define
two sides of a cycle, crest and trough, depth and surface, life and death each an energetic
frequency oscillating in a medium. By their understanding, Western concepts like The Big
Bang or...
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2610%26%26%26youtube%26
dZ8WeLrtFnY%3A37acb59518099d0e62b3aa3378b2b0f7c499ee24
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2610%26%26%26youtube%26
dZ8WeLrtFnY%3A37acb59518099d0e62b3aa3378b2b0f7c499ee24

Raymond Scott - Mad Scientist of Swing (2009-01-07 23:11) - public

Composer, bandleader and inventor Raymond Scott was among the unheralded pioneers of
contemporary experimental music, a figure whose genius and influence have seeped almost
subliminally into the mass cultural consciousness. As a visionary whose name is largely
unknown but whose music is immediately recognizable, Scott’s was a career stuffed with con-
tradictions: though his early work anticipated the breathless invention of bebop, his obsession
with perfectionism and memorization was the very antithesis of jazz’s improvisational ethos;
and though his later experiments with electronic music pioneered the ambient aesthetic, the
ambient concept itself was not introduced until a decade after the release of his original
recordings.

This is a compilation of his insanely tight early swing. He was known for pioneering
early engineering tricks, at that time (the early 40’s) viewed as wildly eccentric, like placing a
microphone in the bathroom during the recording – a trick later dubbed "bathroom reverb." He
would often force his musicians to play their instruments with inhuman precision...underwater.

849
Drosen: my grandpa was in Scott’s band in the 40s
Alex Drosen: he didn’t realize how cool that was until one of the members of the Kronos was
telling him how much they respect Raymond Scott

Do you have his Reckless Nights compilation?

me: I bought it junior year of highschool...changed my life.
10:47 PM I didnt know that calipre of precision was possible...
I mean, the man was a slave driver...the drum scores, alone, apparently looked like a sheet of
paper peppered with fly shit
Just schizoid - the Aphex Twin of the 30’s

10:52 PM Yea, its some of the tightest jazz in existence

Just wound up so inhumanly tight...
he’d say things like "Play it exactly like this...but make it SOUND like you are improvising"

me: and then he’d play some insane complicated thing on the piano, and expect them
the be able to pull off those keys on, like, a clarinet
...melodies dont always translate at that tempo between instruments in a way which is
humanly possible.
10:54 PM They say thats why he started building his own musicians, soldering together circuits
o vacuum tubes...because his hired help were just so imperfect!
YOUR GRAMPA!
haha
10:55 PM Why cant he be more like sequencer?!
;)
Suffering under a perfectionist schizo dictator

11:06 PM me: I love this track "Tobacco Auctioneer"

...he mic’d the trumpet from the bathroom, while insisting the musician play the thing under
water.

11:13 PM I love that, on his death bed, he actually comes out and admits "Yea, I kinda
invented the sequencer....
...about 40 years ago. Using a telephone relay switcher."

Yea, so its 30’s era swing jazz and you’re saying "I’m not into THAT!" Here and now, I
guarantee that not only have heard this music, but KNOW IT VERY WELL!

It is an integral part of your subconscious, which hearing again conjures distant dream-
like memories of childhood...strange painful comedy.

http://rapidshare.com/files/180948477/ra-
You can see my beloved tube driven HP ’Scientific Oscillator’ behind him there, circa 1942

ymond _scott _- _reckless _nights _and _turkish _twilights.rar

850
(2009-01-08 16:13:52) corrections
Actually, those weird audio experiments were mid-late 1930s, not early ’40s. And the photo is from
1938 (at age 29), not ’42.

From Down, and Gone, Up (2009-01-08 21:14) - public

I gave you too much of myself,

I was sure if I showed you my most beautiful
You would accept it, take it
Hold it.
Cherish it.

With the ugly.

There, rome’s busy roads sounded like the gentle rush of slow water from a distance.
Here, where falls of man rush white down with the air off this cliff, free towards the roar of
impact.

I packed this bowl 13 days ago.

It tastes more like two weeks ago.

The humour of the British,

the humor of the Swedes,
The HUMOR of the Jews.

Lets compare and then co-relate each with character,

I’m sorry, their stereotype.
And then each stereotype with the known character of those closest friends.
And then each of your closest friends, draw back through their race.
Their ancestory of which they are merely a carriage, an informant.

Then, together with that knowledge of a people, bring lineage together to a room.
And discuss the magnitude of those lines, each represented by an emotional color.

My lines, my lines! Dear God, don’t forget your line!

The fucking script you carry with you is theirs.
It has worked, tried and true, because you’re here.
What do you say to the girl? You say you’re line.
Offer it up to be bought with a ring, all you have to offer.
Your lineage to collide.

In Alpha, A Cry of Why?! (2009-01-08 21:45) - friends

Altru never
Altra
Ultra
All thru never the crown trades the play.
851
The castle man treated the forms left to play.
All cast left uncertain in games that we play;
The men and women of beaut crowds (drying never.)

Never all true.

Salt falls with breath quivered.
These times strong from her both sides, me.
Magnetic poles, feel me. Feel my surge of tears.

I want her!!!!

I want her, I want her. I need her. Please GOd!!!!!!

Ohh! Mmmmmmhmmmhmmmmmmhuhhh mmmmhuhhh

Muhmuh
Maaaaaaaahhhh
maahmaahh
Whaahhyyy??!!
Whaaaa!

Wha?whaa?whaaay?
Wha?whaa?whaaat?
What?Why?Whaaa!
What! I Need!
Mother!
?
.
.
.
I know what that sound is now.
I now what what and need come down to.
And why. Why? Why?!
It is a desparate desire that begs.

It is the reason for the word, it is the sound of a cry.

This cry that I share with a thousand other infants.
Who learn to beg, who learn the pain of need in an inistant
An instant incident, a call Disconted. Discouneted. Discontinued. Disconnected.
Cut.

I know resentment now.

I know the memory that festers.
That burbles up in a inflamation of feeling that all see.
In a boil of hunched fear, in a pale fetal gloom of a cornered creature.

The towers are built on nothing, and fall from memory.

The lesser pray uncertain, fallen. Prey.
I could collect them in a swoop of alpha determination.
In alpha male hunger.
852
Through A Flash Find Boredom’s Glow (2009-01-08 22:05) - public

In boredom’s glow, I concoct great advertising schemes,

For self.
I know how to lure them into my exchange.
I know how to give them something their curiosity will want.
And so the bait is deep enough to see a smile.

With arms strong I wait.

With foot long I wait.
The claws teeth and anger,
it all sits and waits.

Through keys and an ember.

It all sits and waits.
And the ember less now glows.
And still I sit and wait.

And the rain it purifies...

As it kills my embers, my light.
My determination to fight.
It lessens all I care of this world.
With its pure blue clarity.

I curse to alive, and beyond it I grow.

I remember this life contained,
as an intention made above.
And so I can laugh again
At a life I took seriously.

The wisdom of death.

The wisdom of death.
The greater perspective of height I dug.
The height in a flash of pain,
The place I fell through from.

Identify And Release The Bark, Held In Empty (2009-01-08 22:15) - public

A dog barks, feeling my exhale.

The sound above 20,000 Hz.

Finish vocals for "Ton of Love" and "PaPa Negro Blowtorch" covers.
I feel the crack of long exhale.
I know the long distant howl, and can channel that harmony.
The harmony of blue purity, seen.

I am the Mooon, I am the Loo’s Nest Hair.

I am the bald shine revealing.
I am the burning loss of manhood to purity.
853
The glimmer of chrome within the dome.

Oscars of erect man shine outwards in the night.

She grasps the award with a glimmer of pride.
And dowses it inter her moist vase to grow.
So that she may prune and cut the red fruit of our love.

I must have an anonymous publishing personality.

To protect my academic career.
I must have an outlet for my musical art.
I must have an identity of release.

I must form an alien out of my lie.

I must foorce my sel foto to sing o fuck the man I really am.
I most Sang the fur root of my lesser life.
I must cross the fore bear I am to lack mmy sellf down.

I need to face my place, I n eed to awaken the poor us man’s sweat.

I know less of my bones than of my tongue,
I know less of my core than of some pure cure.
I need towrdness to sake my release into a career.

A family plan to keep me here.

A suicide solution.
An obligation worth taking seriously.
A form of selfhood I can time,
Ahead through something empty.

(2009-01-08 22:36) - public

I know something now about frequency.

And can tell you the sense of an intention.

I can revel in the graspt of an environment existing in the memory of a period.

I can share in the exchange of breath with the crsst and trough of a brainwave.
I can shimmer in acknowledgement of the shared slow moment ripple
Of attention along a medium of brightness, attentive and attractive.

I am awash.
I must replay the voices of speech which accompany smoking my bowl.
They sound like black gangsters, that frequency, that intonation.
I sense a rising, the feet against the pedals outside matching my tension.

A mask of my voice appears in a distant bar jukebox.

It is a jukebox in a Mexican bar. I hear a male vocalist.
The volume recedes, I feel sea sick.

At the very peak of my exhale’s fumes, a police "squahh" of momentary siren is heard.
854
As if an acknowledgement.
I turn off my light.

I reside the the stares of the dark, the marimbas of the ribcage.
I know the flsh of dog’s bark, the distant bone to them I throw.
The spider plays a dainty song across the hum of wind.
I realize sorts of men I know who play the song which reaps.

I must stay poignant. I must maintain my poise.

I must keep a voice that’s urgent in the profession I keep.
I can sign a stern waiver on land inward I’ve saught.
And claim it as my land, strong lines in which I draw.

In voice I will tell of perceptions I know are real.

Into physicality I will carry the antenna that all can read.
I near the point of course relapse and tense in maintance of a field.
I hear of my grandmother’s ears, the poles I’ll become.

I dont, and resistance bursts inside of me.

I realize Sergei is insistant on the Paternal Grandmother.
Who he says is drawing me, some negative energy.

I realize I am a fountain of impurity, a thick resistance to charge reasonding.

Resounding,
Resonating in heat through the spine of a body.
Impurity, burn. Imp hollows burn.
I know not the real fortune that resides in my days.

Sergei is a Russian healer, whos elderly female teacher still resides in Moscow.
Convening with her this sunday, they astrally projected to me,
to scan my body for its nature of illness.
After comming to an agreement with her, Sergei called me.

He was able to tell me, after this scan, the location of my illness, the stomach.
As well as the side of the area of the intestine which bled internally, the left.
As confirmed by photos taken by a doctor,
Who inserted a camera waay up into my ass.

2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Conference (2009-01-09 00:07) - pub-

lic

I ordeed ayahuasca from Peru.

At the same time, I began to read about ayahuasca, a book given to me.
In it, a student from my town, Palo Alto, travels to Peru for his dissertation.
The next day, on December 31st, I received an email that night.
It was from Peru...

I have been invited to present at the 2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Confer-
ence.
855
In Iquitos, Peru.

It is a meaningful coincidence.
A gift placed on the doorstep of the new year.
All I have to do is open it.

Sickness (2009-01-09 00:33) - friends

I just made a film of an insensitive man devouring an orange.

I cried on the phone, what the hell?
Seriously.
Who does that?

How much of my life is known? Who is even in it?

No one. I spent this entire month sleeping and talking to no one. (but her)
Why live an emptiness out in bed?
He knows the sickness dwells.

She knows, she will know.

My proud plan disgarded with a shameful descent.
The remnants of a promise, broken.
This is her homecomming.

"I can teach you how to drink,

But you’d just throw up in the sink."

Married To A Lazy Lover

(2009-01-09 00:44) - friends

Her dreams told a story of me, of "something fishy."

So innocent in her mistrust.
I love her for her reaction to my complexity.
I love how she applaudes the unexpected.

I wish she accepted me, my body.

But it is only my insecurity she’s reflecting back.
And an animal cowers around a wound, limping to a secure corner to lick it.
It is a sign of a wound or sickness, it is the image of weakness.

I want to hide.
The schoolday returns.
Function!

(2009-01-09 01:39) - public

I dont know what happened. I feel foolish.

856
"Beauty and other aesthetic ideals are important to you today – but your current fasci-
nation with how things look isn’t shallow, it’s actually a deep part of your creativity. And the
more attention you pay to beauty today, the more you are going to inspire yourself to come
up with new ideas and new ways of solving old problems. You will attract new people to your
life. So go on – soak in the scenery, flip through some fashion magazine, and try to find a
beautiful spot to enjoy the sunset."

857
Just To Clear Things Up (2009-01-13 01:09) - public

858
(2009-01-15 23:27) - friends

An Acoustic Matrix Forms ov resonance surrounding me.

And perhaps each reciting echo down through infinity will allow me a peak
of death, of a moments peace, of... . . .
Of a single moments release from this endless suffering need for her smile.

"I need your smile.

Please don’t hide it.
Let me make it happen, Baby! : ) "

: ) : ) : ) : ) :) _ _) : O : ( : X *please leave a message, and another...*(I dont want

you)

Happy happy joyous puppy love good times endless...

Until she saw my body, my wretched body...
She loves me, but could never tollerate such a thing.
As this that I am, here.

With a little help....

I listen.
I burn, i burn all this sickness through its course.
I throw fuel on the fire tonight.
Maybe every night from here until suicide or childbirth.

Burn, fucker! Burn the fuck out of what is left of that potential!

Until suicide or childbirth, my child. Be born of my hopes and regrets.

Be the fullness of these genetic strands that I laid to waste.
Be the cross that I may hang on, be the sacrifice of my presence.
I know I have wasted this cycle, and hope to teach you of degrees.

Crumble, love, crumble into what was my arms. I know I love only your beauty.
I know you long only for beauty, and that this spirit, this person, this genuine soul...
Is not enough.

She told me, in our last talks in bed, "All my other boyfriends were handsome..."
And it stabbed me, through my pores, inflamed, it stabbed me.
And I knew my love for her could not be accepted.
I knew I loved a pitiful volunteer, whose hours were set.

(2009-01-15 23:52) - public

Steal.
steal from me, who stole from secret humor him.
Long dead.

Steal.

859
I dont want to fight, I dont want to claim stakes or defend.

Just steal.

My ideas are my pride, and my pride is a lock which I release to you.

Don’t collapse the current for which I pushed so strong.

Steal.
And carry.

Onward the pulse of waveforms merging in culture carried.

On to the greater purpose, pleasure refined to sleep.
I carry less, more and more, and must pass the torch in aging.
I receive current in this prime, which I will bury.

(2009-01-16 00:02) - public

Alcoholism is a pain!
I wish I could open my heart gates at will....

A rat fussian
A fat russian who fussed told me about myself today.
And I resisted as only I could, saying my soul was more than neurotransmitters.

(haha!)

Fat russian defended his honor, and I receded back to my place.

Oh, hug hug hug Fatty.

Oh hugh hugh hugh Fatty.

(2009-01-16 00:24) - public

Men stra lack tera form ist alastic.

Lack empa form stress into being.
Force a pose outer less its base.
Rights puss none in man search.
Where is my place?

Organ nickle draw pulls her in.

I rest only in her resting.

Pleasure, pleasure, painful goodbye.

I fill a role that body, nothing.
Goodbye.

If I knew my daughter would not want protection.

860
I would not have given birth to her love.

My beautiful little girl.

I must know you,
your safety is my life.
I cry in fear for you.

please let hold you.

(2009-01-16 00:35) - public

i believe key frequency combinations and harmonies create smiles.

And that longer self-inflected tones create sadness...
And that this is reflected in the release of neuropeptides in the nervous system.

Emotion is contagious, in other words.

And spreads from system to system, like the fashion of a society’s culture.

Cross the boundary of scale, and our smile has a long chain of activation towards sur-
face.
Our perception is a color, a mood we are subject to, an environment we emerse outselves
into.

(2009-01-16 00:52) - public

Rachmoninov tightens my musculature.

I am far too sensitive to split my attention across his intent and mine.

[holosync 01 - the dive.mp3]

Recycle warm tones between sides, binaural rain settles my writing mind.

Elements of souls transfer in the white noise of rain.

i throb energetically in bed, but why?

what inside must push itself out in this way?

I wrestle constant in the dark

reclining only to submerge him.
If last force is extent within me,
I real must course remain towards in.

“I thought I was dancing ‘til somebody stepped on my hand.”

(2009-01-16 23:41) - public

I was in Hollywood a long, long time. I was on the verge of making it too, but some cocksucker
stole my shopping cart and I was back to square one.
861
A Short Film About My Lovelife (2009-01-17 03:14) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _11

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _11

Watch [3]Death to the Tinman in [4]Entertainment Videos | View More [5]Free Videos
Online at Veoh.com
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3. http://www.veoh.com/videos/v12272529WMNAK6WW
4. http://www.veoh.com/browse/videos.html?category=category_entertainment
5. http://www.veoh.com/

The Big Hit From Space During The Time Of The Sixth Sun (2009-01-17 22:11) -
public

I randomly [1]stumbled onto a website that described a "huge shift in Planetary Conscious-
ness" in 2012. It further described how it is universally believed, in cultures around the world,
that the league of humans would dramatically change in the year 2012, "The Time of The 6th
Sun" It then showed a countdown to 2012, 1433 days.

As I saw it, and was struck by how little time that actually is, the two thousand and
twelfth song came up on my playlist, a song entitled "The Black Hit of Space" by Human
League.

The odds of that particular track coming up randomly, out of 2320 tracks, at the mo-
ment I began to think about 2012, and of the name and artist matching directly to the topic
of the website I was on, seem somewhat astronomical in terms of statistical probability.
1. http://www.stumbleupon.com/

Long Warm Golden (2009-01-18 01:45) - friends

Your heart is a rare and beautiful thing.

A blazing brilliant jewel, shining among the rocks.
Love.
862
Waiting At The Door (2009-01-18 01:48) - friends

Thinking of you brings me the warmest smile.

If I can fall asleep holding that smile, will you be waiting for me there?
lets see...

monroe_the_fast (2009-01-21 05:44:40)

Was I there?

turboswami (2009-01-21 06:29:59)

Yes, but you had tits and a tube top... And your eyes were gushing blood. I quickly stopped smiling.
And reached for a bucket.

The Crotch Circle Phenomenon (2009-01-18 01:48) - public

Mayan pod people stole my baby!

Tiny UFO’s fly around in my pants,
shaving sexy circular patterns in my man muff with their laser cannons!

Look dude. That shit REALLY HAPPENED!

I gotz the Pubic Pathways to prove it!
...Wanna see?

I feel like thats the only way you’ll believe.

You have to see it with your own eyes.

There are signs in these Crotch Circles...

A beautiful message for all of mankind!
The world must know!
The world must see!

turboswami (2009-01-18 10:00:56)

Oh, she doesn’t believe either, eh? Well I guess I just gotta show EVERYBODY my crotch!

turboswami (2009-01-18 10:02:01)

Don’t you know? They monitor these phones! They know you know! They know I know they know
about you knowing!

turboswami (2009-01-18 10:03:30)

I would never endanger you by making a movie of my crotch. We can reveal the sign only in a private
place. Somewhere hidden. Beyond their detection...

863
Dude! Our Server Totally Just Winked At You! You Better Giver A Good Tip.
"Oh, I’ll Giver A Tip!" (2009-01-18 20:54) - public

A human cell contains 75MB of genetic information. A human sperm cell 37.5MB. In a milliliter
there are 100 million sperm cells. On average we men, release during a single ejaculation,
2,25ml in 5 seconds. Given these facts, the average bandwidth of the penis is:

(37.5MB * 100 million cells * 2.25 ml)/5 seconds =

(37,500,000 * 100,000,000 * 2.25)/5 =
1,687,500,000,000,000 =
1,687.5 TB/s

Its just a matter of finding a server to upload to!

biscuitboy (2009-01-19 14:56:10)

Penis.

Please Meditate On This... (2009-01-21 00:23) - public

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000e2a2/

864
Caught A Wave (Just In Time) (2009-01-21 00:27) - public

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000fpwp/

enodiamond (2009-01-21 19:01:19)

oh. my. lord.

(2009-01-21 23:55) - public

A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite
direction in this too-big world.

—Jack Kerouac

Think Of Me... (2009-01-22 22:47) - public

If you should ever cease to think of me with kindness,

then I will already be gone from your life.
865
Tank Man (2009-01-22 23:32) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _12

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _12

My Chinese girlfriend had never seen the picture...

The massacre simply didn’t happen.
It is erased from the memory of the culture.

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2612%26%26%3A9f8e03ea8d
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323ded4d391a4895ab4f739acd57fb&moduleid=12&preview=&jo

Woo-Woo? (2009-01-23 23:21) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _13

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _13

I dunno if all this California New Agery is just starting to rub off, or what, but I can re-
late to a lot of the ideas described here.

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2613%26%26%3A29ceae7d3f
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f1f85d68adca060869e7827cce1bad&moduleid=13&preview=&jo

866
(2009-01-26 02:04) - public

my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping

but
I shall go on living.

turboswami (2009-01-26 10:05:21)

Dead Woman, Pablo Neruda

Sore Mess Tonight, I Miss (2009-01-26 02:07) - public

I’ll make a mountain,

just shine it up into being.
Like storms quieting into souls,
This will be the last letting go I will fullfill.
My anticipated date of release,
released even from teh anticipation of that release.

All my ancient weather listens and waits for my arrival.

But don’t rain for me, Grandma.
I’m lost in the most perfect way.

No Problem! HA HA HA! (2009-01-28 01:06) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _15

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _15

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2615%26%26%26youtube%26
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2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2615%26%26%26youtube%26
nG3O0YzQgiw%3Ab659ac8ca2ecbba17801c36b4f7e32fe49aa3ac5

turboswami (2009-01-28 09:20:48) Tony’s Problems

[EMBED]

867
Memories of A Cold Biker Woman At Night (2009-01-30 02:16) - public

Anybody else remember staying up late in the 80’s and watching this show? (maybe in
plastic-bottomed footie jumpsuit-style pajamas?)

It was on after Unsolved Mysteries...

I remember it being narrated by this sort of cold biker-sounding woman, who I always
associated with denim or aquanet or my older sisters.

Seeing the image of the dark city gave me a reminiscent flood of those weird late night
creeps I used to get when I was up so late, watching TV alone in the dark as a little kid. I was
always watching the show, waiting for them to show a cartoon.

http://subcin.com/nightflight.html

Looking over the playlist, I am amazed. It really was an incredible underground cult mu-
sic show! The Residents? King Crimson? Dali Animation? Devo? Zappa? Church of the
Subgenius?!

Sweet Jesus!

enodiamond (2009-01-30 17:16:01)

and at the end of every episode all the guests would do a song together. Some of my favorites were
Leonard Cohen with Sonny Rollins, Nick Cave with Toots Thielmans and Charlie Haden, and they even
had Conway Twitty do a song with the fucking Residents as back up singers?!?!

enodiamond (2009-01-30 21:05:21)

oh wait, I’m thinking about that David Sanborn hosted show on PBS-’Night Music’

turboswami (2009-01-31 03:03:20)

I want to see it. Conway surrounded by classy eyeballs. I’m doin some YouTube diggin...

enodiamond (2009-01-31 17:47:20)

[EMBED]

Governing Vision VS Individual Freedom (2009-01-30 23:59) - public

me: Hmm...maybe I’m contradicting myself...but I think the future is defined by a strong
authoritarian Government.
Who oversees and directs the individual.
This individualism fad, this "special snowflake" bullshit is a fashion that has grown past its
prime
Most people dont have anything worthwhile TO say. They just bitch and moan and spread
negativity throughout the system, like a contagious disease!
868
XPyroBlast: you authorize through such government a death sentence to such action
me: Riots, strikes, ralleys...
they could be equated to inflamation, diseases within the system
XPyroBlast: system... haha look back to ancient rome where that word comes from... it refers
to the sewer
me: Inefficiencies, blockages within the organism.
I feel a good government knows how to expell such disease, eradicate sickness.
XPyroBlast: well point out whatever fault.. restriction is not the answer.. and EDUCATION is
the answer
me: and that answer is NOT in allowing the disease freedom...
Free Speech of sickness
me: is just contagion
XPyroBlast: haha you sound like hitler
XPyroBlast: free speech in an informed society i contend
you see a weak and uninformed society caused by the very governmental style you endorse..
and without being proven to you.... you will keep furthering it’s agenda in this fashion...
shame on whoever taught you this
me: Full Freedom has no direction and causes weakness...
me: the freedom to do and learn whatever you want at your leisure leads to a just that...a lot
of leisure. Uninformed, ignorant leisure...
me: It is the lack of a governing role in media that has created the uninformed society.
me: Education was once the primary form of entertainment...books and their learning were a
luxury afforded only by the upper class.
me: The cleft between entertainment media and education has progressively widened, with
the advancement the technologies of amusement and those of scientific inquiry, each in
opposing directions.

The fact is, if left to their free will, people would rather laugh at someone falling down
on their ass than learn about the mechanics of a galactic supernova.

me: This is the weakness of the individual, submitting to the primitive urge towards the
lazy ignorant state, uninformed.

Yet it is this weakness which is propagated by the weakness of the governing body, to
allow such free reign of entertainment media without giving consideration to the greater good
of the "entertainee:" the citizen.

Further allowing or extending the individual citizen’s freedom will not solve the problem...

me: ...as the common man, if given to choice, will always tend towards the most plea-
surable or easiest of those possiblities...
Remaining fat and ignorant, watching sitcoms and eating potato chips.
me: Even if he knows that pleasure is "guilty" and that he could be spending that time eating
oranges and learning about the mechanics of galactic supernovas,

the pleasure principle rules the tendencies of human nature.

And a responsible government takes that pleasure principle into account when designing and
enacting legislative structures for the betterment of mankind.

869
(2009-01-31 08:38:51)
But what if that riot, that inflamation, is in response to a Governing body which is unjust?

turboswami (2009-01-31 08:54:35)

Sickness and disease of a society, like that of the body, can occur in any one of its parts – including
sickness in the area of executive functioning, which, like diseases of the mind, can manifest in
abormalities throughout the entire body. How can this "social disease" be defined, if it can occur in
any part of society? I would say any part of the system which, at any point, no longer functions for
the greater good of that system is "sick." This definition can be applied to include rioters, setting fire
to buses and banks, just as easily as to a president who creates a reason to send a country into war
in order to protect the interests of his family business.

8.2 February

Cluster - 71 (2009-02-04 02:32) - public

Music: Cluster - 71

870
 [1]Cluster - 71

Throbbing drilling hypnotic alien mindfuck ambience, channelled from the future through
German hippies on mind manifesting drugs some night in 1971.

The title serves as a sort of conceptual reference point. Since sounds like these had not been
created before or since, there really is a sense that this music is timeless – that it can’t be
dated or interpreted through a certain decade or genre. Its rare to find music so far and away
from...music, what we think of music: conventional tonal structures and arrangements,
harmony, measure, and rhythm. And, yet, when those traditions are stripped away, there is
something beautiful about unrestrained tone that remains, it’s purity.

Heh, wow. That ended up sounding way more epic than I intended. Haha. Anyway, Lemme
know what you think.

1. http://rapidshare.com/files/193719833/Cluster_-_71.rar

Hip’s Forgiving Cycle (2009-02-04 23:22) - public

Straight up stomp of manhood,

Defiant accent defines in ascent
the Subtle duality with strength and Power,
Only to recede gliding back inwards
to the hip’s forgiving cycle.

Open, receiving and carrying the Man’s defining intention,

Confident action she carries as a source.

-= Spirit =- (2009-02-04 23:34) - public

How many spirits are with me now?

3...5

What can you do to help me in our goal?

Resonate slow to calm you awake

Too many times I listen with my lower ears, I forget you, my beloved guides.
Please be patient and persistant in your calling to me.
Please arrange an opening for our purpose I’ve forgotten.

Some have forgotten you too.

Lost faith in your time, but not us.
Stay.
You’d regret leaving.
871
(2009-02-04 23:36) - public

New age cliche poisons my capacity for rational discernment.

...I can feel the pony tail germinating in the back of my head –
ready to sprout out with all the lifestyle it has come to represent.

Doubt sharpens against the grinding of this daily routine,

A course wheel cycling with such maddening speed.
The joke is rarely made so obvious,
this is too easy.

(2009-02-04 23:38) - public

Dense forest drips into patches, stirring mist.

An operation cuts it open, revealing a diseased sky.
Pregnant clouds gush, pumping thick from dark edges.

What I Want From The Baby Gift Horse (2009-02-04 23:40) - public

In class, it seems all we talk about are baby horses.

Rainbow frolicking unicorn bullshit sparkles, steaming.
Yet, what I would rather talk about gravitates towards selfishness,
towards inner feelings and their obsessive notation,
a documented record of their every painful detail
until every dark corner is mapped
every shadow revealed away.

This is what I want to talk about,

the supposed bravery of male timidness,
the gushing of seemingly inexhaustable subconscious fears,
and the instability of the social self which results.

(2009-02-04 23:42) - public

Lamb down my pretty hurt searcher and rescue

me, I’m ok. really.

Lamb down and lay bloody, my fucking innocent.

I’ll mark my door and call it ours.
I’ll lay beside you and neither of us will sleep.
I’ll wrap you tight till you feel safe enough to sleep.
And the blood will stop.

I know a sunset that’s red like that,

I remember seeing it behind the wind of your hair.
I remember how the clouds were purple with pity,
Watching that painful red goodbye behind the wind of your hair.
872
And now the red is gone, the clouds are lost in the dark.
You are no longer with me.
And the night has no such pity.
It is too slow and deep to feel with me,
The memory of the wind of your hair,
Behind me now.

(2009-02-06 02:45) - public

Grab me close, she wants.

and I do all she wants too strong.

oldmansutton (2009-02-11 15:55:35)

Stumbled across here while perusing the abstract thought community. These two lines... *laughs*
That’s my current situation in a nutshell.

Metaskills of The Self-Aware Clinician (2009-02-07 22:59) - public

As a therapist, the system of beliefs you carry cannot be hidden (even

if you try!) They escape through attitudes and feelings, surfacing to
form, impede, or sculpt the relationship with the client. This subtle level of
the interaction can become spiritual in nature, and Mindell’s
metaskills attempt to formalize this deeper influence of attitudes
over the psychotherapeutic practice. Awareness of this influence, and
its slow development into a therapeutic skill, is based on an intuitive
sense or "feel" for the client. The key is in realizing that both
therapist and client develop and progress by way of their interactions
– it is not a one-sided relationship.

To be of peak therapeutic worth in practice, personally-held attitudes

and emotions must be brought by the clinician into conscious self-awareness. This
requires a genuine sense of self on the part of that therapist, to be
able to know and monitor defensive aspects of his/her ego which may
potentially inhibit the openness of dialog with the client. This
deeper type of identity awareness is mirrored in the intentions of
many transcendent spiritual traditions. It is this bare honesty, to
differing degrees, which does much to define the nature and style of a
therapist’s session – even more than a therapist’s given
theoretical approach (Jungian, REBT, etc.)

The image of the traditional "analyst," as internalized by both sides

of the therapeutic relationship is, in the perspective of metaskills,
viewed as an impediment to therapeutic progress. That popularized
cliche of the psychoanalysist as cold critical doctor, sitting unseen
behind the sick patient; separate, distant passer of psychiatric
873
judgment. How intimidating!

Call it a caricature of popular culture, or a outdated remnant of the

medical model, that ominous image of the hyper-critical intellectual
analyst, brain doctor brow beating from behind the couch, can still be
found lingering in social impression of the psychiatric field to this
day, evidenced by, if nothing else, the persistence of that
stereotype; the long shadow of Freud’s formidable persona extending far
behind him, across the cultural landscape of the West.

How to break beneath those brittle attitudes and impressions which

serve to block the flow of genuine client-therapist rapport? Empathy.
Authentic, unprejudiced empathy for the client in a trusting
partnership. I think of it as going out to sea, two explorers
searching, sharing in the turbulence which may differ in each client’s unique
process. The self-actualized navigator has insight, has sailed waters
like these before and can fight through them again. And however his
emotional storms may ravage their relation-ship, the client knows he
will not be abandoned – that they will come out on the other side of
the raging squall together, exhausted in the calm.

(2009-02-10 13:14) - public

The only way of knowing a person is to love them without hope.

turboswami (2009-02-10 21:15:18)

-Walter Benjamin

No Problem. Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh (2009-02-12 23:25) - public

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874
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BENe8j_jtzU%3Ad3779f0bb914da1cf8403399e886fda34a83ca91

Happy Valentines Day (2009-02-13 10:10) - private

Happy Valentine’s Day (2009-02-14 21:35) - public

Not merely a sex tip. I’ve found it’s a good tip in general.
In the McDonalds Parking lot.
In the McDonalds bathroom.
In the McDonalds playroom...
You know, anywhere.

You Smooth Aching Beauty (I Miss You) (2009-02-15 01:54) - public

Somehow, it seems like I was telling the future in this poem. You think?

07:56 pm October 19th, 2008

Pretty girl, tell me all your troubles and I will listen with a
glimmer to match your dress,
Tell me all about the children you love, and tell me about how you
want only to be held.
And I will hold you.

It is far simpler a thing than you let on.

You have this beautiful body that needs to be protected, and I happen
to have some free time.
Show me, after all has fallen away and you have nothing left to be stingy about,
Show me, after my focus becomes an issue to us, and I share it with
you, unfortunately.
Show me, tried and true, show me myself again though you never have.
And I will reject myself through you in that same silent goodbye...

I give it to you to deal with, and honestly who would?

God knows I’ve accepted these faults, these imperfections I’ve devoted
a life around,
That doesn’t mean I ever expected another to be able to do the same.

It is hard, and I am sorry...But I still love you so much.

Regardless and in spite of this body.

875
I love you.
I love you.
I miss you already, you smooth aching beauty, arched in a glance
behind, waiting for only a moment.

Before deciding we are best friends forever.

and ever.

Curse these erections I hide,

Curse them more when they hide from me.

I am a man, I must remind my manhood of that.

I have years to go before I rest in my fertility.
And this beautiful mess knows she is undeserving of that surrender.
I scoop her up and love her fully, none the less.
I scoop her up with arms so long and wide, and rock her to sleep
wrapped tight in the safety of my love.

So, I DO miss you..

It seems I have this habit of believing I am closer to the people I
love than I actually am...
I really felt like we were close. Were we? Are we? I just wish I could fix it.
Undo what I did, or do more... Unsay what I said, or say the perfect
thing to you right now...
So you would understand me again,
So you would accept the love my soul so desperately wants to share with you...

Desperate.
There it is. I have used the word, that ugly shameful word I never
wanted to admit.
I have become ashamed of my love for you
I have hidden my thoughts of you, my dreams of you, my longing...
For all of these seem constant, and ever inflamed by the mere sight of you.
And my every reach, my every word, my ever loving care for you,
seems only to dig your coldness for me deeper, further, darker,
towards the inescapable

I am sorry that I have so much love for you.

I am sorry that I have cared so deeply for you, my beautiful little girl...
My beautiful little girl...

deep is my caring, deep beyond hope

So dramatic, I know... ; )
876
You know me...emotions to spare.

But please, Sweetheart, you know I mean well...

Think of me with kindness,
Remember running through the San Mateo High School,
Being chased by the Janitor in the basement. : D

Beautiful warm memories of us smiling, excited, running together.

Please, keep those memories safe, warm...
And I kissed your hand and sang to you in the softest voice...

[1]Lost Ways
1. http://www.myspace.com/thyfluidmechanics

(2009-02-16 00:22) - public

Do friends do that?
Sing such soft fragile things into those big beautiful eyes,
Dim dashboard light reflecting her welling intensity.
Do friends do that?

Do friends caress souls on the slow breath of their touching hearts?

Do friends mine the depths for the most genuine pure self to offer up?
Truth of self, like a precious stone, is bound to trust in a loop, a ring.
Can anyone trust a man who hides behind truths greater than himself?

In solitude he reveals all to that greater truth,

And only in the finality of marriage does she return the favor.

(2009-02-16 18:21) - public

Dreams sway to show a silver smoke face curl back to laugh beyond a message.
I see those who watch only when I do not look.
From the edges of eyes they live around all we know.
Run aside my sight, shadowy specter, guide me through my trying.

Bask in my emotions, my audience, feel them with me.

The stab and low shuttering ache of unrequited love,
The high exultation fountaining up in the pride of fatherhood.
Let my naive tumble through these overwhelming games channel the distant memories of
877
your own life.
Pity this unknowing child with a smile held for the precious and the fragile you protect.

(2011-02-08 08:14:26) [url=http://www.dopimmo.com]immobilier achat[/url]

Les valeurs de l’ [url=http://www.dopimmo.com]immobilier location[/url]ancien pourraient accuser
une nouvelle chute d’au moins 10 % sur les douze prochains mois, suivi de nouveaux replis
de 5 % en 2010 et de 3 % en 2011. Aprcs un premier repli de 3,1 % en 2008, les prix de l’
[url=http://www.dopimmo.com]immobilier location[/url] neuf pourraient accuser une nouvelle chute
d’au moins 10 % sur l’an prochain. Et la baisse devrait se poursuivre les ann‫י‬es suivantes si l’on se fie
aux sc‫י‬nario les plus pessimistes avanc‫י‬s par la Fnaim. D’aprcs une tude‫ י‬publi‫י‬e ce matin, la F‫י‬d‫י‬ration
nationale des agences [url=http://www.dopimmo.com]immobilier[/ url] rappelle en effet que la baisse
s’est fortement acc‫י‬l‫י‬r‫י‬e en fin d’ann‫י‬e… Aprcs avoir enregistr‫ י‬un recul de 2,9 % au cours du 3cme
trimestre, les prix des logements anciens se sont effondr‫י‬s de prcs de 6,5 % au cours du seul 4cme
trimestre de 2008. La baisse des taux enclench‫י‬e fin 2008 ne suffira donc pas r renverser la tendance
et r relancer la demande r court terme. Plusieurs raisons r cela. Depuis quelques mois, les agences
immobilieres constatent que les n‫י‬gociations sont de plus en plus tendues entre vendeurs et acheteurs.
« Surtout, malgr‫ י‬des taux qui repassent en dessous de la barre des 5 %, il est r craindre que les
banques ne desserrent pas facilement leurs conditions de cr‫י‬dit dans les mois r venir. Pour l’heure,
les exigences d’apport personnels restent toujours trcs strictes : autour de 10 r 20 % en moyenne
», observe Ren‫ י‬Pallincourt, pr‫י‬sident de la F‫י‬d‫י‬ration nationale des agences immobilieres Face r ce
constat, la Fnaim pr‫י‬fcre donc parier sur une stabilisation du march‫ י‬r horizon 2012. « Une nouvelle
baisse d’au moins 10 % est encore n‫י‬cessaire pour r‫י‬tablir la solvabilit‫ י‬des m‫י‬nages et permettre de
relancer le march‫[ י‬url=http://www.dopimmo.com]immobilier[/url]» note Ren‫ י‬Pallincourt. Compte tenu
de l’‫י‬volution incertaine de la crise ,conomique‫ י‬la F‫י‬d‫י‬ration s’avance meme, pour la premicre fois, r
voquer‫ י‬de nouvelles baisses de prix au cours des prochaines ann‫י‬es. La Fnaim anticipe ainsi un repli
de 5 % en 2010 et de 3 % en 2011.

Such A Darling! (2009-02-18 00:59) - public

A curious face stares back from the night,

The one she sees, that of a chubby cherub, such a darling.
Curious mistreater of selfish corners,
Portal on a poor pour us face, poured fate,
Into an open vessel so out-stretched, why?why!

Rolling curseI’ve written across a strand genetic,

The plying throbbing need bares my throat and heart to sharpened thighs.
Hedge clippers.

Head lickers, with hands unseen.

Holding a pair of hedge clippers, naked, with a raised brow.

Conjurer of imagery, hypnotist of storytelling.

Guided imagination,

I am throbbing away in recollections of the day,

I feel every pulse up my neck, separate, but running alongside the heartbeat.
878
Glenn called me Turbo,
TurboSwami, that slowly and painfully drawn non-sense of 8th grade 14,000 baud rate teehee
AOL chatroom snickers and BBS terminal graphics.
What other names did I have back then?
HydroSatan, TurboLog, LazyPygmy...
Each name reflects some subconscious layer, the water seen through the ice.

And TurboSwami, too, I’ve come to attach meaning to.

Turbo, being a mock self-image, sarcastic, with car advertiser bravado.
Swami being a strange YogiBear Hot Ghandi sound
What meaning, Fast Hindu Religious Figure?
Rice quickly to a sat of monostic Buddhahood, Dr. Stone Lightly.

Serious, now.
Straighten up you slouching layabout!
Hobble up grobbler of down below the alter.
Its time to drink your medicine and get into out-through-bed.
Can you climb into the bed to wake up?
A giant cavernous hole extending deep into the square patchwork blue of the comforter.

Crawl inside your comforter,

crawl inside my chest and hold me there,
Huddled up against my heart, there in my cage.
How to make a life out of this? Too easily!

Soak a crowd of screams into a nights flick blossom.

The flick of a lighter, the burst of inward combustion.
The flick of a scene into the silence, crying up from the blue.
Echoing out into the memory in ripples rising color from the black.

See me, don’t see me.

See me, repell from the strength.
Further and further, only to return back up in a rush of buoyancy.

Or maybe never come back.

Release from the gravity of our opposition.
So this was the gaping cold of freedom, unrestrained and sensitive.
I never remember it hurting so much.

End on a good note.

Bah dum bum *tchhh*

John Cale - Fear (2009-02-19 03:52) - public

879
 http://rapidshare.com/files/199556610/John _Cale _- _Fear.rar

Founder of the Velvet Underground, John Cale, slows Eno and his fellow glam rockers Roxy
Music down to a tender avant-shuffle on this peak album.

Right from the start, Cale makes it clear he’s not messing around on Fear. If his solo career
before then had been a series of intriguing stylistic experiments, here he meshes it with an
ear for his own brand of pop and rock, accessible while still clearly being himself through
and through. Getting musical support from various Roxy Music veterans like Brian Eno, Phil
Manzanera, and Andy Mackay didn’t hurt at all, and all the assorted performers do a great job
carrying out Cale’s vision. He himself sounds confident, sharp, and incisive throughout; his
playing on both various keyboards and guitar equally spot-on. The almost title track "Fear Is
a Man’s Best Friend," starting with focused, steady piano into a full band performance before
ending on a ragged, psychotic note, makes for as solid a statement of artistic purpose for Cale
and the album as any. There’s everything from slightly (but not completely) lugubrious ballads
to bright, sparkling numbers – "Ship of Fools" alone is a treasure; its steady, sweet pace and
beautiful chorus simply to die for. Cale’s own bent for trying things out isn’t forgotten on the
album, with his voice recorded in different ways (sometimes with hollow echo, other times
much more direct) and musically touching on everything from early reggae to, on "The Man
Who Couldn’t Afford to Orgy," a delightful Beach Boys pastiche. As for sheer intensity, little can
top "Gun," the equal of Eno’s own burning blast "Third Uncle" when it comes to lengthy, focused
obsession translated into music and lyrics. Having earlier experimented with his own version of
country & western, "Buffalo Ballet" finds him creating something close to meta-country: stately
piano and backing singing mixing with gentle twang. It practically invents Nick Cave’s late solo
career all on its own.

enodiamond (2009-02-19 18:22:05)

I often have trouble deciding whether this or Paris 1919 is my favorite John Cale album- they are both
just so fantastic!! Fear (is a man’s best friend) definitely is one of the most awesome songs ever.

turboswami (2009-02-20 03:50:23)

As good as the strings on 1919 were, these shimmering ballads on Fear just can’t be beat. And to
think that amazing songs like "Sylvia Said" were cut from the original release, only recently re-added.

880
Nanook Of The North (1922) (2009-02-21 19:01) - friends

Hey, look at this movie that I found.

Had any of you heard of this film, "Nanook Of The North?"

http://www.movie1.co.uk/video/130-Nanook _of _The _North _1922.html

I like when he starts chewing on the record.

theloniouszen (2009-02-23 01:58:27)

I think Zappa did some retelling of this story on the first few tracks of "Apostrophe"

(2009-02-25 00:19) - public

More and more often, I will park my mom’s loud angry Oldsmobile under a tree, in any
Subway or Wells-Fargo parking lot, and put on little eye shades and ear plugs and sleep. Yes,
I carry around those little cloth eye covers, like you see douchebags on airplanes wearing.
Yes, I also carry around earplugs... as well as sleeping pills, salvia divinorum, multivita-
mins, some paintbrushes, a bowl, comdoms and an electret microphone. While I have yet to
have encountered a situation which required all of those items at once, a man can still dream...

Today I drove into some random parking lot behind a noodle restaurant, hoping to catch
a quick POWER nap before the meeting with my Russian energy healer at 3. There was no
shade, so I turned on the vent and donned my trademark dark blue eye shades. Apparently,
that little fan that moves air through a vent is not actually so little...seeming more and more
like an airplane propeller. Just then, the woman in the backseat’s water broke. She was going
into labor! Fuck!

What to do? I was trapped, the car was dead. My arms stretched out to the sky in des-
peration, stretching out and out like branches that seem to stretch out like arms, only faster
than those branches. Trees grow, do I grow desperate?

She had been such a beautiful dancer, that red dress and the way she used it. Now
look at her, screaming in a puddle of thick...coochie liquids, I mean umm... Woman fluids?
Pre-birth placental release, no.

We have to get out of here! He is coming and will kill us if he finds us. When he finds
us... He sliced right through the door of the elevator, effortless buttery. I held her, protecting
her, burying her head into arm shielding her from him.

The vent killed my battery and the Russian went home. What a failed day.

Epic Things I Havent Shared (2009-02-26 04:14) - public

When I moved to California, I did not have a place to live. All I had was a rusty Oldsmobile
without a muffler, packed full of everything I owned. Luckily Matt, by some amazing coinci-
881
dence, was living a few miles from the school – in a MANSION up in the hills. It was owned by
the rich family of somebody he met at MSU. Anyway, I lived there while searching for a home...

The next day, I moved from a mansion to a trailer park, descending down from the red-
wood hills to the little home of Chinese prostitute. Nobody spoke English, the landlord had a
little Chinese in a suit translate through the lease agreement. Mentioning casually that I had,
in fact, just returned from China.
"Where were you in China?" he asked.
"Oh, it was such a small place, waay far into the country. Suqian, in Jiangsu Province."
"I lived there for many years. I went to school there, it is where I met my wife!" he said,
suddenly excited.
"Oh my God! Suqian University? That was where I was teaching. Amazing!"

Amazing, sure. Coincidences abound. They align, attract, and collide, but whose mean-
ing I have not the capacity to understand.

The landlady hovered over as I signed the check. $1,000.00, rent and deposit paid in
full – for a fucking single room in a beat up old trailer. By the same time tomorrow, she would
already be gone, direct line flight to Hong Kong with my money.

The prostitute had many names, and seemed to have specific uses for each. Around 10
PM, she would begin to get her calls. Through the paper thin wall between our bedrooms, I
could not help but to hear every detail, the man’s voice on the other end of the line, her polite
girly giggling at his every lame remark, followed by a time, a place, and a price. She liked
tight short skirts, black usually. She always told me she was going out shopping, if she told
me anything at all as she left.

Sure, she was crazy. Completely batshit crazy.

The End.

Insomnia Television=Infomercial Nightmares (2009-02-28 06:39) - public

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882
8.3 March

Attention As A Unifying Somatic Concept (2009-03-01 02:04) - public

Somatic psychotherapy is a field composed of many differing practices, resulting in many

differing definitions. A broad and inclusive definition may be found by drawing back into
the Greek word “somat,” meaning body. From this root, somatics could be thought of as
a therapy based on the experience of the body; an internal experience of the conscious
awareness thought to be contained within. Movement and body sensation are, then, typ-
ical areas of focus in somatic practice, yet other practitioners choose to focus on more
subtle non-physical systems of energy thought to exist within and around himself and the
client. These systems of biological energy carry great influence from more ancient Eastern
theoretical systems, such as the Chinese practices of tai ch’i or acupuncture (Pierrakos, 1987).

The implicit goal of so many somatic theoreticians and practitioners seems to be to cre-
ate a greater recognition of their system of biological energy; defined, not as merely an
offshoot of an Eastern belief system, but as a legitimate model of medical treatment. Prob-
lematic towards achieving that recognition is the disparity often found between the authors
of the somatic literature, with individuals often creating whole sets of new vocabulary which
seemingly overlap or contradict that of their fellow somatic therapists. To many discerning
readers in Western academia, this lack of consensus is implicative of a field of study composed
of a varying range of differing personal belief systems, as opposed to a legitimate model
of medical treatment, experimentally testable by objective means. In some cases, the
label “somatics” is even abandoned entirely by an author, creating a general atmosphere of
vagueness and confusion as the reader searches for some central unifying concept or solid
theoretical grounding from which to understand the field.

My hope is that, by reviewing the available somatic therapy literature with “soft eyes,”
that is loosening the sharp critical gaze with which a scientifically-minded reader is taught
to approach academic writing, I may be able to understand this writing about the body
from my body. I have felt a rounder central theme beneath the convoluted personal vo-
cabularies, a root to somatics invisible from that strictly rational dissection of the word’s
surface. This central root idea which grounds the process of body awareness into practice,
I believe, is both broad and universally-human enough to provide an associative link from
somatics to cognitive psychology, consciousness research, models of learning, meditative
practice, neurobiology, the out-of-body experience, and countless other fields for which
conscious awareness is a conceptual key. I would like to show that this central root concept,
found to extend back tens of thousands of years into the meditative practices of the Indus Val-
ley civilization right through to modern body-based psychotherapeutic technique, is attention.

As epic and far-reaching as the above statement may sound, it is my firm belief that it
is the calm mastery and direction of the faculty of attention, through practices like meditation,
which allows for its conscious localization beyond the retinocentric spacial map (Knudsen,
2007). I extend this personally-experienced truth a step further by proposing that this
attention localization ability is not limited to points along the physical, or “horizontal” plane of
objective experience, but has been shown, within varying degrees, the potential facilitation of
legitimate perceptions of a subtle non-physical nature: those of the energetic “vertical” plane
of experience. (Tart, 1968).

883
Psychologists have grappled with the process of attention since the birth of the field,
and even with it becoming one of the most intensely studied areas of modern psychology and
cognitive neuroscience, a conclusive definition of attention has yet to find consensus. The
original definition posed by William James in his monumental Principles of Psychology remains
among the most widely accepted:

Everyone knows what attention is. It is the taking possession by the mind, in clear and
vivid form, of one out of what seem several simultaneously possible objects or trains of
thought. Focalization, concentration, of consciousness are of its essence. It implies with-
drawal from some things in order to deal effectively with others, an dis a condition which
has a real opposite. In the confused, dazed, scatterbrained state which in French is called
distraction, and Zerstreutheit in German(James, 1890).

As James’ quote shows, Western psychological literature devoted to the systematization

of attentive faculties has typically confined those systems to the brain, its sensory organs
and the perceptual series of memory and cognition which follow to interpret their reception
(Anderson & Bothell, 2004). However, this conception of attention, as being bound to phys-
icality, was founded on several baseless and ethnocentric assumptions: 1) That the act of
attention is analogous to objective sensation and its cognitive interpretation. 2) That the
whole of consciousness begins and ends within the narrowly-defined bandwidth of the visible
spectrum, and that the vast ocean of the greater electromagnetic spectrum is composed of
nothing more than stupid, blind energy.

I must say that the second of the above culturally-biased assumptions, while serving as
a foundation for the institution of psychology since its inception, could be thought of as a
modern day parallel to the once universally-held Western belief that man is the center of the
universe. Geocentrism was symptomatic of egocentrism, that distinct inclination of human
nature to interpret all nature, observable or not, in terms of self. Egocentrism produces
understandably stubborn and defensive cosmologies, resilient to both rational thought and
reason. You could perhaps call it the modern energetic equivalent of geocentrism, this belief
that all conscious attention in the universe revolves around man, and is bound solely to the
narrow bandwidth of his visible spectrum, ergiocentrism. Haha! Maybe.

Knudsen, E. (2007). “Fundamental components of attention”. Annual Review of Neuro-

science 30, 57-78.
Anderson, J.R. & Bothell, D. (2004). “An integrated theory of the mind.” Psychological Review,
Vol. 111, No. 4, 1036-1060.

Teach Good Hygiene With The Power Of Electro (2009-03-01 02:39) - public

http://www.ronwinter.tv/drums.html

Change your family and clothe your new family as you wish.
There remains some trouble that won’t leave until you do.
Crumpled cock fight for the teenage soul.
Regrain the distant lover’s image, for ideal stimulatory release.

884
(2009-03-07 23:33:35)
When I find you, I’m going to fuck you with a machete until you’re gushing blood and shit out of your
ass. Then I’m going to squat over your face and take a nice hot dump in your mouth so whoever finds
you knows what a shit-spewing faggot you are.

Proposed Pilot Study - Hypnotic Suggestability Of The Out-Of-Body Experi-

ence (2009-03-01 04:46) - public

Hi Arthur,

I have been thinking a lot about our talk and have ordered one of the
books you mentioned to me. I also found a Lilly book which I have
attached for your collection. : )

Strangely enough, I just stumbled quite randomly onto a website which

compares/contrasts, in detail, both the descent of the hypnotized and
the descent of the shaman into trance.

Here is just an excerpt which inspired me to reconsider the intent of the study:

"In order to journey to the other dimensions of existence a shaman

induces an altered state of consciousness in himself similar to a
state of self-hypnosis. While in this shamanic trance he is in
complete control; able to take his consciousness and subtle bodies
into nonphysical reality where he visits the heavens and hells of
existence, communicates with and controls spirits, gains information,
retrieves souls, and makes subtle changes in reality which may affect
the physical world.

A classical, and fairly accurate descriptive definition of

hypnosis is "a condition or state of selective hypersuggestibility
brought about in an individual through the use of certain specific
psychological or physical manipulations of the individual." The key
words here are "selective hypersuggestibility." A hypnotherapist uses
that selective hypersuggestibility in order to help bring about
desired changes in an individual. On the other hand a person
practicing shamanic techniques uses that state in order to fine tune
his or her senses in order to see, feel, hear, and smell more vividly
while traveling in the other worlds. "

My thought was to attempt to recreate Dr. Tart’s old OBE study,

attempting to use hypnosis as a catalyst for "exit," as opposed to
being lucky enough to find a Gifted Subject like he was. I have had
more than one OBE and feel, perhaps, since the routine of exiting the
body is somewhat familiar to me, I may potentially be able to induce
it by hypnotic suggestion. I have read more than one book describing
methods for inducing the detachment from the body and believe we could
integrate one or more of those techniques into the hypnotic "script."
885
Do you think it sounds possible? : )

An interesting phenomenon I and my girlfriend experienced during the

"transitional" stage of the OBE is convulsions. Since then, I have
read that these often almost- violent seizure-like shakes are common,
not only in OBE, but also in certain states of shamanic journey work.
When deeply troubled with trying to rationalize what was happening, I
came to think of this "body noise" as a result of the phase
relationship between the physical and subtle body, and the
circumstances or speed of the exit. It seems, as the residual self
begins to drift from the physical body, the phase relationship of the
two similarly drifts apart, creating "disharmony" which intensifies as
the transition out progresses further. This is sometimes accompanied
by a sound that is much like roaring water, or a BANG! based on how
quickly the exit transition takes place. I have also fallen into
convulsions upon willfully re-entering the body, although I have not
read of that.

I truly consider the five digit random number experiment to be

legitimate proof for the existence of the soul, although I know
Charley would never jump to that extreme of an inference. I am sure he
would be so pleased to hear we were reattempting his classic
experiment, and maybe even become involved...?

Please, let me know if you think this approach is feasible.

Yours,

-Kaleb

edensgray (2009-04-13 14:44:01)

anything come of this???

Guess The Floutist’s Age (2009-03-01 04:48) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _18

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _18

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1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2618%26%26%26youtube%26
dh0woT7NkKI%3A9a94c850ded60c44f5289a8a954a0be0b289c50c
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2618%26%26%26youtube%26
dh0woT7NkKI%3A9a94c850ded60c44f5289a8a954a0be0b289c50c

turboswami (2009-03-05 09:09:25)

...or, you know, don’t. I guess its totally up to you.

NORTHERN MAGIC - Shamans, witches and other magicians in primeval Fin-

land (2009-03-01 04:56) - public

Finland is one of the most northern countries in the Europe and this distant corner of
the world has always excited people‘s imagination. There are many old stories about the
magic skills of the ancient Finns and the Sami people.

Today Finland is known as a land of vast wilderness areas, white snow and beautiful
scenery. Especially the Lapland is often associated with beauty, wide-open spaces and
unspoiled charming nature. However, the idea of North as a region of beauty and purity is
relatively recent one. In the early times the northern regions were often associated with the
magic and supernatural forces. For some Christian missionaries the North was a realm of
"bad", a place where powerful witches and shamans lived.

Stories related to magic

The ancient Finnish magicians and shamans were famous for their skills. The magic was
usually done by singing special spells, using different kind of charms or some herbal
medicines and sometimes also by entering a trance. It was believed that some Finns
were able to let their souls to travel to foreign places while the body was in a trance.
Neighboring peoples, like the Swedes, also believed that the Finns had supernatural powers
and could control the winds when sailing for example.

In addition to the Finns, the Sami people were also famous for their abilities in practic-
ing magic. They had a wide known reputation of being masters of different kind of sorcery and
witchcraft. Their abilities included a gift to tell fortunes and predict the future events. Some of
them were also able to gain sacred knowledge by entering a trance. But what kind of "magic"
the Sami people actually practiced? And what was their old religion like?

Shamanism -a part of the of the ancient religion

The shamans, noajjde in the Sami language, were persons, who communicated with the
spirit world. They had a gift to contact the spirits and ask them for guidance and help. The
shaman could gain knowledge by observing the nature, but much more useful method was
going into trance. In trance shaman‘s soul was able to travel to spirit realm and even visit the
kingdom of death.

887
The shamans used old song style, joiking, in their ceremonies as well as the magic drum,
which was often decorated with various symbols. Many of these drums were later destroyed
by Christian missionaries and priests, who believed that joiking and drumming was part of the
"devil‘s work". The Sami people were often converted to Christianity by force and shamanic
practices were forbidden.

Shamanism was also a part of the ancient religion of the Finns, but according to Ph.D
Marko Nenonen, the Finns lost much of this tradition before their northern neighbors. However,
there were many other persons, both male and female, who had special skills
related to magic which were passed on from one generation to the next. These
witchdoctors and seers were often called for healing and protection purposes.

Unka Smitty’s Datin’ Tips - Tip #5 (2009-03-02 00:41) - public

Ok, so I had this idea...

When taking a girl out for dinner, I bring a picture of her with me in my pocket. When
the moment is right, I take the picture out so she can see it. The idea is to use the picture in a
special romantic way to show her how I REALLY feel about her.

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _3391

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _3391

Unrelated Note: Does anybody know how long a restraining order actually lasts?

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%263391%26%26%26youtube%
26H6qFqSF8-lA%3Abafb77fc2d95ebb9225ecf73a25e89080c7108
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%263391%26%26%26youtube%
26H6qFqSF8-lA%3Abafb77fc2d95ebb9225ecf73a25e89080c7108

edensgray (2009-04-16 22:32:07)

errr....THAT was awkward

888
ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’
ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROLLIN’ ROL (2009-03-04 03:31) - public

889
890
891
the2minh8 (2009-03-05 11:41:01)
Worst thing I’ve ever seen.

swarms (2009-03-06 05:19:02)

At least there isn’t music playing with it.

5 Densities of Ethic Influence: The Composition of The Macro-Physical Iden-

tity (2009-03-05 04:08) - public

Ethics serves society by limiting the freedoms of the individual. An individual member who, say,
tends to kill people is restricted from that freedom in his actions, his social limits constrained
within the prison system to prevent that choice of his from reoccurring. It is our ethical belief
structure, the cultural definition of “good” and “evil” which serves to categorize his choice, its
action, and the mindset that manifested both. This category branches outward from belief into
many layered tiers, from the subtle non-physical center expanding into the physical layers, like
the prison building which houses our given homicidal.

5 Densities of Ethic Influence

Layer -1: Spirit

• a hierarchical subconscious awareness

• subspectrum of alignments, spherical and divided into bandwidths of frequency

• our species’ bandwidth is not to be assumed center, or ethically neutral.

Layer 0: Visible Band – Bound physicality, defined by the “flatline” or graphically as x-axis
Layer 1: Ego

• formed the moment infant realizes it, itself, is seen.

892
 • bound to the visible energetic bandwidth and its realm.

• bound to human nature

Layer 2/3: Social (Subtle to Manifest)

• civilization evolving through complexity of role organization

• cultural as the flowering genetic manifestation of subspectral energy state

• advances to the boundary of natural selection

Whole: Macro-Physical Ego

•
“ strong shall survive, while the unfit may live.”

• evolution “ascends” to as civilization forms a conscious organic being

• all organized roles form “tissues” of distinct genetic predisposition

If we think in terms of those beliefs which approach universally-human, and apply the consen-
sus theory of truth to those cultural universals, a set of ethical definitions will remain which
could be applied to encompass the greater non-observable or “subtle” ethical system. The Spir-
itual Hierarchy, a cosmology which approaches universally-human, would be just one example
of consensual truth and is implicative of a spectrum of moral alignment, and its ethical con-
ception. Related and often based upon the similar consensus truth of over and under realms,
this cosmology may be thought of as layers of differing densities settled spherically around a
center. These bound layers, our narrow visible spectrum merely one, facilitate ego formation
within that frequency band, but not necessarily limited to it. That is to say, in the same way our
manifestation allows us to see, explore, and interact with conscious entities above and below
the density of water, so it can be assumed more density awareness is “top down,” and that
conscious entities of the lighter, subtle energetic realms, above or below the crude physicality
of the visible bandwidth on the greater spectrum.
This visible spectrum could be thought of as the surface of a fluid density, like the surface of
a pond, vibrant with waveforms and frequent energy from both above and within the pond.
It defines observable nature by being merely a carrier medium of these energies, defining
consciousness. Awareness is receptivity in this medium, allowing interrelation and influence.
This influence is carried, not merely along the surface of physicality, but also within it, as
currents or forces which traverse the depths of the collective unconscious. Traditionally many
of the conscious and intelligent sources of these forces compose a hierarchy of moral alignment,
which requires an ethical system.
Ego is the boundary of identity, formed and defined within physicality. The individual’s aware-
ness of self and other is, first, what forms the defense of that self and, second, what forms the
understanding of “otherness,” society and culture.

(2009-03-14 14:45:24) hello, harrassing you as promised.

is it fair to say that your conception of self is merely a utility? if so, i may contend that the inner self
would not define the world as an object, but desires to look through the world to validate its subjective
existence, and in the process objectifying it as something "other". but that would not be the intent.

893
 maybe im a little off base, but i think the intent is key when defining freedom, and the intent, though
restricted to empirical norms, is altruistic. the self is not necessarily imprisoned by social norms, but
maintains those norms as something to overcome. maybe im exploring something within what youre
describing... i would also say that any theory of innateness is unnecessary and can never restrict
freedoms because freedoms are inherently not definable. in order to define moral rightness it would
become necessary to find it through freedom, built out of a totalization of experience and intent. i
enjoyed your post, sir. i suppose im biased; i dont think science does very well at defining identity.
cory - annoying music shit fucker from myspace.

turboswami (2009-03-14 20:34:07) Re: hello, harrassing you as promised.

Senor Fucking Shit Fuck, Thanks for thoughtful response. There is a bit more a discussion of these
things here: http://community.livejournal.com/abstrac tthought/767776.html #comments I will post
your comment there anonymously and see if it or my reply to it stir some more thoughts.

turboswami (2009-03-15 12:53:41) Re: hello, harrassing you as promised.

I think one should be careful to discern between "self," that social self or ego which serves to make
"a name" for ourself, by defending, containing, and creating, and the greater "Self" which could
be thought of a higher spiritual identity existing more subtly beneath all of those brittle layers of
external ego defense which define us socially. Even Defining self so discretely into two categories,
in this way, could be thought of as crude. Ego and its layers thought, perhaps, more as a spectrum
of finer and finer densities, very much like the above ethic densities, is a start. An even more
meaningful image I’ve found is a tree, our waking ego thrashing about through the day much like
a frenzied leaf in the wind. Little does the leaf recognize its deeper connection to the surrounding
leaves, seemingly separate. Yet, extending down through branches, back through a flowing history
of time, culture, and consciousness, God or the supreme Self is an ultimate source of energy – a wide
all-encompassing trunk whose xylem and phloem disperse and nourish all the many composite selves
whose lives bud and fall all along the coursing ripple of a single year’s ring. This is the throbbing blos-
som of birth and death, radiating outwards from a centerpoint, the point of impact with a fluid surface.

(2009-03-07 18:46) - public

"...fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night,
darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks
and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole.

It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her."

-James Joyce

Recent Anonymous LJ Comment Just For Me! : ) (2009-03-07 18:50) - public

From: (Anonymous) Date: March 7th, 2009 11:33 pm (UTC) [1] [2] [3] [4]
([5]Link)
(IP Address: 96.52.241.178)
Select: {[ } \ _ {] }

894
When I find you, I’m going to fuck you with a machete until you’re gushing blood and shit out
of your ass. Then I’m going to squat over your face and take a nice hot dump in your mouth
so whoever finds you knows what a shit-spewing faggot you are.
1. delcomment.bml?journal=turboswami&id=263867
2. talkscreen.bml?mode=screen&journal=turboswami&talkid=263867
3. talkscreen.bml?mode=freeze&journal=turboswami&talkid=263867
4. comments.bml?journal=turboswami&talkid=263867
5. http://turboswami.livejournal.com/281531.html?thread=263867#t263867

turboswami (2009-03-08 09:37:54)

So, I guess my writing attracts this kind of resentment... I think it must be the school papers I posted.
I am trying to learn how to write with that "academic" tone that they teach us in scholarly writing
class. It is a different writing style, all about citations, proving arguments, and has this general sense
of authority to it that I, too, feel a sort of resentment towards. He wants to slice me up and shit in
my mouth for that tone, that pretentious sounding academic tone that is expected of me at this place.
This place of "Publish or Perish." Anybody know how to use an IP address to find out who he is?

the2minh8 (2009-03-09 16:45:47)

I doubt you’ve given anyone a legitimate reason to write this. Unless you are in a Bronson movie and
you were having consensual sex with a very attractive, but underage, girl.

marckaw (2009-03-10 01:48:49)

They’re from Edmonton, Alberta and may have made these [1]edits at Wikipedia. You see that? They
made an edit for Dog Day Afternoon. They’re probably badass. You’d better watch out.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Contributions/96.52.241.178
turboswami (2009-03-10 03:47:42)
Haha. And wrote this totally BADASS description of the Swedish Vallhund: "The Vallhund are a
powerful, fearless, watchful, energetic, alert, intelligent, friendly, and healthy small breed of dog
that have a tendency to bark and nip and poop in your machete-torn mouth. It is suitable for many
kinds of activities, including herding and dog agility."

edensgray (2009-03-27 14:29:06)

this is pretty lame and displays the unresolved hatred this person has for himself (i assume male
because it’s hard to imagine a woman using these chastising words) ha ha ha. i’m curious to what
post this is a response to.

(2009-03-10 06:23) - public

(2009-03-12 04:54) - public

I fumed, hot bright. Steam scar radiant,

Less and less.
895
Surrounded, cave in chest falls shallow neath light of eyes.
Breath trembles...

Brother Theodore (2009-03-12 05:11) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _19

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _19

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Finland: No Need for Words (2009-03-13 03:36) - public

Finnish people are defined by silence. Is that healthy?

Merete Mazzarella, a professor of Nordic literature at the University of Helsinki, tells a

joke: How do you know if the Finn on the elevator with you is outgoing? When he’s looking at
your shoes instead of at his own.

The key to the Finnish character is quietude. Finns rarely enter into conversation with
strangers; words are chosen carefully; small talk is considered suspect. Instead Finns revere
"sacred silence" and hold that keeping quiet is healthy and promotes thoughtfulness. In his
book Cultures in Conversation, author Donal Carbaugh quotes a young Finn who admits, "I
never realized that people in other cultures might regard the word ’shy’ as a negative word...
’Ujo’ or ’shy’ in Finnish has a neutral or positive meaning."

Sisu, meaning "guts, grit, determination," is another valued hallmark of the Finnish char-
acter. Finland is no place for complainers, and long, dark Arctic winters have shaped some of
the hardiest—and most stoic—human beings on Earth.

Yet Finns are reserved even by Nordic standards. From the Middle Ages until the 20th
century, the country was occupied by Sweden and Russia, and the native Finns had great
incentive to avoid trouble. Living next door to the Soviet Union during the Cold War provided
further impetus to keep their mouths shut. But Finns have steadfastly maintained their
identity, evidenced by the phrase, "Swedes no more; never Russians; let us be Finns."
896
"In Swedish they say ’great’ all the time," says Liisa Keltikangas-Järvinen, a psychologist
at the University of Helsinki. "In Finnish we don’t say that things are great. We just don’t.
Things are OK or maybe good."

By: Maria Carling

My dad always tells the story of me as a young child. I learned the words "mama" and
"daddy" and many others very early on – but only spoke them once. I would then recede back
into silence, saying nothing to either of my parents.

He knew that I COULD say the words, but chose not to.

When finally going to the doctors to get immunization shots and blood tests, my dad
was asked to stand outside, behind the glass door of the operating room where he could watch.
It was only then as they JABBED the wide needles into my little arms did I raise my hands up
to him, crying out "DAADDYY!" pleading for him to save me.

He said he wanted to tear his heart out of his chest and hand it to the doctor. Anything
to save me from that pain.

I COULD say his name, all along. It was as if I knew the word was powerful, but knew
that that power grew the longer the word was held inside. When not wasted meaninglessly,
words seem to grow stronger - as if slowly fermenting in the chest, intoxicating, refined,
potent.

Shoe Rape Sounds I’ve Known and Loved (2009-03-13 04:10) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _20

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zDiR7UxI8Ow%3Abf4a04f9614fb90bcbfa77395cf524bcbc284c45

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edensgray (2009-03-13 23:34:15)

little guy doesn’t get tired!

turboswami (2009-03-14 01:00:59)

Haha! Yea. A determined little trooper. Kinda gets tuckered out at the end. All that love, unrequited
by the shoe!

the2minh8 (2009-03-16 12:34:36)

It’s the jaw action that really gets me.

My Illness And My Calling (2009-03-14 04:56) - public

Hello Alan,

I have been thinking of how best to describe the life details which, I believe, are so closely
entwined with my being called to Peru. These are many powerful coincidences that seem too
meaningful to be merely chance...

I had ordered ayahuasca from the Peruvian amazon, in hopes of finding healing for an
illness of the gut which American doctors could not understand. Within hours of ordering, I
was randomly given a book. The book, "The Cosmic Serpent," described a student from MY
town, Palo Alto, traveling down to the Peruvian amazon and taking ayahuasca. The spiritual
concepts in the book inspired me greatly, and I wrote deeply and freely about the nature of
plant spirits and ayahuasca all that night. When I awoke, hours later, your invitation to the
Peruvian amazon was waiting for me... a life path opening up for me to follow, ayahuasca’s
response to my interest in her. : )

Your invitation came on the 31st of December, like a gift of opportunity placed on the
doorstep of the new year. All I needed to do was choose to open it.

Yet, my illness continues to worsen. It is a painful internal bleeding of the gut, my body’s
immune system senses a "foreign entity" in the intestines and, literally, attacks itself. This
condition began in 2004, after a demonic possession experience – the first of 3. The doctors
do not know WHY the body suddenly begins to attack its own tissues, but give me pills to
constantly weaken my body’s immune system, so that it will stop attacking whatever it senses
is in my gut. I believe the illness has a spiritual root – that some energetic residue of the
demon remains inside of me.

In a powerful BIG dream, an entity of white light scanned by body with a machine – do-
ing tests, like an angelic doctor. At the end, she looked to me with grace and gave her
diagnosis. "The Demon’s hand grows within you."

My ancestors were shamanic healers in the old country of Finland. My grandmother’s

grandmother channeled spirits and entered trance, healing people’s illness by the old Finnish
tradition. I feel this same sensitivity to spirit in me, as my mother and grandmother before
898
me. I know that my illness is a sort of "test." If I can overcome the illness, heal, and expel the
demon’s influence that remained after the possession, I will be able to heal others as well. If I
cannot, I am sure the illness will continue to spread and worsen until it simply takes me...

Alan, I want to come earlier to Peru. I know this invitation was no coincidence, and that
my coming to this place of healing aligns with a greater calling. I trust the arrangements being
made above which led me to you, and that all difficulties will be accounted for if I remain
genuine to my spirits and my guides. Can you help give me direction once I arrive?

Thanks for being so receptive. : )

Yours,

-Kaleb

http://www.soga-del-alma.org/featured-presenters/article/2-presenters/20-kaleb- smith.html

edensgray (2009-03-27 14:18:45)

demonic possession? i realize that i question a very personal issue but i am inquisitive nontheless. i
see you are going to present at the art and the art of healing conference. i know nothing of this, as
this is the first time i’ve ever heard of such a conference, but i thought of sending you good wishes in
your preesntation (in 105 days)

edensgray (2009-04-18 02:48:40)

wow! the more I tune into your writing the more interests I have in my experiences I’m listening to Tito
La Rosa video: http://www.soga-del-alma.org/component/content/article/39-conference-news/113-t
ito-la-rosa-confirmed.html It’s moving the energy from my solar plexus!!! Music!!!

Beneath My Hands (2009-03-15 02:13) - public

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.

Wherever you move

I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.

I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.

I dread the time

when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
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When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.

I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.

When you call me close

to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

turboswami (2009-03-15 06:15:26)

-Leonard Cohen He really was a poet first, musician second.

edensgray (2009-03-27 13:55:09)

I love Leonard Cohen...

KYMATICA (2009-03-16 04:16) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _21

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _21

This bastard is stealin’ my ideas!

haha.

Macro-Evolution, who’s gunna write the book first?

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2621%26%26%3A1b41d36e08
b646590cb18de70a1b13e7321511a5&moduleid=21&preview=&jo

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2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2621%26%26%3A1b41d36e08
b646590cb18de70a1b13e7321511a5&moduleid=21&preview=&jo

edensgray (2009-04-13 02:15:46)

wow...i feel like i could puke

turboswami (2009-04-13 02:35:54)

haha. The movie makes you barfy? Sorry.

edensgray (2009-04-13 02:38:06)

i think it’s coming to terms with reality. i started to feel nauseated and yucky. not your fault. i’m
learning!!!

edensgray (2009-04-13 05:19:01)

by the way, who’s the director/creator of this film?

edensgray (2009-04-13 09:27:34)

wah wah wee wah, what a fantastic post! it took me a while to watch it but i resonate with it. the core
aspect of this film has led me to understand more of myself. yay! my timing seems so coincidental.
ha ha...seems.

Can’t...Stop...Watching... (2009-03-17 02:04) - public

swarms (2009-03-17 14:59:14)

Poor fella’s doing all he can to avoid going to the second level, but it’s just not working!

the2minh8 (2009-03-17 15:07:06)

What I REALLY want to see are some other people getting on the escalator just after this. He is simply
riding the escalator in an unconventional manner, on his shattered old man spine. No one pays him
any mind.

Organization Is Organic (2009-03-18 00:37) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _22

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _22

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[3]

"Everything looks as if it has been designed by an architect,

A single mind...but OF COURSE that isn’t true"
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2622%26%26%3A2efc07f05e
2acd14259b7348b2adfcec7599673b&moduleid=22&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2622%26%26%3A2efc07f05e
2acd14259b7348b2adfcec7599673b&moduleid=22&preview=&jo
3. http://www.break.com/index/giant-ant-colony-is-a-world-wonder.html

edensgray (2009-04-13 01:54:10)

very amazing...but I’m left wondering...what happened to the ants? :(

(2009-03-19 06:51) - public

“ Two of my favorite things are sitting on my front porch smoking a pipe of sweet hemp, and
playing my Hohner harmonica.” - Abraham Lincoln

You Must Teach Him How To Vocalize (2009-03-20 21:56) - public

So today my research group did our second study of the supposed medium, Mrs. M. The
83 year old Mrs. M had said in the previous study that her sensitivity to spirit is aided by
marijuana and so, before beginning, I very casually asked her "Would you like to have a quick
smoke break before we begin?" followed by an exaggerated cheesy wink...

We smoked and returned, and began to attach the electrodes of the electroencephalo-
graphic and galvanic skin response monitors.

Mrs. M explained that an old friend of hers, Timothy Leary, had been trying to get through
her recently, but that she had been resistant. Today, however, she decided to attempt
mediumship for Leary, and hopefully her brainwaves would show a distinct shift when in the
channeling trance state.

After a baseline recording, as well as several motor and speech tasks to account for the
effect of artifacts, we began the session. Mrs. M began with her eyes closed and hands
outstretched: "Ok Timothy, I am ready..."

Silence.

"Timothy Leary, I request your presence..."

I then closed my eyes as well, and internally, I vocalized "Timothy Leary" very slowly on
a long exhale. Suddenly, there was a thrusting sensation in my chest! It was not slight, but a
very definite feeling of energy filling my ribcage. I then felt a tingling sensation around the
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area of my throat, I suppose where I would consider my voicebox to be.

I looked up at my professor, worried, thinking "Oh God! What do I do?"

I was afraid to talk, as the whole room was very solemn with a sort of quiet reverence, watching
and recording Mrs. M.

She began to speak, but I still felt my chest "filled." She spoke in a voice deeper than
her regular. I tried to almost "push" the inner chest sensation outwards and, all at once,
there was a feeling of emptiness. A moment later, Mrs. M’s voice became higher as she said,
seemingly out of nowhere, "THIS is where the action is!"

I tried to avoid closing my eyes or entering meditation, to keep the chest sensation from
occurring again and ruining the study.

Later in the session, she began to speak about someone sick who needing healing, needing
to see a shaman and to do the cleaning ritual. She then said "You must teach him how to
vocalize."

The whole ordeal made me very nervous and, as I went to stand up, I realized my legs
were shaking. Everybody involved was going to have dinner together, but I could not go – I
just felt too freaked out.

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _23

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _23

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2623%26%26%26youtube%26
Y8knnO38JAw%3Ac7529586d1cadf0283bb37b16e341e54a1dd8281
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2623%26%26%26youtube%26
Y8knnO38JAw%3Ac7529586d1cadf0283bb37b16e341e54a1dd8281

edensgray (2009-03-26 18:42:35)

wow! and so...what do you think of this?

edensgray (2009-04-13 01:48:28)

I finally got to watch this video. I like his theory...(I never looked deeper into his studies) I have yet
to experience a "good" LSD trip. As a young teenager, I never knew what to do with what I was
experiencing plus the influences around were always so negative and destructive. I would be afraid to
experience this again, even now as an adult, for the fear of not being able to control my mind from
the duality imbedded in it. :P

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I Have Never Loved You Dear As Now I Love (2009-03-22 05:14) - public

a clown’s smirk in the skull of a baboon

(where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stirred)
my mirror gives me,on this afternoon;
i am a shape that can but eat and turd
ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird,
a coward waiting clumsily to cease
whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss;
a hand’s impression in an empty glove,
a soon forgotten tune,a house for lease.
I have never loved you dear as now i love

behold this fool who,in the month of June,

having certain stars and planets heard,
rose very slowly in a tight balloon
until the smallening world became absurd;
him did an archer spy(whose aim had erred
never)and by that little trick or this
he shot the aeronaut down,into the abyss
-and wonderfully i fell through the green groove
of twilight,striking into many a piece.
I have never loved you dear as now i love

god’s terrible face,brighter than a spoon,

collects the image of one fatal word;
so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon)
resembles something that has not occurred:
i am a birdcage without any bird,
a collar looking for a dog,a kiss
without lips;a prayer lacking any knees
but something beats within my shirt to prove
he is undead who,living,noone is.
I have never loved you dear as now i love.

Hell(by most humble me which shall increase)

open thy fire!for i have had some bliss
of one small lady upon earth above;
to whom i cry,remembering her face,
i have never loved you dear as now i love

turboswami (2009-03-22 09:15:48)

-E.E. Cummings

The Works of Hayao Miyazaki (2009-03-22 19:22) - public

Hayao Miyazaki ( ,Miyazaki Hayao?, born January 5, 1941 in Tokyo, Japan) is a

prominent filmmaker of many popular animated feature films. He is also the co-founder of
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 Studio Ghibli, an animation studio and production company.

He remained largely unknown to the West, outside of animation communities, until Miramax
released his 1997 Princess Mononoke. By that time, his films had already enjoyed both
commercial and critical success in Japan and Central Asia. For instance, Princess Mononoke
was the highest-grossing film in Japan until Titanic (1997) came out a few months later, and
the first animated film to win Picture of the Year at the Japanese Academy Awards. His later
film, Spirited Away, had that distinction as well, and was the first anime film to win an
Academy Award. Howl’s Moving Castle was also nominated but did not receive the award.

Miyazaki’s films often incorporate recurrent themes, such as humanity’s relationship to

nature and technology, and the difficulty of maintaining a pacifist ethic. Reflecting Miyazaki’s
feminism, the protagonists of his films are often strong, independent girls or young women;
the villains, when present, are often morally ambiguous characters with redeeming qualities.

Miyazaki’s films have generally been financially successful, and this success has invited
comparisons with American animator Walt Disney. In 2007, Time Magazine voted Miyazaki
one of the most influential Asians of the past 60 years.

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE

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SPIRITED AWAY

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PRINCESS MONONOKE

IFRAME: [5]embed _753488 _28

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1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2624%26%26%3Add7c7400c9
dd77f5f737e2a44d44eea4daa9683e&moduleid=24&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2624%26%26%3Add7c7400c9
dd77f5f737e2a44d44eea4daa9683e&moduleid=24&preview=&jo
3. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2627%26%26%3A6ff6f1e40f
cc10e139f245541bd7c672c7aad605&moduleid=27&preview=&jo
4. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2627%26%26%3A6ff6f1e40f
cc10e139f245541bd7c672c7aad605&moduleid=27&preview=&jo
5. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2628%26%26%3A358f322943
093a8dae311178f636ef803cd9b770&moduleid=28&preview=&jo
6. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2628%26%26%3A358f322943
093a8dae311178f636ef803cd9b770&moduleid=28&preview=&jo

edensgray (2009-03-22 18:38:24)

Howl’s Moving Castle - a great flick! I love Miyazaki. My real favortie is Nausicaa.

turboswami (2009-03-22 19:18:19)

Yea, I havent seen that one. Is it all eco-conscious like Mononoke? I think Spirited Away is the most
accessible. Its the one I gave to my lil nieces and nephews. They’d never seen cartoons about the
afterlife... : D

edensgray (2009-03-22 21:15:00)

Yes, it is eco-conscious... I also liked Laputa: Castle in the Sky - this one made me emotional - and
Porco Rosso. It has been atleast 8 years since I’ve seen the aforementioned. These films are not
easy to find. Or I haven’t looked hard enough. How old are your nephews and nieces?

I Still Love You (2009-03-24 01:23) - public

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without
complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way.

turboswami (2009-03-24 05:25:10)

-Pablo Neruda

A DSM Category (2009-03-25 00:02) - public

Until running the parts of streets becomes a wholesome family business, these thoughts will
be illegal.
Partly fortune, partly attention-attracting, what are the mechanics of luck?
The intuition of the lucky that grabs chance, forcing it to co-inside.
That luck is a spiritual quality in China – the smiling "of course" luck of the Buddha.

What can I say now that the opportunity to be known has been given?
What do you have to offer up to the limelight’s brilliant fire?
I must shine again, I must produce a flash worthy of my past.
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How was it again? How can I stay accessible while journeying deep beneath society?
The subconscious descent beneath ego is a journey made alone to a silent place.

Women present the most intimate socialization, the core of dip, a centralized impression
whose gradient represents depth of interpersonal connection; alongside, the range of its
obligations. This range is a tugging back up through the funneling whirlpool center of my
self. The centermost inlet that descends in mad spiralling ego is sensation, pulling all in. And
sometimes, I slip down the drain and explore the cavernous aquifer world beneath.

And no one can hear me there, but I hear someone else...

For A Thousand Struggling Young Troublers (2009-03-25 00:44) - public

I use a trouble to make a trouble.

I struggle juggling young troublers, but was punished.
I slaired a turning stair down deep to the lit ones.
They greeted me kindly and didn’t ask my name, and I remembered.
Them in my eyes who I loved All, all my Life.
The greater Life, from before this choice’s memory.
The Divine lineage, our greater scale, our place on the spectrum.

I remember them there, and I remember all my lovers as one,

one beautiful radiant woman, whose soul I’ve known in ten thousand faces.
A man who has accompanied me, spectating me - kind specter, performing in life for me,
or once meeting in a life as deep friends, two old fishermen who told stories of the sea.

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 [1] For A Thousand Struggling Young Troublers,
Voice!
1. http://rapidshare.com/files/213235814/For_A_Thousand__Struggling_Young_Troublers_-_Voice.mp3

Ol’ Crampy McSpray’n’Wash (2009-03-25 01:49) - public

This one goes out to Ol’ Crampy McSpray’n’Wash and the Dwarvish Sneezies.
God bleeth chew!
God beef stew!
Incredible forests sprout up green and piney, and I pine apart.
For a love, for a kiss, for a my kid’s kitten and a whispered curse.

A whispered prayer, a whispered thanks,

and for each a whispered response,
to the little girl with the little girl.

Ahhh, men.

(2009-03-25 04:54) - private

http://rapidshare.com/files/213235814/For _A _Thousand _ _Struggling _Young _Troublers _-

_Voice.mp3

Wrapped In Plastic (2009-03-25 06:00) - public

_ _ _THE _ _ _

SECRET

DIARY

_ _ _OF _ _ _

LAURA

PALMER

908
 [1]PDF
[2]HTML

1. http://www.glastonberrygrove.net/texts/laurapalmer.pdf
2. http://www.glastonberrygrove.net/texts/lpdiary.html

swarms (2009-03-25 14:18:52)

Psh. I got this long ago in paperback book form. Thus, I am cooler.

turboswami (2009-03-25 19:54:46)

Well I bought the much rarer hardcover edition before that, so phht.

swarms (2009-03-25 20:03:51)

Well, do you have the new Psychic TV/PTV3 album? I bought it, and it’s pretty darn good. It’s called
Mr. Alien Brain vs. The Skinwalkers, in case you don’t keep up-to-date with good music. When are
you going to visit Eugene? Ted and Tara are coming in June.

turboswami (2009-03-25 20:55:15)

Oh, I am on Spring break right now. I am relaxing. How many hours was it for you to come here again?

909
Velvet (2009-03-25 19:57) - public

edensgray (2009-03-26 00:30:11)

interesting

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 turboswami (2009-03-26 00:38:38)
Haha. Complete with rusty 70’s razor blade!

edensgray (2009-03-26 01:18:49)

Yeah, look at that. It reminded me of Forrest Gump but that’s a lot of blow - enough to keep you high
for a week. Ha, Blow that was a good movie too.

edensgray (2009-03-26 01:22:01)

Also reminds me of the movie Lord of War, where Jaredo Leto, er Vitaly Orlov, builds (what was it...i
can’t recall the flag? a building? a city?) with his bundle(s) of cocaine.

swarms (2009-03-26 03:29:46)

I need a moustache.

turboswami (2009-03-26 04:49:55)

Yes. It catches any that might crumble back out.

Interterrestrial Intelligence (2009-03-26 01:19) - public

The concept and possibility of an "interterrestrial intelligence," as opposed to an extra-

terrestrial conscious intelligent entity bound to physicality and the visible spectrum, should be
given at least equal consideration - its own inwardly-directed version of SETI. If a similar sister
government agency, something like SITI or the Search for Interterrestrial Intelligence were to
be founded, what would be its method of search? What tools or techniques would be adopted
to inquire into the nature of consciousness?

It certainly seems like a more realistic bet, the possibility of contacting a deceased rel-
ative VS that seemingly improbably possibility of contact from otherworldly entity a ten
thousand light years away. Why not attempt what HAS been done: spiritual interaction is
a universal human experience, existing in nearly every part of the world; the same set of
spiritual experiences manifesting as a thousand shades of religious practices and their belief
systems.

At the core of myth and ritual, what is there?

Spiritual interaction, as divine inspiration through communion or what has since been
called mediumship. For Western science to accept, or at very least acknowledge, this
universally-human experience, which existed as much amongst wise tribesmen 50,000 years
ago as it does through to the spiritualist movement, from the profound revelations of ancient
Hindu saints to the hype of cheesy TLC ghost hunter programs, the nature of that core
experience remains the same. The experience interacting with an intelligent conscious being
of a subtle non-physical nature.

Early academically-minded groups who attempted to experiment with methods of con-

tact with interterrestrial entities, once successful, were often "taught" by them. While
those Psychical Investigation groups of the early 1800’s relied mostly upon mediumship or
seance to establish a means of this interaction, this method was indefinite, prey to fakes
and cons, and was so easily dismissed by observational science, to some degree dragging
911
parapsychology along for the descent, into the pseudo-science categorization. But if this
mediumship method were to be reconsidered in THIS century, and analyzed for the first
time using modern energetic imaging technology, could the indefinite vague nature of the
experience be given resolution? Can a reliable EEG or GSR protocol be used to discern the
true instances of mediumship from the false? I believe it is a question that at least warrants
study, and feel lucky to be taking part in experiments of that type.

EVP, or the electronic voice phenomenon, is much more definite a way of facilitating
this "teaching" interaction in that it is recordable; a tangible vocalization which can be
studied by anyone. This is a type of replicability, that replayability, which allows for peer
review and critique. Existing right alongside the science of electronic communication, early
experts in radio and telegraph technology gave the messages coming through the speakers
real consideration. One has to wonder why many of the devices, the Spiricom for instance,
would often work only in the presence of a certain somehow "gifted" individual. It seems this
gifted medium-type person still must be present to induce the interaction, even when the
actual "medium," that literal medium of the copper wire of the electronic device which carries
KNOWN energies through circuits, amplifiers and resistors, is what manifests the sound. The
conductive material of these circuits, however, seems to be be capable of carrying energy, in
general, some of which seems to lie beyond those voltages which are known and expected
in the device. Even with the invention of the tape recorder, the iron oxide of the magnetic
tape was shown to be subject to the subtle influence of these subtle intelligent energies. But
of what frequency band does this electromagnetic influence effect the tapeheads to create
those unexpected vocalizations on the tape? Is a microphone even necessary? What is the
highest frequency a sensitive microphone can cleanly record? How far above 20khz can we
analog and digital devices record audio? Which frequency bands of consciousness are seen in
the gifted individual during the EVP recording and how do those patterns compare with those
of a traditional medium?

What Was Taught?

Ayahuasca, Sensitivity, and Spiritual Emergence (2009-03-26 03:11) - public

diffraction (plural diffractions)

1. (quantum mechanics) The breaking up of an electromagnetic wave as it passes a ge-

ometric structure (e.g. a slit), followed by reconstruction of the wave by interference.

Triangle Of Subtle Perception

1) Viewer
2) Fine Energetic Medium
3) Slit (An Opening In The Boundary)

Geometric structure, the brittle reliable precision of quartz crystal, the faint misty form
on the farthest edge of water and air. To think of air in this way, and the farthest faintest edge
of the sound it carries. How can we "hear more?"

The shamans described each of the senses in terms of these edges, these boundaries of
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normal, or "naked," perception. They described medicines like ayahuasca as changing one’s
sensate capacity, extending the upper boundary or ceiling of what they are able to see and
hear. With each ayahuasca ritual, these shamans claim to see and hear slightly more - to
"see" diseases, or deeply feel the powerful emotions of another person in the room. This
empathic sensitivity has been described by Westerners who have partaken in the ritual as
wholly overwhelming, suddenly having no choice but to FEEL the same panic attack of the
woman 6 seats up on the airplane. In that instance, you can see how easily a change in one’s
sensate capacity could quickly develop into a spiritual emergency, as it comes to impede the
individual’s social functioning. The sense of self held before the ritual expands to the breaking
point in the sudden flood of new perception, and the individual describes finding difficulty
re-entering those same social roles (work, family, obligation) with these new hypersensations.

edensgray (2009-03-26 16:34:58)

In that instance, you can see how easily a change in one’s sensate capacity could quickly develop
into a spiritual emergency, as it comes to impedes the individuals social functioning The doorway, the
point of no return, the blue pill (reference to The Matrix )

edensgray (2009-03-26 16:36:27)

correction: red pill

turboswami (2009-03-26 17:03:50)

Neo-Shamanism. : P Hmm... point of no return. (Once you learn something, you cant UNlearn it.)

edensgray (2009-03-26 17:18:42)

haha...Neo Shamanism Coincidence?!

A Triangular Opening (2009-03-26 04:02) - public

I’ll fix a ramble saintly, like a former trapper of souls.

I dont pretend an open spine or a ribcage holding in.
Shore fellow’s view a gorgeous above.
Looking down into crude medium, our physicality’s reliance,
as we peer beneath the bound density of water, so he sees us.

Light diffracts in the faintness of the mist state,

the viewer’s attention a vital point,
on the triangle which allows a rainbow’s perception.

But what of the fine mist of physicality?

The subtle forms which respond to our attention in that way?
What are the 3 points of that triangle,
which allow us that momentary glance into new perceptions.

DO YOU LEAVE YOUR BODY IN SLEEP? - Palo Alto, CA (2009-03-26 04:53) - public

A pilot study at the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology hopes to be

able to prove that your experience is legitimate and REAL.
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Imagine finally being able to show your doubtful family and sneering
friends data from laboratory research suggesting that, yes, this
perception of being out of body is true, not a hallucination.

By using modern EEG (brainwave monitoring) devices and a 7 digit

random number protocol, this out-of-body experience (OBE) study will
attempt to show that there can be valid awareness of one’s
surroundings while asleep.

To learn more about this study or to participate, please contact Kaleb

Smith via email or the phone number below:

(650) 353-8789

edensgray (2009-03-26 14:12:06)

I would participate however we are several states apart! Good luck with your study.

turboswami (2009-03-26 16:59:24)

Wow. This happens to you?

edensgray (2009-03-26 17:09:04)

I’m not certain that I do. I have theorized in jest however, I have attempted Astral Projection/OBE
through meditation. My capability was overriden by fear. This was many years ago. There are
several unexplained occurances in my sleep. Ok, they aren’t unexplainable because the mind is a
powerful tool per se. I, occassionally, suffer from sleep paralysis. at the present, time it’s closely
related to the occurance of seemingly waking up (or believe to have woken up) and "hearing" voices
communicating - either to me or to eachother. it’s not normally in a language that i understand.
i haven’t quite figured these occurances out. sometimes, i’m too lazy to dive into them and ride
them off as mind tricks but also want to claim them as phenemenons to discover and/or develop
an understanding of. so, if i may once again be so bold to ask...what is your major? what are you
studying other than the obviousness of this post? specifics, if you will. this is just a curiosity.

turboswami (2009-03-26 17:27:56)

Ahh... my admissions essay was on that very experience! Those "transitory perceptions," that
sudden awareness of a conversation taking place right at the edge of sleep, is something more
common than you may think... That transition is called hypnagogic state. I would get deeper into it,
but I am running late right now.

edensgray (2009-03-26 17:37:04)

no worries...

edensgray (2009-03-26 17:37:37)

oh, and...also...is your admissions essay posted here?

turboswami (2009-03-26 22:06:31)

http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view &friendId=4844273
&blogId=425360924 Does that work?

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 edensgray (2009-03-26 22:47:34)
that’ll do...will read tonight!

edensgray (2009-03-26 18:44:21)

i looked up hypnagogic state on wikipedia.org and...what can i say...this conveys the reality of my
wakefulness. i am truly engaged in your studies. it’s a shame that my current path is rooted in
another field. nevertheless, i still have my future.

turboswami (2009-03-26 22:14:03)

I am still rustling up a specialized interest for my dissertation, but seem to be edging towards
studies of the out-of-body state and how to legitimize the perceptions and interactions that take
place in it. Its so hard to really decide what I am most interested in - in a way its like being cornered
into defining yourself. I am glad you recognized the hypnagogic state. Its can be a great comfort
just knowing that it is a REAL experience with an actual name! ; D

edensgray (2009-03-30 14:19:02) Interest

hello today! hope you are well. i had an experience last night that may be of slight interest to you. i
would be equally interested to get your opinion of it, if you are willing.

edensgray (2009-03-30 17:02:56) Re: Interest

oh yeah...it’s on my LJ if you care to read

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Trapper Keeper, Night Soul Sleeper (2009-03-26 05:00) - public

the2minh8 (2009-03-27 16:44:47)

The background of this picture is so reminiscent of the logic game Tarski’s World. The pyramid, sphere
and box shapes of different colors on a grid are used in that program to demonstrate formal-deductive
logic quantifiers and connectors and to solve logic problems and create proofs. I wish there were some
way to make a living as a formal logician.

Meat and Cheese Screams (2009-03-27 06:30) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _29

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IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _29

Time drips sweaty in a vacuum of hot meat,

sealed with a kiss of soft white cheese.
Forever she breathes...
The fumes that I leave.

Consisting entirely of irreverent sounds, a Gertrude form huddles in a chalice of stars.

Gnawing on oily rags, she sustains sopping salts sulking neath eyes that saw growing but
never grew.
Tug a slug hardened, feel his slim kiss in your lips quiver on the edge of a plosive night’s
message seed.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2629%26%26%26youtube%26
xTAcIgdbeRc%3Af3969703ca9eec56149d2f3eb8e1430c0594b158
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2629%26%26%26youtube%26
xTAcIgdbeRc%3Af3969703ca9eec56149d2f3eb8e1430c0594b158

edensgray (2009-04-06 23:18:36)

yes, this is interesting. tickled both my laughing sense and my fear.

turboswami (2011-11-25 21:23:47)

Haha. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just get high and make strange noises. Its fun. Try it.

The Glass Divide (2009-03-28 02:37) - public

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Can anyone imagine the music that would fit this movie I made?
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2630%26%26%26youtube%26
LVrBVGazkVw%3A72906949cce2e13b62e857da3e1b4dbc67621e2b
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2630%26%26%26youtube%26
LVrBVGazkVw%3A72906949cce2e13b62e857da3e1b4dbc67621e2b

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theloniouszen (2009-03-28 16:29:17)
http://history.cookiethievery.com/082304/

turboswami (2009-03-28 20:51:34)

Oh...I’m gunna have that song stuck in my head all day now! Its just so catchy.
http://community.livejournal.com/randompictures/6088146.html

Angry Little Closeup (2009-03-28 03:48) - public

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IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _31

Hours of microscopy recordings, like the above I recorded 3 years ago, still need sound.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2631%26%26%26youtube%26
KQe1_C5Xndc%3Afb9752232720a33a84281311e61d73b3dca8b8b4
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2631%26%26%26youtube%26
KQe1_C5Xndc%3Afb9752232720a33a84281311e61d73b3dca8b8b4

edensgray (2009-04-06 23:15:06)

amazing - what are we looking at?

turboswami (2009-04-07 10:10:18)

Drop of pond water.

turboswami (2009-04-07 10:11:53)

(Delicious natural spring-fed pond water) Thirsty? ; P

edensgray (2009-04-13 01:31:02)

oye! this reminds me of the day we went camping and experienced the first frightening camp
experiences ever. it began to storm and in the distance you could see a tornado wanting to form
in the sky. we were locked in and couldn’t leave the campground as the bridges began to overflow
with tremendous speed. the river rose 10 ft. in an hour and our campground became smaller and
smaller. in any case, we obviously survived and the morning was glorious in the aftermath of such
a storm. unfortunately, i didn’t get to see this but my partner and son walked into the shallow areas
of the river to find a multitude of water insects, worms, etc never before seen (by non scientists, of
course). i shutter to think of these (described as otherworldy) worms slithering by my most private

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 areas as i swim the river. well, i risk it for the enjoyment. it’s not so common to die after a swim in
the river...especially if it’s not stagnant water!

A Torn Tomb (2009-03-29 01:55) - public

On a life like today, a torn tomb sets the sun.

Swallowing the side of a cycle in a yawning recline.
Old stories are told around dim remnants of fire,
faint ember of a man recalling passions that once blazed radiant.
His peak, when so hot and bright he could lick the treetops teasingly.

Dim eyes faded peer out from his tattered camouflage army coat.
Heavy head enclosed by his shoulders, he speaks from inside his ribcage.
His thought’s long beneath his quiet words, so long away from that fire,
So distant his gaze, searching the horizon for that warm light he once knew so well.

“Was I really ever there?” so long ago fades into question.

He knew once that distant fire on the horizon was lost, he could never return home.
He would be alone without a beacon.
No direction to follow to the light of those he once loved so dear.

[1]A Torn Tomb Swallows The Sun

1. http://www.myspace.com/thebandabsorbed

(2011-02-01 03:56:07) Happy to be here

Is Bigfoot True or fake? For around four hundred many years, there have already been reporting’s of
a man like animal that is certainly totally coated in hair. [url=http://www.is-bigfoot-real.com/]bigfoot
videos[/url]

Two Old Friends (2009-03-29 13:58) - public

turboswami (2009-03-30 07:56:45)

Charles Bukowski having dinner with Paris Hilton. She’s with one of the greatest literary minds of the
century, and she is fucking posing behind a trendy book.

Spirituality In America (2009-03-30 03:24) - public

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[3]
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2633%26%26%3Adfecbbcc86
a52b19a424a47ab4e094e18a6c38e9&moduleid=33&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2633%26%26%3Adfecbbcc86
a52b19a424a47ab4e094e18a6c38e9&moduleid=33&preview=&jo
3. http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/xrc55

turboswami (2009-03-30 11:10:15)

[EMBED]
[1]110 ESP
by [2]weep555

1. http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/xrbtt
2. http://www.dailymotion.com/weep555
edensgray (2009-03-30 22:59:15)
they crack me up. i haven’t seen the pen and teller show since i was 8 or 9. i didn’t even know they
still have a show.

8.4 April

Snivel Sly Viking Vine Snaking (2009-04-02 22:54) - public

Drag a strong eye down across Surface Steet,

Walking into oncoming traffic.
Shade a clothes’ stage fractured,
halling up a forest shard of sky.

Fellows hellows waved down long halos.

From that break in the sky where they’re no longer clothed.
Feel their field and sunlit white dress,
Like the purest veil from above the blue hue.

It was a vine that grew through the sky,

a two-tangled spiral of body and spirit.
One of above, one of below,
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they met and merged as a ladder, learned
and learning, enveloped each other informing.

Dog Star Man - Brakhage (2009-04-04 15:01) - public

All the while, I knew I should be working

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1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2634%26%26%26youtube%26
mTGdGgQtZic%3A89df1ad4e88873393c64ada3d74e2b459d10d7f6
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2634%26%26%26youtube%26
mTGdGgQtZic%3A89df1ad4e88873393c64ada3d74e2b459d10d7f6

alex27782 (2009-04-05 03:45:07)

Watched some Brakhage in my intermedia class. Mothlight was the only one I could really get into.
Are you an Oskar Fischinger fan? His stuff resonated with me the most of all the experimental film we
watched.

turboswami (2009-04-05 09:53:01)

Yes. Fischinger is great because he is experimental in a very direct, unambiguous way. Brakhage is
more mood evoking "tonal" sort of layering. I think of it a lot like music. Texture, rhythm, combination
choices in a composition. I love to just put on Dog Star Man on mute when guests are over to
compliment the music playlist. It is video which REWARDS attention, but does not DEMAND IT.

Exotic High Tech Explosives Positively Identified in World Trade Center Dust
(2009-04-07 04:09) - public

A ground-breaking scientific paper confirmed this week that red-gray flakes found throughout
multiple samples of WTC dust are actually unexploded fragments of nanothermite, an exotic
high-tech explosive.

The samples were taken from far-separated locations in Manhattan, some as early as 10
minutes after the second tower (WTC 1) collapsed, ruling out any possible contamination from
cleanup operations.

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Authored by an international team of physicists, chemists, and others, the research pa-
per was titled “Active Thermitic Material Discovered in Dust from the 9/11 World Trade Center
Catastrophe.” It was published in The Open Chemical Physics Journal, 2009, Vol. 2., and is
available online for free download. The lead author is Niels H. Harrit of the Department of
Chemistry, University of Copenhagen.

The paper ends with the statement, “Based on these observations, we conclude that
the red layer of the red/gray chips we have discovered in the WTC dust is active, unreacted
thermitic material, incorporating nanotechnology, and is a highly energetic pyrotechnic or
explosive material.”

Ordinary thermite burns quickly and can melt through steel, but it is not explosive. Nan-
othermite, however, can be formulated as a high explosive. It is stable when wet and can be
applied like paint.

The presence of pre-planted explosives in the WTC buildings calls into question the offi-
cial story that the buildings were destroyed by the airplane collisions and fire alone. The
National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST), the official government agency that
investigated the building collapses, did not test for residues of explosives.

Richard Gage, AIA, said, “This peer-reviewed scientific study of the disturbing contents
of the WTC dust is yet another smoking gun proving to the over 600 Architects & Engineers
for 9/11 Truth (AE911Truth) who I represent that a real investigation must be carried out
immediately as to the actual cause of the destruction of the 3 WTC high-rises on 9/11.”

One of the paper’s co-authors is AE911Truth researcher/editor Gregg Roberts. When

Roberts signed the AE911Truth petition demanding a new 9/11 investigation, he wrote, “What
struck me on 9/11 was how much dust was created.” Now, over 7 years later, Roberts has an
intimate appreciation for that dust. The steel was removed and destroyed very quickly after
the catastrophe, despite loud protests from fire fighters and others. It was destruction of the
primary evidence at a crime scene. The dust, however, remains as a key piece of physical
evidence.

The nine coauthors are Niels H. Harrit, Department of Chemistry, University of Copen-
hagen, Denmark, Jeffrey Farrer, Department of Physics and Astronomy, Brigham Young
University, Steven E. Jones, S &J Scientific Co., Provo, UT, Kevin R. Ryan, 9/11 Working Group
of Bloomington, Bloomington, IN, Frank M. Legge, Logical Systems Consulting, Perth, Western
Australia, Daniel Farnsworth, Department of Physics and Astronomy, Brigham Young Univer-
sity, Gregg Roberts, Architects & Engineers for 9/11 Truth, Berkeley, CA, James R. Gourley,
International Center for 9/11 Studies, Dallas, TX, and Bradley R. Larsen, S &J Scientific Co.,
Provo, UT.

edensgray (2009-04-08 19:25:00)

wow. conspiracy theories have life then?

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The Magick of Solomon (2009-04-07 04:37) - public

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I love this guy’s voice.

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2635%26%26%3A664f6f0d5d
fa4f0bc49005a41181f7b676e520af&moduleid=35&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2635%26%26%3A664f6f0d5d
fa4f0bc49005a41181f7b676e520af&moduleid=35&preview=&jo

edensgray (2009-04-16 22:13:43)

he has cute wavy hair...hahaha

In The Land Of Japan, Spiderman Has A Machine Gun (2009-04-08 03:42) - public

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1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2636%26%26%3A3a9b50c22d
57a28246a08c28b13f0809d749505e&moduleid=36&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2636%26%26%3A3a9b50c22d
57a28246a08c28b13f0809d749505e&moduleid=36&preview=&jo

turboswami (2009-04-08 07:52:58)

Planet Spider was invaded by Professor Monster! FUCK!

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(2009-04-11 15:41) - public

I think our old friends and guardians in the afterlife must talk about us, our life and activities,
the same way we half-braggingly talk to one-another about our children or close friends.

edensgray (2009-04-12 14:22:19)

:)

turboswami (2009-04-12 21:01:03)

You’re friended... You have been accepted into the the hallowed Inner Circle... ; P

edensgray (2009-04-12 23:41:10)

ha, ha! much obliged! i always look forward to your posts.

edensgray (2009-04-12 23:52:53)

to what do I owe this honour?

turboswami (2009-04-13 00:36:49)

Well, you’re a pretty girl... ...and seem to be the only person reading any of this stuff. haha. So, you
should be able to read ALL of it.

edensgray (2009-04-13 00:53:09)

LMAO! I’m very intrigued. It’s very comforting to be able to read of someone else’s experience.
It’s a shame that there aren’t many people in my day-to-day life to share these experiences on a
one-on-one basis (in person. So, you should be able to read ALL of it. Is there a meaning to the
word ALL that I should understand???

edensgray (2009-04-13 01:17:47)

nevermind...i realize now...refreshed...that you meant ALL of your posts since some are friends
only. err. that was really lame of me.

turboswami (2009-04-13 01:23:54)

Yea, in person would be great. Storytelling on LJ just don’t compare! ; ) Ya, you are now privy to
all the little secret stuff... You’re on The List.

edensgray (2009-04-13 01:33:28)

gracias!

Dontcha Know! (2009-04-12 06:45) - friends

Ppht. I sure wonder how you are doin, maybe a few times a day. Cant help it...

Sure, they aren’t all rosy thoughts. Sometimes I wonder why I bother
caring, but I know caring about those close to me is the best thing I
can do for them – and myself too. Even if it sometimes seems like I
am devoting a lot of energy into...nothing, like it’s a one way
street, I must remain confident that the love I give to the world is
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not wasted, and that the world will return that love to me 10 fold.
Someday. ; )

Sure, I am sometimes a real Nervous Nelly - and that this impedes a

lot of the warmth what COULD or wants to flow to and from me. So much
is held inside, expressed all at once in great surges, in intense
moments of deeply personal emotion that can seem overwhelming. Only to
recede back inwards, into a lull of personality, decidedly
underwhelming. haha. Like you said, I am an ocean...with big deep
waves.

So you probably wont respond, but I write to you anyways... I try not
to get deep, because I dont want to scare you away or overwhelm you.
But, you know I suck at small talk. I shouldnt feel ashamed to say
that I miss you. But it seems like you dont want to hear it...like
you dont want to hear that you are cared about. And so I hold back,
and try to care in silence, from a distance... Haha. How silly!

So, I want to know Joanne too, not only you. I want to be able to come
visit like friends do and talk and play and enjoy each others company.
Like friends do, like people who care about each other do. This MODERN
friendship of yours is too fast and cheap... Where I’m from, friends
stay friends and are there for one-another. This California friendship
sometimes feels more like fashion, as if close friends can quickly and
easily be cut and replaced as needed when they have a bad day or need
help. I hope you can forgive me if I seem naive about it all – I am
from the sticks and am not so much "cultured" in the fast-paced lives
that you city folk lead. ; P haha.

Would you feel more comfortable hanging out again if I had a

girlfriend? Would that, somehow, put your mind at ease?
Everyone is so bland. I need to keep interesting people like you in my
life – because that blandness can be contagious!
Dontcha know!

Your Oceanic Friend,

-Kalebob

[1]

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1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000k2xp/

edensgray (2009-04-13 01:22:25)

"Modern Romance"

turboswami (2009-04-13 07:57:26)

Haha. I guess I’m just traditional that way... Traditional in that the people in my life are viewed as
important to me. People caring genuinely about each other....those were the days!

edensgray (2009-04-13 08:15:19)

I understand yet what era was it that people cared genuinely for each other? Ever? When did it
change? As far as relationships (marriages), couples were forced to remain together for fear of
shame in the society. Howver, truly forced upon by the self or should I say "False Ego" for fear of
change self-actualization. How dreadful. This is not to take away from your statement. I’m just
questioning. I’m actually still watching Kymatica. I’m over the puke feeling and am taking plenty o’
notes! I love this documentary.

turboswami (2009-04-13 07:58:41)

Reply: "Kaleb, I read ur email. If you cannot take me as I am, consider that as measure - and let things
be. I’m not able to maintain a true friendship in your standards." Haha. What a fucking selfish cunt.

edensgray (2009-04-13 08:19:47)

lmao ahh, well...what can I say. we struggle and complain that we desire an emotional connection
to man (err...atleast i do) and then we fear it once we have it. it’s overwhelming. however, in this
case, you are talking friendships not marriage. how odd not to accept a friendship which involves
emotional maturity.

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Moons Over My Hammy My Happy Ass! (2009-04-12 16:18) - public

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Alan Watts - Dimethyltryptamine (2009-04-17 06:26) - public

"The faces in the room had become billion-faceted mosaics of rich and vibrant hues. The facial
characteristics of each of the observers, surrounding the bed, were the keys to their genetic
heritage. Dr. X (the psychiatrist) was a bronzed American Indian with full ceremonial paint;
the Hindu monk was a deep soulful middle-easterner with eyes which were at once reflecting
animal cunning and the sadness of centuries; Leary was a roguish Irishman, a sea captain with
weathered skin and creases at the corners of eyes which had looked long and hard into the
unsee-able, an adventurous skipper of a three-masted schooner eager to chart new waters, to
explore the continent just beyond, exuding a confidence that comes from a humorous cosmic
awareness of his predicament – genetic and immediate.

And next to me, or rather on me, or rather in me, or rather more of me – Billy. Her
body was vibrating in such harmony with mine that each ripple of muscle, the very coursing
of blood through her veins was a matter of absolute intimacy...body messages of a subtlety
and tenderness both exotically strange and deliciously familiar. Deep within, a point of heat
in my groin slowly but powerfully and inevitably radiated throughout my body until every
cell became a sun emanating its own life-giving fire. My body was an energy field, a set of
vibrations with each cell pulsing in phase with every other. And Billy, whose cells now danced
the same tune, was no longer a discrete entity but a resonating part of the single set of
vibrations. The energy was love."

edensgray (2009-04-17 13:51:52)

Amazing.

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 turboswami (2009-04-17 18:09:28)
Yea, Watts is one of my favorites... His writing is so clear, lucid, and powerful. I had no idea he’d done
DMT though! What a trip. If you haven’t stumbled onto his psychedelic text, "The Joyous Cosmology:
Adventures in the Chemistry of Consciousness," lemme know. I’ll send you a copy. : ) It resonated
much more meaningfully to me than even Huxley’s Doors... His family recently saw that all of his
books were reprinted...EXCEPT that one! They don’t want their dad to be associated with those
damned, dirty Harvard hippies! Haha.

edensgray (2009-04-17 19:43:23) :)

I’ve never heard of Watts so I have not had the opportunity to study/read his works. That’s very nice
of you to offer a copy - I would certainly appreciate it. I began to watch the video on Watts (you have
somewhere in this journal) but time ran out.

edensgray (2009-04-17 19:44:13) Re: :)

Oh and I’ve never heard of DMT...either. blah

turboswami (2009-04-17 19:12:07)

It struck me, therefore, that if any of the psychedelic chemicals would in fact predispose my con-
sciousness to the mystical experience, I could use them as instruments for studying and describing
that experience as one uses a microscope for bacteriology, even though the microscope is an
"artificial" and "unnatural" contrivance which might be said to quot;distort" the vision of the naked
eye. However, when I was first invited to test the mystical qualities of LSD-25 by Dr. Keith Ditman of
the Neuropsychiatric Clinic at UCLA Medical School, I was unwilling to believe that any mere chemical
could induce a genuine mystical experience. At most, it might bring about a state of spiritual insight
analogous to swimming with water wings. Indeed, my first experiment with LSD-25 was not mystical.
It was an intensely interesting aesthetic and intellectual experience that challenged my powers of
analysis and careful description to the utmost. Some months later, in 1959, I tried LSD-25 again with
Drs. Sterling Bunnell and Michael Agron, who were then associated with the Langley-Porter Clinic, in
San Francisco. In the course of two experiments I was amazed and somewhat embarrassed to find
myself going through states of consciousness that corresponded precisely with every description of
major mystical experiences that I had ever read. (2) Furthermore, they exceeded both in depth and
in a peculiar quality of unexpectedness the three "natural and spontaneous" experiences of this kind
that had happened to me in previous years.

2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Conference (2009-04-18 01:33) - pub-

lic

Music: Pimsleur - Learn Spanish, Part 1

Kaleb Smith was born in Northern Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and raised deep in the forests
of that region. As a child he struggled to understand the out-of-body experiences and spiritual
interactions which often occurred to him, as to his mother and maternal grandmother before
him. It was not until years later that Smith learned that this sensitivity to spirit was part of his
family history - his grandmother’s grandmother was the village healer in the old country; the
Lapplands of Finland. By communing with spirits, it was said that she could heal the sick and
foretell future events. Other traditional Finnish healing techniques, such as sauna purification,
928
 Sámi spellcraft, and bloodcupping rituals, have become of special interest to Smith as he
seeks to integrate his spiritual heritage into a modern Western context.

Smith is currently conducting consciousness research at the Institute of Transpersonal

Psychology’s William James Center and Stanford University’s Department of Psychology. The
former of these research studies investigates the perceptual anomalies of the hypnagogic
state. By analyzing associated electroencephalographic data, the goal is to show that
transitory perceptions are bound within specific brainwave bandwidths, with the intention of
developing a more precise definition of the relationship between consciousness and the
brainwave medium. In an upcoming pilot study, Smith intends to find if the altered state of
consciousness commonly known as the "Out-of-Body Experience" (OBE) can be induced by
way of hypnotic trance, and if those perceptions can subsequently be verified using Dr.
Charles Tart’s classic five-digit random number protocol.

Smith’s previous research has investigated the physiological and encephalographic changes
which occur to subjects during states of supposed spiritual mediumship. He has extensively
studied and proposed theories describing aspects of the out-of-body experience, the
electronic voice phenomenon, subconscious attention, binaural brainwave entrainment,
non-ordinary states of consciousness, and their relationship to shamanic trance.

Iquitos, Peruvian Amazon

Copied from:
http://www.soga-del-alma.org/conferencesite.html

turboswami (2009-04-18 06:00:36)

[0004.jpg] [water17.jpg]

edensgray (2009-04-18 14:27:04)

In an upcoming pilot study, Smith intends to find if the altered state of consciousness commonly
known as the "Out-of-Body Experience" (OBE) can be induced by way of hypnotic trance, and if those
perceptions can subsequently be verified using Dr. Charles Tart’s classic five-digit random number
protocol. okay, first if all...that’s really a great biography. not the section i quoted but the entire
thing. have you started your study? i don’t know if it was my superconscious or guided from "the
upper world" but the other day a part of me said it could be done. i’m curious, however, if the
hypnotic trance is related to meditation? a lil’ story: when i was 16, i made it a point to meditate
every day at the same time in order to induce an OBE. at one point, i felt lighter and tingly and my
consciousness believed i had actually risen more than 12 in. off the ground. i lived in apartment
complex and because of this there was always a lot of background noise and this day it was boys
playing basketball. i remember being able to hear the expansion of air inside the ball as if it was by
my ear. it eventually faded but it lulled me as i kept rising very slowly. then i felt fear, i lost it, and the
ball hitting the ground came back so loudly that synchronously "my spirit" hit my body (or my body
felt to the ground - dunno)and left me feeling pretty disturbed. I gave up trying after that. i don’t
know if this tidbit is helpful...just thought i’d put it out there. i’m very curious about this conference.
it’d be a huge leap for me to attend, especially on my own...but i’m considering it. although, the
economy has affected me significantly so...this idea may be too far fetched, even for a dreamer like me.

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(2009-04-18 23:10) - public

With enough hard work and dedication, you too can become your own Grandpa!

turboswami (2009-04-19 03:11:17)

First you would have to marry a widow who has a grown up daughter. Your father then marries the
daughter, which makes your dad your son-in-law. Then your daughter is your mother because she is
your father’s wife. Then you and your wife, the widow, have a son, who then becames a brother-in-law
to Dad, and so becomes your uncle. That means that if he is your uncle, then that also made him
brother of the widow’s grown-up daughter who is also your stepmother. Then Father’s wife has a
son who therefore becomes your grandchild, for he is your daughter’s son. Your wife is now your
mother’s mother and althogh she is your wife, she’s your grandmother too. So if your wife is your grand-
mother, then you are her grandchild. And as husband of your grandmother, you are your own grandpa.

(2009-04-18 23:12) - public

If Jesus is inside me, I hope he likes fajitas ’cause that’s what he’s getting!

edensgray (2009-04-19 19:05:37)

that’s funny - thanks for the smile

(2009-04-18 23:38) - public

The Labyrinth of Tunnels Burning (2009-04-19 01:50) - public

Awe-men Some,
Sons of Om and Ahm end.
Stories of strobic patterns of light,
and the doorways inbetween flashes.

Straw men burn within,

their billowy remnants flowing out.
Stores of winning stories flare up spirals,
through tunnels course flooded with purifying flame.

930
Scrawl cross a dried mudbed, the tendons stretch and ligaments prod.
Like chicken bone pillars in line,
enclosing the extending edges of a darkened tunnel’s blind corner.
Nothing seen beyond.

Wardens coil slowly, inspecting the damage to their defenses.

Extensive.
A loyal fire marshal swings in to lay down rules.
I need to bring the rules through for him.

Slobbering body hounds sleep slow and wake sullen,

To search and dig on leashed regrets
through charred remnants of winners.

(2009-04-19 02:32) - public

I later follow strong strains down their elastic release,

slung long from the breaking point,
back deep from the expansive stretch of a tensely-tightened vice.
Careening side long like a skipping stone across sickness.

Veritable trading camp devoid of Tolstoy birthright-inspired nuance,

"In my old life, I speak from the heart.
Melancholic tumors and their down-gazed options.
Her face a pallette of blacks and blues,
darkened slowly over time from budding red smiles.

Past ripe, fat and heavy for her fall.

Try to sleep into it, try to sleep all awake.

Sleep solid and above, a climb out through the sheet.
The mine our team mattered buy a long white house rounded.
a subterr-scan distain-ian street lined in shimmering victorian.

I lower a thrown crown since he flowed through,

a glass jar professed that I’d captured nothing but an image.
An appearance, a surface of white fading enclosed brittle and sharp.
The light of true depth melts even brittle glass,
softening the scalpel of analysis, and its razor discernment into sides.

edensgray (2009-04-19 19:13:26)

i have to say that...just as my partner doesn’t understand my poetry...i am having difficulty, with quite
shame, dechiphering yours. :(

turboswami (2009-04-20 00:59:32)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schizophasia : )

931
(2009-04-19 04:42) - public

The residual self, or subtle body, and the physical body can separate spontaneously or with
force of directed will. There are many techniques of exiting one’s body, and the development
and effectiveness of each is very personalized. Yet, it seems with each, there is a certain
strengthening of the ability to exit, much like the strengthening of a muscle with continued
exercise.

Other details of the out-of-body experience appear, by report, to be subject to individualized

factors. The experiences of rate of exit, immediacy of location, and nature of perception, can
differ greatly from one person to another. This personalized aspect can be defined as a point
on a range of differentiation, a spectrum of genetic and environmental factors which define
one’s degree of energetic sensitivity, intensity of attention, and attachment to the physical
body.

Rate of Exit

Immediacy of Location

Nature of Perception
The separation of the residual self from the physical body can be a (in the bedroom or in some
non-physical place,)

ANOTHER BED (2009-04-20 00:24) - public

another bed
another women

more curtains
another bathroom
another kitchen

other eyes
other hair
other
feet and toes.

everybodys looking.
the eternal search.

you stay in bed

she gets dressed for work
and you wonder what happened
to the last one
and the one after that...
932
it’s all so comfortable-
this love making
this sleeping together
the gentle kindness...

after she leaves you get up and use her

bathroom,

it’s all so intimate and strange.

you go back to bed and
sleep another hour.

when you leave its with sadness

but you’ll se her again
whether it works or not.
you drive down to the shore and sit
in your car. it’s almost noon.

-another bed, other ears, other

ear rings, other mouths, other slippers, other
dresses

colors, doors, phone numbers.

you were once strong enough to live alone.

for a man nearing sixty you should be more
sensible.

you start the car and shift,

thinking, I’ll phone Jeanie when I get in,
I haven’t seen her since Friday.

turboswami (2009-04-20 04:25:21)

-Charles Bukowski

In Heaven, Everything Is Fine... (2009-04-22 03:34) - public

I recall a tunnel of ribbed light which me and other spirits descended floating slowly down.
Above I saw hundreds of others, some moving upwards, others downwards along this beau-
tiful vibrant tunnel. Looking upwards still, from above there fell clumps of light brown hair –
someone up there, I realized, was dreaming of a haircut. I could just barely see him. Incredible.

Arriving at a large cavernous room of several floors, I could see so many spirits conven-
ing; each seeming to belong with their own on their level, their specific floor. I could float
upwards as I wished to any floor, as there were no walls or railings. I stayed near the bottom
floor.

933
I spoke with a male spirit, another soon joined. He seemed to know me, and was im-
pressed that I had made it. Apparently sleepers are a rare occurrence in this place. He began
to explain the nature of the afterlife to me. He pointed across to an older woman, 20 yards
away near the wall. She was so light and distant, not walking with feet like us, but floating in
a white wispy gown that seemed to dissolve into the air behind her.

My friend explained that she was one of the "old dead." Over time, he said, the identity,
body, and personality begin to lose their concrete contained nature, as the ego disperses into
its surroundings. As he told me, it snapped perfectly in an "Of course!" feeling – a feeling of
suddenly remembering something I once knew.

I was lucid and began to experiment with my powers in this incredible spiritual meeting
place. Putting both hands out in front of my body, I strained trying to manifest an object. This
intense show of intention quickly attracted attention. Just then popped up a big red cartoonish
strawberry a bit larger than a bowling ball, as well as a few random one-digit numbers on little
square buttons, like an old push button telephone.

"Woww!" exclaimed my several in the slowly growing crowd, about 5 people.

Picking up the strawberry, I decided to make it grow. Slowly directing my intention, and
expanding my hands outwards, the big pacman strawberry grew with my hands until it was a
bit smaller than a medicine ball.

"Ahh!! Wow! Look!" these spirits seemed amazed by my ability to create objects in this
lucid state. I seemed confused that they could not do it themselves – since this is THEIR home,
not mine!

I felt the pressure of their attention and extended my hands out again, straining to per-
form the spontaneous generation feat once more.

...nothing.

I began pushing even harder, my tightened fingers half gnarled as I grit my teeth trying
to manifest another object for the watchers.

...nothing.

They began to laugh lightheartedly at my trouble. I smiled and was pleased with the
positive energy of the crowd. There was no embarrassment, I was childlike.

My friend and the other male brought me to an area past and to the right of where the
old woman had been floating. This area was a recreational space. They showed me how to
walk on the walls, there was a machine involved, but the main challenge was a mental one –
to be able to quickly align one’s self sideways and "think" into orientation that new floor. It
was so much fun, especially seeing my friend walking on MY wall, that which WAS my floor.
Everyone was smiling, and the machine would turn the room again. I had trouble keeping up,
but it was ok to fall and slide. That was part of the fun...
[1]

934
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000prpz/

(2009-04-23 02:03) - public

Hey Energetic Score Card,

I’m sick of these people telling their special stories, provingly. I am sick of waiting for my turn
to tell my special stories.

Scramble wild fanny packer, thrash and clutch in fear and jealousy. I will do the same
on my side, storing my tension away in night strangers.

I have trouble visualizing sandy beaches, let alone us together. As much as I’d love to
see it, my straining won’t make us fit together. Mother Nature has decided I am fat.

Which is the uglier sin, Gluttony or Sloth?

Which one is more fulfilling to live in?
I think a highly-active and ambitious glutton is a rare and beautiful thing.
935
An accomplishment glutton, a workoholic go-getter with an appetite for success.
...and cake.

edensgray (2009-04-23 07:20:29)

Curious...the spark?

turboswami (2009-04-23 09:27:35)

The Spark? Oh, I had a pint of Spaten after I met with my Shaman tonight. To think of what I would
have written had I let that Mexican guy buy me that 2nd pint! Damn...come to think of it, why didnt
I write about meeting with a Shaman, or listening to an Old Mexican man talk about the goiters his
grandmother used to rub with sugar.

edensgray (2009-04-23 13:42:25)

Haha...well...this one wasn’t as painstakingly exquisite as your word salad! Though, I had a few
words to look-up within your reply! Spaten, goiters...you learn something new every day. Thanks!
Side note: I remember a few ’natural or home made’ remedies my grandma used on me! Oye! Oh
hey, one of your post noted you were learning spanish. Did you practice?

Each Member of A Time (2009-04-26 00:27) - public

There’s a cabin far up, my family’s cabin.

I went there once in a dream.
I was allowed to come inside, to where the old ones gathered,
Watching through the window those there living, out in the sun.

I had not met so many of them, yet I knew them well, from before.
And they knew Me.
Some greater me, some Me from before this small life
and its small, insignificant memories.

It is dark inside, a theater lit only by the sunlit yard.

The darkness making for a one way mirror,
where we could watch, but those busy outside see us only through themselves.
A faint and distant second image behind their own eye.

I am at home here.
I am welcome and warm with these loved ones.
But I must go back outside now...

The Alternative Sickness (2009-04-26 00:55) - public

I am sick.
I am sick a deep sickness beneath,
A sickness many will never feel.
I am sick there, beneath the body.
I am a child, stomach torn by a claw.
936
I am cursed through a family,
a spell spun on a long genetic strand.
In can’t ed, the downward tug of an inner weight.
I am heavily bleeding, I cannot cross the river.

Across the river, the long current which flows between,

there are men and beasts that cheer and prowl.
Stalk or celebrate, fend or set the bait.
They cross and tend softly to my needs in the night.

I am my family,
I am my mother’s angry gaze.
Her critical eye is my own sword, cutting in and out.

I am afraid,
of all the women she is.
I am angry,
I resent women.
I want to hold a woman again.
I hate.
I am open armed beneath that hate.

I am a softie.
I am a soft one sensitive and girly.
I am a womanly man with a booming voice to wield and carry in front of me.
I was once wildly soft.

I am a thousand voices, 3 for any mood or set of the sun and stars.
I know a voice thats so quiet and honest, it could whisp you away, inwards.
I know a voice that could crawl up your spine and grab you suddenly aware in bed.
I can grab your sudden awareness, I can cut you open with a scalpels voice.
With precision I can cut, I can stab,

I am stabbing myself again and again in the stomach,

I must dismember myself completely,
I must die and reawaken completely.
I must be born into the knowledge of death in this life.

I feel the claw, I am a beast’s soul taking hold.

(My right hand twitches at the elbow,
the fingers gnarled sharp over the keys for a brief second)
I am made strong by his torture below.
His sharp gnawing claw my test to overcome.

I have been torn.

I must not retreat from the wound.
I must dive within it, and let it take me.
I am called to live within or die trying.

937
Non-Christian Group Therapies: Respecting Traditional Hindu Religious Prac-
tice (2009-04-26 01:45) - public

Psychiatrists should be the next doctors with the ability to give Medical Marijuana Cards. To
dispense them to whole psychiatric therapy group’s for meditative therapy sessions. That’s
essentially a prescription granted for aid in Spiritual Practice, not for the treatment of an
illness. It is not much of a jump to say each Group Therapy session would begin with a prayer.
Many of the AA Group Meetings already do this.

If that prayer ritual was made in the Hindu tradition instead of the Christian, for instance, we
would invite spirits into the room from the four corners, to be with us during a ritual involving
Soma (marijuana.) Mediumship or "divine inspiration" would be a central aspect in therapy
tailored to practicing members of this differing but equally (if not more) valid religious tradition.
In terms of therapy, it would seem the Hindu religious tradition would lend itself more easily
to group work of this meditative type.

–
Corona is Latin for crown.
Worn by a king, around the head of God.

What I need to do is to fucking stop bragging and ask "How are you?" and mean it.
I need to ask soft and slow, in a voice representative of the word’s meaning and importance.

Possible Dissertation Topic? (2009-04-26 04:01) - public

Transpersonal Evolution Theory

Transpersonal Evolution, or Intrinsic Intelligence Theory, would draw out an evolutionary

design framework which would interpret the change of a species as developing along organi-
zational scales. This sudden shift across the boundary between competitive and communal
survival schemas, from solitary "unicellular" to social "multicellular" civilization. A city is
composed in a way identical a simple multicellular organisms, with the assignment of specific
social roles into the employment of specialized organs with tissues designed to fulfill those
most central and universal biological tasks. Waste removal, defense, energy dispersal,
nutrition dispersal, combustion, communication, disease control (integration or destruction of
agents from foreign systems,) perception and its collected memory, etc, are each a universal
biological task, present in our cities as equally as in our body, as equally as in an individual
cell of that body.

A view of evolution that incorporates bound scales of organization implies a higher level
of conscious perception beyond that of self, the extension of self into the society of which it
composes. (Trans Personal)
938
(2009-04-26 05:55) - public

We did not come INTO the world, we came OUT of it!

So any intelligence we have is OF the world.
That is, we are a composition of our surroundings.
Consciousness is a MEDIUM, not a message.

edensgray (2009-04-27 17:16:25)

a channel...that’s great.

(2009-04-26 05:56) - public

Man, I love the stuff these Frenchies are doing!

SebastiAn is my new favorite. The Steak soundtrack with Mr. Oizo is like some kind of
neon 70’s skatepark wetdream.

Ahem...Frenchies.

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _38

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _38

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2638%26%26%26youtube%26
gnhiAmDBWmw%3A6ebdb0a6e3afa125c5f4e2262c565476f12233be
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2638%26%26%26youtube%26
gnhiAmDBWmw%3A6ebdb0a6e3afa125c5f4e2262c565476f12233be

FOUND In Computer Lab: The Magic of Ctrl-V (2009-04-27 04:34) - friends

Dearest Sam,
In light of our wonderful hook-up, and more recent break up, I
decided to write to you to tell you about those things that I
appreciate about you that we shared together. I had written another
letter, one in which I express my grief, anger and sadness over your
decision to end our relationship. However, I decided that instead of
arguing with you over some of what you may not want to hear, it is
best left for another time when you and I are ready to delve into such
939
things. Therefore, I choose on this occasion to say only the positive
things.
I want to say first that despite the fact that I had been in
polyamorous relationships before, and am a relentless flirt, I was
very happy being with you, and just you. I found myself not craving
anyone else. I experienced you as fun, intelligent, multifaceted, and
very present with me. I did not feel the need for anyone else, as you
met my needs very well, and exceeded many expectations. I looked
forward to our daily interaction, even if it was just a cheesy text
message. I knew that when we spoke, you would be able to understand
what I was talking about, and where I was coming from. I suppose being
the son of psychiatrists would yield some well developed understanding
of human nature. I also liked that you were up to speed on politics
and international affairs; it was very refreshing to have someone to
talk to that was well informed. I also liked that you were so
knowledgeable on many subjects; I didn’t necessarily like being
lectured at, but I knew you were a very smart man with more stored in
his brain than most people (I’m sure you’re smirking at that).
I loved all the little jokes that we had between us, and all the
little games we played. I enjoyed walking my fingers up your body,
especially when you were next to me in bed, and would just start to
doze off. I liked trying to tickle you in ways that you enjoyed. I
really liked biting you, and running my hands and tongue all over,
especially on your neck and chest. i also like to bite the back of
your shoulders when we were spooning, which I loved doing. I loved how
soft your skin was, I especially liked to outline the shape of your
upper arms with my fingers.
I liked lying on top of you, whether you were facing me or lying on
your stomach. I sometimes liked to think in that position you were my
captive, a willing one, but a captive nevertheless, and I could have
my way with you (now I am smirking). I also very much enjoyed having
you on top of me, in all kinds of contexts. I did not have vaginal
orgasms until I took you as a lover, and it was such ecstasy. When we
made love I would typically climax twice. You made me very happy. On
one occasion I swear the Goddesss was telling me that this would help
me reach the Divine. I appreciated the different ways that you would
stimulate me, biting my breasts, licking my neck. When you came to see
me after Burning Man and went down on me for the first time in my own
bed, I had a half-hour long orgasm. I remember after one of our
lovemaking sessions I ended up lying on the floor! It was so intense
with you sometimes; I suppose that is what happens when you bring two
intense people together: hot damn! I enjoyed all the exploration we
did together, trying different positions, being in hot tubs, in the
shower (I remember your eyes rolling back one time when I gave you a
hand job), all over Burning Man, on the floor, covered in frosting,
eating truffles off of each other, with handcuffs on, or mask on, or
stroking one another with feathers, or using the vibrating-bullet
ducky (that was awesome). I loved putting my mouth on you too, you
tasted like olive oil, and I loved stimulating you with my hands, lips
and tongue. I liked having you as a toy or joystick; you were so much
940
fun to mess with. And we would make quite the mess often. It was soooo
delicious.
I enjoying having someone to wear lingerie for, and thought it was
funny how distasteful you found my wearing a robe, "my frock" as you
called it. I had fun modeling my underwear for you, even if it was
string-like. I liked that you had a sense of color in your wardrobe,
and that you appreciated my fashion sense and savvy. I loved taking
your clothes off of you, one thing at a time, building anticipation. I
love how we snuggled so much. We held each other after waking up,
often before going to bed, and on the couch with my legs over your
lap. I enjoyed movies all the more with you next to me (even if it was
something animated that you wanted to see), wrapping what parts of
ourselves around each other we could in a sitting position. I liked
reading to you also, I’m glad you have a taste for Isabel Allende.
Sleeping next to you was wonderful; though it disturbed your sleep to
share a bed, and I was losing sleep from it as well, it was worthwhile
to have someone warm and soft next to me. I did not even mind so much
being woken up really early, it was the best reason to wake up in the
morning, to make love. I imagined us as flowering vines or a giant
pretzel when we would lie together, entwined. I loved your body, just
as it was, without your need to be more toned or thicker, or more
muscular, or more anything; I loved being with you, and being intimate
with you just as you were.
There was such safely and comfort to be with you. At moments when
my fears would come up, you would stay with me, be very present, and
were strong and nurturing. You are the first to be strong enough to be
with me like that as far as lovers go. I liked having my strength and
nurturing mirrored back from you; in my past I have typically been the
strong one, and it was nice to have someone be strong for me for a
change. I saw us both go into much of our wounding, and hold each
other through it. I would like to believe that we were able to heal a
lot of what we previously held, especially around intimacy. I know
that I have let a lot of things go after being with you, and am
stronger and softer because of it.
I appreciated how you would humor me and play along when I acted
like a little girl, or a diva, or a brat (as you called me when I
would entice you then turn away and not let you kiss me). I
appreciated that as our both being multifaceted people, that you were
able to hold so many parts of me, that we could be intellectuals
together, children being silly together, or lovers in a passionate
embrace. We could cook together, which I have rarely done with others,
as I like to rule my kitchen. I hope you feel special that I let you
in there, I’m more selective about that than about my bedroom, well,
just as selective I would say. I like how well and how clearly you
communicate; we had only a few spats, and were always able to talk
things through afterward.
I enjoyed lathering you in soap, and giving you excuses to stay in
the shower longer. I thought it was hilarious that you would sing
"rubber ducky" when we were in there, it temped me to get a rubber
ducky just so I could make it squeak along while you sang. I like that
941
we both had preferences for techno music, and Sade. I told my sex and
music study professor that we had volunteered for to add Sade to her
mix (she told me that the first CD we used had nothing unusual on it,
but the second one had stuff added to stimulate beta waves and theta
waves). We both love chocolate, and coconuts, and things South Asian
wink*. You are the first person I have done a lap-dance or striptease
for, it was so much fun to do, picking a song, doing a short
rehearsal, going through Victoria’s Secret’s finest as an outfit, then
covering it with a dress just to fling it on the floor in the first
sixty seconds of my performance; it was entertaining for you and I
both.
I love how you made me laugh. We both are pretty dorky, and we
found companionship in the combined dorkiness. It was so fun for me to
have silly jokes about our having the same writing minor, as we would
remind each other if one of us said something grammatically incorrect.
I would tease you, and you would try to pull my hair, or I would laugh
at you in bed at something I thought was funny, but you didn’t crumble
at being made fun of, you would laugh with me. I would tell you that
you were being an ass when you annoyed me, and you would always reply
that you had a cute ass! I enjoyed laughing with you at both of us. I
don’t think that I have laughed with anyone as much as I have laughed
with you. You have such a loud, distinctive laugh. It was great that I
could talk about superheroes and sci-fi with you, and you would talk
about "Legend of Zelda" (they have a t-shirt for it at Hot Topic, you
could find it online). I remember one night after making love you were
telling about a game with a character named Persephone; I felt so
comfortable and happy that I fell asleep on your chest, listening to
your heartbeat. I appreciated that we could both be so vulnerable as
to do hold each other so tenderly.
We had so much intimacy between us, sharing stories, jokes,
laughter, ambition, food, passion, sex, and wounding. I have not
stared into any one’s eyes as much as I have yours. I liked seeing the
reflection of my own playfulness, warmth, and joy that I felt at the
time. I loved kissing you, your lips were always soft and lusciously
full, I loved doing all kinds of things while kissing you. Or that we
nuzzled noses a lot. And we could talk to each other in baby voices;
strangely, that is part of true intimacy. You stepped up to be helpful
when I was sick, and you did adjustments on me, and rubbed out scar
tissue as I squirmed beneath you. After my "I’m not June Cleaver"
speech you were especially helpful around the apartment, and it made
things easier for me domestically. I really enjoyed your making
breakfast for us. I don’t think it is likely that I will encounter
anyone else who throws just about everything into omelettes! I
appreciate all of these things.
It was impressive to me that you changed your travel plans to see
me perform at my school talent show. I enjoyed showing off pictures of
you at my high school reunion. I was happy that you came to see me at
Pantheacon, even though you were tired. On my birthday you dressed up
as Steven Speilberg, even though that wasn’t your first choice. For
the first time I had a boyfriend at my birthday. And I had a real date
942
for Valentine’s Day, and had a rocking good time with you! I loved the
corsage, and found it interesting that you chose an orchid, which is
sacred flower representing the perfect lover. I loved wearing a red
dress, and going out, showing off, and having you undress me
afterward. We always had so much fun. I appreciated having you around
for special occasions, let alone that your being here made everything
special. I loved having someone to cook for; I would bookmark pages
and pages of all the cookbooks to make new things for you. i loved
finding excuses to surprise you, whether it was with small gifts, or
new ideas of things for us to do together, a new place to venture to,
or some recipe I wanted to try. I loved having someone to walk down
the street with holding my hand; our hands wee nearly the same size,
and good fit. Our relationship was numerous occasions of "first time"
for both of us in so many ways.
I appreciate that we had an unspoken understanding between us, that
we seemed to understand each other, and care for each other. When I
first met you at Burning Man and you hugged me, I felt something very
warm and safe about you instantly, and snuggled in, having an
intuitive knowing that you and I had something profound and unique
together. I’m not sure on what basis Costco Soulmate Trading Co.
decided to put us together, but I am glad that they did. For the
greater part of our relationship, I felt that you treated like a
queen, which is how I think I ought to be treated, but apperently, so
did you! I hope that you felt honored, desired, and nurtured while you
were with me, because that is how I wanted you to feel, for that is
how I wanted to treat you. After this, I will never look at a cupcake
the same way.
You made my life brighter and more pleasurable for the time that we
were together. I will always cherish what we shared. The necklace you
gave me sits on my altar, until I am ready to wear it again. To me
soulmates are people that come into our life that we have a special
and meaningful connection with, and that is how I think of you. I
believe that we were able to really see each other, hold each other,
and grow a lot from what we shared together. Samsara means full
circle; maybe Sam-Sarah had some karma to work through. I hope that we
broke whatever it was we were brought together to work through.
Dearest Sam, you were a wonderful friend, and an amazing lover.
I’m very proud to have been your first girlfriend, and I know that you
and the experiences we shared will always be with me. I pray that we
both go on to become wildly successful, and help to make the world a
better place. I hope you find what you are looking for.

In bittersweet-ness and gratitude,

Sarah Astarte

edensgray (2009-04-27 17:14:30)

If everyone could love and let go that easily...

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 turboswami (2009-04-28 04:44:34)
I wanna find out who Sam is – is he really a rich son of psychiatrists who had never had a girlfriend
before?

the2minh8 (2009-04-27 18:40:19)

Did you really find this on the clipboard of some lab computer? Unbelievably personal stuff, ha!

turboswami (2009-04-28 04:43:45)

Yes. I think I passed the girl who wrote it as I walked through the door to the lab. She was a heavyset
Indian girl who likes to belly dance and talks a lot about sex and The Divine Goddess.

the2minh8 (2009-04-28 12:01:02)

I think you have all you need in order to woo her. You could recreate all these colorful sequences
and convince her that the two of you are soul mates. But seriously, this cannot be a "true story." It
must be her attempt at the prologue to a trashy novel.

edensgray (2009-04-28 13:57:04)

Ha, ha In retrospect, I have to agree. It seems to me a bit fantasy. I’d be very impressed, as a
woman, to experience what she has claimed as a first lover. Not that it’s not possible...just a little
over the top, but hey...whose to know. And by the way, I’ll be very cautious about what I’m copying
and pasting this point forward but I might consider this tactic...hehehe :D

turboswami (2009-05-15 09:27:34)

I totally found her: http://people.tribe.net/9d1d63b6-b34d-49dd-8606-7a089b6a052a She is kinda
cute. I remember she did some belly dancing/hula hoop thing for the talent show.

edensgray (2009-05-15 13:33:54)

hahaha....bloodmoon crabs! her dance stuff looks like something I’d like to see - entertain-
ing for sure!!! I like her photo album - great costumes and I agree she’s very pretty. It’s odd
to put a face to the words, though. Did you find out if Sam is the naive son of psychiatrist?Hmmmm

Being Realistic About Jokes (2009-04-28 02:19) - public

A man walks into a bar.

He is an alcoholic whose drinking problem is destroying his family.

What’s worse then finding a worm in your apple?

The Holocaust.

Meditative Preinclination And Religious Belief (2009-04-28 16:28) - public

Meditation , I learn more and more, is a practice which can be interpreted very broadly. Any
activity, it seems, can be called “meditation” – it seems the state is defined, not by that
944
activity, itself, but by the state of mind one maintains while performing that activity. So
walking or sweeping, for instance, may look identical while being performed by a both a bus
driver and a Zen monk, yet one instance represents meditation while the other is merely
the act of sweeping. This elusive frame of mind or transcendental focus held by that Zen
monk during the seemingly mundane act of sweeping has many implications. One implication
being that meditation has no universally representative appearance of physical pose – the
stereotypical Indian-style appearance many associate with meditative practice, while may
lending to the effectiveness of meditative practice, is not necessary to achieve the state
and, on the flip side, holding those often painful physical poses does not guarantee that an
individual is meditating. (Indeed, as gamma brainwave studies of Buddhist monks showed,
many individuals continue holding these elaborate body postures for years without achieving
meaningful states of deep meditation.)

Another implication of the sweeping monk’s meditative internal state is the profound in-
fluence of an individual’s perception of the world and their activities in it. The state of
mind with which a person interacts and with the external, or accesses the internal, is very
personalized and, to one degree or another, genetically predetermined. While that word
“genetic” has drifted to the verge of being as politically incorrect as the word “race” in modern
socially-accepted dialogue, it is safe to assert that one’s temperament, frame of mind, and
behavioral inclinations are, to some degree, genetically defined. With this in mind, one could
imagine specific frames of mind, like meditation, could be subject to the influence of one’s
natural affinity. Certain families as well as certain ethnic groups are traditionally known to
be quieter, calmer, and more reserved than others. While identifying these ethnic groups
specifically treads along dangerous ground, politically, I don’t feel that, as scientists of mind,
that we should be afraid of addressing the topic of diversity from this cognitive perspective.

Non-Christian Group Therapies: Respecting Traditional Hindu Religious Practice

Psychiatrists should be the next doctors with the ability to give Medical Marijuana Cards.
To dispense them to whole psychiatric therapy group’s for meditative therapy sessions. That’s
essentially a prescription granted for aid in Spiritual Practice, not for the treatment of an
illness. It is not much of a jump to say each Group Therapy session would begin with a prayer.
Many of the AA Group Meetings already do this.
If that prayer ritual was made in the Hindu tradition instead of the Christian, for instance, we
would invite spirits into the room from the four corners, to be with us during a ritual involving
Soma (marijuana.) Mediumship or "divine inspiration" would be a central aspect in therapy
tailored to practicing members of this differing but equally (if not more) valid religious tradition.
In terms of therapy, it would seem the Hindu religious tradition would lend itself more easily
to group work of this meditative type.

I hope to explore the nature of meditative success, accounting for varying factors like
genetic affinity, preinclinations, meditation type, and the aid of mind manifesting sacra-
ments on aspects of self-focus, attention, and sensitivity: inward characteristics which seem
universally central to that frame of mind which defines the meditative state.

What A Funny Comedy Show Program! (2009-04-29 00:47) - public

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IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _39

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _39

14 years ago, I laughed.

At this show.
Hard.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2639%26%26%26youtube%26
ujIZdgrhuWA%3Aa4ed188627c792cf5694a87a7819c2fb455d1ac8
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2639%26%26%26youtube%26
ujIZdgrhuWA%3Aa4ed188627c792cf5694a87a7819c2fb455d1ac8

the2minh8 (2009-05-01 10:54:30)

You’re implying that it’s not funny anymore? You pineapple! You fuzzy cootie! You fudge-eating
nickelpicker!

Mario: Portrait of a Drug Fiend (2009-04-29 05:55) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _40

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _40

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2640%26%26%3A09d6fb3023
ec63e4b6012d51ff77e0c186f44e7f&moduleid=40&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2640%26%26%3A09d6fb3023
ec63e4b6012d51ff77e0c186f44e7f&moduleid=40&preview=&jo

edensgray (2009-04-29 23:42:49)

Mario: Say hi to your brother for me Wario: Fuck you! Hahahaha

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8.5 May

Rosenhan’s "Thud" Experiment (2009-05-01 06:45) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _41

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _41

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2641%26%26%26youtube%26
Kq-7uvVOoyk%3Af45390af9c189ada181a791cae96ed839dbd51cc
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2641%26%26%26youtube%26
Kq-7uvVOoyk%3Af45390af9c189ada181a791cae96ed839dbd51cc

edensgray (2009-05-01 13:19:03)

wowwww

Principles of Spiritual Interaction (2009-05-02 01:17) - public

A common belief in most cultures is that there exists a subtle non-physical personification
of self; a spirit. A quantitative study published in the American Journal of Psychiatry in 1988
showed that two out of three Americans had seen, spoken, or felt the presence of a deceased
loved one, often immediately following their physical death. If one adheres to the Consensus
Theory of Truth, that principle which defines the truth of a belief by how closely it approaches
being universally human, spiritual interaction suddenly becomes a centrally human truth - an
aspect of human understanding existing before recorded history, both developing with and
defining our civilization. When freed from the limiting confines of the Western cultural context,
non-scientific "Sciencism" and its obsessive materialism, we can view the whole of human
experience with a clearer lens; a perspective which acknowledges the legitimate aspects of
our non-material nature.

What are the principles of non-physical or energetic influence and which of that set could
be categorized as spiritual? The noting and organizing of instances into types of spiritual
interaction is something distinctly different from defining the more general principles or
fundamental assumptions which underlie those experiential categories. A principle of spiritual
interaction would clearly define not only the classes, but the fundamental essence of that
influence, apart from any singular cultural context or belief structure.

(Writing that was like fucking giving birth – painful and laborious.
I need to learn how to write. )
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edensgray (2009-05-05 22:18:50)
well written, however, i don’t feel you need to learn how to write as was an intense read and required
an equally intense focus (for me anyway) to understand it wholesome-ly.

Sedate Stuck-UP Year of Grace (2009-05-02 06:47) - public

webuser: State your case, fudge packer.

sternest: Sedate stuck-up year of grace.
webuser: Ouch. The truth hurts!
sternest: Hut hot cuter thrush.
webuser: What should I do?
sternest: Add loutish who.
webuser: No, are you sure that would be best?
sternest: Beauty! Obturate woundless hero.
webuser: What does obsturate mean?
sternest: Red-hot wombat nauseates.
webuser: Fuck. You are right. I do do that.
sternest: Okay horrific, outdated thug.
webuser: Yes, its true. But what is my best choice of action?
sternest: Fussy, tubbiest, meatiest worthy. Ciao! On hectic.
webuser: Haha. Yes, I am fat and worthy, but must say goodbye to the stresses I induce.
sternest: Beauty! Ho-hum! Daft, swarthy stamina. Bogey destroys so hesitates. Induce.

webuser: The bogey man is destroying me from the inside out, sapping my stamina.
Beauty doesn’t matter, induction does!

http://www.sternestmeanings.com/

turboswami (2009-05-02 10:52:34)

webuser: Scram! I hate truth! sternest: The smart haircut. webuser: Tell me something I don’t know.
sternest: Little-known hedonism to gem. webuser: Are you sure? sternest: Use rare you.

edensgray (2009-05-02 21:00:54)

thanks for the web link. i had a very entertaining chat with Sternest.

edensgray (2009-05-05 22:27:37)

addition to your collection: webuser: what’s up dude? sternest: Shut Up! Waded. webuser: Ah come
one now, was that neccessary...you must be flippin’ out today for sure sternest: Ace subhuman woman
to sweet tooth. Rainy day of spiteful necroscopy. Sure. webuser: Ha ha ha, yes spiteful indeed I agree
sternest: Headiest sleepyhead if I harangue. webuser: take the raincoat off, it will help, I promise
sternest: That whip-like, fornicate fellatio. Prime, so. webuser: No, no, I didn’t say I’d give you head
sternest: Hey! Good Day! It is avid innuendo. webuser: Look your head is in the gutter sternest:
Yo-ho-ho! Guiltiest undertaker. webuser: You can be so silly, I like it sternest: So lousy, nice likeability.
webuser: well, gotta bail now...nice chatting with ya sternest: Chewable, tattling glow inaction. Hay
wit.
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edensgray (2009-05-07 03:41:54) Easily amused and consumed...can you tell?
sternest: How’s it going? webuser: Just watching the playoffs sternest: Jet high-flown, fat pussy-cat.
webuser: just watching the playoffs sternest: Jet high-flown, fat pussy-cat. webuser: checking to see
if you’d say that over again sternest: Fancy toadyish, touchiest geek. Via an ogre. webuser: holy shit,
really? sternest: Sly or healthily. webuser: I would say sly and healthily but also feverishly sternest:
Suitably tally-ho idly. Unwashed. Yell of ravishes. webuser: Wow, you are deep sternest: Wood weepy
urea. webuser: urea...err...okay...if you really think that’s of the upmost importance sternest: Freakily
fiery hooky or au naturel. Amputees transmit hotchpot. webuser: Yeah Amputees can get freaky, eh?
sternest: Stupefy cheeky, eager anathema. webuser: hahaha, how did you know that - who leaked
my secret - george? sternest: What-ho! What-ho! Anyway ho-hum kiddo. Dear! Select geek ogre.
webuser: Okey, time to say ciao! sternest: I am Okay eye to stoic.

edensgray (2009-05-30 22:06:32) Collection #

sternest: Como esta? webuser: wow, you speak spanish?! sternest: Whoops! Away spunkies. we-
buser: I guess it’s just an introduction...you trying to be sly sternest: Not scattier, unstudious jingoist.
Obeyingly rusty way. webuser: jingoist...you are up for some variety sternest: Joy if uproarious
gemstone. I’ve arty. webuser: Arty...I’m feeling that way too sternest: Witty of hymeneal agitator.
webuser: no, really? why did you let her do that? sternest: Worthy, lionly, hot-headed adultery.
webuser: you never cease to amaze me sternest: Amaze acute venom eyesore. webuser: and confuse
me sternest: Deafen on scum. webuser: well if you lay down with the dogs.....they say sternest:
Woefully wealthy, toadyish win. Stodgy he. webuser: ahhh...i’ve got a headache that doesn’t flee with
rest, what’s your deal? sternest: Heigh-ho! Ha Ha! Not devastated cheat. Wrathful otherwise sedately.
webuser: sedately...good idea but i’ll take the heat - ciao!sternest: Beauty! Desolate toad-like delight.
Ciao! Hate.

edensgray (2009-06-12 04:41:15) Just another collection for your unvolunteered despository
sternest: Hallo! (Dutch greeting) webuser: hola, i thought i’d come by and see you today sternest:
Yo-ho-ho! Ambitiously huge decadent. Today. webuser: yes, there is a lot of that happening lately.
i’m surprise you can see that. sternest: Frighten healthy, passionate poet. Unmysteriously retaliates
cheap. webuser: you are like a fortune teller with my own words sternest: Eureka! Hollower, neater
futility. Wormy downs. webuser: wormy downs! haha, that’s fantastic. I’ve got the wormy downs.
sternest: Fat, swarthy, hot, Satanism cow hand. Void to newsworthy gem. webuser: disgusting!
you are a perverted bot, i say sternest: Besotted, ungregarious depravity. I say. webuser: do you
say? depraved, indeed. sternest: Everyday, pious, dead-end do.webuser: dead-end it is. i’m sleepy.
good-nite. sternest: Speedily demeaning to oddities.

When You Are Old (2009-05-03 07:08) - public

When you are old and gray and full of sleep

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
949
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

turboswami (2009-05-03 11:09:29)

-William Butler Yeats

America (2009-05-07 03:55) - public

America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.

America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good
looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back it’s sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I’m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I’m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial
for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid I’m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I’m perfectly right.
I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer.
950
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came
over from Russia.
I’m addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It’s always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious.
Movie producers are serious. Everybody’s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven’t got a chinaman’s chance.
I’d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that jetplanes 1400 miles an hour
and twentyfive-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underprivileged who live
in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I’m a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles
more so they’re all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings
they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and
the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about
the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing
the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real
mensch Mother Bloor the Silk-strikers’ Ewig-Weibliche made me cry
I once saw the Yiddish orator Israel Amter plain. Everybody must
have been a spy.
America you don’t really want to go to war.
America it’s them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia’s power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader’s Digest. Her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read. Him need big black
niggers. Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
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America is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job.
It’s true I don’t want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I’m nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

turboswami (2009-05-07 07:56:18)

-Allen Ginsberg

the2minh8 (2009-05-07 10:51:46)

Possibly my all-time favorite poem.

turboswami (2009-05-09 10:00:25)

Yea, multitudes better than Howl. And that’s considered his landmark poem. Phht.

the2minh8 (2009-05-09 15:58:49)

Howl is good, but I agree with you. I need to brush up on my Beats. I dig the heck out of those guys.

edensgray (2009-05-07 13:28:12)

great post

Considering The Prohibition on Spirituality (2009-05-15 04:10) - public

What governs the federal categorization of a religion as such?

What factors define a belief system as religious, what standards must be met?
Scientology is recognized as a legitimate religious system...
Can anybody just brew up a religious text in their basement and paint a sign for front door of
the new church, and then sign on the line to claim their tax exempt status?

Of the newer American churches, the Santo Daime and Uniao do Vegetal (UDV) are among
the more interesting in that they are permitted sacramental use of the hallucinogenic tea,
ayahuasca. Yet less traditional hallucinogenic substances, some man-made, induce similar
powerful spiritual experiences. How can the spiritual awareness or "opening" afforded by
these similar substances be made available to those with a genuine desire to access their
spiritual potential?

The Religious Freedom Restoration Act (42 U.S.C. § 2000bb, also known as RFRA) is
a 1993 United States federal law aimed at preventing laws which substantially burden a per-
son’s free exercise of their religion. The bill was introduced by Howard McKeon of California
and Dean Gallo of New Jersey on March 11, 1993.[1]

The law reinstated the Sherbert Test, mandating that strict scrutiny be used when deter-
mining if the Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution,
guaranteeing religious freedom, has been violated. In this, the court must first determine
whether the person has a claim involving a sincere religious belief, and whether the govern-
ment action is a substantial burden on the person’s ability to act on that belief; if these two
elements are established, then the government must prove that it is acting in furtherance of a
compelling state interest, and that it has pursued that interest in the manner least restrictive,
952
or least burdensome, to religion.

I would want to consult a lawyer who knows more about the details of the federal and
state regulations concern the recognition of a religion, and the legitimacy of its practice. I
would guess that an "offshoot" or branch of a religion already accepted or followed by the
majority, like Christianity, would have an easier time becoming federally recognized.

With the growing collection of scientific research showing the powerful consciousness-
expanding effects of substances like psilosibin, dimethaltryptamine, or LSD, I believe the
courts would be faced with an issue which expands beyond mere tradition, like the ayahuasca
cases, and approaches the core universals of the human experience of spirit. The evidence of
the worth of the sacrament, to both the sick and the healthy, would be shown in the statistical
analysis and affect scales. But the more overwhelming influence over the decision would come
from the case studies of the religion’s members - those personal descriptions and interviews
with those people whose lives were so profoundly changed. The stories of transformation, of
people deeply and forever changed for the better.

Tell A Story In 6 Words. (2009-05-16 09:14) - public

"For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn."

-Ernest Hemingway

1) Washed the blood, returned the dress.

2) Told her "This ain’t my home."
3)...?

turboswami (2009-05-16 13:22:53)

3)Last night will be forgotten, agreed?

Hypersensitivity, Creativity, and The Benefits of Schizophrenic Perceptions

(2009-05-16 21:33) - public

Research into neuronal activation patterns during instances of auditory hallucination has
yielded some fascinating insights into the mechanics of schizophrenia’s most prevalent symp-
tom. Using single photon emission computed tomography (SPECT), researchers McGuire, Shah,
and Murray (1993) were able to study the cerebral blood flow of men with schizophrenia during
their experience of an auditory hallucination. When these brain images were compared, side
by side, with images of the same subject during a hallucination-free period, the team found
that the part of the brain most active during hallucinations was the Broca’s area, an area of the
left hemisphere which is associated with the production of speech. This finding surprised many
researchers. Since hearing and comprehending a person’s voice is a social task which involves
the interpretation of language components, cognitive tasks delineated to the Wernicke’s area
953
of the brain, it was hypothesized that voice hallucinations would similarly register as activity
in this linguistic comprehension location. Yet, the fact that the Broca’s area was actively domi-
nant during the hallucinatory phenomenon suggests that the, like physical vocalization, these
unspoken inner vocalizations result from the conversion of thought into pre-speech. Yet, the
source of those thoughts, before conversion into language by the Broca’s area, is subject to
a multitude of factors; not only inner factors (ie: cognition, emotional activation, and state of
consciousness,) but a wide variance of potential external factors (ie: social, situational, and
environmental.) These external factors of perception must be “bracketed” before a single in-
ward source for the schizophrenic’s pre-semantic thoughts can be assumed. The complexity
of isolating this elusive “source” of the schizophrenic’s pre-Brocal thought is compounded by
the unique nature of the schizophrenic’s normal range of perception, which introduces the
influential factor of individual sensitivity.
The Transparent Door: Brilliance Shines Through
The heightened sensitivity of some schizophrenics to their environment, which is often de-
scribed by symptoms of hypervigilance or hypersensitivity , causes them to be easily over-
whelmed by external stimulus which, to another person, may seem quite unremarkable (Rob-
bins, 1993). Yet this increased sensitivity of the schizophrenic to his surroundings, this ability
to hear and see more than the typical person, has always been considered pathological; a
vulnerability of constitution inhibiting the patient’s ability to regulate the intensity of incoming
stimulus. Freud recognized this regulatory module in the perceptual chain and conceptualized
it as an innate stimulus barrier – a sort of filter designed to limit the “bandwidth” of all we see
and hear. More recently this perceptual filter has reappeared in the literature as a cognitive
function called latent inhibition (LI)
(Carlson, Higgins, & Peterson, 2003). Yet the function of these perceptual
filters was also described by the late philosopher and intellectual Aldous Huxley, who referred to
them, quite poetically, as “The Doors of Perception” in his book of the same name (1954). While
Huxley claimed the whole of one’s perception could be increased or expanded by the use of
mind-manifesting substances, in his case the ancient religious sacrament peyote (mescaline),
he also claimed that certain individuals were simply born with their innate stimulus barrier
more relaxed, their “door” slightly more open – letting more sensation in:
“What the rest of us see only under the influence of mescaline, the artist is congenitally
equipped to see all the time. His perception is not limited to what is biologically or socially
useful. A little of the knowledge belonging to Mind at Large oozes past the reducing valve of
brain and ego, into his consciousness. It is a knowledge of the intrinsic significance of every
existent” (Huxley, 1954, pp. 9-10)
Huxley’s assertion that artists “see more” of the world than the typical individual relates to
that commonplace belief that there exists an intimate relationship between visionary genius
and hallucinatory madness, the thin line which the rouge luminary is destined to walk. That
classic observation of the stereotypical eccentric, the socially-awkward composer, inventor, or
artist known for the fantastic products of his unusual mind. It is no surprise, then, that new
research in the field of creativity affirms this link between the schizophrenic’s perceptions and
his creative thinking (Foley & Park, 2005) – schizophrenics really do see more in the world.
These psychologists believe many of civilization’s most influential luminaries, Emily Dickin-
son, Vincent Van Gogh, Issac Newton, and Albert Einstein, lived and worked with symptoms of
schizotypal personality disorder. A deciding factor in their success was the ability to organize
their novel associations, allowing for the semantic coherence necessary to give that thought
expression. The tight coherent nature, and even elegance, of the great thinker Albert Einstein’s
954
expansive thought associations are what set his thinking apart from the symptomatically loose
associations of full-blown schizophrenics, like his son.
“...moderating factors may allow an individual to override a “deficit” in early selective atten-
tional processing with a high-functioning mechanism at a later, more controlled level of selec-
tive processing. The highly creative individual may be privileged to access a greater inventory
of unfiltered stimuli during early processing, thereby increasing the odds of original recombi-
nant ideation. Thus, a deficit that is generally associated with pathology may well impart a
creative advantage in the presence of other cognitive strengths such as high IQ”
(Carlson, Higgins, & Peterson, 2003).
During the early stages of schizophrenia, a period typically ranging from the early to mid-
twenties, individuals often describe profound sensations: spiritual awakening, deep mystical
insight, and similar peak religious experiences. These experiences coincide with the simultane-
ous lowering of latent inhibition: that personal perceptual doorway which, when opened, can
reveal the ecstatic oceanic beauty of the moment in all its transplendant brilliance.
Discussion: Reconsidering Anna
With this transpersonal perspective on schizophrenia, let’s revisit the case of Anna. With
the symptoms presented, she was, essentially, a textbook case of paranoid schizophrenia -
stamped with the name and numerical code of the disease, and all the social stigma that comes
with it. This label of severe mental illness surely had a profound impact on this otherwise highly-
intelligent, almost supernaturally-gifted individual, who described being connected to her sur-
roundings , having a direct relationship with spirit , and being “aware of things that other people
cannot see." These symptoms, admittedly unusual experiences, essentially sealed Anna’s fate
within a DSM category, as their extraordinary nature could only be described clinically, using
the diagnostic model, as delusion, illness, and hallucination. Anna’s highly sensitive percep-
tual ability was “treated away” using powerful tranquilizers, reducing this beautiful mind to,
essentially, a drooling, glaze-eyed shell of her former vibrant self - finally quiet, ignorant, and
calm - normal.
As sensationalistic as this description may seem, in my years as a mental health worker, I
watched too many Anna’s suffer under the dehabilitating effects of the pharmacological model.
I watched the pills I gave her transform her from a bright-eyed energetic young girl to a dul-
lened drooling zombie, shuffling lost through cold night hallways, wailing in fear and confusion,
wanting only to be held like a baby and told that everything would be alright. I recall Dr. S’s
response to this “elaborate display” was quick and simple: “double her Thorazine.”

Transcription - Therapy Session #6 [5-09-09] (2009-05-16 21:44) - public

ANNA: “...when they would talk to me, I could see what they were thinking in their eyes – I
knew that they knew and that the poison was in them. The fat customer guy gave me the
signal when he was paying, when his wife was not looking. I was scared because I knew that
if he knew, that all of the customers must have known – and were coming in just to check on
me and wait to rape me.”
DR. S: “What was the sign that he gave you?”
ANNA: “He rolled his bills out of his wallet, big bills, and looked at my body. He then made a
sound ’Mmm...’ and part of me said that he was part of it.”
DR. S: “What did that part of you say at that time? Do you remember?”
955
ANNA: “... ... it’s just my thoughts. My thoughts, umm...
...they are, they know more than me. They can know about if they are part of it.”
DR. S: “Can you describe how the thoughts sound? Like a man or a woman?”
ANNA: “There are more than one and some are bad and make me feel like I’m in trouble again.
The angry man hates me, but I know I deserve it because I’ve been a bad girl and he knows.
Sometimes I... I must be punished and... it hurts so much. I... * Anna begins crying. *
DR. S:
* hands Anna tissue * “Anna... you are a good person. You are beautiful and kind. Do you ever
think that the things that angry man says could be untrue?”
ANNA: * calmer * “No, he knows everything. He knows everyone’s insides, and mine too. He
knows that I’ve thought of horrible things and that I am a very bad girl. It is for my own good
that he punishes me and makes me do... like... icky things.”
* Anna’s voice and vocabulary changes and becomes closer to that of a little girl. *
DR S: “Anna, I would like to talk a little bit about your home life, your father and step-mother...”
The nature of Anna’s illness had rapidly progressed over her early 20’s, and has come to inhibit
her progress in school as well as her everyday social functioning. The psychotropic medications
she has been given, Risperdal and Paxil, have helped reduce the criticizing auditory hallucina-
tions, many of which took on a commanding tone. Specifically, the Risperdal has aided in
relieving these positive symptoms. The existence of multiple voice “personalities” within the
patient’s auditory hallucinations creates an interesting dilemma in that, as Anna mentioned,
many of the voices were not angry – but, in fact, offered encouraging words to her during trou-
bled times. These friendly positive-natured internal vocalizations were like those of a caring
friend and, upon medicating them away, Anna often described feelings of loneliness, especially
during periods of great personal stress or tension when she had come to rely on the breathy
female voice she referred to as “Sweet Mary.” Anna believed that this Mary is a discarnate
entity, a spirit who was a friend of her mother’s who died. This delusional belief of Anna’s,
that she is able to communicate with the dead, extends beyond “interactions” with the audi-
tory hallucination, “Sweet Mary,” and includes several other voices, many of which she has
also assigned names. In Anna’s case, the delusional thoughts align with a greater framework
of religious or, more specifically, spiritual preoccupation which lead her to believe her every
thought and action are closely monitored by unseen spiritual entities. She believes certain
thoughts or actions, those of the “bad girl” type which she mentions in the transcribed session,
attract the attention of the negative, critical, or commanding entities, specifically the “angry
man.” It was this voice, in particular, which repeatedly commanded Anna to slit her wrists.

Transistors bridge where your vanity would never go. (2009-05-17 05:47) - public

Woe is me, for I must forever more huddle, unminded, in the

dark shadow of thine undeserved engine of procreation.
[1]http://www.madsci.org/cgi-bin/cgiwrap/ lynn/jardin/SCG

1. http://www.madsci.org/cgi-bin/cgiwrap/~lynn/jardin/SCG

956
edensgray (2009-05-24 02:31:40)
You reflections bear a turgidity that rends naked glass.

turboswami (2009-05-24 07:15:13)

Turgid and naked are words I love to see meet in a single sentence.

edensgray (2009-05-24 14:59:26)

If seen on a disintegrating smokestack, your eyelashes would certainly compell even a wayward band
of masticating cod into a feverish frenzy. wayward band of masticating cod - effn’ hilarious!!!!

edensgray (2009-05-24 18:02:36)

May clinging breasts always come to your aid in the kitchen.

turboswami (2009-05-24 20:09:43)

haha! That one is so perfect. I must admit, the kitchen is one of my favorite places in the house for
clinging breasts.

edensgray (2009-05-24 20:13:09)

hahaha! your relevation made me blush. it was a good one, though.

edensgray (2009-05-25 13:46:58)

I relentlessly desire your custard tongue between my eyelids. ...errr....

turboswami (2009-05-25 19:29:16)

Ooh! Sounds like the plot of a movie I saw once.

edensgray (2009-05-25 20:55:52)

plot...to have custard tongue between eyelids?? defiable... reminiscent of a distorted sex scene with
a zombie...gross...perhaps even a rape...ugh...and to think this was in my head

turboswami (2009-08-08 07:05:03)

I should have said the "climax" of a movie I saw once...

edensgray (2009-08-08 11:57:38)

with a saxophone tune softly melody’n in the background...I’d say that’s a mighty climax...I
would like to...ahem...experience between...heck...probably something very similar to the late
Jackson...Thriller....IN MY DRUNKEN MIND...clarify if some thing all together alterior....:P

edensgray (2009-05-25 20:51:27)

The spark of intelligence in your blinking eyes is not unlike the glow from the teeth of an electrocuted
axe-murderess. Very surreal compliments...

edensgray (2009-05-30 21:57:45)

If you were a camel your humps would be esoterically bald from overuse. Goodness gracious!!! I love
this bot...

edensgray (2009-06-08 01:47:11)

Come, let me gnaw your fingernails that I may absorb and lose myself in the wise and gritty detritus
that is you.

957
edensgray (2009-06-21 02:55:14) I enjoy the laughs....more additions
May your succulent earlobes ever flap about my knees like a thousand wooden pigeons fleeing the
local sawmill. You must be over 100 years old....maybe I’d like succulent earlobes flapping on my
knees when I’m old and gray.

edensgray (2009-06-26 03:32:21)

May you always have stables of horses to service your needs. Too funny not to put here...

edensgray (2009-07-07 18:38:57) Couldn’t resist to take the time to...post

Your petulance is seduction unto extinction

edensgray (2009-07-13 14:14:11)

Ever do your tears shed forth an peal of epidermal thunder!

edensgray (2009-08-05 14:03:29) Because it’s been more than 2 weeks :P

I like how I have my own thread going.... Entranced by the bitter harmony of your lips, I gaze beyond
reason to find the oasis of your ruptured soul.

turboswami (2009-08-05 14:13:14) Re: Because it’s been more than 2 weeks :P
Oooh, that one is especially poetic.

edensgray (2009-08-06 18:48:35)

Your cacophonously hand embraces the perimeter of stilted denim not unlike the accumulation of sod
after the insanity of torrents.

edensgray (2009-08-07 22:57:18)

by the way...this is my attempt at surrealist compliments take care, K.

turboswami (2009-08-08 07:00:16)

Well, I must admit, that compliment there is sexy as hell! I’d love for my torrents to embrace the
delicate perimeters of your denim. ; )

edensgray (2009-08-08 09:45:31)

:)

edensgray (2009-08-11 00:24:43) Crossing the valley of practice....practice makes perfect

Your eyes shimmer like the white ogle of dead halibut radiating the magnificence of your exuberant
sensuality in the vein of my uneasy temperance.

edensgray (2009-09-09 14:37:37) Re: Crossing the valley of practice....practice makes perfect
hahaha, liquored thoughts are funny: white ogle of dead halibut I amuse myself...

edensgray (2009-08-12 00:03:24) My #6

Your igneous barrel-like stick seeks to thaw the overly cautious cheetah of appeal with serendipitous
urges of palpitated thunder over slippery beans. :P Take care!

edensgray (2009-08-17 17:51:30)

I would taint a skunk’s packing peanut if it would disparage the carnivorous foe from the capricious
sheets to survive in the pithy of your arms -S

958
 edensgray (2009-09-09 14:38:34)
taint...hehehe...I’m not thinking of taint the same way

edensgray (2009-08-20 16:43:47) ;)

Maggot-filled cheese jumping at my eyes reminds me of the night we put a kink in the squealing piglet
and ripped the night like roses at my feet.

edensgray (2009-09-09 14:36:13)

Stout grenade, you gaff at my will to excite opulent muscle spasms into speculative murmurs of honey
-Edensgray

Bare Your Teeth Knowing You’ve Broke Me (2009-05-23 00:48) - public

Yea, stored that.

All that emotion for later.
Stored it for someone more deserving,
saved it to be let out at the Right Time.
And waited.
And the Right Time maybe came or maybe never came or...
Was snatched up by someone with fire, with passion,
With emotion.

And as they were leaving, I fell to my knees to offer up all I’d been storing,
Opened my chest for all that had been bursting to be released...
...and something ugly and wilted slid out from where I had felt so much
...and that beautiful thing I had waited to shout
had suffocated in my patience.

Did I hear the screams?

The wailing cries of that passion as it died within me?
Drowned beneath the polite whispers and small fucking lies!?
I’m so fucking polite!
So fucking polite and you killed me!
Alll of you smiling fuckers, bare your teeth knowing you’ve broke me!
You broke my soul, I fight no more.

I beat my heart, I pound my chest and hang my head and wail

for it once felt
for it once radiated all the honesty that I could be.

I want to stab it open

it
I
not
this

959
edensgray (2009-05-24 01:46:34)
hey... your writing is profoundly deep and full of emotion i empathsize... <3

turboswami (2009-05-24 07:17:22)

Hey, thanks. I wrote this half in response to your myspace message, asking where I had went. I had
tried to write, but it was all coming out either too negative or...kinda pompous-sounding and was all
backspaced away.

edensgray (2009-05-24 15:05:18)

:) pompous, arrogance, neagtivity...we all get that way from time to time. feel free to let it out. ;)
hope you’re doing better.

See In Through The Watcher’s Window (2009-05-24 02:16) - public

Scrounge for rump

Scrumpity bump.
The shallow ring bind forcefield of love starts fellow mans anguish on a slow repeat passage
wrote for a sung to sausage.
All mass choired chore children chortling chastised for freed happiness and innocence’s
distraction from his song’s priority.
Slap a frat slut sloppy and sloshed strung up basement spread sick and made silent for in
surgion.
Don’t want to know this number, don’t want to taste a cat pee oriental rug that needs a good
beating on the line.
Lay down, dark cat weave, storm no more, your beckoning fulfilled.

Strange requests down in dreams,

nightmarish gears rusted still turn near my toes at a sailors unconcerned whim.
Balance tight ’long tetanus strip for the plank’s sog rot won’t hold.

Gray drunk in cold glass awash refract a crowd of watch girl’s blur-sung.
I’ll know better pains in outer gains two fears a dollar to the scar.
Dont revise my drunk staired mess for slouched confessions know more unstrained.
There’s a known love song I see and course up through fingers soul-held.

On married hands I play stray swift a thousand slight of forms, resigned.

I cross the fields inter message, I fold along withinner edge to hear.
I slit a sifting function open, I tear open a plush fuzz filter.
First clarity of silent fast, I see in through the watchers window.

Make clear my water, make calm its surface,

Show me the visions which flood wordless knowing,

edensgray (2009-05-24 15:15:32)

hmmm...i’m going to have to leave this one unknown. i suppose it’s meant to be uncomprehendable.
only for you to know, eh? it reminds me of the anagram bot. touche...

960
 turboswami (2009-05-24 15:58:39)
Naw. Its a progression into coherence. The first paragraph is typically a sort of freeform release
meant to "puncture" beneath, into the subconscious... There, I got imagery of a basement and a
woman and strange sex acts. Pee cat rug was pretty obvious Freudian vagina references. The next
two paragraphs attempted to describe a nightmare I’d had hours previous. The final two are the most
coherent, and describe mediumship, automatic writing, and the visionary experience I hope to have
with ayahuasca. Haha. I wonder if I ruin it by giving it all away!? ; )

edensgray (2009-05-24 18:32:18)

in no way do you ruin it. i appreciate the breakdown. you aren’t vulnerable with it either... a
progression into coherence, freeform release freudian references... I like your framework but
yeah...you are going to Peru soon, eh? how many days until the conference? i look forward to your
return...and experience with ayahuasca

turboswami (2009-05-24 20:14:35)

Oy! I still got about a month (to begin writing my actual presentation.) I have the key topics I want
to cover down, and am going to restrain myself from attempting to cover any EPIC topics (ie, The
Nature of God, The Future, The Role of Evolution). Even though part of me would love to attack
those big ideas, I know enough to keep it focused and concise. I should really write about ACTUAL
things going on in my life in this thing, seriously. Haha. I joined the Santo Daime this week... hoping
to get some preparation for South America.

edensgray (2009-05-24 20:29:33)

yeah, i am truly excited for you. this is why I love the internet - I can experience your life
experiences second-hand. this is really, really interesting. upon your return, i’d love to hear of your
presentation and final topics. what is Santo Daime? a friend of mine sent me information on The
Conference on Precession and Ancient Knowledge at the University of California, Irvine. i would
looooove to go to this...who knows...it’s in October - opportunities may appear.

Look Its Me...Next To Gurls! (2009-05-25 13:40) - public

Choose my wife for me. KThx.

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _42

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _42

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2642%26%26%3Ac0123b707c
92582e2c5ffc84804211c91a4e21f0&moduleid=42&preview=&jo

961
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2642%26%26%3Ac0123b707c
92582e2c5ffc84804211c91a4e21f0&moduleid=42&preview=&jo

edensgray (2009-05-25 20:48:54)

hmmm.....do you get the results if I say yes, maybe, or no?

turboswami (2009-05-25 21:15:50)

You kinda ARE the results. I dunno... I think it takes a while for the results to accumulate. I’ll post
them if you want, tho.

edensgray (2009-05-25 22:26:37)

haha..i just saw your title: Choose my wife for me! There aren’t any Yes-es...sorry. All maybe’s and
no’s. Do you mean I am the results because I’m the only one participating???

edensgray (2009-05-25 20:59:41)

so far I have said No to most blondes...hmm...I just found one that is a maybe...how funny...that I am
actually chosing who I think looks good with you based off of superficial appearances.

turboswami (2009-05-25 21:16:49)

No, its true – you can tell a lot about a person’s personality from their face.

edensgray (2009-06-21 02:51:16)

More maybes than nos...this time...almost a month later. wow. and...get some sleep! sweet dreams.

edensgray (2009-05-25 22:33:52)

Are you really going to hook-up with someone from this service?

Spring Pruning: Defining The Foliage Edge (2009-05-25 19:05) - public

Here I can recognize the pruning away of stagnation and disused cognitive branches.
All that is left of all that personality I learned is that which was allowed to continue flowering.
Those motions and skills, which were just budding, shriveled before that bloom of coloration
could incarnate.
Slow to manifest, the skeletal branch of self will always remain, however the state of its foilage:
vibrant or sick.
...yet I miss being beautiful.

edensgray (2009-05-27 02:58:33)

after reading this with a different mind... i think i’m going to cry...

Their Windows To Us Seem Walls (2009-05-25 22:59) - public

Little more than windows,

That is what our machines will give us.
Windows into inner worlds,
962
windows into different bandwidths,
views of micro-conflicts in energetic streams,
into conscious worlds that know us well,
but whose windows to us seemed walls.

Microscopes of energy and the consciousness which modulates it,

that is what the subtle quantum imaging devices will become.
Their greater and greater resolution will come to resemble a real window onto a like-physical
environment,
the subtle-most photonic interactions, extending down to the crystalline core of DNA itself,
resonant and radiant.

I write of things we’ve known,

things we had learned but forgot.

Making Space For The Spiritual Man (2009-05-25 23:03) - public

Where did the spiritual man of the village go back then?

There was always a place for him, as healer, counsel, ascetic, or shaman.
Allowed for and, even while living in solitude, contained within the greater bounds of the
society. In all of those most ancient social roles, solitude was a centermost defining charac-
teristic, thought to facilitate their relationship with spirit. Even while the counselor or healer
were to some extent social, the were sought and revered for that perspective gained through
disciplined solitude.

Where does the spiritual man of the city go now?

A doctor? That’s where Freud went. His isolation created the inward science of psycho-
analysis, giving straggling psychology the academic exposure it needed in its struggle to be
recognized as a science.

An artist? God knows I was given opportunity as an artist, and all I needed to do was
apply myself, become successful socially while forming a career in media.

A madman? A schizophrenic? God knows I’ve heard the mystical things they’d say in
the hospital. I would speak for hours with the paranoids, who were often able to stay clear,
concise, and lucid in their expression, describing truly brilliant insights or intensely poetic
emotions. This was due to their hypersensitivity, their lowered latent inhibition. The often
overwhelming energetic intensity they feel both "resonates" and "radiates." The resonance can
manifest as uncontrollable or fully-engaging empathy, which new research shows is not only
evident in the schizophrenic, but also in those diagnosed with manic-depression and autism ( ).

"Mad Pride!" is the catch phrase of the Icarus Project, a group composed of psychiatric
patients who claim mental illnesses like schizophrenia exist along a spectrum of varying
states of consciousness. The baseline state of each individual has a differing degree of both
sensitivity and complexity. The complexity, the thoughts and mental constructs which result
from sensitivity balance the degree of that sensitivity inwardly as blooming branches of
cognitive association. The degree of this sensitivity could be thought of as a flood of attention,
963
the priming capacity of branching out across Anderson’s ACT-3 semantic network (Anderson,
2000).

The semantic complex, this branch with greater or lesser degree of inward associative
complexity, may develop in any direction subjectively; branch and bloom into any subject.
Many subjects are spiritual, others are paranoid, some are mathematical, while others are
delusional or pathological. Yet even these categories are not so clearly bound, but define a
spectrum of incremental shades: vibrant brilliance to darkened malignancy. Many subjective
categories develop together, spiritual peak experiences being followed by an often intense
struggle to interpret the extra-ordinary or visionary perceptions of the experience. The
resultant interpretive complex can be seen as either developing in the direction of spiritual
insight or delusional religious preoccupation based on the relative degree and direction of
subjective development in the person listening (or diagnosing). That is, the categorization of
subjects has a subjective component, that of the listener in an interpersonal relationship, and
the interpretive bias of culture which comes to aid his stereotypic categorizations. As much
as the word has come to carry a negative connotation, to some degree or another stereotypes
compose a very basic social function, one which allows for the immediate discernment of
an individual into a category, a role, a group, a label. This function facilitates psychiatric
diagnosis on one level of complexity as much as the basic ability to recognize a doctor on
another, criminal profiling on one level as much as instinctual defenses and threat detection
on another.

edensgray (2009-05-27 03:15:29)

...did you work at an "insane asylum"?

Making A Place For The Modern Shaman (2009-05-26 22:38) - private

Where did the spiritual man of the village go back then?

There was always a place for him, as healer, counsel, ascetic, or shaman.
Allowed for and, even while living in solitude, contained within the greater bounds of the
society. In all of those most ancient social roles, solitude was a centermost defining charac-
teristic, thought to facilitate their relationship with spirit. Even while the counselor or healer
were to some extent social, the were sought and revered for that perspective gained through
disciplined solitude.

Where does the spiritual man of the city go now?

A doctor? That’s where Freud went. His isolation created the inward science of psycho-
analysis, giving straggling psychology the academic exposure it needed in its struggle to be
recognized as a science.

An artist? God knows I was given opportunity as an artist, and all I needed to do was
apply myself, become successful socially while forming a career in media.

A madman? A schizophrenic? God knows I’ve heard the mystical things they’d say in
the hospital. I would speak for hours with the paranoids, who were often able to stay clear,
concise, and lucid in their expression, describing truly brilliant insights or intensely poetic
964
emotions. This was due to their hypersensitivity, their lowered latent inhibition. The often
overwhelming energetic intensity they feel both "resonates" and "radiates." The resonance can
manifest as uncontrollable or fully-engaging empathy, which new research shows is not only
evident in the schizophrenic, but also in those diagnosed with manic-depression and autism ( ).

"Mad Pride!" is the catch phrase of the Icarus Project, a group composed of psychiatric
patients who claim mental illnesses like schizophrenia exist along a spectrum of varying
states of consciousness. The baseline state of each individual has a differing degree of both
sensitivity and complexity. The complexity, the thoughts and mental constructs which result
from sensitivity balance the degree of that sensitivity inwardly as blooming branches of
cognitive association. The degree of this sensitivity could be thought of as a flood of attention,
the priming capacity of branching out across Anderson’s ACT-3 semantic network (Anderson,
2000).

The semantic complex, this branch with greater or lesser degree of inward associative
complexity, may develop in any direction subjectively; branch and bloom into any subject.
Many subjects are spiritual, others are paranoid, some are mathematical, while others are
delusional or pathological. Yet even these categories are not so clearly bound, but define a
spectrum of incremental shades: vibrant brilliance to darkened malignancy. Many subjective
categories develop together, spiritual peak experiences being followed by an often intense
struggle to interpret the extra-ordinary or visionary perceptions of the experience. The
resultant interpretive complex can be seen as either developing in the direction of spiritual
insight or delusional religious preoccupation based on the relative degree and direction of
subjective development in the person listening (or diagnosing). That is, the categorization of
subjects has a subjective component, that of the listener in an interpersonal relationship, and
the interpretive bias of culture which comes to aid his stereotypic categorizations. As much
as the word has come to carry a negative connotation, to some degree or another stereotypes
compose a very basic social function, one which allows for the immediate discernment of
an individual into a category, a role, a group, a label. This function facilitates psychiatric
diagnosis on one level of complexity as much as the basic ability to recognize a doctor on
another, criminal profiling on one level as much as instinctual defenses and threat detection
on another.

Empathic Paralysis and Latent Inhibition (2009-05-26 22:40) - public

Today I was asked if there is a difference between empathy and compassionate love. After
some thought, I said that a person has a choice whether or not to show compassionate care
and love to another - yet, with empathy, there is not that aspect of control. That is, the
hypersensitive individual has NO CHOICE but to feel other people’s sadness or excitement.
Whether they want to or not, they empathize.

For decades, it has been said that autistics are emotionally incapacitated, unable to feel
or express empathy. This was the observation made by psychiatrists, who watched as the
blank faced autistic showed no response to the intense emotional states of those around them.
Similar observations of their behavior led to the belief that the autistic is unable to recognize
faces. Yet, like that belief has since been disproved, so is the "emotional retard" belief.

Amazingly, all the psychiatrists had to do to find out what the autistic was truly feeling
when he displayed those behaviors was ask. New case studies allow individuals with autism
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to actually describe their inner experience - they insist that they DO feel emotion and, in fact,
they feel so much emotion that they easily become completely overwhelmed by it. Empathic
paralysis: feeling so much of emotional stimulus in a social situation, which to us may seem
quite mild, that the autistic cannot process it all, becoming expressionless.

Its a symptom also described in schizophrenics by psychologists as far back as Freud,

this oversensitivity to one’s environment. More recent literature has termed it Latent Inhibi-
tion, a sort of filter placed on the world which limits the breadth of our inlet of stimulus. An
older term for this limiting filter would be the one coined by Aldous Huxley, "The Doors of
Perception."

edensgray (2009-05-27 13:14:32)

I found this post very interesting! Thanks Empathic paralysis...that’s heart-breaking.

Closer To The Edge: Touring Old Forces (2009-05-27 04:05) - public

So, its a bit epic (lengthed)

I think I’m close to something though, this binaural trance is powerful stuff.
Tell me what you think.

[1]

http://rapidshare.com/files/237749623/Closer _To _The _Edge _- _Touring _Old _Forces.mp3

[2]
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1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000qqk1/
2. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000qqk1/

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair (2009-05-30 01:29) - public

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

turboswami (2009-05-30 08:31:52)

-Pablo Neruda

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 (2009-05-30 21:54:46)
that’s a beautiful poem...

monroe_the_fast (2009-05-31 10:27:09)

You lost me at Quitratue.

Yahoo Questions: Why Does My Lecturer Stare At Me? (2009-05-31 16:56) - public

Why does my lecturer stare at me? I mean bla-

tantly, unashamedly,?
un self consciously? I mean in the classroom setting while everyone else is doing their work,
he will just stare right at me for the longest time with wide eyes? This is not in my imagination,
this is so forward I cannot dismiss it..

ANSWER:

Hmm...well, you’re deformed, right? You must be...

I’m surprised EVERYONE isn’t staring at you, and your horrible debilitating deformity.

Are you a Siamese twin, with the 2nd twin inborn and jutting out of your midsection,
tangled arms and legs? Maybe you’re just really hairy.

Either way, I think it really says a lot that you don’t let your freakish malignant body
shape keep you from pursuing a college education, and really MAKING SOMETHING of yourself.

So some people stare, its all right. Be strong! Stand tall...err, as tall as your crippling
unsightly deformity allows you to.

8.6 June

The Vine of Souls: Unrelenting Teacher (2009-06-01 02:46) - public

Yesterday I drank ayahuasca for the first time. It was done through the Santo Daime, a
Brazillian branch of the Catholic church built around the use of the ancient sacramental brew.
It is said that the ayahuasca experience can begin days or weeks before the actual ingestion
- building up in powerful coincidences, symbols, or spiritual interactions which prepare the
person.

The day before the ceremony, I felt overwhelming deja vu...over 10 times. This was un-
usual for me. I typically associate the feeling of deja vu with some intense event or internal
state, the sudden remembrance of pre-cognitive dream of either the moment of the event or
state, itself, or the portion of time leading up to it. For this to occur over 10 times, both before,
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during, and after the trip, seems to imply some part of me had known and been preparing for
the experience for some time.

I was told to wear all white, pants and shirt. This is the traditional uniform of the Brazil-
lian sect. I showed up half an hour late, after getting lost on the way there. Yet, as I entered, I
was told I was right in time – that they were standing to begin distributing a dose of sacrament
just as I had arrived. I was not sure if they had already taken one dose already or not, but
assumed they had because one of the men seemed kind of stumbly. The men lined up on one
side of the kitchen doorway, the women lined up on the other side, a man I recognized as the
organizer and guide of the ceremony, a bald middle aged man with a calm smile, stood in the
doorway serving the women first. Finishing serving the 6 women, he turned to us 4 men and
began pouring our small glasses with the thick brownish medicine. It smelled kind of sweet. I
shot it down with one chug - it was bitter and woodsy-tasting.

We returned to the main room. There was a small round table in the center, seating the
4 main members in special uniform. Around them was the larger circle, divided in half with
women on one side and men on the other. I was handed stapled booklet full, double sided,
with hymns; each page divided with Portugese on the right and its English translation on
the left. At the center table were two women, one young one old and both dark-skinned. I
assumed were South American. The pretty young girl began to sing a high solitary note in
Portugese and after a few repetitions, everyone stood and joined in. There was an older lady
who started a bongo sort of drum and the girls in the center had little shakers to keep the
rhythm. I looked at the hymnal and made mouthy sorts of motions and sounds, but was mostly
just pretending. I could already feel the ayahuasca beginning to take hold.

After 3 songs, I was relieved to sit down. I saw two girls on the opposite side of the
room lay down on the floor - they were obviously beginning to feel the building inner energy.
Even though none of the men were following suite, the chair was hard steel and I decided to
make the the women and lay down too. A man in a helper sort of role brought me a blanket
and, even though I politely refused it, he left it by me anyways. I was thankful and put it
around my arms. Closing my eyes and listening to the others breathing, I began to become
very aware of different energies in the room - I became slowly sensitive to the fluid movement
of subtle emotional influence between those around me. Opening my eyes, I would notice
a strange radiant layer around the man sitting slightly to my right, in front of where I laid. I
remember telling myself "No, he’s not a spirit - he is alive. How can that be?"

The associative capacities of my cognition began to expand further, and I became aware of
my thoughts beginning to take on an analytical, investigative quality as they extended into a
more subconscious level. I began to see very subtle forms as the energetic sensation grew in
my chest, spreading out through the muscles of my arms and legs. I began to think of inspiring
futures, of having my synthesizer and playing the sound of this pure throbbing energy I was
feeling for these people. I knew it was right, and that they would be able to feel fully my inner
experience, and I theirs, when I integrated my spiritual life with the ceremony. The thought
filled me with such transplendant joy that I could not contain it. I writhed in smiling radiance
on the floor, smiling as I tried to contain my quivering excitement at future I saw expressed
before me. Yet, I needed to go further, deeper. I was not feeling all that was wanting to be
showed to me. I felt as if I had a mission to fulfill, and that the dose had not been strong
enough to drive me towards ayahuasca’s goal.

I stood up, stumbling slightly, and walked halfway towards the kitchen. The room was
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solemn, quiet, meditative. The guild was immediately receptive, the whole room watching as
he stood and walked towards me gingerly. I pulled my head close to his and said "Can I have
more, please?"

"No, no. We will go again soon." he said, but then angled his eyebrows in doubt and
said "Hmm..."

So many mixed signals. We both returned to our places, me on the floor. I became
overwhelmed with unsure feelings. Had they taken the dose before I arrived? Is that why he
was unsure, the second thought, considering the dose I had not received? Did the others think
the new guy was getting greedy? The fat glutton wants more. Oh no! But...

A long deep exhale brought powerful light in from above. I continued to think of the en-
ergy I could suddenly feel. I returned to the dim visions of patterns and colors within me.

The guide stood and gave me first a hand motion pointing towards the kitchen as he
stepped over me, but then a hand motion of waving me back down as I jumped to join him. I
was confused and could not hear what he had mumbled other than the word "Now." Did he
want me to follow? Had he reconsidered my request? People started singing again and the
lights came back up. I realized everyone was getting another dose. I stumbled towards the
kitchen.

"How much more do you want than last time?" he said as waited, first in line.
"How much more do I want than last time?" I repeated, trying to arrange the meanings into
something more resembling what he had intended in speaking.

I thought to blurt out "Double." but repressed that as being my naive excitement, too extreme.

"...maybe half as much more?"

He poured the shot, saying "This one is much stronger, so it looks like less."

It was more bitter. The after taste was thick but not wholly unpleasant - a little sweet.
I went to the bathroom afterwards and saw myself in the mirror. I was out of control, bloated
fat with undiscipline. I heard them begin the singing out there, and across to the closet room
to get my notebook. I knew this one would be big, and wanted to be able to capture it when it
came.

The fact is that I came to the ceremony with a problem - I have been unable to write! I
have been unable to do the writing required in my PhD program. It piles up, and yet the
process is painful to me. The conference approaches, 3 weeks left, and I still have not started
writing anything for it. This was addressed in the coat room.

I reached into my jacket pocket and got the small pad of paper I had brought to record
the experience. I checked the same pocket, feeling for the pen I had put in there with it. There
was nothing there. I checked all the other pockets, and the pen I had brought was not in them.
I could not write. I crumpled up the whole coat, feeling for the pen, and felt it! Somehow it
had entered the lining of my coat. This had never happened in the years I have owned the
coat, yet here was an obvious representation of my problem: I need to write, but I cannot get
the writing out. The pen is stuck within and, while I can feel the potential to write, it is not able
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to get out from my "inner lining." I went crazy, trying run it back up into the pocket. Useless.
I then thought to tear through the inner lining and damage the insides - anything to just be
able to get it out. The fabric was too thick. I couldn’t do it. I almost quit and walked towards
the door, but came back. I need to write! This problem represented more than just this little
coat and this tiny room - this was a lesson, a sign given representing a major problem in my
life and the answer was also being given for me to figure out, right now on this smaller scale.

I stood up tall and thought "Why do I need MY pen? Why must I always rely solely on
myself? These people can help me. I can write with the help of others."

I searched the man’s desk and found a solitary pen, arranged so neatly, obviously his
favorite. I took it and let the symbolism sink in. I don’t need to do all of this alone, I must
learn to write from other people’s inspiration, using THEIR pride and joy. I must learn to cite
other people’s ideas and use to construct my own. I need to look outside myself and learn
to cooperate and shard and, in doing so, flow over these personal blockages which keep me
from expressing myself.

I walked out with a calm broad smile, my hands behind my back, carrying the pad, pen,
and a blanket from the closet. I felt gracious to have the circle expecting me, even as they
sang. I began to sing in long open-mouthed tones. This dose was much stronger. I could feel
it within minutes.

I began to see the tones and pitches form into high cathedrals of patterns, symbols and
colors for all the emotions held in them. The worlds were beneath the words, the meanings
were ancient and carried me far from the singers, themselves, to a distant inner landscape.
A woman later told me that at this time, she watched my eyes roll back white with ecstasy,
vibrating in the dream-like vision; waking REM.

There was a flood of radiant layered visions, like steps around the sunrise of a peacock
feather’s eye. I could see Egypt, its customs and fizzling symbols surfacing in the colors of
each lilting-inward note. This song came down from so far above me, from so far above the
singers. I saw the hazy lights of Christmas eve night and the spirits watching behind them. I
could smell pine, charged with excitement and magic of that approaching gift.

I clutched my heart with both hands, unable to contain the beauty. The tension of try-
ing strained the highest edge of known joy till I felt my heart would surely burst. Joy and
pain become one flooding sensation, overwhelming and merging the discrete senses as one
singular perception of the divine. I finally spread my arms open to the sky and wept with
rapture. Uncontainable, that sound of excited stepped breaths, that sound heard identically in
both the grips of uncontrollable laughter and the grips of uncontrollable sobbing. The sound
before the release, the surrender to emotion. The sound of trying to catch ones breath - I
had lost control to the torrent of bliss, annihilated by joy, the tears of bursting inner smile
poured out for all I could love, for all that I could give, for all that I could feel, I felt with savage
unrelenting revelation.

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edensgray (2009-06-01 13:27:05)
wonderful and amazing!!!!! i’m happy for you. this was a great piece! i am glad you shared this. I
was there and I was feeling...maybe 1/8 of what you felt...but I felt euphoria rise within.

edensgray (2009-06-02 05:36:02)

I thought of searching for a place in Houston to experience this...no such luck. I read an article that says
taking ayahuasca usually involves a violent purge from both ends of the body err...hehehe...nothing
better than a full body cleansing.. ;)

turboswami (2009-06-02 06:27:36)

Yea, people puke... ...but they describe it as the most blissful orgasmic barfing known to man.
Shamans say it gets out the negativity and sickness...from down DEEP.

edensgray (2009-06-02 14:55:05)

i could imagine... :)

Sagittarius (Nov. 22nd-Dec.21st) (2009-06-01 12:28) - public

"Wisdom is knowing I am nothing," said Indian philosopher Nisargadatta Maharaj. "Love is

knowing I am everything. And between the two my life moves." According to my calculations,
Sagittarius, you’ll be more on the "knowing you are everything" side of the polarity for the
next few weeks. That’s because a flood is imminent. I expect you’ll be on the receiving end of
a massive outreach from the universe - an influx of invitations, inquiries, and offers to make
connection. you should also be prepared for the dizzying pleasure that comes from seeing how
profoundly interlinked and interdependent you are.

edensgray (2009-06-01 20:06:06)

:)

the2minh8 (2009-06-01 20:24:31)

Occasionally I hope that astrology has some worth and accuracy. But if that were the case, my
deeply ingrained reason-and-evidence-based thought process would need a serious realignment. If
star charts are to be believed, I’m supposed to have a terrible summer followed by an unbelievably,
hysterically great autumn. As a fellow Sag your outlook is probably supposed to be similar. We’ll see.

turboswami (2009-06-02 06:41:46)

I performed a casual experiment on my roommate... I read four different horoscope predictions
from the same page to him and told him to tell me which one was mine. And then which one
was his. He was correct. And he was correct. I dunno, I always read the others to see if it could
as equally apply to my life that day or week. This was simply spot on, though...given my previous entry.

(2009-06-04 00:19) - public

"If the highest aim of a captain were to preserve his ship, he would keep it in port forever."

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turboswami (2009-06-04 07:21:09)
– Saint Thomas Aquinas

(2009-06-05 03:16) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _43

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _43

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2643%26%26%3A389f872a2e
4e81b991336b61678f319658e52908&moduleid=43&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2643%26%26%3A389f872a2e
4e81b991336b61678f319658e52908&moduleid=43&preview=&jo

edensgray (2009-06-05 14:13:34)

I love this...I shared this with my son about a month ago...he was impressed. I am an enthusiast... :)

turboswami (2009-06-06 12:41:26)

Yea. I saw it waay back too. I wanna be a teacher.

edensgray (2009-06-06 13:45:49)

I went on a binge a while back watching all I could...on Slam Poetry. :) Dr. Kaleb Smith ;)

The Nails (2009-06-05 03:30) - public

I gave you sorrow to hang on your wall

Like a calendar in one color.
I wear a torn place on my sleeve.
It isn’t as simple as that.

Between no place of mine and no place of yours

You’d have thought I’d know the way by now
Just from thinking it over.
Oh I know
I’ve no excuse to be stuck here turning
Like a mirror on a string,
Except it’s hardly credible how
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It all keeps changing.
Loss has a wider choice of directions
Than the other thing.

As if I had a system
I shuffle among the lies
Turning them over, if only
I could be sure what I’d lost.
I uncover my footprints, I
Poke them till the eyes open.
They don’t recall what it looked like.
When was I using it last?
Was it like a ring or a light
Or the autumn pond
Which chokes and glitters but
Grows colder?
It could be all in the mind. Anyway
Nothing seems to bring it back to me.

And I’ve been to see

Your hands as trees borne away on a flood,
The same film over and over,
And an old one at that, shattering its account
To the last of the digits, and nothing
And the blank end.

The lightning has shown me the scars of the future.

I’ve had a long look at someone

Alone like a key in a lock
Without what it takes to turn.

It isn’t as simple as that.

Winter will think back to your lit harvest

For which there is no help, and the seed
Of eloquence will open its wings
When you are gone.
But at this moment
When the nails are kissing the fingers good-bye
And my only
Chance is bleeding from me,
When my one chance is bleeding,
For speaking either truth or comfort
I have no more tongue than a wound.

turboswami (2009-06-05 10:31:24)

– W. S. Merwin

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Letter To Owsley Stanley (2009-06-07 00:45) - public

Hi Bear,

I’ve been thinking a lot about religious freedom and was hoping you might have some
insights. I recently joined the Santo Daime - one of the two the ayahuasca churches protected
under the Religious Freedom Restoration Act to freely practice their religion, including the
ingestion of their psychedelic sacrament. Yesterday, at the church service, I got many big
thoughts about ayahuasca and LSD, the differing natures of their effect. Ayahuasca is certainly
spiritually profound, but so messy - it is sometimes hard to form clearly-expressible thoughts
or to even semantically represent the inward flood of meaning at all! LSD, on the other hand,
lends itself to clear concise cognition - analytical and crisply geometric, the flood of meaning
can be more easily captured and expressed semantically. LSD makes nobel prize winners,
yage makes sketchy mystics.

Do you think a formally organized religious sect, like the UDV or Santo Daime, could be
formed around a chemical sacrament like LSD or 2cI?

If members were carefully and meticulously screened for physical and mental health is-
sues, with a card or religious license provided after adequate testing to affirm their well-being
and responsible non-recreational conduct?

Like the UDV, the exact doses, times, and member identification and contact informa-
tion would be accurately recorded for potential federal review.

I have contacted the UDV in Brazil about setting up a local branch here in Palo Alto. I
hope to integrate the electroencephalographic and out of body research being done at my
school with the branch of the congregation that can legally be formed.

But I believe that the RFRA is a powerful act which acknowledges the spiritual and reli-
gious worth of mind manifesting and entheogenic sacraments, including LSD.

Do you think it’s worth taking the chance?

Yours,

-Kaleb

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Owsley _Stanley

turboswami (2009-06-07 10:00:43)

On Sun, Jun 7, 2009 at 2:34 AM, Bear wrote: I think you are barking up an empty tree. The right to in-
gest drugs of any kind is a basic human right dating from prehistory. The law of drug prohibition makes
a black market. That is the ONLY reason for the law. The other effect has been to expand drug use
exponentially= as should be quite obvious- what other employment pays like dealing. ALL drugs must
be legalised, or the present financial crisis cannot be stopped- it is caused by the immense volume
of blackmarket trade, which prevents management of the world economy. In any event to cook up
some sort of superstition (religion is superstition) as a fake front for getting high is in my world a VERY

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BAD idea. Leave ’religion’ out of it. Ayahuasca is DMT plus a MAO inhibitor- it is not LSD. – Cheers. Bear

turboswami (2009-06-07 10:01:05)

I agree that big business is keeping the drug war active and lucrative. But it is such a sin to have
the benefits of LSD unavailable to the minds that could potentially change culture the most. I cannot
think of any other way to integrate the substance into the culture legally than by way of the First
Amendment. Do you feel LSD can open people up spiritually? Make them more sensitive to subtle
energetic influences, emotional or otherwise? (The cliched term "vibrations" describes this classic
effect, right?) I agree wholeheartedly that spirituality and religion are, for the most part, two very
different things, but the Western world seems to hunger for a spiritual connection in their life. Do you
feel LSD can help facilitate that connection? -K

turboswami (2009-06-08 09:16:12)

Yes, I agree that big business is keeping the drug war active and lucrative. But it is such a sin to
have the benefits of LSD unavailable to the minds that could potentially use it to enlighten culture
the most. I cannot think of any other way to integrate the substance into the culture legally than
by way of the First Amendment. You still just don’t get it. THE DRUG LAW IS WRONG. IT IS
UNCONSTITUTIONAL. The Supreme Court has never agreed to hear any challenge. The
first attempt to prohibit alcohol by an act of Congress was tossed out by the Court just
before the end of the 19th century, thus an amendment to the constitution had to be
passed, and was, in 1918. The current laws are likewise illegal, the court must be forced
to act, or the government convinced to legalise. ANs I do NOT mean ’some drugs’ I mean
ALL DRUGS. NO OTHER APPROACH IS POSSIBLE UNDER THE LAW. THE LAW HAS TO BE
REMOVED BY WHATEVER MEANS IT TAKES. Do you feel LSD can open people up spiritually?
Make them more sensitive to subtle energetic influences, emotional or otherwise? (The cliched term
"vibrations" describes this classic effect, right?) I agree wholeheartedly that spirituality and religion
are, for the most part, two very different things, but the Western world seems to hunger for a spiritual
connection in their life. Do you feel LSD can help facilitate that connection? PAY ATTENTION: I am
not going to play your silly little game. LSD is completely neutral. It does nothing. What
happens is YOU, turned up loud What LSD does then, is very personal- some become Chas
Manson, some flower children, some great musicians and some become hopelessly lost.
Religion means: ’believing in nonsense’. Spirituality means: nothing.

turboswami (2011-03-14 08:10:49)

The Bear and The Law *continuation of PREVIOUS CONVERSATION with Owsley Stanley* Hey again,
Sorry, I did not mean to come off like I was playing games. I think about the topic a lot and agree
that LSD is simply an amplification of whatever is present in the person already. Some people
have more potential than others and I love seeing a friend’s brilliance "get louder" like that -
brighter eyes, beautiful expression through words or music. Like you say, too, amplification of
certain psychopathologies seems just as possible of a development (like whatever kink, schizm,
or knot got so much louder for Charles Manson.) But isn’t that potential for LSD to exacerbate
preexisting mental illnesses a good reason for careful licensure governing its responsible academic
or therapeutic use, like Aldous Huxley recommended? I do believe in shamans. I don’t feel that
they have been constructing an elaborate spiritual hoax since the dawn of prehistoric man. That
is to say, I DO believe that certain individuals are genetically predisposed to states of heightened
perceptual sensitivity. That is, the certain people seem to "see more" and "hear more" than the
typical person and, in the modern Western world, this hypersensitivity is often marginalized and
stigmatized as schizophrenia, an "illness" to be tranquilized away using Thorazine. Yet, in traditional
cultures, which we call "primitive," this hightened sensitivity, seeing and hearing more, was more

976
 often revered. That man was to become a shaman because he had the "vision" and could enter
trance and, supposedly, communicate with ancestors. These "primitive" beliefs are universal -
existing at the roots of every culture, from China to the Arctic circle. Heh, I don’t mean to get on
a tangent, I’m just trying to lay some common grounding with which to make my point. That is, if
someone is born genetically predisposed to this hypersensitive perceptual state, which commonly
manifests as culturally-universal and scientifically-measured spiritual experiences like possession
and out-of-body states, wouldn’t LSD similarly amplify THESE parts of self too? That is, assuming
that certain people are more spiritual than others, in the same way some people are more musical
or intelligent than others, wouldn’t it be safe to say this neutral activator, LSD, would make that
part "louder" just the same way? I admit, part of me doesn’t like using the word "spiritual" –
likewise soul is a sort of 4 LETTER WORD in academic circles, but at the same time, I truly hate
reducing that hypersensitivity to subtle aspects of ones surroundings to laboratory-sterile scientific
terms like "latent inhibition," (Carson, 2003) which is a popular term for it in journals nowadays.
The painful truth remains, if one chooses not to believe in the commonly-reported experiences
like spiritual possession or scientifically-verified states like OBE’s (Tart, 1969), there is no degree
of research validity or heartfelt personal account which will convince them otherwise. Yet, that
Universal aspect of these occurrences is hard to disregard – and suggests they are central human
experiences, developing and existing at the core of every culture of the world without inter-influence.
By consensus alone, this suggests, at very least, that spiritual men have existed. I feel this is a safe
assumption.

turboswami (2011-03-14 08:10:59)

I don’t know how to fight the United States Legislative System, even if operating unconstitutionally.
The idea of a Law being Unlawful seems like a legislative knot that won’t be opened by tugging.
Yet, the word "Restoration" in the 1997 act I’d mentioned to you earlier seems to acknowledge that
the constitution had been disregarded - and that the 1st Amendment is to be rightfully restored.
The Supreme Court HAS heard a challenge to the draconian drug laws, and ruled in FAVOR of the
people and their right to ingest psychedelics in a controlled context (UDV vs USA, 2006). This
supreme court victory is, admittedly, a baby step in comparison to giant leap of REMOVAL BY ANY
MEANS IT TAKES course of action you’d mentioned, but I still feel it is very promising. It is a positive
change in the direction of the legislature concerning drug use, which suggests that similarly-small
baby steps in that direction would also be successful. But, again, the basis of this success IS the
First Amendment, and the expansion of consciousness experienced by the substances, which some
people interpret and label as "spiritual." I admit, I am one of those people - and can tell some very
powerful stories of both demonic possessions and out of body experiences which are loosely, but
not wholly, related to LSD’s amplifying character. I am sorry to write you this small book on this
topic. I did not mean to sound so wordy and I hope I don’t come off as too dense or inaccessible
at all. I am looking for guidance in my psychedelic research at ITP, and I hope to challenge the
current legislation governing psychedelic drug use, but in as reasonable and measured a way as
possible. I want to turn my friends and family on, brighten their eyes, cleanse their soul’s windows
so that more light can shine through. I hope you can sympathize with this desire and advise me.
Thanks Bear! Yours, -Kaleb ATTACHMENT: UDV Supreme Court Decision.pdf ATTACHMENT: Car-
son, 2003 - Latent inhibition is associated with increased creativity in high functioning individuals.pdf

turboswami (2009-06-07 10:04:22)

This was the first thing I saw when I opened livejournal to add The Bear’s reply as a comment:
[3603242828 _28043ec252.jpg]

977
 turboswami (2011-03-14 08:09:47)
(it was a picture of an angry bear)

the2minh8 (2009-06-08 14:20:11)

I’m a little rusty on First Amendment law, but I’m interested enough in your proposition to do a bit of
research on it. Give me some time and I’ll check out the cases and statutes and see what’s there.

Cultural Manifestations of Ayahuasca: Past and Present (2009-06-07 00:47) -

public

Introduction

The shamanic healing practices of jungles of the Upper Amazon basin give a unique contextual
perspective on the cultures and consciousness’ of those areas of South America. The healing
exists within the fabric of the spiritual belief systems of those tribes, nations, and countries
of people, which have influenced and interacted with each other in fluid cultural exchange
for millenia. The most widely-used of the shamanic healing medicines of the Amazon is
ayahuasca, the entheogenic plant brew which has continued to garner academic attention;
first in anthropological circles but, more recently, in cognitive psychological, molecular
biological, and neurophysiological circles. But what are the mechanisms of the ayahuasca
drink which cause the cognitive and physiological alterations for which it is known? What
have modern biological research studies shown of the specific influences of ayahuasca on
the body? What are the indigenous spiritual beliefs and cosmologies which have provided
the interpretive and theoretical framework for ayahuasca to the people of the Upper Amazon
who rely on it for its medicinal properties? More importantly, how can neurotheological
revelations of the ayahuasca experience inform modern transpersonal research into alternate
states of consciousness and the subtle mediums of communication potentially facilitated
by those states? I consider this final question, that of the legitimacy of the indigenous
belief that ayahuasca opens sensitivity to subtle alternate mediums of communication, to
be the most important because its answer, if affirmative, would carry the farthest-reaching
multidisciplinary implications.

What Is Ayahuasca?

The entheogenic plant medicine ayahuasca (a.k.a., yage, daime, or caapi) is one of many
psychoactive substances used by indigenous peoples of the Upper Amazon basin. The word
ayahuasca is Quechuan in origin and translates to “vine of the souls,” which can refer to both
the hallucinogenic decoction or, less commonly, to one of its main ingredients: the jungle vine
Banisteriopsis caapi of the family Malpighiaceae (Schultes, 1957). The role of this ingredient
in the beverage mixture is pharmacologically unique in its synergistic relationship with the
psychoactive compound of the mixture, typically Psychotria viridis. The leaves of the Psy-
chotria viridis bush contain the powerful endogenic compound N-dimethyltryptamine (DMT).
The bark and stems of the B. caapi vine contain beta-carboline alkaloids harmine, harmaline,
and tetrahydroharmine which act as potent monoamine oxidase-A (MAO-A) inhibitors. To
understand the mechanics of the relationship between the alkaloids of these two plants, the
role of monoamine oxidase in our body should first be described:

Monoamine oxidase (MAO) is a digestive enzyme produced by the body which provides
978
a destabilizing function against potentially dangerous amines contained in certain common
foods like sauerkraut, liver, and shrimp. This destabilizing function of MAO’s has been called a
sort of “chemical immune system” which protects the body from the dangerous and potentially
fatal integration of these amides into the later digestive chain. With the introduction of a
monoamine oxidase inhibitor (MAOI), the protective function of the MAO is suspended – the
“chemical immune system” shut down. This temporary suspension of the MAO enzyme is
what allows the psychoactive N-dimethyltryptamine (DMT) ingredient to cross the blood/brain
barrier, as opposed to being enzymatically neutralized.

There exist many recipes for the ayahuasca mixture, with individual shamans introduc-
ing a variance of plant ingredients in addition to the Banisteriopsis caapi and the Psychotria
viridis. The additives which, from one shaman to another, are added or subtracted from the
decoction are said to change the resultant mixture’s psychoactive influence in various ways.
As many as ninety different species of plant have been identified as potential ingredients,
which supposedly influence the effect of the admixture in more or less subtle ways (Ott,
1993). Plants containing cocaine (e. g., Erythroxylum coca), caffeine (e. g., Ilex guayusa and
Paullina yoco), and sources of DMT other than P. viridis (e. g., Diplopterys cabrerana) have
been identified in different mixes, each potentially introducing a psychoactive component
(Ott, 1993). Yet, among these different regional additions to the drink, tobacco is especially
common.

Regional strains of tobacco, when used as ayahuasca ingredients (e. g., Nicotiana rus-
tica or Nicotiana tabacum), can contain powerful amounts of nicotine, which can be added to
the boiled tea, introduced by smoking, or both (Herraiz, 2005). It is believed by many shamans
that the tobacco smoke nourishes the spirits and that, like food, they hunger for it and stay
close to help those who smoke it. Sacrificing of tobacco, by way of burning in ritual fire or
smoking and exhaling into the ayahuasca brew, is often believed to attract spirits and bring
the smoker’s intentions for the ceremony to the ayahuasca. In this way the ingredients of the
brew become part of the spiritual belief system surrounding the brew – the rituals surrounding
the boiling and drinking often considered as important, if not more important, than the plant
material, itself, in deciding the outcome of the ingestion.

Indigenous Ayahuasca-influenced Art and Culture of the Upper Amazon

The men and women of upper Amazon basin who rely on ayahuasca for healing have, to
differing degrees, integrated the experience into a set of cultural constructs and and shared
spiritual beliefs. This integration makes itself most evident through art, which often depicts
colorful and gigantic snakes – which are the most universal of ayahuasca visions (Narby,
1998). These most common of visions is experienced by across-the-board, by all who ingest
the substance – from a Ticuna tribesman from Brazil to an American lawyer laying in his living
room, from an urban shaman living in his parent’s basement to a French anthropology student
taking part in a Santo Daime church ceremony. This universality of ayahuasca’s subjective
experience across such varied cultural backgrounds provide a set of alternate cognitive states,
like the decoction’s induced physiological states, can be discriminated from the social and
cultural influence. Other prevalent themes of the ayahuasca experience are visions of twins,
or the two-headed or entwined snakes (interpreted by Namby as knowledge of cellular origins
and the double-helix form of DNA’s spiraled instructional information).

While modern anthropological study of Amazonian culture draws links between art, spiri-
tual/religious belief, and ayahuasca shamanism, the origins of the psychedelic’s use cannot
979
definitively be affirmed. While Western ethnographers observe that the practice has spread
across the Amazon, the area from which the brew first originated cannot yet be stated with
certainty. Yet, the fact that the drink’s recipe and healing practice spread so far and wide
across the many disparate indigenous societies of Northern South America is, itself, illatively
conclusive of it’s antiquity.

Archaeological digs have uncovered shamanic tools, anthropomorphic idol sculptures as

well as clay pottery, snuff vessels and tubes which show that the use of entheogenic plant
substances has existed in a prehistoric spiritual context in the Ecuadorian Amazon, dating as
far back as 2,000 B.C. (McKenna, 1998). Yet, even though ayahuasca healing ceremonies are
the more extensively practiced than any other shamanic plant medicine in the Amazon today,
this fact does not unequivocally establish similar prevalence prehistorically. The shamanic
preparation and use of ayahuasca has only been scientifically studied for half a century,
through the first important ethnopharmacological explorations of R. E Schultes in the 1960’s.

Personal Subjective Experience of Ayahuasca-aided Introspection

(2009-06-07 00:53) - public

Personal Subjective Experience of Ayahuasca-aided Introspection:

Induced Hypersensitivity and The Perspective of Height

After reading extensively of the physiological, cognitive, and spiritua-sensitive effects of

Ayahuasca, I came to realize that the powerfully sensate subjective nature of the experience
was, to some degree, not being expressed by the stories of life-changing inner
transformation, however descriptive. I realized that I would not ever have a firm grasp of this
ancient means of connection with the sacred by books alone and, looking back now, I see how
naïve my concept of “firmly grasping” a spiritual interaction was. Like trying to capture the
stream in my fist, I find the harder I try to capture it, the less of it I have and feel. A sort of
subtle-sensory openness, felt as a growing throbbing sense of energy in the chest, was what
allowed a greater volume of consciousness in through sensation along an associative series
as shining cognitive realization –like a shimmering constellation of meaning drawn along my
inner semantic network.

I was sitting between two men, slightly behind them, on a hard metal chair. I became
gradually aware of the emotional state of the man sitting to my left, and slowly began to truly
sense a delicate energetic field emanating from him, a frequency based only partially on his
breathing and heart rate, but which could be felt with attention through my chest. Moving my
attention to my right, I could there sense surrounding him a distinctly different bound
energetic-emotional field; fluid and interacting at a calm frequency physiologically
harmonized with my own. The medicine was still opening the fist of my heart to the inlet of
serotonergic flow, allowing it to grow in breadth, volume, and intensity. I could then close my
eyes and become fully visually aware of the two fields as distinct frequencies of vibrant
energetic color. I smiled wide and rested my palms open on my legs, facing the sky like
pedals capturing radiance. I calmly accepted bliss and felt its inward light there, behind my
closed eyes. There the meditation ended, and everyone was made to stand. The hymns of
the Santo Daime were set to begin.

I was handed a hymn book and, like a regular Catholic church service, joined everyone in
singing. In Portuguese. I found I could close my eyes and see textured patterns expand in
980
flashes across my inner vision in accordance with the emotional impression felt of the melody.
Hypersensitivity to subtle meaning of the song’s speed, mood, and style expressed through
the unfolding of visual memory. I saw the song’s culture, time, and place of origin as the
manifestation of the state of consciousness of those people from who that culture fountains
out of, into carnation; the body’s physical expression of inward energetic vibrance. I saw a
vision of what I interpret as the organization of cultural consciousness, the nature of all men
expressed as a spectrum of light radiating concentrically outwards in steps as bound
frequency bands from a brilliant knowing center which we compose, the eye of a higher
perceiver rising like the glaring Sun which we, through degrees of opaque frequency, merely
obscure. All this meaning came from the tone of a language I could not speak, Portuguese.

This concentric spectrum view of human consciousness, in all its harmoniously bound
frequency bands diffracted into composite densities, could be thought of as a macro view of
selfhood: a perspective of great height. Prehistoric man drew the first map by imagining the
lay of the land he physically stood from a perspective of height, and then expressing what the
locations and landmarks he saw in his inner vision using lines and symbols – perhaps with a
stick in the sand. This could be thought of as one of the the first times man “got high,” or
entered a subjectively-visual state of consciousness to explore, understand, and plan by
relying on a mental map, a self-projected perspective of height. From this perspective of a
map, he could see the trail he walked and know where it it led in order to predict and prepare,
navigate and recall landmarks which mark his return journey home. But this visiospacial
ability of heightened perspective may not be limited to mapping the physical plane of the
earth but, as ayahuasca showed me, can visually conceptualize finer spacial states as well –
like energy, consciousness, and other gradient mediums of subtle density.

(2009-06-08 01:41) - public

http://www.vbs.tv/watch/motherboard/curtis-roads

The Bear and The Law (2009-06-08 03:30) - public

*continuation of [1]PREVIOUS CONVERSATION with [2]Owsley Stanley*

Hey again,

Sorry, I did not mean to come off like I was playing games. I think about the topic a lot
and agree that LSD is simply an amplification of whatever is present in the person already.
Some people have more potential than others and I love seeing a friend’s brilliance "get
louder" like that - brighter eyes, beautiful expression through words or music.

Like you say, too, amplification of certain psychopathologies seems just as possible of a
development (like whatever kink, schizm, or knot got so much louder for Charles Manson.)
But isn’t that potential for LSD to exacerbate preexisting mental illnesses a good reason for
careful licensure governing its responsible academic or therapeutic use, like Aldous Huxley
recommended?

I do believe in shamans. I don’t feel that they have been constructing an elaborate spir-
itual hoax since the dawn of prehistoric man. That is to say, I DO believe that certain
981
individuals are genetically predisposed to states of heightened perceptual sensitivity. That
is, the certain people seem to "see more" and "hear more" than the typical person and, in
the modern Western world, this hypersensitivity is often marginalized and stigmatized as
schizophrenia, an "illness" to be tranquilized away using Thorazine.

Yet, in traditional cultures, which we call "primitive," this hightened sensitivity, seeing
and hearing more, was more often revered. That man was to become a shaman because he
had the "vision" and could enter trance and, supposedly, communicate with ancestors. These
"primitive" beliefs are universal - existing at the roots of every culture, from China to the Arctic
circle. Heh, I don’t mean to get on a tangent, I’m just trying to lay some common grounding
with which to make my point.

That is, if someone is born genetically predisposed to this hypersensitive perceptual state,
which commonly manifests as culturally-universal and scientifically-measured spiritual expe-
riences like possession and out-of-body states, wouldn’t LSD similarly amplify THESE parts of
self too? That is, assuming that certain people are more spiritual than others, in the same
way some people are more musical or intelligent than others, wouldn’t it be safe to say this
neutral activator, LSD, would make that part "louder" just the same way?

I admit, part of me doesn’t like using the word "spiritual" – likewise soul is a sort of 4
LETTER WORD in academic circles, but at the same time, I truly hate reducing that hypersen-
sitivity to subtle aspects of ones surroundings to laboratory-sterile scientific terms like "latent
inhibition," (Carson, 2003) which is a popular term for it in journals nowadays.

The painful truth remains, if one chooses not to believe in the commonly-reported expe-
riences like spiritual possession or scientifically-verified states like OBE’s (Tart, 1969), there
is no degree of research validity or heartfelt personal account which will convince them
otherwise. Yet, that Universal aspect of these occurrences is hard to disregard – and suggests
they are central human experiences, developing and existing at the core of every culture
of the world without inter-influence. By consensus alone, this suggests, at very least, that
spiritual men have existed. I feel this is a safe assumption.

I don’t know how to fight the United States Legislative System, even if operating uncon-
stitutionally. The idea of a Law being Unlawful seems like a legislative knot that won’t
be opened by tugging. Yet, the word "Restoration" in the 1997 act I’d mentioned to you
earlier seems to acknowledge that the constitution had been disregarded - and that the 1st
Amendment is to be rightfully restored. The Supreme Court HAS heard a challenge to the
draconian drug laws, and ruled in FAVOR of the people and their right to ingest psychedelics
in a controlled context (UDV vs USA, 2006). This supreme court victory is, admittedly, a
baby step in comparison to giant leap of REMOVAL BY ANY MEANS IT TAKES course of action
you’d mentioned, but I still feel it is very promising. It is a positive change in the direction
of the legislature concerning drug use, which suggests that similarly-small baby steps in that
direction would also be successful.

But, again, the basis of this success IS the First Amendment, and the expansion of con-
sciousness experienced by the substances, which some people interpret and label as
"spiritual." I admit, I am one of those people - and can tell some very powerful stories of both
demonic possessions and out of body experiences which are loosely, but not wholly, related
to LSD’s amplifying character.

982
I am sorry to write you this small book on this topic. I did not mean to sound so wordy
and I hope I don’t come off as too dense or inaccessible at all. I am looking for guidance in
my psychedelic research at ITP, and I hope to challenge the current legislation governing
psychedelic drug use, but in as reasonable and measured a way as possible.

I want to turn my friends and family on, brighten their eyes, cleanse their soul’s win-
dows so that more light can shine through. I hope you can sympathize with this desire and
advise me.

Thanks Bear!

Yours,

-Kaleb

ATTACHMENT: UDV Supreme Court Decision.pdf

ATTACHMENT: Carson, 2003 - Latent inhibition is associated with increased creativity in high
functioning individuals.pdf
1. http://turboswami.livejournal.com/306452.html
2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Owsley_Stanley

iztyme2ryde (2009-06-08 22:20:35)

Wow... I’ve read the last few entries in your journal... and you seem like day to day conversation is
written papers haha. I guess that’s your education and brilliant writing style showing through. These
various plants and such of which you speak sound very introspective and interesting. Since I’ve gone
more to the chill out and grow up... I could never seek out these things, but your writings do leave
one to imagine.

My Little China Girl (2009-06-08 03:54) - friends

date: Mon, Jun 1, 2009 at 1:42 AM

subject: Sweetest Heart

I know you love me. And I know it hurt you to take off our wedding ring...
I hope you always keep it somewhere safe, if only to think of me sometime and remember our
time together.

I think of you with forever kindness and endless warmth. You are my little girl and I will
always have love for you.
But I also trust your decision, and know that you know what is best for your future – even if it
hurts me deep.

Your life is so much happier now,

no longer that lonely girl walking alone,
no longer jealous seeing boys and girls together in love.

I smile when I think of your beautiful face,

983
My eyes go wet when I think of your pure white dress,
My heart fills with warm when I think of your first trembling kiss,
This kiss you gave to me, this precious gift I can never forget.

Your life is so much happier now,

You have all the love you deserve, my girl.
Thank you, thank you my love for teaching me your pure beauty.
You are my teacher still, for now you teach me joy and pain together.

Joy for the happiness of new love I know you feel now,
and pain in knowing it is happiness that I cannot give you.

You are a good person, a special girl, amazing, funny, intelligent, wonderful.
You are my monkey. : )

With warm memories held close to my heart

Your Boy,

-K
[1]

984
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000agh1/

985
turboswami (2009-06-08 10:55:40)
If I’v decided to let you go. Boy, don’t need to doubt whether it has been existed , the love , it is
always so real . You are still the one I love . Yes, you are right, I love you. But I know, it is impossible,
it is impossible for us to be together in the future. You know, I care the end more than the procedure,
so I made my mind to give up this desperate love to release the pain it has brought. I’ll keep all those
little cute things you sent me. They are the only witness that I can sure your love for me. They will
always be safe. I’ll remember to love , how to love but not hurt anyone. When I fall in love again, the
one must always be with me and I am the only apple in his eyes. I guess he will appear in my life two
years later and then I’ll be a happy girl again. :). You will have a soft girl with soft characteristic who
can bring more happiness and smiles to you than I do . I wish you are happy and have a nice marriage.
Your little money.

edensgray (2009-06-08 13:15:47)

you both have wonderful hearts...

(2009-06-10 23:31) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _44

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _44

[3]Leonard Cohen - lover lover lover (1975)

by [4]jolysable
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2644%26%26%3Ad548331538
0b27e62300957f6555b654198a3fd8&moduleid=44&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2644%26%26%3Ad548331538
0b27e62300957f6555b654198a3fd8&moduleid=44&preview=&jo
3. http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/x6doyu
4. http://www.dailymotion.com/jolysable

edensgray (2009-06-12 00:29:06)

8 _^(

edensgray (2009-06-12 04:46:06)

visiting your blog...lingering over Cohen...blahhh...even though I’m teary...thanks for the post. I love
Cohen! Hope you are doing well with your presentation. Good luck! Sending you some po....well,
when I’ve got it...I will send it...the good stuff.

986
 turboswami (2009-06-13 20:04:48)
Thanks for the Po. I needed it! : ) ...I think. Oh, you think this Cohen is potent. Lemme hook ya up!

edensgray (2009-06-13 20:13:19)

err...that...’po’...was suppose to be positive energy/flow...but I realized that I was constantly in and
out of my emotions...so tranference would be hopeless. so...hahaha...yeah...not that you needed
’po’ or anything...I am always willing to send it out when I have it flowing. Thanks for that extra
Cohen! I adore him!

turboswami (2009-06-13 20:06:38)

[EMBED]

edensgray (2009-06-13 20:18:36)

I love his arpeggio!

There Will Fall Soft Rains - Ray Bradbury (2009-06-12 03:34) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _45

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _45

[3]There will fall soft rains

by [4]DublinBen
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2645%26%26%3Aa4e25b4e8b
805718728b7b682f5299f14f9dc22c&moduleid=45&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2645%26%26%3Aa4e25b4e8b
805718728b7b682f5299f14f9dc22c&moduleid=45&preview=&jo
3. http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/x38uy2
4. http://www.dailymotion.com/DublinBen

turboswami (2009-06-14 09:00:11)

[EMBED]
[1]There Will Come Soft Rains from [2]Peter Cotter on [3]Vimeo.

1. http://vimeo.com/1192818
2. http://vimeo.com/user515480
3. http://vimeo.com/

987
(2009-06-12 20:13) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _47

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _47

[3]Spider from [4]Qoob TV on [5]Vimeo.

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2647%26%26%26vimeo%2639
88731%3A38cf6069607eb869c68d4040cdc61c2376a2971f&sourc
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2647%26%26%26vimeo%2639
88731%3A38cf6069607eb869c68d4040cdc61c2376a2971f&sourc
3. http://vimeo.com/3988731
4. http://vimeo.com/qoob
5. http://vimeo.com/

I Miss Teaching English! (2009-06-13 17:59) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _48

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _48

[3]Morning Musume Haromoni English interview

by [4]kago-san

My girls were older. I loved making them laugh. I remember playing this game and
laughing till I cried. They were so cute.

988
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2648%26%26%3A50f571e8f4
748dd0356ec6cec041a381391cf812&moduleid=48&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2648%26%26%3A50f571e8f4
748dd0356ec6cec041a381391cf812&moduleid=48&preview=&jo
3. http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/x3tzdo
4. http://www.dailymotion.com/kago-san

I Ching (2009-06-14 19:28) - public

The NorthEast must be cut, the SouthWest must be trusted.

Surrender the self to the journey there,
to the river’s flow which can either carry or destroy and then carry.
The river nourishes the open palm fingery roots,
or smooths the closed fist’s stone and it’s fight, it’s clutching desire.

So minute a soulform, this leaf, fluttering madly in the flow’s wind,

seeing only isolate other leaves thrashing sharp edges away and towards
on a branch so easily forgotten.

So grand and wide a soulform, this proud and vibrant tree standing tall radiating reso-
nant our fluttering lives.
This is the sustaining civilization which grows as us and whose organization comes not of us,
but of the flow, the xylem and phloem drawing and carrying the pulsing tides of continuity
inwards to nourish the expression of life to unfold in receiving, like the palm’s open graditude
in that universally-understood gesture of sensitivity and acceptance.
989
monroe_the_fast (2009-06-15 08:42:36)
Today I went to my friend Stacy’s to make "seed bombs" and when I arrived she was making me a tiny
framed picture of a jug of milk with bunch of bananas behind it as background. This seemed like a
strange cosmic occurrence since you and I were discussing banana milk just yesterday.

Subjective Science and The Search for Intraterrestrial Life (2009-06-14 19:29) -
public

The progression of science into prominence, and approaching dominance, of Western culture
has been a century of rapid exponential development fueled by exchange with technological
innovation and invention - the manifestation of the meticulous details of scientific research
and understanding. Yet, this developmental progression of science has been in one solitary
direction: outwards, exploring the observable world in every scale of its complexity. The
object of this scientific study has been of just that, objectivity, to the point of object and study
coming to be inextricably linked in the semantic associations of our culture, in the same way
as the words observable and science have come to be conceptually related. This branched
collective of social consciousness surrounding the core of scientific investigation has come
to limit our potential application of her principles and methods to measurable physicality,
binding her critical gaze to the set of quantifiable external surfaces.

Surface/Depth

There is a boundary, that fluid surface between the objective and subjective, with which
we have unnecessarily come to interpret as the limit of what can be scientifically understood.
I like to think of this boundary as the surface of that ocean we wade into on a sunny day at
the beach. The ocean is our ancient source and I feel rejuvenated by being near it – hearing
it’s sounds, feeling the cool tingle of its water rise up from below as I descend into her,
letting the energy of her frequent and relentless waves envelope me. This is how I think of
the unseen subjective world we may similarly immerse ourselves in – the deeper realm of
experience which exists beneath the surface of the ocean of consciousness, in all its depths
and fluid currents of bobbing, waving frequency. This is a safe analogy which carries many rich
associative revelations within it, associations to be harvested and applied to our conception
of spirit, consciousness, and the subtle systems of the electromagnetic spectrum.

Figure 1.

The idea of a beach, of entering the water - that meeting of 3 different densities: sand,
water, and air.

I would like to be able to show a man entering the water...perhaps being waist deep.

Figure 2.

Maybe another perspective of seeing an entity in the water, looking at it from the sur-
face above – an obscured almost-visible conscious creature, a fish or perhaps a man. His
figure seeming faint or distant through the density of the oceanic medium we struggle to see
through using our external physical senses.
990
3 Densities Metaphor

1)Air – Medium of fine density defining the consciousness of the visible spectrum and
observable physicality.
2)Ocean – Medium of subjective depth, intermediate fluid density beneath the observable
"surface" of physicality.
3)Ground – Medium of gross density whose frequency of energetic carriage is of a scale
beyond the capacity of our immersion, providing a solid base to support both the physical and
non-physical self. “The Ground of Being.”

Meditation is like the act of a curious diver, closing his eyes to the external, paying at-
tention to his breath, and “diving beneath” to see what can be seen and explore what exists
beneath the surface and the loud people of that crowded sunlit beach. Diving beneath, the
barrage of light and the emotion of their music, speech, and intentions fade from his percep-
tion, becoming distant to the new inward focus. To him, the subtlety of the previous-unseen
subjective world is revealed in all of it’s glorious depths and wonderous organization. Here,
immersed within the ocean of energetic currents beneath the baseline of waking physical
consciousness, intelligent and sentient lifeforms of a multitude of non-physical phyla and
species are described univeresally, to some degree, among cultures of every time and location
of the world. Interaction with these intraterrestrial entities is a central component forming the
core of most spiritual and religious belief which extends beyond recorded human history and
civilization.

The depth and rate of one’s breath decides how deep one may truly dive in the act of
meditation. A whale is a mammal who lived and thrived upon the land, only to turn around
and return to the depths from which he had crawled. The whale can go deeper than any other
mammal for its immense volume and expanded rate of breath. Yet it does not perhamently
inhabit these depths, for it is always a creature the finer density, air, from which it chose to
decend back into the oceanic medium.

From this aspect of the metaphor, the relationship between the potential depth an en-
tity can explore subjectively and the rate and frequency of their breath can be drawn, with
the associated relationship between breath and depth of consciousness being a measurable
test of the direct proportional nature of their inter-influence. That is to say, electroencephalo-
graphic (EEG) monitoring reveals the energetic medium of our perceptual experience in the
consciousness medium as a brainwave frequency. As we know, our breathing decides, to some
degree, our internal state of consciousness – slowing to calm as we descend into lower states
of consciousness each night, being immersed into the spectrum of discrete bandwidths which
compose the subconscious realm, our metaphor’sunderwater realm whose flowing current
depths are divided into inner energetic layers, serving individually as a bound carriages of
subconscious perceptions, like spirit or dream.

In trance, the shaman voyages into this “underworld,” beneath surface, intent to see and
interact with the entities of that fluid underwater density. It is with the aid of consciousness-
expanding medicines, like ayahuasca, that the shaman attains a hypersensitive state of
awareness to the sub-physical or “intraterrestrial” realm of subtle energetic existence and
the conscious manifestation of life which thrive there (our non-physical selves included).
Indigenous spiritual men refer to this sudden and often overwhelming flood of energetic
perceptions of the afterlife as “The Small Death,” implying a temporary transition into the
991
subjective realm of spirit facilitated by the entheogenic medicine.

The heightened state of sensitivity induced by the ayahuasca medicine facilitates not
just the inner journey through the depths of subjective existence, but an enhancement to the
shaman’s objective perception as well, reportedly allowing him to see or hear more. WIth
his eyes open, the shaman claims to sense the location and nature of disease in the sick;
illness which he can then carefully “extract,” with all the careful preparation and delicate
precision of a surgeon. The evidence supporting the legitimate benefit resulting from this
“energetic surgery” is becoming less and less anecdotal, more and more empirically measured
and documented as medically effective as more and more researchers risk their academic
reputation on what anthropology had, for decades, essentially disregarded as a primitive tribal
narcotic which incapacitates the Indian witch doctor, inducing meaningless hallucinations,
temporary psychosis, and delusional thinking.

Bathtime Swarm MP3 (2009-06-14 22:10) - public

[1]
992
Further explorations of binaural trance and the self-oscillation state of lowpass filter
envelopes.
993
 Sadly, this was recorded direct which, while clarifying the beat frequencies of the
entrainment tones, gives no hint of the beautiful percussive transients of the chugging bass
hits get when amped.

Regardless, there are many solid rhythm samples in the second half, ripe for looping,
re-amping, and layering. (Aaron)

http://rapidshare.com/files/244673330/Bathtime _Swarm.mp3

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000rp7s/

edensgray (2009-06-15 05:22:47) Sa-weet

....

edensgray (2009-06-15 05:34:59)

:( No sound comes out of my speakers...bad download...maybe? speakers work well on Cohen...

turboswami (2009-06-17 05:40:10)

I dunno. It seems to work ok for others. It needs some drums and stuff anyways.

edensgray (2009-06-17 13:11:42)

ok I admit I haven’t listened to it through my headphones - tried with my laptop. I will give it a shot on
my IPOD. Have a nice day!

(2009-06-15 02:26) - public

What if we were 100 people?

If the Earth population were a small community of 100 people, it would be something thus:
Sex
50 men
50 women
Population by continents
61 Asians
12 Europeans
14 Americans
13 Africans
1 Australian
Religion
33 are Christian
18 are Muslim
14 are Hindus
16 are not religious
6 are Buddhist
13 people practice other religions
994
Economy
41 live without basic cleaning
47 live in an urban area
6 people have 59 % of the total fortune
18 live without a potable water source
18 people fight to survive with less than $1 or per day
53 people fight to survive with less than $2 or per day

Feeding
13 are hungry

Education
14 cannot read
7 have secondary education
12 have a computer
3 have connection to Internet

Health
1 adult between 15 and 49 years has AIDS
9 are incapacitated people

More data
The village uses more than $1,12 trillions in military expenses
The village uses only $100 billions in aids to the development
If you have food in your refrigerator, clothes in your locker, ceiling on your head, and have a
bed for sleeping, you are richer than 75 % of the whole population of the world
If you have a banking account you are one of the 30 richer people in the world

edensgray (2009-06-16 03:15:08)

Oye! I am thankful!

turboswami (2009-06-16 03:48:26)

Ohp. I didn’t mean to leave on that last bit where it gets all preachy. Heh, sorry. Yea, I am one of
the 3 lucky ones. I could have been(and it was much more likely) that I be born in a shanty town in
India or China. It so popular to sneer about what a horrible place America is - but I really do have way
more opportunity than the great majority of the world here.

edensgray (2009-06-16 04:10:03)

I am Rich! Wait a minute there, Mr. Smith, what do you mean "it was much more likely that I be born
in a shanty town in India or China? Are we talking past lives here, eh?

turboswami (2009-06-16 06:36:26)

Naw. 61 % of the world is Asian, where mere 14 % is American So, being born human, odds are you
will most-likely be Asian. (and poor - surviving on less than $2 a day.)

edensgray (2009-06-16 13:13:01)

aahhhh...interesting unknown fact

995
Death (2009-06-16 02:54) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _49

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _49

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2649%26%26%3A1f451cd133
9d06944d4f6d9ef1c1d2885e08d569&moduleid=49&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2649%26%26%3A1f451cd133
9d06944d4f6d9ef1c1d2885e08d569&moduleid=49&preview=&jo

turboswami (2009-06-16 10:10:36)

He spends so much time convolutedly playing semantics. It could so much more easily have clearly
defined two layers of both "I" and "Death," a subjective and objective layer. In this way, the outermost
physical layer of the body is experienced as death of the objective self, yet this does not imply
death of the subjective self. He does edge towards this territory around 20 minutes in, but even
then, he merely gives an overview of other perspectives on semantics. Some of the perspectives are
meaningful: dualist (the above perspective), physicalist (essentially behaviorism) and idealism (which
is a bit much and mostly disregarded after its brief mention at that point of the lecture.) I feel like he
could have dove a bit deeper into death, itself, and its patterns and nature. It felt he was retreading
the same material after a time. Wonderful video and topic overall though!

(2009-06-16 19:36) - public

he comes
́͌ ͊̈̈͑
T ̈̆́̊̒̆̚ ̒͒̓ ̘͓͈̱̑͞ͅ ́ ͎̲̩̮̩ o ̆̒ ̢̘ ̭̮̠͑̈̔ ͌̀̕̚ ̆ ̓̌̔ ̵̧̡̨̝̲̔̚ ̻̦̲̫ ̠̘̮ ̼ı͇ ̾ ̍̊̋͋ ̄̅ ̿̌̽ͅn ̻̝̭̕ ̒ ̃͋̈́͊ ̡̞̣̦ ͚͢v ̸̡ ̋ ̿ ̹͍ ̖͚
o͓ ̉̉ ͋̓͝ ̜ ̪k
̣̞ ̈͆͋ ̑ ̉͆̌ ̓͆ ̂̊҉͢ ͝ͅê ̸̥ ̸ ̌ ̨̠̬̕͝ ̏͗ ̿͊ ͂̊ ̿ ̒̾̅̔̌͒͢t̳̹̫͍̘̯ ̵̡̫̲̖̯̑ ̈́ ̫͎h̢
̼̲̞ ̛͇̫̫ ̘͍͇ ̾͋̔̇̚͘͜͟e̸̒͒̀҉̴̦̣̳̮ ̹̟ ͟͠ͅ
̣̯ ͚ ͈ ̩̥ ̹͚ ̩̪ ̮̜̪̥ ̜͈ ̜̟̮ ̬̤̼ ̠ ̤̹ ̦ ̼̠̟ ̩
̪ ̖͓ ͎̼͚̠
̟̣̺
̺̥ ̩
̱̯̪
͎
́́̉͊
͆͑̏ ̌͗ ̿͗
̐͌ ͋̆ ̃͋ ̉̉ ̄̇ ͑ ͂̎
̙ ͚̜̉ ͒ ̃̓̇̾ ̂̓̆́̚͜͞͡͠h͆̓ ̺̲̹͚̱ ̄́͞ ̺̳̹ ̟̞i̴͊͌̿ ̏ ̓́ ̷̧̮̳͍̯̦̦͈ ̳͇̙v̋ ̄̿̅͋ ͋҉̧̀͞ͅë ͚̼ ́̎ ͊͒ ̡̧̛ ̹̳̖̭͎͍̯̐̏ ̓͡͝ͅ-̈ ̽̒̓̂ ̋͋ ̹̠̰ ̥̀͝ͅm̳ ̳͚̘̺̗ ̼ȉ̫̘͗ ̵̢͈̬͍ ̖̟ ̋̑ ̅̏͒ ͑́͘ņ͚̏̑̕͠d ̶̲̰̅ ̴ ͍ ̪̫̖̔͗ ̒ ͞ ̄̔̅̾̌͂̓̽ ̡̨͇̙̊͑̒̆͘͢ ̪ ̜ r ̓ ̵̤̳̘̺̫̞ ̻̟͋̕͜͟é
̲̥ ̷͈ ̯͓̟ ̌̊̍̔͊͘͢ ̖̹̠ ̦ͅp ̩̜̪͈͉̘͚̙̱̰̯ ̧ ̇̄͗ ̋ ̿̑ ͞ͅr͠ ̆
͇̹
͎
͍͉ ̣͚̟̱ ̻͚̯̩̭ ̻̣̬̬̙
̻ ̻͉̟̜̝ ͚ ̞̬̮
̺̩̙ ̻̪ ̜̺ ̗̮̹ ̱ ̜ ̱ ̱̘̙
̼ ̭͉̭ ̟̣
͍̜ ̙̘̘ ̱̫͚ ̫̟̰
̭̬ ̗ ̖̝
̏̐ ̑͒̃ ̏͋ ͌̽̋̿
̂͆̃
̵̴̶̜̘ ̗͚̊͢͡ȩ̵̩ ͍ ̅̀̍ ̉̑̓͞ ̮̲̼̝ ̖
͆̆͗ ́̈ ͌̅ ̎͆̏
͑
̵̶̱͚͓̑̿̑̈ ̏͂̂̈͒̔ ̚ḡ̶ ͌ ̿ ̟̹̠͊̓̑͞ ̜̫͓͝ͅ ̍̐̀̓͒ ̚ ̡̛̞̯͍̐̊ ͆ ́ ͂̔̈͋́ ̿́ ̅͆̑͆ ą
̸̷̵̨̩̗͝ ̶̸̨͎̣̈̅̃ ̿̔ ́̓̊ ̀o͆ ̅͊̉
̋
̺̪s̡̾̅ ͓̩̳̜̺ ̭̥ ́̚ ̨̛̦̲̺̠̖̜͍̰̏́ ̿͗ ̅̌ ̂͘n͂
̪è̈ ́͌̔͋ ͋ ̨̻ ͍̺̼ ̄̚͢͟t̴͇ ̻̺ ̱ ̣̭͉̂ ́ ͟ı ̎ ̓̐̾̊ ̶̨̼̜̓̀͝ ̻͎n̄
̮̤̖ ̬̯͇
̀ ̃ ̷̢̧̩̳̲͟ͅc
̜ ̑̿ ̚h̎̊̓
̺̣̠ ͈ ̱̗̜ ̹ ̱̟ ̠͇̭͓ ̱͍̬ ̙͓̼ ̻̞̟̟ ͍͚̫͎ ̮̭̫ ̯̮ ͈
̝͓̹ ̻̺̼̺ ͇̱͉
̙̙̜
̦̬̮ ͎̟̬ ̟̘̜ ̥
̞̙ ̟ ̥̜
̯̰̖
͎̬
996
 ̎
̶ ̣̗̬ ̹̬ ̠͓̜̎͌ ̔̓ s̰͚̝̪͆̓ ̐ ́̾ ̀̕ͅ ̱ͅ.͎͇ ̵ ͌̒̆ ̍̄̍ ̔ ̒ ̊̽ ҉͟ ̘͚ ̮̟̝
̘ ̭̮̦ ̝̺̠ ̬ ̪͈
̻̝͓̩
̋̂ ͗̄ ́ ̅͋̿ ̉̈́
̹̂̃́͒ ̌ ̊ ́́͌̀ ́͗ ͗́ ̉ ̊ ̈
̫̗̞ ̇̂̌ ̏ ͜Î ͈̠ ̿̃͊̆ ̅ ̽́͢ ̦n̔ ̸̰̟̺̠ ̒ ̆̂͆̐̑
̪ ̆̓ ́͘͞v ̓҉̼̳̝̲ ̤͝ȯ
̺ ͍̜ ̲̼ ̯̱͎ ̈́ ̈k̴ ̔̇̓̽ ̟̤͚̇ ̃͢͜ ̟ͅi̳̘̗̤̫ ̷̰̫̖̾ ̑̍̔̒ ̈͢n ̔̃͜҉̴̒̈ ̗̜̤ ̙̦ ǵ̈̔̎̓ ͑ ҉̷̡̺̠̭ ̤̰̼̲͉͡ ̷̆̾͗̒̋̌ ̲̟̬̤̱̣̞̚͢ ̹̳̬̺̦͝ͅt̖ ̡̯̺̊̋͊ ̲̦̫͇̦̠͈ ̷̡̝̮̯ ̣̬͚
ͅh ̃ ̽ ̇̍̒͑̇̀ ̊̀ͅe̵̳̻ ̫ ̋̿͑ ̅̀͘ ͓̳̭̤̭̓̅̊̒ ͗͂ ̎ ̲̱͚ ̛̯̹͚ ̫̿͂ ̌̓́͜e
̀͞͡f̶̵̣̬̤ ̫͓ ̊͒̽ ̓̈̀́ ę ́̚ ͂͆̉ ̃͌̍
̭̜ ̦ ̣ ̰̺̤ ̫͎̯ ̣̞̠ ̫ ̞ ̩ ͈̰ ͇ ͇̙̘ ̺
̱̖̭
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̏ ̀̍ ̿ ̈ ̋ ͌ ́̎ ̑ ̌̐
̅
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͎ ̿̊͊͑ ̛́̾͑̀̓͋̈
́ ̳̜̄̕.͍̼̺̿̍͘ ̸̻̳̗̼̘̦ ͈͇̇̒ ̍̄ ͂͊͟͜͠ͅ
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̍̀̉ ̇̊̈̃ ̋̈́

͗͂ ̅̀
̷̡̛̘͍̘ ̄ ̀̒̚W̸̡̻͉ ͍̹ ͈̮͑ ̆͘͡͠ͅı ̽̎ ̑ ̑̏ ̉ ͆ ̸̣̰̹͆ ́́͟ṫ̑͂ ͊ ͊͆̆ ̿ ̂͋ ͠ḫ ̵̹̩̲ ̷̢̩͚ ͎̹̓ ̏̀ ̊ ̃ ͊̅ ̔ ̗̹ ̻̬͎ ̽̎͘͝ͅỏ̶̢̩̠̰ ̽̊͊ ̇̀͟u͗ ̄ ̋ ̆ ̏ ̷̲̗̦̖͓ ̀͢͡t̬ ̷̺̣̲̥̙̄ ̌̂̃̌̔̑ ͗̎͜ ̽ ̂̽ ̂͊ ̌́ ̷̡̗̖͆̎͜ ̪ ͎ ̯o̾ ͌͆̇̅́ ̕҉͍̲͉̫̖ ̜̥ ͅř̪ ̷̵̺̣͎̋̓ ̈́d
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̨̐́̒̂̏ ͌ ̄
͍̪ ́͡e̴̛͒̿̂ ͉̪̱͢ ͎̖ ͇̥ ̩r ̊̄̂ ̃ ̃̇ ́ ̾ ̕҉ ̳̗̱̮ ̩.̠͎ ̞̞̝̽̾ ̄ ͑̾͟
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̩̩̩
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͒̀̒͊̅ ͊ ͗ ͂̀͊̀ ̵̴̜̳̙̣̹́̕ ͓T̂
͒̂ ́̋ ̃ ͂̄̃ ̑̎ ͑ ̽
̢̻̲̳͍͈ ̗̌́̏̚͝ͅḫ
̓̍ ͈̞̙ ̎ ̆͠ͅe ̼ ͚̳̘̟̏̉̈̓̑̋ ̍͗ ̎̈͜ ̢̨̛̟̭̙ ̗̮̰̉ ̑͑ ̂́ ̍̂͞ͅǸ
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̃͠a̷̧̠̯ ̰̅̆ ͜ṋ
̩̟̰̜̬ ̮̼̥ ̣̰̥ ̖͇ ̠ ̻͍̖̫̹̗̙ ̙̤̝ ̙̘ ͎ ̹̩ ̮̬̫
̤̩̞̠
̬̫̞
̞ ͍̟
̻̫ ͉͉̼
̙̠̬̫ ̦͇̦̮ ̥̯ ̱̜ ̻̰͍͍̼
̺̣ ͇
̅́̿ ̿ ̋͂
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̏ ̷̆͗̌ ̈́ ̃̅͟ ̻̟̪ a̶̝ ̣̠ ͑ ̔ ̋ i̲̱̠̬̙̯̣̦ ̧̛ ̋̊ ̈̽͝ ̘t̛̳̺̥̥͓ ̄́҉s
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̱͇̺ ̷̪̲͍̳̫̞͍̺̤̊ ͋ ̂̇̀ ̅̒͋̀͟ ̑ ̌̊͆́̚͟҉̓ ̳͝ͅW
͚̙̞ ͉ ̛͚͂̉ ͑͡l ́̔͗̍ ͋
̇̾̂ ̽ ́ ͘͜͢ ͚̱̜̳̰ ͡ą
̥͈
̘̬̯ ̥ ̩͉͓ ̫͚͎ ̞̦̖ ̜̼ ̪ ̖̗ ̤̺͈ ̦̰ ͍̥̺ ̟̬ ͇ ̰̦̝ ̻̖͈͉
̗̱ ̭ ̦͓͓ ̣ ̯
̮
͎̘̙ ̩̕l̲̹̱̘̜ ̴̨̘̥ ̫̬̦ ̙̳̪̝̹̗͊͒̂ ̿̅ ̈̊̕͘.̵̛͎͚̦̂̓̍̾͗͡ͅ
̟̰ ̯̰͎̩ ͍ ͚ ̩̞
̺̺
̀ ̿ ̋̋ ͌ ̉
̢͉͈ ̬̩̩̿̆̍ ̕͞Z̢̨̒̿̓ ҉̫͜ͅA
̣̥̥ ̡̧̛̙͎͍ ̪͈̙͂ ̓̑ ̍ͅL ̄ ̔̈ ̑ ̄ ̍̊̃̾̑ ͋̕͜͝ͅG
̨̫̱ ̢̾ ̍ ̿ ̲͍̳͎̺̪̥̜̅͋͝ ̲ ̼̥ ͈O͈̟͎̲̰ ̰̰ ̘̲̠̬ ̃͋̆ ͒ ͝!͟ ̨̻̱̑̌̀͋̓̆̏ ̒́ ͝
͍͈̹ ̜ ͚͎̰ ̬̖ ̗̮ ̻̩̜ ̰̙̥̯
̞̪̯ ̦̤ ̭̗̮
͉̺̤ ̠̠͓
̘

edensgray (2009-06-17 05:28:19)

its coded...shit...I gotta be ’the one’ to decipher it...j/j the power of the ONE, heh

997
 turboswami (2009-06-17 05:35:20)
Haha. Clever girl! ; D

edensgray (2009-06-17 13:15:17)

I see it...I just have to write it down to decipher. Brain tease!

edensgray (2009-06-17 16:58:26)

oye, the focus is difficult and I feel myself getting nauseated after trying to focus in between the junk.
I drank an energy drink and this is a feat on its own. Yucky.

edensgray (2009-06-18 18:57:29)

To invoke the hive mind representing chaos invoking the feeling of chaos.... I dunno....even if I
dechiphered it I risk not understanding what it means...bleck!

(2009-06-19 02:53) - public

4 sleeping pills.
I’m up to 4.
One used to knock me out fine, but that was years ago.
Do the darkened violet bags under eyes go away eventually?

Finnish people don’t sleep - prone to insomnia and hynagogic imagery.

Its a baseline state of consciousness with a genetic component.
There I am using that word "genetic" again - what a dirty word!
Sorry M@.

About Tim Burton’s Sparkle-Goth Monotony (2009-06-23 01:05) - public

<img src="http://i39.tinypic.com/ua8ar.jpg">

So, our heroes can’t stay young, spunky, and creative forever...
We must tolerate aging rock stars too. Same sort of flaky uninspired output...

it’s sometimes hard to put your finger on WHY it’s different from their good stuff -
they’re using the same formulas, same themes, same tricky shit that worked in the past,
but it feels different, empty of youthful challenge and the need to PROVE something.
they are just going through the routine. On Beetlejuice, he was LEARNING that routine.

The User (2009-06-26 17:31) - public

Here, huddled in the wet corner of some shady alley hole,

lookin for a fix, negotiating a price for a few mainline minutes.
I admit, my life is on the line.
998
(2009-06-26 17:35) - public

Lima is loud.
I had spiritual dreams last night.
I will type them out later. They are big.

(2009-06-27 04:11:20) dreams

I can’t believe I am going to say this word...but it’s the first thing that popped into my head =
F*A*B*U*L*O*U*S ;)

edensgray (2009-06-27 04:12:37) Re: dreams

just in case intuition didn’t kick in it’s me - edensgray

Blushed Blossoming of Grace (2009-06-28 12:19) - public

Fuck tonight, fuck tonight,

The fat man did sing.
Lost again, found again,
Jiggitty-Jig.

(not a limmerick)

There is a baby that cries in Lima at 4:46 in the morning.

It sounds not like a baby, but like a howling dog of a lonely fool moon.
Crying out in need, crying out in lone solitary frustration,
for this purpose he was born into, this purpose that in death was forgotten.

Death forgets.
Death is the Alzheimer’s of the soul, the loss of ego to nature
no longer held within a shell, it disolves into its surroundings over time.

Disolve, love.
Disolve, memory.
Disolve, sweet life and family that held me so close.
Disolve, my wife, my mother, my dearest child.
Disolve, all attachment...

Disolve!
And become fluid once more!
Oppose solving, oppose rational,
oppose proof, oppose observation and data.
Oppose all which the sun did bring,
oppose all that the body did orchestrate.

Un-physicality, a life without ourself.

Neath-physicality, a life within ourself.
The blank side of a cycle is no less valid.
999
Its boundaries defined just as strongly,
however more subtle it’s nature.

She loves me.

Han-Chinese Peruvian beauty.
So shy, like a China girl...
Smart with nerves firiing her into a blushed huddle, so precious.
She longs for all privacy will bring us.

I love her too,

Her shiver of trustful opening.
That which I cherish and am patient for.
She deserves only patience and encouragement.
To becknon into blossom her unsure grace.

8.7 July

Three Shipibo Shamans (2009-07-09 13:23) - public

Three Shipibo shaman women have been brought in from the deep jungle to live in the small
house outside the larger one that I and 7 others live in. They range between 70 and 80 years
old and are genuinely warm and caring. They have had little contact with the world outside of
their tribe and know little, if any, Spanish – only Shipibo. They are the real deal.
When arriving to the Herbarium compound, they came to the swimming pool and became very
curious. They looked at it for over 15 minutes not understanding what it was for, touching
the water unsure if it was for drinking or for animals. Someone made a diving sign to them
and they immediately got it! The 80 year old women quickly stripped naked and jumped in,
laughing with bright toothless smiles.
Last night we took them out into town. I sat in the little motorized rickshaw with the oldest one,
riding fast and rough over the bumpy potholed roads of Iquitos. Horns and exhaust and traffic,
I couldn’t help but to watch her, with awe and respect – she simply sat in exalted silence, her
eyes closed with a calm smile. Grace.
We brought them to the town movie theater. I took their picture and they clapped with smiles
when I showed it to them. Patiently waiting, they came into the hallway where the entrances
to the many individual theaters were numbered. There they sat, waiting, ready. They thought
that the show, whatever it was they were there to see, would be taking place in the hallway. I
laughed and led them into the dark theater, and their eyes widened when they saw the massive
wide screen lit up with animals moving. Haha! My eyes watered with smile just to see them,
their adorable innocence.
The movie was Ice Age 3, dubbed in Spanish – they understood about as much of it as I did. All
through the movie, I would turn around to see how they were doing. During a roller coaster-ride
of a scene with character sledding fast down a snow covered hill, dodging rocks and trees, I
looked to see the older shaman covering her gaping mouth, putting up her other arm as if to
shield herself from the speed. During the scene of a birth, I looked to see her fully at the edge
of her seat, sitting forward, half in the aisle, awash with emotion. It was really amazing to see
– they are so pure and sensitive.
1000
 edensgray (2009-07-13 14:12:43)
:)

Climbing The Song To School (2009-07-17 15:37) - public

On the last night in the jungle, my physical and emotional bodies had been purged clean, the
painful expelling of the surface layer of that negative mess had left me bare, vulnerable, and
open. The medicine was strong and I told myself I would not be distracted – that I would lay
calm, meditative, and let the trance take me without fighting the course it intended for me.
The old women sensed my meditative state, and shared it with me. As the energy of the
medicine began to rise up my spine and fill my chest’s breath with charge, they sighed with
me, following the bliss of my long exhales. Gazing upwards behind closed eyes, the visions
rose up with the energy, ascending along the calm breath like a long taut wire. As I reached
the bottom of an energetic rhythm, the radiant smiling exhaustion of an exalted exhale, their
song began. And it was beautiful.
A single woman opened her voice, and 5 others opened in turn, harmonizing upwards in echoed
layers. Ethereal. These Shipibo songs, the heart with which they are sung, represent something
deeply human, archetypal.Soon, I began to enter visions.
I was curled, unborn, nestled in the soft warm earth. Waiting. My mothers sang sweet lullabies
to their baby and I was cared for in comfort. A grand apple tree rose up from behind me, like
a past self. The lulling icaros washed me in waves of rocking memory. I was incubating, but
knew I would have to awaken and begin sprouting into life soon. I could sense the moment
coming in the building of their song – they were preparing me to be a man.
I began to puke and my mothers gathered around me in tone with both pity and support. They
felt my pain, but were proud of their growing child for learning to get the negativity out. In the
exhaustive heaves, I saw the Greco-Roman vomitorium, the grotesque faces of stone and the
ornately tiled walls of the bath house. It was a place of cleansing, inward and outward. The
guttural plumbing gurgled up, a public fountain of colored night streams.
I laid back, exhausted, opened, emptied, scoured clean. I could suddenly breath unlike I ever
could in my life – each breath an influx of well-being and health. The air in my lungs had a
seemingly-tangible charged, as if my whole chest were simply vibrant, unobstructed purity. I
reclined into these breaths and wholly felt the bliss they carried through me.
I ascended upwards through frequency, climbing the song like the beanstalk, through clouds.
In my mind’s eye, an eye-shaped window appeared and grew. It was a window into a higher
forest realm, the realm of my ancestors, The Finns. They were small and elvish, with wide moist
eyes that reflected rainbows of frequency in their corneas. I was to be educated by them, a
classroom was in session. It was explained that they existed of the higher ranges of frequency,
a bandwidth high where sound has an inner visual nature. This is spectrum and spirit mingles
interwoven there, if only I could hear it. It was said that I must learn to hear within sound, to
see what is carried between harmonies in the greater ranges. It is my heritage.
The next day, I was sitting on the sidewalk at a gringo restaurant called The Yellow Rose of
Texas. Next to me sat a middle aged white couple. My acai juice came and, as I read the menu,
I overheard them speaking in a rhythm and tone that sounded familiar to me. I asked them
“Are you Finnish?”
1001
They quickly lit up, saying “Yes! How did you know?” I told them I was Finnish-American and
was raised hearing more Finnish than most Americans and knew the sound well. We spoke for
almost an hour, talking about Finland and family and education.The odds! Two Finlanders in
the middle of the Amazon jungle. I asked them if there were still Shamans in the Lapplands
and they told me to contact their friend, a shamanism professor at the University of Helsinki.
The ancient Finns in the vision said they would teach me, and within hours they arrived to give
me the direction to the school!

edensgray (2009-07-17 22:42:01)

Missed you! Very beautiful. I am equally proud that you have experienced such a journey. Take care.

turboswami (2009-07-17 22:44:24)

Thanks hun.

edensgray (2009-07-17 22:47:40)

are you back in the states? i almost cried reading your post, you know!!!

turboswami (2009-07-17 23:04:56)

Naw, tomorrow I travel back upriver into the jungle for a 12 day ceremony with the Shipibo tribe.
No electricity or hot water or communication with the outside world for 12 days!

edensgray (2009-07-17 23:17:15)

oohhh...wow!!!! cold showers are lovely...in the heat. :) well, I’m sure it’s peaceful... Amazing!
I get to experience through you....unlimited is knowledge and experience through others I’m so
happy!

turboswami (2009-07-17 22:43:22)

The icaros bring the visions in their melodies, intricate and fractal kaleidoscopic scales. The women
describe their songs in terms of resonance; the sick individual having a disorganized or misaligned
emotional-energetic field. The songs, when sung to patients under the hypersensitive influence
of ayahuasca, are said to resonate within the person, aligning the oscillating cycles of their subtle
systems. The old women believe that these pure ethereal tones resonate to tug the disordered and
diseased portions of subtle energetic self into sync, re-entraining a periodic order within the bod-
ily system. Yes, admittedly, very New Age - but in fact, a legitimate belief system of a much OLDER age.

edensgray (2009-07-17 22:49:44)

I’ll have to stick with water...and guided chanted meditations for my own purifications!!! ;)

the2minh8 (2009-07-20 21:09:41)

Awesome.

(2009-07-17 15:45) - public

The sun blares, unabashed, alive in frequencies both loving and harsh.
I know their past, as dimly remembered as my own from this place.
I glow like a clown, my face a smile seeming theatric in height of its radiance.
1002
Clouds no longer obscure the light of my inner sun,
my attention shines revealing all that was shadowed by my personality, opaque, now transpar-
ent.
Climb for me, the muscle flesh of mushroom straining to carry this frame upwards.
What is inspiration without perseverance.
The moment of birth without the work of raising up, and allowing to develop into a youth of
weight and consequence.
There are whales which communicate along key strata of oceanic density, knowing that certain
layers or bandwidths of pressure will carry their sound for hundreds of miles.
Our ocean, that of air, also has key atmospheric strata which, like those bandwidths of water,
carry certain ranges of frequency with optimal efficiency. Tesla’s life dream was to harness
these areas of the ionosphere to carry communication and energy, universal and free, to en-
lighten and power all the world. His Wardencleiff Tower was to use both the strata of the high
ionosphere and the lower physical densities of the earth’s crust as mediums to carry conscious-
ness with energy.
Our minds, too, are immersed and modulate in spectral densities of frequency, the bandwidths
of which are oceanic, extending eternal, beyond the capacity of our meager sensation. Sacred
are the key tones of inward resonance, achieved beneath distraction of physicality in meditative
control. Navigation to other bandwidths of this subtle tone is attained with disciplined focus,
until any brainwave state can be found and maintained with the anchor of calm.

edensgray (2009-07-17 23:15:01)

frequencies...echoes...ripples in the water...thoughts...collecive consciousness...

12 Days In The Jungle (2009-07-30 10:49) - public

The Egyptian girl had been having very negative ayahuasca experiences – each night, descend-
ing into hellish catatonic despair, seeing bloody knife murders and demons in the visions. De-
termined to find healing, she booked another week of ceremony.
On the first day of her return, bad omens surrounded her presence in the circle. As we
prepared in the quiet dark for the session, we heard her scream frantically, jumping up and
stomping her feet, hysterical. A flashlight showed the cause of the upset, a massive adult
scorpion crawled out from under her blanket onto the floor. Dark tan, about 5 inches long,
with small yellow claws. I watched, remembering the words of my Boy Scout leader in the 5th
grade: small claws mean big venom, the less poisonous scorpions defend themselves with big
pincers. This was a very deadly creature in her bed.

One of the gringos got a piece of paper and slid it under the scorpion, because he was a
sensitive hippy and wanted to save its life, release the fatal fucking thing safely back into the
wild. It quickly scurried across the floor towards me. The old shamaness Rosa took a puke bowl
and slammed the thing with a sticky crunch. It bled a smeared puddle of red. Funny, the 80
year old woman was the manliest one there, in a room of over 20 young men.
1003
The shamans convened discussing the meaning of what had happened. It was concluded it
was an omen, related to the Egyptian girl’s spirits. They burned the scorpion’s body to clear
the space of it’s spell.
20 minutes later, after we had drank the ayahuasca and laid quietly in the dark maloca, the
same Egyptian girl jumped up, stomping and shrieking again. This time, a long black centipede
had crawled INTO HER PANTS, where it curled and slithered in the warmth of her crotch. She
was hysterical, crying and unable to lay back down on her floor mat. Who can blame her...
The shamans told her that she had angered the powerful brujo (dark shaman), Havier, at the
conference and that he was sending the creatures to hurt or kill her.

Tune in next week for the exciting spine-tingling episode "Havier And The Russian Thief"
or "The Painter Who Painted With Blood.¨

edensgray (2009-07-30 18:09:22)

OH!!!! I’m ecstatic, Kaleb! Amazing. I can’t wait to read the next episode....either one! I hope you are
doing well. You’ve been gone so long!!!!

the2minh8 (2009-07-30 21:04:14)

I’ll have you know that should anything tragic befall you, I will spin your LJ entries into an award-winning
novel "based on a true story."

monroe_the_fast (2009-07-31 07:28:41)

Very interesting. Good read. When are you getting back? I was hoping to chat with you on the
telephone.

(2009-07-30 21:13) - public

Hey, I´m in the fucking Amazon.

Goddamn it. Its hot here

Goddamn it, I bought 2 and a half pounds of mescalin today

Goddamn it, there was a spider in my bed the size of my fucking hand

I´ve been robbed 4 times!

Goddamn it!
I love these women, they are so tightly packed with legs to carry such gorgeous smiles...
So strange that when you talk to them, they respond with a price.

1004
edensgray (2009-07-31 02:21:21)
LMAO! Enjoy the torturous fun, K. –S

Perceptual Buoyancy: The Upward Progression of Observation Through Den-

sities (2009-07-31 21:39) - public

On lard foam sledge rods slide slow slabs of tone out to receiving ports Eastward and within.
Distributed cost cut and organized into smaller composite units packaged for capillary con-
sumption scales. All recent processions were bodies for recycling, like bone flesh bottles of
plastic or glass. Plastic or glass, brittle or alien maliable, delicate or defensive, flexible or
sharp, forever and dangerous.personality.
Sent out is identity, in the shape of a person for the first half of life, unseen remelting within
the second. This is our relationship with death, this is our social life in the sun meeting our fluid
unseen oceanic state, achieved within the larger system of which we remain mostly oblivious.
When we can, as a species, communicate across the frequent density medium which binds
death, we can learn the subtle nature of our greater life – and come to control it consciously
as we do the physical half. This is initially based on the most basic communication, however.
Not first contact, by any means, but, ideally, socially-acknowledged, written contact, which,
with study, has the potential to be recorded within other mediums. Audio recording of the
subtle energetic members of our species and society, the dead, is a valid and, by no means,
unrealistic goal. I
I respect the forest more now, I resolve to know her more closely.
I want to smile, I want to smile and be beautiful smiling.
But what torments raised me to resign, to restrict, to resent.
The same torments which ravaged that tense boy into a bright-eyed slouch of a soft-spoken
man.
These are genes which bind our line to the path, a climb which can reward or punish as we
either live or ignore what we’ve been taught from our ancient family on that unacknowledged
side.
Ancestor worship, who is there to connect to now that we’ve abandoned our individual tribe
for America? What of our spiritual lineage within the racial experiment which is America? In
human history, never have so many different races of man come together; but what of the
melting pot’s melding of ancestries?
Spiritual lineage and divinity traditionally bind culture to race.
As ancestral ties to the land were broken by advances in travel technology and the painless
migration it afforded, children of “many worlds” were born, hybrids of 2 dramatically different
ethnicities and races became commonplace as generations of Americans intermingled and
dissolved into meeting. This fluid interaction expanded across a cultural landscape, but the
spiritual implications of this I have never seen to be considered.
Subtle conscious forces suffocate me gasping out of pre-dream.
As if I can feel their weight on my chest, feel their hands around my throat.
This is the incubus attack, the interaction of which can quickly intensify and escalate into a full-
blown possession, depending on a number of factors. These factors are genetic and cultural
1005
circumstances of the set and setting which may encourage the progression of the spiritual
interaction along a set of stages the degree of influence experienced across that interaction,
from objective to subjective in nature. In truth, the term “interaction” only applies to the
objective side of this influence, the subjective not being action between two bodies, but “intra-
action” of one body within the other. This is possible as the two bodies are separated, each
bound within a differing density of being. Interaction of a spiritual type is interaction across the
surface of a density, our crude base physical body seeing, feeling, sensing, or communicating
with a body of a more subtle nature, one of a medium whose forms are composed of particles
more greatly dispersed. That is to compare the form of water to that of air, one molecular
density, that of dense liquid, to one much finer, the evaporated gaseous form air. A singular
element, water, cycles the same way as us, arching across the surface of a medium, existing
both in one heavy physical density: the water form, and also in a more subtle finer lighter
medium, as cloud and in the releasing freedom of billowing steam.
Each density of water we slowly came to acknowledge as our learning of the world expanded,
refining it into the scientific systems of understanding the water cycle we came to know and
define it. Yet before this refinement, back into those first observations of nature made by prim-
itive man, as the physicality of water’s fluid form which was known and mastered first. Water
was and remains liquid life, the carrier of our development, both individually and culturally. We
must seek it, carry it, and follow it if we are to survive.
Clouds, on the other hand, we can seemingly live without. We often do not notice them, their
subtle form drifts above us, often invisible, often unseen. This is the non-physical which, as our
knowledge, curiosity, and extent of our society progressed, we reached and passed an “Ah Ha!”
point of acknowledging the finer density, allowing for the understanding of it’s relationship to
our well-known physical form within the cycles of a much greater system of nature.
The integral “Ah-Ha!” point, where the acknowledgment of our own finer non-physical form,
has not yet been reached or passed by the West and it’s observational science. Observation,
itself, necessitates physicality, thus binding the attention of science to the physical form. Yet,
if we as scientists can simply come to admit “Yes, we have a soul” and acknowledge the glaring
truth that we exist energetically as well as physically, the relationship between that well-known
physical form and it’s cyclical counterpart of a finer density is finally opened to be understood,
defined, and perhaps mapped as the interactive boundary of a much greater system of nature.
The “Ah-Ha!” point, in a way, is a moment of cultural contact, a point at which we begin
“seeing above” and thinking of nature in more subtle, less obvious terms. Physicality and its
dense grabby measurement and observation is, in a way, crude - but there is no reason that the
bounds of our science should be limited to it. When science extended the bounds of its knowing
into energy, a reciprocal effect developed between that subtle observation and the physical
technology which manifested in response to aid it. That is, it was sciences acknowledgment and
subsequent understanding of sound as a wave which reflected back into the physical, spurning
the creation of the oscilloscope to allow our literal observation of that which we had never
been able to see. We built a window in the boundary between the subtle and the physical, thus
extending the range of our naked-eye’s vision outwards into finer densities. In this way, we
have a social perception, that perception which is aided by the advances of physical culture,
and we have the lesser individual perception, that naked, unaided awareness facilitated by the
physical body.
The density of particles is the wavelength of a wave. They are two perspectives on the same
phenomenon. Settling into bound layers (spectrum-form), each is a conception of the vibrant
energetic expressions, conscious, which travel through all known carrier mediums. Our recog-
nition of frequency existing in all...
1006
What is another name for this “Ah-Ha!” point, as we find it to exist in other areas of nature,
along other boundaries, within different spectrums which, none-the-less, adhere to the same
rules of density/frequency.

edensgray (2009-08-04 19:36:01) yeah yeah yea

I’d love to talk to you about your journey!!! "As ancestral ties to the land were broken by advances in
travel technology and the painless migration it afforded, children of “many worlds” were born, hybrids
of 2 dramatically different ethnicities and races became commonplace as generations of Americans
intermingled and dissolved into meeting. This fluid interaction expanded across a cultural landscape,
but the spiritual implications of this I have never seen to be considered." LOVE IT! and... "can simply
come to admit “Yes, we have a soul” and acknowledge the glaring truth that we exist energetically as
well as physically, the relationship between that well-known physical form and it’s cyclical counterpart
of a finer density is finally opened to be understood, defined, and perhaps mapped as the interactive
boundary of a much greater system of nature." Hmmmm....so dizzy now.

turboswami (2009-08-04 21:32:19) Re: yeah yeah yea

haha. Sorry to make you dizzy, hun. I don’t mean to write in circles... : ) This was the result of me
smoking DMT for the first time. Whew!

(2009-08-04 22:57:08) Re: yeah yeah yea

Wow so curious, indeed! You have perfect writing! It may be difficult for a lame one like myself but
if I take the time...it’s not completely out of my limit. Well, on my own terms, of course. Adieus, amigo!

8.8 August

Boot Theory (2009-08-04 13:56) - public

A man walks into a bar and says:

Take my wife--please.
So you do.
You take her out into the rain and you fall in love with her
and she leaves you and you're desolate.
You're on your back in your undershirt, a broken man
on an ugly bedspread, staring at the water stains
on the ceiling.
And you can hear the man in the apartment above you
taking off his shoes.
You hear the first boot hit the floor and you're looking up,
you're waiting
because you thought it would follow, you thought there would be
some logic, perhaps, something to pull it all together
but here we are in the weeds again,
here we are
in the bowels of the thing: your world doesn't make sense.
And then the second boot falls.
And then a third, a fourth, a fifth.
1007
A man walks into a bar and says:
Take my wife--please.
But you take him instead.
You take him home, and you make him a cheese sandwich,
and you try to get his shoes off, but he kicks you
and he keeps kicking you.
You swallow a bottle of sleeping pills but they don't work.
Boots continue to fall to the floor
in the apartment above you.
You go to work the next day pretending nothing happened.
Your co-workers ask
if everything's okay and you tell them
you're just tired.
And you're trying to smile. And they're trying to smile.

A man walks into a bar, you this time, and says:

Make it a double.
A man walks into a bar, you this time, and says:
Walk a mile in my shoes.
A man walks into a convenience store, still you, saying:
I only wanted something simple, something generic…
But the clerk tells you to buy something or get out.
A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river
but then he's still left
with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away
but then he's still left with his hands.

turboswami (2009-08-04 20:57:50)

-Richard Siken

edensgray (2009-08-05 13:44:12)

strange one...

(2009-08-05 09:26) - public

There is a beautiful girl in waiting somewhjere in Lima, Peruj.

I blame myself.
I watched the genes manifest in their tone, each Peruvian essentially having sex in the doggy-
style position right there on the dance floor.
My Chinese/Peruvian date described her life: nervous from birth, unable to express her sexual
desires freely as her fully-Peruvian sisters did without restraint; having their first child at 16
years of age.
I loved dancing with the Peruvian girls, as the Chinese hybrid sat and watched jealously.
She insisted we taxi across town to see her Swiss friends – they sat at their empty drinking
table nervously as I had imagined them. Their German leader paid me for the glass of wine
1008
he drank from my bottle and danced a soul-less German dance alone amongst the Peruvian
grinding pairs. It was a sad comedy to watch, one which I was seen to join; intoxicated to the
point of vomiting, being asked to buy a 3rd round.
The half-Chinese Peruvian refused to let me kiss the back of her hand. She told me she was
still angry that I did not buy her the 400 soles pair of boots in June, when I met her, and that
she would never stay in a lowly 3 Star hotel like the one I was living in.
So I consent to navigate through double alone, without Swiss, Peruvian, or Chinese accompa-
niment.
Sure, she is adorable in her shy, self-restrictive nature, I could hardly care to care with all the
grinding I was left with.

edensgray (2009-08-05 16:48:07)

i’m lovin’ this!

(2009-08-08 23:12) - public

Pajama pantsed up on the hill with the smoking jacket and the slowed life and mindset,
the rich old grandpa, the Scrooge McDuck we wanted to be. “He’s a spry ol’ devil!”
But these things they said of the man we wanted to be were no longer true, and were they
ever?
What was the truth of my life, beneath the images of photographs and their surfaces?
Can even I recall?
I know some words, some headlines of script feeds from that time, but what was beneath the
headline fades into lined blocks on a receding Polaroid. Glory be to the God I was prays every
old gray pa on his way to sleep, resting nextled up there in polished oak.
And I, for as long as I remember (and now live) strove to be him, strove to be done, completed
with the competing, done with the hard part, and laying back to rest, contented. I write this
laying back, wrapped up warm in my bed, resting from the weary affairs of the day – a day I
slept through.
The tones of sound of explanation are still those of declaration, and constructed of small declar-
ative sentences. Its a person who stands his ground, a little man who explains his position,
AdamAnt-ly.
I’ll reside and watch, thank you. Side and reside, to be beside myself with emotion. To take
a moment, step back, stand beside my emotional self for a moment, for a lifetime, to get
perspective on things – all the things I’ve never done.
Whats all I found, what beautiful lives and possiblities were opened for me, gift after gift.
And I slept through and I broke and I fucked and I lazed to disappoint on potential, past-ripening.
We are the fruit of the spirits, to be plucked, but also planted; cared for, both watered and
pruned with either side of two loving hands.
What is the fruit that weather permits but our greatest achievements for they to share with
us, gleaming with pride behind us, on the other side of the glass. And in the construction of
1009
coincidence, they worked just as hard as we did and have reason to be proud of their labor of
love, our life.
And so we live through our sons sons sons, forever, in cycles of pride as we watch him grow
and learn the game as we, ourselves, prepare to reenter it! Knowing all we forget when the
lights of the game and pressure is all on us again, out there, riding the goal lines once more.
It ate through her guts, but mom NEEDED coffee – 2 pots a day, and then we’d just watch her
go. And go, manic, screaming through the notes and the frantic spinning of wheels. She got
shit done!
And man I love her.
But get the fuck out of the way!
She’s a diarrhea woman chronically on the go! Haha!
Get outta the way! She’s’ a spry go-getter on her 3rd pot!
[1]John
yo
10:39pmKaleb
Hey hey
Cant talk well
or much
10:40pm[2]John
cant talk well or much?
10:40pmKaleb
I am feeling the jungle mescaline ow
10:40pm[3]John
mescaline?
10:40pmKaleb
Spirits work through typos and freudian slips
its how they function their way through us
...andn they have beautiful sick senses of humor
10:41pm[4]John
ah i see
u still in zaire or wherever u are
hah nice
10:41pmKaleb
Yea, the jungle
ie: junjgle mescaline
haha. love it
rough goin down
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Sending:
but damn!
“I want to make violent love.
I want to make violent lo-ove.
I want to make violent love to you.“
I shiver and a shake, I think of those I love and have lost, but still love.
I think.
I both attracted her and repulsed her with the same crooked mind.
She loved my brain, how it curled in around her and kept her warm in freight.
I am so thirsty!
Why did our people fuck up these people’s water so bad?
Right after we had taught them how to clean it and put it into pipes too!
I gotta put on my headphones and smoke pot.
We’ll talk later.
That’s what I’m talking about!
What is the worth in that exchange, pretend poetic or otherwise?
I must make sure all I record in this medium is worthy, yea? So what’s worthy? What’s worth
your time, as the reader? I’d hate to waste your time! With my thoughts, with their hazy words
captured. I can’t be pressured with your attention, I’m sorry! All of you must go home now.
Thank you, goodnight.
1. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1345746075
2. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1345746075
3. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1345746075
4. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1345746075

edensgray (2009-08-13 01:07:53)

hmmmm....*scratches head* very interesting...while I’m intoxicated on some aged...liquor...I’ve de-
cided....made up my mind...I have to hear more!!!!!!Well, only if I’m privvy. Privvy...by any means...laa
di da

(2009-08-08 23:29) - friends

Jungle Boy
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1011
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Kaleb Smith
to transcendingbo.
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11:29 PM (0 minutes ago)
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Lack a long late laugh she lit once.

She who was with me, I was so sure of it.
I was so sure that she knew what we knew.
And that it would not be forgotten.

Gullible, I guess.
To believe in children’s stories like Love.
Grown ups don’t tell eachother such things!
Say Amen, shutup, and eat.
;)

How are you?

edensgray (2009-08-09 14:00:47)

......"To believe in children’s stories like Love"....

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(2009-08-08 23:30) - public

For the 9th day in a row,

For the 10th day in a row,
For the 11th day in a row I have not been able to
For the 12th day in a row I have been having trouble...I....I....I ....I ..... . I .. .. .. .. I.. .. .. .... .. .I
For the 13th day in a row I have not been able to

For 2 weeks straight I have been completely unable

For 3 months straight I have not, have not, have not, have not!
For seven fucking years, I have been unable to get my shit together, say what I mean, and get
it fucking done!

There.
The secret’s out.

edensgray (2009-08-09 13:43:48)

:) I thought you were going to say sleep....

Agua Sexual (2009-08-10 00:08) - public

Rolling in big solitary raindrops,

in drops like teeth,
in big thick drops of marmalade and blood,
rolling in big raindrops,
the water falls,
like a sword in drops,
like a tearing river of glass,
it falls biting,
striking the axis of symmetry, sticking to the seams of the soul,
breaking abandoned things, drenching the dark.

It is only breath, moister than weeping,

a liquid, a sweat, a nameless oil,
a sharp movement,
forming, thickening,
the water falls,
in big slow raindrops,
toward its sea, toward its dry ocean,
toward its waterless wave.

I see the vast summer, and a death rattle coming from a granary,
stores, locusts,
towns, stimuli,
rooms, girls
sleeping with their hands upon their hearts,
dreaming of bandits, of fires,
I see ships,
1013
I see marrow trees
bristling like rabid cats,
I see blood, daggers, and women’s stockings,
and men’s hair,
I see beds, I see corridors where a virgin screams,
I see blankets and organs and hotels.

I see the silent dreams,

I accept the final days,
and also the origins, and also the memories,
like an eyelid atrociously and forcibly uplifted
I am looking.

And then there is this sound:

a red noise of bones,
a clashing of flesh,
and yellow legs like merging spikes of grain.
I listen amoung the smack of kisses,
I listen, shaken between gasps and sobs.
I am looking, hearing,
with half my soul upon the sea and half my soul upon the land,
and with the two halves of my soul I look at the world.

And though I close my eyes and cover my heart entirely,

I see a muffled waterfall,
in big muffled raindrops.
It is like a hurricane of gelatine,
like a waterfall of sperm and jellyfish.
I see a turbid rainbow form.
I see its waters pass across the bones.

turboswami (2009-08-10 07:11:21)

-Pablo Neruda

Those Father Abandoned (2009-08-14 11:55) - public

The bus was named “Those Father Abandoned” and I couldn’t resist. I had no idea where it
went, but I wanted to see someplace different - I wanted to see the place where he had left
them. Yea, they looked pretty rough and as he bus turned down a street I’d never explored, I
grabbed impulsively at my wallet with a slight glance behind my shoulder. It wasn’t the last
time I would check that pocket tonight.
The road descended away from the lavish colonial buildings and cleanly-swept streets that I’ve
grown accustomed to in central Lima. I became acutely aware of the time, dusk, with darkness
closing in fast as the streetlights grew fewer and the road less pretty. Father abandoned these
bastard children in the ghetto, where else? And I was driving straight down into it, feeling
practically glow-in-the-dark white with my new camera and loaded wallet suddenly seeming
1014
heavier – with the weight of a thousand or so eyes upon it. I suspect they had always wanted
a picture of father, to remember him by.
What remained of the road fell away and suddenly “Those Father Abandoned” was riding over
tattered chunks of dirt and rocks and poverty. They took such good care of their desolation
– carefully piling the stones and broken cement pieces into piles...so that larger stones and
broken cement pieces could be placed around them, there, as a sort of decoration for their
dust. As sad as the little broken shacks were, they were painted the most bright and cheerful
colors: strawberry red and Barney purple, pastel blue and sunshine yellow. It’s as if the paint
was attempting to cover all the sadness and suffering taking place inside the house from all
the sad, suffering people outside the house.

Drove through where, apparently, all of Lima bring their garbage to smash and burn it in the
street. The street didn’t even function as a street anymore, but a grimy makeshift carnival
for the garbage people. What was more amazing still is that, if you fought and struggled your
way through the broken glass, egg shells, and burning tires, you came to the entrance of...the
open-aired food court! Dee-lish!

Driving through, I was thinking "Maybe it is wrong, or even racist, of me to see parts of
a culture different from my own as ’backwards.’"

Then I saw that open-air food court in the dump and was like "Nope - this place is TO-
TALLY fucking backwards and wrong!"
It was dark and there was barely another car on the dirt path – the bus just continued, further
and further as, one by one, the abandoned ones stepped off onto their respective driveways. I
knew if I stepped off with them, I would surely be robbed blind there on any one of those dark
isolated pathways as I searched for another ride. Yet, the longer I stayed on the bus, the further
it descended away from the light and safety of the city. There were, now, not even the barred
windows of daytime businesses or restaurants – just the shadows of those cheerily-colored little
ramshackle casas and the groups of thuggish looking men I could just barely catch a passing
glimpse of, leaning in those shadows: their territory.
Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell was I doing here? These people are abandoned for a reason!
Goddamn it, this bus is going to stop soon and I am going to need to get off. The end of the
line. I look over at the last fellow passenger, a young girl huddled miserable-looking in a puffy
winter jacket with a skiing hat pulled over her ears. I give her a slight smile, to which she
returns an unmoving icy glare – one I assume all abandoned children must learn to wear, with
those other things which protect them from the cold and alone.
The bus stops. The driver turns and gives me the “No more” sign with his hands. I hesitate.

edensgray (2009-08-15 00:34:54)

nail biter...but you’re writing...so naturally I want to assume you are safe.

turboswami (2009-08-15 01:19:17)

Nope. I died. ; P

edensgray (2009-08-15 01:22:24)

well...several things: i’d love to think that my medium skills progress without effort...cool
thought...hate to think that you died physically...and well...glad you are writing from the

1015
 dead...whichever way that it comes from

The Sirens (2009-08-17 14:01) - public

Sirens sing up a fragile mask for danger,

and the dogs run out to jump and smell and know.
The dogs, like men, love the scent of a beautiful woman,
and will curl to protect a voice so delicate as hers.
Clothed in the glistening of the night sea, they call,
call from a place somehow beyond the rocks,
just beyond all a man could ever achieve.
Each man dies trying to protect her that he can never hold.

• Stop being dramatic. Your cheese is getting sweaty in the living room, you’d best eat it
before it softens. Eat it all up!

• Don’t hunch over like that. So you have to fight gravity a bit harder than other kids your
age, you mustn’t show it!

• Oh my God! You walk like you have a board up your ass. Hurry up!

edensgray (2009-08-18 02:36:59)

wondering...

The Slope of Cognition (2009-08-17 14:09) - public

The slope of cognition has two sides: the ascent to development’s peak, reached around 24
years of age, and the slow decline that which follows. I am a pushy dick.
Willful, strong, and potent, like vinegar, with piss to mark all which I claim as mine. These
hormones pump with pomp and stomp like a male peacock attracting the mates of his world
and the eyes of ours. This peak of cognition is the peak of individual selfhood and identity as
well, and represents the fruitful beauty of nature, fully ripened and alive.
When that mate is finally attracted and the seed of that fruit is passed on successfully, we
finally relax. The tense deliberate show, the huff-puffing of plumage, may wind down safely –
the frantic drive to impress has reached it’s conclusion and we may rest soundly. Our bodies
carry this slope within them, the levels of our biology are both hard-wired and softwared to it’s
progression. It is a wave that crashes with every generation, with every subsequent generation
rising up from behind it, swelling with the same loud bravado and circumstance as their parents,
and parents, and parents who have strove passionately upward against the stretches of sand
since time immemorial. The highwater mark of our generation’s wave leaves a minute ridged
1016
trail along the wet beach – it is where the farthest reaches of our society finally peaked, and
receded back beneath, into the tumbling chaos of stirring currents and the coinciding of greater
preparations.
Systems of weather, systems of sun and moon, earth and sexy swimsuit fashion models climb
up onto my tall flagrant tower, the pride and joy of my sand castle. I stroke and pat the curved
wall of my tower with pride, a job well done! Strong, thick walls of hard brick, a large castle
to safely house and protect my children, and children’s children, for generations. It is the
foundation of my family, to defend against the waves of future rivals and the youthful vigor of
their competition.
Witches do their wishin’ and night spirits bring them true

edensgray (2009-08-18 03:25:55)

handsome entry complete with arousing interest...sand castle...huh...

Brainwave Entrainment Introduction (2009-08-17 14:11) - public

I became interested in the topic of beat frequencies and the entrainment of brainwaves about
half a decade ago. While experimenting in my music studio alone late one night, I began
working with the single sine wave of a voltage controlled oscillator. I did not understand why,
but I loved the sound of just this single tone – the purity and meditative warmth it seemed to
carry in its endless sustain. Unlike any other instrument I had worked with, the synthesizer’s
sounds did not need to end or die down, as was so when you reached the end of your lung’s
capacity playing the flute, or the end of the bow of the violin. This tone was continuous and,
in its unchanging monotony, seemed to have a special effect on my mind; a sort of soft lulling
of attention as my mind became accustomed to the ambience of the tone. Yet, this gradual
accustoming of the mind became even more intense as I slowly introduced the level of a second
voltage controlled oscillator of the same waveform type. What became audible was a slight
pulsing sound which, as I slowly increased the volume of the second tone, grew in intensity. I
remember it being a manic throbbing in my ears that seemed to envelop my mind, and even
seemed to cause my heart rate to raise to match the intensity of the tempo. It became clear,
in these quiet unassuming tones, there was hidden something very powerful – a third tone, a
low frequency oscillation (LFO) existing independent from the two parent tones.
I soon learned how to control this third LFO or beat frequency by adjusting the frequency of
either of the two parent sine waves. I found that as I gently relaxed the tempo of this relent-
less beat frequency, I could feel a disorienting shift in my inward mental state, a sensation I
could only describe as a feeling of inner rotation. As I introduced recordings of these experi-
ments to my friends, their experiences matched my own: the sensation of a peculiar change in
mental state which, in the lower frequencies, seemed to cause drowsiness and, in the higher
frequencies, seemed to cause excitation. While their experience seemed to match my own,
their reaction was not nearly as unanimous! “Kaleb! Shut it off, please! I feel like my brain is
going to explode!”
This music I was making sent me into a frenzy of research, as I tried to find out what exactly
was happening and why. I soon found that my “discovery” was actually nothing new, but was
referred to as entrainment and had been explored by science for nearly a century and explored
by in various religious practices for millenia.

1017
edensgray (2009-08-18 02:47:50)
You’re an artist on my IPOD! Mr. Kaleb Smith

(2009-08-28 15:46:12)
[1]Brainwave entrainment is totally amazing! I’ve been using it for quite some years now. Did you
realise that Bach managed to use his music to entrain people into the Theta frequency?

1. http://turboswami.livejournal.com/315969.html?mode=reply
(2009-08-28 15:46:53) Totally amazing
[1]Brainwave entrainment is totally amazing! I’ve been using it for quite some years now. Did you
realise that Bach managed to use his music to entrain people into the Theta frequency?

1. http://www.goarticles.com/cgi-bin/showa.cgi?C=1852593
turboswami (2009-08-29 05:21:46) Re: Totally amazing
Cool article. Did you write that? No, I didn’t know Bach’s music used beat frequencies. Or maybe you
are referring to some other method of entrainment...?

vuzh (2009-09-26 17:49:02)

You should look into La Monte Young.

turboswami (2009-09-26 19:31:54)

Oh totally! I remember find some of his droney telephone pole recordings on Napster back in high
school - they were ok, but I hadn’t really developed a taste for that kind of music at that time. But I
more recently found The Black Album, which is amazing! Just an oscillator and vocals... Thanks for the
recommendation though, it is a good one. I love all those early electronic composers. Stockhausen,
Varese...and later ones like Subotnick and Dockstader. Alvin Lucier did a lot of that minimal droney
stuff too, like his Music on a Long Thin Wire album.

turboswami (2009-09-26 20:08:09)

I started thinking, I actually sample La Monte Young in one of my songs, "Glass Lung:"
http://www.myspace.com/fluidmechanicstudios I love to have a very agitated rhythmic buildup,
and then just drop off into drone unexpectedly

Metal Bouquet (2009-08-17 14:19) - public

Thnking back over the affairs of the day, and how impure I’ve let my tone become.
Hoarse and cracked, dry and thin – this brittle frame of the fullness which I...etc, etc...
My god, I pick my nose and watch the spit stains on the hotel wall vibrate.
This is the grand tradition, that of Ginsberg and Burroughs,
To find a seedy South American hotel and sit in it, alone with a typewriter, and do massive
amounts of drugs.
Let them spill out like everything else, The words, the worlds, the weird fucking space conspir-
acies unfolding like lazer light extravaganzas for the little douche I am. We are. I was. He is.
Wait...
I did it for the lulz
1018
I remember how in the 4th grade I would pretend to not be able to talk clearly. Stuttering with
“uhhh’s” long pauses andd obnoxiously drawn out “ummm’s”
And then I would speak go back to talking normal.
(Speak go back would backspace backspace)
Talking normal better better best for drinky stupid-love appeal
(Subconscious dialogue: I must connect, I must connect with stupid.)
Dialogue, itself, looks up with its monocle and British accent.
My extended tea finger pinky is like a sensitive antenna to my deepper self
Getting readings from the surface, delicate wavelengths above.
How much do we truly want to know of a person through their writing?
Doesn’t part of us want to be saved the embarrassing details, the ugly unsightly parts,
it is a social art, after all, lets try to show some grace, or at least save some dignity.
I’ll ride up to where my nose isnt bleeding, I’ll ascend the scabs like foot steps on stepping
stones to cloudy thrones and saintly domes. That’s the spirit!
Bypass it all, quick, step daintily over all the rivers of blood and ugly pain you are.
Oh, sweetheart, don’t take offense.
You know there was a genuine layer in my sarcasm.
Trust that it shines for you under the jealousy layer. ; )
Fuck, I am still so thirsty!
I consider drinking the Bano water, and taste a mouthful.
A shiny bouquet of metallics and chemicals, icks...
Sure, I start thinkin...
Sterilize, sterilize... Oxy!
Benzoyl Peroxide, that kills bacteria, right?
As good as chlorine bleach tablets or regular peroxide for sure...
Brilliant! Now I have bottle of tainted disease water, with soap suds to accent the bouquet.
This shit slip n slides its way down the gullet!
While in the bathroom, I caught glimpse of these beautiful eyes, still fully dilated.
Like night skies shining out from the cavernous recesses of this body, there is an above within
here...and how easily we forget,
the light of the moon
that guides us into dreams each night.
Of the differences between drunk dialing and mescaline dialing, I must say
I can’t massage my eyes on the phone
Matt:
$ $ $BIG MONEY HERE $ $ $ $
1019
The untapped Awkward Family Photos market.
Like the Old Fashioned B/W Family Photo at the fair,
only in polyester and matching Christmas sweaters (MUST have dog-sized sweater)
$ $ $BIG MONEY HERE $ $ $ $

monroe_the_fast (2009-08-17 22:14:41)

This is a very funny entry, especially the part about your tea-drinking pinky being like an antenna. Am
I "sweetheart"? I know that I’m "Matt" in the later part. What’s up with the " $ $ $BIG MONEY HERE $
$ $ $"? It looks like the subject of a spam email. You’re not mocking my poverty, are you?

turboswami (2009-08-17 23:50:26)

Yes, you are a sweetheart. I had a chance to read your facebook f.u. and then my internet cut off
before I could respond...so I had all night to sit and agonize over your misreading of my enthusiastic
sarcasm. I wrote down what I wanted to say in here, so that I could post it as a reply the next
day. BIG MONEY. I woke up from not quite sleep to write that down. It just seemed like one of your
regular brilliant kitschy pop culture product schemes. So it reminded me of you and I was sure you’d
appreciate it. I was also going to throw in an additional detail: For people that want cheesy family
photos, but dont actually have a family, we could provide an awkwardly-smiling and badly dressed
child to rent for the extent of the photo shoot. I think a pudgy Hispanic child would be best, right?

monroe_the_fast (2009-08-18 00:49:59)

This reminds me of one of my ideas, actually, which is to have a studio with several sets and a
regular "cast" that will pretend to be various people in staged photos. People sign up to get these
fake photos, featuring themselves, for their facebook. Perhaps they are holding their newborn
baby at the hospital, or enjoying the view from the peak of a tall mountain, jumping off a large
rock into a lake, dressed up in expensive-looking clothes at an expensive-looking soiree drinking
champagne, or immersed in an exotic culture and doing the locals’ traditional things in their tra-
ditional garb. People seem to be satisfied with applications that paste their faces on pictures, though.

edensgray (2009-08-18 02:45:26)

Of the differences between drunk dialing and mescaline dialing, I must say I can’t massage my eyes
on the phone... :)

edensgray (2009-08-27 15:02:03)

On occassion I am very much like Dennis the Menace - I take things too literal. "My god, I pick my nose
and watch the spit stains on the hotel wall vibrate." I hope you are laughing at me!

turboswami (2009-08-27 15:13:51)

Heh, no, I really did take a bunch of mescaline and then sit and pick my nose. Haha. I did NOT
spit on the hotel walls though - thank god someone else did though, because it was SO BEAUTIFUL! ; D

Experiment in "Deaf Collaboration" (2009-08-19 06:21) - public

Using a metronome of a set tempo, each musician will individually play the whole of a 4/4
measured song of ( # of musicians + 2) changes, each recording their parts in turn and in
solitude.
1020
I will prepare each musician individually with a 4 count introducing the first measure of
the piece.

I will provide only a root key with which they may harmonize around, encouraging sim-
plicity over adventurous or showboaty maneuvers if, for no other reason, as a sign of respect
for their fellow musicians, ensuring harmonious integration with those collaborators who they
will at no time throughout the recording session be able to hear.

To aid the musicians in their adherence to the root key, its frequency will be generated
by an oscillator and sustained beneath the metronome for reference.

Of the ( # of musicians + 2) changes, ( # of musicians / 2) themes will be developed

and returned to 2 times each.

Each musician will receive a number and this number will be that of the 4 measures
and subsequent change of the piece which highlights their instrument. They own these 4
measures and may express themselves with greater freedom within them, although being
asked to stay within the harmonic bounds of the root key, for which the reference tone is
generated throughout the recording session.

After each layer of the piece is recorded, I will arrange the parts into 4 different ver-
sions:

• The first will have each musician beginning their recording of the first measure at the
same moment. This will be the resultant song expected by the musicians.

• The second will have the musician’s recorded parts randomly divided into two sides -
each representing a temporal stream of the same piece. I will begin the 2nd half of these
instruments, that is the Second Stream, at 1/4 of one measure behind that of the 1st half,
that First Stream which contains the drummer’s recording.

• The third arrangement, following this pattern, will show the two streams divided by 2
whole measures.

• The fourth arrangement will, as inverse to the second, show the two streams divided by
3 and 3/4 measures - always with the First Stream being that rhythmic layer, whichever
half of the tracks, by random assignment, contained the drum recording.

edensgray (2009-08-19 20:00:08)

ahhhh kudos...look forward to your collbaboration to add to your artist list.

Experimental Music Doctrine (2009-08-19 06:24) - public

Experimental Music: Doctrine

John Cage
1021
[1]
This article, there titled Experimental Music, first appeared in The Score and I.M. A.Mag-
azine, London, issue of June 1955. The inclusion of a dialogue between an uncom-
promising teacher and an unenlightened student, and the addition of the word ”doc-
trine” to the original title, are references to the Huang-Po Doctrine of Universal
Mind.

Objections are sometimes made by composers to the use of the term experimental
as descriptive of their works, for it is claimed that any experiments that are made
precede the steps that are finally taken with determination, and that this determi-
nation is knowing, having, in fact, a particular, if unconventional, ordering of the
elements used in view. These objections are clearly justifiable, but only where, as
among contemporary evidences in serial music, it remains a question of making a
thing upon the boundaries, structure, and expression of which attention is focused.
Where, on the other hand, attention moves towards the observation and audition
of many things at once, including those that are environmental—becomes, that is,
inclusive rather than exclusive—no question of making, in the sense of forming
understandable structures, can arise (one is tourist), and here the word ”experi-
mental” is apt, providing it is understood not as descriptive of an act to be later
judged in terms of success and failure, but simply as of an act the outcome of
which is unknown. What has been determined?
For, when, after convincing oneself ignorantly that sound has, as its clearly defined
1022
opposite, silence, that since duration is the only characteristic of sound that is
measurable in terms of silence, therefore any valid structure involving sounds and
silences should be based, not as occidentally traditional, on frequency, but rightly
on duration, one enters an anechoic chamber, as silent as technologically possible
in 1951, to discover that one bears two sounds of one’s own unintentional making
(nerves systematic operation, blood’s circulation), the situation one is clearly in is
not objective (sound-silence), but rather subjective (sounds only), those intended
and those others (so-called silence) not intended. If, at this point, one says, ”Yes!
I do not discriminate between intention and non-intention,” the splits, subject-
object, art-life, etc., disappear, an identification has been made with the material,
and actions are then those relevant to its nature, i.e.:
A sound does not view itself as thought, as ought, as needing another sound for
its elucidation, as etc.; it has no time for any consideration—it is occupied with
the performance of its characteristics: before it has died away it must have made
perfectly exact its frequency, its loudness, its length, its overtone structure, the
precise morphology of these and of itself.
Urgent, unique, uninformed about history and theory, beyond the imagination,
central to a sphere without surface, its becoming is unimpeded, energetically
broadcast. There is no escape from its action. It does not exist as one of a se-
ries of discrete steps, but as transmission in all directions from the field’s center .
It is inextricably synchronous with all other , sounds, non-sounds, which latter ,
received by other sets than the ear , operate in the same manner .
A sound accomplishes nothing; without it life would not last out the instant.
Relevant action is theatrical (music [imaginary separation of hearing from the
other senses] does not exist), inclusive and intentionally purposeless. Theatre is
continually becoming that it is becoming; each human being is at the best point for
reception. Relevant response (getting up in the morning and discovering oneself
musician) (action, art) can be made with any number (including none (none and
number , like silence and music, are unreal]) of sounds. The automatic minimum
(see above) is two.
Are you deaf (by nature, choice, desire) or can you hear (externals, tympani,
labyrinths in whack)?
Beyond them (ears) is the power of discrimination which, among other confused
actions, weakly pulls apart (abstraction), ineffectually establishes as not to suf-
fer alteration (the ”work”), and unskillfully protects from interruption (museum,
1023
concert hall) what springs, elastic, spontaneous, back together again with a be-
yond that power which is fluent (it moves in or out), pregnant (it can appear when-
where- as what-ever (rose, nail, constellation, 485.73482 cycles per second, piece
of string]), related (it is you yourself in the form you have that instant taken), ob-
scure (you will never be able to give a satisfactory report even to yourself of just
what happened).
In view, then, of a totality of possibilities, no knowing action is commensurate,
since the character of the knowledge acted upon prohibits all but some eventuali-
ties. From a realist position, such action, though cautious, hopeful, and generally
entered into, is unsuitable. An experimental action, generated by a mind as empty
as it was before it became one, thus in accord with the possibility of no matter
what, is, on the other hand, practical. It does not move in terms of approximations
and errors, as ”informed” action by its nature must, for no mental images of what
would happen were set up beforehand; it sees things directly as they are: impermanently
involved in an infinite play of interpenetrations.
QUESTION: —in the U.S.A., if you please. Be more specific. What do you have
to say about rhythm? Let us agree it is no longer a question of pattern, repetition,
and variation.
ANSWER: There is no need for such agreement. Patterns, repetitions, and varia-
tions will arise and disappear. However, rhythm is durations of any length coex-
isting in any states of succession and synchronicity. The latter is liveliest, most
unpredictably changing when the parts are not fixed by a score but left indepen-
dent of one another, no two performances yielding the same resultant durations.
The former, succession, liveliest when (as in Morton Feldmads Intersections) it
is not fixed but presented in situation-form, entrances being at any point within a
given period of time.—Notation of durations is in space, read as corresponding to
time, needing no reading in the case of magnetic tape.
QUESTION: What about several players at once, an orchestra?
ANSWER: You insist upon’ their being together? Then use, as Earle Brown sug-
gests, a moving picture of the score, visible to all, a static vertical line as coor-
dinator, past which the notations move. If you have no particular togetherness in
mind, there are chronometers. Use them.
QUESTION: I have noticed that you write durations that are beyond the possibility
of performance.
ANSWER: Composing’s one thing, performing’s another, listening’s a third. What
can they have to do with one another?
1024
QUESTION: And about pitches?
ANSWER: It is true. Music is continually going up and down, but no longer
only on those stepping stones, five, seven, twelve in number, or the quarter tones.
Pitches are not a matter of likes and dislikes (I have told you about the diagram
Schillinger had stretched across his wall near the ceiling: all the scales, Oriental
and Occidental, that had been in general use, each in its own color plotted against,
no one of them identical with, a black one, the latter the scale as it would have
been had it been physically based on the overtone series) except for musicians in
ruts; in the face of habits, what to do? Magnetic tape opens the door providing
one doesn’t immediately shut it by inventing a phonog´ ene, or otherwise use it to
recall or extend known musical possibilities. It introduces the unknown with such
sharp clarity that anyone has the opportunity of having his habits blown away
like dust.—For this purpose the prepared piano is also useful, especially in its re-
cent forms where, by alterations during a performance, an otherwise static gamut
situation becomes changing. Stringed instruments (not string-players) are very in-
structive, voices too; and sitting still anywhere (the stereophonic, multiple-loud-
speaker manner of operation in the everyday production of sounds and noises)
listening. . .
QUESTION: I understand Feldman divides all pitches into high, middle, and low,
and simply indicates how many in a given range are to be played, leaving the
choice up to the performer.
ANSWER: Correct. That is to say, he used sometimes to do so; I haven’t seen
him lately. It is also essential to remember his notation of super- and sub-sonic
vibrations (Marginal Intersection No. 1).
QUESTION: That is, there are neither divisions of the ”canvas” nor ”frame” to be
observed?
ANSWER: On the contrary, you must give the closest attention to everything.
***
QUESTION: And timbre?
ANSWER: No wondering what’s next. Going lively on ”through many a perilous
situation.” Did you ever listen to a symphony orchestra?
***
QUESTION: Dynamics?
ANSWER: These result from what actively happens (physically, mechanically,
electronically) in producing a sound. You won’t find it in the books. Notate that.
1025
As far as too loud goes: ”follow the general outlines of the Christian life.”
QUESTION: I have asked you about the various characteristics of a sound; how,
now, can you make a continuity, as I take it your intention is, without intention?
Do not memory, psychology—
ANSWER: ”—never again.”
QUESTION: How?
ANSWER: Christian Wolff introduced space actions in his compositional process
at variance with the subsequently performed time actions. Earle Brown devised
a composing procedure in which events, following tables of random numbers,
are written out of sequence, possibly anywhere in a total time now and possibly
anywhere else in the same total time next. I myself use chance operations, some
derived from the I-Ching, others from the observation of imperfections in the
paper upon which I happen to be writing. Your answer: by not giving it a thought.
QUESTION: Is this athematic?
ANSWER: Who said anything about themes? It is not a question of having some-
thing to say.
QUESTION: Then what is the purpose of this ”experimental” music?
ANSWER: No purposes. Sounds.
QUESTION: Why bother, since, as you have pointed out, sounds are continually
happening whether you produce them or not?
ANSWER: What did you say? I’m still—
QUESTION: I mean—But is this music?
ANSWER: Ah! you like sounds after all when they are made up of vowels and
consonants. You are slow-witted, for you have never brought your mind to the
location of urgency. Do you need me or someone else to hold you up? Why don’t
you realize as I do that nothing is accomplished by writing, playing, or listening
to music? Otherwise, deaf as a doornail, you will never be able to bear anything,
even what’s well within earshot.
QUESTION: But, seriously, if this is what music is, I could write it as well as you.
ANSWER: Have I said anything that would lead you to think I thought you were
stupid?
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000s34c/

turboswami (2009-08-19 14:26:36)

What’s the consensus? Is John Cage self-consciously abstract? Or can he just not help it? Is he truly
trying to make sense, or does he enjoy skirting the edge of almost making sense? ...in the name of Zen.

1026
 alex27782 (2009-08-19 16:06:54)
Makes sense to me. He’s a hero.

turboswami (2009-08-19 16:26:03)

Of course, I love him too. No reason we can’t critique him a bit though, or at least dig out what
his intentions are. He starts off eloquent and more or less clear, but by the time he gets to "the
center of a sphere without a surface" its obvious he’s up to something... I think he purposefully
deflates academic pretensions by being blunt and broad. It’s all very playful, though. He’s teas-
ing with his writing, a lot like in his music. I was totally smiling at the joke of it, especially near the end.

Dada Manifesto (1918) (2009-08-19 07:08) - public

“Dada Manifesto 1918”

TRISTAN TZARA

[1]

The magic of a word—Dada—which has brought journalists to the gates of a world un-
foreseen,
is of no importance to us.

To put out a manifesto you must want: ABC

to fulminate against 1, 2, 3 to fly into a rage and sharpen your wings to conquer and dissemi-
nate little abcs and big abcs, to
sign, shout, swear, to organize prose into a form of absolute and irrefutable evidence, to
prove
1027
your non plus ultra and maintain that novelty resembles life just as the latest-appearance of
some whore proves the essence of God. His existence was previously proved by the
accordion, the landscape, the wheedling word. To impose your ABC is a natural thing—
hence deplorable. Everybody does it in the form of crystalbluffmadonna, monetary system,
pharmaceutical product, or a bare leg advertising the ardent sterile spring. The love of
novelty is the cross of sympathy, demonstrates a naive je m’enfoutisme, it is a transitory,
positive sign without a cause.

But this need itself is obsolete. In documenting art on the basis of the supreme
simplicity: novelty, we are human and true for the sake of amusement, impulsive, vibrant to
crucify boredom. At the crossroads of the lights, alert, attentively awaiting the years, in the
forest. I write a manifesto and I want nothing, yet 1 say certain things, and in principle I am
against manifestoes, as I am also against principles (half-pints to measure the moral value of
every phrase too too convenient; approximation was invented by the impressionists). I write
this manifesto to show that people can perform contrary actions together while taking one
fresh gulp of air; I am against action; for continuous contradiction, for affirmation too, I am
neither for nor against and I do not explain because I hate common sense. […]

Dada Means Nothing

If you find it futile and don’t want to waste your time on a word that means nothing ...
The
first thought that comes to these people is bacteriological in character: to find its
etymological, or at least its historical or psychological origin. We see by the papers that the
Kru Negroes call the tail of a holy cow Dada. The cube and the mother in a certain district of
Italy are called: Dada. A hobby horse, a nurse both in Russian and Rumanian: Dada. Some
learned journalists regard it as an art for babies, other holy jesusescallingthelittlechildren of
our day, as a relapse into a dry and noisy, noisy and monotonous primitivism. Sensibility is
not constructed on the basis of a word; all constructions converge on perfection which is
boring, the stagnant idea of a gilded swamp, a relative human product. A work of art should
not be beauty in itself, for beauty is dead; it should be neither gay nor sad, neither light nor
dark to rejoice or torture the individual by serving him the cakes of sacred aureoles or the
sweets of a vaulted race through the atmospheres. A work of art is never beautiful by decree,
objectively and for all. Hence criticism is useless, it exists only subjectively, for each man
separately, without the slightest character of universality. Does anyone think he has found a
psychic base common to all mankind? The attempt of Jesus and the Bible covers with their
broad benevolent wings: shit, animals, days. How can one expect to put order into the chaos
that constitutes that infinite and shapeless variation: man? The principle: "love thy neighbor”
is a hypocrisy. “Know thyself” is utopian but more acceptable, for it embraces wickedness.
No pity. After the carnage we still retain the hope of a purified mankind. I speak only of
myself since I do not wish to convince, I have no right to drag others into my river, I oblige
no one to follow me and everybody practices his art in his own way, if be knows the joy that
rises like arrows to the astral layers, or that other joy that goes down into the mines of
corpse- flowers and fertile spasms. Stalactites: seek them everywhere, in managers magni-
fied
by pain, eyes white as the hares of the angels.

And so Dada was born of a need for independence, of a distrust toward unity. Those
who
are with us preserv e their freedom. We recognize no theory . We have enough cubist and
1028
futurist
academies: laboratories of formal ideas. Is the aim of art to make money and cajole the nice
nice
bourgeois? Rhymes ring with the assonance of the currencies and the inflexion slips along the
line of the belly in profile. All groups of artists have arrived at this trust company utter riding
their steeds on various comets. While the door remains open to the possibility of wallowing in
cushions and good things to eat. […]

Cubism was born out of the simple w ay of looking at an object: Cezanne painted a
cup
20 centimeters below his eyes, the cubists look at it from above, others complicate appearance
by
making a perpendicular section and arranging it conscientiously on the side. (I do not forget
the
creative artists and the profound laws of matter which they established once and for all.) The
futurist sees the same cup in movement, a succession of objects one beside the others and
maliciously adds a few force lines. This does not prevent the canvas from being a good or bad
painting suitable for the investment of intellectual capital.

The new painter creates a world, the elements of which are also its implements, a sober,
definite work without argument. The new artis t protests: he no longer paints (symbolic and
illusionist reproduction) but creates directly in stone, wood, iron, tin, boulders—locomotive
organisms capable of being turned in all directions by the limpid wind of momentary sensa-
tion.
All pictorial or plastic work is useless: let it then be a monstrosity that frightens servile minds,
and not sweetening to decorate the refectories of animals in human costume, illustrating the
sad
fable of mankind.

**

Philosophy is the question: from which side shall we look at life, God, the idea or other
phenomena. Everything one looks at is false. I do not consider the relative result more
important
than the choice between cake and cherries after dinner. The system of quickly
looking at the other side of a thing in order to impose y our opinion indirectly is called dialectics,
in other
words, haggling over the spirit of fried potatoes while dancing method around it.

If I cry out:

Ideal, ideal, ideal,

Knowledge, knowledge, knowledge,
Boomboom, boomboom, boomboom,

I have given a pretty faithful version of progress, law, morality and all other fine quali-
ties that
various highly intelligent men have discu ssed in so many books, only to conclude that after
all
everyone dances to his own personal boomboom, and that the writ er is entitled to his
1029
boomboom: the satisfaction of pathological curiosity a private bell for inexplicable needs; a
bath; pecuniary difficulties; a stomach with repercussions in tile; the authority of the mystic
wand formulated as the bouquet of a phantom orchestra made up of silent fiddle bows
greased
with filters made of chicken manure. With the blue eye-glasses of an angel they have
excavated
the inner life for a dime’s worth of unanimous gratitude. If all of them are right and if all pills
are
Pink Pills, let us try for once not to be right. Some people think they can explain rationally, by
thought, what they think. But that is extremely relative. Psychoanalysis is a dangerous
disease, it
puts to sleep the anti -objective impulses of man and systematizes the bourgeoisie. There is
no ultimate Truth. The dialectic is an amusing mechanism which guides us / in a banal kind
of way / to the opinions we had in the first place. Does anyone think that, by a minute
refinement of logic, he had demonstrated the truth and established the correctness of these
opinions? Logic imprisoned by the senses is an organic disease. To this element philosophers
always like to add: the power of observation. But actually this magnificent quality of the
mind is the proof of its impotence. We observe, we regard from one or more points of view,
we choose them among the millions that exist. Experience is also a product of chance and
individual faculties. Science disgusts me as soon as it becomes a speculative system, loses
its
character of utility that is so useless but is at least individual. I detest greasy objectivity, and
harmony, the science that finds everything in order. Carry on, my children, humanity . . .
Science says we are the servants of nature: everything is in order, make love and bash your
brains in. Carry on, my children, humanity, kind bourgeois and journalist virgins . . .I am
against systems, the most acceptable system is on principle to have none. To complete
oneself, to perfect oneself in one’s own littleness, to fill the vessel with one’s individuality, to
have the courage to fight for and against thought, the mystery of bread, the sudden burst of
an infernal propeller into economic lilies. […]

Active Simplicity

Inability to distinguish between degrees of clarity: to lick the penumbra and float in the
big
mouth filled with honey and excrement. Measured by the scale of eternity, all activity is vain
- (if we allow thought to engage in an adventure the result of which would be infinitely
grotesque and add significantly to our knowledge of human impotence). But supposing life to
be a poor farce, without aim or initial parturition, and because we think it our duty to
extricate ourselves as fresh and clean as washed chrysanthemums, we have proclaimed as
the
sole basis for agreement: art. It is not as important as we, mercenaries of the spirit, have
been
proclaiming for centuries. Art afflicts no one and those who manage to take an interest in it
will harvest caresses and a fine opportunity to populate the country with their conversation.
Art is a private affair, the artist produces it for himself, an intelligible work is the product of
a journalist, and because at this moment it strikes my fancy to combine this monstrosity with
oil paints: a paper tube simulating the metal that is automatically pressed and poured hatred
cowardice villainy. The artist, the poet rejoice at the venom of the masses condensed into a
section chief of this industry, he is happy to be insulted: it is a proof of his immutability.
When a writer or artist is praised by the newspapers, it is a proof of the intelligibility of his
1030
work: wretched lining of a coat for public use; tatters covering brutality, piss contributing to
the warmth of an animal brooding vile instincts. Flabby, insipid flesh reproducing with the
help of typographical microbes.

We have thrown out the cry-baby in us. Any infiltration of this kind is candied
diarrhea. To encourage this act is to digest it. What we need is works that are strong straight
precise and forever beyond understanding. Logic is a complication. Logic is always wrong. It
draws the threads of notions, words, in their formal exterior, toward illusory ends and
centers. Its chains kill, it is an enormous centipede stifling independence. Married to logic,
art would live in incest, swallowing, engulfing its own tail, still part of its own body,
fornicating within itself, and passion would become a nightmare tarred with protestantism, a
monument, a heap of ponderous gray entrails. But the suppleness, enthusiasm, eve n the joy
of
injustice, this little truth which we practice innocently and which makes its beautiful: we are
subtle and our fingers are malleable and slippery as the branches of that sinuous, almost
liquid
plant; it defines our soul, say the cynics. That too is a point of view; but all flowers are not
sacred, fortunately, and the divine thing in us is to call to anti -human action. I am speaking
of a
paper flower for the buttonholes of the gentlemen who frequent the ball of masked life, the
kitchen of grace, white cousins lithe or fat. They traffic with whatever we have selected. The
contradiction and unity of poles in a single toss can be the truth. If one absolutely insists on
uttering this platitude, the appendix of a libidinous, malodorous morality. Morality creates
atrophy like every plague produced by intelligence. The control of morality and logic has
inflicted us with impassivity in the presence of policemen who are the cause of slavery, putrid
rats infecting the bowels of the bourgeoisie which have infected the only luminous clean
corridors of glass that remained open to artists.

Let each man proclaim: there is a great negative work of destruction to be

accomplished. We must sweep and clean. Affirm the cleanliness of the individual after the
state of madness, aggressive complete madness of a world abandoned to the hands of
bandits,
who rend one another and destroy the centuries. Without aim or design, without organization:
indomitable madness, decomposition. Those who are strong in words or force will survive, for
they are quick in defense, the agility of limbs and sentiments flames on their faceted flanks.
Morality has determined charity and pity, two balls of f at that have grown like elephants, like
planets, and are called good. There is nothing good about them. Goodness is lucid, clear and
decided, pitiless toward compromise and politics. Morality is an injection of chocolate into the
veins of all men. This task is not ordered by a supernatural force but by the trust of idea
brokers and grasping academicians. Sentimentality: at the sight of a group of men quarreling
and bored, they invented the calendar and the medicament wisdom. With a sticking of labels
the battle of the philosophers was set off (mercantilism, scales, meticulous and petty mea-
sures)
and for the second time it was understood that pity is a sentiment like diarrhea in relation to
the
disgust that destroys health, a foul attempt by carrion corpses to compromise the sun. I
proclaim the opposition of all cosmic faculties to this gonorrhea of a putrid sun issued from
the
factories of philosophical thought, I proclaim bitter struggle with all the weapons of—

1031
Dadaist Disgust

Every product of disgust capable of becoming a negation of the family is Dada; a protest with
the fists of its whole being engaged in destructive action: Dada; know ledge of all the means
rejected up unt il now by the shamefaced sex of comfortable compromise and good
manners: Dada; abolition o/ logic, which is the dance of those impotent to create:
Dada; of every social hierarchy and equation set up for the sake of values by our
valets: Dada: every object, all objects, sentiments, obscurities, apparitions and the
precise clash of parallel lines are weapons for the fight: Dada; abolition of memory:
Dada; abolition of archaeology: Dada; abolition of prophets: Dada; abolition of the
future: Dada; absolute and unquestionable faith in every god that is the immediate
product of spontaneity: Dada; elegant and unprejudiced leap from a harmony to the other
sphere; trajectory of a word tossed like a screeching phonograph record; to respect all
individuals in their folly of the moment: whether it be serious, fearful, timid, ardent,
vigorous, determined, enthusiastic; to divest one’s church of eve ry useless cumbersome
accessory; to spit out disagreeable or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle
them—with the extreme satisfaction that it doesn’t matter in the least—with the same
intensity in the thicket of core’s soul pure of insects for blood well-born, and gilded with
bodies of archangels. Freedom: Dada Dada Dada, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of
opposites and of all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies:

LIFE
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000td8c/

turboswami (2009-08-19 14:37:53)

Was dadaism a product of the industrial revolution? (that is, was it a product of the laziness that
revolution afforded?) Tzara is obviously intelligent, but I associate lack of discipline, artistic or
otherwise, with both laziness and lack of overall mental health. There are points in the essay where
he just doesn’t seem healthy, especially around the areas describing his many forms disgust.

edensgray (2009-08-19 19:54:33)

oye! spinning again. try again later my conscious says.(hungry)

Killing Time (2009-08-26 12:50) - public

The cleaning lady came knocking around 1 pm and so I needed to be somewhere else for a
time to get out of her way. I took my new camera and my Ipod, thinking I’d go for a quick jaunt,
catch something to eat, and kill some time somewhere, maybe seeing something interesting
to photograph on the way. I got outside the hotel door and, instead of heading towards the
Plaza de Armas, or central square, where I’d headed essentially every one of the 26 days I’d
been in Lima, I would try heading the opposite way for once and hopefully find some new stuff
to look at.
First, a street that seemed to sell only mirrors – hundreds in individual shops reflecting the other
reflective shops on the street of self-reflecting shops. Wonderful pictures here, 3 gorgeous
funhouse-style artsy numbers. At the end of this was one of these old carved stone buildings,
this one had more of an Incan motif than of the regular Spanish colonial style of most older
buildings. I took a few macro shots of the grotesque faces on the outside, and then went in,
1032
where a guard stood at a closed metal grid gate. He made some fuss in those Spanish words
of his, and I just kinda pointed where I wanted to go and said “cuando?” assuming it was
some kinda museum. He nodded slightly, so I unlatched the gate and went in where there
was a beautiful sunlit inner courtyard, divided into quarters, with a Roman style fountain in
the middle. There was an old fat man pushing one of those old motorless lawn mowers back
and forth over one of the grassy quarters, sweating splotches through his tightly tucked tshirt.
Another slightly younger slick looking man stood back a few feet, watching intently with silent
approval. My God, I needed to capture that interaction perfectly! Bossman and the lowly old
fatty beneath, huddled over, huffing away behind his monotony. I got the perfect shot on the
3rd try, with the slightest of grins evident on Bossman’s face. Beauty.
There were Romanesque statues all over the courtyard, arms missing and everything. A couple
had dates, some over a century old. Some good pictures of an angel’s wings and a broken off
cock and some thought wrinkles. Apparently the place wasn’t a museum, but an art school of
some kind – there were classes in session here and there. I snuck up on the roof and got yelled
at, but played dumb to stay and got some pics of the elaborate art school graffiti. I snuck into
a plush polished oak room labeled “Director” and even got gutsy and went into his office there,
but only for a brief second to snap a pic. Man, I love this new camera!
Walked into a class and said “Hola!” Young, hip-looking art students were lounging around
joking. I talked with one of the girls whose eyes lit up when I said I was from San Francisco
– surely some sort of artist mecca they’d read about in books. The one boy was finishing an
awesome painting of bright smiling children’s dolls hanging themselves. I took a picture from
a weird angle along the noose rope and he liked it.
Found a museum down the road of only old machines of the Industrial Revolution, convoluted
geared monstrosities which the steam punk in me ejaculated over with interest – getting 11
macro shots of just the meticulous intertwining gears meeting angled pistons and levers tow-
ering over faded needle gauges.
The streets started to get a bit more craggy, the sidewalk intermittent. The neighborhood was
edging into ghetto. The next museum, appropriately, was one of Peruvian money – piles of
outdated currency stacked behind plastic for the poverty-stricken locals to oogle over. If I was
smart, I would have turned back here.
Exiting the museum, I saw one of the ancient cathedrals that litter the city – this one looking
familiar somehow. Walking down a narrower street, I saw the buildings were dated from the
1800’s and many were crooked, falling down, or completely dilapidated, but still being lived in.
These photos of the living conditions of these people were my pride and joy. I had never seen
anything like it, the 200 year old building, with ornately carved stone and wood, gutted with
decades of electrical wires and clothes lines hanging, barbed wire and dog shit dirt over once-
immaculate tiled flooring. Crooked century old stairs falling sideways, but obviously still in daily
use – with nailed boards propped against them to keep the children from plummeting from their
3rd floor living space. My God, just the collision and collapsing of ages onto themselves. I was
beaming with pride – surely some of the best photography of my life!
After bravely entering 3 of these living spaces, whose doors were left open, and getting these
incredible sets, I began hunting for more such open ( and assumable public) locations. This
brought me further down the narrow street to where there were abandoned cars and burnt out
buildings, more locks and more barbed wire that the previous street. Yea, I saw it was rough,
but I was sure I was safe. It was just after 2 PM afterall - broad daylight with cars and people
passing - nobody was going to fuck with me.
I saw another open door across the street. I could see it led into a sort of narrow alleyway. I
walked over and hopped in, not even noticing the 8 or so teenagers who were standing on the
1033
nearby corner until they were standing at the doorway, looking in at me – a foreigner, a gringo,
trespassing onto their turf, possibly right into their home! I heard from behind me “tourista”
and “camera” and as I turned around, I was confronted with the largest, a heavyset boy of
about 19, who spoke broken English. “My friend, how are you? You take picture?”
I edged past him and got out of the doorway back into the street, sudden aware of being
surrounded by many others, all of them smiling forced menacing smiles down at me, in a
playfully aggressive sort of way.
“Take our picture! Si? Take our picture. We soccer futbol play. Take our picture!!” the four main
boys played along, huddling in a hug, all smiles...waiting.
My first instinct was, of course, to say I don’t have a camera and to get out of there. But they
had just seen me with the camera, taking the picture, I thought to myself. If they caught me
lying, they would get hostile and things would escalate. I hesitated, all these thoughts racing
through my head as I held my camera firmly in my pocket.
“Comeon Friend! Take our picture!!” his voice growing louder, impatient.
I took the camera out, and quickly snapped a picture of the four smiling boys. They stopped
smiling. Holding the camera close to my hip, I turned the screen low towards them pretend-
ing to care to show them the picture and, mumbling a goodbye, huddling off away from them.
My tense body language surely making my intimidation obvious, the inwardly-turned tight-
ened shoulders and downturned eyes of submission surely inspired equally-obvious feelings of
machismo and bravado amongst the gang and their leader, who had dominated the interaction
with me. But, regardless, I had gotten away and they were behind me. I could continue my
exploring.
I walked a few more blocks, an abandoned police station? Wow, yea...
Another doorway! Open, just a bit up an alley, yes! This one was beautiful, not dirty like the
previous ones. Inside was a manicured stone garden and winding walkway, with an old Bonzai-
like tree overarching the doorway. In the distance, a mountain seemed as if to be embraced
by the reaching branches of the tree. I knelt down for the perfect angle, and a second shot
of the pathway meeting the stone wall, holding my breath to carefully balance the meeting
of the lines in the distance from the frame. One more, to try to capture that feeling of being
enclosed by the tree, that feeling of safety - to create an illusion of safety in the photograph,
yes. Satisfied, I turned to leave.
Coming out of the door, my smiling heavyset soccer friend was just walking by. “Hello. What
are you doing?” he said loudly, coming in close.
As I opened my mouth to respond, a wirey shave-headed boy from behind grabbed at my wallet.
I yelled “Hey!” and backed against the wall, but the first move had been made against me, I
had been physically touched, which granted a sort of unspoken permission for all the others in
the pack.
A 3rd boy reached for my arm from across the leader, while the wirey one nabbed again for my
wallet, this time with success! My mind was reeling fast. I reached out grabbing for him as he
ran, but was held now on both sides by two of the teenage boys, others circling around. I let
out a deep angry yell and elbowed the one on my right hard in the jaw and shook the other
one loose.
The boy with the wallet watched, transfixed on the scene like a deer in headlights on the other
side of the road.
“You Fuck! You wanna go!? Comeon!” I yelled loud, deep, angry, ready. That skinny little
pissant wasn’t nothing! But, permission had been granted...
1034
I lunged hard after the wirey boy, running full tilt at him as a fourth boy grabbed at my jacket
pocket, tearing it open at the seam.

From my left, a quick kick between my feet broke my lunge and sent me sliding hard against
the gravel cement. From there, the 7 had me down and were quick to pounce. From the now
torn pocket spilled my camera onto the cement, which 5 frenzied hands quickly grabbed at.
I snatched it first and clutched it to my chest as 3 hands pried and pulled. Two boys above
me began first punching my head, and then kicking, while a 5th joined in, kicking my ribs.
I screamed through the taste of blood now gushing from my nose and face “HEEELLLLP!!!
HEEEEELLLPPP!!”

I could hear the desperation in this voice, the way it cracked with volume through the instinct.
It was a primal sound and I heard it separately, as if from a place not in my body.

I stubbornly held onto the camera I was so proud of for long seconds – 10, 15, getting beaten
with growing determination. One of the boys managed to pry off two of my long fingers while
the other extracted the camera from the opening. And, like a pack of hyenas , they broke all
at once and fled up the alley. I looked up and saw all of the people who had heard my cry for
help and come out of their houses to watch the beating.

edensgray (2009-08-26 20:21:32)

Kaleb! That’s terrible. How are you feeling? I’d like to see you somehow get this camera back. How
frighteneing - the situation. I think I’ve read you’ve had your wallet stolen before...how many times?
Inconvenient. Hopefully you can treasure the wonderous experiences of Peru without opposiition from
the locals but...that’s a little like your ejaculation over the historical contraptions. An excited hope.
Take care, K. -S

turboswami (2009-08-26 20:41:06)

Yea, I’m looking pretty rough, heh. They kicked out a tooth, the wounds on my face will be many
weeks of healing, but hopefully no real permanent scars. Not getting the camera back. That was
officially Peru Camera Number 4. But I am going back to the place I was mugged today to knock door
to door, trying to get back my glasses and book of poetry.

edensgray (2009-08-26 21:31:27)

Scars can be sexy! But I’m being silly...I doubt that allieviates your concern. I was hoping by some
grace of the universe you’d atleast find your memory card, trashed but salvagable. I ache to see
what you have seen. But your book of poetry!? Ahh! My thoughts will be with you on your next risky
adventure, K. Come back well!

turboswami (2009-08-27 02:22:19)

Actually it does alleviate it a bit. I didn’t know scars were hot. Is it the "fashion-mag-accessorizing"
sort of sexy, or more the "bad-boy-dangerous" sort of sexy?

edensgray (2009-08-27 02:38:41)

bad-boy got beat in a city of poor hungry thieves type of sexy, no doubt!

the2minh8 (2009-08-26 21:14:37)

Fucking unbelievable. Take care of yourself.

1035
edensgray (2009-08-26 23:01:48)
by the way your skill at painting lanscapes and images are keen!!!

monroe_the_fast (2009-08-27 00:53:08)

I hope you will get a new camera right away to photograph your beat-up self. Also, I hope you did that
photo dump you mentioned and haven’t lost everything from your trip. And my condolences on your
being robbed and injured. Wish you were around to chat with online.

turboswami (2009-08-27 02:28:04)

Seriously, that was the 4th camera I’ve lost in Peru. As much as I love photography, I refuse to go
through 5 cameras in this country of thieves. Although, I said the same thing at the 3rd camera, and
again at the 4th... I still have some pictures, yea. Plus the friends I met at the Shamanism Conference
gave me their pictures, to replace the ones lost from stolen camera #2. I have a hell of a story for
you too... hard to believe! Whenever we chat again. ; )

8.9 September

Initiation (2009-09-01 02:20) - public

Finally arrived back home, safe and sound, from South America.
My God, robbed 4 times, beaten bloody, cheated, shamed, and raped.
I was sure the bad luck of these last 2 weeks could get no worse...

Hours after stepping off the plane, I am hit by a speeding SUV.

Drivers side door completely caved in, no seatbelt, blood everywhere - gushing from my
head.
Broken ribs, badly hurt spine, dizzy, disoriented, crawling from the passenger side across red
broken glass to the sidewalk...

My car insurance ran out when I was in Peru...

I am told I was at fault, even though she was doing well past 50 in a 25 MPH residential zone.

What the hell is going on? How can so many horrible things happen in turn, one after
another, so relentlessly?
It seems everything I do ends in gushing blood, pain, and loss.

I kept asking myself this: Where did this bad luck come from? Why is this happening?
An answer came in a flash of memory, but its not an answer I want to admit.

edensgray (2009-09-01 10:51:58)

Oye that’s insane and terrible all rolled up into one big weiner. Are we privvy to your flash of memory?
I hope for a smooth recovery. I suppose you will be out of commission for a while. Do be careful, my
thoughts are with you.

1036
the2minh8 (2009-09-01 15:16:57)
If it’s any condolence, I assure you that the universe is completely indifferent and has no desire to
take revenge on you for anything, nor indeed any desire at all. I hope you survive this string of blows.

(2009-09-03 02:12:22) Glad

I’m just glad you are home. :) Be safe, take care, I hope your luck turns around soon.

qwerty6 (2009-09-03 02:16:05) Re: Glad

Sorry I posted the last one, didn’t log in. It’s the2minh8 other half.

turboswami (2009-09-03 02:23:57) Re: Glad

Oh, I know you squid lady. No need to introduce yourself. ; P

I’ll Just Leave This Here... kthnx (2009-09-07 22:01) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _50

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _50

My God...

Its just too wrong to "Favorite" but at the same time, its too rare to just let it go.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2650%26%26%26youtube%26
zU6Qmc56FLE%3A17096a835d6e7f56f119f58957162059d7dd5974
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2650%26%26%26youtube%26
zU6Qmc56FLE%3A17096a835d6e7f56f119f58957162059d7dd5974

edensgray (2009-09-08 05:18:17)

I’m slappin’ my forehead! Wow! I want to meet Mistress Rachel. Old man....you look cute shakin’ your
faggot ass in your eff’n diapers! Hmmm....can I make money makin’ old men do that?!!!!!!

turboswami (2009-09-08 05:32:46)

Hope that got you excited to come to California... I think he makes for a good introduction, overall.

edensgray (2009-09-08 05:37:14)

Completely! I never did mention my affinity for ’older’ men. He passed out his information (or
pseudo information) I may attempt to replace Mistress Rachel’s position with Lady Rizza!!!!

1037
 edensgray (2009-09-08 05:38:40)
Oh...and are you serious...a good introduction, overall? What am I in for....????? How many masks
do I need to pull out of the closet?

turboswami (2009-09-08 05:54:19)

Haha. Lets just say, if he didn’t say he was from California, I would have guessed he was from
California.

edensgray (2009-09-08 14:37:46)

Interesting! Very....

monroe_the_fast (2009-09-08 06:09:02)

I find it very hard to imagine you choosing not to favorite this because it’s ’too wrong.’

the2minh8 (2009-09-08 14:13:18)

This guy is bonkers. I mean, the shirt tucked into the diaper . . . total fashion/fetish faux pas!

Lil Raw Food Troopers (2009-09-07 22:56) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _51

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _51

Oh, I just wanna slap that pussy at the end.

Make him watch as I forcefeed his daughter greasy sausage.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2651%26%26%26youtube%26
3P4VFjA1WYc%3A5cb9cd7613938b539cceb07d6c00bbd516654b56
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2651%26%26%26youtube%26
3P4VFjA1WYc%3A5cb9cd7613938b539cceb07d6c00bbd516654b56

monroe_the_fast (2009-09-08 06:06:20)

WHaaaat the... I’m curious, did you find this as a suggested video after that one I sent you of that
cute, patriotic, skating raw food lady?

turboswami (2009-09-08 07:18:16)

Naw, sorry. I geezled it offa community I am a part of called [1]WTF, Inc.

1. http://community.livejournal.com/wtf_inc/

1038
 turboswami (2009-09-08 07:21:08)
That link doesnt look linky! What the sausage?! http://community.livejournal.com/wtf _inc/

edensgray (2009-09-08 06:48:50)

did you see the toilet? it was filled with brown liquid?! ughh...he must have diarrhea’d before going live.

edensgray (2009-09-08 06:57:46)

LMFAO @ greasy sausage.. Garbage bins would emanate defilement after swallowing forcefeed
sausage - greasy.

Sexual Repression and Sexual Deviance - Pt. 1 (2009-09-08 00:33) - public

Me and my Mormon roommate began talking about sexual perversions. His 2 closest friends
described being molested from within the family. I suggested that sexual repression seems to
often lead to sexually deviant behavior, to which he, disagreed – defending the self-restrictive
sexual lifestyle of the traditional Christian, a lifestyle which he was born and raised into.
I described desire, passion, and emotion as having a fluid nature - within each person, a
river whose current is destined to flow outwards, into expression. This river has force, but
this fluid conception of emotion is merely a metaphor, but that emotion literally is a type of
energy, a current flowing and dispersed constantly along the minutely sensitive branches
and tributaries of our nervous system. In addition, when the naturally-intended course of
this “river” of passion is consciously suppressed or blocked, it’s force does not simply end
and forgotten, but continually and collectively builds – bound to surface up eventually; being
released in some indirect, unnatural, or explosive way.

An example of this which I gave is the Freudian Slip. Lets say we see on someone’s face a giant
mole, with long horse hairs sprouting from it. In seeing it, we immediately suppress our desire
to look at it, while our natural curious desire is to point it out, poke, prod, study, and draw
attention to it. The fluid current of this desire is blocked and suppressed beneath the surface
of consciousness, but tends to push upwards to that surface nonetheless - the force of that
desire, instead, diverting, against all our best intentions, to an indirect release route. The near-
obsessive fascination with the socially-unacceptable builds pressure beneath our conscious
thought – eventually spouting out of the nearest available crack or weak spot in our semantics.

“So, how did you two meet?”

“Well, I first saw him at that huge shopping mole over in North Hampton. Umm... I’m sure you
know the one, it’s hard to miss!”

This is an example of that unacceptable thing we are thinking being held at the very
edge of our conscious expression, but not being “officially” allowed passage through. Yet, the
longer that thought remains there, supressed and forced deep into hiding, the more likely it
will quickly sneak out through our conscious control the first chance it gets. This common
occurrence follows the same rules of fluid dynamics we would see if trying to restrict the flow
of a river or, perhaps even more appropriate, trying to hold a pocket of air beneath water.
Some of it is going to escape our grasp and surface eventually.

So, an example more closely-related to the point of sexual perversion and suppression
of desire is that of the Catholic priest and the little choir boy. The population of Catholic
1039
priests practicing pedophilia and sodomy is much higher than that of the general population,
but why?
The priest’s natural desire, like that of any man, is comparable to the force of a river flowing:
the male attention which flows naturally towards a beautiful woman. Yet, that sexual relation-
ship he wants is unacceptable, but that does not stop him from thinking and suppressing and
obsessing over that sexual act continually as the force of that unquelled human need grows
within him. Following the same fluid nature as the slip, the passion “escapes” through the
closest available outlet – that of the submissive boy who he spends so much time with. It is
an unnatural outlet of his natural desire which “slips out,” since that most natural outlet, the
beautiful girl, is unacceptable and barred to him. The flowing expression of his most basic
sexual need blocked consciously, but destined to see the light of day, in this case via the
closest secondary route, the obedient young boy. These examples, I said, show that there is
a relationship between between sexual suppression and sexual deviance.

My Mormon friend said the water analogy was vague. We broadened the discussion
from sex to nature-itself, morality, and my tendency, so he said, to associate nature with
goodness. To this, I fell back on an old MSU era catchphrase of mine:

“Good and Bad are categories WE create and place on nature, which could care less
one way or the other.”

That is to say Good and Bad are the outermost superficial layer, a label used for conve-
nience and easy storage. In this way, we can "capture" nature in the net of our semantics.

I told him that the act of love is not acceptable by the Christian. Sex is a dirty word, a
crude and shameful bodily act which must be “dealt with.” It is dealt with and purified by the
Church, “made good” through the sanctity of marriage – God’s "OK," a thumbs up from Jesus
giving you the green light to start fucking.

But,there is no more natural a desire than to make love, to pursue, compete for, and
impress a beautiful woman. Evolutionary biology would say this is the cornerstone of all
culture, the “Peacock Show” of every generation of man - each cocky pubescent reaching
prime and strutting their colors, outdoing the others in a grand display of potency. Is not
every male, essentially, competing for the attention of the female in his own unique way?
That young Bill Gates striving to show his superiority using the unique “colored feathers” his
techno-culture afforded him? That young Paul McCartney driven to prove his abilities and, in
doing so, attract the affections of millions of horny nubile virgins with his song?

This drive to impress to impregnate is a biological one and its products define the peak
of all culture and civilization. The peak of a man’s identity can be drawn on the same curve
which represents his sexual potency, his virility a sort of fuel, heating his personality to
radiate brightly. This same curve has been observed and given different names by different
psychologists, as it represents so many aspects of a man’s being: The Age/Genius Curve, The
Age/Crime Curve, The Age/Cognition Curve, The Age/Risk Curve, all essentially following the
same chronology of ascent and descent.

“But nature often not good. Are you saying a man getting angry and hitting his children
is a good thing? Anger, and other emotions, arise naturally – but it is the moral and socially-
responsible individual who learns to control them. This is how a good person is defined.”

1040
I believe what you’re describing is not nature VS goodness, but a differentiation between two
levels or stages of the same natural progression: ...cont’d.

(2009-09-08 14:12:37)
but continually and collectively builds – bound to surface up eventually; being released in some
indirect, unnatural, or explosive way. and This common occurrence follows the same rules of fluid
dynamics we would see if trying to restrict the flow of a river I appreciate these examples. Working
with an energy healer has been a painful experience; however, the outcome has been (for me) to learn
how to express what is not being expressed. The non-expression or holding-back of myself has proven
detrimental. When there is no outlet - which ever emotion rooted in love or fear - it’s bound to escape
causing an internal or external reaction!!! Indeed! I love analogies and metaphors and the wonderful
ways to make connections to the human experience. The analogy of the river just brought to my
consciousness the submersible pump product I market and what occurs when the velocity of the fluid
changes. The fluid is desired to flow through at a constant velocity (our energy). If the velocity of the
liquid changes the pressure changes as welln (low or high dependant on where the velocity changes).
This occurrence affects the peformance of the pump or in some instances damages the internal compo-
nents of the pump. Could the lack of progressive energy flow be linked to mental disorders? I realize it’s
much more scientific and my question could be inapporpriately grouped...thought I’d not hold back... ;)

edensgray (2009-09-08 14:15:52)

It’s Moua!

edensgray (2009-09-08 15:27:35) The Early Primal Model: A Reappraisal by Frederick M Farrar
I found this while reading up on Sympathetic Mode. I thought it was relative... "The perpetuation
of the entrenched habit of repression is maintained by the force of habit and by the reinforcement
of repressive values perceived in our environment. These two - force of habit and environmental
reinforcement - constitute a particular expression of the unity which is the organism-environment
relationship. They interact and condition each other. The force of habit seeks out an environment
which matches its expectation, whilst the matched environment reinforces the habitual pattern.
This relationship is altered in the therapeutic environment where the habitual pattern is no longer
reinforced and begins to lose its current validity. The individual’s repressive values are no longer
validated by the values of her therapeutic friends. The effect upon the individual, of constant contact
with this different value system, is what makes the therapeutic environment therapeutic. Letting go of
our repressive value system is what allows us to feel, not the cathartic release of frustrated feelings.
Once again I am shifting the emphasis away from an automatic anatomical process, to the human
qualities of courage, creativity and renewed self-confidence."

So Long, So Long, Slow On... (2009-09-08 04:00) - public

The fists of the little men were not curled so tight

1

when they were infants

2

1041
when they cried openly just to be held.
3

And if I cry openly

4

will you hold me again?

5

If I fall to your lap,

6

collapse to your feet

7

will you hold me again?

8

For you knew I was a little man,

9

you knew what none of them knew

10

You knew I was really so small

11

that I would climb inside you to sleep.

12

And if I die openly,

1042
13

would you cry for me again?

14

If I fall to your lap,

15

collapse to your feet

16

will you know me again?

17

Remember that song I sung you,

18

about how far loneliness can reach

19

and curl into a shell.

20

and blind your memory

21

so you dont know which home

22

you’re in at night.
23

And if I sing openly,

1043
24

would you feel with me again?

25

If I fall to your lap,

26

collapse to your feet

27

will you hear me again?

28

There’s a careless love

29

and there’s a careful love

30

and their gaping difference

31

can be hidden in a dress like yours

32

for only
33

so long

She Calls Me Panda Eyes (2009-09-08 04:39) - public

[1]
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1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000w4zq/

edensgray (2009-09-08 14:45:52)

I’m tempted to state that this musn’t be too recent considering your face is smooth and without
scaring. She calls you Panda Eyes? That’s a sweet term of endearment. I’m all racoon eyes, babeh!
But I can wear make-up and hide them raccoon eyes!!!! ;D

turboswami (2009-09-08 21:46:06)

Heh, I didn’t get much sleep that week. I think this was, like, 2 days before the mugging. Yea.

edensgray (2009-09-08 23:28:25)

hmmm...show me an after! well, if you should want to. :P

monroe_the_fast (2009-09-08 22:01:40)

wtf... Where’s your other shoulder?

swarms (2009-09-09 02:57:28) So, you’ve found yourself a woman who’s into bestiality
Remember to never shave down there. And, that peanut butter she slops on to her cunt is normal:
just lap it up and wag your ass like you’re gracious.

1045
 turboswami (2009-09-09 03:30:10) Re: So, you’ve found yourself a woman who’s into bestiality
Actually, I will have to inform her that the digestive system of the panda bear is not suited for the
breaking down and absorption of plant-based oils, like those in peanut butter. I may have to draw her
a diagram, and list those natural food staples of the Chinese panda’s traditional diet. ...it may take
all night.

edensgray (2009-09-09 14:32:30) Re: So, you’ve found yourself a woman who’s into bestiality
thanks for the chuckle!!!

Papa: The Bag and the Brand New (2009-09-09 02:47) - friends

I bought my dad pot seeds!

A sampler pack of 10 prime sativa strains, direct from Amsterdam.

He hasnt grown for decades, but medical marijuana is now legal in Michigan.
White Widow, Northern Lights, Purple Haze...I am sure his "backache" will melt right away...
I’m just giddy about it.

I really just wanna see him inspired and pumpin’ out blueprints again, just like the old
days...
...sleepless nights, scribbling away madly at some sick master plan.
1046
Dump of Legend! (2009-09-17 01:40) - public

Which ones you like?

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edensgray (2009-09-17 13:31:33)
interesting post

turboswami (2009-09-17 15:39:50)

Haha. Some disturbing ones, maybe...? : P The good ones are really good tho.

edensgray (2009-09-17 15:44:45)

Penile images clearly abstractions that had me...err... And I didn’t know if I should be appalled by
the Jesus Fuck Puppet or if I should want to buy one?!?

1159
 turboswami (2009-09-17 16:08:50)
Haha! Morning Penis Magic! If my Mormon roommate knew I had that sort of evil on this side of the
door, he’d shit bricks.

edensgray (2009-09-17 16:14:45)

morning penis magic - HA! was there a number on the ad for the doll?!? ;)

(2009-09-19 01:32) - public

Drink lots of liquids and get plenty of rest...

works for some things, but not for rotting.
The moist, the hidden, the warm, the sedentary;
these only speed the progression of the decay.

Tell me stories of hard work, of overcoming adversity,

of never giving up, of fighting for...
something.
anything.

I love these stories, these fairy tales and hero myths.

Just don’t tell me the ending, please.
As happy as it may be, I’d rather assume they all die,
In fire or something about as painful.

Because I hate them...

These perky beautiful successes with faces smooth like the backs of thumb tacks.
I hate them because I remember too much
of our places and of all those games I didnt play.

Unfinished parts spread across me like scrawled impatience,

until the last of the promised simply leave.
Haha. Serious.

edensgray (2009-09-19 12:11:29)

:-)

Equality: The American Way (2009-09-19 19:11) - public

Harrison Bergeron

by Kurt Vonnegut (1961)

THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before
God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else.
Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody
1160
else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution,
and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. April, for instance, still drove
people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men
took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.

It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. Hazel
had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except
in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental
handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a
government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some
sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.

George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel’s cheeks, but
she’d forgotten for the moment what they were about.

On the television screen were ballerinas.

A buzzer sounded in George’s head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a bur-
glar alarm.

“That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,” said Hazel.

“Huh?” said George.

“That dance – it was nice,” said Hazel.

“Yup,” said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren’t really
very good – no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with
sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free
and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was
toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn’t be handicapped. But he didn’t get
very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.

George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.

Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself she had to ask George what
the latest sound had been.
1161
“Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer,” said George.

“I’d think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds,” said Hazel, a lit-
tle envious. “All the things they think up.”

“Um,” said George.

“Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?” said Hazel. Hazel, as
a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named
Diana Moon Glampers. “If I was Diana Moon Glampers,” said Hazel, “I’d have chimes on
Sunday – just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion.”

“I could think, if it was just chimes,” said George.

“Well – maybe make ‘em real loud,” said Hazel. “I think I’d make a good Handicapper
General.”

“Good as anybody else,” said George.

“Who knows better’n I do what normal is?” said Hazel.

“Right,” said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was
now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.

“Boy!” said Hazel, “that was a doozy, wasn’t it?”

It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling and tears stood on the rims
of his red eyes. Two of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their
temples.

“All of a sudden you look so tired,” said Hazel. “Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa,
so’s you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch.” She was referring to the
forty-seven pounds of birdshot in canvas bag, which was padlocked around George’s neck.
“Go on and rest the bag for a little while,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re not equal to me for
a while.”

1162
George weighed the bag with his hands. “I don’t mind it,” he said. “I don’t notice it
any more. It’s just a part of me.

“You been so tired lately – kind of wore out,” said Hazel. “If there was just some way
we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls.
Just a few.”

“Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out,” said George. “I
don’t call that a bargain.”

“If you could just take a few out when you came home from work,” said Hazel. “I mean
– you don’t compete with anybody around here. You just set around.”

“If I tried to get away with it,” said George, “then other people’d get away with it and
pretty soon we’d be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against
everybody else. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

“I’d hate it,” said Hazel.

“There you are,” said George. “The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you
think happens to society?”

If Hazel hadn’t been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn’t
have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head.

“Reckon it’d fall all apart,” said Hazel.

“What would?” said George blankly.

“Society,” said Hazel uncertainly. “Wasn’t that what you just said?”

“Who knows?” said George.

The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn’t clear at
first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious
speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer
tried to say, “Ladies and gentlemen – ”

1163
He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.

“That’s all right –” Hazel said of the announcer, “he tried. That’s the big thing. He tried
to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard.”

“Ladies and gentlemen” said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been ex-
traordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that
she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big
as those worn by two-hundred-pound men.

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman
to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. “Excuse me – ” she said, and she
began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.

“Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen,” she said in a grackle squawk, “has just escaped from
jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius
and an athlete, is under–handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.”

A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen – upside down, then
sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison
against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.

The rest of Harrison’s appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever worn
heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H–G men could think them up.
Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones,
and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only
half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military
neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard.
In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.

And to offset his good looks, the H–G men required that he wear at all times a red rub-
ber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black
caps at snaggle–tooth random.

“If you see this boy,” said the ballerina, “do not – I repeat, do not – try to reason with
him.”

1164
There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.

Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photo-
graph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the
tune of an earthquake.

George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have – for many
was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. “My God –” said George,
“that must be Harrison!”

The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile colli-
sion in his head.

When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living,
breathing Harrison filled the screen.

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood in the center of the studio. The knob of
the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announc-
ers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.

“I am the Emperor!” cried Harrison. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must
do what I say at once!” He stamped his foot and the studio shook.

“Even as I stand here –” he bellowed, “crippled, hobbled, sickened – I am a greater ruler

than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!”

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guar-
anteed to support five thousand pounds.

Harrison’s scrap–iron handicaps crashed to the floor.

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness.
The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the
wall.

He flung away his rubber–ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the
god of thunder.

1165
“I shall now select my Empress!” he said, looking down on the cowering people. “Let
the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!”

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps
with marvelous delicacy. Last of all, he removed her mask.

She was blindingly beautiful.

“Now” said Harrison, taking her hand, “shall we show the people the meaning of the
word dance? Music!” he commanded.

The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps,
too. “Play your best,” he told them, “and I’ll make you barons and dukes and earls.”

The music began. It was normal at first – cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two
musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it
played. He slammed them back into their chairs.

The music began again and was much improved.

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while – listened gravely, as
though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.

They shifted their weights to their toes.

Harrison placed his big hands on the girl’s tiny waist, letting her sense the weightless-
ness that would soon be hers.

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of
motion as well.

They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.

1166
They leaped like deer on the moon.

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it.
It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling.

They kissed it.

And then, neutralizing gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air
inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.

It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio
with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress
were dead before they hit the floor.

Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told
them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.

It was then that the Bergerons’ television tube burned out.

Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George.

But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.

George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And
then he sat down again. “You been crying?” he said to Hazel.

“Yup,” she said,

“What about?” he said.

“I forget,” she said. “Something real sad on television.”

“What was it?” he said.

“It’s all kind of mixed up in my mind,” said Hazel.

1167
“Forget sad things,” said George.

“I always do,” said Hazel.

“That’s my girl,” said George. He winced. There was the sound of a riveting gun in his
head.

“Gee – I could tell that one was a doozy,” said Hazel.

“You can say that again,” said George.

“Gee –” said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy.”

the2minh8 (2009-09-22 13:29:23)

Statement dystopia alert!

8.10 October

(2009-10-07 17:05) - public

There’s a sharpness to chemically-induced bright eyes,

it tends to give people headaches
as the eyes flare awake in the passion of conversation.

My eyes rest nestled in a moist purple lagoon,

bags of sleep, pillows softening my waking state.
I push my eyes out of bed, but they just roll back.

I strain to see beyond the red veil, eyes rolled back.

Rolling fabric into slow forms, writing, images sounds,
each unwinding a flow show of emotion, burst open.

The Clarity of Morning Bell’s Chime. Awaken! (2009-10-07 17:06) - public

Slow the inverse of the room’s frame introduce you to a surface, one you are descending
beneath.
On slow drawn fortunes I we cross lo see lakes inner world strange and unseen realm of life.
Descend into the sub conscious medium, submerge into consciousness. The surface of the
lake, our sunlight beach skin, is behind us here. We have dove in, we are going deep.
1168
In our subconscious ocean exist beautiful and ugly creatures...neither of which we see in our
finer density:Air, sunlit and self-contained. While our bodies have developed beyond the ocean,
we must remember our past...that spiritual realm from which we emerged, our life a short-
lived excursion up into physical land, this place and its transplendent rupture of surface, one
incarnate for every consciousness.
The bound conscious, each with its inner bandwidth of sustained life. Each representing a set
of frequencies, interdependent and communicative within their species bandwidth
Slow sombre sections carry the bandwidths of stones, and higher yet: the calm inwardly-
emotive ocean of trees and plants.
Stkear sSRains not sored her, it only carries.
Follow a distracting torrent down towards some. Twitch
Some who, the pelvis torques out in a whirr of memory.
Take a resonating flair as a presence, A memory remaining behind a wound;
The infection of wounds untreated.
Higher densities we may travel, swimming upwards towards light far above, gracing another
surface, another boundary of medium, light filtered in frequenciees, diffracted and darkened:
the higher slopes and the upper light.
And somewhere there in the sound of water falling lies every frequency we could know...flowing
at once, the meeting of water and air, a resonant spectrum is captured, like a hallway into fre-
quency, into the forever resonance of light. Iwill not forget thathistory, that ancestral frequency,
bound by my eyes. To this plane. Can I replayh the sexless intimage, the feltless being I have
carried. Nads gnards. Gnosis Gnockers.
Untreated wound in our conscious subservice. We, perhaps, were bit once down there by a
crab, or stepped on a poisonous defense., the barbs of a jellyfish or anemone . Twitch where
sickness remains, where the barbs remain lodged, Stinging.
Staw born country gold aint never seen no jelklyfish round his county. I reckon you be comin
from a nudder state, waay down reckon you might run inta a jellyfish. I aint seen one, but
I’s heard stories – mah cuzin was a sailer, a traveller who saw far distant realms and ways a
knowin. They werent all so differerent, really...some were livin off the same roots as us, the
cultures of ancient interaction a which we aint never formed recall. We get so distracted in
our day to day jobs and place that we forget the branches of civilized expansion which exis \t
beneath us...m\in mediums of air or of water, they live.
High density resonance....the density of a metal, and the conductant properties of that dencity.
Insulate the purity of tone into its shades no more. Let pure resonant tone chime down from
above.
This is the meditative opoening of a bell, the calling back to a cleaner focus. The clarity of a
bell’s chime, the awakening that it brings to us if we let it. If we follow it in fully. It rewards in
bounties of resonant warmth, a coursing of inner allignment.
Well pourn in from a puncture point, solid wire tone, clean and pure.
I’ll claim my old land, the forgotten family plot.
I remember their grace, the calm protective grandparents of this old cabin.
Shining down on me, my concerned ancients whose love I carry here.
Whose eyes are not only mine, patient teachers, nudging me along.
Thank you, thank you, I love you.
1169
And I know it is you that cry in insurmountable joy with me,
it is you who I feel who I can trust whenever I need.
I am sorry I can be such an ignorant child, so easily distracted, so rare to listen.
But please remember that moment, when I did listen and I did learn, oh how I learned!
And we connected, and you felt it, please remember I can learn like that again.
Have faith that I will be a better vessel.All that which you know I can be.

(2009-10-10 12:59) - public

A man had left a Czech village to seek his fortune. Twenty-five years later, and now rich, he
had returned with a wife and child. His mother was running a hotel with his sister in the village
where he’d been born. In order to surprise them, he had left his wife and child at another hotel
and gone to see his mother, who didn’t recognize him when he walked in. As a joke he’d had
the idea of taking a room. He had shown off his money. During the night his mother and his
sister had beaten him to death with a hammer in order to rob him and had thrown his body in
a river. The next morning the wife had come to the hotel and, without knowing it, gave away
the traveler’s identity. The mother hanged herself. The sister threw herself down a well. I must
have read that story a thousand times. On one hand it wasn’t very likely. On the other, it was
perfectly natural. Anyway, I thought the traveler pretty much deserved what he got and that
you should never play games.

turboswami (2009-10-10 20:00:52)

-The Stranger, Albert Camus

edensgray (2009-10-11 13:50:41)

Eh, that’s a bummer! Good to see ya posting again. Hope all is well! In California now. It’s been a
great experience. The conference was awesome with some terrific speakers...which brought me to
recall your recent travel. Are there CD’s or DVDs to purchase from the conference you attended?!
I’d be interested in checking them out. It’s also a slight bummer that I am here and am not able
to take a short trip to visit with you. However, this won’t be my last trip to California - that’s for sure. ;^)

(2009-10-11 14:43) - public

In the dream, I was burning all my paddles and my guns...my direction and my defenses, to
keep the fire going through the night.
The deer will approach and impart her wisdom from upstream, on an area of equal footing.
Their minds are agile, their senses so delicately-tuned; ears perked with a jump at the slightest
sign of intrusion or danger. This sensitivity allows the deer to know and perceive things that I
cannot. This part of her world is what she will teach me, but only when I have learned to calm
myself.

(2009-10-14 09:53) - public

Hey Nate,
I am frustrated that I am often unable to describe understandings and rationalizations
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concerning spirituality, ego, and the divine nature of identity as clearly and eloquently as
I could when those understandings first came to me, over a decade ago. It seems when a
concept goes unused, unexpressed and unspoken, it eventually fades from cognition - as if
that branch withers from lack of "flow," or semantic activation, and is eventually pruned. The
thought of my best and most expansive understandings of myself, divinity, and the depths of
consciousness wilting before my very thought is a truly painful one, and a point of great shame.
That is, those realizations which were the pride and joy of my life - those understandings which
finally gave existence meaning and were to, potentially, define my worth beyond my time,
have dried, cracked, and broken - no longer clearly and meaningfully expressible with the few
words that remain for me to speak through. Haha - not to sound so dramatically depressing!
This is aging, I suppose - although it seems that some individuals simply age faster than others.

Regardless, even when clearly expressed through strong rapport and full understanding
on the part of the listener, ideas and opinions shared in that moment rarely last and, over a
short time - months even - only a vague impression of that encounter and its topic remain for
that listener to recall. While I may have expressed realizations concisely and meaningfully
to you, and these ideas may have resonated clearly with you, in full understanding, the
greater the complexity of the idea, the less will remain the next day, the next week, the next
month - until only a sort of "heading" of the idea remains for you, with little of the rationale or
associations made remaining to support those conclusions you once shared in full agreeance.
So, what happens to the listener happens, eventually, to the reader and, even later, to the
speaker himself!

Anyway, I had read this and could not recall the clear and concise associations drawn,
only that I had resonated deeply with them at one time and admired them for their sound and
reasonable logic. This is a well-argued point and if you agree, specifically the opening points
made in the first few paragraphs (more specifically, the important comparison between LSD, a
tool of consciousness, and the Microscope, a tool of biology, and his distinctions between the
self-perception in Eastern and Western cultures-which was the main area of Watts’ academic
expertise.)

I have put key resonant points in bold - please try not to get "sucked into" the political
perspectives, as they are quite secondary to the main point of the essay. : )

Yours,

-K

Psychedelics and Religious Experience

by [1]Alan Watts
(Originally appeared in the California Law Review, Vol. 56, No. 1, January 1968, pp.
74-85.) Copyright Alan Watts & California Law Review.

The experiences resulting from the use of psychedelic drugs are often described in religious

terms. They are therefore of interest to those like myself who, in the tradition of William

James,[2]1 are concerned with the psychology of religion. For more than thirty years I have
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been studying the causes, the consequences, and the conditions of those peculiar states of

consciousness in which the individual discovers himself to be one continuous process with God,

with the Universe, with the Ground of Being, or whatever name he may use by cultural con-

ditioning or personal preference for the ultimate and eternal reality. We have no satisfactory

and definitive name for experiences of this kind. The terms "religious experience," "mystical

experience," and "cosmic consciousness" are all too vague and comprehensive to denote that

specific mode of consciousness which, to those who have known it, is as real and overwhelming

as falling in love. This article describes such states of consciousness induced by psychedelic

drugs, although they are virtually indistinguishable from genuine mystical experience. The

article then discusses objections to the use of psychedelic drugs that arise mainly from the

opposition between mystical values and the traditional religious and secular values of Western

society.

The Psychedelic Experience

The idea of mystical experiences resulting from drug use is not readily accepted in
Western societies. Western culture has, historically, a particular fascination with
the value and virtue of man as an individual, self-determining, responsible ego, con-
trolling himself and his world by the power of conscious effort and will. Nothing,
then, could be more repugnant to this cultural tradition than the notion of spiritual
or psychological growth through the use of drugs. A "drugged" person is by definition
dimmed in consciousness, fogged in judgment, and deprived of will. But not all psychotropic
(consciousness-changing) chemicals are narcotic and soporific, as are alcohol, opiates, and
barbiturates. The effects of what are now called psychedelic (mind-manifesting) chemicals
differ from those of alcohol as laughter differs from rage, or delight from depression. There is
really no analogy between being "high" on LSD and "drunk" on bourbon. True, no one in either
state should drive a car, but neither should one drive while reading a book, playing a violin,
or making love. Certain creative activities and states of mind demand a concentration and
devotion that are simply incompatible with piloting a death-dealing engine along a highway.

I myself have experimented with five of the principal psychedelics: [3]LSD-25, mescaline, psilo-
cybin, dimethyl-tryptamine ([4]DMT), and cannabis. I have done so, as William James tried
nitrous oxide, to see if they could help me in identifying what might be called the "essential" or
"active" ingredients of the mystical experience. For almost all the classical literature on mysti-
cism is vague, not only in describing the experience, but also in showing rational connections
between the experience itself and the various traditional methods recommended to induce it:
fasting, concentration, breathing exercises, prayers, incantations, and dances. A traditional
master of Zen or Yoga, when asked why such-and-such practices lead or predispose one to the
mystical experience, always responds, "This is the way my teacher gave it to me. This is the
way I found out. If you’re seriously interested, try it for yourself." This answer hardly satisfies
an impertinent, scientifically minded, and intellectually curious Westerner. It reminds him of
archaic medical prescriptions compounding five salamanders, powdered gallows rope, three
boiled bats, a scruple of phosphorus, three pinches of henbane, and a dollop of dragon dung
dropped when the moon was in Pisces. Maybe it worked, but what was the essential ingredient?
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It struck me, therefore, that if any of the psychedelic chemicals would in fact predis-
pose my consciousness to the mystical experience, I could use them as instruments
for studying and describing that experience as one uses a microscope for bacteriol-
ogy, even though the microscope is an "artificial" and "unnatural" contrivance which
might be said to "distort" the vision of the naked eye. However, when I was first invited
to test the mystical qualities of LSD-25 by Dr. Keith Ditman of the Neuropsychiatric Clinic at
UCLA Medical School, I was unwilling to believe that any mere chemical could induce a gen-
uine mystical experience. At most, it might bring about a state of spiritual insight analogous
to swimming with water wings. Indeed, my first experiment with LSD-25 was not mystical. It
was an intensely interesting aesthetic and intellectual experience that challenged my powers
of analysis and careful description to the utmost.
Some months later, in 1959, I tried LSD-25 again with Drs. Sterling Bunnell and Michael Agron,
who were then associated with the Langley-Porter Clinic, in San Francisco. In the course of
two experiments I was amazed and somewhat embarrassed to find myself going
through states of consciousness that corresponded precisely with every description
of major mystical experiences that I had ever read.[5]2 Furthermore, they exceeded
both in depth and in a peculiar quality of unexpectedness the three "natural and
spontaneous" experiences of this kind that had happened to me in previous years.
Through subsequent experimentation with LSD-25 and the other chemicals named above (with
the exception of DMT, which I find amusing but relatively uninteresting), I found I could move
with ease into the state of "cosmic consciousness," and in due course became less and less
dependent on the chemicals themselves for "tuning in" to this particular wave length of expe-
rience. Of the five psychedelics tried, I found that LSD-25 and cannabis suited my purposes
best. Of these two, the latter—cannabis—which I had to use abroad in countries where it is not
outlawed, proved to be the better. It does not induce bizarre alterations of sensory perception,
and medical studies indicate that it may not, save in great excess, have the dangerous side
effects of LSD.
For the purposes of this study, in describing my experiences with psychedelic drugs I avoid the
occasional and incidental bizarre alterations of sense perception that psychedelic chemicals
may induce. I am concerned, rather, with the fundamental alterations of the normal, socially
induced consciousness of one’s own existence and relation to the external world. I am trying to
delineate the basic principles of psychedelic awareness. But I must add that I can speak only
for myself. The quality of these experiences depends considerably upon one’s prior orientation
and attitude to life, although the now voluminous descriptive literature of these experiences
accords quite remarkably with my own.
Almost invariably, my experiments with psychedelics have had four dominant characteristics.
I shall try to explain them-in the expectation that the reader will say, at least of the second
and third, "Why, that’s obvious! No one needs a drug to see that." Quite so, but every insight
has degrees of intensity. There can be obvious-1 and obvious-2, and the latter comes on with
shattering clarity, manifesting its implications in every sphere and dimension of our existence.
The first characteristic is a slowing down of time, a concentration in the present. One’s
normally compulsive concern for the future decreases, and one becomes aware of the enor-
mous importance and interest of what is happening at the moment. Other people, going about
their business on the streets, seem to be slightly crazy, failing to realize that the whole point
of life is to be fully aware of it as it happens. One therefore relaxes, almost luxuriously, into
studying the colors in a glass of water, or in listening to the now highly articulate vibration of
every note played on an oboe or sung by a voice.
From the pragmatic standpoint of our culture, such an attitude is very bad for business. It might
1173
lead to improvidence, lack of foresight, diminished sales of insurance policies, and abandoned
savings accounts. Yet this is just the corrective that our culture needs. No one is more fatuously
impractical than the "successful" executive who spends his whole life absorbed in frantic paper
work with the objective of retiring in comfort at sixty-five, when it will all be too late. Only those
who have cultivated the art of living completely in the present have any use for making plans
for the future, for when the plans mature they will be able to enjoy the results. "Tomorrow never
comes." I have never yet heard a preacher urging his congregation to practice that section of
the Sermon on the Mount which begins, "Be not anxious for the morrow...." The truth is that
people who live for the future are, as we say of the insane, "not quite all there"—or here: by
over-eagerness they are perpetually missing the point. Foresight is bought at the price of
anxiety, and when overused it destroys all its own advantages.
The second characteristic I will call awareness of polarity. This is the vivid realization
that states, things, and events that we ordinarily call opposite are interdependent, like back
and front, or the poles of a magnet. By polar awareness one sees that things which are explicitly
different are implicitly one: self and other, subject and object, left and right, male and female-
and then, a little more surprisingly, solid and space, figure and background, pulse and interval,
saints and sinners, police and criminals, in-groups and out-groups. Each is definable only in
terms of the other, and they go together transactionally, like buying and selling, for there
is no sale without a purchase, and no purchase without a sale. As this awareness becomes
increasingly intense, you feel that you yourself are polarized with the external universe in such
a way that you imply each other. Your push is its pull, and its push is your pull—as when you
move the steering wheel of a car. Are you pushing it or pulling it?
At first, this is a very odd sensation, not unlike hearing your own voice played back to you on
an electronic system immediately after you have spoken. You become confused, and wait for
it to go on! Similarly, you feel that you are something being done by the universe, yet that
the universe is equally something being done by you-which is true, at least in the neurological
sense that the peculiar structure of our brains translates the sun into light, and air vibrations
into sound. Our normal sensation of relationship to the outside world is that sometimes I push
it, and sometimes it pushes me. But if the two are actually one, where does action begin and
responsibility rest? If the universe is doing me, how can I be sure that, two seconds hence, I
will still remember the English language? If I am doing it, how can I be sure that, two seconds
hence, my brain will know how to turn the sun into light? From such unfamiliar sensations as
these, the psychedelic experience can generate confusion, paranoia, and terror-even though
the individual is feeling his relationship to the world exactly as it would be described by a
biologist, ecologist, or physicist, for he is feeling himself as the unified field of organism and
environment.
The third characteristic, arising from the second, is awareness of relativity. I see that
I am a link in an infinite hierarchy of processes and beings, ranging from molecules through bac-
teria and insects to human beings, and, maybe, to angels and gods-a hierarchy in which every
level is in effect the same situation. For example, the poor man worries about money while the
rich man worries about his health: the worry is the same, but the difference is in its substance
or dimension. I realize that fruit flies must think of themselves as people, because, like our-
selves, they find themselves in the middle of their own world-with immeasurably greater things
above and smaller things below. To us, they all look alike and seem to have no personality-as
do the Chinese when we have not lived among them. Yet fruit flies must see just as many
subtle distinctions among themselves as we among ourselves.
From this it is but a short step to the realization that all forms of life and being are simply
variations on a single theme: we are all in fact one being doing the same thing in as many
1174
different ways as possible. As the French proverb goes, plus ca change, plus c’est la meme
chose (the more it varies, the more it is one). I see, further, that feeling threatened by the
inevitability of death is really the same experience as feeling alive, and that as all beings are
feeling this everywhere, they are all just as much "I" as myself. Yet the "I" feeling, to be felt
at all, must always be a sensation relative to the "other"-to something beyond its control and
experience. To be at all, it must begin and end. But the intellectual jump that mystical and
psychedelic experiences make here is in enabling you to see that all these myriad I-centers
are yourself—not, indeed, your personal and superficially conscious ego, but what Hindus call
the paramatman, the Self of all selves.[6]3 As the retina enables us to see countless pulses
of energy as a single light, so the mystical experience shows us innumerable individuals as a
single Self.
The fourth characteristic is awareness of eternal energy, often in the form of intense
white light, which seems to be both the current in your nerves and that mysterious e which
equals mc2. This may sound like megalomania or delusion of grandeur-but one sees quite
clearly that all existence is a single energy, and that this energy is one’s own being. Of course
there is death as well as life, because energy is a pulsation, and just as waves must have both
crests and troughs, the experience of existing must go on and off. Basically, therefore, there
is simply nothing to worry about, because you yourself are the eternal energy of the universe
playing hide-and-seek (off-and-on) with itself. At root, you are the Godhead, for God is all that
there is. Quoting Isaiah just a little out of context: "I am the Lord, and there is none else. I
form the light and create the darkness: I make peace, and create evil. I, the Lord, do all these
things."[7]4 This is the sense of the fundamental tenet of Hinduism, Tat tram asi—"THAT (i.e.,
"that subtle Being of which this whole universe is composed") art thou."[8]5 A classical case of
this experience, from the West, is in Tennyson’s Memoirs:

A kind of waking trance I have frequently had, quite up from boyhood, when I have
been all alone. This has generally come upon me thro’ repeating my own name two
or three times to myself silently, till all at once, as it were out of the intensity of the
consciousness of individuality, the individuality itself seemed to dissolve and fade
away into boundless being, and this not a confused state, but the clearest of the
clearest, the surest of the surest, the weirdest of the weirdest, utterly beyond words,
where death was an almost laughable impossibility, the loss of personality (if so it
were) seeming no extinction but the only true life.[9]6

Obviously, these characteristics of the psychedelic experience, as I have known it, are aspects

of a single state of consciousness—for I have been describing the same thing from different

angles. The descriptions attempt to convey the reality of the experience, but in doing so they

also suggest some of the inconsistencies between such experience and the current values of

society.

Opposition to Psychedelic Drugs

Resistance to allowing use of psychedelic drugs originates in both religious and secular values.
The difficulty in describing psychedelic experiences in traditional religious terms suggests one
ground of opposition. The Westerner must borrow such words as samadhi or moksha
from the Hindus, or satori or kensho from the Japanese, to describe the experience
of oneness with the universe. We have no appropriate word because our own Jewish
1175
and Christian theologies will not accept the idea that man’s inmost self can be iden-
tical with the Godhead, even though Christians may insist that this was true in the unique
instance of Jesus Christ. Jews and Christians think of God in political and monarchical terms,
as the supreme governor of the universe, the ultimate boss. Obviously, it is both socially unac-
ceptable and logically preposterous for a particular individual to claim that he, in person, is the
omnipotent and omniscient ruler of the world-to be accorded suitable recognition and honor.
Such an imperial and kingly concept of the ultimate reality, however, is neither necessary nor
universal. The Hindus and the Chinese have no difficulty in conceiving of an identity of the self
and the Godhead. For most Asians, other than Muslims, the Godhead moves and manifests
the world in much the same way that a centipede manipulates a hundred legs-spontaneously,
without deliberation or calculation. In other words, they conceive the universe by analogy with
an organism as distinct from a mechanism. They do not see it as an artifact or construct under
the conscious direction of some supreme technician, engineer, or architect.
If, however, in the context of Christian or Jewish tradition, an individual declares himself to
be one with God, he must be dubbed blasphemous (subversive) or insane. Such a mystical
experience is a clear threat to traditional religious concepts. The Judaeo-Christian tradition
has a monarchical image of God, and monarchs, who rule by force, fear nothing more than
insubordination. The Church has therefore always been highly suspicious of mystics, because
they seem to be insubordinate and to claim equality or, worse, identity with God. For this
reason, John Scotus Erigena and Meister Eckhart were condemned as heretics. This was also
why the Quakers faced opposition for their doctrine of the Inward Light, and for their refusal to
remove hats in church and in court. A few occasional mystics may be all right so long as they
watch their language, like St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross, who maintained, shall we
say, a metaphysical distance of respect between themselves and their heavenly King. Nothing,
however, could be more alarming to the ecclesiastical hierarchy than a popular outbreak of
mysticism, for this might well amount to setting up a democracy in the kingdom of heaven-
and such alarm would be shared equally by Catholics, Jews, and fundamentalist Protestants.
The monarchical image of God, with its implicit distaste for religious insubordination, has a
more pervasive impact than many Christians might admit. The thrones of kings have walls
immediately behind them, and all who present themselves at court must prostrate themselves
or kneel, because this is an awkward position from which to make a sudden attack. It has
perhaps never occurred to Christians that when they design a church on the model of a royal
court (basilica) and prescribe church ritual, they are implying that God, like a human monarch,
is afraid. This is also implied by flattery in prayers:

O Lord our heavenly Father, high and mighty, King of kings, Lord of lords, the only
Ruler of princes, who dost from thy throne behold all the dwellers upon earth: most
heartily we beseech thee with thy favor to behold....[10]7

The Western man who claims consciousness of oneness with God or the universe
thus clashes with his society’s concept of religion. In most Asian cultures, however,
such a man will be congratulated as having penetrated the true secret of life. He
has arrived, by chance or by some such discipline as Yoga or Zen meditation, at a state of
consciousness in which he experiences directly and vividly what our own scientists know to be
true in theory. For the ecologist, the biologist, and the physicist know (but seldom feel) that
every organism constitutes a single field of behavior, or process, with its environment. There is
no way of separating what any given organism is doing from what its environment is doing, for
which reason ecologists speak not of organisms in environments but of organism-environments.
1176
Thus the words "I" and "self" should properly mean what the whole universe is doing at this
particular "here-and-now" called John Doe.
The kingly concept of God makes identity of self and God, or self and universe, inconceivable
in Western religious terms. The difference between Eastern and Western concepts of man and
his universe, however, extends beyond strictly religious concepts. The Western scientist may
rationally perceive the idea of organism-environment, but he does not ordinarily feel this to be
true. By cultural and social conditioning, he has been hypnotized into experiencing
himself as an ego-as an isolated center of consciousness and will inside a bag of
skin, confronting an external and alien world. We say, "I came into this world." But
we did nothing of the kind. We came out of it in just the same way that fruit comes
out of trees. Our galaxy, our cosmos, "peoples" in the same way that an apple tree "apples."
Such a vision of the universe clashes with the idea of a monarchical God, with the concept of
the separate ego, and even with the secular, atheist/agnostic mentality, which derives its com-
mon sense from the mythology of nineteenth-century scientist. According to this view, the uni-
verse is a mindless mechanism and man a sort of accidental microorganism infesting a minute
globular rock that revolves about an unimportant star on the outer fringe of one of the minor
galaxies. This "put-down" theory of man is extremely common among such quasi scientists as
sociologists, psychologists, and psychiatrists, most of whom are still thinking of the world in
terms of Newtonian mechanics, and have never really caught up with the ideas of Einstein and
Bohr, Oppenheimer and Schrodinger. Thus to the ordinary institutional-type psychiatrist, any
patient who gives the least hint of mystical or religious experience is automatically diagnosed
as deranged. From the standpoint of the mechanistic religion, he is a heretic and is given elec-
troshock therapy as an up-to-date form of thumbscrew and rack. And, incidentally, it is just
this kind of quasi scientist who, as consultant to government and law-enforcement agencies,
dictates official policies on the use of psychedelic chemicals.
Inability to accept the mystic experience is more than an intellectual handicap. Lack of aware-
ness of the basic unity of organism and environment is a serious and dangerous hallucination.
For in a civilization equipped with immense technological power, the sense of alienation be-
tween man and nature leads to the use of technology in a hostile spirit—to the "conquest"
of nature instead of intelligent co-operation with nature. The result is that we are eroding
and destroying our environment, spreading Los Angelization instead of civilization. This is
the major threat overhanging Western, technological culture, and no amount of reasoning or
doom-preaching seems to help. We simply do not respond to the prophetic and moralizing
techniques of conversion upon which Jews and Christians have always relied. But people have
an obscure sense of what is good for them-call it "unconscious self-healing," "survival instinct,"
"positive growth potential," or what you will. Among the educated young there is therefore a
startling and unprecedented interest in the transformation of human consciousness. All over
the Western world publishers are selling millions of books dealing with Yoga, Vedanta, Zen Bud-
dhism, and the chemical mysticism of psychedelic drugs, and I have come to believe that the
whole "hip" subculture, however misguided in some of its manifestations, is the earnest and
responsible effort of young people to correct the self-destroying course of industrial civilization.
The content of the mystical experience is thus inconsistent with both the religious and secular
concepts of traditional Western thought. Moreover, mystical experiences often result in atti-
tudes that threaten the authority not only of established churches, but also of secular society.
Unafraid of death and deficient in worldly ambition, those who have undergone mystical ex-
periences are impervious to threats and promises. Moreover, their sense of the relativity of
good and evil arouses the suspicion that they lack both conscience and respect for law. Use of
psychedelics in the United States by a literate bourgeoisie means that an important segment
1177
of the population is indifferent to society’s traditional rewards and sanctions.
In theory, the existence within our secular society of a group that does not accept conventional
values is consistent with our political vision. But one of the great problems of the United
States, legally and politically, is that we have never quite had the courage of our convictions.
The Republic is founded on the marvelously sane principle that a human community can exist
and prosper only on a basis of mutual trust. Metaphysically, the American Revolution was
a rejection of the dogma of Original Sin, which is the notion that because you cannot trust
yourself or other people, there must be some Superior Authority to keep us all in order. The
dogma was rejected because, if it is true that we cannot trust ourselves and others, it follows
that we cannot trust the Superior Authority which we ourselves conceive and obey, and that
the very idea of our own untrustworthiness is unreliable!
Citizens of the United States believe, or are supposed to believe, that a republic is the best form
of government. Yet vast confusion arises from trying to be republican in politics and monarchist
in religion. How can a republic be the best form of government if the universe, heaven, and
hell are a monarchy?[11]8 Thus, despite the theory of government by consent, based upon
mutual trust, the peoples of the United States retain, from the authoritarian backgrounds of
their religions or national origins, an utterly naive faith in law as some sort of supernatural
and paternalistic power. "There ought to be a law against it!" Our law-enforcement officers
are therefore confused, hindered, and bewildered—not to mention corrupted—by being asked
to enforce sumptuary laws, often of ecclesiastical origin, that vast numbers of people have
no intention of obeying and that, in any case, are immensely difficult or simply impossible to
enforce—for example, the barring of anything so undetectable as LSD-25 from international
and interstate commerce.
Finally, there are two specific objections to use of psychedelic drugs. First, use of these
drugs may be dangerous. However, every worth-while exploration is dangerous—climbing
mountains, testing aircraft, rocketing into outer space, skin diving, or collecting botanical spec-
imens in jungles. But if you value knowledge and the actual delight of exploration more than
mere duration of uneventful life, you are willing to take the risks. It is not really healthy for
monks to practice fasting, and it was hardly hygienic for Jesus to get himself crucified, but these
are risks taken in the course of spiritual adventures. Today the adventurous young are taking
risks in exploring the psyche, testing their mettle at the task just as, in times past, they have
tested it—more violently—in hunting, dueling, hot-rod racing, and playing football. What they
need is not prohibitions and policemen, but the most intelligent encouragement and advice
that can be found.
Second, drug use may be criticized as an escape from reality. However, this criticism
assumes unjustly that the mystical experiences themselves are escapist or unreal. LSD, in par-
ticular, is by no means a soft and cushy escape from reality. It can very easily be an experience
in which you have to test your soul against all the devils in hell. For me, it has been at times an
experience in which I was at once completely lost in the corridors of the mind and yet relating
that very lostness to the exact order of logic and language, simultaneously very mad and very
sane. But beyond these occasional lost and insane episodes, there are the experiences of the
world as a system of total harmony and glory, and the discipline of relating these to the order
of logic and language must somehow explain how what William Blake called that "energy which
is eternal delight" can consist with the misery and suffering of everyday life.[12]9
The undoubted mystical and religious intent of most users of the psychedelics, even if some
of these substances should be proved injurious to physical health, requires that their free and
responsible use be exempt from legal restraint in any republic that maintains a constitutional
separation of church and state.[13]10 To the extent that mystical experience conforms with
1178
the tradition of genuine religious involvement, and to the extent that psychedelics induce that
experience, users are entitled to some constitutional protection. Also, to the extent that
research in the psychology of religion can utilize such drugs, students of the human
mind must be free to use them. Under present laws, I, as an experienced student of the
psychology of religion, can no longer pursue research in the field. This is a barbarous restriction
of spiritual and intellectual freedom, suggesting that the legal system of the United States
is, after all, in tacit alliance with the monarchical theory of the universe, and will,
therefore, prohibit and persecute religious ideas and practices based on an organic
and unitary vision of the universe.[14]11

Footnotes
• See W. James, The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902). —[15]back
• An excellent anthology of such experiences is R. Johnson Watcher on the Hills (1959).
—[16]back
• Thus Hinduism regards the universe not as an artifact, but as an immense drama
in which the One Actor (the paramatman or brakman) plays all the parts, which are
his (or "its") masks or personae. The sensation of being only this one particular self,
John Doe, is due to the Actor’s total absorption in playing this and every other part.
For fuller exposition, see S. Radhakrishnan, The Hindu View of Life (1927); H. Zimmer,
Philosophies of India (1951), pp. 355-463. A popular version is in A. Watts, The Book—
On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are (1966). —[17]back
• [18]Isaiah 45: 6, 7. —[19]back
• Chandogya Upanishad 6.15.3. —[20]back
• Alfred Lord Tennyson, A Memoir by His Son (1898), 320. —[21]back
• A Prayer for the King’s Majesty, Order for Morning Prayer, Book of Common Prayer
(Church of England, 1904). —[22]back
• Thus, until quite recently, belief in a Supreme Being was a legal test of valid consci-
entious objection to military service. The implication was that the individual objector
found himself bound to obey a higher echelon of command than the President and
Congress. The analogy is military and monarchical, and therefore objectors who, as
Buddhists or naturalists, held an organic theory of the universe often had difficulty in
obtaining recognition. —[23]back
• This is discussed at length in A. Watts, The Joyous Cosmology: Adventures in the
Chemistry of Consciousness (1962). —[24]back
• "Responsible" in the sense that such substances be taken by or administered to con-
senting adults only. The user of cannabis, in particular, is apt to have peculiar diffi-
culties in establishing his "undoubted mystical and religious intent" in court. Having
committed so loathsome and serious a felony, his chances of clemency are better if
he assumes a repentant demeanor, which is quite inconsistent with the sincere belief
that his use of cannabis was religious. On the other hand, if he insists unrepen-
tantly that he looks upon such use as a religious sacrament, many judges
will declare that they "dislike his attitude," finding it truculent and lacking in
appreciation of the gravity of the crime, and the sentence will be that much
harsher. The accused is therefore put in a "double-bind" situation, in which he is
"damned if he does, and damned if he doesn’t." Furthermore, religious integrity—as in
conscientious objection—is generally tested and established by membership in some
church or religious organization with a substantial following. But the felonious status
1179
 of cannabis is such that grave suspicion would be cast upon all individuals forming
such an organization, and the test cannot therefore be fulfilled. It is generally for-
gotten that our guarantees of religious freedom were designed to protect
precisely those who were not members of established denominations, but
rather such (then) screwball and subversive individuals as Quakers, Shak-
ers, Levellers, and Anabaptists. There is little question that those who use
cannabis or other psychedelics with religious intent are now members of
a persecuted religion which appears to the rest of society as a grave menace to
"mental health," as distinct from the old-fashioned "immortal soul." But it’s the same
old story. —[25]back
• Amerindians belonging to the Native American Church who employ the psychedelic
peyote cactus in their rituals, are firmly opposed to any government control of this
plant, even if they should be guaranteed the right to its use. They feel that peyote is
a natural gift of God to mankind, and especially to natives of the land where it grows,
and that no government has a right to interfere with its use The same argument might
be made on behalf of cannabis, or the mushroom Psilocybe mexicana Heim. All these
things are natural plants, not processed or synthesized drugs, and by what authority
can individuals be prevented from eating them? There is no law against eating or
growing the mushroom Amanita pantherina, even though it is fatally poisonous and
only experts can distinguish it from a common edible mushroom. This case can be
made even from the standpoint of believers in the monarchical universe of Judaism
and Christianity, for it is a basic principle of both religions, derived from Genesis, that
all natural substances created by God are inherently good, and that evil can arise
only in their misuse. Thus laws against mere possession, or even cultivation, of these
plants are in basic conflict with biblical principles. Criminal conviction of those who
employ these plants should be based on proven misuse. "And God said ’Behold, I have
given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every
tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed- to you it shall be for meat.... And
God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good." —[26]Genesis
1:29, 31.

[27]

deoxy > —[28]Alan Watts —[29]Partnership for Drug Freedom in America

–
Prove it with a wink.

[30]http://www.myspace.com/turboswami
1. http://deoxy.org/watts.htm
2. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote1
3. http://deoxy.org/l_impgui.htm
4. http://deoxy.org/dmt.htm
5. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote2
6. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote3
7. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote4
8. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote5

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9. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote6
10. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote7
11. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote8
12. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote9
13. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote10
14. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#footnote11
15. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back1
16. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back2
17. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back3
18. http://www.gospelcom.net/cgi-bin/bible?language=english&version=rsv&passage=isaiah+45:6-7&search=&showxr
ef=yep&showfn=yep
19. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back4
20. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back5
21. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back6
22. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back7
23. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back8
24. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back9
25. http://deoxy.org/w_psyrel.htm#back10
26. http://www.gospelcom.net/cgi-bin/bible?language=english&version=rsv&passage=genesis+1:29-31&search=&show
xref=yep&showfn=yep
27. http://deoxy.org/
28. http://deoxy.org/watts.htm
29. http://deoxy.org/pdfa/index.htm#dox
30. http://www.myspace.com/turboswami

turboswami (2009-10-14 17:04:12)

date Wed, Oct 14, 2009 at 9:32 AM subject Re: Psychedelics and Religious Experience - Alan Watts
mailed-by yahoo.com Kaleb, I like your thoughtful writing. Truly you have reason to be proud of your
writing. I will now begin reading the Watts comments. Over the last week you’ve been trying to
describe to me this feeling of oneness with the universe (Forgive me if I don’t’ articulate it correctly)
And I’ve had trouble understanding what you’re talking about. Yesterday I said that I can see two
hypotheses for this. The first is the Flatland Hypothesis: that the experience is like living in flatland,
but paying a visit to 3D land and being unable to describe it. The second hypothesis is the Illusion
Hypothesis. This is that either certain drugs, or even certain "natural" practices might lead one to
an overwhelming sensation of enlightenment that does not accompany any actual enlightenment.
In the second case, the sensation of enlightenment could be so strong that one will insist one was
enlightened, but be unable to produce any enlightened thoughts to back this up. One may then
conclude that while one was truly enlightened, one is simply unable to articulate what the heck was
so enlightening (because it wasn’t there). I think it’s true that often we blame our inability to think
clearly on our inability to express clearly. Anyway, how does Watts address this concern? I don’t
think he does it very well. In order to dicern between the first and second hypotheses, we must have
some evidence that the insights gained in this mystical state are actually superior to those gained
by more traditional methods like experience and cognition. I should add that it is not sufficient to
find that one or some philosphies brought on by such practices is beneficial. They each must be tried
in turn. So what of Watts’ insights? I think the first one is pretty good, but I wouldn’t classify it as
some kind of esoteric knowledge that transcends normal cognition. the insight that one must "live
in the now" is a good one, but can easily be taken to extremes as well. Watts paints a picture of the
harried executive who never enjoys life. I could just as easily paint a picture of the listless hippie who
doesn’t care about anything, including hygiene, and must be supported by the generosity of others.

1181
So two can play that game. Now I’m not saying that there is no merit to his philosophy, or that one
should not beware of being too concerned for tomorrow, but painting pictures is more illustrative than
it is probatory. The other insights do not, to my unenlightened mind, present themselves as even
coherent, much less self-evidently enlightening. Perhaps Watts has expressed your feelings better
than you have been able to, but he’s still not making any sense to me. As for his extensive harangue
on why people are opposed to psychedelic drugs. I will not hesitate in calling much of it a straw man.
Oh sure, the evil Church may be a tyrant trembling on her throne and trying to suppress this outbreak
of popular mysticism, but the much more likely explanation is that people have seen that drugs
can do real harm, and that makes them afraid. He devotes a scant paragraph to this concern that
ultimately amounts to brushing it aside. He says that "every worth-while exploration is dangerous".
This may be a great argument for exploring the possibilities of drugs, but that doesn’t mean the true
reason is some kind of sinister Church cover-up or the petty concerns of the hypnotized masses. Nathan

edensgray (2009-10-14 18:35:42)

;^J

Hello My Future Girlfriend! (2009-10-22 02:59) - friends

Kaleb Smith
to Courtenay
show details
2:57 AM (1 minute ago)

Oh My God!!

Tonight was so epic! Me and my lesbian drug dealer friend, Lyla, snorted K and went up
to the balcony party with her girlfriend and an effeminate British boy. There a band was
playing out by the keg. They were pretty good and me and Lyla stood up on the couches and
danced strange dances above the crowd.

When they finished the last song, I hopped down and asked the drummer if I could sit
in on a set. He was polite and said "Uhh...well, maybe a little later when..." and I took the
sticks and slid in behind his awesome set. I barraged the drums madcap frenzy dance style,
and everyone started grooving. Lyla hopped up on the mic and started to sing/beatbox
alongside me. It was fucking EPIC!! Haha. People were dancing to me (all those who were
NOT dancing for the previous drummer) and so I rocked out harder...really diggin into the kick
drum to get their booties to wiggle. Ohhh, it felt so good....wish you had been there!

Anyway, I scored all manner of goodies and only fell down once! A very memorable
night.

I hope your night art was equally beautiful...

Yours,

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-K

I’m going to slowly send you all your trip songs, one by one. : D

How about that?

swarms (2009-10-22 14:34:54)

Her lips look moist and remind me of a wet vagina. Good luck with ol’ Moist Lips!

(2009-10-25 01:19) - public

Here I love you.

In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.

A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.

Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

Pablo Neruda
1183
Saru and The Dynamite (2009-10-30 09:44) - public

In a garden of ancient carved stone and water, filled with Amazonian tribesmen, I took pho-
tographs. It was an ancient religious shrine of these South Americans, but was becoming more
tourist-based over time. One of the wilder traditionally-dressed tribesmen saw me photograph-
ing him next to a mossy wall with a face carved in it. He became aggressive and, in the shot,
I watched as he quickly ran towards and threw something at me. It was seeds – corn kernels,
all that he had to throw or was allowed to, having been “tamed” to tolerate for white tourist
intrusions like mine. The seeds fell into the water and were eaten by the large fish there.

It was there that I was taught the psyche of Saru, the mild-mannered, reasonable, and agree-
able tribesman who, when given the power of dynamite by his white boss and “master,”
changed so quickly and so dramatically. With the dynamite in his hands, this usually friendly
and humble man became a megalomaniac, eager to control and sublimate those around him-
self – even those he loves – using the great power he suddenly wields. And so the lords of this
jungle give him this power, this dynamite, once again only to show me the transformation and
teach me that any power that I have is not actually mine, but also theirs.

In this teaching is a meaningful comparison between Saru, who I watched become something
twisted and evil, and myself – who have, likewise, been given something powerful and poten-
tially dangerous. If I simply use this powerful tool to do what is desired of me by the “masters,”
then I will be rewarded and a continual and mutually-beneficial relationship will be forged be-
tween us. Yet, if I take this dynamite and use it for my own selfish ends, I will never receive it
again and my ties to these great teachers will be cut.

While, yes, the energy and power given through me by these greater spiritual teachers, or
“masters,” in the Amazon could certainly be used to control and manipulate for personal gains,
this is a “small scale” control and it is a short-term gain. With the great energy and insight
came intention and direction. This intention, this delineated task, took me into account as well
and would be for my benefit. The difference being that this benefit was to be long term and
would require more genuine attention and continual reliability on my part. Can I be a truly
useful helper? If so, I will surely be rewarded at the end of the long day!

rachelbutoh (2009-11-03 04:58:04)

here’s a taste of the show. I’m waiting to get the remastered audio synced with the video until I put
anymore up so this is a sneek peek: [EMBED]

turboswami (2009-11-03 05:25:47)

Wow! Nice Johnny Cash! :D It’s totally awesome. And I think the audio sounds really good on here as
is - great mix. The video cuts everyone’s head off once and a while, but it looks like the show was epic.

rachelbutoh (2009-11-06 03:48:27)

here’s some better stuff (this is still me but I’m logged in as my girlfriend...) [EMBED]

turboswami (2009-11-07 23:42:07)

haha! Awesome man!

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8.11 November

NotMe McGee and The Oceanic Melting of Dominance (2009-11-15 00:24) - public

me: (just a warning)

Not Me McGee: not so sure about tonight. I am exHAUSTED
me: out of haust
11:55 PM Sorry
Busy day
?
Not Me McGee: HIGH GUY!
busy week
me: Its fine, no opresser
Not Me McGee: But yeah, busy day, too
I wrote a private entry about it
me: I mean, I will not oppress you to talk if you’re really tired.
But I am here to talk, calmly
11:56 PM if that would help
Not Me McGee: what a weird way of saying so
me: it came out of my pressure typo
and maybe I feel like that
I feel like when I dont smoke pot for a long time, I get "oppressive"
11:57 PM or...dominant in unnatractive ways
Like, I dont know where it comes from, but I notice it
Not Me McGee: hmmm, that’s an interesting observation
I think I can relate to that. I am more righteous and judgmental when I’ve been off the pot
11:58 PM me: and mostly notice it in reflections of the personality in other people...just how
they respond to that ego that starts to rear back up over time
Yea...the righteous, and the insistance, and the judging, and the general stand offishness
I get damned insistant about things!
...nobody likes that. I dont like that.
11:59 PM But, somehow, certain things begin to seem real important. Certain ideas, certain
needs to express.
12:00 AM I have a girlfriend
12:01 AM Not Me McGee: congratulations on your acquisition
12:05 AM Sorry that was obnoxious and oppressive, but I was only teasing
12:06 AM me: No, it was an acquisition. I own a girlfriend.
1185
...all strings attached.
Not Me McGee: lolz
me: Hah. I think I might as well smoke more...
I have this powerful but sneaky smooth strain called Lavender
12:07 AM ...the subconscious gushes
Not Me McGee: ooh, I like the sound of that. Send me some
.plz
me: heh, oh, you cant trick me. you HATE pot! :P
Not Me McGee: hah
12:08 AM I have been smoking it in smallish doses quite regularly. It’s been a different experi-
ence than before
12:11 AM me: Yea, it gets to be a pretty fluid dynamic, if you l let your personality build up
before smoking again...
A lot more melts
12:12 AM ...the effect can be oceanic.
Not Me McGee: Can I tell you a secret?
I feel extremely sexy
12:13 AM me: No secret there!
;)
Not Me McGee: Yeah, it’s really not a secret
me: I have lately too! I love the looks, on a dance floor...the eyes, the glances, the touches...
I felt so fucking sexy last night. Like every girl was mine.
12:14 AM Thats that dominant feeling rearing its head again...
but, its very masculine. Sometimes just letting it out can be an amazing feeling.
Being a fucking man, stomping my foot. Standing tall.
12:16 AM ...people respond to that. It is very much something felt in the room, posture and
the subtle messages of voice, tone, micro-expressions of that strong subjective state. Women
seem to fall into it.

God’s Son Was A Fisherman (2009-11-15 02:07) - public

It seems that all interactive relationships can be thought of in terms of densities of medium
and the laws that govern that dynamic fluid system. This is not so much a metaphor for the
in-fluence, as a valid perspective of observation reliant on a change in scale. This macro or
micro view of interactive influence, from objective to subjective, is typically not the most
natural scale of perception, but one dependent on some tool, process, or technology which
allows us to extend our "naked eye" vision, the inward extension of the microscope or outward
expansion of the telescope. Yet, this upwards or downwards scalar reach beyond the bounds
of our naked eye can apply, in just the same way, to the mind’s eye. That is, that spectrum of
1186
scaled layers can be reflected along self, to extend as infinitely inwards as known observation
does outwardly. In this way, relational laws of a the surface of a body of water become is not
simply metaphor, but a valid perception of the interactive influence of two or more medium
bodies.

A body of water, expressed as that planar surface held in tension by density, is actually
defined by the air that surrounds it, that medium body of finer density. "Air," in this subjective
view of social interaction for instance, can be thought of as the space between us, between
two tensely bound fluid bodies, each inwardly vibrating at some periodic rate of density.
Yet even this perception of subjective frequency is just one of many layers of interaction
whose expression falls in accordance with the laws of fluid dynamics. In truth, when one
begins to think of all frequencies in terms of densities, the implications can become overwhelm-
ing in their vastness, extending to the endless subjective expanse: the last frontier of science.

Key to a change in perceptual scale is the same acknowledgment of one’s own medium,
and its density. I believe that this, in most interactions, is a sign of a capacity uniquely-
human. It is safe to say, for instance, that most fish are not naturally conscious of the
watery medium they live and breath in. Yet, for moments of gasping confusion in a death or
near-death experience, our interaction with fish brings them sudden and dramatic awareness
of a different medium, one "above them," existing in a differing bound density, a higher
bandwidth of molecular frequency. I imagine him getting pretty shook up by the ordeal,
experiencing some serious fishy Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder! Yet it is us, the higher
lifeforms, who have learned from the objective perception of that medium, that body of water,
and have come to know and utilize the lower life, like him, that exist there beneath the surface.

In a way like that of the fish, we are perhaps rarely conscious of our own energetic den-
sity, the waves of influent frequency in which we bob and float. Energy, even while our
technology reveals it to be awash in everywhere through and of us, we simply don’t "see" it,
in the same way our fish was never "seeing" water - only feeling and unconsciously moving
subject to its waves of pressure and, on larger scales, its expansive currents of depth, velocity,
time, viscosity, and temperature. The implication is that finer densities of energy, in the same
way, exist above us as well and, to carry it further, can define the "side" of a medium suitable
for the carriage of conscious life. In the same way, our own species descriptions of near-death
and death experiences show similar themes: ascent towards light, crossing to some "other
side," in many cases interacting with a conscious being who seems to be more aware of the
boundary of those two mediums than we are.

Of course, like what we could imagine of our fish’s near death experience, our flat-line
crossover returnees share the same feelings of fear, as well as perhaps awe, wonderment,
helplessness, direction or guidance, and, I’d like to believe, a memory and appreciation for
something beyond himself. He who went to the other side, and returned to tell what he saw
there. Of course, these are fantastic projections for a little fish, the core contrast, that between
waves of water and waves of energy, is a meaningful one that can harvested for relevant
associations between observable physical laws and our interaction with the subtle energy, the
afterlife, all the classes of phenomenon which have come to define the culturally-universal
human experiences of spirit.

edensgray (2009-11-16 14:33:25)

wow....
1187
Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechan-
ics of Psilocybin’s Novel (2009-11-22 23:39) - public

Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming:

Inferring The Mechanics of Psilocybin’s Novel Association Effect

Introduction:

The semantic network model, in its varied forms, serves as a metaphorical framework
by which all we know of the world can be represented as a web or net of interrelated concepts,
each shown as a node. These conceptual nodes are activated into associative strands during
the formation of a thought, and this activation leads to the semantic priming of those asso-
ciated nodes. Primed nodes are, then recognized and accessed more readily in subsequent
semantic cognitive tasks.

Latent inhibition (LI) is the perceptual filter which screens from conscious awareness the
stimuli which previously has been experienced as irrelevant or inconsequential. A decrease,
or lowering, of this LI capacity has been linked with schizophrenia and also with exceptionally
high creative achievement scores amongst high-functioning individuals. It is believed that
the highly creative individual, whose attentional state is uninhibited, may thereby have
access to a larger inventory of indirectly primed concepts, which may then be linked into
novel associative strands. This preconscious gating mechanism, LI resembles the “Doors of
Perception” described by Aldous Huxley.

in thought-disordered schizophrenic patients, activation spreads

faster and farther than in non-thought-disordered patients and
normal subjects, which results in an increased direct and indirect
semantic priming effect (Spitzer, 1996).

2010 Multidisciplinary Assocation for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) Confer-

ence (2009-11-28 22:13) - public

Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming:

Inferring The Mechanics of Psilocybin’s Novel Association Effect

Abstract of presentation: The semantic network model, in its varied forms, serves as a
metaphorical framework by which all we know of the world can be represented as a web or
net of interrelated semantic concepts, each shown as a node. These conceptual nodes are
activated into associative strands during the formation of a thought, and this activation leads
to the semantic priming of those associated nodes. Primed nodes are, then recognized and
accessed more readily in subsequent semantic cognitive tasks.
Latent inhibition (LI) is the perceptual filter which screens from conscious awareness the
stimuli which previously has been experienced as irrelevant or inconsequential. A decrease,
or lowering, of this LI capacity has been linked with schizophrenia and also with exceptionally
high creative achievement scores amongst high-functioning individuals. It is believed that the
1188
highly creative individual, whose attentional state is uninhibited, may thereby have access to
a larger inventory of indirectly primed concepts, which may then be linked into novel
associative strands.
The semantic network model provides a powerful analogy with which to understand the nature
of the attentional processes which act and interact in the composition of a thought. While
the metaphoric nature of the semantic network, itself, has been argued, (Anderson (2000)
claiming his ACT-R model as something closer to a neurological actuality), several studies (A.
Pecchinenda, C. Ganteaume, & R. Bansestudies, 2008) have suggested that a subjective net-
working structure underlies the biological networking structure of neuronal interconnection in
the brain, supporting the notion of spreading activation and semantic priming. Throughout the
presentation, I intend to explore what may be implied from the developed instrumentation and
data of these and other studies and form an argument which seeks to describe the effects of
psilocybin using the semantic network by expanding upon the cognitive mechanism of latent
inhbition (LI) described by Carson (2003) and its correlatable research data. Key to relating
the LI model to the activity of psilocybin on the semantic network is the indirect priming and
schizophrenia research of Spitzer (1996, 1994). By interpreting semantic priming as a function
of attention, the length of activational spread within the network can be seen as dependent
on, not only the capacity of memory, but also the capacity of one’s attention span. Biogra-
phy of presenter: A graduate student from the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, Kaleb
Smith is currently a research associate at Stanford University’s Psychophysiology Laboratory,
assisting in the empirical study of emotional regulation. Concurrently, Smith is conducting
consciousness research at ITP’s Neurophenomenology Laboratory and William James Center
For Consciousness Studies. The former of these research studies concerns measuring the elec-
troencephalographic influence of photic and binaural brainwave entrainment techniques. The
latter investigates the perceptual anomalies of hypnagogic and shamanic trance states, an
area of specialized interest for which he has published and presented perspectives on. Previ-
ous research work in mental rotation as an assistant at the Cognitive Psychology laboratory of
Northern Michigan University led to an early interest in the information-processing model and
the potential applications of semantic networking theory. Added Benefit – Please tell us
why you think that your presentation will be an added benefit to the conference My
previous work as a group counselor at the Pine Rest behavior health center afforded me daily
therapeutic interaction and empathic rapport with the substance abuse and schizophrenic pa-
tient populations - a learning experience which changed my life and did much to inform my
current understanding of hyper-sensitivity, latent inhibition (LI), substance abuse treatment,
and the associative novelty seen in psychedelic cognition.

turboswami (2009-11-29 17:26:34)

References Anderson, J. R., & Bower, G. H. (1973). Human associative memory. Washington, DC: Win-
ston. Dykes, M., & McGhie, A. (1976). A comparative study of attentional strategies of schizophrenic
and highly creative normal subjects. British Journal of Psychiatry, 128, 50–56. Pecchineda, A.,
Ganteaume, C., & Banse, R. (2006). Investigating the Mechanisms Underlying Affective Priming Effects
Using a Conditional Pronunciation Task Experimental Psychology 53, 268–274. Spitzer, M., Braun,
U., Hermle, L., & Maier, S. (1993). Associative semantic network dysfunction in thought-disordered
schizophrenic patients: Direct evidence from indirect semantic priming. Biological Psychiatry, 34,
864-877. Spitzer, M., Braun, U., Maier, S., Hermle, L., & Maher, B. A. (1993). Indirect semantic
priming in schizophrenic patients. Schizophrenia Research 11, 71-80. Spitzer, M., Thimm, M., Hermle.,
L., Holzmann. P., Kovar, K., Heimann, H., Gouzoulis-Mayfrank, E., Kischka, U., Schneider, F. (1996).
Increased Activation of Indirect Semantic Associations under Psilocybin. Biological Psychiatry, 39,
1055-1057.
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8.12 December

٩ ̯͡ )۶ (2009-12-01 00:01) - public

Lullaby

"I would not sing you to sleep.

I would press my lips to your ear
and hope the terror in my heart stirs you."
-Reetika Vazirani

Summary of Fucking, Snarch-Style (2009-12-01 12:47) - public

FUCKING, DOING, AND BEING DONE:

It Isnt What You Do, Its The Way You Do It
Good Sex and A Good Fuck are not the same.

•
“Having Sex” implies a behavior, not an integral part of our nature.

•
“Sleeping with” is self-contradictory.

“Making Love” implies a meaningful relationship

– differs from Fucking subjectively and behaviorally.

It is now acceptable in the West for “Nice” young women and “good girls” know the the me-
chanics of their bodies – and be crazy about sex. (I add “in the West”)

•
Yet, women are to “make love” Women, in particular, are not supposed to “fuck!”

FUCK:

Label Millions of people use for this subjective experience (subjective? I thought of it as
the most bodily objective carnal extreme)

–
Yet he says “Fucking without intercourse is possible.
–
Anatomy-independent eroticism is part of our sexual potential.
– Many people “make love” specifically to avoid fucking
1190
 • In many people’s minds, fucking is the polarity on the continuum of “making love.”

• Sexual intent and aggression are center stage in fucking.

“What is pornography to one man is the laughter of genius to another. If a woman hasn’t
got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she’s a dry stick as a rule...And there are, of course, many
people who are genuinely repelled by the simplest and most natural stirrings of sexual feel-
ings. But these people are perverts who have fallen into hatred of their fellow man; thwarted,
disappointed, unfulfilled people, of whom, alas, our civilization contains so many.”
-D.H. Lawrence
Fucking, to those who love it, is more important than the orgasm itself. Fucking embodies that
lusty, lascivious eagerness for pleasure...deep carnal expression of delicious want fulfilled.
Do you know what it feels like when somebody’s doing you? Not just bringing you to orgasm
or having intercourse, but really DOING you?
Do you know what it feels like to do somebody else?
DOING - doing someone is pleasurable in itself, but your partner reciprocates by receiving.
a) Moving into your partner
b) tasting his or her essence
c) ravishing him/her with fervor and generosity
d) sending him/her to the edge
e) experiencing yoru own eroticism in the process
BEING DONE – involves surrender, union, and the power of receiving.

•
The freedom of saying “Take Me”

•
The vulnerability of the submissive role.

• Loss of control, “letting go” to the partner.

FUCKING – subjective experience of doing / being done simultaneously.

• Real, honest-to-goodness FUCKING of a spouse is very rare.

• Only 8-12 percent of therapists acknowledge personal experience with fucking.

• Schnarch theorizes only 10-20 percent of general population know how to fuck.

• Sexual intercourse is one of the hardest ways to learn to fuck. (anatomy-independent

fucking is easier)

• Once you access the “part” of you that can fuck, anything can be fucking (you can fuck
everything!)
1191
Phallicness and Muliebrity
“..a really phallic male doesn’t need to ’wave his weenie’ all the time.”
“Potent isn’t the same as destructive, although men back away from this part of themselves
when they confuse the two.”
What is the role of aggression in sex? What kind of aggression is it?

Society may agree that anger can be healthy – but not when its mixed with sex.

– Sexualized aggression too often fuels degreadation, abuse and rape, all forms of it
have been banished from the bed.

Healthy aggression plays a role in healthy fucking.

– Healthy competition, like the urge to dominate (or submit to) your spouse, can be
sublimated in constructive ways through doing, being done, and fucking.

Growing “the part of you that fucks” has everything to do with learning to deal with anger
and aggression towards the spouse

–
The part that grows is the part that to “digest” or metabolize anger, breaking it down
to fuel something useful and life-giving.

•
Women have greater worries about sex appeal, greater interest in sex, and desperate
hopes of improving it.

Women don’t want to be used poorly – but many love to be used well.

–
They want to be the object of their partner’s carnality, the forceful male leading and
drive.
–
They are dying to be “rode hard and put away wet.”
–

- If a man finally relaxes while he’s receiving anal stimulation, he’s usually reached a develop-
mental milestone.

Cannabis use and cognition in schizophrenia (Loberg, 2009). (2009-12-02 19:15)

- public

People with schizophrenia frequently report cannabis use, and cannabis may be a risk factor
for schizophrenia, mediated through effects on brain function and biochemistry. Thus, it is
conceivable that cannabis may also influence cognitive functioning in this patients group. We
report data from our own laboratory on the use of cannabis by schizophrenia patients, and
review the existing literature on the effects of cannabis on cognition in schizophrenia and
1192
related psychosis. Of the 23 studies that were found, 14 reported that the cannabis users
had better cognitive performance than the schizophrenia non-users. Eight studies reported
no or minimal differences in cognitive performance in the two groups, but only one study
reported better cognitive performance in the schizophrenia non-user group. Our own results
confirm the overall impression from the literature review of better cognitive performance in
the cannabis user group. These paradoxical findings may have several explanations, which
are discussed. We suggest that cannabis causes a transient cognitive breakdown enabling the
development of psychosis, imitating the typical cognitive vulnerability seen in schizophrenia.
This is further supported by an earlier age of onset and fewer neurological soft signs in the
cannabis-related schizophrenia group, suggesting an alternative pathway to psychosis.

Løberg E and Hugdahl K (2009)

Front. Hum. Neurosci. 3:53. doi:10.3389/neuro.09.053.2009

turboswami (2009-12-03 03:31:48)

Marijuana effects loose associations in a very specific way, linked to an increase of attentive priming,
which is required for long-distance associative threading. The implication is that, since schizophrenics
naturally tend to acquire the loose associations which are essentially evidence of having accomplished
long-distance associative threading, and primed a thought path of great length, the great quantity of
attention required to prime such a great expanse of the semantic network is difficult to attain naturally,
but is induced by the marijuana experience. So, what was loose is now tied, and the means of which
those "far out" thought associations had been originally been thread is reaccessible, cohesive, lucid,
and expressible, one means of expression being a cognitive test.

turboswami (2009-12-03 04:06:31)

The semantic network lore of the disinhibited processes of spreading activation amongst schizophren-
ics can be just as equally applied to the cognition of marijuana, LSD, psilocybin, and ayahuasca users
– the model serves both states. Not only are the effects of psychedelic substances contained within
the model, they also lend great insights into the more detailed mechanics of the semantic network.
LSD implies a topographical conception of the semantic network, by which that net of associated
concepts can be thought of as a fluid surface, a medium defined by nodal density. Between nodes,
associative activation and priming occurs as a function of attention, that “fluid” being primed through
this associated network of pipes, to carry the priming metaphor through to fullness. Yet, the amount
of attention is something that waxes and wanes, and differs from person to person. Its a quotient as
personalized and meaningful as intelligence, a quantity set, to some degree, by our biology, to some
degree, by our experience. Perception could be thought of as the influx of attention, that whole of
sensory experienced which we gate and dam, restrict and inhibit, to varying degrees, to allow for (and
not overwhelm) the detailed cognitive processing we apply to the content of the given location we
choose to direct attention. Yet, we have no natural conscious control of these gates – they are “set it
and forget it” in a sense. All of those details of our surroundings we ignore, those intricate and subtle
worlds within worlds that we are essentially hard wired to tune out, have the potential to be valid
perceptions, if only dependent on our capacity of perception.

(2009-12-08 04:39) - public

I will try to make an honest-to-goodness effort to come to this place more often. Yes, I recall
all of the "last entries" in people’s journals saying exactly that...and all manner of excuses for
1193
why they haven’t been on there for months. Well, I am not those people! I am other people-
better people!

Sure, I’ve got 10 pages to write in the next 12 hours about a book I’ve never actually
seen.

Sure, I’m addicted to hummus despite the detrimental effects it reaks on my gastrointestinal
system, and the detrimental effects of those detrimental effects on the close relationships I
hold with friends and loved ones.

Sure, I steal blueberry yogurt from my landlord and ate the fancy pasta that his wife
made for him and their son

...even with these admitted faults, bared here before the stark confessional of livejour-
nal, I feel I am a good man of pure intention and sound reason. I am not here to defend or
provide excuse for yogurt or flatulence, but rather to release the burden of these misdeeds
into expression. Pphtt.

And Each Will Take You (2009-12-13 02:21) - public

The weeping of my potential strains spraining my gallop once twice and again for the last for
the first that nobody knew long flown then again twowords knownst the old lovers the old
leavers of left sidesbeyond, sides within, sides all clownsed clown sown within town my place
as the id iot to savage the silent the lunatic and the non violent Ill pray a vow of silence to
tow a known love tidance like a cross like a display of endurance of ignorance empowered in
a society of violence where blood is the only voice worth spreading.

A stream of violence rose in the current of man’s dreams, a depth diluted into the wider
flow.
Low currents and species define bandwidths, fluid and course with an offering of attention
through culture.
A filter through being, a species of light.
And what is the flesh but the crude lowest of my forms,
the echoing upward of my being through carriage of lightness.

A division of breath follows tension of being, the closeness.

The closed place in my life for this expanse...

this inward geography of memory.
I’ll find...
The writer, the folded man across his back, the sleeper I must carry here.
Closed wounded schemes,
made cold in outside winter fingers typing,
pounding with passion through the cold streets or Russians spires.
What is this choice? This denial of a movement, or a pretension over non-admittance and
defense of a secret shared with two members on a night once in Paris where Kerouac was
interviewed and they translated him so well, smooth like he had something worth saying after
the fact.
1194
The towards down that you’d settled for, down a guitar strat um circumvent til lation
copped all toasted and in we drank, down through a spiral foul of social acceptable outlet of
shared moments possible. Perhaps this impression on society, like a footprint into a border
plane defined in brief resonance of memory along a flow’d moment.

Slothed and after all this I decide that I am cold.

I who choose, only in the assertment of my health can I achieve anything,

craving lays and layabout sloutches for days and distear in a haze until in perfect phase, out
of luck.

Claim caves I’ll reside for the rest of my nights to remind mine of fights laid dear in the
night.

Clothed only in my name I’ll floss depths of giants and touch toes to the finest of high-
ness.

My crown is a buoyant governor I must fight, a memory I must deny in faith’s respect.

Flow this sombell dance of of church streams, the well and the valley I held in my full
bosom billows of cloudsongclaim samebeent, Cry tho they On tomblece of the worst in sakes
of expression, tumble that through active me, my every tendril’s turn in grinding tension .

Did I hear her breath?? Down through me, could I feel her breath my chest?
There, where we share hearts, and our souls merged on a breath, is there a memory?
Clothed in a tunnel I call through to you, reaching...

I remain very stringent, and able to perform tasks of intricate detail, both physically and
mentally.
My fingers precise movements reflect a frequency which I resonate along with a sense of
personality.
I can remain able to cleanly see and rationalize as this "driving takes place."
Who wants to ride? Who wants to drive? My dear, I’ll survive
to let them inside
again

I who descend down into death with every breath.

What have I brung?
From the crypts of being, what waiting has done?
clore reason of self and reclied lliedance of sssssssssssssoul
Reclosed snuck in too close and reformed a growth.

What did ye once knoweth?

Through grand species slay-poets and slave owners.
The grace of the light beings, please grace us once more.
With carnation transplendent, your descent so awesome,
the light of your location in the room cerebral.
1195
Resonating chambers of influence through tunnels closed and reopened, explored and forgot-
ten.

Such a strange collection of beings, and me lying unmoving...poked and "what good is
he’d" over to a corner, this room is memory becoming shared reality. Like a listener, I can
remember his presence - be it current or residual - his story is told through me and my
perception. I’ll do my transforming of what beast is worth while....across this restriction, the
self and the not...
From this distance I will try to gap a breath of an ocean sea. This is a sound to be recorded...

A resonance at the core of my being which I know MRI would radiate a room of energy
caressed down into being at my chest and throned in my seat. I feel and see the room radiate
outwards from my center. I am within.

Haha! What is there of the wise men but a shadow spiral shell played alone in seman-
tics.

I have only words available, and perhaps they feel the limits of that restraint, swaying
in the lowly sloshed dance of meanings, I try to rhythmate for a nother. Noth
nothing alone, a noth
another side inkling
Another deep tingling.

Twitch singularly I sell as a believable man the whole of what is offered to a woman. I
am.
And what is it in my fingers of the mind, their dainty pair order.
Slide in a glove and aspirate, slide a fatty on for size.
This low crude form dance I fate up words works the soffft off

Why not save the speakers speaking to time, record each poets word to a twin.
Worth to a tin, a replicant sin.
Swaved vibrant I’d lease out wards.
Oh god, replayed through a bore

The Presence of Being That Is Proud and Within,

That is what comes out when Inductant looks into the mirror.

The amazement of the spirit at the body it has descended into.

These are the eyes that sparkle so bright, a halo forms.
Not mine eyes.
Shine. Sine, Sin,

Frequencies descend into a gutteral trudging

Smoke yourself towards me and lets share a tomb,
come towards and explore me our these caverns of sin.
The best guess is maintenance, do what you still can.
Ride this thing out until there’s a featurette. At least.

We walked down University today, a cafe, a smile, a late lunch and stories of father,
throwing the snapper turtle into the back of the Geo Metro...the gnashing of its beak against
1196
the backside of my seat. That is a strong childhood memory, feeling that beast my father had
wielded by its tail, a Dinosaur the size of this cafe table, snapping ferocious at his legs as it
is lifted up and heaved into the back of the 3-cylinder car’s hatchback trunk. What the hell!?
What a scene!

My plug, my play.
My power spray
Plugs and pray.
Wont you stay?

Lesst I f whose furthlord clenses along him. The torrential scrubbing of ribcage clean,
the bare bone of self meeting muscle, there they reside. In a room they inhabit and we are
separately the closed dieometric as they struggle to find expression through these words I
know not. I do no speak, I do not expression

What can I even give their brilliance here but these few shambled words I’ve collected
into a tired person?
When they fill me, I feel their limits I am, their frustrations and breakthroughs...shared. Hone I
love these entities that enter on my meditative breath.

When they share and expect that breath, there is a repellance.... a hiding from acknowl-
edgment.

Only in her surrender can I feel safe enough to share my meditation with her.
And in it there will be power, priming up from manhood and womanhood deep and expressed
only through us along a fluid plane of interaction, inward/sideways.

To at least be able to discern inward/sideways and inward/upward from inward/inward as

viable modes of subjective influence. The difficulty we have with our insistence on Egos
concretizes a shell around this basic inflow of being - a relationship which waxes and wanes,
defining 2 sides and a boundary I can touch.
And play and beat and sing infrequent expression along,
living in the heartpace of dance.
There I am alive, vibrant, in body.
There I can express malehood for infinite beings,
and each will take you.

Fuck, its like there is a whole blaring life out there in the frequencies of that relentless
blaze of sun.
Fuck. The sun is blaring through
I feel I cant take it.

The True Meaning of Christmas (2009-12-24 14:06) - public

Santa Clause was a Finnish shaman, known for wearing the characteristic red and white garb
and hat donned by sleigh-riding Sami spiritual men of Lappland.

1197
During harvesting season, he would walk the trails of the Northernmost forests of Fin-
land, picking amanita muscaria, the entheogenic mushroom traditionally used in his rituals.
This mushroom grows in a unique symbiotic relationship with the root systems of certain
coniferous trees – specifically the Pine. Picking them from beneath the tree, like gifts, he
would place these beautiful red and white wet mushrooms onto the branches of the tree to
dry them in the sun. Later, on his return trip, he would pick these dried mushrooms from the
"Christmas" trees, carrying them in a big sack.

The shaman would deliver the psychedelic mushrooms door to door, providing spiritual experi-
ences during the solstice to often-isolate members of his community. If the psychedelics were
not fully dried yet, families would dry them themselves placing them in socks and hanging
those stockings from above the fireplace. During Finland’s strong winter storms, snow drifts
would often block the entrance of the family’s house – at which point he would be forced to
enter through the chimney, which was very large in the traditional Sami home.

Santa, as was the tradition of all Sami shamans, would feed the amanita muscaria to
his reindeer, whose digestive system would filter out the toxic compounds in the mushroom.
Santa would then drink Rudolph’s urine, which was psychoactive. In essence, this would
cause his reindeer sleight to "fly" - or ascend and traverse the upper realms of shamanic
consciousness and interact with the spirits there.

Call me "Old Fashioned" or conservative, but I get a rare joy out of keeping with my
family’s original Christmas traditions. I encourage you to do the same:

http://www.iamshaman.com/amanita-muscaria.htm

turboswami (2020-12-26 00:31:51)

The bit I know if Hiisi is that it is a type of spirit, not a formal god. Very goblin like and horrific, hiding
in caves and crevices. Not much of a prototype for our friendly gift-bearing noida. Although I’d love
to read more about this moose-riding Hiisi, if you have any references. Finns have specific spirits,
like the Hiisi, for every type of natural environment – seen near stones, there are also specific ocean,
evergreen, meadow, and stream spirits. If St. Nicholas were to be hybrid of an earlier god, the best
bet would be him being a Christianised version of the earlier Teutonic god Hold Nickar, known as
Poseidon to the Greeks. This powerful sea god was known to gallop through the sky during the winter
solstice, granting boons to his worshippers below. When the Catholic Church created the character
of St Nicholas, they took his name from “Nickar” and gave him Poseidon’s title of “the Sailor.” There
are thousands of churches named in St Nicholas’ honor, which were also converted from temples to
Poseidon and Hold Nickar. (As the ancient pagan deities were demonised by the Christian church,
Hold Nickar’s name also became associated with Satan, known as “Old Nick!”) Local traditions were
incorporated into the new Christian holidays to make them acceptable to the new converts. To these
early Christians, Saint Nicholas became a sort of “super-shaman” who was overlaid upon their own
shamanic cultural practices. Images of Saint Nicholas from these early times show him wearing
red and white, or standing in front of a red background with white spots, the design of the amanita
mushroom.

turboswami (2020-12-26 00:33:49)

Beautiful picture of the red/white donned Lapp proto-Santa in this old painting here:
http://www.amazon.com/Wonder-Tales-Baltic.../dp/1880954168 But there are a few great articles
I was referring to, if you want a copy of any: - The Hidden Meanings of Christmas, Mushroms and

1198
Mankind, by James Arthur - Who put the Fly Agaric into Christmas?, Seventh International Mycological
Congress, December 1999, Fungus of the Month - The Real Story of Santa, The Spore Print, Los Angeles
Mycological Society, December 1998

2010 Multidisciplinary Assocation for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) Confer-

ence (2009-12-25 03:24) - public

"Dear Kaleb Smith,

I am pleased to inform you that your presentation proposal titled "Hyper-Sensitive States and
Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of Psilocybin’s Novel Association Effect"
has been accepted for Psychedelic Science in the 21st Century. Your excellent presentation
will be showcased alongside the most brilliant psychedelic researchers and scholars of our
times..."

My God... I just can’t believe I was accepted. This is BIG.

swarms (2009-12-27 21:53:25)

Boo-yeah! Congratulations! Don’t fuck it up!

turboswami (2009-12-28 00:20:54)

Haha. Thanks mang! Yea, I am sure I’ll write something nice to say... perhaps on a napkin on the car
ride to the conference. Harr.

Notes From The Amazon (2009-12-26 16:44) - public

Temple of Light
07/04/09

Time aligns with my breath.

All sighs descend on my exhale,
and when it reaches bottom,
the clock strikes 12
and an inner sunrise
welcomes my return.

I need to dullen my sensitivity if I am to socialize.

I must feel less, not more, if I am going to make it work in society, have a baby.

07/06/09

Shipibo shamans sing in echoes of layered harmony. The old shaman woman, Rosa, sits
1199
cross-legged before me on the mat I lay, watching as I direct the room’s energy with my hands
and breath. I sit up to listen to her icaros song more attentively. I begin to rock to it’s rhythm,
allowing its movements to gyrate up my spine, like that of a snake. My hands extend in front
of me, moving also with the old woman’s song. Faster my hands move to the rhythm, and
faster still, accellerating my breathing, until I am shaking up deep heat, soon convulsing. I
push up and outwards from my center a fiery mass of energy, burning vibrant between my
crossed legs. Rosa watched...

Ego and Passion (2009-12-29 23:52) - public

Personality Change due to psychedelics can be drawn as a waveform, with peak above base-
line, followed by the "crash" below the baseline which can represent the residual personality
effects of ego loss, including death of passion or flat affect.

Based on the psychedelic imbibed, the recovery of ego to active or "passionate" form
can take 2 days, 2 weeks, or 2 months. Yet, with continued use, this recovery time can be
seen to change longitudinally, with age - often taking several weeks to return to baseline
personality state from transcendent ego loss experiences which previously saw much shorter
recovery times. Over time, based on the substance, this residual ego-loss extend out, with
recovery times growing longer and longer, until the baseline itself may begin to see change in
response. Permanent personality changes.

Har.

1200
9. 2010

9.1 January

Stark Raving Sciencism In The Press (2010-01-02 16:51) - public

[1]No, Einstein Didn’t Believe in the Afterlife....

[2]Why the afterlife is all in your head....
Response:
Kaleb Smith (4:31 pm, 1/2/10)

Mr. Bering’s article is crude, overly-simplistic, reductionist and inflammatory - providing

weak support for his own religious viewpoint (yes, the absence of religion is a religious
viewpoint, and a strong one; decidedly more stubborn and tenaciously self-righteous than any
Christian sect.)

Atheism by its truest definition, however, lays no claim to the existence or non-existence of
a subtle non-physical aspect of self, or soul. The electro-chemical processes of the human
nervous system and their manifestation and measurement as electroencephalographic fre-
quencies is evidence enough for the existence of a subtle non-physical aspect of self for which
our physical body acts merely as a medium, or carriage.

If only one could so easily explain-away the reality of their own death, and its implications, as
Bering seems to be trying to do with this, his cute semantic dance around his own egocentrism.

The concept of a non-physical aspect of selfhood and consciousness is a cultural univer-

sal, existing amongst the aborigines of modern Australia to the Taoist monks of ancient China,
to the jungles of Brazil to the Native American tribes of the Pre-American Southwest. Without
inter-cultural influence, the wisest of each of these societies came to the same conclusion:
soul. It is an idea which is centrally human and, by the Consensus Theory of Truth, can safely
be assumed true until proven otherwise.

Mr. Bering, you have not proven otherwise and may sit back down. You are a man as
small as your pretensions, and a fool to assume you can attack the whole of human spiritual
belief with an argument so shoddy as a self-consciously limited definition of Mind.
1. http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/quirky-little-things/200810/no-einstein-didnt-believe-in-the-afterlif
e
2. http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/quirky-little-things/200810/no-einstein-didnt-believe-in-the-afterlif
e

edensgray (2010-01-04 15:23:12)

wow....kudos, K!!! Happy New Year!!!!!! ;^)

1201
LCD SOUNDSYSTEM - Sound of Silver (MP3 192 vbr) (2010-01-05 17:11) - public

LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver

A-

”Daft Punk Is Playing at My House” is no longer playing at my house. Yes,

my ass shook along as that unlikely hit grooved LCD’s 2005eponymous
full-length debut all the way to two Grammy nominations. Buta couple
years will mellow ya, as Soundsystem guru James Murphy can ...
a...ttest. While Sound of Silver still delivers terrific buzzydance-space
jams (e.g., single ”North American Scum”), it alsocontains wispy hints
of New Order and Bowie (”Someone Great,” ”NewYork I Love You”), and
Murphy’s best song-making efforts to date.

click "Free User" on left, wait through countdown, save album*

[1] http://rapidshare.com/files/307332259/LC D _Soundsystem _-

_sound _of _silver.rar
1202
1. http://rapidshare.com/files/307332259/LCD_Soundsystem_-_sound_of_silver.rar

ADOBE AUDITION 2.0 (2010-01-05 18:04) - public

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More than 50 audio effects and DSP tools

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Manipulate recordings with digital signal processing (DSP) tools, mastering and analysis tools,
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time. Use external hardware controllers to make changes, which appear as editable envelopes
in the timeline.
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Surround Encoder
Use the Surround Encoder to transform any multitrack mix into a 5.1 surround sound expe-
rience. Export the results as an interleaved file that can be used in Adobe Premiere® Pro
software.
1203
[6]more features
Create and arrange
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1204
Visually isolate and select sounds in frequency and time, and then clean up, modify, or apply
effects to the selected sound using the Spectral Frequency Display. Isolate specific sounds and
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1. http://www.adobe.com/products/vector/ProductionStudio/ProductionStudio.html?contentID=LowLatency
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3. http://www.adobe.com/products/audition/overview.html#globalnav
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5. http://www.adobe.com/products/audition/overview.html#globalnav
6. http://www.adobe.com/products/audition/overview2.html#kmhead1
7. http://www.adobe.com/products/audition/overview.html#globalnav
8. http://www.adobe.com/products/audition/overview.html#globalnav
9. http://www.adobe.com/products/audition/overview.html#globalnav

the2minh8 (2010-01-08 02:16:29)

I swear, you and Cool Edit . . . I never got why you preferred that over the Cakewalk line, or Cubase.
In other news, after years of using Nuendo with very little to show for it, I have changed to Logic,
made possible by my very recent purchase of a MacBook Pro. I look forward to making absolutely
face-melting music with it, posthaste.

turboswami (2010-01-08 10:59:52)

Well, for my purposes, Audition really does what I need without latency. That is, its the most accessible
multitracking software for non-Protools A/D hardware like mine. Cakewalk and Cubase are great for
MIDI applications, and I will often run Cubase alongside Audition - former acting as instrument for the
latter to record. VST effects loops can get pretty wild, especially when you start running multiples to
the outboard mixer, effects, and mic’d amp! Hmm... I’ve been getting some pretty interesting music
with 2 laptops, Total Recorder, an outboard LP Filter, and Max/MSP. Total Recorder is just an awesome

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 little tool for capturing any sound your computer makes, in any program (it sets up cute proxy audio
driver in your hardware settings.)

edensgray (2010-01-10 16:05:42)

look forward to your work...

(2010-01-08 07:23) - public

A yawn closes down further, irreversibly.

The clothes of an early father are seen on a passing landlord,
and what can I do but hide from him again, slip the money under the door.

"I don’t like poetry." he moaned in nasal boredom.

"I dont like you either." I said, in closing.

(2010-01-08 20:07) - public

It seems there is something inherently unattractive about a man apologizing, especially to

another man.

edensgray (2010-01-10 16:03:43)

.....really?

On Debate and Conversational Writing (2010-01-08 23:35) - public

The most accessible writing, I was taught, has a conversational tone. The most accessible
way to express a point then, it would seem, would be in the form of an actual conversation -
proposing an argument by way of a literal argument. A Socratic dialogue takes the form of
question-answer, question-answer, question-answer in this way - a dialectical style. Socrates
would argue both sides of a question in order to arrive at a conclusion. That conclusion is then
argued against another assumption and so on. Thinking this way, it would seem, no opinion is
safe - not even your own!

In classic Eastern and Far Eastern texts, like the Tao Te Ching or the Rig Veda, the origi-
nal lines of text came to be accompanied by commentary - a sort of conversation running
alongside and exploring the concepts of the work. These personal interpretations, or "conver-
sations" with the text’s original author, often come to be as treasured as the texts, themselves.
The Tao Te Ching has the "Yan Zun Version," the "Heshang Gong Version" and the "Wang Bi
Version" to name a few. Likewise, there are the 13 manuscripts of the Rig Veda containing the
commentary of Sayana. In each these cases, the dialogue of individualized meaning reveal val-
ued perspectives; unique facets of the text made manifest by the personality of the interpreter.
In that way, many otherwise dense or vague portions of the philosophical works are often made
more accessible and conversation-like - albeit, generally, a conversation of overall agreement.

Debate, and disagreement in general, will always attract a bit more attention than calm,
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collected, agreement. There is a passion to disagreement that can make passive viewers
suddenly into spectators and casual conversation suddenly into heated argument! Call it the
drawing power of a good fight - as much as we may oppose it, God knows we sure can’t look
away! It’s this "contra-versey" that piques our interest, and brings emotional investment to
the words, making us want to access them. We love the sting of a good "zinger," the sharp
wit that can only burn if there is a disagreement, the solidly-formed argument that, with a few
well-placed words, pulls the rug out from under the opponent.

Has the classic academic debate fallen out of style? I’d pay to see a good one - like
those sharp-witted snobby British ones.

edensgray (2010-01-10 16:02:44)

:)

(2010-01-09 22:11) - public

Attention can be focused internally, as a function of mind, or externally, as a function of vision.

Generally, the inward attention follows the outward - that is our mental focus is on what we
see. Yet it is possible to focus mentally on one person, place, or thing in the room while looking
at something else in that room (or closing one’s eyes.) While both instances of differentiated
visual/mental focus could be thought of as atypical of mental practices, meditative discipline
surely aids both. Meditation could be thought of as a practice of "sculpting" attention - directing
in different ways different ways, focusing it through different lenses. While the practice of open-
eyed meditation, and the resultant "soft eyes’ of the practitioner’s, could be compared with
the eye’s of someone physically-projecting their attention: an individual focusing on another
person in the room while looking at, for instance, a book.

(2010-01-09 23:30) - public

At the powow with the Native American family, I get this feeling of special cultural references
to The Price is Right.
The composition is up, spirited, like the spiritual connection to nature shared in the shamanic
drum ritual.
To get that many spirits, induced and in order and conditioned to express in a circle at a
predetermined and prearranged emotion.
I’m sorry that I apologize so much.

The flood of neuronal activity induced by a substance can be drawn as a sign wave of
dopiminergic activity, but this effect can be conceptualized differently for a given substance
– a burnout "overwhelming" of activity in the limbic areas, as see in the progressive neuronal
desensitization of ecstacy, or as an activity akin more to the "strengthening of muscle," as
seen in the expanding semantic priming of canabanoid antagonists on neuron receptor sites.
This branching of semantic association leads to the retention of long lines of thought, similar
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to the aid of attention span capacity of LSD and psilocybin. The arm muscle strengthened
has greater capacity and can hold more in the same way the attention span is strengthened
and can can hold more with psychedelic "exercise," affording semantic branches of great
conceptual capacity. The activation of those branches makes them "primed and ready" for
more work - if you think of psychedelic inspiration as an opening of floodgates, the weight of
that rush of cool fluid creativity through branched channels widened and lengthened by the
flood. This, I believe, translates to actual neuronal network growth, as in canabanoid neuronal
growth studies.

edensgray (2010-01-10 15:59:16)

oooh I like this...helpful

(2010-01-12 05:58) - public

Slow motion accident-speed relationship,

Strove to need to know for a song.
These claps have woven into a plaid wall I played.

seethingcalm

turboswami (2010-01-14 02:40:06)

This is what I was writing when you were sitting in the chair next to the bed. It’s a stream of
consciousness (heavily influenced by what you were saying and the words of the song we were
listening to) haha. Don’t try too hard to find meaning. God knows I dont! ;P

Bill Gates Turns 28 (2010-01-13 21:34) - public

The slave becomes loved when made a slave of love.

The fighting, the will, the spirited need to prove and to remember,
these are all that will be broken to the whip and the routine.
This is the plucking of the peacock’s feathers, their purpose abandoned.

The Subjective Activational Baseplane (2010-01-13 22:32) - public

Emotional Regulation strategies act along a fluid baseline, personalized and dynamic, which
governs the degree of overall emotional activation to a situation . Each regulatory strategy
modulates the degree of reaction to an activating situation, and its overall effectiveness is
depend upon the positive or negative degree of this baseline level. Yet, key to percecptualizing
this baseline graphically is to think of it as a surface; more as a fluid "baseplane" acting as
medium to the modulation of emotional reaction along a timed scale grid.

Meditation, for instance, could be thought of as a Preappraisal Strategy - a generalized

state of reappraisal, habitualized into a common attitude. The general personality state of,
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say, a Buddhist monk of 20 years practicing would be expected to have a baseplane state
of a certain, considerably lower level and viscosity, and whose usual calm state of attention
is manifestation. Gross’ Modal Model can be drawn along the modulation of activational
response across this Emotional Baseplane medium.

When EEG waveform potentials, the LPP for instance, are drawn with a z-axis as a wave
of neuronal activation rippling upwards across the cortex from the occipital lobe, the graph
can be conceptualized as something very much akin to an elevation map of the "terrain:" a
3-dimensional composite form set of dynamic altitudes; the average of all the frequencies
carried by the baseplane medium at that recorded moment of activation.

The benefits of drawing captured EEG noise as rippling waveforms across a fluid medium
is that it provides a conceptual insight into the mechanics of neuronal activation across a
network - be that a network of nerves or a network of semantic nodes.

Attention travels as activation of memories, concepts, and words, nodes on the seman-
tic network.

turboswami (2010-01-14 08:38:09)

12:19 AM Courtenay: i understand what you’re saying and it’s interesting, but i’m not sure people
would follow entirely the language entirely for example: The general personality state of, say, a
Buddhist monk of 20 years practicing would be expected to have a baseplane state of a certain,
considerably lower level and viscosity, and whose usual calm state of attention is manifestation. good
example 12:20 AM but what exactly does [whose usual calm state of attention is manifestation.] mean
they manifest a more calm state of attention than non-meditators? 12:21 AM me: better wording
would have been "...manifested behaviorally as a calm state of attention and demeanor" Courtenay:
and to me viscosity would imply that there is a denser substance to go through? 12:22 AM me: It is
a different way of thinking about the movement of activation ripples through a medium. Courtenay:
yea but why is the medium more viscous for monks than for non-meditators? 12:23 AM me: Less
viscous...perhaps meditative focus allows a person to form thought associations more quickly. More
"freely" 12:25 AM I think physics provides a meaningful way of conceptualizing difference in thought
formation, personality, and the disorders inherent in those traits. Courtenay: but viscous refers to
the medium itself 12:26 AM as if there were denser bundles of neuronal fibers because of increased
associations me: Yes, the medium, in this case, would be the calmness of their emotional baseline
state (baseplane) Courtenay: which slowed down the movement of a single thought 12:27 AM but i
don’t know that it’s actually physically denser me: I’d like to believe the medium can allow thought
associations to slow down or speed up, yes – as well as the state of attention, itself. 12:28 AM The
particular density of the medium could be thought of in terms of the density of semantic nodes.
Courtenay: no i’m talking more about the medium in which the thought travels. i assume it is like
terrain, a physical space, and that the thought is energy passsing through 12:29 AM so is it the thought
that is viscous or the medium? me: Very "brittle" or "solid" personality types having very rational, solid
semantic associations composing their thought. "Sharp" being defined as, say, a diamond: the most
dense of physical materials. 12:31 AM Courtenay: perhaps as a thought rolls through the network
if it travels more slowly, or viscously, it will connect itself to more branches as it passes, activating
them it’s not in such a speed race that it passes by without stopping and considering 12:33 AM me:
Yes...branch density. 12:34 AM When there is branch density AND a flood of attention to prime those

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branches, semantic association is broad and extensive.

Clang Associations: Schizophrenia’s Biological Predisposition to Poetic Word-

ing (2010-01-14 00:14) - public

In schizophrenia, "clang" associations are unusual phonetically-similar responses made during

the spoken work association test given by Bleuler or his assistant C.G. Jung (1911/1950).
Head-bed; frog-bog; sad-mad-bad; beaten-betrayed-beloved-bedecked - it seems as if the
schizophrenics studied by Bleuler had a biological inclination towards poetic wording.

"Thus, the clang association very often has the schizophrenic mark of the bizarre." (pp.
24-25)

These clang associations are present with a frequency of 1-2 percent in normal popula-
tions. This frequency is in creased in children (Cramer, 1968), those under the influence of
alcohol (Kraepelin, 1892), or chloral hydrate (Cramer, 1968). (Does marijuana increase these
poetic word associations?)

Note to Self:
Can I find a constant and reliable stream of thought-disordered (TD) schizophrenic patients
able to be researched as subjects in a semantic association EEG study?

confliction (2010-01-18 15:57:24)

Where do i sign up?

turboswami (2010-01-18 23:07:18)

Are you a thought-disordered schizophrenic? :) ...or just feeling a bit schizoid this morning?

confliction (2010-01-19 03:21:05)

I’m a thought re-ordered schizophrenic. I found the study interesting in light of my own discoveries
on the path to self-healing. The problem never goes away though, as larger groups of people lend
more opportunity for relapse, so the fight continues. Or were you looking for the unfortunates
who could never rationalize what was happening to them? Poetry certainly seems like an apt word.
Syllables... fragmenting sentences and filling in the perceived holes with potential near-hits to create,
for myself, grand-delusional-paranoia. I’ve always wondered... perhaps some people suffer from a
positive outcome of the same ailment and are thus thrust into grand-egos and the like. Where for us
it is a fight, for them it is a delight.

Reflection Model: "Bouncing Ideas Off Someone" (2010-01-14 01:19) - public

KALEB:
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I get a bit nervous sharing my theoretical ideas with fellow authors in the lab...
...like today
I got this pretty great idea, and held back from discussing it to great length...
yet I just wrote most of it in my blog

PATRICK:
Thats the strange thing, you put it online, a stranger can steal it but, it’s there forever if you
die.
I mean ideas are great, but it’s often that the one that comes up with it is not the enactor of
the idea.
I’ve always felt my thoughts and Ideas are not my own. I’m just not brave enough yet to give
everything that I am to the world yet.
I think about it, giving out ideas to everyone and asking for nothing in return.
It’s just when I think an Idea is sacred, that my ego steps in.

KALEB:
Well, ideally, they WOULD return...
...they would process your idea through their own filter, associate it to their OWN ideas, and
reflect it back to you.
as a different color.
...some frequencies absorbed, some reflected back.

PATRICK:
Man, imagine a world of infinite processing of minds in an immediate sense. What I give to
the whole the whole reflects back to me instantly. In a single heartbeat. The world of minds
reflecting each others souls instantly.
I think it would take 10 seconds before I forgot who I used to be.

KALEB:
Well, its a crude manner - spoken words...
Slow, dense...
but the internet is speeding that up considerably...
...read words/typed words
SO many words...from all directions, ideas from all sides!
...the whole information transference is getting quite a bit faster. I would venture to say, if a
picture is worth a thousand words, we will begin communicating with pictures more...
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Video databases available for us to lift from and use to express our ideas, our memories, our
emotions.
This is simply a matter of implementing intuitive navigational designs.
...the capacity for storage and processing is there.

PATRICK:
Its strange how as soon as they are made intuitively, it creates a huge wave.

KALEB:
Do you like this?
"
I think about it, giving out ideas to everyone and asking for nothing in return.
It’s just when I think an Idea is sacred, that my ego steps in." says Patrick

"Well, ideally, they WOULD return...

...they would process your idea through their own filter, associate it to their OWN ideas, and
reflect it back to you.
as a different color.
...some frequencies absorbed, some reflected back."

COURTENAY:
what is "they"

KALEB:
The person he is sharing his idea with...
...he said "They give nothing in return"
...my argument was that the active listener DOES give something back

COURTENAY:
yes, the active listener does
ideally responds to each new concept presented by the other

KALEB:
...with their OWN shade or hue...
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reflecting the idea back
as if it were light
KALEB:
No, as if they were ANY SURFACE...
Blue absorbs the majority of light frequencies
KALEB:
...so this blue blanket is mostly an abosrband personality
KALEB:
reflecting only a slight portion of the light that it receives...
1:05 AM
...this changes the light, the "tone" of the light to be thought of as the tone of the message the
active listener replies with.

seethingcalm

turboswami (2010-01-17 08:42:23)

Yea! To think of a mirror in terms of this reflection/absorption conception of personality, a "mirror"
could be thought of as a transcendent person; one who gives you their everything, holding nothing
back, and who is "one with" everything and everyone around himself - that is, his self is defined
fully by his surroundings. None of us are mirrors, though we can strive to be...each of us has a
characteristic way of interacting with those around us: give a little/take a little, some more, some
less. This is our "color," the information that which we reflect vs that which we internalize, which
goes unseen.

Thoughts of Homes and Friends (2010-01-23 02:45) - public

She carefully made the bed...

The bed that isn’t ours.

Tucking the warm blankets and straightening the edges...

The blankets that are not hers.
On the bed that isn’t ours.

And maybe none of this is mine,

And maybe not even she is mine,
And maybe not even I belong...
Here or to her or to this that I do.

To whom I belong decides where I belong.

She shrugs "I dunno." and turns to go back home.
Her Warm Home.

Maybe I’ll become a warmer more open person:

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A better friend, a more attentive lover,
tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll find that secret medicine or practice,

which will change this tormented avoidance I call "others"
into something honest and genuine,
free of fear and boastful competition,
tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll be welcomed home,

by people who love me,
by people who value my companionship,
tomorrow.

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000x22x/

(2010-01-23 05:37) - public

Long dive waiting to wince,

"fall" is more like it, given the fear.
Forgiven the fear given for giving
an honest joy, uninhibited;
an expression of a child, pre-beating.

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Pull slow the strings from along death’s tomb breath,
they are wound fragile with the knowing for which we are to wait.

(2010-01-23 06:00) - public

Grand plans for delicate hands that lost the fingers for which they were glove.

A last two finds no longer minds, incorrigible me being the fool she once suffered.
Many slaves fell in love with their owners, as I trusted her will above my own,
because she had descended that night to believe me too, believe me, she saw,
more than me - a vision of great height, from realms above and light I felt of.

Trans-Personhood (2010-01-23 06:19) - public

So rare are those moments of self-reflection in which, for brief seconds, my own identity seems
alien to me.

Its a state of mind reached by thinking, as fully as I can, as another person knowing me
– fitting as snugly into their shoes as I am able and then viewing, listening, and considering all
that I give them of myself; those chosen impressions which define my social self.

When fully-engrossed in that self-perspective, I consider their actions towards me or to-

wards the world via my influence. Only then, through his eyes in-action, do I seem foreign
to myself and the emotions and opinions he directs towards me are fully experienced by me,
as if incarnate within him. The resentment or admiration they express or restrain is seen as
being directed at a wooden puppet character, dangling awkward from the strings I’m usually
looking down.

edensgray (2010-01-23 14:24:10)

coincidentally synoymous to the reflection of myself obtained in my meditation this morning

(2010-01-24 12:29) - public

3 years, 3 women, and 29,000 miles.

Seems like the day before yesterday that I was kissing that dainty beauty beneath the
apple blossom trees that bloomed behind the glass shard walls of that backwoods Communist
institution I lived.

Hmmm...

I took so many foreign things into my heart. But I could not keep them, and they died...
I was foolish to think they’d survive outside of their natural habitat.
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[1]
1. http://c4.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images02/34/l_e3d0bff652bd437fa7772eff9f0cfdbf.jpg

seethingcalm

turboswami (2010-01-26 12:24:17)

Thank you for not being jealous of my memories. :)

swarms (2010-01-24 22:05:46)

Hehe. I like boobies!

(2010-01-25 22:54) - public

In a Chinese village, I lived in the house of two level sight,(aka the house of seeing what isn’t
there.) I encountered a luck dragon with the face of a cat and a body of white fur who was
difficult to tame

[1]

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/0000z9wz/

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Sensitive Little Mortimer (2010-01-26 03:18) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _52

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _52

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2652%26%26%26youtube%26
AA4qGc2z-rs%3A939cc75c7713a827890babe2af768c57d5a159bc
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2652%26%26%26youtube%26
AA4qGc2z-rs%3A939cc75c7713a827890babe2af768c57d5a159bc

The Richest Breath We Can Borrow (2010-01-26 04:20) - public

When the spinal power begins to surge,

No one remembers what they had heard,
Or what they’d said or what they’d felt,
Or from who’s mind their thought was dealt.

And through the coursing comes a smile,

the voice whom King Midas sang.
A golden bliss hid all the while,
’neath the trial and its pain.

"Towers Open Fire" (1963) (2010-01-28 04:55) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _53

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _53

Directed by Antony Balch, William S. Burroughs. With Antony Balch, William S. Burroughs,
1217
David Jacobs.

Note "Dream Machine" hallucination device of Brion Gysin’s invention

...and Burroughs doing inter-muscular injections on film. Wee!
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2653%26%26%26youtube%26
SB-xWALVXhY%3A7816240746f812d06686d5ad469a7648924c6dbf
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2653%26%26%26youtube%26
SB-xWALVXhY%3A7816240746f812d06686d5ad469a7648924c6dbf

9.2 February

(2010-02-22 23:01) - public

You are tired,

(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,

And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,

(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,

And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!

I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings
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The Semantic Network (2010-02-26 16:49) - public

The semantic network is a representation of all the words, concepts, and ideas of which
thought is composed – a net with which we “capture” the world into categories, to understand,
hold, and reaccess through the associative faculties of cognition.

Cite Alan Watts “net” perception, “The Book”

Each idea captured and held by this net becomes a “node,” a semantic point on the
network. These nodes are thought to be organized by similarity, with commonly-associated
or semantically-related concepts grouped together more closely. As we see, read, or sense
something, those nodes representing it become ¬activated, or sort of “lit up” with that inward
flow of attention. Nodal points are very reactive to one-another and activation spreads quickly
between related ideas, extending outwards across the network as far as attention span will
allow. Associated semantic nodes becoming activated in this way create thought, expressed
or unexpressed cognition, personalized conceptual sequences based on our individual life
experience and learning.

I like to think of this net of every word and idea as a fluid surface, like an ocean extend-
ing far in every conceptual direction.

(2010-02-28 01:24) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _54

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _54

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2654%26%26%26youtube%26
fxv6R9fUO74%3A4b7a63d902a543b14b34da254997076632f0127e
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2654%26%26%26youtube%26
fxv6R9fUO74%3A4b7a63d902a543b14b34da254997076632f0127e

monroe_the_fast (2010-03-07 20:46:45)

I do not know what to make of this.

turboswami (2010-03-08 00:34:39)

I suppose you could make anything that you do with regular milk. ...rich creamy milkshakes, yogurts,
breakfast cereals topping, or even delicious cheeses. It’s all about using your imagination, really.

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 edensgray (2010-03-25 04:39:33)
that’s funny, K.

edensgray (2010-03-25 04:39:10)

Good lawrd, they named their mom’s boobies. Eh, it’s interesting to say the least. It’s not right for me
- doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing for them. It’s defintely not an ’openess’ I desire to have with my 8 year
old son.

Jung’s Out-of-Body Experience (2010-02-28 23:47) - public

One night I lay awake thinking of the sudden death of a friend whose funeral
had taken place the day before. I was deeply concerned. Suddenly I felt that he
was in the room. It seemed to me that he stood at the foot of my bed and was
asking me to go with him. I did not have the feeling of an apparition; rather, it
was an inner visual image of him, which I explained to myself as a fantasy. But
in all honesty I had to ask myself, "Do I have any proof that this is a fantasy?
Suppose it is not a fantasy, suppose my friend is really here and I decided he
was only a fantasy—would that not be abominable of me?" Yet I had equally
little proof that he stood before me as an apparition. Then I said to myself,
"Proof is neither here nor there! Instead of explaining him away as a fantasy, I
might just as well give him the benefit of the doubt and for experiment’s sake
credit him with reality." The moment I had that thought, he went to the door
and beckoned me to follow him. So I was going to have to play along with him!
That was something I hadn’t bargained for. I had to repeat my argument to
myself once more. Only then did I follow him in my imagination.

He led me out of the house, into the garden, out to the road, and finally to his
house. (In reality it was several hundred yards away from mine.) I went in, and
he conducted me into his study. He climbed on a stool and showed me the
second of five books with red bindings which stood on the second shelf from the
top. Then the vision broke off. I was not acquainted with his library and did not
know what books he owned. Certainly I could never have made out from below
the titles of the books he had pointed out to me on the second shelf from the
top.

This experience seemed to me so curious that next morning I went to his widow
and asked whether I could look up something in my friend’s library. Sure enough,
there was a stool standing under the bookcase I had seen in my vision, and even
before I came closer I could see the five books with red bindings. I stepped up
on the stool so as to be able to read the titles. They were translations of the
novels of Emile Zola. The title of the second volume read: "The Legacy of the
Dead." The contents seemed to me of no interest. Only the title was extremely
significant in connection with this experience.

edensgray (2010-03-04 04:49:11)

Cool post

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The Afterlife (2010-02-28 23:47) - public

Over the extent of his life, Carl Jung claimed that the great majority of his work were created
on the basis of the fundamental and ever-renewed attempt of his to form some answer to the
question of what is the interplay between the “here” and the “hereafter.”
It was not until the later years of his life that he would become more open about this question,
and many others, which had been deemed unacceptable or outlandish areas of inquiry in his
earlier years, during the budding of psychoanalysis and the field of psychology, itself. Only
after his reputation in the field (and the field itself) concretized and his great accomplishments
behind could he really begin to delve openly into a topic such as the afterworld.
As he admits in his opening paragraphs, “Perhaps one has to be close to death to acquire the
necessary freedom to talk about it.”
Critical rationalism, so it seems according to Jung, has eliminated the idea of life after death –
along with most other mythic conceptions. This popular trend in thought of Jung’s time can still
be seen to exist, with equally-great fervor, in the popular thought our own time. This state of
affairs, according to Jung, came about because most people identify themselves almost exclu-
sively with their consciousness, and imagine that they are only what they know of themselves.
If this explanation is true, it would seem that most people are “very little,” since, on average,
that is how much the typical person knows of themselves!

“Rationalism and doctrinairism are the disease

of our time”

So, boldly, proclaims Jung without inhibition or reverence reserved for either science or religion.
He saw the powerful restraints of both institutions and vilified adherence to the dogma of either
as if it were the anthropomorphized caricature of some rampant illness plaguing the civilized
world. That is so punk!
One can sense his rebellious and tirelessly-questioning personality in this unabashed, unflinch-
ing, irreverent writing of his later years.
“…they pretend to have all of the answers. But a great deal will yet be discovered which our
present limited view would have ruled out as impossible…The more the critical reason domi-
nates, the more impoverished life becomes; but the more of the unconscious, and the more of
myth we are capable of making conscious, the more of life we integrate. Overvalued reason
has this in common with political absolutism: under its dominion the individual is pauperized.”
In his words, I hear Jung defining sides. Both rational observational science and its long bitter
rival, Christianity and the Catholic church, have in their following the limits which bind our true
comprehension of the world; its depths and its subconscious non-objective nature for which
deserve to neither be ignored, as materialistic rational science would insist, or explained-away
by some elaborate irrational story, the deity myths and dogma which remain from an archaic
time of limited understanding.
Yet, while maintaining revulsion towards the two extremes of intellectual science and emotional
myth,
Jung posits both parapsychology and “psyche” myths as inroads towards the capturing of those
aspects of human experience which may
1221
so often escape him. Here I believe Jung speaks of the subtle perceptions, for which our com-
mon conscious state of attention is rarely so keen or finely-tuned to perceive.
What collected wisdom and knowledge we have as a species of the changes affecting our
identity upon transition out of physical life, and the nature of personal existence after that
crossover point, have been brought about by one or more of a set of possible conditions:
1)
Near-Death Experience (NDE) – whereupon the physical body of the individual (often clinically-
defined as dead by a medical professional) and its sensory organs are void of awareness.
Autoscopy, or the outward perception of one’s own body, in this case lying lifelessly, is of-
ten described by the experiencer, accompanying a set of novel perceptions which are also
described with some degree of commonality. Among these, bright white light, non-physical
ascension/flight, tunnels, and entities who may interact without spoken words.
2)
Hyper-sensitivity – Jung’s idea of capturing those aspects of human experience which may so
often go unperceived. Of modern man’s awareness of the world, Jung said “…a great deal often
escapes him.”
a.
This variance in the sensitivity of perception is seen to exist, to some degree, among all human
populations.
It is the containing culture that decides the prevalence, means of induction (if any), or value
placed on that hyper-sensitive extreme of the perceptual spectrum.
3)
The Unconscious – Jung suggests that certain “unanswerable” questions (such as “What is the
reason the universe has come into being?”) should be dropped from conscious scientific inquiry.
Yet, if some “hints” are sent to us from the unconscious - via the messages of dreams or the
ideas of mythic traditions - one should build a conception on the basis of such hints, even
though it will forever remain an unprovable hypothesis.
a.
Of these “hints” of the unknowable surfacing from the unconscious, Jung includes synchronistic
phenomenon, premonitive visions, and dreams that come true. These rare but legitimate uni-
versal experiences give us the briefest glimpse of the extensive potentialities at the disposal
of the unconscious mind.
Myths are the earliest form of science
The collection of “hints” a person amasses over a lifetime – those rare experiences which reveal
the extent of the unconscious’ hidden influence over our life – become, according to Jung, a
sort of personal myth.
The views he was able to form on the basis of such hints from the unconscious, he claimed,
were some of the most valuable and rewarding of his life. For that reason, these messages
from the unconscious should not be so quickly disregarded as the nonsense of dream or some
random, meaningless coincidence, but, rather, noted, collected, and treasured as brief “cracks”
in the limits of our experience, small openings which allows one to see beneath, at the aspects
of life which are regularly hidden from our view.
1222
Along with numerous cases of spontaneous foreknowledge, non-spatial perceptions, and so
on—of which I have given a number of examples from my own life—these experiments prove
that the psyche at times functions outside of the spatio-temporal law of causality. This indicates
that our conceptions of space and time, and therefore of causality also, are incomplete. A
complete picture of the world would require the addition of still another dimension; only then
could the totality of phenomena be given a unified explanation. Hence it is that the rationalists
insist to this day that parapsychological experiences do not really exist; for their world-view
stands or falls by this question. If such phenomena occur at all, the rationalistic picture of the
universe is invalid, because incomplete. Then the possibility of an other-valued reality behind
the phenomenal world becomes an inescapable problem, and we must face the fact that our
world, with its time, space, and causality, relates to another order of things lying behind or
beneath it (p. 21).
Jung’s personal myth of that lying beneath our world was something he constructed from the
hints - the visionary dreams, premonitions, and out-of-body experiences of, not only himself,
but of his close friends, students, clients, and colleagues as well. These experiences of the
unconscious formed a sort of cosmological patchwork by which he came to terms with the
nature of death and inferred the nature of the afterlife. By collecting, noting, and combining
the insights gained through his and other’s dreams of the dead, their perceived limits, abilities,
location, and current experience of “life,” Jung drew many conclusions. One such conclusion
refers to the variable nature of sensitivity and its perception, mentioned previously in this paper
as the second condition of three possible conditions for relaying knowledge from beyond the
transition into death – hyper-sensitivity.
Jung claims that the deceased maintain that same level of consciousness which they attained
in life, but that it is no longer variable after death.
He also suggests that humanity, itself, is bound within upper and lower limits of consciousness
which, likewise, apply post-mortem to the surviving identity.
“Apparently, however,” says Jung, “the souls of the dead ‘know’ only what they knew at the
moment of death, and nothing beyond that…Only here, in life on earth..can the general level
of consciousness be raised.”
“...fuller understanding having put to rout the desire
for re-embodiment.”
In his reflections on the cosmology of the Orient, Jung reveals his most expansive personal be-
liefs concerning prenatal consciousness. The idea of reincarnation, while he admitted seemed
obscure to him and the perspective of his Occidental upbringing, nonetheless was of great
interest to him and, by his language and its reference to Hindu and Buddhist concepts,
it was obvious he was well acquainted with Eastern philosophy. In other words, the obscurity
of his understanding of rebirth could not be called the fault of being uninformed.
“The idea of rebirth is inseparable from that of karma” states Jung near the conclusion of his
essay. “The crucial question is whether a man’s karma is personal or not.” In this, Jung states
the Buddha’s own unanswerable question:
are the affairs and circumstances of this incarnation the balanced causation of my own previous
lives, or the culmination of all mistakes and achievements of my ancestors, whose heritage I
embody as the “leading edge” of our lineage, which I extend forward? It is a question I had
never heard considered by my practicing Buddhist friends, or even mentioned in Hinduism
class. Yet, I admit, it is an question I have explored through on my own extensively, leading
me to value Jung’s own grappling with the idea of ancestral influence over our lives.
1223
Of the limits of liberation from the physical form, Jung suspects a gradual learning of the “af-
terlife terrain” on the part of the disembodied – an idea which, at first, seems in contradiction
with his belief that the state of personal knowledge is made static at the point of death.
With consideration and rereading, I interpret these seemingly-discrepant statements as relying
on a distinction he made between afterworld learning and the personal development of one’s
state of consciousness, the latter of which is what Jung considered “knowledge.”
I feel and share Jung’s striving stretch towards meaning as he extends the Buddhist conception
of rebirth even further to encompass the conscious choice of the prenatal self to “plunge”
back into birth and its physicality. Essentially, imagining the preresidual self rolling up their
sleeves and diving back into a body to get some work done! Much as if he were slipping into
a diver’s suit to dive down into the sea. That is, assuming there is even anything left down
there needing to be cleaned up..

References:

Jung, C. G., & Jaffé, A. (1964). Memories, dreams, reflections. New York: Random House. p. v.

turboswami (2010-03-01 18:25:53)

It is possible that any further spell of three-dimensional life would have no more meaning once the
soul had reached a certain stage of understanding; it would then no longer have to return, fuller
understanding having put to rout the desire for re-embodiment. Attainment of consciousness is culture
in the broadest sense, and self- knowledge is therefore the heart and essence of this process.

turboswami (2010-03-01 18:26:33)

-C.G. Jung

9.3 March

Angry Syllabliatory Maneuvering (2010-03-02 00:02) - public

The protocol I wrote has 3 tasks, with 2 baseline measurements of 5 minutes each. I am
trying to replicate the cross-hemispheric coherence of the alpha bandwidth which we were
successfully able to induce in Albert two weeks ago. While it was observed, as expected, in
the occipital lobe during that session, I have read that it is possible to achieve entrainment
harmonics and subharmonics globally and this was the intention of today’s session.

While, I admit, the specifics of the 3 tasks are still in the formative period – specifically
on whether to use binaural, monaural, or isochronic entrainment frequencies – I DO have a
plan, these sessions are not without experimental intention, albeit merely, at this point, to
replicate the findings of other rhythmic stimulus studies.

The Plan of Rain (2010-03-02 23:33) - public

There are pieces of me left in playful dimensions,

’round the bushes of eye windows
1224
where teachers watch over and smile.

And if I re call them, they may even answer,

in ways I know less of the less that I feel.

How planned is the rain reclosed like a wound made close again?

Rejoy rejoined at the joice of marriage,

for her wound reopened is a life retold.

Relive me through,
with that fresh mind and clear voice
which rang only true
like the peal of sanctity’s bell.

Remember!

(2010-03-02 23:38) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _55

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _55

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2655%26%26%26youtube%26
oavMtUWDBTM%3Af25601bc4fcd7869e961d6542ff3b71413f6f791
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2655%26%26%26youtube%26
oavMtUWDBTM%3Af25601bc4fcd7869e961d6542ff3b71413f6f791

edensgray (2010-03-04 04:59:21)

I am not sure what to think of this. I feel like I am in a bad dream because his facial movements scare
the heck out of me; like a puppet. Lalala lala la la la la ohhh ohh ohhaa ha ha Hmmm...I’d like for him
to sing at my funeral...the music is spirited!

swarms (2010-03-05 07:00:16)

Oh great, now my girlfriend’s leaving me for your Russian singing robbit man, even though she thinks
he forgot all of the words to his song.

edensgray (2010-03-25 04:27:17)

Is that a wig? This totally cracks me up.

1225
Fear of Genetics and The Myth of Personal Identity (2010-03-10 01:20) - public

There is a heritage song that plays in our genetic memory,

It has a rhythm and a melody that sing through our blood.
It isn’t something we’re born around, its something we’re born with,
So, what are your percentages?

Are you a Celtic Lord of the Dance? –err, Lady rather?

"Hey lady! That’s a perdy dance!"

What are your motivations for that belief, really?

What is it about that being away from other people that you so closely relate with safety?

So you require less stimulation than others?

The desire to hide your dna records does not lead to your need for solitude and personal space,
or vice versa.

So what is the underlying emotion or desire that creates both those things?

At most, that DNA Heritage Repository, all those filing cabinets in that record room, there are
maybe only 3 families…3 clans extending across time and distance of land, back to Africa.

The lines of nomadic travel out of the homeland, across oceans and mountains, that is
drawn in so much genetic code, lineage across physical human history to a racial land.
Migration that comes to define selective genetic traits, our slow changing to our environment
as we progress through it generation after generation.

“Racial Land” – did that raise any flags?

Sounds like a fun new theme park?

So, that’s the reason why I don’t care if someone knows my DNA,
…knows that I am from the same family as them.

Genetics!
We are so scared of the word, so terrified of what it could mean,
So angry at anyone who even mentions Race or Genetic Predisposition.
Those are dangerous and frightening words, not to be spoken at the dinner table!

I don’t want them to have my DNA! That’s private!

…what could they do with it? They could copy me, or change it on a computer or something.
I saw Sandra Bullock in “The Net”

“They’ve been playing God! Fucking with the genes! That’s wrong!”
Genetically-skewed stuff in my kitchen? Genetically enhanced fruits in my child?
In me? My God! Somebody do something!

“LSD will change your genes! Melts your chromosomes!” Jesus Fucking Christ! “Chro-
mosomes!” Whippin out the big words now, that shit’s terrifying.

1226
Yet, in truth, it DOES change your chromosomes…as does aspirin and coffee.
It changes your genetic code, in the same way going hungry for a few days does or staying in
the sun too long. Getting in a car accident? Losing a limb, having a child?
Intense depression, losing a child?

The more your behavior repeats, the further your brain develops; the neurophysiology
which carries that behavior and further predisposes us to that pattern. Someone who begins
to get angry often, exploding on their co-workers and beating their children, would also
begin to experience neuronal shifts, reattachments and migrations of neuronal net schemes
in response to this new behavior pattern; carrying that negative emotional patterning out,
dispersing further through the personality, slowly infesting it.

Epigenetic changes are dense and permanent shifts which are then carried in the ge-
netic stream. These different levels of influence, the immediate neuronal changes attached to
lifestyle, the longer epigenetic changes which exist beyond our death, to the greater lineage
we were born with, could be thought of as sedimentary layers beneath a stream. The water,
the immediate lifestyle, is fast and changes constantly. It does not stay, but moves rapidly,
gradually changing and eroding the generic layers beneath. Epigenetics is the silt, the fine
density of that which we carry in our lifestyle “current”, but which will be carried by our
children, small particles to be carried by all the currents which are to follow us.

Intense.
In-tension.
Intention.
The tension is held in our muscles, and carries them to complete our will.

What is it that causes that desire for privacy?

What is it beneath that desire that is it’s source?

“A need for introspection. To have my own space.”

But what is it in that, what you called “paranoid” fear of people seeing your DNA records and
a personal appreciation for introspection? Introspection is not the cause of the paranoia, but I
believe there is some point that acts as a root, or source of both desires.

Identity…?

:”Yes, that’s it. That is what it is.”

The desire to protect your identity from others is a strong one, strong enough to actu-
ally prevent you from ever exploring your own heritage, your DNA record.

In the mad rush to patch up the weak spots of my ego, I forget the state of myself, the
state of my body.

I can get so swept up in how I am appearing that I neglect to look at myself.

1227
New Webpage!! (2010-03-11 03:42) - public

Subtle Density

http://www.subtledensity.com/2885/FLASH/subtledensity.swf

http://www.subtledensity.com/kaleb31.jpg

monroe_the_fast (2010-03-13 03:55:29)

What the hell.

edensgray (2010-03-25 04:31:57)

Is this to be updated?

The Oscillatory Nature of Attention (2010-03-14 05:13) - public

[1]

Before describing the perceptual, or latent inhibitionary paradigm, it is important to pref-

ace with a view of attention somewhat different from the typically-used and somewhat broad
1228
definition cognitive psychology currently gives us. That is, I believe the capacity of attention
is not fixed, but dynamic and fluid in nature – a subtle capacity, much like intelligence, which
differs from person to person.

Moreover, I think its important to consider the bi-directional nature of the it’s flow. That
is, a directly proportional relationship between attention and stimulation, the inlet of one
being so tied to the outlet of the other that it is reasonable to refer to them as one singular
function.

Much like the crashing of waves against a beach, attention is very much an oscillating
cycle; a volume of outward flow which breaks against the shore of physicality, and recedes
back in gathered force, stimuli. This magnetic “pulling in” force is tied to the magnitude of
one’s attentional focus. In the experience of psilocybin and other psychedelic compounds, the
capacity of attention is felt to increase and the influx of stimulation can be overwhelming, in
its bliss or torment dependent on the nature and object of its focus. Huxley saw a rose, and
in that rose he saw all the subtle world-within-world he had never been able to perceive. The
doors of his perception flung open, the dam which restrained the inflow of attention bust open.
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/000100fg/

Feathered Serpent - Cultural Universal? (2010-03-14 05:20) - public

Aztec: Feathered serpent diety worshipped by the majority of Mesoamerican cultures history,
prominently known as Quetzalcoatl of the Aztecs and seen extending far South to the Vision
Serpent of the Underworld of the Mayans.

The earliest of these serpent iconography of this area is believed to be the Olmec cul-
ture which, some 900 years before Christ, carved the image of an underworld serpent rising
up the spine of a shaman engaged in ritual.

Similar Buddhist carvings (not pictured) show the multi-headed serpent king Mucalinda
rising up the spine of the Buddha as he is engrossed in meditation.

China: “Descendents of The Dragon” or flying serpent of the lower realm, represents di-
vinity and wisdom.

Traditionally featured holding the flaming pearl of replication (RNA=>DNA)

So this image of a serpent duplicating itself is important as we approach...

The Entwined, or Double-Helical Serpents

Joseph Campbell wrote that the symbol of snakes coiled around a staff is an ancient rep-
resentation of Kundalini physiology. The staff represents the spinal column with the snake(s)
being energy channels. In the case of two coiled snakes they usually cross each other seven
times, a possible reference to the seven energy centers called chakras.

The Caduceus, or wand of Greek God Hermes (Roman Mercury) often erroneously used
to represent the medical model in its earliest form was wielded by NINGISHZIDA, who used it
to bring messages up to us from the underworld.

1229
Here, the oldest known incarnation of the symbol, The Sumerian deity Ningizzida of 3000 BC.
The name of that Sumerian deity Nin Giz Zida came to be adopted by the Hindus as another
name for Kundalini experience.

So, lets recap…we have this universal human experience of snakes, rising up our spinal
column during deep meditative trance, when the pineal gland is activated to excrete the
neurotransmitter dimethyltryptamine.

Into This Time Alive (2010-03-15 01:26) - public

I Must descend the mountain – before they begin telling stories of the abdominal snowman.

I flare so lovingly by the hour, my mood following the cycle of the sun.
My mom still a shiver up my neck, hunched down cowering like a beaten dog.
Still sometimes she reflects; her changes suggest that in old age she even regrets.
…those things she has done.

Skewer into dark painful memory-meat for storytime, or dance around that dark evil shit a bit,
waxing poetical with equal measures of vagueity and vanity.
I’d like for us to believe I’m past that.

Slower still was my own change, the fantastic horrors of that recline-come-descent.
Climbed to cline again,
remembering the last time
and the first line crossed
into this time alive.

What happened that last time to made this strange tired body my assignment?

Did I need to learn how to overcome or fall under the heavy shackles of fatigue?
Or make some meaningful change in the world, or choose against it?
To rewatch at the veil my hypocritical finger pointing down on those who choose against.
For who choose for, for better or for worse, to always be there, for – not against.

[1]
1230
 Last time, I met with a lioness (as I am and always have been a cat.)
She prepared me and reassured me, as the lions tend to do for one of their own.
And, being a cat, I know everything will be mostly fine,
I close my eyes, feel the sun, and am contented with the situation.

Stowed away the patience of years, yet these days I notice I’m running out.
Three grains of rice in the pantry, and so much fire to cook them!
But where has my silence gone? When was the calm knowing released?
When I grasped with all the wanting I could tense, that blessed stream was lost to me.
1231
 insert happy ending, roll credits, roll shoulders, roll over to hide*

1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/000119gs/

(2010-03-15 04:22) - public

It seems when you begin to devote your attention to something outside of yourself - like other
people, or meaningful work done for other people, your identity is allowed to expands outside
of the body, free from the confines of defensiveness and the selfish focus that give rise to it.
What are we even defending against? We are defending our own defensiveness! And be-
neath that, even older layers of self-defense, and forgotten ones we still defend even beneath
that…and what are they for? At their core, there is nothing – there is a central solitary light
which should never be hidden or defended with fear, but made open – so that all may see.

(2010-03-17 00:56) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _56

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _56

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2656%26%26%26youtube%26
06Qm-Z5OsHw%3A096f676d4b85cc9b20fcfe7f0bffee8dbc4e847c
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2656%26%26%26youtube%26
06Qm-Z5OsHw%3A096f676d4b85cc9b20fcfe7f0bffee8dbc4e847c

Sick Sick Sickos (2010-03-17 19:20) - public

It’s so easy to forget who we are,

while busy being who we aren’t.

And, it seems, in the forgetting there is a percentage which can never be remembered.
1232
That percentage being filled with that temporary thing which we aren’t...solidifying into the
plot, becoming a more permanent aspect of the story.

I used to think I was more perceptive to the changes in personality, capacity, and com-
petence that were occurring to myself; the slow, natural stages of development and decline
that I believed may be so gradual as to be undetected by some others. Yet, now I begin
to believe the only reason I was able to notice this gradual decline of aging is because it is
occurring more rapidly in me - the confusion, disorganization, and memory loss perceivable
to me only because of the advanced rate of cognitive decay, perhaps fueled by the very
practices that induced the perceived hypersensitivity.

Its so easy to forget, to know less and less of even the concept of once knowing. The
contagion of posing, the fashion of discontent and the glamor of misery are seductive like the
bloody victim in an accident scene. We want to see the horror, as much as the horrors of pain
feel without purpose if not seen, their gravity appreciated and fed pity.

In this way, sickness can be further encouraged by the social role adopted: "the sick,"
and all the allowances and exceptions we make for the caring and nurturing of the sick one
can, surely, become quite comfortable! All that rest and relaxation, while having all your needs
attended to by loved ones (many of whom may not show their love in any other context,) can
be SO comfortable, in fact, that the illness can come to be directly related to the act of being
shown love. Hypochondriacs and frail sickly-looking layabouts will list their illnesses not long
after shaking your hand, waiting for the pitiful love they’d come to expect from an otherwise
uncaring mother–they are chronically loved, forever sapping the warmth and pity parasitically
from those figures unfortunate enough to fall into the relationship with them.

So, is there some way to approach them, and their sickness, delicately in a way that
brings about their wellness?

It seems as though the pressuring them to "Get better, dammit! Can’t you see it’s all in
your head!" approach their family must have tried only breeds inner resistance to the idea of
compliance - of getting better.

windturbine0910 (2010-03-18 03:42:11)

A bit off topic perhaps, but I really need to know - which template are you using? I especially like the
sidebar style...[1]how to get your ex back

1. http://howtogetyourexloveback.com/
edensgray (2010-03-25 18:42:48)
It’s a tough not to enable someone you love. I’ve experienced this with my ex-husband and his mother.
Where do you draw the line of support to their fragile perceptions of themselves? For me, it was my
sanity and watching my husband fall prey to his mother’s every whim. How do you support both sides
without damage? Not possible. Insensitivity is an advantage, to a degree. Overall, ’kicking her out’
and allowing her to find strength and confidence in her ability to start all over...was the best medicine.
Accomplishment breeds confidence.

1233
Raw With Love (2010-03-21 22:38) - public

Charles Bukowski

little dark girl with

kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
i won’t blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won’t blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife.the knife is
mine and i won’t use it
yet.
1234
GO FUCK A MAP! (2010-03-23 02:35) - public

Tell me the moral of the story, please.

The lines I used to think I could read between have long blurred.
...why did the tired turtle win?
...why were the fat German children eaten?

I’ve fogotten it all,

the frog prince’s golden ball
Lost fog, far to fall.

Perhaps I should rush to make a child before I lose my mind.

Perhaps that would be the best bet,
given these late pockets and forgotten shoes.
The odds are receding, with my hairline and my conversation.

Dare I say it like it is:

that nobody remembers or cares to try.
And that I long, more and more each day,
to be forgotten.

edensgray (2010-03-25 04:12:07)

Emotive

the2minh8 (2010-03-30 12:58:52)

Sometimes, when I don’t know what else to do, I look at your entry titles. It usually makes me feel
better.

“Escaping backward to perceive…” (2010-03-24 01:57) - public

Emily Dickinson

Escaping backward to perceive

The Sea upon our place -
Escaping forward, to confront
His glittering Embrace -

Retreating up, a Billow’s height

Retreating blinded down
Our undermining feet to meet
Instructs to the Divine.

The Genius of The Crowd (2010-03-24 02:18) - public

Charles Bukowski

1235
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it

and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god

those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers

beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred

there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond

like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

1236
(2010-03-24 02:57) - public

"The personal hell which is your insecurity is one I’ve chosen not to share with you."

Some sharp edges in what I said, there.

And why shouldn’t I share it?
Her pain and her pleasure...
Am I a fair-weather lover?
...or just able to reasonably gauge the extent of my ability to help
in the management of a hell.

Maybe I’d been there,

Maybe I was born there
11 lifetimes back,
and flinch with resistance at the thought of returning.
Even if just quickly riding through to pick her up from the pool.
A pool class held at the school.
A class which may or may not actually be over.

Security: safe, defended.

The doors closed and locked,
The windows shut and barred.
This is a home, personified;
And I know that kind of safety,
and the danger in its fear.

Because behind locked doors of defended homes

are weapons hidden close, guns that wait,
and the fantasies of the fathers who load them.
The plots of paranoia that become the worldview
from behind that barred window.

I must Defend my privacy!

These secrets are my right!
The secrets are defenses,
for secrets hidden beneath hiding,
in the lock box in the locked closet,
there is a weapon for defending
defending a memory
of once being free,
open,
and vulnerable
in love.

The Wisdom of Insecurity (1951) (2010-03-24 03:42) - public

Alan Watts

It must be obvious... that there is a contradiction in wanting to be perfectly secure

1237
in a universe whose very nature is momentariness and fluidity.

For the greater part of human, activity is designed to make permanent those
experiences and joys which are only lovable because they are changing.

* Running away from fear is fear; fighting pain is pain; trying to be brave is
being scared. If the mind is in pain, the mind is pain. The thinker has no other form
than his thought.

There is no formula for generating the authentic warmth of love. It cannot be copied. You
cannot talk yourself into it or rouse it by straining at the emotions or by dedicating yourself
solemnly to the service of mankind. Everyone has love, but it can only come out when he is
convinced of the impossibility and the frustration of trying to love himself. This conviction
will not come through condemnations, through hating oneself, through calling self love bad
names in the universe. It comes only in the awareness that one has no self to love.

The most strongly enforced of all known taboos is the taboo against knowing who or what you
really are behind the mask of your apparently separate, independent, and isolated ego.

Nothing fails like success.

Sensate Medium: Impression and Expression (2010-03-25 02:12) - public

What do insensitive people sound like when they talk?

The word "insensitive" implies they are not sensing the other - that is, they do not hear
them, nor do they want to. Surely speaking over them, loudly, or interrupting all that they
have chosen to ignore or, rather, to not sense.

Dominance in conversation, in this way, seems inextricably tied to insensitivity.

The quiet and the meek being "trampled over" by the insistent, loud, interruptions of
the one who has chosen to be heard (and not to hear.) Of course, brutish dominance and
"Alpha" behavior of this kind have a well-established character and I need not belabor the point
with descriptions of what, for instance, an Alpha male does to subjugate the less aggressive,
easier-going members of his circle. I’ve simply noticed that insensitive people tend to be
louder, tend to interrupt, and to not really listen very well or for very long.

That "sensitive" word does imply an inlet of sensation, of attention to one’s surroundings and
its messages. But what is the opposite of that "inlet?" The "outlet" of expression, of spoken
message and intended meaning. One way to think of this inlet/outlet relationship is footprints.

Impression/Expression

Expression is outwardly-directed intention; some pattern of meaning which can affect

those external from us. Like walking along the beach, expression could be thought of as the
tread of our boot, the outlet of our self onto our surroundings, the pressure applied outwards
from our center, down into the wet sand.

1238
The Impression then would be the bootprint made in that sand, and reflects the given
energy behind our state of being at that time - running, standing, or dancing, each person
affects the sand in a different way. In the same way, our state of being makes an "imprint" on
the people around us, some impressions people make on us extending deeper, lasting longer.
Unforgettable moments like those can change us forever; for better or for worse, we are never
the same after someone has made a strong impression on us.

But in the metaphor of the beach, what is the sand?

Soft and compliant, the sand represents our level of sensitivity to the expression of an-
other – how much do we "let in," or how much do we "stand our ground," remaining resilient to
impressions? If the medium of sand is thought of as the trait of a sensitive person, someone
"soft-skinned" or easily impressed, what of the insensitive person?

Concrete Ego

Not being easily swayed, resistant to change or to new ideas, dominant and strong in
their stance, the insensitive person could be thought of as concrete or stone - an impenetrable
ignorant ego, ready to fight and to ignore opposition. I feel this ego type as more masculine
in nature. In their extreme form, they are unphased by even the strongest expressions, and
unwilling to hear or internalize perspectives or opinions which differ from their own. There
are certainly benefits to this state of ego, like safety and defense, overall our boot print of
personal expression makes no impression on this type - fully ignored and resisted, unless
the interaction is made during the early formative years of that person’s experience, before
he has "concertized." At the same time, those early impressions on him are strong and ever
lasting.

Glass Ego

Brittle and fragile, the glass ego would wish to be as strong and safely defended as con-
crete, yet its perceived strength is only a front. With just a bit of pressure from our boot of
expression, the glass bottle bursts loudly with shards of anger and hurt, ready to cut deep
into that foot whose intention may not have been offensive. I feel this ego type as more
feminine in nature. It is in the heat of passion that strong and everlasting impressions can be
made on the glass ego, her shape conforming to that first glassblower’s whim reminds me of
the great lengths I see my niece go through to please and appease her first boyfriend; never
wanting that relationship to shatter, she endures indignities in conservation of that passion,
but only so long. It is not uncommon to hear of the strength and resilience of first love,
and the expense of the girl. It seems as the ego hardens, becoming less flexible, the utility
of the glass bottle, its solid form, also become what makes it dangerous in its liability to break.

Material density seems like it could be a meaningful metaphor for understanding differ-
ent personality types, their tendencies and tensions. Pressure in, pressure out, how applied
and to what degree? Social interactions can be more successful, perhaps, if we know our type
and the type of those in our circles. That is to say, things can go a lot more smoothly if we
know if the relationship is a walk on the beach or a "walk in the park."

turboswami (2010-03-25 09:43:56)

The time of passion and of that ego plasticity period in our life seems to lead up to and fully concertize

1239
in by our mid 20’s. After that time, our identities seem less compliant to change, our sense of self
somewhat more solidified in respect to our environment and its changes. Our personalities begin to
become less flexible with age and, for this reason, we will always have a preference for the cultural
content which composed our environment during that formative early-adulthood period of our 20’s, as
shown by recent research: http://www.psychologytoday.com/node/40089

edensgray (2010-03-25 18:22:43)

Fantastic article, Kaleb. I found myself comparing personality differences between my twin sister and
I. She being more being more "insensitive" and I being more "soft-skinned". You’ve been outputting
a lot. It’s always great to catch up on your work. I had a great discussion today at work on the
"Breastfeeding 8 and 10 year olds" post. Loved the reactions!!

turboswami (2010-03-25 20:09:32)

Thanks hun! Oooh, That sounds like a good work conversation. Should show them the youtube-
actually seeing it seems quite different from just talking about the idea. haha.

edensgray (2010-03-25 20:23:25)

Yeh, it would have been fantastic to show ’em the video. We’re blocked from such sites...even Yahoo,
believe that? Oh well. The discussion was with a group between 28-32 and 55-62 so you could
imagine their horror. I still can’t get over the video post of the man humming that song. What - is
that like in the 70’s? It’s freaky yet attractive. LMAO. His hair!! Odd and curious.

9.4 April

(2010-04-04 06:27) - public

Nothing is good enough, for this moment.

Of endless preparation and tension of intense intentions premade, pretense.
Pretentious meanderings
from a lack
There is so much worry on my part to make sure this is good for you…
So much tension and all devoted to socialization, and its hellish needs of respect
I miss respecting no one but me, all who there is.
In the expanse that I am , how else can I be but curling to care and be cared for.
Lost to the fetal surrender , I curl to protect my future self.
All of this I can hold, if only a vessel I could keep still!!
To
be able to hold this
beauty long enough to know it and be it,
Without quivering in looking back or being back.
The opening
1240
With such thoughts of controlling, I forget all that I can control. Myself.
Resistance to this being IT
Keep it from being IT
And other such avoidant clichés of The Moment which I have come to avoid and restrain even
in myself.
The cliché was something I once felt! Please remember that, in all that ornate flouring designs
in bloom, they once truly flowed with all that this possesses.
The question of attainment is really one of post-atainment containment and the problem of
holding all that we think into some manner of being, a n expressive body and its radiance in
form.
Slow
the breath is all the joy you need not see to feel
What is the tension of a breath that can be conveyed with eyes closed?
What have I become, this fractured fish.
This echo of a statesman, lost to sea.
If there is a shape to adopt, may it not be my father’s.
He is losing his mind, he is obsessing over the quibbles of the day he has left.
I feel like a mummy… really?
The crypt?
What you getting at?
Do we “Have IT Together?”
Does this help you to “get things together?”
This experience?
The action, itself…
The action,
curling back on itself.
HAHA
The action itself is more important than planning?

Bill Evans’ Slick Frenzied Fingers (2010-04-05 03:35) - public

There is a lot to be said, flair pin, stray dog, styrofoam face.

A cattle bulb dripped from the severed neck of droopy cow who never knew why he was being
fed.
The last ditch flung its night efforts up light hands to flood bright the blind microscopic.
If the lairs I dared enter awake were filled with their contents asleep, I’d never be lucid again,
I’d be running - as we tend to when fear puts our rationality to sleep.

Bill Evans, stuck. Bill Evans, lonely in a lake. Bill Evans in a Howard Johnson (again.)
1241
Stories of the parting of his hair and the cleaning of his ears were told to school chil-
dren who smoked pot and were "beat." They fought over Q-Tips that someone had said were
his, both before and after he supposedly used them to delicately swab the soft oily butter from
the inner wall of his "bread and butter." Bill Evans’ ears were his one way ticket, his ascent
and descent to somewhere far from us.

His father had beat him hard only 3 times, which really wasn’t too bad given the state
of familial affairs back in 1932. There was a stern way of standing up the timbers, and
knocking him down onto the bathroom floor - that cold tile that always felt wet on the knees;
naked, bleeding, spittle tears screaming to the grout and pain asside, he turned out pretty
good, gotta admit!

At 14, the painful hiding of polyester erections became a sort of private sadomasochis-
tic game played with himself and the fat antsies he watched, bending and tooling, gardening
in wide spring bloomers for no one’s pleasure but their own - or so they thought. Young Billy
was unusual in this way, and his early hormone-fueled obsession with middle aged overweight
women would eventually get him in trouble with his immediate family, his local parish, and,
finally, with the Baltimore County Police Department. It seemed his passions, his slick frenzied
fingers, extended well beyond the piano keyboard - Evans pounded the wrong "black key" that
night; a sour note the husband didn’t care for at all!

Guns! Gold! *Galloping Sounds* And Gutter Gals!

Tune in Next Week for "Mining City Mayhem!"
A score-found neighbor is a sudden enemy, receding.

[1]

1. http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mq-dKm343sw/Sq1g5j4k9LI/AAAAAAAADn8/4cqqRzmEZ4g/s400/bill+evans.jpg

seethingcalm

1242
 turboswami (2010-04-13 07:05:22)
mmhmm.

seethingcalm

turboswami (2010-04-13 08:18:39)

:D

Aumish Social Networks And Bedtime Practices (2010-04-20 21:42) - public

My side the conversation consists mostly of searching; the sound of searching being one of
inducing meditative descent: “Ummm…. Ummm.”
Of course, everyone else is just waiting and care little for that elevator music of bland Aum-
ish descent. Cherishing the remnants of a simpler time, the Aumish dress and live simply,
the bombardment of engine pistons and raging distractions of electronic media and its blaring
devices viewed as, in fact, inventions which isolate us from ourselves.
Aumish society is very Earthy, with designated meeting places like churches and town halls,
where like-minded people shake hands and smile and share lovingly without exclusion.
For a time, however, the Aummish will say “Ummm,” together – freely, rhythmically, and with-
out pressure or distraction, either internal or external. The Aumish church is more a gathering
of mutually-shared respect for inner divinity and exists anywhere/everywhere: a park bench,
a beach, a bus, or within a stone; anywhere one or more people share an inward direction of
attention.
Alex Grey’s “Chapel of Sacred Mirrors” has received tax-exempt status, being Federally recog-
nized as a church. The Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993 (42 U.S.C. § 2000bb, also
known as RFRA) is a United States federal law aimed at preventing laws that substantially bur-
den a person’s free exercise of their religion. The Chapel of Sacred Mirrors represents a set
of spiritual beliefs and religious icons whose inspiration was said to come from the ritualized
use of entheogenic sacraments. These ritual ceremonies, and their spiritual significance as
expressed by Alex Grey, were the origin of the church and central to it’s members’ religious
practice.
A Declaration of Religious Rights, driven defiantly down into legislative soil, lays stake by defin-
ing a boundary which the state may not pass. Religion manifests in many forms, and legislation
must remain flexible if it is to encompass the whole of religion and the variety of its practices
as they are born, grow, change, and develop through our equally ever-changing and evolving
culture.
*remember to post Timothy Leary’s “[1]Start Your Own Religion" and Richard Alpert’s Letter*
The levels of depth in the ocean are bandwidths of density, the increasing pressure of descent
compressing the water molecules, with the deeper layers condensed by all those above it.
This spectrum of density in the medium defines the nature of the life that inhabits that “band-
width” of ocean. The deepest sea life, like the hideous Angler Fish or bioluminescent squid,
typically die before they can reach the surface of the ocean: lacking the heavy pressure of
their bandwidth, their bodies essentially expand. Near the end of their life, it is said many of
these creatures choose to “follow the light” upwards, almost in an act of resembling suicide -
lungs and organs bursting out, their large eyes often found bulging from the head. They were
bound physically to that layer of ocean in which they were born.
1243
In much this same way, consciousness exists along a medium and is typically tied to the band-
width in which it was born. Travel in this medium, one of a finer density than our water example,
is similarly tied to the physical body of our life. Yet, the visible spectrum and the immersed in-
teractions which define our waking life need not define us – that is, this particular bandwidth of
consciousness may be transcended. Like our bioluminescent deep sea squid, we may “follow
the light.” We need only close our eyes and look up to ascend.
The fruit of hypnagogia is in the drifting of thoughts across and within an expanse. Changes
in one’s state of consciousness have been posed in terms of changes in EEG frequency, a
frequency which may be drawn along a plane as spreading activation across the semantic
network. When this is done, thought associations plotted as semantic distance may be seen
as related to the bandwidth depth, amplitude and frequency of a measured brainwave pattern.
In this way, semantic distance can be seen as a measure of frequency, lower EEG frequencies
(like the low theta bandwidth hypnagogia) can be correlated with spreading activation, the
indirect priming phenomenon commonly referred to when someone describes their thoughts
“growing long,” as they do as one drifts in descent through the hypnagogic state.
The electrochemical firing rate along the cortex is tied to the stimuli of the visible spectrum,
but when awareness of this spectrum is abandoned, as in the sensory deprivation of meditation
and its inward directing of attention, that firing rate is free and unbounded by the external in
the same way our consciousness is, then, free to descend or ascend away from that narrow
visible bandwidth.
In the study (cite!) which correlated the focus of attention onto an external object with in-
creased neuronal firing spreading outward from the appropriate retinal area of the cortex, we
see data which maps the relationship between consciousness and brainwave patterns, between
the focus of attention and the measurable rate, quality, and prevalence of cortical activation.
Photic entrainment, binaural or rhythmic stimulus research also represents the relationship
between sensory stimulus and brainwave rate.
1. http://http//www.subtledensity.com/start_your_own_religion_leary.pdf

confliction (2010-04-21 16:30:24)

*remember to post Timothy Leary’s “How To Create A Religion, and Richard Alpert’s Letter” * Was that
for this post and our viewing? ^ _^ I’m enjoying seeing your life-long thoughts and endeavours con-
dense and focus into astounding insights and theories. Have you ever read back over your old writings?

turboswami (2010-04-22 08:15:18)

Thank you for your kind words. :) I do not really go back and read much of the old stuff, but will
never forget how hard I worked to write it! The ideas are still (mostly) fresh – it is reassuring to know
I can go back and reread them if their edges ever begin to fade. I uploaded the Leary essay onto my
website: http://www.subtledensity.com/start _your _own _religion _leary.pdf Still looking for the Alpert
letter (I just saw Ram Dass present at the MAPS conference - he looks radiant as ever!)

"Start Your Own Religion" by Timothy Leary (2010-04-22 00:59) - public

[1] START YOUR OWN RELIGION

1. The Purpose of Life is Religious Discovery

1244
That intermediate manifestation of the Divine Process which we call the DNA Code has
spent the last
two-billion years making this planet a Garden of Eden. An intricate web has been woven, a
delicate
fabric of chemical-electrical-seed-tissue-organism-species. A dancing joyous harmony of
energy
transactions is rooted in the 12 inches of topsoil which covers the rock metal fire core of this
planet.
Into this Garden of Eden each human being is born perfect. We were all born Divine mutants,
the
DNA Code’s best answer to joyful survival on this planet. An exquisite package for adaptation
based
on 2 billion years of consumer research (RNA) and product design (DNA).
But each baby, although born perfect, immediately finds himself in an imperfect, artificial,
disharmonious social system which systematically robs him of his divinity.
And the social systems - where did they come from?
Individual societies begin in harmonious adaptation to the environment and, like individuals,
quickly
get trapped into non-adaptive, artificial, repetitive sequences.
When the individual’s behaviour and consciousness get hooked to a routine sequence of
external
actions, he is a dead robot, and
When the individual’s behaviour and consciousness get hooked to a routine sequence of
external
actions, he is a dead robot, and
When the individual’s behaviour and consciousness get hooked to a routine sequence of
external
actions, he is a dead robot, and it is time for him to die and be reborn. Time to "Drop-out",
"Turn-
on", and "Tune-in". This period of robotisation is called the Kali Yuga, the Age of Strife and
Empire,
the peak of so called civilisation, the Johnson Administration, etc. This relentless law of Death,
Life,
Change is the rhythm of the galaxies and the seasons; the rhythm of the seed. It never stops.

2. Drop-out. Turn-on. Tune-in

DROP-OUT - detach yourself from the external social drama which is as dehydrated and
ersatz as
TV.
TURN-ON - find a sacrament which returns you to the Temple of God, your own body. Go out
of
your mind. Get high.
TUNE-IN - be reborn. Drop-back-in to express it. Start a new sequence of behaviour that
reflects
your vision.
But the sequence must continue. You cannot stand still.
Death. Life. Structure.
D. L. S.
1245
D. L. S. D. L. S. D.
L. S. D. L. S. D. L.
S. D. L. S. D
Any action that is not a conscious expression of the Dropout-Turn-on-Tune-in-Drop-out rhythm
is
the dead posturing of robot actors on the fake-prop TV studio stage-set that is called American
Reality.
Actions which are conscious expressions of the Turn-on, Tune-in, Drop-out rhythm are reli-
gious.
The wise person devotes his life exclusively to the religious search - for therein is found the
only
ecstasy, the only meaning.
Anything else is a competitive quarrel over (or Hollywoodlove sharing of) television studio
props.

3. How to Turn-on

To Turn-on is to detach from the rigid addictive focus on the fake-prop TV studio-set and
to refocus
on the natural energies within the body.
To Turn-on you go out of your mind and:

Come to your senses - focus on sensory energies.

Resurrect your body - focus on somatic energies.
Drift down cellular memory tracks beyond the body’s space/time - focus on cellular energies.
Decode the genetic code.

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

Note well: at each of these levels (sensory, somatic, cellular, molecular) attention can be
directed at
energy changes within or without the body. If attention is directed externally during the
session, the
outside world is experienced in terms of a non-symbolic energy-language focus. Be careful!
This can
be shocking! The props of the TV studio stage-set are suddenly experienced:
1. As sensory (eg. the room is alive, out of control, exploding with light and sound.)
2. As somatic (eg. the room is alive, undulating with digestive rhythm.)
3. As cellular (e. g. all props and actors take on a stylised, mythic, re-incarnate hue.)
4. As molecular (e. g. all props and actors shimmer impersonally as vibratory mosaics.)
Recognition eliminates fear and confusion. To Turn-on you need maps and manuals.
To Turn-on you must learn how to pray. Prayer is the compass; the gyroscope for centring and
stillness.
Turning-on is a complex, demanding, frightening, confusing process. It requires diligent Yoga.
Turning-on requires a guide who can centre you at the TV-stage-prop level and at the sensory,
somatic, cellular, and molecular levels.
When you Turn-on remember: you are not a naughty boy, getting high for kicks.
You are a spiritual voyager furthering the most ancient, noble quest of man. When you Turn-on
you
1246
shed the fake-prop TV studio and costume and join the holy dance of the visionaries. You
leave LBJ
and Bob Hope; you join Lao Tse, Christ, Blake. Never underestimate the sacred meaning of
the
Turn-on.
To Turn-on you need a sacrament. A sacrament is a visible external thing which turns the key
to the
inner doors. A sacrament must bring about bodily changes. A sacrament flips you out of the
TV-
studio game and harnesses you to the two billion-year-old flow inside.
A sacrament which works is dangerous to the establishment which runs the fake-prop TV-studio
-
and to that part of your mind which is hooked to the studio game.
Each TV-prop society produces exactly that body-changing sacrament which will flip out the
mind of
the society.
Today the sacrament is LSD. New sacraments are coming along.
Sacraments wear out. They become part of the social TV studio game. Treasure LSD while it
still
works. In fifteen years it will be tame, socialised, and routine.

4. How to Tune-in

You cannot stay "turned-on" all the time. You cannot stay any place all the time. That’s
a law of
evolution. After the revelation it is necessary to drop-back-in, return to the fake-prop TV-studio
and
initiate small changes which reflect the glory and the meaning of the "turn-on". You change
the way
you move, the way you dress, and you change your corner of the TV-studio society! You begin
to
look like a happy saint! Your home slowly becomes a shrine. Slowly, gently, you start seed
transformations around you. Psychedelic art. Psychedelic style. Psychedelic music.
Psychedelic
dance.
Suddenly you discover you have dropped out.

5. How to Drop-out

Drop-out means exactly that: drop-out.

Most of the activity of most Americans goes into robot performances on the TV-studio stage.
Fake.
Unnatural. Automatic.
Drop-out means detach yourself from every TV drama which is not in the rhythm of the
Turn-on,
Tune-in, Dropout cycle.
Quit school. Quit your job. Don’t vote. Avoid all politics. Do not waste conscious thinking on
TV-
studio games. Political choices are meaningless.
To postpone the drop-out is to cop-out.
1247
Dismiss your fantasies of infiltrating the social stage-set game. Any control you have over
television
props is their control over you.
Dismiss the Judaic-Christian-Marxist-puritan-literary-existentialist suggestion that the drop-out
is
escape and that the conformist cop-out is reality. Dropping-out is the hardest yoga of all.
Make your drop-out invisible. No rebellion - please!

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

6. To Drop-out You Must Form Your Own Religion

The drop-out, turn-on, tune-in rhythm is most naturally done in small groups of family
members,
lovers, and seed friends.
For both psychedelic and legal reasons you must form your own cult.
The directors of the TV studio do not want you to live a religious life. They will apply every
pressure
(including prison) to keep you in their game.
Your own mind, which has been corrupted and neurologically damaged by years of education
in
fake-prop TV-studio games, will also keep you trapped in the game.
A group liberation cult is required.
You must form that most ancient and sacred of human structures - the clan. A clan or cult is a
small
group of human beings organised around a religious goal.
Remember, you are basically a primate. You are designed by the two-billion year blueprint to
live in
a small band.
You cannot accept the political or spiritual leadership of anyone you cannot touch, con-spire
(breathe) with, worship with, get high with.
Your clan must be centred around a shrine and a totem spiritual energy source. To the clan
you
dedicate your highest loyalty, and to you the clan offers its complete protection.
But the clan must be centred on religious goals. Religion means being tuned in to the natural
rhythm.
Religion is the turn-on, tune-in, drop-out process.
Because you and your clan-brothers are turned-on you will radiate energy. You will attract
attention
hostility from the TV establishment, enthusiastic interest from rootless TV actors who wish to
join
your clan. Everyone basically wants to turn-on tune-in, and drop-out.

Avoid conflict with the establishment. Avoid recruiting and rapid growth. Preserve clan
harmony.
Your clan must be limited to essence friends.
You must guard against the TV power tendency towards ex p a n s i o n.

1248
Your clan cannot become a mail-order, mass-numbers organisation.
The structure of your clan must be cellular.
The centre of your religion must be a private holy place.
The activities of your religion must be limited to the turn-on, tune-in, drop-out sequence.
Avoid
commitments to TV-studio power games.
You must start your own religion. You are GOD - but only you can discover and nurture your
divinity. No one can start your religion for you.
In particular, those Americans who use psychedelic chemicals-marijuana, peyote, LSD-must
appraise
their goals and games realistically. You smoke pot? Good. But why? As part of your personal-
ity
game? As part of the American TV studio perspective? To enhance your ego? As part of your
TV
role as hipster, sophisticate, rebel? Because it is the in-thing to do in your stage-set? Because
it is a
social-psychological habit? Good. Keep on. The "pot game" is a fascinating scenario to act
out; the
entertaining game of illicit kicks.
There is another way of viewing psychedelic drugs, including pot: from the perspective of
history.
For thousands of years the greatest artists, poets, philosophers, and lovers have used
consciousness-
expanding substances to turn-on tune-in drop-out. As part of the search for the meaning of
life. As
tools to reach new levels of awareness. To see beyond the immediate social game. For
revelation. For
light in the darkness of the long voyage.
Every great burst of activity has grown out of a psychedelic turn-on. The visionary then rushes
back
to tune-in, to pass on the message. A new art form. A new mode of expression. He turns
others one a
cult is formed. A new TV stage-set is designed - one that is closer to the family-clan-tribal cell
structure of our species.
Do you wish to use marijuana and LSD to get beyond the TV scenario? To enhance creativity?
As
catalysts to deepen wisdom?
If so, you will be helped by making explicit the religious nature of your psychedelic activities.
To
give meaning to your own script, to clarify your relationships with others, and to cope with
the
present legal set-up, you will do well to start your own religion.

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

7. How to Start Your Own Religion

1249
First decide with whom you will make the voyage of discovery. If you have a family,
certainly you
will include them. If you have close friends, you will certainly want to include them. The
question -
with whom do I league for spiritual discovery-is a fascinating exercise.
Next, sit down with your spiritual companions, and put on a page the plan for your trip. Write
down
and define your:
Goals
Roles
Rituals
Rules
Vocabulary
Values
Space/time locales
Mythic context
Here is an interesting exercise. You will learn a lot about yourself and your companions. You
will
see where you are and where you are not.
You will find it necessary to be explicit about the way your clan handles authority, responsibil-
ity,
sexual relations, money, economics, defence, communication.
In short - you are forming not only your own religion, but your own natural political unit. This
is
inevitable because the basic political unit is exactly the same as the basic spiritual grouping -
the
clan. Did you really believe that church was only where you went for an hour on Sunday
morning?
Make your clan unique. Do not slavishly copy the roles and language of other groups, The
beauty of
cellular life is that each unit is both so incredibly complexly similar, and also so unique. The
more
you understand the infinite complexity of life, the more you treasure both the similarities and
the
differences. But you have to be turned-on to see it. At the level of the studio-prop game, both
the
similarities and the differences are trivial.
- In defining the goal of your religion, you need not use conventional religious language. You
don’t
have to make your spiritual journey sound "religious". Religion cannot be pompous and
high-flown.
Religion is consciousness expansion, centred in the body and defined exactly the way it sounds
best
to you. Don’t be intimidated by Caesar’s Hollywood fake versions of religiosity. If life has a
meaning
for you beyond the TV-studio game, you are religious! Spell it out!
So write out your own language for the trip. "God" or "evolution", ”acid" or "sacrament",
"guide" or
"guru", "purgatorial redemption" or "bad trip", "mystic revelation" or ’ ’good high”. Say it
naturally.
1250
Develop your own rituals and costumes. "Robes" or ”grey flannel suits", "amulets" or "tattoos".
You
will eventually find yourself engaged in a series of sacred moments which feel right to you.
Step by step
all your actions
will take on a sacra
mental meaning.
Inevitably you will create a ritual sequence
for
each sense organ
and for each of the basic
energy ex
changes - eating, bathing, mating, etc.
You must be explicit about the space/time arrangement for your God-game. Each room in your
home
will contain a shrine. Your house will not be a TV actor’s dressing room but rather a spiritual
centre.
Regular rhythms of worship will emerge; daily meditation (turn-on) sessions (with or without
marijuana), and once a week or once a month you will devote a whole day to turning-on. Time
your
worship to the rhythm of the seasons, to the planetary calendar.
$pell out on paper explicit plan $ for handling financial interaction $. Money i $ a completely
irrational
focu $ for most We $terner $. As $oon a $ your clan members detach them $elve $ emotionally
from
money, you will discover how easy it is to survive economically. There must be a complete
and
collaborative pooling of money and work-energy. Any $elfi $h holding back of dollar $ or
muscular
energy will weaken the clan. Each clan, as it drops out of the American game, must al praise
its
resources and figure out how to barter with other groups. Each clan will develop its own
productivity.
Sexuality is the downfall of most religious cults. Clarity and honesty are necessary. Karmic
accidental differences exist in people’s sexual make-up. Basically, each man is made to mate
with
4

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

one woman. Heterosexual monogamous fidelity is the only natural way of sexual union.
However -
because this is the Kali Yuga, and because we live in the final stages of a sick society sexual
variations are inevitable.
Your mode of sexual union is the key to your religion. You cannot escape this. The way you
ball (or
avoid balling) is your central sacramental activity. The sexual proclivity of the clan must be
explicit
and inflexible. Do not attempt to establish clan relationships with persons of a different sexual
persuasion. There is no value judgement here. Sex is sacred. People of like sexual tempera-
ment must
1251
form their own spiritual cults. Homosexuality is not an illness. It is a religious way of life.
Homosexuals should accept their state as a religious path. Homosexuals cannot join hetero-
sexual
clans. Homosexuals should treasure, glorify, their own sexual yoga. Their right to pursue their
sacred
bodily yoga is guaranteed to them. Heterosexual clans can support, help, learn from, teach
homosexual clans - but the difference must be preserved - with mutual respect.
Some spiritual people are not compatible with the monogamous union and prefer a freer
sexual
regime, the group marriage. Good! Many tribes and clans throughout the planet have
flourished in
complete and holy promiscuity. But be explicit. Painful confusions occur if sexual orientations
and
sexual taboos (cellular and physical, not psychological or cultural) are disregarded in forming
clans.
Select clan members who share or complement your style, your way of tuning-in, your
temperament,
your sexual orientation.
The aim of clan living is to subordinate the ego-game to the family game - the clan game.
You will do well to have an explicit connection to a mythic figure. You must select an historical
psychedelic guide. You must know your mythic origins. Facts and news are reports from the
current
TV drama. They have no relevance to your 2-billion year old divinity. Myth is the report from
the
cellular memory bank. Myths humanise the recurrent themes of evolution.

You select a myth as a reminder that you are part of an ancient and holy process. You
select a myth
to guide you when you drop out of the narrow confines of the fake-prop studio-set.

Your mythic guide must be one who has solved the death-rebirth riddle. A TV drama
hero cannot
help you. Caesar, Napoleon, Kennedy are no help to your cellular orientation. Christ, Lao Tse,
Hermes Trismegistus, Socrates are recurrent turn-on figures.
You will find it absolutely necessary to leave the city. Urban living is spiritually suicidal. The
cities
of America are about to crumble as did Rome and Babylon. Go to the land. Go to the sea.
Psychedelic centres located in cities will serve as collecting areas. Thousands of spiritual
seekers are
coming to urban districts where they meet in meditation centres and psychedelic assembly
places. *
There they form their clans. They migrate from the city.

Psychedelic centres are rapidly springing up in metropolitan areas, and this tendency must be
encouraged. A simple format for a psychedelic enterprise may involve a shop-front with a
meditation
room in the rear. Numerous shops calling themselves ”psychedelic" are springing up through-
out the
country. This development is inevitable, but one should be sceptical about the spiritual nature
of such
1252
commercial enterprises unless they include a meditation room. Psychedelic businesses should
support
spiritual communities and provide centres for clan formation.

Unless you form your own new religion and devote an increasing amount of your ener-
gies to it, you
are (however exciting your personality TV role) a robot. Your new religion can be formed only
by
you. Do not wait for a Messiah. Do it yourself. Now.
The goals, roles, rules, rituals, values, language, space/ time locale, and mythic context of
your
religion must be put on paper for two reasons. One, to make the journey clear and explicit for
yourself and your clan members; and two, to deal with Caesar.
The relationship between Caesar and the God-seeker has always been uneasy. But the
boundaries of
the tension can be defined precisely, and, if you are clear in your mind, there can be no
confusion.
You can move with exactness and confidence.
Everything that exists outside your body and your shrine belongs to Caesar. Caesar has
constructed
the fake-prop studio for his "king-of -the-mountain" game, and he can have it. Highways,
property,
status, power, money, weapons, all things, all external man-made objects belong to him. The
spiritual
life is completely detached from these props. Obey Caesar s TV studio rules when you are in
his
studios. Avoid any participation in his dramas.
But remember, your body is the Kingdom of Heaven, and your home is the shrine in which the
5

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

Kingdom of Heaven is to be found. What you do inside your body, what energies you let
contact
your sense organs, and what you put into your body is your business. *
All you need do to protect the divinity of your body and the sanctity of your shrine is to be
explicit -
and to worship with dignity and courage.
Write down an eight-fold definition of your religion (goal, role, rule, ritual, value, language,
myth,
space/ time locale.) By doing so, you have formed your religion. The first Amendment to the
Constitution, the Charter of the U .N., and the ancient traditions of human history give you
protection
to alter your own consciousness inside your shrine.

YOU ARE GOD: REMEMBER!

If you take a psychedelic sacrament, leave your house, and commit a disorder on Cae-
sar’s streets, let
him arrest you for overt crime. But your right to turn-on in your home is sacred. You make
1253
your
home a shrine by writing it into the charter of your religion.
In writing your charter, you must specify where you will take the sacrament and with whom.
The
charter does not permit you to turn-on anywhere. You must respect the possessive claims of
Caesar
to his fake-front stage-sets. And you must also specify visible objects of worship which will be
found
in your shrine a statue of Buddha, a picture of Christ, a rock, a wooden carving. You choose,
but be
explicit.
Get your charter notarised, or mail it to yourself in a postmarked envelope. You have thereby
established, before possible conflict with Caesar’s police, your religion. These are the mini-
mum steps
required to protect your use of psychedelic drugs. If you don’t care enough to do this, you
don’t care
enough.
But further steps are preferable. It is highly advisable, and quite simple, to incorporate your
religion
under the laws of your state. Consult a lawyer- a psychedelic lawyer if possible. There are
thousands
of them around. How? Well he’ll be under the age of thirty. Your local ACLU would be a good
place
to start. Ask him to file incorporation papers which are standard and which every lawyer has
in
mimeographed outline.
Follow the simple steps necessary to complete the forms, and, in short order, you are a legally
incorporated religion. Your own sense of dignity and commitment to the spiritual life is
encouraged.
Your posture and confidence vis-a-vis Caesar’s Keystone Kops is immeasurably strengthened.
But you must play it straight. Don’t sign anything you aren’t going to live up to. On the other
hand,
leave room in your charter for easy revision of your religious practices. You are a young,
growing
religion. For God’s sake, don’t get caught in rigidities at the beginning.
Use psychedelic sacraments only in designated shrines and only with members of a
psychedelic
religion. If you are going to be naughty and smoke pot in the washroom of one of Caesar’s
stage-sets,
why that’s all right - but be clear; you waive your religious rights. Do what you will, but be
conscious
and don’t

If you take a psychedelic sacrament, leave your house, and commit a disorder on Cae-
sar’s streets, let
him arrest you for overt crime. But your right to turn-on in your home is sacred. You make
your
home a shrine by writing it into the charter of your religion.
In writing your charter, you must specify where you will take the sacrament and with whom.
The
1254
charter does not permit you to turn-on anywhere. You must respect the possessive claims of
Caesar
to his fake-front stage-sets. And you must also specify visible objects of worship which will be
found
in your shrine a statue of Buddha, a picture of Christ, a rock, a wooden carving. You choose,
but be
explicit.
Get your charter notarised, or mail it to yourself in a postmarked envelope. You have thereby
established, before possible conflict with Caesar’s police, your religion. These are the mini-
mum steps
required to protect your use of psychedelic drugs. If you don’t care enough to do this, you
don’t care
enough.
But further steps are preferable. It is highly advisable, and quite simple, to incorporate your
religion
under the laws of your state. Consult a lawyer- a psychedelic lawyer if possible. There are
thousands
of them around. How? Well he’ll be under the age of thirty. Your local ACLU would be a good
place
to start. Ask him to file incorporation papers which are standard and which every lawyer has
in
mimeographed outline.
Follow the simple steps necessary to complete the forms, and, in short order, you are a legally
incorporated religion. Your own sense of dignity and commitment to the spiritual life is
encouraged.
Your posture and confidence vis-a-vis Caesar’s Keystone Kops is immeasurably strengthened.
6

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

But you must play it straight. Don’t sign anything you aren’t going to live up to. On the other
hand,
leave room in your charter for easy revision of your religious practices. You are a young,
growing
religion. For God’s sake, don’t get caught in rigidities at the beginning.
Use psychedelic sacraments only in designated shrines and only with members of a
psychedelic
religion. If you are going to be naughty and smoke pot in the washroom of one of Caesar’s
stage-sets,
why that’s all right - but be clear; you waive your religious rights. Do what you will, but be
conscious
and don’t

the applicants. What a wonderful exercise! Thousands of groups of young Americans

will choose to
present and defend their new religions in the courts. What a beautiful forum for free debate
on the
values of marijuana as opposed to booze!
Thousands of jury members and hun eds of judges will be converted.
In all of these activities there is no hostility, no competition, no conflict with Caesar. Love and
humour are the means. The ends will follow.
1255
9. Dr. Leary. What Will Happen to Society After Everyone Turns-on, Tunes-in. and Drops-
out?

An interesting indication of the "miraculous" growth of the L.S.D. comes in the form of
the question:
"What will happen to society after everyone turns-on, tunes-in, and drops-out?"
At the surface, the question seems naive. Nowhere and never does everyone do the same
thing at the
same time. It’s all planned in cycles by the DNA Code. Organic changes occur gradually and
invisibly.
This question reflects the sudden panic of the TV bitplayer. What will happen to me if the
show goes
off the air? Will I lose my little part? What an incomparable tragedy if these cardboard studio
walls
were to fall down!
The emotional response to this game-terror is reassurance. Don’t worry. Your life begins when
your
TV game ends. Turn-on, tune-in, drop-out. Then you are free to walk out of the studio - a god
in the
Garden of Eden.
The intellectual answer to the question is infinitely complex, depending upon how much time
and
energy one can mobilise for utopian planning. The League has worked out detailed blueprints
for the
next cycle of man’s social evolution. Future manuals will be published by the League describ-
ing the
year-by-year unfolding,
In summary: be prepared for a complete change of American urban technology. Grass will
grow in
Times Square within ten years. The great soil-murdering lethal skyscrapers will come down.
Didn’t
you know they were stage-sets? Didn’t you know they had to come down? The transition will
come
either violently (by war) or gently, aesthetically, through a psychedelic drop-out process.
In any case, there is nothing for you to do in a collective political sense. Turn-on, tune-in,
drop-out.
Discover and nurture your own divinity and that of your friends and family members.
Centre on your clan and the natural order will prevail.

10. Illustrative Procedure for Formalising a Psychedelic Religion

In the following pages you will find a detailed illustration of the procedures for legalising
a religious
cult. These are the steps taken to formalise the League for Spiritual Discovery. All that is
required are
five or six friends, a hundred dollars, and a lawyer.

On August 21, 1966, fifteen persons met in the Castalia Foundation centre, Millbrook,
N.Y. to
1256
discuss the formation of a new religion.
The goals of the new religion were orthodox: the discovery of the God within and worship
through
acts of glorification. The sacramental methods for contacting the inner divinity included
psychedeliefoods and drugs marijuana, hashish, sacred mushrooms, peyote, LSD, etc.
The fifteen persons were friends who had lived together for various periods of time as part of
a
utopian-spiritual community (Castalia Foundation, ) and each person had had extensive
experience in
taking and administering psychedelic substances and in teaching psychedelic methods. Each
of these
persons had participated in several LSD sessions with every other member.
Also present at this meeting was our attorney who explained that the new religion could be
incorporated legally in the State of New York by following very simple procedures. The group
must
list its:
7

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

1. Name
2. Purposes
3. Membership requirements
4. Time and place of annual or quarterly corporate meetings
5. Voting procedures
6. Officers
7. Salaries
8. Committees
9. Dues
10. Procedures for amending by-laws

These ten issues were then discussed by the group, and a document summarising our
thinking was
turned over to the lawyer. The papers were filed with the secretary of State, and, in ten days,
the
League for Spiritual Discovery was legally incorporated. (It’s that easy!)
The simplicity of this procedure may be deceptive. It had taken six years of dedicated,
full-time
searching to assemble this group of fifteen. Hundreds of LSD sessions provided the screening
for this
group.
Once you have the people who share the goals, agree on the methods, and are willing to put
their
lives and fortunes on the line, the legal formalities are minimal.
We had selected the times of our quarterly corporate meetings to coincide with the solar clock
- the
four solstices. Thus it happened that at that time of terrestrial death and rebirth, the winter
solstice,
we assembled at the seed-ashram in Millbrook, New York for our first membership meeting.
Remember that the spiritual work of the League had continued from day to day as it has for
seven
1257
years. The turning-on, tuning-in, dropping-out process is hour to hour and the legal-
administrative
formalities are the least important ceremonies.

MINUTES OF THE FIRST MEMBERSHIP MEETING OF THE

LEAGUE FOR SPIRITUAL DISCOVERY

(The outline of this document follows the mimeographed form provided by our attorney.
)

Minutes of the first membership meeting of the League for Spiritual Discovery held at
the Castalia
Foundation Centre in the Village of Millbrook, Town of Washington
County of Dutchess , State of New York on the 21st day of December , 1966

The meeting was called to order by Timothy Leary, acting Chairman of the organisation,
who
explained that the incorporators of this organisation had met on the 21st day of August, 1966
and had
elected as temporary officers of this organisation the following:

Acting President: Timothy Leary

Acting Secretary: Narayana

He then explained the purposes for which this meeting was called and asked the secre-
tary to read the
Certificate of Incorporation of this organisation as it had been filed in the Office of the Secretary
of
State.

After the secretary had complied with the request, a motion was duly made and carried
that the
secretary be directed to spread a copy of such certificates at length upon the minutes of this
meeting
and that a copy of the receipt issued by the Office of the Secretary of State be affixed to the
minutes
of this meeting.

The Chairman then stated to the meeting that at the meeting of the incorporators, the
following were
appointed to draw up and submit to this meeting a set of proposed By-Laws to be used by this
organisation.

Tanmoy
Narayana
Gita

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

1258
Tanmoy had been selected as Chairman of that committee, and the Chairman then requested
him to
submit the proposed By-Laws to this organisation for approval.

The same was then taken up, read, and considered clause by clause and finally adopted
by this
meeting as the By-Laws of the organisation. After the vote had been taken and the By-Laws
adopted,
a motion was duly made and carried that the secretary spread a copy of the By-Laws at length
upon
the minutes of this meeting.

The said By-Laws are as follows:

By-Laws
Of
LEAGUE FOR SPIRITUAL DISCOVERY

Article One.

Organisation.

1) The name of this organisation shall be League for Spiritual Discovery.

2) The organisation shall have a seal which shall be in the following form:

3) The organisation may at its pleasure by a majority vote of the membership body change its
name.

Article Two.

Purposes .

The following are the purposes for which this organisation has been formed.

The League for Spiritual Discovery has three purposes (a) individual worship of the Supreme
Energy
- God; (b) communal worship of the Supreme Energy - God; and (c) public worship of the
Supreme
Energy -God. These three forms of worship based on revelation and empirically validated
methods
for spiritual discovery.

(a) Individual Worship - We league together to help each member discover the divinity
within by
means of sacred teachings, self-analysis, psychedelic sacraments, and spiritual methods and
then to
express this revelation in an external life of harmony and beauty. We pledge ourselves to help
each
member to devote his entire consciousness and all his behaviour to the glorification of God.
1259
Complete dedication to the life of worship is our aim, as exemplified in the motto "Turn-on,
Tune-in,
Drop-out".

(b) Communal Worship - We league together to maintain League Centres (Ashrams; monastic
centres) where renunciates (ie. "drop-outs" - those who take a vow to abandon secular
activities for a
specified length of tin ) will live a communal life of worship and glorification. The community
serves to facilitate individual illumination and to liberate and channel spiritual energies to
accomplish
the evangelic and public mission of the League.

(c) Illumination of the Human Race - We league together to inform, teach, guide, liber-
ate, and
illuminate other human beings so that they can be initiated into a life of glorification and
worship.
We are concerned that modern civilisation (as exemplified in American culture) is becoming
insane,
destructive, warlike, materialistic, atheistic-a meaningless set of repetitious robot responses.
We seek
to return man to a life of harmony with his own divinity - with his mate and family, with his
fellow
human beings, and with the other natural energies - organic and inorganic - of this planet. A
complete
and rapid evolution of society is intended. Public celebrations will be held, and League offices
will
be established in cities in this country and throughout the world. The League will assist in
every way
other groups of seekers to form their own religious cults and their own ashrams.

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

Article Three
Membership

The League for Spiritual Discovery defines three orders of worshippers:

1) League Guides - Renunciates ("drop-outs") - initiates who live in League ashrams and
devote all
their time and energies to the spiritual life and its outward manifestations. Guides teach and
prepare
League Associates for initiation and distribute the sacrament to members.

2) League Associates - Persons who have been initiated by a Guide and who regularly
practice the
sacramental and disciplined meditative methods in shrines in their homes.

3) League Friends - Persons who participate in the spiritual functions of the League and
1260
who have
been accepted for formal spiritual training, but who have not been initiated and who do not
have
sanctified shrines in their homes. Prospective Associates must be nominated by two Guides,
fill out
an application form, and submit it to the Initiation Committee. Upon the unanimous approval
of the
Initiation Committee, the prospective Associate is initiated in his shrine by two Guides. After
initiation the new Associate signs the Associate Card.

In the case that any violation of the Associate agreement is brought to the attention of
the Board of
Guides, the Associate in question will be notified in writing to meet with the Initiation Commit-
tee
within thirty (30) days. If a majority of the Initiation; Committee finds the Associate in actual
violation of his pledge, his membership will be suspended until the next quarterly meeting of
the
Board of Guides. The Board of Guides is authorised to continue suspension of membership at
its
discretion.

Any Associate of the League can become a Guide by dropping out of his secular activi-
ties and
moving to a League ashram as a full-time worker-resident. It is expected that Associates who
become
Guides will remain in residence until the next solstice meeting (21st of December, March, June,
and
September). Each Guide is thus self-selected. During his residence, the discipline of the
Ashram is
set down by the Board of Guides and the Ashram Director.

Article Four
Meetings.

The annual meeting of the League of Guides shall be held on the 21st day of December
each and
every year except if such day be a legal holiday. Then and in that event the Board of Guides
shall fix
the day but it shall not be more than two weeks from the date fixed by these By-Laws.
The Secretary shall cause to be mailed to every Guide in good standing at his address as it
appears in
the membership roll book of this organisation a notice telling the time and place of such
annual
meeting.
Regular meetings of the League of Guides shall be held at the Seed Centre, Millbrook, New York.

The presence of not less than one-half of the League of Guides shall constitute a quo-
rum and shall be
necessary to conduct the business of this organisation; but a lesser number may adjourn the
meeting
1261
for a period of not more than two weeks from the date scheduled by these By-Laws, and the
Secretary shall cc Ise a notice of this scheduled meeting to be sent to all those Guides who
were not
present at the meeting originally called. A quorum as hereinbefore set forth shall be required
at any
adjourned meeting .

Special meetings of the League of Guides may be called by the President when he deems it
for the
best interest of the organisation. Notices of such meetings shall be mailed to all members at
their
addresses as they appear in the membership roll book at least 14 but not more than 30 days
before the
scheduled date set for such special meeting. Such notice shall state the reasons that such
meeting has
been called, the business to be transacted at such meeting, and by whom called.
At the request of two members of the Board of Guides or four members of the League, -the
First
Guide shall cause a special meeting to be called, but such request must be made in writing at
least 14
days before the requested special date.

10

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

No other business but that specified in the notice may be transacted at such special meeting
without
the unanimous consent of all present at such meeting.

Article Five.

Voting.

At all meetings, except for the election of officers and directors, all votes shall be viva
voice, except
that for election of officers ballots shall be provided, and there shall not appear any place on
such
ballot any mark or marking that might tend to indicate the person who cast such ballot.

At any regular or special meeting if a majority so requires, any question may be voted
upon in the
manner and style provided for election of officers and directors.

At all votes by ballot, the chairman of such meeting shall immediately prior to the com-
mencement of
balloting, appoint a committee of three who shall act as "Inspectors d Election" and who shall,
at the
conclusion of such balloting, certify in writing to the chairman the results, and the certified
copy shall
be physically affixed in the minute book to the minutes of that meeting.
1262
No Inspector of Election shall be a candidate for office or shall be personally interested
in the
question voted upon.

Article Six.

Order of Business.

1 -Roll call.
2 -Reading of the minutes of the preceding meeting.
3 - Reports of committees.
4 - Reports of officers.
5 - Old and unfinished business.
6 - New business.
7 - Good and welfare.
8 - Adjournments.

Article Seven

Board of Guides.

The business of this organisation shall be managed by a Board of Guides consisting of

nine members
together with the officers of this organisation. At least one of the directors elected shall be a
resident
of the State of New York and a citizen of the United States .
The Board of Guides to be chosen for the ensuing year shall be chosen at the annual meeting
of this
organisation in the same manner and style as the officers of this organisation and they shall
serve for
a term of one year.

The Board of Guides shall have the control and management of the affairs and business
of this
organisation. Such Board of Guides shall only act in the name of the organisation when it shall
be
regularly convened by its chairman after due notice to all the directors of such meeting.
The Board of Guides authorises and directs all activities of the L.S.D.- spiritual, legal, and
financial.
The Board of Guides is specifically authorised to rent, buy, sell property and equipment related
to the
League, to raise money, sponsor lectures, conduct religious ceremonies where donations are
offered,
publish books, make records, films, slides, meditation machines and other devices for produc-
ing
psychedelic experiences; and to distribute, advertise and receive payment for these devices
and
published works, run educational programs, workshops, retreats. The League for Spiritual
Discovery
1263
and its members are not authorised to charge fees for counselling or individual spiritual
guidance.

11

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

Article Eight.

Officers .

The officers of this organisation shall be as follows:

President
Vice President (First Guide)
Secretary
Treasurer

The President shall preside at all membership meetings.

He shall, by virtue of his office, be chairman of the Board of Directors.
He shall present at each annual meeting of the organisation an annual report of the works of
the
organisation.
He shall appoint all committees, temporary or permanent.
He shall see mat all books, reports, and certificates as required by law are properly kept or
filed.
He shall be one of the officers who may sign the checks or drafts of the organisation.
He shall have such powers as may be reasonably construed as belonging to the chief executive
of any
organisation.

The First Guide shall, in the event of the absence or inability of the President to exer-
cise his office,
form a three-man committee to execute the duties of the president of the organisation with
all the
rights, privileges, and powers as if they had been the collectively elected president.

The Secretary shall keep the minutes and records of the organisation in appropriate books.
It shall be his duty to file any certificates required by any statute, federal or state.
He shall give and serve all notices to members of this organisation.
He shall be the official custodian of the records and seal of this organisation.
He may be one of the officers required to sign the checks and drafts of the organisation.
He shall present to the membership at any meetings and communication addressed to him as
Secretary of the organisation.
He shall submit to the Board of Guides any communications which shall be addressed to him
as
Secretary of the organisation.
He shall attend to all correspondence of the organisation and shall exercise all duties incident
to the
office of secretary.
1264
The Treasurer shall have the care and custody of all monies belonging to the organisa-
tion and shall
be solely responsible for such monies or securities of the organisation.

Article Twelve.
Amendments.
These By-Laws may be altered, amended, repealed, or added to by an affirmative vote of not
less
than half of the members present at a quarterly meeting.
**************************************************
The Chairman then stated that nominations for officers were in order. The following were
nominated:
For President: Timothy Leary
For Vice President: Beorn, Tambimuttu, and Boreas
For Secretary: Narayana
For Treasurer: Gita
The Chairman then appointed Messrs. Merlin, Beorn, and Marl as Inspectors of Election for
this
election.
They distributed blank ballots and requested that each member write the name of his candi-
date for
office on such sheet and deposit it in the receptacle provided.
After each member had cast his vote, the Chairman declared the polls closed. The Inspectors
retired
to canvass the vote.
The Inspectors of Election then notified the Chairman that the canvass of the ballots had been
completed and that they were ready to certify as to the results.
12

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

Mr. Merlin, who had been chosen as Chairman of the Inspectors, announced the following
elected for
the ensuing year as officers of this organisation:
President: Timothy Leary
Vice Presidents: Beorn, Tambimuttu, and Boreas
Secretary: Narayana
Treasurer: Gita
The Chairman then announced that nominations for the Board of Guides were in order. The
following were nominated:
Timothy Leary
Rose
Gita
Narayana
Tambimuttu
Amitabha
Beorn
Bhavani
Boreas
The Inspectors distributed the ballots requesting that each member write in the names of the
1265
Guides
for the next ensuing year and to deposit such ballot in the receptacle provided.
After each member had cast his ballot, the Chairman declared the polls closed. The Inspectors
retired
to canvass the vote.
The Inspectors then notified the Chairman that the canvass of the ballots had been completed
and that
they were ready to certify as to the results. Mr. Merlin, who had been chosen as Chairman of
the
Inspectors, announced the following elected as Guides for the ensuing term:

Timothy Leary
Rose
Gita
Narayana
Tambimuttu
Amitabha
Beorn
Bhavani
Boreas
Mr. Timothy Leary, the acting chairman, then thanked the members for their cooperation and
asked
Mr. Timothy Leary, the duly elected President, to assume the chair.
Mr. Timothy Leary, the President, took over the chair for the balance of the meeting. He
requested
the rest of the elected officers to take their regular places.
There being no further business, the meeting was adjourned on motion.
Respectfully submitted,
Narayana
Dated, December 21, 1966
************************
(Immediately after the annual membership meeting was adjourned, a meeting of the Board of
Guides
was held. This meeting was open to all Guides, Associates, and Friends.)
MINUTES OF THE FIRST MEETING OF THE BOARD OF GUIDES
Minutes of the first meeting of the Board of Guides of the League for Spiritual Discovery held
at The
Seed Ashram in the Village of Millbrook , Town of Washington, County of Dutchess State of
New
York , Date: December 21, 1966
There were present the following:
Timothy Leary
Rose
Gita
Narayaaa
Tambimuttu
Amitabha
Beorn
Bhavani
Boreas
1266
13

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

Being the duly elected Guides of the League for Spiritual Discovery elected at the annual
meeting of
the organisation.
Mr. Timothy Leary, by virtue of his office as President, assumed the Chairmanship of the Board.
He
called the meeting to order and stated the purposes thereof. He explained, pursuant to the
By-Laws of
the organisation, that it would be necessary to elect a Secretary. Narayana was duly elected
Secretary
of the Board.

On motion duly made and carried, the following resolution was unanimously adopted:
The following committees and their members were approved:
ASHRAM COMMITTEE
Bhavani - Chairman
Rose
Boreas
Beorn
PUBLICATIONS COMMITTEE
Diane - Chairman
Karmananda
CELEBRATIONS COMMITTEE
Merlin - Chairman
Berle
Michael
INITIATION COMMITTEE
Narayana - Chairman
Bhavani
Rose
Beorn
Amitabha
The following resolutions were duly made, seconded, and approved unanimously by the Board
of
Guides:
A motion was made by Gita and seconded by Adishkati that Psychedelic Religious Celebrations
be
conducted in Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle during the months of January
and
February, 1967.
A motion was made by Boreas and seconded by Narayana that the League for Spiritual
Discovery
engage the services of Hitchcock-Balding Productions Ltd. to handle public business of the
League
for a fee of 15 % of all monies accrued from radio, television, movies, and recording activities
(excepting literary publications.)
A motion was made by Boreas and seconded by Amitabha that the Board of Guides authorise
the
1267
League to run weekly Celebrations in New York City for evangelic and educational purposes.
Timothy Leary made a motion, seconded by Amitabha, that the League be authorised to print
and
circulate "God Carols" for racial harmony and East-West re-union.
A motion was made by Gita and seconded by Beorn that the League be authorised to hire
lawyers to
handle the affairs of the League.
A motion was made by Rose and seconded by Bhavani that the League be authorised to
conduct a
penitential crusade to the East in 1967-68.
A motion was made by Bhavani and seconded by Tambimuttu that the League be authorised
to enter
into negotiations for the planning and conducting of psychedelic Religious Celebrations in
cities of
Europe during the spring and summer of 1967.

A motion was made by Tambimuttu and seconded by Beorn that the League publish a
magazine
under the auspices of the Publications Committee.

A motion was made by Gita and seconded by Narayana the Ashram Committee be au-
thorised to
purchase supplies for the seed centre.
A motion was made by Narayana and seconded by Amitabha that the League accept liabilities
and
assets of the Castalia Foundation as of December 31, 1966.
A motion was made by Boreas and seconded by Amitabha that the League accept from the
Castalia
Foundation ownership and all royalties from the following books:
14

Timothy Leary START YOUR OWN RELIGION

Psychedelic Experience
Psychedelic Reader
Psychedelic Prayers and an untitled history of the Psychedelic Religion, by Timothy Leary.
A motion was made by Beorn and seconded by Bhavani that the League accept from the
Castalia
Foundation ownership and royalties of all phonograph records by Timothy Leary and Ralph
Metzuer
published by Folkways, Capitol Records, ESP, and Pixie.
A motion was made by Narayana and seconded by Gita that the League authorise Timothy
Leary to
sign contracts with Mr. Hank Saperstein to make a movie of the psychedelic Religious
Celebration
”Death of the Mind".
A motion was made by Narayana and seconded by Rose that the League authorise its attorney
to file
for tax exempt status with the U. S. Internal Revenue Department.
A motion was made by Gita and seconded by Narayana that the League establish an experi-
mental
1268
agricultural station, under the direction of Beorn, to develop methods of natural and harmonic
relationship with the biosphere and that funds be allocated to this ancient and noble end.
A motion was made by Boreas and seconded by Narayana that the League authorise its lawyer
to
take steps to have the land of the Hitchcock Cattle Farm declared a wildlife sanctuary.
A motion was made by Beorn and seconded by Bhavani that the Hitchcock farm, in the Town
of
Washington, Village of Millbrook is, and shall he until further notice, a sanctuary for all living
things: and that all this land be considered a spiritual shrine of the League for Spiritual
Discovery;
that it be understood that this property is sanctified for League Guides and Associates; and
that the
League does not claim responsibility for non-League persons on this property.
A motion was made by Rose and seconded by Beorn that the League request from the
Hitchcock
Cattle Corporation that the western one-half of the farm be deeded to the League for Spiritual
Discovery as a spiritual retreat.
A motion was made by Gita and seconded by Narayana that the League’s attorney be autho-
rised to
file suit for a declaratory judgement authorising Guides (priests) to import and distribute
psychedelic
sacraments, including marijuana, LSD, peyote, mescaline, and psilocybin, to initiated mem-
bers only
and for use only in their shrines.
A motion was made by Gita and seconded by Rose that bank accounts be opened by the
Treasurer in
the Bank of Millbrook.
A motion was made by Bhavani and seconded by Amitabha that the League open a New York
Centre
to be located at 551 Hudson Street, New York, N.Y. for educational work.
A motion was made by Rose and seconded by Beorn that the following statement about
League
procedures be distributed to prospective members: Every person who wishes to join the
League is
asked to fill out an application form which lists the location of his shrine and the visible form
of
worship he selects. This form will be filed with the League attorney. Any membership lists
kept
outside the
lawyer’s office will show only the code name of the member. The League code name of each
member
will be his devotional object or his personal concept of divinity. The League imposes no ritual
structure or standardised form of worship on its members. Any member can change his
devotional
form or the location of his shrine by notifying the League attorney. The decision as to which
psychedelic chemicals will be considered sacraments for use by the League is to be made by
the
Board of Guides in consultation with the League attorney.
The goal of the Millbrook community is to return to a tribal way of life and to develop a model
or
1269
pilot study of that ancient spiritual political form, the cult, which is more "in tune" with man’s
evolutionary history.
On motion duly made and carried, it was decided that meetings of the Board of Guides be
held on the
21st day of December, March, June, and September.
There being no further business, the group participated in a silent meditation after which the
meeting
was adjourned.

Respectfully submitted,

Narayana

1. http://http//www.subtledensity.com/start_your_own_religion_leary.pdf

9.5 May

The Salesman of 10,000 Emotions (2010-05-03 02:00) - public

There is a torrential bombardment of stabbing neon need,

every corner a screen, an advertisement tugging at my attention.

The line of logic developed by the advertisers is that, perhaps if they get louder, my will
will get quieter,
breaking me fully until all I have, wallet and all, is theirs.

Sadly, this same line of logic has been mostly adopted into the typical American conver-
sation as well.
Loud is win. Speak over to dominate the competition.
In this view, listening is essentially a kind of lowly submission - a sign of defeat.
Active listening useful, perhaps, only in finding the Achille’s Heel of the opponent’s message.

I want no part of this.

I have no desire to raise my voice or rage through a match of volume.
What unnecessary product or hollow idea are you trying to sell me again?
How about I save you your vocal cords and simply not open the door,
my phone is now on silent, you may shout at my machine if you wish.
I will not hear it.

The most successful salesman will always be the one who comes to truly believe in the
worth of his product. In this way, the most convincing of salesmen will be the one who learns
to believe his own lies - his enthusiasm approaches that of true genuineness. Yet this is not
true genuineness - he has not learned truth, but rather learned to ignore his own falsehood. If,
by some great feat of self-deception, his ignorance can become completely opaque, than his
falsehood will be hidden from his customers as fully as it is from himself.

I think of Maya as this same pattern of self-deception, coiled within this pattern of self-
deception, coiled within this pattern of self-deception, coiled eternally as theater stage behind
1270
theater stage, back through mask upon mask to that first moment we saw that we are seen.
There is something powerful that happened at that moment when we realized that, not only
do we see mother, but are also seen by her. In that realization came the definition of our
division from her, the distance that defined my point of consciousness from hers, my view of
her body and her view of my body; separated. This sudden reflection of awareness back onto
ourselves was the birth of ego, the birth of the social self and its self-consciousness, in all the
multitudinous blooming of identity’s memory, ranging from the grotesque to the transcendent,
through the recorded history of man and culture.

So, Sell me no more?

Perhaps I was a bit rash.
Sure, come in, tell me what it does...
and I will do what I can.

edensgray (2010-05-06 13:56:36)

beautiful...

(2010-05-05 13:22) - public

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

(2010-05-06 01:26) - public

Whose dry island can be found through this mad storming resevoir of infants. Would He have
it no other way?

Kaleb Smith - Autobiography (2010-05-06 16:03) - public

Autobiography of Kaleb Smith

My Roots
I was born in the small town of Ishpeming, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. 12 pounds, 4 ounces,
I was delivered at 10:42 PM on Saturday, December 4th, 1981 in the fraternity ward of Ishpem-
ing’s Bell Memorial Hospital by Dr. James Tobin, the town’s mayor, gynecologist, and a good
man, still considered a friend to my family. He delivered me through a horrendous snow storm,
one of the worst blizzards the UP saw that year.
The Upper Peninsula was truly one of the last frontiers of our country, mostly unsettled and
untouched up through to even the mid 1800’s. When vast mineral deposits were discovered
in the area during that time, the UP experienced a population boom as great tracts of road and
rail were carved through the hundreds of miles of dense virgin forests, into areas far and away
from the Great Lakes, where even the Native Americans had not yet explored. This land was
divided broadly between the Copper Country, and the Iron Country. Ishpeming was a central
hub of Iron Country, between the towns of Iron River and Iron Mountain. It is a word of the
1271
Anishinaabe Indians meaning “to see from above” or, from the localized Ojibwe dialect, “the
higher plane,” or “Heaven.”
I am half Finn, with a high Swedish remainder, and carry that blood behind the characteris-
tic pasty white skin and blue eyes. My Finnish roots are deeply spiritual. My grandmother’s
grandmother, a Lapplander of the northern regions of the old country, was the village witch. A
hyper-sensitive outcast, feared by the other villagers, she none-the-less was who they would
rush to when illness struck, in need of healing or spiritual assistance. Entering a trance state,
my shaman grandmother would request assistance from the unseen in order to see and van-
quish unhealthy energies from the body. She also employed less-universal healing practices,
such as blood cupping and sauna purification, as was (and to some degree still is) standard
folk medical practice in rural regions of the Lapplands and certain areas of Northern Michigan.
Like my mother, I can feel this rich spiritual history of my ancestry within me, and its sensitivity
to the unseen has manifested in many often overwhelming ways, in both my personality and
experience of the world.
I came to live a unique and spiritual life, growing up as an only child at the end of a long dirt road
in the isolated forests of northern Michigan, in “Heaven.” And, yes, there truly is something
heavenly about living in such a place, surrounded by the power and majesty of mother nature,
in her unbroken, unyielding form.
I learned to respect the mysteries of the forest while coming to know her as a companion and
protector, through the sparkle-eyed explorations of youthful solitude, in its boundless curiosity.
I must admit, first and foremost, that I am that land, that that forest is me. That is to say, I am
a product of my surroundings, and its people are my people. It is said that, outside of iron ore,
the UP’s greatest export is creativity. There is something about growing up and developing
alone at the end of a 5 mile long dirt road in the forest that creates a highly-inventive and
original personality type. I have seen this in the artists and musicians of my region, whose
highly-individualized and distinctive
creative “scene,” and its output, could seemingly not have come from anywhere else.
My Early Life
I woke early each morning and rode my bike up the school hill, out of the valley, through the
old forest trail to the century old National Mine Middle School. On the narrow red dirt trail, I
would pass the old town hospital and, on the opposite side, the miner’s movie theater – now
only mossy bricks surrounding a hidden foundation, long reclaimed by the trees and grass.
In the springtime, I would ride through the snow-fed streams that would flow down from the
mountains to flood the trail, being careful not to get my good school clothes wet.
In high school, I became known for my unconventional thinking, unusual sense of humor and, in
general, for an intensely-attentive class presence. I took strange pride in my ability to generate
immediate interest in a lecture by asking a single concise question, learning that there are few
things more contagious than honest curiosity. I came to love watching my question filter and
reflect through all of the other students in the room, genuine inquisitiveness rippling outwards
in so many raised hands, from that single point of voiced personal interest.
I maintained an honor roll status throughout, seemingly without effort on my part. I chalk this
up that ability to generate a genuine personal interest in almost any topic. This interest I create
carries my full attention. Unlike so many of the other students I observed, I had always had
trouble ignoring the teacher. When someone is talking to me, even indirectly, I must listen!
Active listening, with open eyes, ears, and mind, meant that teachers DID tend to talk directly
1272
to me in class; looking and speaking to the me, the only person in the room who was returning
their gaze.
I received recognition for my ability to write and speak during these years at Westwood High.
I was honored when a senior faculty member of the English department told me I was the best
writer she had encountered in her 22 years as a teacher at the school. In my senior year, I
wrote and submitted an
entry to the Voices of Democracy audio-essay contest. I was surprised when my little rant about
the future of America won 1st place at the county competition, and then again at the district,
and again at the regional. Seemingly out of nowhere, my little scrap of paper was being sent
to the capital of Michigan, where I was invited on an all-expenses paid trip with my family to
compete with schools from around the state – schools who devoted whole classes of instruction
on how to win this single competition. They knew all the secrets, what the judges looked
for. And, sadly, I did not. My little hurried rant came in 6th Place. But, from the unexpected
buoyancy that single piece of paper seemed to carry, I began to learn the power of honesty in
writing.
College And Beyond
In my first year at Northern Michigan University, in 2000, I began a period of deeply-
transformative introspection. I came to question my true Identity, and the subtle limits of
the social identity, ego. So constantly and deeply did I consider duality, depth, and image,
that there came a point of realization: opinion, itself, is attachment and transcendence implies
seeing something while not seeing any-thing, that is, to encounter the world as an infant does,
without semantic distinction. I came to realize meditation as the gateway to the wisdom of
death, itself, and that by concentrating awareness inwardly, away from physicality and sensa-
tion, we are essentially focusing on all which will remain when those bodily senses eventually
fail and are abandoned.
During 2001, I released my first album of experimental electro-acoustic music, a concept
album entitled “The Organization Is Organic,” based on my understanding of evolution in terms
of concentric bands, each representing a scale of organized consciousness. Later that year, I
formally named and opened my first business, Fluid Mechanic Studios. In the months that
followed, I would invest over $10,000 into equipment, software, and electronics needed
for professional audio and video production. In the process, I came to know the most creative
and talented artists and musicians of the Upper Peninsula, many as both clients and friends.
In 2002, I transferred to Michigan State University, a more reputable school with the “Big 10”
status I was convinced future employers would look for. I thrived in this new environment, sud-
denly surrounded by so many brilliant minds from around the country. It was during the winter
of 2003, however, that my understanding of the world was changed forever. Phenomena un-
like any I had encountered in my life, interactions both powerful and meaningful, began and
continued to occur up through my 24th year. It was in the slow process of attempting to ratio-
nalize these extraordinary experiences that I initially began my formal study of the out-of-body
experience and demonic possession, under MSU’s professor of shamanism, anthropologist Dr.
Robert McKinley.
It was a period of remarkable intensity, and my writing of that time remains some of the
strongest and farthest-reaching I have ever created. In rationalizing the subtle energetic phe-
nomenon, I realized awareness to be analogous to that of a radio dial, one whose atunement
is both dynamic and measurable as it lowers through the bands of consciousness each night,
in sleep. Key to this conception was the understanding
1273
that consciousness is not bound to merely the visible spectrum, but extends both above and be-
low our narrow band of physical awareness. It is merely man, in his typical ego-centric fashion,
to assume his awareness constitutes ALL intelligent awareness, and that the electromagnetic
spectrum revolves solely around him.
Those intense spiritual experiences, which peaked during that 24th year of my life, also inspired
other facets of self-directed study, which have since developed into a more extensive under-
standing of the power of attention, the nature of consciousness, and the influence of subtle
energetic systems.
My development and further exploration of these understandings of consciousness became
so passionate as to influence and, eventually, take presidence over all other pursuits in my
life. I abandoned my job as a television producer and began new work as a counselor at Pine
Rest Hospital, a mental health facility in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Here I worked one-on-one
with patients with a wide range of mental disorders; speaking and caring for many seemingly-
normal, honest, and good-natured people who had been deemed “disturbed.” I became the
personal favorite of so many patients for my ability to actively listen, and the often profound
resolutions reached in the group therapy sessions I led. In moments of conflict, which often
escalated to physical confrontation, it was said my calm, soft voice was “magic.” Like so
many things, I found a quiet, reasonable tone of voice to be contagious and that, after a few
sympathetic words, even the angriest patient would become open to discussing the conflict.
[1]

1274
Genogram: And All Which Those Roots May Carry
Finland and Sweden
In organizing my genetic background into a fan shape representing 3 generations of offspring,
one can begin to see patterns of character traits which ripple outwards across the lineage.
Some traits dominate, as if to surface into carnation as the crest of a ripple, while others
recede beneath the surface, unseen as the trough of that same trait’s rippling movement.
What makes itself painfully apparent is just how little I know about my own family, my lineage,
and my heritage – so many names on the tree are just that: names, nothing more. I do not
know their person, their story, their strengths, their fears. A name and a date, maybe two; this
is all that remains of their identity, as far as I know.
When creating this culturally-divided genogram, one side Finnish/one side Swedish, I spent a
lot of time simply pouring over the names and dates that I had before me. Thanks to my aunt
Nelly, I had a lot of data on my Swedish roots, extending far back into the 1700’s and the
counties dividing Aland Island, a Finnish owned, Swedish inhabited chain of islands which, in
many ways, culturally represents the animosity which has historically existed between Sweden
and Finland.

“The
Åland
Islands
(Swedish pronunciation: [‘o land]; Finnish: Ahvenanmaa) form an archipelago in the
Baltic Sea
. They are situated at the entrance to the Gulf of Bothnia and form an autonomous,
demilitarized, monolingually Swedish-speaking region and historical
province
of
Finland
.”

[2]

[3]

[4] Flag

[5] Coat of arms

1275
 [6]Motto: "Islands of Peace"[7][1] [8]Anthem: [9]Ålänningens sång

My father’s grandfather, when hearing of his grandson’s coming marriage to a Finnish girl of
the family name “Maki,” became outraged saying “No grandson of mine will EVER marry a dirty
Finn! I won’t stand for it!” Yet, upon meeting my mother, who by nature is quite personable
and friendly, Grandpa Nordquist was immediately won over, saying “Finns are usually so dirty
and stupid – but this one here I like. She is quite a wonderful woman! Good job, Ted!”
It must be said that that animosity which existed between the two sides of my bloodline was not
formed without reason. I suspect the Finns have always held a grudge about being enslaved
for those centuries. Swedish Vikings traveled East into Finland and Russia (the name Russia
coming from the name of this Vikings - the Rus, the word Slave coming from Slav) and were
known to have traded extensively in slaves. Slaves also came from Germanic, British and other
northern European tribes, and were sometimes sold to Arab and Jewish traders, who in turn
traded them further afield.
The Swedish witch trials held over indigenous Finnish shamans also surely fanned the flames
of the disposition between the two nations. Stories of traditional spiritual healers of the Lapp-
lands, like my grandmother’s grandmother Elsa Rusanen, being driven from their homes, their
belongings burnt by the newly-Christianized and righteous Swedes and their imposed racially-
tinged legislation barring the “evils” of such traditional Finnish shamanic practices. In more
than one respect, these Swedish witch trials mirrored America’s own – the paranoid mob-driven
madness of Salem, Massachusetts, for instance. During these raids of the
Lapplands, it is said many Finns would bring their most cherished spiritual heirloom, their drum,
and hide it far off in the swamps outside the village, where it would not be found, remaining
safe from the Swede’s fires.
Points of Interest
My paternal great grandfather, Edward Smith, was not born a Smith. The story goes that he
and 2 brothers had a different name in the old country. One of these 3 brothers got tied in
with the mafia, owed some money, and was unable to repay. The mafia mobsters killed the
brother’s entire family while he was away at work. Returning, finding his family slaughtered,
he went to his two brothers to discuss the details of their revenge. As it is told in my family,
the three brothers systematically killed each of the men who had killed their sibling’s wife and
children and then fled on a steamboat to Canada. Arriving in Canada, it was decided the only
way to ensure the safety of each brother from the mafia who intended to murder them all was
for each brother to change his name and travel in a different direction – essentially agreeing
never to see or speak to eachother again. My father’s grandfather, Edward, changed his name
to the quite common name of Smith and settled in the town of Cedarville, Michigan in the
United States. The chosen name and location of the other two brothers remain a mystery, and
probably always will. Yet, I must say, I have a right to smirk when someone says “Smith? What
a boring last name!”
Overall, I am proud of my heritage and cherish both my family and its culture, however divided.
I am collecting the ties to my “old country” and have been able to find several relatives in
Sweden who encourage me to visit and experience the geographic roots to which my genetic
roots are so intimately tied. I hope to someday be able to take them up on their offer and,
perhaps, even introduce my own children also to those, not only those roots, but also the earth
they are rooted in.
1. http://pics.livejournal.com/turboswami/pic/00014wkr/
2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Flag_of_%C3%85land.svg

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3. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aland_coat_of_arms.svg
4. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flag_of_%C3%85land
5. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coat_of_arms_of_%C3%85land
6. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Motto
7. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%85land_Islands#cite_note-0
8. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_anthem
9. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%85l%C3%A4nningens_s%C3%A5ng

edensgray (2010-05-12 15:00:40) Smith

What a great autobiography, Mr. Smith!!! I couldn’t help but associate my dream, long ago, about you
as a shaman in the forest - living amongst the trees. I always wondered how you came to work at the
mental hospital in which you wrote about in a few of your posts. I never thought to ask since it would
involve more history than you might want to express. I appreciate your reflection!! Take care.

turboswami (2010-05-18 08:51:35) Re: Smith

Thanks hun!

Opinion and Judgement and Shit (2010-05-09 13:07) - public

Observation without opinion is free of judgement, but wholly superhuman. Free from opinion,
either of self or other, at the same time is a kind of regression to the perceptual state of
an infant. I think of being able to see a room, its colors and various shapes of forms, but
not begin to identify them, categorize them, and, in doing so, recall and apply the opinion
sets of memory which tie themselves inextricably to our semantic differentiations. A per-
son with a traumatic memory involving a Pitbull will likely have an extreme opinion, even
fear and its heightened physiological response, when differentiating a similar dog in the room.

Question that on which you feed,

was the gift virtual all along?

Consolidation of waste materials within a living body is a process nearly identical, both
in form and function, across all scales, from intra-cellular to multicellular. The cell, like the
greater body of which it composes, creates waste materials during the metabolic processes
of energy production. Cyclical respiration, or oxidative metabolization, refines nutrients like
glucose, amino, and fatty acids into fuel. This fuel, adenosine triphosphate (ATP) powers many
functions of the cell, but is created with a remainder of waste which must be expelled from
the cellbody.

What can we learn from the organizational structure of energy manufacture and waste
management within the microscales of our own body which can be similarly applied to the
macroscales of our own society’s fuel production and waste management processes? The
"cellular walls" of our cities are not yet selectively permeable, for instance, and for this reason,
the designation of specific cultural roles cannot be made in an efficient manner between cities
in the nation. The functional role of cities is only crudely specified by, perhaps, the resources
afforded by that city’s location, with the success and growth of the city given those resources
dependent on the dynamics of demand by the country at large.
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Going Away (2010-05-10 02:15) - public

A tense mix of respect and intimidation, best to look down at the backs of my hands.
The long distance of the gaze rested only momentarily on the crowd circling the opposite side
of the picnic table, before exclaiming “It’s zigzagging!”
“What?”
“It went up, then down…”
“Oh, the people’s gaze? Yes. Down at their hands, then up into the face, back down when
needing to breath, back up again into the light of eyes. Like, the attention modulates, right?”
“Uhh…yea. Umm….” *looks down*
“The paranoid high, do you get it?” the tension bursts into words.
“Yea! Sometimes…”
“What percentage would you say?”
“What? How paranoid?” she cocks her head slightly from behind the sunglasses and hoodie.
“No, what percentage of all the highs is one of those paranoid/tense highs?”
“Ohh…about 80 %.”
“Reallyy? Wow. 80 %.”
“Do you notice the percentage lowers the more you smoke?”
“No. “
“Not the amount you smoke, but the frequency. If you smoke every day for a week, do you
notice you get less paranoid.”
“Oh! Yea. It decreases, yea. “
“I’m having one right now…” The revelation of state, stated bluntly.
“When I’m having them, sometimes the thoughts come so fast I can’t remember them all.”
“Yes! That’s why the social high is a waste! A solitary high, like behind the computer with a
keyboard ready – then do it. You can capture all of that flood of thoughts and inspiration as it
comes, just tap away.”
“Yea, I’ve never done that. But, yea… I could see it. I always try to do that while I’m going to
sleep. You know, just laying it bed and I start falling asleep and write with my eyes closed.”
“Yea, they call that hypnagogia – that state inbetween sleeping and waking. I love it. I try to
get into it, I close my eyes and lay back – open up and let it flow out. The thoughts grow long,
you know how they say. “My thoughts grew long as I drifted off.”
If you can capture those long thoughts as they extend down into the subconscious, it’s gold!
Each sentence is like an entry point, descending across levels of semantics into sleep.
My sister said she watched me do this in my chair once…she said my eyes were rolling back in
my head
as I laid back and typed. I was like ‘Really? Geez, I didn’t know! That’s kinda creepy!’ Haha!”
“….”
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Its as if there are certain introspective thoughts, born of sudden introspective states, which
do not lend themselves easily to conversation. The complexity of the thought sequences that
become expressible in that state acts as a barrier,

seethingcalm

turboswami (2010-05-18 08:50:14)

I guess if you think I should stop writing my ideas, I will. I’m as easily discouraged as I am encouraged,
I guess... I had been experimenting with a new conversational sort of form in this entry, but will stop
if you wish. I’ve seen your eyes open at night, yea. I didn’t get many connotations from it. I don’t
think is so unusual - more than one other girlfriend has done it as well. I shouldn’t care how I look
when I’m meditating, but when people care so much about my not caring, its hard not to care!

(2010-05-18 18:49:53)
A total misunderstanding of my comment. I am sorry that the intention of my philosophical musings
was so unclear. I was replying to this portion first: “When I’m having them, sometimes the thoughts
come so fast I can’t remember them all.” “Yes! That’s why the social high is a waste! A solitary
high, like behind the computer with a keyboard ready – then do it. You can capture all of that flood
of thoughts and inspiration as it comes, just tap away.” The social high is a waste - this implies
that you cannot have an inspiring and highly creative conversation with a friend while high. My
early stoned life was full of intensely inspiring conversations with my best friends. But yes, the
party high might be deemed a waste if you do not value the heightened powers of perception while
stoned, no matter the setting. What I was questioning is the need to capture all insights. I often
wonder whether some insights are not meant to be written down. I pointed out that this seemed
like blasphemy, the idea that some of our fabulously creative and amazing thoughts are momentous
(of the moment) but ultimately fleeting. Sometimes it feels like grasping desperately for those
things that we think define us as individuals. This is only a musing on my part, really. It contains
no hidden directives for your thoughts and behaviors. I don’t care what you write, how you write
it, or what you look like when you meditate. I am well aware that many people sleep with their
eyes open. What I was speaking to was this connotation some people make between seeing the
whites of the eyes while asleep with other states in which the whites of the eyes show - such as in
seizure and possession. That’s why I believe some people would comment on how weird it looks. I
was not using the word dangerous literally, but I suppose poetic hyperbole did not serve me well
here. I thought it might be "dangerous" for people to look at us meditating, or asleep, see the
whites of our eyes, and think, (s)he looks like (s)he’s possessed! Really we are, possessed by our
inner worlds. Also, the thought had run through my mind that there is a good reason why we close
our eyes when we sleep. We lose control of our body, and we wouldn’t want something getting
into our eyes, like a fallen leaf dropping from the canopy under which we sleep. In that sense, it
is "dangerous" to sleep with eyes open, as this sensitive organ is exposed when we are not conscious.

It Can Happen Suddenly and Without Warning... (2010-05-11 02:02) - public

All at once I found myself wrapped in a flame-colored

cloud. For an instant I thought of fire, and immense
conflagration somewhere close by in that great city; the next,
I knew that the fire was within myself. Directly afterward
there came upon me a sense of exultation, of immense
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joyousness accompanied or immediately followed by an
intellectual illumination impossible to describe. Among
other things, I did not merely come to believe, but I saw that
the universe is not composed of dead matter, but is, on the
contrary, a living Presence; I became conscious in myself of
eternal life. It was not a conviction that I would have eternal
life, but a consciousness that I possessed eternal life then; I
saw that all men are immortal; that the cosmic order is such
that without any peradventure all things work together for
the good of each and all; that the foundation principle of the
world, of all the worlds, is what we call love, and the
happiness of each and all is in the long run absolutely
certain.

Now came a period of rapture so intense that the universe

stood still, as if amazed at the unutterable majesty of the
spectacle. Only one in all the infinite universe! The All-
loving, the Perfect One.... In that same wonderful moment of
what might be called supernal bliss, came illumination. I saw
with intense inward vision the atoms or molecules, of which
seemingly the universe is composed—I know not whether
material or spiritual—rearranging themselves, as the cosmos
(in its continuous, everlasting life) passes from order to
order. What joy when I saw there was no break in the
chain—not a link left out—everything in its place and time.
Worlds, systems, all blended into one harmonious whole.
(R. M. Bucke)

The Psychedelic Weekend Intensive: Marriage and Family Therapy’s "Nut

Cracker" (2010-05-18 00:20) - public

In Marriage and Family Therapy, weekend intensives provide an incredible chance to examine
clients in a setting which allows you to notice in observation and identify subtle personality
niches and the other side of their impressions: the modes of expession which may be obscured
by louder or more opaquely scripted fronts, for us in typical office setting or for their partner
in the more typical home setting. Granted, the ability to simply be unattached to the daily
obligations of those typical settings is a luxury difficult to arrange for 3 people and a day long
intensive session may be more realistic given the occupational or familial specifics of the
parties involved.

An important direction for research into the weekend or day long intensive, its methods
and efficacy, is in the client population currently using marijuana, either medicinally or
recreationally. Currently accepted research ethics allows for us to simpy observe participants
during their marijuana use experience; noting, examining, and even giving procedural tasks
to the smoker during the heightening of their awareness. This heightening of awareness,
research classically suggests, can be of either an inward type, with attention directed towards
self, or of an outward type, with attention directed to lit surface, the image of otherness.

In observation of casual use, I have seen the influence of marijuana affect individuals in
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a way having both therapeutic and creative potential. The therapeutic aspect of this influence
seems especially powerful in individuals whose defensiveness seemed particularly inflexible
or difficult to penetrate. The "opening" effect of psychedelics, even in their mildest forms like
marijuana, is especially profound in these individuals, whose defenses are particularly hard
and shell-like.

Individuals with brittle defenses, on the other hand, seem hard and strong only superfi-
cially - the psychedelic experience can easily shatter their ego in a potentially-dangerous
way, much like shaped glass. There is a fluid lavanous form that I have seen exposed when
the psychedelic opens that outer defense. This is a dynamic state of flexibility, merger, and
flow, as if the heat of the subconscious is released, volcanic, from beneath ego in a moment
of truly genuine selfhood. But, like lava, this open-aired exposure of this inner self to the
outward visible surface of social identity is short lived, gradually hardening into the shape of
that genuine flexible state. Yet this shape of fluidity is only an appearance and, while usually
more appropriate than the old personality pattern will, too, not forever work in every social
circumstance.

A Mainline Crack Reveals Watchers (2010-05-18 00:28) - public

Hidden and herded up into shadows,

never allowed to make noise again,
only to listen.
It was from here the healing came.

The IV control group waited for the brilliant burst of white cloud to fill the syringe,
and then GO!

The first meeting of the two color fluids was a chemical reaction of smokey luminescence -
that was the desired moment of injection

Then the Doctor!

Injecting into the meat of the palm, all the veins suddenly bulged hard, straining tense
with pumping flow.
Mainline!

On the fridge I look at my daughter’s picture.

She is deceased,
but through a crack I see THEIR eyes,
watching over with sympathy.

9.6 June

(2010-06-04 03:58) - public

There is a knowledge of subtle mental processes that I value when I see it in other people. I
am aware, more and more, of my deficits - both cognitively and in terms of memory capacity
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- and I suppose there is little left to do but come to terms and accept these deficits of mind,
making the best I can with the remnants of my change. I feel there are genetic markers that
essentially spell out the progression of decline between one person and another, and that this
slope, being seen in my father, is the same that will be of the same degree seen in my son.
The brightest shooting stars will always be the first to burn out.

I think more and more of solitude, its benefits so intimately tied to the insistence of its
destiny. I cannot socialize in a way which is pleasant and later-desirable - it seems, often,
that the intensity of a conversation’s scope and depth are inversely-proportional to the
approachability of the personality conversing. The tension required to hold that thoughtful
or in-tense of a conversation is both contagious and inherently unpleasant to participate in.
It breeds resentment, so it would seem, a sense of mistrust in the person made to interact
at that level of intense focus. This, I’ve seen, is the alienating nature of the inexpressible
thoughts, as they come to be approximated in words. A sort of rejection made on the basis of
the encountered modes and fields of acceptable social discourse. To speak of certain areas of
subjective experience simply isn’t customary, and, however unconsciously, will be met with
filters of layered resistance. This can be thought of as a bandwidth of acknowledgment, a
bottleneck xisting in inlet of consciousness defining the social self. If the message is expressed
from depths of frequency or magnitude existing beyond the bandwidth of acknowledgment,
confusion, ignorance, and resentment will result.

The loss of ambition seems tied to the gaining of perspective – somehow when the greater
map of one’s current "ground-view" path is revealed, the intention of continuing that path
disappears with that seeing of where it actually leads. Heightened perspective, of self and
other, will always lead to doubt, indecision, and incredibly perceptive insights into the future -
in extreme cases this aided intuition could be called the fore sight of future events, I suppose.
Pre-diction implies a messenger - this MAP view merely implies heightened perception; yet
surely the two exist on the same spectrum of subtle awareness.

(2010-06-05 15:42) - public

The influence of relationships on personality are subtle, but can induce major shifts in the so-
cial self based on the depth and duration of the relationship. I have often noticed this being
a two-way transfer of character, manifesting most obviously as mirrored mannerisms, expres-
sions, and other observable personality traits. I feel this outward expressions of personality
change are representative of the more subtle felt inward shift that can occur, on a emotional
or cognitive level, in response to relating with another person. A conceptual framework I’ve
found that aids in representing this interrelational change in personality is in the natural of
interacting frequencies, behavior like entrainment or phase relationships between waveforms
carried in a medium.

(2010-06-05 16:37) - public

Love and depth and resistance can be expressed as frequency and aspects of its phase
and timbre. We have a tonal "fingerprint" to our voice as much as we have a subjective
"fingerprint" to our personality, both our nature and our nurture held and expressed through
our character. Yet, as central and identifying as these core aspects of inner and outer selfhood
are to defining us, I feel the word "fingerprint" is a misnomer. While, yes, we are recognized
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by our voice as much as by our humor or our temperament, each of these things changes
as we develop. The flood of hormones and sexual awareness of adolescence deepened my
voice, as a male, changing it from the voice (and person) people knew to something different
– my identity changing beneath the voice to one with different priorities, expressions, roles,
and drives. That is, the voice, the face, the posture of body and the posturing of speech, all
represent grand rolling waves of inner change and development towards or away, above or
beneath some "flat line" of selfhood.

The frenzied thoughts of a high frequency life have detrimental effects tied to that in-
tensity, that racing wears a mind/body down fast, as if an engine driven that hard every day
begins to show the signs of stress earlier than its low RPM driven counterpart. In much the
same way, we see the frazzled and fried corporate pack mule we’ve all seen, carrying the
burden of full-time business work on top of the stress of single full-time parenting - their
bodies showing the strain of the race, aging long before their time.

(2010-06-05 17:10) - public

There is a feeling which has no words in English that I know to describe, but could be most
closely related to the self-consciousness of awkwardness, although that gives only a broad
and indistinct description. It is related more to an inward feeling of alienation. Different from
that outward alienation that underlies social awkwardness, the inward sense of self-alienation
could be thought of as the inverse of that perspective of self. It could be seen as a perspective
afforded by "stepping back" from your typical functional identity and its roles and, however
momentarily, being able to observe that commonly utilized self-image, almost as a sort of
shell of belief and opinion which you, for a time, may exit and view from a disassociated
location.

I believe this experience of self-disassociation, which for me was once quite rare and
sometimes disorienting, can become less and less rare, induced more easily like any ability,
and strengthened with continued use like a muscle. This muscle metaphor implies the ability
is a positive or advantageous one – when, as we know not all habituated behaviors are
healthy for us. Falling into a disassociative trance state, from a practical perspective, is rarely
advantageous. The ape who waszoned out, staring off into the distance entranced in some
maze of inner perpective, would be the last to respond to threat (and the first to be eaten!)
Likewise, I can imagine this ability not working out to my advantage or my health if I simply
fell into deep trance while driving downtown during rush hour. We see how trance states could
actually be a dangerous thing and how, while they are the keystone of meditative, mystical,
and shamanic lifepaths, they must be learned, used, and developed with the skills of their
integration and control.

Yet, I’d venture to say that lower animals rarely drop into trance. The glaze-eyed dis-
tant gaze of the experience, if anything in animal life, would seem representative of sleep
deprivation or insomnia. And, generally, when animals are tired, they go to sleep – this
whole exploration of the "inbetween" states of sleep and wake is, again, of little practical
worth to them. I’d venture to say the "waking dream" of trance, even in its mild form of
self-dissassciation that I described, began first as a result of sleep disturbance on waking life.
This is, likewise, one of the first altered states of consciousness experienced by children –
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the young boy being at school after a sleepless night, staring off at the blackboard with that
inner distance stretching between him and his surroundings. For many children, that is a first
introduction to the "inner expanse," the day dream in all its subconscious splendor and glory.

(2010-06-05 21:10) - public

The degree of contrast available to us defines the outermost boundary of frequency we may
induct. The broader and more expansive our sense of duality and its opposites, the deeper and
slower the frequency encompassing that level of contrast which we may carry.

On Being Denied Entrance Into The Clinical Master’s Program

(2010-06-12 02:37) - public

I’ve made life changing choices on the assumption I would become a better man...Somehow
I thought the choice which required the support of my betterment to be sustained would
perpetuate my change. Yet, I became only the obligation to become that better man, the
person I am not. I became that guilt.

If, in the endless fighting unusual thinking attracts, I continue to surrender to the calm
acceptance conformity affords me, I believe that any creativity I may have will wither, stag-
nant and unused. So a choice becomes evident, a choice between maintaining relationships
important to my career: the network which will support my future, and the sharing of those
ideas and beliefs for which I pursued this career in order to express. And, whichever choice I
make, it seems irreversible. Social bridges forever burned, or inward realms of thought forever
silenced, abandoned. There is a range of expressed thought which is "acceptable," socially; a
margin which I fight being confined to...less and less. The painful act of self-censorship is less
painful these two years later, the territories of political order have, ever so gradually, come to
internalize themselves within me - I have accepted my place and its limits, politely quieting
the ideas I was once so excited to share.

The closing of acceptance, the end of love and even of tolerance of my ideological dif-
ference, has socially isolated me despite my best efforts. As much respect as I have and show
to those whose positions of authority have been socially defined, I have learned this respect
is not enough to carry genuineness. That is, I once naively believed that it was possible to
question their subject from a place of genuine curiosity without calling into question their
defined authority in that subject. I have seen that the position these experts hold is, itself,
a defense which the acknowledgment of truth, genuineness, and equality is perceived to
undermine.

Hell is other people. I am tired of bending to appease the insecurities of petty men.

edensgray (2010-06-13 12:48:10) In a green box

That makes sense. I am very sorry to hear, K. Although, I only know a facet of you, I feel your purpose
is great.

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The Land of The Free(ly Exercised Aggression Towards Difference)
(2010-06-22 04:05) - public

There are words that come out well before a message has been formed to express - these
words are filler; kindling for a fire which, for some people, may never actually start. I’ve met
them, those vacant personalities who seem to live in filler – never fulfilled, but searching,
instead, to quell the passion and fire of others. With such insatiable greed I have them covet
and control the light and fire of other men; to rather it be stamped out than risk it illuminating
his own inadequacies. In straining to limit the brilliant inner fire of another, these men degrade
themselves, indulging in the behavior of greedy dogs. Any power they possess liable to malign,
becoming crude, irrational, and, in some cases, dangerous.

When legislators see no restraint to the extent of their insecurity’s defense, their jeal-
ousy can develop into law. At their worst, these laws of malignant authorities have been seen
to forever scar civilization’s history, marking the true depths of man’s descent from humanity.
Was it not, to some degree, this jealousy which led to the Nazi’s concentration of Jewish
families in World War II? Likewise, was there not some insecurity on the part of legislators
drafting the Chinese Exclusion Act; those powerful American politicians and union leaders who
went to great effort to see that that honest, hard working, and intelligent Chinese families
were forced from their homes and deported from their country of citizenship, America: "The
Land of The Free."

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Creative Writing Is Selfish (2010-06-24 04:32) - public

I sometimes feel barely here – as if I have one foot in sleep all through the day, constantly
straddling that border. Yes, it is a border I know well, but I feel I have less and less control
over which side I occupy. I cannot enter sleep when I wish, nor can I fully awake when I need.
This is not simply an inconvenience or annoyance, but, as my last car accident shows, is
actually a dangerous and potentially life-threatening condition. Despite my best efforts, I was,
similarly, just barely there when that SUV t-boned my driver’s side door. I uncontrollably drop
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into trance, sometimes mid-sentence while speaking. Trance is a vague word, of course, and
there are actually several different types or levels which I consider "dropping into trance."

There is a branched hierarchy representing all possible modes and means of expression.
Passion could be thought of as the medium which travels these branches, while talent could
be thought of as an aspect of the branches, themselves. The most immediate, unrestrained
emotional outlet is passion released in its lowest form, or branch. I consider this lowest branch
of emotional outlet selfish. It is an early and immature form of expression, like the wailing of
a baby or the tantrum of a young child. These base responses to changes in inner emotional
states, with maturity, we learn to channel upwards, though modes of expression increasingly
thoughtful and articulate. In other words, our maturation is one of emotional development
away from "center," or the service of self. While the older child may still WANT to cry when
meeting with disappointment, it is an awareness of social attention, and its consequences,
which cause him to restrain his passion’s most immediate impulse. I believe this pattern of
emotional maturation seen in our early development defines a direction for all the maturity
which is (or is not) to follow: expression matures in the service of society.

(2010-06-26 02:31) - public

I sometimes feel barely here – as if I have one foot in sleep all through the day, constantly
straddling that border. Yes, it is a border I know well, but I feel I have less and less control
over which side I occupy. I cannot enter sleep when I wish, nor can I fully awake when I need.
This is not simply an inconvenience or annoyance, but, as my last car accident shows, is
actually a dangerous and potentially life-threatening condition. Despite my best efforts, I was,
similarly, just barely there when that SUV t-boned my driver’s side door. I uncontrollably drop
into trance, sometimes mid-sentence while speaking. Trance is a vague word, of course, and
there are actually several different types or levels which I consider "dropping into trance."

There is a branched hierarchy representing all possible modes and means of expression.
Passion could be thought of as the medium which travels these branches, while talent could
be thought of as an aspect of the branches, themselves. The most immediate, unrestrained
emotional outlet is passion released in its lowest form, or branch. I consider this lowest branch
of emotional outlet selfish. It is an early and immature form of expression, like the wailing of
a baby or the tantrum of a young child. These base responses to changes in inner emotional
states, with maturity, we learn to channel upwards, though modes of expression increasingly
thoughtful and articulate. In other words, our maturation is one of emotional development
away from "center," or the service of self. While the older child may still WANT to cry when
meeting with disappointment, it is an awareness of social attention, and its consequences,
which cause him to restrain his passion’s most immediate impulse. I believe this pattern of
emotional maturation seen in our early development defines a direction for all the maturity
which is (or is not) to follow: expression matures in the service of society.

9.7 July

(2010-07-11 10:16) - public

I reside beside myself, neither a laddy nor a form twice over. He, who knows the true extent
of degradation’s trough and reformation’s crest, will be my model. He, who, when finally ash
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is all the world, will be my ground.

Eventually, the goldmine was dug too deep and flooded – all the sharp chisels and ma-
chines lost with the gold they were meant to unearth. The lake that remains was named
Goldmine Lake and can be seen to shimmer when the golden sun is setting in the West. Paul
Bunyan once had sex with a nickel mine.

There is a deep fear of people which drives me to please them, to appease what some
core irrational self perceives as dangerous or violent. I don’t believe this irrationality is rare,
and may actually go so far as to call it universally human - or, rather, a remnant of an outdated
defense mechanism with which we are all still equiped. That fear, that fight or flight tension,
was the delicate hair trigger self-defense system which allowed us to live, prosper, reproduce,
and evolve to be the civilized species we are today. Yet, that hyper-vigilance does not, nor did
it ever, lend itself to socialization.

Hugged an old friend I hadn’t seen for almost half a decade today. It felt good to recon-
nect. Time and distance don’t change us - they merely fall over us, like layers of sediment
collecting under the current. Deep beneath, we are still who we were. Sometimes it just takes
an old friend to remind us of who that was.

(2010-07-12 00:32) - public

"It is not a dream, it is a simple feat of scientific electrical engineering, only expensive — blind,
faint-hearted, doubting world! [...] Humanity is not yet sufficiently advanced to be willingly led
by the discoverer’s keen searching sense. But who knows? Perhaps it is better in this present
world of ours that a revolutionary idea or invention instead of being helped and patted, be
hampered and ill-treated in its adolescence — by want of means, by selfish interest, pedantry,
stupidity and ignorance; that it be attacked and stifled; that it pass through bitter trials and
tribulations, through the strife of commercial existence. So do we get our light. So all that was
great in the past was ridiculed, condemned, combatted, suppressed — only to emerge all the
more powerfully, all the more triumphantly from the struggle."

– Nikola Tesla: Raging Mad Scientist

Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechan-

ics of Psilocybin (2010-07-16 10:58) - public

The Doors of Perception: A Cognitive Model

The latent inhibition (LI) paradigm was originally developed over 40 years ago (Lubow & Moore,
1959) to describe the capacity to filter out extraneous stimuli from conscious awareness. More
simply, LI describes that common tendency to pay less attention to something the more we are
exposed and become familiar to it. A review of the empirical studies of human subjects con-
cluded the use of masking tasks is generally needed to produce positive results in adults. First
adopted by Schnur and Ksir (1969), the masking task engages participants in activities which
require the majority of their attention while, concurrently, presenting the to-be-associated stim-
uli in a subtle or indirect manner.
1288
This inhibitory mechanism which controls the breadth of our awareness of the environment
can be conceptualized as a sort of perceptual gate, barring the “irrelevant” stimuli from con-
scious attention while allowing the most immediate and novel of sensory data through, to be
perceived.
A “Failure” To Ignore One’s Surroundings?
While the reduction of LI capacity had previously been linked to dysfunction in attentional
processes, manifesting as symptoms of schizophrenia, attention deficit disorder, and psychosis,
more recent research has suggested the hypersensitive state of lowered LI may, in fact, be
associated with higher creative achievement and novel thought associations (Eysenck, 1995).
It has been proposed that the cognitive processes employed by individuals with this heightened
creative capacity are both quantitatively and qualitiatively different from those of the typical
person (Simonton, 1999).
In the meta-analysis of her two studies of youthful subjects with high IQ, Carson (2003) found
a highly significant relationship between reduced LI and creative achievement – with a nearly
universal reduction of LI in the eminent creative achievers group.
HYPERSENSITIVITY + HIGH IQ = EMINENT CREATIVE ACHIEVEMENT
“The highly creative individual may be privileged to access a greater inventory of unfiltered
stimuli during early processing, thereby increasing the odds of original recombinant ideation.
Thus, a deficit that is generally associated with pathology may well impart a creative advantage
in the presence of other cognitive strengths, such as high IQ” (Carson, 2003, pg. 505).
Attention: Where Latent Inhibition and Semantic Activation Meet
A connectionist model bridging latent inhibition to semantic priming could be conceptually
mediated by the attentional processes utilized by both paradigms. Changes in attentional pro-
cesses have played a central role in understanding the cognitive underpinnings of schizophre-
nia since the time of Kraepelin and Bleuler. Attention has been used as an explanatory aid by
Lubow (1995), who described it as an area ripe for LI research. Likewise, in his discussion of
the hyper-priming state, Wentura (2008) suggests a link between disinhibited spreading of se-
mantic activation and lowered LI. I propose this link may lie in the measure of covert attention.
This may be framed as the hypothesis that a lowered LI score will result from the hypersen-
sitive perceptual state of psilocybin, whose cognitive correlate has been shown as increased
activation of indirect semantic associations by Spitzer (1996).
The word “priming” itself suggests fluid being carried via some channel or pipe, a fitting
metaphor for semantic activation spreading from one node to another. Yet, in many ways,
this metaphor serving to conceptualize semantic priming remains underdeveloped in that it
gives no indication of what that “fluid” being primed is, its variations in pressure, or where it is
being primed from. Once attention is introduced as an explanatory aid in an understanding of
latent inhibition and semantic activation, the common ground shared by both models becomes
highlighted and possible relationships can be drawn between them.
The Semantic Network: Consciousness Expansion as Spreading Activation
The semantic network model, in its varied forms, serves as a metaphorical framework by which
all we know of the world can be represented as a net, or a branched hierarchy of interrelated
semantic concepts, each shown as a node. These conceptual nodes are activated into asso-
ciative strands during the formation of a thought, and this activation leads to the semantic
priming of those associated nodes. Primed nodes are, then, recognized and accessed more
readily in subsequent semantic tasks.
1289
The administration of psilocybin, an agent known to affect the 5-HT system, induces a state
of semantic hyper-priming in human subjects (Spitzer, 1996). This increased availability to
typically-unavailable conceptual associations may help explain the reported subjective effects
of “consciousness expansion” and “enhanced creativity” classically described by psilocybin
users.
One conceptualization which may serve as an explanatory aid for the indirect priming effect
of psilocybin on the semantic network is a fluent model of nodal branching. In other words,
much like rivers which branch and divide, the spreading of activation can also be represented
in terms of fluid flow through channels. In this view, psilocybin “floods” our semantic network,
spreading outwards across “dry” conceptual branches, priming them with attention. Therein,
the limits of expression of these expanded semantic associations may be defined by the limited
capacity of an individual’s attention span.
States of hyper-sensitivity and hyper-priming can be seen resulting from both thought disor-
dered (TD) schizophrenia and from psilocybin use. For this reason, theoretical models utilized
in the investigation of perceptual or semantic processing abnormalities in schizotypy are also
valuable tools to understand the influence of psychedelics, like psilocybin, on those same pro-
cesses. The latent inhibition (LI) and semantic priming paradigms may be interrelated by the
faculty of attention, thereby creating a framework for the cognitive processes underlying non-
ordinary states of consciousness.
References
Carson, S. H., Peterson, J. B., & Higgins, D. M. (2003) Decreased latent inhibition is associated
with increased creative achievement in high-functioning individuals. Journal of Personality and
Social Psychology. 85, 499-506.
Eysenck, H.J. (1995). Creativity as a product of intelligence and personality. In D. Saklofske
& M. Zeidner (Eds.), International Handbook of Personality and Intelligence: Perspectives on
Individual Differences (pp. 231-247). New York: Plenum Press.
Lubow, R. E., & Moore, A. U. (1959). Latent inhibition: The effect of nonreinforced pre-exposure
to the conditional stimulus. Journal of Comparative and Physiological Psychology. 52, 415-419.
Lubow, R. E. (1989). Latent Inhibition and Conditioned Attention Theory. Cambridge, England:
Cambridge University Press.
Lubow, R. E., & Gewirtz, J. C. (1995). Latent inhibition in humans: Data, theory, and implications
for schizophrenia. Psychological Bulletin. 117, 87-103.
Schnur, P., & Ksir, C. (1969). Latent inhibition in human eyelid conditioning. Journal of Experi-
mental Psychology. 80, 388-389.
Spitzer, M., Thimm, M., Hermle, L., Holzmann, P., Kovar, K., Heimann, H., Gouzoulis-Mayfrank,
E., Kischa, U., Schneider, F. (1996). Increased activation of indirect semantic associations under
psilocybin. Biological Psychiatry. 39, 1055-1057.
Wentura, D., Moritz, S., & Frings, C. (2008). Further evidence for “hyper-priming” in thought-
disordered schizophrenic patients using repeated masked category priming. Schizophrenia
Research. 102, 69-75.

Hyper-Sensitive States and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechan-

ics of Psilocybin (2010-07-16 11:00) - private

The Doors of Perception: A Cognitive Model

1290
The latent inhibition (LI) paradigm was originally developed over 40 years ago (Lubow & Moore,
1959) to describe the capacity to filter out extraneous stimuli from conscious awareness. More
simply, LI describes that common tendency to pay less attention to something the more we are
exposed and become familiar to it. A review of the empirical studies of human subjects con-
cluded the use of masking tasks is generally needed to produce positive results in adults. First
adopted by Schnur and Ksir (1969), the masking task engages participants in activities which
require the majority of their attention while, concurrently, presenting the to-be-associated stim-
uli in a subtle or indirect manner.
This inhibitory mechanism which controls the breadth of our awareness of the environment
can be conceptualized as a sort of perceptual gate, barring the “irrelevant” stimuli from con-
scious attention while allowing the most immediate and novel of sensory data through, to be
perceived.
A “Failure” To Ignore One’s Surroundings?
While the reduction of LI capacity had previously been linked to dysfunction in attentional
processes, manifesting as symptoms of schizophrenia, attention deficit disorder, and psychosis,
more recent research has suggested the hypersensitive state of lowered LI may, in fact, be
associated with higher creative achievement and novel thought associations (Eysenck, 1995).
It has been proposed that the cognitive processes employed by individuals with this heightened
creative capacity are both quantitatively and qualitiatively different from those of the typical
person (Simonton, 1999).
In the meta-analysis of her two studies of youthful subjects with high IQ, Carson (2003) found
a highly significant relationship between reduced LI and creative achievement – with a nearly
universal reduction of LI in the eminent creative achievers group.
HYPERSENSITIVITY + HIGH IQ = EMINENT CREATIVE ACHIEVEMENT
“The highly creative individual may be privileged to access a greater inventory of unfiltered
stimuli during early processing, thereby increasing the odds of original recombinant ideation.
Thus, a deficit that is generally associated with pathology may well impart a creative advantage
in the presence of other cognitive strengths, such as high IQ” (Carson, 2003, pg. 505).
Attention: Where Latent Inhibition and Semantic Activation Meet
A connectionist model bridging latent inhibition to semantic priming could be conceptually
mediated by the attentional processes utilized by both paradigms. Changes in attentional pro-
cesses have played a central role in understanding the cognitive underpinnings of schizophre-
nia since the time of Kraepelin and Bleuler. Attention has been used as an explanatory aid by
Lubow (1995), who described it as an area ripe for LI research. Likewise, in his discussion of
the hyper-priming state, Wentura (2008) suggests a link between disinhibited spreading of se-
mantic activation and lowered LI. I propose this link may lie in the measure of covert attention.
This may be framed as the hypothesis that a lowered LI score will result from the hypersen-
sitive perceptual state of psilocybin, whose cognitive correlate has been shown as increased
activation of indirect semantic associations by Spitzer (1996).
The word “priming” itself suggests fluid being carried via some channel or pipe, a fitting
metaphor for semantic activation spreading from one node to another. Yet, in many ways,
this metaphor serving to conceptualize semantic priming remains underdeveloped in that it
gives no indication of what that “fluid” being primed is, its variations in pressure, or where it is
being primed from. Once attention is introduced as an explanatory aid in an understanding of
latent inhibition and semantic activation, the common ground shared by both models becomes
highlighted and possible relationships can be drawn between them.
1291
The Semantic Network: Consciousness Expansion as Spreading Activation
The semantic network model, in its varied forms, serves as a metaphorical framework by which
all we know of the world can be represented as a net, or a branched hierarchy of interrelated
semantic concepts, each shown as a node. These conceptual nodes are activated into asso-
ciative strands during the formation of a thought, and this activation leads to the semantic
priming of those associated nodes. Primed nodes are, then, recognized and accessed more
readily in subsequent semantic tasks.
The administration of psilocybin, an agent known to affect the 5-HT system, induces a state
of semantic hyper-priming in human subjects (Spitzer, 1996). This increased availability to
typically-unavailable conceptual associations may help explain the reported subjective effects
of “consciousness expansion” and “enhanced creativity” classically described by psilocybin
users.
One conceptualization which may serve as an explanatory aid for the indirect priming effect
of psilocybin on the semantic network is a fluent model of nodal branching. In other words,
much like rivers which branch and divide, the spreading of activation can also be represented
in terms of fluid flow through channels. In this view, psilocybin “floods” our semantic network,
spreading outwards across “dry” conceptual branches, priming them with attention. Therein,
the limits of expression of these expanded semantic associations may be defined by the limited
capacity of an individual’s attention span.
States of hyper-sensitivity and hyper-priming can be seen resulting from both thought disor-
dered (TD) schizophrenia and from psilocybin use. For this reason, theoretical models utilized
in the investigation of perceptual or semantic processing abnormalities in schizotypy are also
valuable tools to understand the influence of psychedelics, like psilocybin, on those same pro-
cesses. The latent inhibition (LI) and semantic priming paradigms may be interrelated by the
faculty of attention, thereby creating a framework for the cognitive processes underlying non-
ordinary states of consciousness.
References
Carson, S. H., Peterson, J. B., & Higgins, D. M. (2003) Decreased latent inhibition is associated
with increased creative achievement in high-functioning individuals. Journal of Personality and
Social Psychology. 85, 499-506.
Eysenck, H.J. (1995). Creativity as a product of intelligence and personality. In D. Saklofske
& M. Zeidner (Eds.), International Handbook of Personality and Intelligence: Perspectives on
Individual Differences (pp. 231-247). New York: Plenum Press.
Lubow, R. E., & Moore, A. U. (1959). Latent inhibition: The effect of nonreinforced pre-exposure
to the conditional stimulus. Journal of Comparative and Physiological Psychology. 52, 415-419.
Lubow, R. E. (1989). Latent Inhibition and Conditioned Attention Theory. Cambridge, England:
Cambridge University Press.
Lubow, R. E., & Gewirtz, J. C. (1995). Latent inhibition in humans: Data, theory, and implications
for schizophrenia. Psychological Bulletin. 117, 87-103.
Schnur, P., & Ksir, C. (1969). Latent inhibition in human eyelid conditioning. Journal of Experi-
mental Psychology. 80, 388-389.
Spitzer, M., Thimm, M., Hermle, L., Holzmann, P., Kovar, K., Heimann, H., Gouzoulis-Mayfrank,
E., Kischa, U., Schneider, F. (1996). Increased activation of indirect semantic associations under
psilocybin. Biological Psychiatry. 39, 1055-1057.
1292
Wentura, D., Moritz, S., & Frings, C. (2008). Further evidence for “hyper-priming” in thought-
disordered schizophrenic patients using repeated masked category priming. Schizophrenia
Research. 102, 69-75.

Suddenly... (2010-07-16 11:04) - public

"Now came a period of rapture so intense that the universe

stood still, as if amazed at the unutterable majesty of the
spectacle. Only one in all the infinite universe! The All-
loving, the Perfect One.... In that same wonderful moment of
what might be called supernal bliss, came illumination. I saw
with intense inward vision the atoms or molecules, of which
seemingly the universe is composed—I know not whether
material or spiritual—rearranging themselves, as the cosmos
(in its continuous, everlasting life) passes from order to
order. What joy when I saw there was no break in the
chain—not a link left out—everything in its place and time.
Worlds, systems, all blended into one harmonious whole. "

- R. M. Bucke

(2010-07-16 11:17) - public

I’m not sure I could properly estimate, by this point in my life, how many orgasms I’ve
experienced. But I am pretty sure at least 30 of them I owe to the man who created Rice
Krispies Treats cereal.

-Jason Peabody, 04-10-2003

(2010-07-17 13:33) - public

Tiny oscillations sing like dainty Junebugs on fingertips. In thousands and thousands, they form
a cloud of tones and we appreciate their hard work, their self-expression in harmony.

(2010-07-21 01:16) - public

The tone house is divided into colored quadrants,

I am trapped in the blue room.
I am trapped in the blue room.
The frequencies rise around, flaring fiery
Their outlying shards modulate in higher ranges, facilitating the formation of realms.
Local TV legend Steve Asplund wears his plastic mesh camouflage truckers hat in the waiting
room with Local TV legend Buck LeVasseur.
Local TV legend Buck LeVasseur
1293
Drunk again, the legend. The hat, the still beating heart of a body, soft and grey, left to lug
and heave around; this legend: Buck LeVasseur.
Teething ya, I’m just. (I am in the right, consuming you for my betterment.)
Sponges, we are merely sponges of emotion and attitude, karma and vitality. We are who
we choose to be (around) Pity is an unhealthy emotion, and spread thin, can burst releasing
resentment.
We pity and become pitiful, contagion full. I pity my nephew for his mistakes, for his environ-
ment of mistakes.
I want to see her rolling fat and pathetic on the ground, like a turtle flipped on its back.
I want the twist of guage to carry a lost light back through me, a forgotten
reason recalled with all its ambition and direction renewed.
Mired in self-obsessions, I have blanketed my vision in comforts, entertained my voice silent.
Let me trap the seasons beneath a solid bridge. Let me know the rain and feel it towards me.
Let my own breath be the wind so full and great its carriage. Its bounty of bliss I’ll rest within.
Upon. Open.
The bananas obscure the drum’s higher registers, the snare hides beneath them. (sex dulls
your senses)
Pick them, peel them, let it out, that distant pirate song of rolling waves and tireless exploration,
revealed beneath
The ornate ashtray of Victorian design hides a single button, the velvet dark gothic call button
of a mistress.
Tack up a town to a calendar’s frame, doorbells and all. I’ll push you into Wednesday. So
hesitant to scream.

(2010-07-24 02:27) - public

There are, in total, less than 15 phrases.

And a thousand faded half-concepts.

(2010-07-24 03:33) - public

There’s a dark wet hallway beneath the park, with walls of round stones set in century-old
concrete. Its cavernous and extends far – with light coming only from the moon, shining down
the mouth of the entrance. The city had built a bathroom in there, a urinal on the other side of a
wall, opposite a social area. The urinal, too, was set in these round stones and cement. Almost
monolithic in height and appearance, there were a series of small tiled steps you’d climb to
stand before it.
I tried unsuccessfully to use it, as it was overflowing and the pee was just flowing over the edge
and down the steps with all the water.
The whole place was flooding.
1294
I am not passing my class – it is an “Incomplete” I have.
If I hurry, I can still pass.

The GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER List For You

1. Take a 10-30 minute walk every day. And while you walk, smile. It is the ultimate
anti-depressant.
2. Sit in silence for at least 10 minutes each day.
3. Buy a DVR and tape your late night shows and get more sleep.
4. When you wake up in the morning complete the following statement, ‘My purpose is to _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ today.’
5. Live with the 3 E’s — Energy, Enthusiasm, and Empathy.
6. Play more games and read more books than you did in 2007.
7. Make time to practice meditation, and prayer. They provide us with daily fuel for our busy
lives.
8. Spend time with people over the age of 70 and under the age of 6.
9. Dream more while you are awake.
10. Eat more foods that grow on trees and plants and eat less food that is manufactured in
plants.
11. Drink green tea and plenty of water. Eat blueberries, wild Alaskan salmon, broccoli,
almonds & walnuts.
12. Try to make at least three people smile each day.
13. Clear clutter from your house, your car, your desk and let new and flowing energy into
your life.
14. Don’t waste your precious energy on gossip, OR issues of the past, negative thoughts or
things you cannot control. Instead invest your energy in the positive present moment.
15. Realize that life is a school and you are here to learn. Problems are simply part of the
curriculum that appear and fade away like algebra class but the lessons you learn will last a
lifetime.
16. Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a college kid with a maxed out
charge card.
17. Smile and laugh more. It will keep the nagative blues away.
18. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
19. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
20. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

edensgray (2010-07-30 13:38:41)

I like #8 - would like to do more of that. Atleast you know you’ve got one persn down for #12 in the
last week.

(2010-07-27 10:55) - public

Here’s that rhythm again.

Here, where I strained so hard to make the grounds for what occurred naturally.
Here’s the show I made, I make, I’ll make.
1295
I’ll show you the show part of the show.

That sound I make I’ll make again for you.

But how old is Betty?

How will we survive after the newspaper shuts down?

Teach children to rhyme impromptu, on command;

To write poetry each day, to write non-fiction each day.

To meditate and read each day…things I was never taught.

Those 13 hours of cartoons could be divided into 13 skills.

Tools of mind and body, sharpened!

For the Trenary Family, a call from the doctor is not necessarily an emergency to worry about.
Such is small town life.

Her eyes reflected through hot cinnamon schnapps in the dark market moonlit.

Big window. Trembling smile.

If you like that waltz, hipster boy, I’ve got a thousand more shuffles just like it!

Towards what career did you apply the ideas you ripped off from me?

Not that it matters, no hard feelings. My top is long popped!

…its contents free and open to the air, rotting.

Facebook, knock out myspace’s music competition

by

making the social network collaborative and musical., track by track affair.

Walnuts, eggs, and lemon cookies? Just don’t tell em you got it fro me!

Viking Snowball, everything gets old and dies. Even you.

Lay a city on stilts and bamboo sidewalks elevated and decorated with hands.
PBrStreetgang, they’re comin.

(2010-07-30 01:01) - public

The sauna is spiritual in that it utilizes the boundary of two mediums: air and water. Across this
boundary, the bather controls molecular expiration. From the dense fluid form, water expires
and transcends to its finer body, becoming unseen to us. This transition from one medium to
another is a cycle acting by the same rules governing life and death.
1296
Certifiability Of The Subtle Senses (2010-07-30 01:02) - public

Traditionally in shamanic cultures, the shaman is acknowledged as a shaman by the community

by way of his success rate, his “track record”
If you aren’t actually healing anybody, nobody is going to refer to you as a shaman (or speak
very highly of you at all!) In this way, one’s displayed ability is central to their reputation as a
healer in these cultures.
A similar system could be formalized in modern healing/New Age communities – ability verified,
to some degree, by certification. If, for example, a 7 point scale could be administered to clients
of a psychic to assess the accuracy of their predictions, observations, and perception abilities,
a “track record” of sorts could be made. Of course, the scale would be limited in terms of
assessment in this case, in that predictions, especially long term ones, may not be verifiable,
without the complexity of longitudinal follow ups.
Certification would be given to those with extraordinary ability, as shown by their assessment
score. Likewise, the dishonest, misguided, and charlatans
would be similarly listed with their poor assessment – no doubt falling at or around chance.
Certification board would have to pool a randomized population, as the client population, itself,
would no doubt have various biases or beliefs characteristic of members of the New Age sub-
culture. Likewise, the scale would be somewhat informative to the client, in that it’s questions
would look for common “cold reading” or other techniques which have been used by charla-
tans to deceive even the most intelligent of clientele, reaching as far back as the Spiritualist
movement.

9.8 August

(2010-08-01 01:23) - public

There’s a great deal of communicating I should be doing. Not talking, I’m alone. I should be
writing to "The Reader," that impersonal collective I am to tailor my communication to. Perhaps
its that tailoring that kills me; the posturing of words and pretension expected from the writer,
especially the academic writer.

(2010-08-02 02:41) - private

My memory is so bad.

(2010-08-02 03:01) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _57

1297
IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _57

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2657%26%26%26youtube%26
Ggk8vvjMb3c%3Af68b830019c287406ed2579376d84b65e92a8e6a
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2657%26%26%26youtube%26
Ggk8vvjMb3c%3Af68b830019c287406ed2579376d84b65e92a8e6a

Breath and Attention (2010-08-03 01:28) - public

The literal power of the breath is in the combustion of expiration, itself – a process which creates
energy and can be focused. The attentional “dive” of a focused exhale can be overwhelmingly
powerful; the slower and of greater capacity the breath, the more fueled the combustion, flaring
bright and intensely through attention.
In this way, I experience the magnitude of attention as
directly-proportional to the depth and frequency of the breath that stokes it – as if breath fuled
the attention, its radiance and it’s potential proximity.
An aid in the focusing of attention is, of course, the directing of one’s gaze. The majority of our
attention is directed through the lenses of the eyes, a flood of awareness coursing in primarily
through the optic nerve.
It makes sense, then, that Vedant Hindu meditators would direct their inward close-eyed gaze
in an upwards direction. Looking up allows the meditator to project their attention in that
direction, a long exhale often seeming to actually carry me upwards, an inward ascension
maintained on the purity of a slow breathy tone.
That pure tone being the universal human sound of relaxation: “Ahhh… m(en).”
This ascension can be felt by others in the room, according to Yogananda and other’s who have
written about being in the presence of a saint or high guru. Meditation becomes somehow more
profound as if the darkness of the inner vision is dispelled by their radiance, the pupil’s way
illuminated by his enlightenment.
It is said that
the light of this heightened state of consciousness appears visibly,
an inward brilliance shining outwards around the eyes and face: a halo.
I have measured the influence of minor instances of this ascension on others. Recorded was
a sudden burst in Alpha bandwidth energy, a sudden curvature graphed coinciding perfectly
with the long, focused exhalation. Further research in the direction of this serendipitous finding
would surely yield fruitful and robust data, perhaps allowing us to “map” the subtle energetic
medium of our surroundings and nature of its subjection by consciousness.
1298
Like any other energy, the subtle frequency of consciousness oscillates, literally seen in the
physiology of our neural networks whose activation cycles in a range of frequencies related
directly to the depth of our state of consciousness:
-Delta=>deepest state, sleep, unconscious vision.

-Theta=>deep relaxation, hypnagogia, subconscious.

-Alpha=>relaxation;
-Beta=>high strung tension/anxiety;
-Gamma=>Inspiration and Transcendent meditation.
The influence of psychedelics on the brain is felt subjectively, but in those early studies of
LSD, for instance, that change in the state or nature of consciousness seemingly could not
be measured by objectively means. Yet, the results of those studies should not prompt us to
doubt the existence of that subjectively-felt sense, or dissuade us from continuing our attempt
to measure that perceived influence on consciousness! Instead, it can be viewed as a sign that
we are measuring the wrong thing; the wrong attribute or cognitive ability.
If those early psychedelic researchers had studied the influence of LSD on meditation, for
instance, they may have found a task which has a measurable EEG correlate.

Open Mindedness (2010-08-03 03:54) - public

I think of openness or closedness of the mind very much like a flashlight. Sometimes you get
them where you can "open" or "close" them, adjusting the position of the bulb so it reflects
widely or narrowly.

Attention is very much like that, I think. You can focus it wide open, dispersing the light
to see the entire room at once, but very dimly!

Or you can close focus inwards, concentrating the light so it gets very intense, illuminat-
ing one thing very well. Sometimes, by doing this, the intensity of your concentrated attention
can become so glaring, it burns right through! ...like burning through paper with the pinpointed
1299
light of a magnifying glass.

These are the benefits of the two focal modes, open or closed.
Closed mind gets shit done! Open mind digs the scenery... :)

8-14-10 AYA P. 2 (2010-08-20 14:38) - public

• 11:30 PM:
- 1/6TH cup ayahuasca ingested.

•
-Meditated one half hour.

• 12:00 AM:
-Played Micheal Harner’s “Half Hour Journey With Callback” track in headphones.

• 12:30 AM:
- No visual effect.

• -Sudden silent flashes of light begin to appear outside my cabin window. Perhaps heat
lighting or an approaching storm?

• - A higher dose may be needed.

12: 45 AM:
All that man has yet to understand: the purpose even of a yawn, the felt sense of the air
before a rainstorm, the subtle frequencies which radiate and surround us in communication
and motherly acceptance. These, even while beyond the reach of our physical senses, still
exist nonetheless and are splendorous.
1300
The blockages of my restrained emotion, the blockages of my clutching mind, the blockages
of my very genetics are each revealed to me in their futility. Beyond them, I feel and live my
purpose, radiant and alive with all of the being I had closed and hidden behind the petty fears
and insecurities of this personality. In a deep yawn unlike any other, I feel the shining radiance
of spirit opening, causing my chest to quiver to the edge of bursting! My legs immediately
follow suit, shivering responsive like two entwined antennae. Tension...
Only when a wire is taut does it vibrate with communication – the living resonance of speech
or the oscillating reverberance of tone on a plucked string. Likewise, this tension of abstinence
and fasting, the building tension of bodily need held trembling tight in the very musculature,
carries expression in the paradoxical: the tense-sleep of visions. To enter the subconscious
oceans of sleep with the vivid wakefulness of morning’s sunrise is to travel a spirited line, a
sensitive vibrant boundary. This is the primordial orange lagoon sunrise of eons which, in it’s
swimming infancy, birthed our eyes and their opening. I weep silently with awe, overbrimming
the ecstatic bliss of a never-ending horizon’s light.
The retention of memory fails if not retensed into moments present to use and produce; the fruit
of humanity. In lax and sedentary days does the once sharp quiver of recall grow unresponsive
to inspiration’s charge.
In spire: it is the cyclic inward flow of breath, naturally occurring when our bodies are fit and
ready to serve as carriage to the inward flow of vitality, prana. Heavy with sleep and the
inactivity of a life of slumber, Aya floods the being, inner and outer, with wakefulness. *
Community of the night, I join you in acknowledgment of the moon’s pull. Hers is an inward
pull, a call to spiritual ascension. So much energy these genetic wires hum up into carnation –
and so easy to indulge ego to contain it, repositing that radiance beneath, concealing behind
the security of fear. That ingenuity is ingenuine;
a posturing of personality which grows stale, year after year.
Finally, I am refreshed by the taste of nature, pure and true from its long forgotten source:
this vibrant spring, this inward fount.

*At the moment of completing

this thought of wakefulness, a lone wolf howls long to the night, as if in response to the over-
whelming sense of rapturous inspirationI felt at that moment.

turboswami (2010-08-21 03:13:50)

Bright white light continues to flash intermittently. Incredible! Its like a presence in the room. “Ahh!!” I
hear the neighbors comment in amazement. Although my sunburns from today suggest heat lightning,
part of me feels the energy in the air surrounding for which the silent flashes merely serve to release
into visibility.

8-16-10 The Torrent P. 3 (2010-08-21 00:15) - public

• 7:45 PM
- Began meditative prayer, requesting purification and healing.
1301
 • 10:00 PM:
- 1/4TH cup ayahuasca ingested.

• 10:06 PM: -Meditated one half hour.

10:15 PM: My chest begins to quiver with light, my jaw soon following with flashes of light
coursing across my inward vision for every shivering twitch. Whole body quakes of vibration
soon follow with the walls audibily resonating with vibratory knocking sounds from my shaking
legs in the bed. Meditative exhale is my only relief from these relentless quivering surges, but
the weakness of my meditative skill becomes immediately clear as I struggle to control the
torrents of unseen force suddenly being transmitted through my body. The quiet ambience
of my natural surroundings begins to modulate in the highest register of my hearing. What
sounds like the quivering needle of a record player playing some distant dissonant song of
ether. Closer harmonies seem to surround me, a collective singing like the buzz of whirring
mosquitos. In the openness of “Om” I can hear the throaty voice of an elder shaman chanting
in a language I do
not know. This sound, too, is transitory – as if quickly submerged beneath competing currents
in some torrential flow of signals.
Mentally overwhelmed, all focus and intention seemingly lost in the barrage of information, I
muster with all of my strength and attention a whisper: “Please…Heal…Me.”
A radiant hyperattentive state, I was waiting for the visions to begin. Only then did I remember
they are a product of breath.
When did I become so ingenuine.
When did I become so difficult to love?
If I could only reach out and hug each of those loved ones whose relationship I soured.
Braggart! Loud and brash! I know your game…

(2010-08-21 01:00) - public

To nothing, my dearest, I say goodnight.

To all that nothing which has no love, I love you.
To cold shivering loneliness, I hold you.
To all those memories without meaning,
To all those memories, I remember
and my eyes smile, wet,
and know
something.

(2010-08-21 16:49) - public

’Twas two lurists in truest slys,

who prounced a shlone selder.
Down dark swally puds unlet ties,
They coyled the nage unhelder.

But a thorate glimpsed the snatch,

1302
and called red searing freques.
Quick sets cruffed their lures attach,
and splayed soon up thy creek.

(2010-08-22 00:12) - public

I feel alien - meek and distant.

That which I have come to recognize as spiritual energy bursts fiery within and around
me. This can manifest as a powerful inner tension perceivable to those in my presence. It is
a literal energetic phenomenon, one which causes my chest to actually quiver - often visibly
through my shirt. On three occasions, I’ve had friends give me their hand and place it on
my heart to confirm it is not my heart beat, as the frequency of the quivering is much faster
than my cardiac rhythm. It is an overwhelming force rising from my center, stirring, fluttering,
gnawing through my ribcage – as if trying to escape.

During the ayahuasca experience, this vibrant force expanded outwards from my chest,
causing my whole body to convulse ecstatic, the walls and bed shaking with me as the
rapturous bursts coursed through my tensed musculature. Overwhelming. Only with the calm
of meditative exhale could the grip of this inward torrent be released.

(2010-08-22 00:54) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _58

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _58

[3]Psychedelic Science in the 21st Century - Andrew Weil M.D. from [4]MAPS: Psychedelic Sci-
ence on [5]Vimeo.

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2658%26%26%26vimeo%2612
057747%3A0fb4e0b39be09c6f8d07eda3b72304a805ea5648&sour
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3. http://vimeo.com/12057747
4. http://vimeo.com/mapsmdma
5. http://vimeo.com/

1303
(2010-08-22 22:53) - private

Toll, take and take.

The bridge is burning,
but I must get back across.
The fire started in my home.

Heart, take it, take it all.

and other shameful cliched emotions

I want to bend you over.

I want to sleep until its over.
You’ve made it clear I am not a catch.
My skill set dwindles, cognition slides.

Fuck you.

Madrigal Written In Winter (2010-08-30 23:05) - public

In the depths of the deep sea,

in the night of long lists,
like a horse your silent
silent name runs past.

Lodge me at your back, oh shelter me,

appear to me in your mirror, suddenly,
upon the solitary, nocturnal pane,
sprouting from the dark behind you.

Flower of sweet total light,

bring to my call your mouth of kisses,
violent from separations,
resolute and delicate mouth.

Now then, in the long run,

from oblivion to oblivion the rails
reside with me, the cry of the rain:
what the dark night preserves.

Welcome me in the threadlike evening,

when at dusk it works upon
its wardrobe and in the sky a star
twinkles filled with wind.

Bring your substance deep down to me,

heavily, covering my eyes,
let your existence cut across me, supposing
that my heart is destroyed.
1304
-Pablo Neruda

turboswami (2010-08-31 06:07:57)

...yea, so it’s been a rough month.

9.9 September

(2010-09-09 11:42) - public

There are decisions that cannot be made to fit,

they strangulate and bind.
These, not the loved ones they concern, must be let go.

The Stones (2010-09-11 22:20) - public

This is the city where men are mended.

I lie on a great anvil.
The flat blue sky-circle

Flew off like the hat of a doll

When I fell out of the light. I entered
The stomach of indifference, the wordless cupboard.

The mother of pestles diminished me.

I became a still pebble.
The stones of the belly were peaceable,

The head-stone quiet, jostled by nothing.

Only the mouth-hole piped out,
Importunate cricket

In a quarry of silences.
The people of the city heard it.
They hunted the stones, taciturn and separate,

The mouth-hole crying their locations.

Drunk as a foetus
I suck at the paps of darkness.

The food tubes embrace me. Sponges kiss my lichens away.

The jewelmaster drives his chisel to pry
Open one stone eye.

This is the after-hell: I see the light.

A wind unstoppers the chamber
1305
Of the ear, old worrier.

Water mollifies the flint lip,

And daylight lays its sameness on the wall.
The grafters are cheerful,

Heating the pincers, hoisting the delicate hammers.

A current agitates the wires
Volt upon volt. Catgut stitches my fissures.

A workman walks by carrying a pink torso.

The storerooms are full of hearts.
This is the city of spare parts.

My swaddled legs and arms smell sweet as rubber.

Here they can doctor heads, or any limb.
On Fridays the little children come

To trade their hooks for hands.

Dead men leave eyes for others.
Love is the uniform of my bald nurse.

Love is the bone and sinew of my curse.

The vase, reconstructed, houses
The elusive rose.

Ten fingers shape a bowl for shadows.

My mendings itch. There is nothing to do.
I shall be good as new.

(2010-09-16 23:01) - public

I am overcome now,
by cruelty and coldness levied with sneer.
I am overcome through and through,
by the playful torture surgery
that can only be inflicted by a bored child.

I am overwrought with the futility of servitude,

pathetic, unappreciated grovelling
for the scraps of their affection’s hunger,
their unfulfilled desires masturbated to sleep on you.

Little can be felt outside her numbness,

the hands that cannot touch curl deadened.
In indulgent sickness she wallows and shares,
degradation her crown,
with scepter of disgrace I’m knighted.
Prostrated wet with anxious yearning
1306
I surrender.

(2010-09-17 03:34) - friends

She told me I’m sexist during sex.

(2010-09-17 23:49) - public

There’s a lot to be learned about...

There are selves concentric, they ripple out from a moment.

I provide what I can, but explore new means of in-fluence.
I consider genuineness a sort of sacrifice I offer up,
something I surrender with hopes of co-inside-dance.

being to timelessness as it’s to time (2010-09-18 23:46) - public

being to timelessness as it’s to time,

love did no more begin than love will end:
where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim
love is the air the ocean and the land

(do lovers suffer?all divinities

proudly descending put on deathful flesh:
are lovers glad?only their smallest joy’s
a universe emerging from a wish)

love is the voice under all silences,

the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star

— do lovers love?why then to heaven with hell.

Whatever sages say and fools,all’s well

(2010-09-19 00:36) - public

There are so many distractions which are not loving,

but, never so sly, I know I do them for loving.

There are so many people who are not loving,

and, never so sly, I can’t seem to make them start.
1307
(2010-09-19 00:59) - friends

I become so unnatural when tense; disassociated from my body, its needs and desires, I
become a series of tightened postures - each placed, with restrained fear, on its own egg
shell. I feel I have been straining and restraining again and again lately, eager to make myself,
simultaneously, as likable and invisible as possible.

See, while I was away in that cabin pulling that "Walden," Courtenay (my girlfriend who
I live with in California) took to enjoying sex with one of the young drug fiends I do business
with. I made the mistake of having her take over my little business transactions while I was
away - who knew this little tweaker would come to enjoy, not just my drugs, but also fucking
my girlfriend in my bed.

These past 19 days have been incredibly heart wrenching. She fucked him again yester-
day, seemingly to spite me.

(2010-09-21 13:31) - friends

Baby...

I’m just a boy. I’m lost, and confused, and scared.

And I’m trying to find you. I’m trying, I’m trying...

9.10 October

(2010-10-04 02:56) - public

How could nature not be conscious if our own consciousness is produced by nature?

In other words, to quote Alan Watts, "We do not ’come into’ this world; we come OUT of
it, as leaves from a tree."

Any intelligence we have existed first in the surroundings, of which we are composed.
We are, essentially, a whirlwind of culture.

(2010-10-04 02:57) - friends

She says it’s stingy to assume another’s expectation of gift giving.

Relive Me Through (2010-10-04 21:31) - public

There are pieces of me left in playful dimensions

’round the bushes of eye windows
where teachers watch over and smile.

1308
And if I recall them
they may even answer
In ways I know less of the less that I feel

How planned is the rain

reclosed like a wound made close again
Re joy rejoined at the joice of marriage,
for her wound reopened is a life retold.

Remember
Relive me through
with that fresh mind and clear voice
that rang only true
like the peel of sanctity’s bell.

Hunter S. Thompson Cover Letter for "The Sun" (2010-10-08 04:04) - public

I’ve been writing a lot of cover letters lately. It’s refreshing to see how a Legend
writes one, just to regain some perspective on genuineness and the contempt it
attracts...

Hunter S. Thompson
Vancouver Sun

TO JACK SCOTT, VANCOUVER SUN

October 1, 1958 57 Perry Street New York City

Sir,

I got a hell of a kick reading the piece Time magazine did this week on The Sun. In ad-
dition to wishing you the best of luck, I’d also like to offer my services.

Since I haven’t seen a copy of the "new" Sun yet, I’ll have to make this a tentative of-
fer. I stepped into a dung-hole the last time I took a job with a paper I didn’t know anything
about (see enclosed clippings) and I’m not quite ready to go charging up another blind alley.

By the time you get this letter, I’ll have gotten hold of some of the recent issues of The
Sun. Unless it looks totally worthless, I’ll let my offer stand. And don’t think that my arrogance
is unintentional: it’s just that I’d rather offend you now than after I started working for you.

I didn’t make myself clear to the last man I worked for until after I took the job. It was
as if the Marquis de Sade had suddenly found himself working for Billy Graham. The man
despised me, of course, and I had nothing but contempt for him and everything he stood for.
If you asked him, he’d tell you that I’m "not very likable, (that I) hate people, (that I) just want
to be left alone, and (that I) feel too superior to mingle with the average person." (That’s a
direct quote from a memo he sent to the publisher.)

Nothing beats having good references.

1309
Of course if you asked some of the other people I’ve worked for, you’d get a different
set of answers.

If you’re interested enough to answer this letter, I’ll be glad to furnish you with a list of
references – including the lad I work for now.

The enclosed clippings should give you a rough idea of who I am. It’s a year old, how-
ever, and I’ve changed a bit since it was written. I’ve taken some writing courses from
Columbia in my spare time, learned a hell of a lot about the newspaper business, and devel-
oped a healthy contempt for journalism as a profession.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a damned shame that a field as potentially dynamic and vi-
tal as journalism should be overrun with dullards, bums, and hacks, hag-ridden with myopia,
apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity. If this is what
you’re trying to get The Sun away from, then I think I’d like to work for you.

Most of my experience has been in sports writing, but I can write everything from war-
mongering propaganda to learned book reviews.

I can work 25 hours a day if necessary, live on any reasonable salary, and don’t give a
black damn for job security, office politics, or adverse public relations.

I would rather be on the dole than work for a paper I was ashamed of.

It’s a long way from here to British Columbia, but I think I’d enjoy the trip.

If you think you can use me, drop me a line.

If not, good luck anyway.

Sincerely, Hunter S. Thompson

swarms (2010-10-08 16:17:33)

Beautiful! Things really haven’t changed in journalism.

The Doing of Are I Am? And how! (2010-10-11 23:27) - private

How am I doing?

Hmm, I never know if you’re serious, but since you asked...

The little Stanford twerp I was selling to began buying from my girlfriend while I was in
Michigan. While he steadfastly remained a big fan of the drugs, he came to learn what a fan
he was of fucking my girlfriend in our bedroom as well...

She asked me to leave before I even got back from Michigan, as he’d gotten quite com-
fortable in my bed and in her. Yet, I resisted leaving as I had signed the lease and had every
1310
right to live in the apartment, which I had originally found and was quite proud of. I lived with
her the entire month of September, a month abound with bitter angry sex, confessions of love,
cold despondency, gift giving.

Last Thursday, she kissed me and told me "I love you" as she put on her jacket to go
drive to his little dorm room and get fucked by him all that night. The idea of it makes me feel
physically sick – the image and sound of her moaning...

When the drugs ran out, he stopped talking to her. Ignored her completely, yet I was
already set to move out - the decision had been made.

I moved out a few days ago, fuck the lease! I moved into a little spare room in the
ghetto of East Palo Alto with a black woman named Yolanda. She is an opera singer and
practices loud and often outside my door. The house next door is not actually a house, I
learned, but a home for the mentally ill. Often the wailing autistics seem to be responding to
the landlords equally loud vocal practice.

I am quite miserable here and have been trying to do this "silent treatment" stuff on
her – its kind of new to me and I don’t think I’m very good at it. When I ignore her, it DOES
drive her crazy – possibly as crazy as it drives me. I havent slept for days. I’m a disheveled
walking subway disaster, all the carnage dark and unseen below.

How are you doing?

Dear Autumn... (2010-10-15 03:12) - public

Like a long time mother-friend, I am cared for and loved.

A closing and opening knowing, hinge grinding on fear of attachment.
Respect these drifters as goddesses, riding a precious secret.
Their long trailing strings are histories that sting with wisdom.

Stored old scores, I collapse into tired stories, disassociated.

I fill a voice with remnants, and they are like many hot embers.
With beauty to fuel, charm to catch fire this tired passion.
I offer my archive like a wall, decorated with decades forgotten.

1311
A Daughter’s Old House (2010-10-15 23:48) - public

Music: E: __MP3__ ondes martenot 6. marcel - danse de l’oiseau de barbarie(1962).mp3

1312
A Czech clangs pieces of air ventilation ducts together in the dark behind an abandoned
factory Tuesday night, trying to replicate the cacophony of the riots that occurred there 10
years before. Political strife all but forgotten by the families huddled around around burning
barrels, babushkas topping hunched afghan-wrapped shoulders. I hear the crying of a father
over a lost son in the night, I hear his heart beat and the sad soundtrack of his helpless
wail. “Please… PLEASE!” he sobs into his clenched fists, as if clutching in bed for something,
anything, to save him…as he is falling.

A chorus of pained ghost mothers wails confusion behind his bed, lost in a wall of sleep,
they share his loss, and its desperate need, for all of eternity. It poisons them so slowly, that
attachment whose pain returns like slow throbbing. Is there a mother who refuses to look
up, who doesn’t want to see light ever again? So much forgotten…eventually everything,
except for that one empty hole, that well she lost him down. She must never look up from
that blackness again, for that would dishonor his memory, and invalidate her grief.

The bedroom door creaks and his 8 year old daughter stands, blond mess of hair groggy
in footy pajamas, “Daddy? What’s wrong?”

Drums, timpani’s pound like bull elephants across the expanse, but stop: an eerie atonal
confusion slides, hinting the other side in a glance, through a crack in normality’s confidence.

E:\ _ _MP3 _ _\Various Artists [1974] from czech electronic music studios\03 - Václav Kucera -
Two Parts from the Kinetic Ballet (the Labyrinth).mp3

Metal shrieks, the alley ventilation now electromagnetically resonant – there is a spot-
light now, and an area in front of the brick wall which has been swept clean. Here women
dress like they used to, taking out the opposite of their Sunday morning best, their Saturday
night best – their old dancing dress, long disregarded in the bitter cold of the recession. A
beautiful brunette in a blue dress and high heels stands long-legged up to the microphone,
the electric hum of metal builds like a swarm in the air around her. In the flash of a shot, we
see her mouth open wide, eyebrows arched over intense eyes, screaming and stomping the
song, some ludicrous marching anthem, pounding madly with national pride, faster and faster,
clanging inhumanely the cymbals and bass drum. Militaristically insistent in its fervor, she
stomps along, a toothy blaring roof-mounted figurine for this tank.

She once wore that same faded blue dress to the ballroom, when its color was bright as
her eyes. She knew this waltzes steps, and was courted by so many men, the young and the
rich. She teased them, laughingly, and sometimes laughed for real – eyes smiling from behind
her hand fan at the charming son of the baroness. Dancing, dignified posture so erect, they
twirled holding each other and, in her eyes, she was in love; exhilarating first love.

Floor, wire, soot…a baby cries out cold and unheld. Desperation toils blind here, it is a
black shameful mountain of concrete which rises high and smoldering to block out the stars.
Together, no more… one watches the other and wishes so much to speak when it sees the
other cry out in loneliness and wanting. This is the industrial revolution, we have blocked out
the other side and forgotten that stars were even there. We have only the word, stars, whose
meaning degrades to mean something lesser.

But the stars still shine, even on the other side of ignorance. There remains the faintest
of lights in the night sky and it is not they that are hidden, but us, beneath this blanket of
1313
convenience’s waste. Long glaring light of science, fluorescent white lab floor tiles buzz with
the meticulous observations notated there. In time, the harsh fluorescent lights will be shut
off and, in the dark, fainter lights will be seen again.

What Should My Direction Be? (2010-10-16 01:44) - public

I asked the I Ching "What should be my direction?"

Cast Hexagram:

7 - Seven
Shih / Recruiting Allies

Deep Water beneath the Earth’s surface:

Untapped resources are available.
The Superior Person nourishes and instructs the people, building a loyal, disciplined following.
Good fortune.
No mistakes if you follow a course led by experience.

SITUATION ANALYSIS:

You must gain support from others.

Find a way to make others want to see your objectives met as badly as you want it.
How can they profit from the attainment of this goal?
Can you command confidence that you are just the person that can bring this plan to fruition?

Filling Chance With Selfhood (2010-10-17 02:11) - friends

Music: Explosions in the Sky - Memorial | Powered by Last.fm

I smoked pot last night and it opens up near-supernatural opportunities; life changing occur-
rences spring out from my freshly-opened center. This had been a long time coming...

I spoke with genuineness and vigor to the girl of my dreams: a blonde and buxom Scan-
dinavian named Ava. She is one of two identical twins, now living together in San Francisco.
Both her and I, by chance, became officially single on the same day and have been struggling
through the subsequent move into new apartments. She described her apprehensions with
new suitors, admitting she was more attracted to me physically than the man she’s been
sleeping with. As we bared progressively more personal aspects of our selves, I felt the
emotional draw which I knew was mutual. As the conversation got deeper and more intimate,
the topic of sex and the deep healing aspect of the physical bond arose and she professed she
looked forward to enjoying sex with me...

As I typed my response, my laptop gradually acquired an awkward angle.

I left to buy 3 bottles of mead, as I had half an hour before seeing the movie ENTER
THE VOID

1314
IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _59

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _59

with a [3]girl I recently met. She was beautiful and I held her. In the seclusion of the
dark theater, I kissed her wet and deep with my hands sliding up her short dress. I fingered a
19 year old tonight, as she held my hard cock in the dark...

The old man sitting alone, behind and to the left of us, was the only one who could see
what we did in the occasional light flashing of a bright scene. We gradually settled back
into the movie, but someone else did not. Behind and to the left of me, I could hear a
rhythmic squeaking - repetitious pelvic motion. The old man, alone behind us, was currently
masturbating. Slightly horrified, and with morbid disbelief, I listened more closely and glanced
casually behind my shoulder to see, in a quick flash of projector light, his hands right where
I’d expected them...going to town. My friend Carolina was oblivious and had to pee from all
the horny play. As she stood up and left, the squeaking stopped...and then oh-so gradually
proceeded. My focus could not divert from his deed, the faint sound of rubbing heard beneath
the soundtrack – escalating to a climax so crudely concealed. I waited...a seemingly-innocent
shuffle of positioning in his theater chair was actually a sly maneuver designed to mask the
slow devious sound: "ZIIIIIIP!"

The movie was sophomoric and self-important.

I left and walked down University Ave, feeling full and cocky, with a dangerous strut and
glance to match. The Stanford kids were all spilled out into the street, and one of the best of
of them had put dishsoap into the Hamilton Avenue fountain – amorphous foam forms now
spilled out into the street with the suddenly child-like Stanford kids spilling playful out with it.
Police officers lined Hamilton as drums and jazz guitar fueled the kicking and throwing of the
beautiful white bubble wall mess.

Yes, a live band had setup beside the fountain, about 5 musicians strong, and were driv-
ing playfully through some kind of noodley jazz. A black man named Cats was playing the
bongos beside the drumset, which was being wielded delicately by an older white fellow,
meticulously dressed in a knit sweater vest to match his gray hair, so carefully parted to one
side. He tapped his through his tom rolls teasingly.

I watched as Cats stood up from the bongos and motioned to switch with Mr. Sweater-
vest. This left the bongos open, and I nudged Cats’ shoulder, asking if I could play them. He
said "Yes, of course."

I sat and played them with rhythmic patterns divided neatly, intently, with strength and
1315
powerful accents. I rhythmically mute one drum while alternatively hitting it as hard as I can.
This creates a loud slap and ringing which is silenced in half - dance rhythm! Me and the
drummer coalesced patterns, taking turns playing off and climaxing built parts. To think that
bongos could influence and guide the changes of 5 musicians is quite new to me. I love that it
happened.

Eventually Cats stood up and there was an empty seat, the driver’s seat...

I cannot adequately express how good it feels to play drums, loud and hard, in a public
place, like Stanford’s University Ave on a Saturday night.

Soon as I jumped on the drumset, and started pounding out a strong solid beat with
those 5 street musicians, people began to dance. It was like I could suddenly wake their asses
to shake, to join in my rhythm and celebrate with me.

Such beautiful girls leaned, shaking their shoulders over the drumset to catch my eye. I
felt so alive and so sexy! Glancing a devious "come hither" smile to them in return.

...surreal

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2659%26%26%26youtube%26
bKRxDP--e-Y%3A4a767626cbdb9196d798de6a106bc843c285d8c7
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2659%26%26%26youtube%26
bKRxDP--e-Y%3A4a767626cbdb9196d798de6a106bc843c285d8c7
3. http://www.okcupid.com/profile/Carolcarolp/pictures

monroe_the_fast (2010-10-20 16:08:28)

Hilarious. The best part was the one sentence movie review.

Plucky Duck: America’s Guilty Love Affair With Chemistry (2010-10-20 01:04) -
public

Declare, I’d rather not. Nobody really wants to hear a declaration outside the declarer. But,
if I had to, I’d say something about how I have the right to change my own mind and that
this right was born with me. Who can tell me I can’t change my mind right now, or specify
the ways and ranges of its change? The Police State, or so they believe, but I changed my
mind tonight – it was a change for the better, and so was known nobody knew any better.
Beautiful changes like these, however slight or short lived, must, not merely be made legal,
but embraced, fully, directly, and unambiguously, by the culture at large. None of this Loving
the Product (the music, the literature, the art) and disowning its Source (the entheogen, the
psychedelic, the inspiration, the epiphany - however induced, the muse - however called.) The
Christian families who treasure Sgt. Peppers, but advocate for all LSD users to be castrated.
The school principle who jams Jimi Hendrix in his car, while going to work where he ruins a
child’s future for smoking grass.

Yes, all this has been said a hundred times in a thousand different words, but I define
and defend my rights none-the-less.
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(2010-10-24 23:55) - public

On top of "Hey Now," game-on, rockstar, not-getting-paid-edness,

there are long time deficits in go-gettedness.

Case in point, day in point, month in point.

Clothed are the reasons, naked the heart

last night, safely, it was bared once more.
And, as if by fate, her punishment severe
Her body’s reaction, immediate sickness once more.

Close implies closed:

Case in point, night in point, self in point.

A no-nonsense fortune seeker born with a fortune,

he was a tom cat flabber-ghosted dreamy-pants with a record long lost.
Together, they’re the *sitcom advertisement vocal tone* Couple!

The Old Finnish Cabin Beneath The Light of Lives (2010-10-25 00:37) - public

1317
With less and less time spent in the company of self, such company comes to assume
it’s unappreciated. ...These are the dangerous activities, ambiguously healthy for their risk;
the climbing of the steep positive (and so easily made negative) cliff face, the ledges which
rise, like steps, up towards the peak of solitude.

Gar...why so wordy! The first sentence isnt.

"one idea per sentence!"

But the semicolon...it’s layers of the same idea...

the metaphor helps to explain the dangerous activity: the solitude.

Take pity on me, cliff face, and remember how I scraped and clawed in falling from the
grace of your white peak. Remember how you nestled me in your cool knowing, the crisp
crystalline nature of your reflections, shared through me as insight. I was yours and you mine,
and our love was deeper and grander than any earthly union could enscale. Remember me,
and let your cold Nordic wind enliven me, guiding me once more.

Then to now to never learning, and will I ever? This last life was a potent one, for I car-
ried the inclinations of its older knowing through to this lazy fool. And perhaps the eyes
only get brighter when they are being shared, when the combined light of souls behind them
represents a whole lineage of spectators. The line extending back to the Family Cabin, whose
interior is the subtle dark of afterlife: that unseen life which makes the windows like one-way
mirrors.

Waiting To Graduate (2010-10-25 01:30) - public

I was being graduated in the rain, the misery and cold dark of dusk soaking the diploma before
it even entered my hand. Receiving it from a short thin Asian man, he shook my hand saying
"You could have had this 3 years ago, in 2007."

I realized the last 3 years of my life had been a waste, he knew I had learned nothing
and was informing me that it was no secret – in fact, it was quite obvious. I walked down
the steps from the stadium fence, heavy with the guilty acknowledgment of wasted life.
He walked out beside me, meaning to console me, seeing his observation had struck deep.
Mid descent, I saw a baby falling down the stairs in the rain, almost rubbery in his mid-air flight.

"Professor, the baby boy...he’s bouncing!"

The doctor seemed unsurprised. I ran down the steps, where the infant quivered pa-
thetic and broken down 3 more steps before ceasing to move in front of a green door. The
professor caught up casually, and looked down at it beside my horror. It was a cartoonish fetal
mass: only a head with two lifeless arms and legs protruding - a round Mr. Potatohead-looking
thing, in still flesh.

Hearing a gurgled moan, I look up and see 4 other infants laying up on a wet concrete
platform 10 feet away. Each was deformed in a different way. The large pale one behind
had flippers, laying across like a wet flesh-colored sea lion. The flipper slapped faintly, as
if twitching, with a desperate gasp for air. Another much smaller premature fetal baby laid
1318
beneath his chin, kicking his tiny leg up as if in response. The other two were dead.

I felt physically sick, and leaned forward as if to wretch. The Professor spoke up, "I actu-
ally worked here... years ago. God! I’m so thankful to have that nightmarish job behind me.
This department deals with all the malignant ones, it where they are left to die. We cannot kill
them, see – so the university serves to ’dispose’ of them, in a sense."

I was reeling at the realization, I had never encountered something like this...but gradu-
ally I began to understand his rationale, the reason for the department’s existence. The
families had not the resources to care for these sick accidents, or their profound handicaps
and, yet, euthanization was out of the question. This is the inbetween place; the misery we
insisted they endure.

"Sometimes I swore, it was as if some of them actually knew what the green door was,
what was on the other side, and were fighting to get through. Like they wanted so badly to
get to the other side. Freedom."

Outline From Presentation "Intraterrestrial Intelligence" (2010-10-27 22:57) -

public

I. Introduction

A. My Name Is Kaleb Smith – a consciousness researcher at the Neurophenomenology

Lab at the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology in Palo Alto, California.

B. In the past year has been to try to identify one or more distinct states of subconscious
perception as well as develop some method of reliably inducing them.
i. My belief is that there exist many bandwidths or “channels” of consciousness beneath that
of our typical waking state and that many of these are capable of facilitating legitimate per-
ceptions and even communication.
ii. My current pilot study explores the possibility of inducing one of the of the out-of-body
experience, using hypnosis.
a) But before I begin to talk about research and theory, I think it would be good to describe
some of the actual experiences that inspired me to pursue this area of study, to give the work
a solid grounding in reality – well, as solid as we could hope studies of this freaky stuff could
get!
b) To give just the rationalizations, without the actual experiences I was trying to hard to ratio-
nalize, would be like giving you a glass and no water to hold in it.
II. Background

A. 2003 – In the winter of 2003, my girlfriend was raped in her sleep. It happened at a
party, she was slipped some sleeping pills by her friend’s husband.

i. The rape seemed to trigger a powerful set of spiritual events.

ii. You know, it’s a different part of self violated in sleep – with her conscious defenses lowered,
it was her deeper, subconscious self that was hurt.
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iii. She began to wail in her sleep, and leave her body at night – that hurt aspect of her self
crying out, looking for help.

B. The following night, while the two of us laid in bed talking, she suddenly cried out that she
felt a weight on her chest and that her was paralyzed. She said she could feel it climbing on
top of her, she began to cry afraid. I had no idea, equally confused and terrified. by what I
have since learned is called an Incubus Attack or, in psychiatric circles, the Night Paralysis
Hallucination.

C. Possession

i. Hand – Myoclonic Jerk

ii. Illness followed, body attacking self
a) Vision of woman in white “Demons hand Grows Within You”
iii. Studies of OBE and Incubus Attack

D. OBE - “Get Back!”

i. legitimate perception of room

ii. additional subtle perceptions

E. Woman in White – Entity of white light

i. light radiated across several levels of perception

a) Existed physically from a location in room, but perceived in the minds eye from same loca-
tion.

b) Light carried emotional information, comforting warmth and love.

c) Light absorbed by wall, overwhelmed minds eye days later with “residual heat”

III. New Life Direction SLIDE 2

A. So, after these experiences, I began to struggle to make sense of what had happened and
what still continued to happen as my unexplainable illness progressed.

i. I came to refer to these entities that interacted with me and my family as “Intra terrestrial
Intelligence,” as in intelligent beings existing within discrete ranges of frequency above or
below the narrow bandwidth of our visible spectrum. I will describe this idea more fully later,
but would like to speak first about the basics...

B. SLIDE 3

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i. That of Frequency, itself
a) I started to realize how all-encompassing this form of the wave truly was.

b) Crest and trough

c) I came to think in terms of scales of energy, grand crest and troughs governing all of
observable nature. Duality: Life/death. Day/Night. Solid/Space. Surface/Depth. Each implying
the birth and necessitating the death of the other, in oscillating cycles of rippling frequency. I
rationalized that if all observable life is subject to this law of duality, it is safe to assume that
those aspects of life which are unobservable are, likewise, composed of frequency and energy,
however subtle or, as of yet, unmeasurable.

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C. SLIDE 4 A Ripple...

i. All we know and observe of nature exists as that same waveform, as the traversal of
conscious energy across a carrying medium.

a) So, by applying the energetic laws that govern all observable nature to the unobservable:
say consciousness, the afterlife, or the subjective experience of shamanic trance, we can draw
potentially-testable inferences and even linear representations from this premise that all scales
of energy, observable or not, exists as radiating frequency. Vice versa, it can be said that the
existence of a frequency implies energy traversing a medium.
b) Now try to keep that image of expanding rippling frequency in your mind, as you view this:

D. SLIDE 5 electroencephalography,

i. A breakthrough in understanding came for me when I realized the rippling frequency

across the surface of the pond was the same as the rippling frequency of neuronal activation,
spreading across the surface of our cortex.

ii. Brainwaves represent not just a single frequency, but a vibrant and noisy pool of many inter-
acting frequency states from different functioning areas of the brain – it is raining on the pond.

iii. It is in the rare occurrence of when these many areas become harmonized, that is
brainwave synchrony occurs, that the truly profound felt shifts in consciousness, thought, and
perception occur.

iv. So, lets dive a bit into brainwave states, their meaning and their potential mean-
ing...

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E. SLIDE 6 Electro – encephalo – grapic bands.

i. We see here the 5 major bandwidths of consciousness.

a) I am sure all of you have seen the brainwave states at some point, Gamma, beta, alpha,
theta, delta...
b) The divisions are crude and overly general, and most researchers I have found who devote
extended study into the EEG states ended up discovering many additional distinct stages –
some claiming 12 or more of these micro-states.

F. SLIDE 7 - GAMMA

i. Gamma is the rarest of the brainwave states, not typically experienced in our day to
day waking consciousness. It represents some of the highest recorded frequencies of cortical
activation

ii. A study by Lutz showed Long term Buddhist meditators experience powerful high am-
plitude gamma synchrony – that is, they induce a high frequency state of consciousness
across many different areas of the brain.

iii. What is interesting is that the exact same states of consciousness achieved by Bud-
dhist monks by decades of intense daily meditative practice are also achieved by simply
drinking ayahuasca once.

a) Luna, Stuckey, and Lawson, studying ayahuasca ceremonies in Brazil, found Widely dis-
tributed cortical hyper-coherence, that is to say
b) Ayahuasca causes many areas of the brain fire at the same brainwave frequency
c) This makes sense given the profound synthestasia experienced during ayahuasca – seeing
the icaros, hearing the visions, feeling the lights and colors all occur while those different
sensory areas of the brain are resonating together, at the same wavelength.

IV. SLIDE 8 – BETA AND ALPHA

A. We see BETA with the beta-states with strong, excited emotions such as fear, rage, or
anxiety, as well as with alert attentiveness, selective attention, concentration, or anticipation.

B. The ALPHA state is linked to focus and imagery – that is it has a suppressive function
which allows us to selectively filter out extraneous stimulus.

i. When we smoke a joint, this is “zone out” state – staring off and focusing on a single object
or thought, a sort of “tunnel” cognition where all surrounding distractions are drowned out by
alpha.
ii. Alpha has been of special interest to me, especially with my EEG studies of supposed medi-
ums at the William James Center.
a) What is interesting is that, as they claimed the spirit entered their body to speak, we saw a
FLOOD of high amplitude energy surge in the alpha band. It was not continuous, but seemed
to serve as a sort of GATEWAY function, seen only during the entrance and exit of the entity
1323
into the body.

V. SLIDE 9 – THETA

A. Theta is amazing, it is where the ocean of subtle internal perceptions begin to inter-
mingle with the external: known as
hypnagogic or transitional perceptions.

B. Delta is slow wave sleep and, like the other extreme, can be reached by experienced
shamans or meditators.

VI. SLIDE 10 – MYOCLONIC JERK

A. Yet the most fascinating things occur along the lower range of alpha, extending into
theta – the MYOCLONIC JERK. This is the twitch of the leg and, in the case of the possession,
the gnarled claw taking control of the hand in place of the body paralysis.

B. The jerk occurs as we begin to lose awareness of our physical surroundings, the mus-
cles of the body begin to release from motor control – which often presents as a feeling of
falling.

VII. SLIDE 11 - MYOCLONIC GATE

A. My belief is that the twitch represents the edge of a unique bandwidth of conscious-
ness, a discrete range in which our subtle or residual self may separate from the body.

i. With the body and residual self separate, I was paralyzed – the separation also served as a
gateway through which a different entity could enter my body and take control.
ii. At the myoclonic gate, the outer physical self and the inner spiritual self may separate,
experienced as a descent into a lower realm or a non-physical perception of the room and the
body, or an out-of-body experience.
1324
VIII. SLIDE 13 MS. Z out-of-body

A. In the fall, I will begin a pilot study attempting to show the legitimacy of these non-
physical perceptions, perceptions of the room and of self made without the sensory organs.

B. Here is the experiment, as performed by my professor Dr. Charles Tart.

i. Ms. Z, the subject, claimed to leave her body several times a week, floating above bed.
ii. Dr. Tart placed 5 digit random number several feet above the bed, 4th night...

IX. SLIDE 14 SHAMANIC REALMS

A. My experience is that the science of consciousness can serve as an interpretive framework

for the shaman’s journey. His ascent and descent into realms of inner experience, and his
interaction with intelligent conscious beings existing there in that “inner terrain,”

B. Descending out of body once, in the realm inbetween sleep and wake, I suddenly could
hear two women talking – becoming aware of them suddenly, mid conversation. Amazed, I
listend as they spoke of children....but moments later, there was a pause of several seconds,
and then one of them said amazed “...He can hear us!”

1325
C. As I speak with others, I learn these are not isolated or rare experiences, but occur
to many people.

X. SLIDE 15 - RADIO

A. But what does it mean....

B. The interactions suggest that consciousness is not limited to observable physicality,

but exist as an energetic sea extending above and below the narrow bands of the visible
spectrum.

C. To simplify using analogy, our awareness could be thought of as a radio dial.

i. Descending down into sleep or trance, we descend slowly down through frequencies along
a spectrum.
ii. Rather suddenly, we may come upon “stations,” whole bandwidths of words and conscious-
ness existing as a realm of experience beneath our own.

iii. And perhaps as we learn to “tune” our perception and explore this expanse of frequency,
we may learn our little station really never was the most popular!

1326
XI. SLIDE 16 -
A. Thank you.

i. Please feel free to contact me to learn more or take part in the research I mentioned.

Presented at the 2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Conference

turboswami (2010-10-28 05:59:37)

The Wave: I came to think in terms of scales of energy, grand crest and troughs governing all of
observable nature. Duality: Life/death. Day/Night. Solid/Space. Surface/Depth. Each implying the
birth and necessitating the death of the other, in oscillating cycles of rippling frequency. I rationalized
that if all observable life is subject to this law of duality, it is safe to assume that those aspects of life
which are unobservable are, likewise, composed of frequency and energy, however subtle and, as of
yet, unmeasurable. So, by applying the nature of all observable to the unobservable: consciousness,
the afterlife, or the subjective experience of shamanic trance, we can draw potentially-testable
inferences and even linear representations from this premise that all scales of energy, observable or
not, exists as frequency. Vice versa, it can be said that the existence of a frequency implies energy
traversing a medium. Early shamanic man 4 millenia ago knew this, that consciousness was fluid
in nature. His work, his journeys, relied on controlling his internal energetic state, learning that the
frequency of his consciousness in-fluenced the nature of his perceptions. It wasn’t until just a bit
over a century ago that science was able to “catch up” and finally measure this subtle energetic
frequency and correlate it to changes in states of consciousness. Thus, as it could be measured,
consciousness finally “existed” to the Western empiricist. I have decided to share some powerful
personal experiences with you today. I began to think, if I were to only describe my understandings
and rationalizations of spirit without first describing those actual experiences which I was trying to

1327
rationalize and understand, it would be like giving you an empty glass, but no water to hold in it. This
bandwidth model of consciousness is like the glass, it is how I hold the experience, but it would not
exist were it not for the water – the experience itself.

confliction (2010-10-28 19:38:33)

If you’re ever in England with access to this equipment (or i’m ever in California) i’d love to volunteer!
Also, may i suggest an improvement upon the Ms. Z experiement? The 5 digit string could be an LED
or similarly activated device that is triggered by the subject entering the requisite brain wave activity.
This way it can never be claimed that the subject merely looked at the numbers while awake, as they
were not visible while awake!

turboswami (2011-10-22 22:07:59)

Yes, its a good thought, but would still not defend against one of the main critiques of Tart’s study –
that he was not showing evidence for the out-of-body experience, but merely proving telepathy, or
remote viewing. ...its MERELY evidence of telepathy. haha.

Notes From The Underground (2010-10-27 23:09) - public

BRAINWAVE STATES:

In general, beta-states are associated with strong, excited emotions such as fear, rage,
or anxiety, as well as with
alert attentiveness, selective attention, concentration, or anticipation.

In general, alpha states the seem to suppress cortical activity in areas of the brain that
are not being used to focus on stimuli. In other words, if a visual stimulus is presented to a
subject, areas of brain devoted to tactile sensation and auditory sensation will show enhanced
alpha wave activity.

In memory scanning tasks, where subjects attempt to memorize lists of words, it has
been shown that as the task gets more difficult, alpha power will increase in areas relevant
to suppressing distractions. During mental imagery tasks, it has also been shown that alpha
power increases in areas of the brain that detect the subject’s outer environment and that as
the task gets harder, alpha power will increase in those same areas.

Increases in alpha waves are associated

with suppressed sensitivity to external stimuli.

Kasamatsu and Hirai observed alpha waves in Zen meditators, and studies on transcen-
dental meditation have offered similar results. (see footnote 46)

In many of these studies alpha wave power is higher than non-mediators both during
and after meditation. Also interestingly, cannabis use has been linked extensively to
elevated alpha waves both during the active effects of the drug and
afterwards. This is interesting given the drug’s effects of inducing states of increased concen-
tration and focus that tend to drift from object to object.

It is likely that in the case of meditators, they are balancing beta waves and alpha waves—the
1328
beta waves keep their meditation linear, in the sense that they keep their focus on the
same object of meditation consistently, as the alpha waves in their brains let them focus in
intensely on that object. The difference in phenomenology between meditation experiences
andcannabis experiences, at least in part, may have very much to do with a lack of beta wave
production in the initial stages of cannabis use. As use continues, users find that they can
focus on one object for longer and longer. This process of learning to focus on one thing may
reflect the users’ increased production of beta waves.

These changes have been linked with a general increase in cognitive competence that
comes with maturation, whereas the reverse change, in which increased theta and delta
power are observed, is associated with declining mental abilities
in old age. In other words, as you get older, you have more of an ability to focus on particular
things because you are better able to suppress distractions, by generating alpha waves in the
areas of your brain that need to be suppressed. If that skill, of generating alpha waves on
command, has not been learned, attention will not be focused.

The theta-state is described by sleep researchers as stage 1 sleep. This is considered a

sleep stage because subjects pass out of the alpha-state, in which they still have full aware-
ness of their surroundings, into a theta-state in which subjects lose their sense of lying in bed,
and being awake. Subjects can be easily awoken from this stage of sleep, and it has many
interesting properties. This state of consciousness is also referred to as a hypnogogic state,
or the twilight state.

Psychologist Thomas Budzynski explains:

For a brief time as we lie in bed at night, neither fully awake nor yet
asleep, we pass through a twilight mental zone that Arthur Koestler has
described as a state of reverie. Many people associate this drowsy stage
with hallucinatory images, more fleeting and disjointed than dreams, and
compare it to the viewing of a speeded-up, jerky series of photographic
slides. A host of artists and scientists have credited the imagery of this
twilight state with creative solutions and inspiration for their work.

Percussion and Trance

“Percussion and Transition,” published in 1967 in Man. According to Rouget, Needham’s

view begins with the claim: “All over the world…percussion…permits or accompanies commu-
nication with the other world.” Rouget writes, the problem then, according to Needham, was
to discover what the exact relation was between the concept of spiritual existence [NOSCs]
and this “non-cultural affective appeal of percussion.”

BEER (2010-10-31 16:18) - public

I don’t know how many bottles of beer

I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
1329
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!"

the female is durable

she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad

they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there’s beer

sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.

edensgray (2010-11-01 12:57:20)

:)

1330
9.11 November

(2010-11-02 21:47) - public

Home is where the heart beats slowest, settles itself after the furious pounding of battle, fight
or flight in the daylight.
I don’t know but through hints, glimpses through others’ eyes of this person I portray. The
portrait is seen differently by each.
I do not paint myself well; painting pain, anguish, many of these colors do not suit me. My
palate was once brighter.
"Please leave me alone." and they do.
"I am not doing so well." and so it is so.
’I really need to lie down." and so I do...
and the days progress, there,
outside from where I hide
and nights stretch on into pallor of madness.

Oh ego! You rise unseen to pounce.

I am not this attacker, this hunter.
Yet I am viewed as a predator, dangerous.
I am avoided, my bared teeth actually defensive.

I am ruined and alone by my pride,

I display it, this thick withering peacock plumage,
to conceal the knots of my insecurity, poorly.
This is the brutish piss of youthful dominance, fading.

And within this extreme, too, is cradled its opposite,

the deep caverns of selfhood, explored.
The open genuineness which twinkles distant behind eyes,
remnants of depths plunged. Gah!! And more self-aggrandizement!

Why must I hold those immense experiences in such high regard?

Treasure them as I do, use them as garnish for my personality.
I’ve come to identify myself with some extraordinary memory...
The memory fades, yet this identity still maintains that grandiose shape.
...so unhealthy.

–<<snip>>–

Jim,

I feel so foolish. Those emails must have seemed so self-important!

I get these ideas and they feel big, but it perceived so badly.
Alicia unfriended me. I need to try to connect.

I am still eager to learn, genuinely. I’m sorry about the wordy bullshit.

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-Kaleb

–
Prove it with a wink.

[1]http://www.subtledensity.com

1. http://www.subtledensity.com/

(2010-11-02 23:33) - public

Perhaps as one approaches the last of their lives on this crude physical plane, it attracts atten-
tion; positive or negative. .
Those spirits, noticing the progress come to watch more closely, spectating the final Champi-
onship Game.
These are the most intense plays, along the "final yard line," when all the audience holds its
breath.
And all the demons come out to torment and stop him from passing over the boundary, to his
goal,
...in this short and, perhaps, game winning play.

Annoying The Tiger (2010-11-04 01:49) - public

I admit, I’ve really down in the dumps lately, lonely and unemployed since the move. Yet,
through this low point, I’ve been talking a lot to an old professor about a mentorship these
past few weeks. He is not just any professor, but the founder of my school and a brilliant
(and often ferociously sharp) intellect. I have been insistent in my emails, often sending 2
or 3 before he finally replies. Yet he is replying less and less, and I suspect I am annoying
him – yet this potential mentorship he originally mentioned, where I would be accepted into a
circle of academics as a sort of apprentice, would be a major career-changing (and potentially
life-changing) opportunity for me.

With the last (3rd) email sent to him just this morning, here is what the I Ching says
about my situation:

Cast Hexagram:
10 - Ten

Lü / Annoying the Tiger

Heaven shines down on the Marsh which reflects it back imperfectly:
Though the Superior Man carefully discriminates between high and low,
1332
and acts in accord with the flow of the Tao, there are still situations where a risk must be taken.

You tread upon the tail of the tiger.

Not perceiving you as a threat, the startled tiger does not bite.
Success.

Scalar Evolution - Part 1 (Cabin Journal, 8-14-10) (2010-11-09 18:18) - public

Music: Klaus Schulze - Bayreuth Return | Powered by Last.fm

How could nature not be conscious if our own consciousness is produced by nature?

In other words, to quote Alan Watts, "You did not come INTO this world, you came OUT
of it!." Any intelligence we have existed first in the surroundings, of which we are composed.
We are, essentially, a whirlwind of our environment; a spiralling feverish mess of milk and
numbers protein and ideas. Our isolate separateness from nature is illusory, science can no
more separate us from nature than it can an insect from the ecosystem that sustains and
defines it. The absolute isolation of the petri dish is a lie, a myth of the belief system which is
observational science.

Regardless of scale, we see the same intelligent pattersn take from through the behav-
ior of individuals in a societal complex. Ants, with individual brains the size of a grain of sand,
herd and raise aphids – which they then milk regularly and store in "barns," constructed to
house them (Perry, 1983). Agricultural patterns which took our civilization millenia to realize
have been employed by ants for 50 million years; the cultivation and harvesting of their
mushroom "crops" (Chapela, et al, 1994).

Essentially, these observations of identical societal construct patterns existing on suc-

cessfully on grandly different scales suggests that DNA is responsible for, not only certain
behaviors within the individual, but also for behaviors and organizational divisions within the
larger society. Conceptually, this does not seem like much of a jump – the genetic basis of so-
cial behavior is already well-established. Yet, as one considers the deeper connection between
DNA and the organization of human civilization, the implications quickly become torrential in
their number and profound in their meaning. The birth of agriculture is an innovation which
anthropologists consider the birth of human civilization – an ascention in societal structure, up
and out of the struggle of the primitive hunter-gatherer society. Yet this point in our history as
a species, on which we prided ourselves for our extraordinary intelligence and inventiveness,
exists identically amongst lowly insects, our ants, whose brains are the size of a grain of salt?
...much less, the similar social behaviors observed in molecular forms, like virii, which modern
science does not even consider to be alive, let alone intelligent.

"Until about 600 million years ago, there were no organisms more complex than bacteria, algae,
and single-celled plankton...Then, 543 million years ago, in the early Cambrian, within the
span of no more than 10 million years, creatures with teeth and tentacles and claws and jaws
materialized with the suddenness of apparitions. In a burst of creativity like nothing before
or since, nature appears to have sketched out the blueprints for virtually the whole of the
animal kingdom... Since 1987, discoveries of major fossil beds in greenland, in China, in Siberia,
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and now in Namibia have shown that the period of biological innovation occurred at virtually
the same instant in geological time and all around the world...all but one of the phyla in the
fossil record appears within the first 5 to 10 million years." -Madeleine J. Nash "When Life
Exploded."(1995)
This sudden surge of advancement seen in the early Cambrian period signifies a change in teh
scale of the organizational system; a jump from the uni-cellular to the multi-cellular order. The
solitary "fight or flight" evolution of individual uni-cellular organisms ascended to a larger-scale
cooperative mode of living: a society of interdependent social roles. And, much like the pattern
seen in humankind, the pack became a village, became a city, became a civilized metropolis
of complex and highly-specialized roles, divided and organized into cell types and tissues. This
change of evolutionary scale, much like the more blatant instinctual behavior of individuals, is
plotted and programmed in our DNA – that entwined and coded informational stream we share
with the civilized ant and which binds all of those phyla which emerged as a singular whole, so
quickly and efficiently, once that "program" was finally executed.

(2011-01-18 11:26:22) provides access

Just saying thanks will not just be sufficient, for the tremendous lucidity in your writing. I will right
away grab your rss feed to stay abreast of any updates.

turboswami (2011-01-18 12:08:26) Re: provides access

Thank you. :) I admit, there is something about being in an isolate cabin nestled deep in North-
ern Michigan’s dense forest that really lends clarity and calm to a person’s thinking and writing. I
miss it! (Although with 5 feet of snow burying that cabin right now, I think Cali’s treating me just fine! ;)

The Instinctual Drive to Debate Ideas (2010-11-09 20:20) - public

I hate that argumentative edge of a critical mind – that to critically discern is to invite
argumentation, and all the tension and strain on a relationship that inevitably comes with
debated disagreement. That is to say, it is sometimes so much more beneficent to drop the
critical thoughts and the need to be right which often drives their expression, and simply smile
and nod, as a sign of love. As if to admit that the relationship is of greater importance than
the idea...

Yes, we are social animals, and there’s no denying the importance of companionship.Yet,
our companions make claims, and so do we. How do we navigate all these asserted beliefs,
deciding with accuracy which claims to accept as truth and which to ...
reject? Critically considering and "rejecting" a loved one’s beliefs is so often taken personally,
as a rejection of that person, who you may still love, but simply disagree with. How can
we overcome those major riffs, ones which divide us across those often deeply-held, self-
identifying beliefs?

It’s in the self-identification, the binding of an ego with an idea, that defensiveness is in-
troduced. As if we wrap our self in the belief, it gradually hardening to a thick inflexible
carapace, so we have a conceptual self-defense. When we "butt heads" in argument, we
are essentially slamming one closely-held idea up against another; bullishly like two prideful
male deer, antlers strong and fresh, we charge – he who’s made the most valid "points"
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wins. The antlers branches are an outgrowth of the head, much as the branches of concluded
thoughts and belief are an outgrowth of the mind, and its "branched" hierarchy of categorized
representations of our environment. With these branches of conclusions, we navigate daily
life – each outgrowth serving us; a nuanced social tool much like the antler, whose purposes
extend beyond just mating.

The intellectually-dominant male will not simply win arguments, but will also attract the
most arguments, given his status in the society. The male of the Alpha role, the premier "bull
of the woods, " never maintains his dominant position in nature for long, but is challenged in
competition by the increasingly stronger, and less and less child-like generation of young bulls,
vying for the selection of potential mates the "old man’s" position affords. Is it any surprise
that that "Old Man," that conservative, is represented politically as an old bull elephant? ...or
that new and rising market growth in economics is represented as a young charging bull?
Socially, the dynamics of the "butting of heads" in competition define and drive our civilization
in natural, expansive, and instinctual ways; the subtle day-to-day influence of which we
remain mostly oblivious to.

While the climbing of social ladder is evolutionary, driven by mate selection, and com-
plex with the subtlety of thoughts and behavior we devote to it seemingly-infinite, that is not
to imply the convention is not impermanent. Perhaps the complexity and subtleness are de-
velopments resulting from the decline of that male-dominant paradigm in our species. "Fight
or Flight" is, after all, an outdated, anti-social, and ego-driven model. If, as a species, this
fairly new cooperative social model we’ve been experimenting with continues to develop and
be successful, we may outgrow the need for bullish offense/defense schemes and dominance
altogether!

edensgray (2010-11-10 13:47:41)

This is a nice thought provoking piece...thanks!

Psychiatric Medicinal Use of Marijuana (2010-11-11 18:07) - public

Representative of the medical model, it is amazing to consider that the prescribed medical us-
age of pot is, primarily, for the relief pain – completely ignoring what is traditionally considered
the main effect of the drug: the cognitive changes and subjectively-experienced enhancement
of mental faculties.
This subjective effect, even if the main one, must automatically take the back seat to the
objective “side effect” by default , given the materialistic focus of Western culture and its
observational science. While there is, of course, some outward indication that one is “high” or
feeling bliss (a calm smile, distantly gazing eyes and, yes, a release of tension,) this visible clues
only hint at the often immense inward experience, the often overwhelming flood of insights,
ideas, and refreshing awareness and, consequently, its meditative release of inner tension.
Acknowledging that the main effect of cannabis is a psychological one, it would make sense
that this would be the effect employed by doctors; that is, by psychiatrists.
The use of marijuana can be used in a psychotherapeutic context in order to induce self-insight,
lowered defenses, and a general “loosening” of ego.
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It is a psychedelic of the mildest degree, making the use of the term Psycholytic Ior "mind-
loosening") Psychotherapy most appropriate when describing this “loosening” or softening ef-
fect on the ego.

erauqs (2010-11-12 05:23:14)

Funny thing, our psychologist seemed to dismiss the effects of cannabis as "numbing" after we told
her that we used to just lay down and let our grief wash over us, but only when "high". Numbing?
Really? It did not bring us away from our self, but into it.

annasiegfried (2010-12-19 09:42:27) marijuana

Pressure for legalizing marijuana is higher than ever in the US and I think that despite the medical use
marijuana has, soon we will have [1]smoke shops just like in Holland... really waiting for that... Merry
X-mas!!!

1. http://www.how-to.com/article/details/450/smoke-shop-provides-superior-herbal-tobacco-alternative-smoke
-experience.html

Point of Contact: The Ripple of Concentric Self-Identity (2010-11-13 01:37) - pub-

lic

What is an adult?

I dont see adults. When do people become grown-ups?

I was so sure it kept going, and was so surprised to see them all just stop,
stop the inward growth, the "growing up" of self-identity, genuineness, knowledge and
compassion
stopped.

"These cant be grown ups." I remember telling myself at age 7 as I observed.

"There must be more than this... Where are the real grown ups? The mature ones?"

It was more...there could be more! Self-development need not stop with physical devel-
opment!
How can I improve my life, and set an example of true maturity for my children?

What is True Maturity?

That is a difficult question as it really forces one to decide "true" success, which is re-
ally an ideological construct with a great deal of cultural influence in its definition. It would
not be uncommon for an individual in an American(ized) culture to define success in terms of
income, and the ability to provide necessities and comforts directly proportional to his degree
of success. A beautiful car or house, in this case, is representative of success; the West-born
notion of the "status symbol."

This is the crudest and outer-most definition of identity, surrounding one’s self with ego

Body is mature,

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Mind is more

Soul is better.

Ground of being is best.

If the layers of self-development could be thought of as a progression of maturity, that

progression would be an inward one. Graphically, this could be seen as a set of concentric
circles, as if the boundaries of the layers were rippling outwards from "center," self. The point
of conception is the connection point, that SPLASH! when we touched the surface of that fluid
medium and entered physicality, our life below, in the denser medium. The further you return
back to that point of impact, the closer you get to True Maturity, perceived as more and more
advanced and genuine understanding of identity.

There is an outward and an inward type of identification with the body. The Yogi strives
to improve his body, its health, flexibility, and sensitivity or "openness." This is a very inward
direction of focus. Yet, plastic surgery, fashion, and beauty-enhancement could be thought
of as a very outward direction of bodily focus – an often obsessive attention to surface and
image...

SURFACE AND IMAGE

To integrate these two areas of self-focus, "surface" and "image," into our previous graphic
model, the ripple on the surface of water, each concentric band, radiating out from that
"conception" point, could be thought of as having an "inner" and "outer" type. Each measured
ripple waveform has a crest and a trough, a positive and a negative slope, one rising above
flat line, "zero," and one falling below. In this way, the outward type of identification with the
body would be a crest, the inward a step closer to center and the outward crest of mind.

turboswami (2010-11-13 11:28:09)

A few minutes after I posted this, this message came up at the top of my facebook feed: Buck B. Meyer
watchin "Grown-ups" again.......... 5 minutes ago via Mobile Web I am convinced he did not read this
post, but cannot comment to ask as it is blocked. Just eerie...

Untended and Less Felt, I Recall A Fountain (2010-11-13 02:07) - public

Reason’d reasontly this recent resonance I feel and express, untended and less felted.
Less an dle idle, flow twards the last and forever fountain, dont know so much when you
remember.
All at once, the fate collides and all the tightened spindles unwind their time. No judgement.
PSirens will lower their call, and teh fires will burn us clean of all our plastic money indulgence,
the frantic disarray of our sensory-driven consciousness, childish,
the finicky screaming youtubes which weaken us with comfort, stunting our maturity.

Untended and Less Felt, I Recall A Fountain,

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The Fountain of Last and Forever, Radiant.
To watch the physical forms which are born and die,
so slow, they seem unchanging in our eyes,
yet this is merely an illusory consequence

of our scale of time perception.

These amorphous water forms

which rise and fall
spurt out from beneath

Scale of Time Perception (2010-11-13 02:08) - public

"Scale of Time Perception"

There must be a better way to say it than that – while it is clear, in that instance, what
is being described:
the grand scales of change, from glaciers to galaxies, which we, only recently, became aware
of enough to measure or estimate. Our short lives cycle a 100 million times in the simple
movement of a galactic arm, or the quick splash of a supernova. Scales of time limit our
perception of events – rather, there are events happening on scales of time both above and
below us, within and without us.

Maybe "viscosity" is a better term; to describe time in terms of a frequency traversing

more or less viscous mediums. We see "thick and slow" movement as gradual, perhaps
imperceivably so, too dense and thick for us to enter or interact with. Yet this outward
perception we have of that time scale is surely different than the perception conceived upon
that much grander frequency band.

(2010-11-13 02:44) - public

I am a little embarrassed watching it tho, I gotta admit.

Its kinda like when you hear yourself on a voicemail or something
and the "Wow! Do I REALLY sound like THAT?!"

...only the even more powerful shock of self-consciousness:

"Jesus! Do I really look like THAT?" haha.

Anyway, thanks and hope to see you again soon.

-K

Simple interactions, the failure, the falseness,

and the resentment it attracts.

So restrained I am that that energy comes out in that way,

through that personality seems to have grown inflexible and ingenuine.

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I am unhappy with my lack of direction, but don’t want to mention it.
I feel the paint hardening and know, soon, this will simply be the way I appear.

(2010-11-13 02:45) - friends

Oh, no boy? Really?!

...the most beautiful girl in the room is not taken? ;)

I am very surprised, but I know your character and it is good and pure.
Your character is also one which appreciates solitude, and sometimes needs it.
...you are beautiful and hidden from the world. I miss being part of your world.

The Abandoned Juvenile Facility (2010-11-13 03:01) - public

Can’t escape this juvenile detention center, but I see my family driving by outside – they are
looking for me. I wasn’t supposed to be here this long, but they won’t let me leave.
In the 1950’s, this place was so modern. Now, look at these arcade-sized bathroom machines
you slide sideways into: they are like tall toilet which you sit in, tightly colmpact, with blue
dingy water up to your neck.
It is a Government Issued automated sit-down bath/toilet.
And with a loud “flusshhh!” the whole bath capsule is emptied, floaty poo and all.
It shows what the government thinks about these poor and disabled social rejects housed here.
Three severed heads lay in a clean white linen hospital bed in the housing hall. They are 3
different colors, different races, above and on either side of a body laying dead in the bed.
They’d all been piled there for a long time, but I believe it was a sort of alter or art-piece the
kids had constructed with dead patients.
Decades of decay and disrepair have destroyed this place, and the juvenile patients have
become more like squatters in a forgotten and abandoned hospital. Rain, which once 30 years
ago had began to drip in the North-East corner of the lobby, now pours in over the white tile
floor – green with thick moss,
mold crawling up the walls.
The right side of the room, which houses the bathroom stalls, is ankle deep in this green stag-
nant water, the toilets, themselves, alive with vibrant fungi and barnacle-like molds thriving in
the wet.
…I didn’t want to sit on that one!
I escaped out of the front door and an officer quickly apprehended me, assuming I was one of
the juvenile detainees. I explained I had just went in to use the bathroom.
“Oh yea? Then where are your shoes!”
I looked down and realized I had left my shoes in the bedroom hall, when I was climbing across
that expanse of bedding.
1339
“Oh no! They’re still in there! Can you please escort me back through that so I can get them? ”
He followed me back in, and I felt safe as I had a police officer with a gun there, in case things
got out of hand. The patients would be waking now, and would sense a stranger in their midst.
The moment I entered the lobby, a tall lanky boy in a blue shirt bowled me over from the right
side of the door saying “Hey! Where do you think YOU’RE going?”
The police officer was well behind me, being swallowed up into scuffles with 3 girls, distracted
from my need for assistance.
On the relationship between Ego-Death and Creativity: Thinking outside the box is perhaps
easier if you have a somewhat less-intact box.

Random Word Assign Divination Tool - "Output 1" (2010-11-13 05:08) - public

The I for is powerful of calm, if were to work psychosomatically.

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1340
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turboswami (2010-11-13 13:12:06)

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1341
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turboswami (2010-11-13 13:13:44)

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1342
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turboswami (2010-11-13 13:13:58)

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Cabin Notebook - 8/12/10 (2010-11-13 18:17) - public

...that is why emotional sweetness ans servitude in a relationship is dangerous. Like diabetes,
it will blacken your toes and rob you of your feed of self-sufficiency.

As much as self-restriction hurts, as it also limits one’s freedoms, it does so by way of

discipline. In order to ultimately benefit self, indulgent and unhealthy freedoms are sacrificed
to the greater good. In the ideal of the disciplined and conscientious society, this sacrifice
is one of selfish individualism and the greater good is the culture, as a whole. In this way,
the individual comes to identify himself with the "greater body," that complex and civilized
society which he composes, and his vision contributes to the grander vision of his beneficent
and humanitarian government.
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"AYA - Page 1" - Cabin Journal - 8/14/10 (2010-11-13 18:33) - public

There are aspects of this life for which man is still an infant. Towering over materiality, we have
yet to see the bounds of our physicality are the bars of a crib - contained and safe, our growth
and progress is observed. It is my intention, over the next two weeks, to leave the crib and
explore the dark subtle unseen of the greater room, and those who own it. I hope to be able to
keep some record of what I observe there, as best as the capacity of my human memory allows.

I have fasted for days, eating bananas and rice only every other day. On this, the final
day before the ingestion of the powerful ayahuasca medicine, I have eaten only the bark
and needles of the White Pine: the plant I have chosen as my "teacher." Given that the
flora of Northern Michigan is vastly different from that of the Upper Amazon Basin, where
the ayahuasca and its ceremony were created, I am admittedly "groping in the dark" of
an ecosystem foreign to the shamans who developed the aya medicine and its ritual. Yet,
undoubtedly, the generalized rules and etiquette concerning the means of learning and
healing via the guidance of conscious plant spirits in nature sure still apply min this drastically
different Northern temperate zone, the Central Deciduous Forest region of the United States.

I have prepared a mattress and a purging bucket, much like those provided by my shamans in
Peru. I also have Michael Harner’s shamanic drumming disc ready in the headphones, which
I believe will facilitate an inner journey in a way comparable to those Shipibo icaros which
guided my ascent to the higher realms last time I drank ayahuasca. I also have a microphone
and recorder ready in the event that a some song or words should choose to come through
me. I expect spirited inspiration of this sort and welcome it.

I did my best to purify this small woody shack from any and all negativity, spiritual or
otherwise. Only pure white light is welcome within these walls, as they have been cleansed
with sage and tobacco.

The intention "I radiate health and youthful energy" shall be my mantra and goal tonight.

(2011-02-11 20:09:53) vuitton bags

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(2011-03-20 09:57:28)
We’ve a bit of difficulty to subscribe the rss, in any event I’ve book marked this great site, is quite
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(2010-11-14 04:31) - public

Does deep emotional connection require language/words?

Would you rather your child was born beautiful or intelligent?

I have attracted the resentment of my peers and loved ones.

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There is nothing so disgusting as the appearance of falseness.

Do we find it easier to love someone with our own genetic makeup?

(Do we, truthfully, resonate as deeply with step children as we do with blood children?)

Heisen and The Cortical Horse (2010-11-16 18:32) - public

The grotesquely deformed half-amphibian German mad scientist, Heisen, had created in his
laboratory a horse composed entirely of brain matter. He would carry on long and complex
debates with his creation, discussing German philosophy and molecular physics. Yet, the
cortex horse had grown sick – it could not even stand up on its own, but had to be propped up
against something. It spewed out nonsense like "Albert Einstein was a brilliant nutritionalist
back in ’55 in 1977..." and "Selenium is a type of animal curled waiting in his intestines."

To each of these arguments, the angry German scientist would sternly respond "No!"
with a short description of the nature of the cortical horse’s error. He continued this for no
other reason other than loneliness – as it was still a reason for talking; an interaction of some
sort.

I found the Lindenmeyer’s camp had been turned into a post-apocalypse shelter. A sim-
ple set of cozy beds nestled in small "survivialist" constructs of branches and leaves. A sign
posted by the DNR invites passersby to stay, and to discern and appreciate the different
woods used in each enclosure - like the fine aromatic differences between the cedar and the
pine. The sign went on to explain the generators provided electricity for lights and simple
appliances and that wolves would sometimes come in at night, but would mostly just "walk
through" the sleeping area...
"...yes, after chewing off a few faces!" I thought as I read.

That was what seemed peculiar is that there were no doors – the enclosures were sim-
ple fully-open shelters, sort of like caves made of wood. I laid in one of the beds, enjoying the
solitude. I went through all the cupboards, seeing what they had here – many basic staples:
lots of Government toilet paper, a recently-opened bulk box of salt shakers, a whole cabinet
of napkins.

Down behind the shelter was a more formal building, in the middle of being constructed.
Peering into a side building, I saw about 40 beautiful fully-nude girls standing in a red-hued
room, on bleachers in 3 rows – as if getting their picture taken. Gorgeous! They laughed,
teased, and giggled with each other, carefree and seemingly very used to being naked and
beautiful. I navigated the settings of my camera, with hurried frustration, trying to find the
damned flash option to turn it on. Dammit! They were breaking up and heading to the
showers...I snapped a picture, trying to capture this rare and unbelievable find, the Playboy
Bunnies I stumbled onto in the woods one day. The picture was fuzzy, a blurred image of a
girl walking away from me...

confliction (2010-11-17 13:49:27)

Is this day 3? ^ _^ I’m thinking of spending a week sometime in 2011 ingesting some form of
DMT/MAOI concoction. I’m therefore very pleased you’re actually doing this yourself right now and i’m
looking forward to reading your experiences!

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 turboswami (2010-11-17 21:20:35)
Haha. This was just a dream I wrote down yesterday morning... The recent post describing the
Amazonian brew was actually something I’d written on an antique typewriter out at a family cabin
in the woods last August Sorry about the chronological confusion...I’m just now getting to transcribe
all those pages (about 44 in total!) Excited to hear about your own spiritual intentions, although I
do stress the highest degree of caution in the use of ayahuasca. Many told about my "Walden" plan
told me I was totally irresponsible for going in without a "guide" of some kind – yet I had drank over a
dozen times and felt fairly well-acquainted with the perceptual heightening, both the rapturous and
the dangerous sides of the sacrament. To "go at it" with the most powerful psychedelic compound on
the planet alone the first time? ...I honestly would not recommend it. Any expectations I THOUGHT I
had were shattered this summer. Its a very treacherous slope. Do you know about dieta?

confliction (2010-11-17 23:05:18)

Ahhh, got ya! Thanks for the clarification ^ _^ Dreams are also a great part of my life. I’m under no
illusion that Lucidity is any form of preparation for a DMT experience... but it might help. I’ve also had
a very powerful, although irresponsible and unprepared for, mushroom experience. For all intents
and purposes, i had fasted, was very drunk, and ate an eighth of dried Liberty Caps. It was pretty
much a level 5 psychedelic experience... i had many different kinds of ’time’ experience, altered
reality, reality loops, loss and merging of my body with my environment, perceiving the merging
of individuals into each other, before finally disintegrating reality into nothing more than my gaze
staring at a face in a void which was like a mirror but looking the other way... no matter how hard i
tried to turn my head to look straight on. And more. I didn’t like the fact that i was not prepared nor
had the conscious where-with-all to understand that i was tripping and was not trapped in eternity.
What i did enjoy was the interpretive process afterwards and how ’revealing’ the experience was
about others and especially about myself. I think i’m open enough of mind to accept whatever is
thrown at me and make of it what i will. I’ve read Strassman’s book, DMT: The Spirit Molecule and
found it to increase my interest exploring this part of myself and of reality - if, indeed, it is real. Some
part of me is reckless, to be sure. But i also know i should temper myself and, like a boy scout, be
prepared. Any advice is welcome for set and setting. I’ve not heard of Dieta... but i’ve just googled it
and it seems like something that could be useful... but, also, a lot of ritualization and time consuming
nonsense. Maybe i want to seek guidance from Aspartame? Why remove myself from the culture
and it’s chemicals that i’ve spent my life trying to understand? This isn’t to say i’m dead set against
the idea of detoxification. If there are any really really good ideas as to why having stuff in your blood
is a bad idea, i’d love to read more! Besides, the high is only supposed to last 15 minutes, right? xP
I’ve had dreams that have lasted weeks, years and lifetimes. The void embraced me for an eternity.
My expectations are perhaps negative. Maybe expectation is the wrong word... but i’m prepared for
some fucked up and really darkly distressing shit. How bad can it be? Breadcrumbs will lead the way ;)

turboswami (2011-08-09 00:28:34)

Yea, did you ever end up trying it?

confliction (2011-08-09 01:47:07)

I haven’t as yet had the chance to prepare the requisite material, time, space, and solitude for
this experience. Sorry that I have nothing to report! How are your studies coming along? What
you’re doing academically/career choice wise seems highly interesting! I follow you in many guises
on the interwebs ^ _^ And to think it all started by stumbling on your Thy Fluid Mechanics myspace.

turboswami (2011-08-09 06:53:07)

Woah! My very own stalker?? ;) Awesome. I’d thought we first ran into each other on the Abstract

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 Thought community board. Anyway, I know what you mean...I’ve been waiting for the "right time"
forever now, for so many things. The list just keeps growing, while I just keep getting more and
more entrenched in routine. I think its sometimes best to just dive in and try it, as all factors
and variables will never all be PERFECTLY aligned. ...of course, that’s easy for me to say, isnt
it? I am now a Transpersonalist, graduated. I am teaching psychology at a college in Oakland
and currently preparing for a major conference, the Association of Transpersonal Psychology’s.
Basically, I want to get up there on stage and sort of introduce myself to them with a BANG – the
biggest idea I can muster – as these will be all of the major players of my field, of whom I am to
network with and know. I want to make an impression. :) Friend me on facebook, if you want:
http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home #!/kaleb.smith

confliction (2011-08-09 12:51:47)

That would make more sense... as I do not see how I would make the jump from Myspace to LJ like
that. Perhaps the first I heard of you was through something on LJ about your Myspace? I’ll leave
it to the internet historians to figure out ^ _^ The ’perfect’ moment for me will have to involve at
least being employed, and at the very least solitude from the opposing influences of my brother...
who I currently live with. I think employment will come first. Then, when he has joined the Marines,
solitude. Or I move out. Or he moves out. Or something xP That is really quite something... to be
able to have a career in the field that most interests you. Congratulations and well done! ^ _^
Perhaps you have already mustered this big idea? It is perhaps something you’ve already written
in your LJ, but needs a little polishing in regards to being a full presentation/concept? It sounds
like this ATP will be quite receptive to your ideas (there’s a pun in there somewhere). So re-
ally, just go for it! But remember, it can’t be ground breaking without at first touching the ground ;)

(2011-01-23 01:48:25) Vi ma gjore nada

Les hele bloggen, ganske bra

Intraterrestrial Intelligence (2010-11-18 16:36) - public

"Like the earth of a hundred years ago, our mind still has its darkest
Africas, its unapped Borneos, and Amazonian basins...We are out of the
Old World, and exploring the antipodes." –Aldous Huxley
[1] [2] [3]

– But to think that of those unexplored inner continents, there may be those which,
likewise, have their own inhabitants, existing and progressing alongside us at an
inward distance. Their appearance and customs may surely seem strange to us, as
"alien" as China’s vibrant hidden culture must have seemed to early explorers like
Marco Polo. Yet neither this foreignness, nor the perhaps unorthodox method of its
exploration, should dissuade our mapping of this inward frontier.

1. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10100411507387714&set=a.814902396924.2665531.2302530
2. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=52207479&id=2302530
3. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10100411507387714&set=a.814902396924.2665531.2302530

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Sleep Loss and Loose Associations (2010-11-18 17:15) - public

If sleep strengthens weak memory associations, then is it not reasonable to assume that those
with weak (or loose) associations may be missing a lot of necessary sleep?

Many populations of schizophrenics, for instance, exhibit the loosened thought associa-
tions which are symptomatic of their disease, while also self-reporting deficits in their sleep
– some of deficits chronic, extending back many years to the onset of their illness. Is
it too simple of an inference to say that psychological predispositions, like those related to
a family history of schizophrenia, may be exacerbated by consistent and severe sleep deficits?

How could one ethically test the cognitive effects of sleep loss?

Lonely Anne’s Television Washing (2010-11-27 03:48) - public

Trudging through about 55 solid hours of personal recordings, extending

back to 1998....
Here’s a catchy lil ditty I found from Spring of 2005. Enjoy!
[1]

[2]Lonely Anne’s Television Washing, by The Band Reflected

turboswami.bandcamp.com

[3]

Around that time, I was really diving deep into a technique I stumbled onto with a
particular studio arrangement...
The site prompted me to describe it with words, so I guess you could call it "Media
Current with Rhythmic Capture."

1. http://www.facebook.com/
2. http://turboswami.bandcamp.com/track/lonely-annes-television-washing
3. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

Moonspray Mark and The Finger (2010-11-28 00:16) - public

"I remember how the darkness doubled,

I recall lightening struck itself.
I was listening to the rain,
I was hearing something else."

I was driving in the dark, the insects were migrating across pavement, down steps, across
1348
sand - swarming in spirals of meat and sperm. This is how they survived as a whole, as an
organized conscious entity composed of its individual members.

The graveyard was filled with translucent honeycomb spiders, digging like crabs beneath the
soil, searching for flesh. I asked the graveyard attendant how he keeps from going insane,
watching them all flood around his feet in waves.

"I just shut off my emotions – the reaction I would normally have, I just cut it before it
can bud open. Ya know? Dont get too happy, don’t get too sad. Just kinda float above...All
that shit..."

He sprayed a mound of the crab-looking arachnids with some kind of chemical he had
in a pressurized tank – like an exterminator’s. They actual made an audible sound, like a
hiss of escaping air. One of them held a portion of a grayed human finger in its little pincer,
dropped it and convulsed sideways towards a bush.

"Sure, I get nightmares about the fuckers. They all come up and swarm my house, my
daughters bedroom – all that awful shit! I woke up and saw em crawling up my legs in bed.
Fuck! My wife just about killed me, we both were screamin. She just has no idea... I mean, yea,
she reads it in the paper, but that is different from actually seeing them tear a body up into
pieces, to bring back to their nest or ...wherever the fuck they bring it back to. ...little fuckers."

He accented his final word with an aggressive spray from his chemical tank. It sputtered with
hissed air. "Almost empty. We’ll have to head back soon. Could you grab that shovel?"

I stood, hesitating...

Spiders Lay on Identity Rugs (2010-11-28 11:30) - public

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On a stepped sandy plateau in the desert, huge insectoid machines do battle – warring for
evolutionary supremacy, fuel, and parts.
Yet I ascended scale, standing above this model plateau mountain with my small but intricately
detailed playing piece: a mechanized jade scorpion, beautiful and translucent in the light. In
a rush, all this massive
mountain stretched along the back bleacher of gymnasium of a school in the middle of a game
being held on the floor (facing the opposite way)The
playing model extended behind like an exquisitely detailed model train mountain.
My creature descended 3 steps with a damaging “crash”, awakening accidentally a massive
rectangular battalion fortress – a sort of city on little scurrying crab legs. Awoken from hiber-
nation, its vents blew dust as its steam engines fired up from the sleep it had been waiting in.
Quickly, it descended in chase, some 20 times my size. My weapons uselessly scratched at its
solid exoskeletal carapace.
As I retreated two more mecha-scorpions of much larger sized species took chase behind, and
smaller round destroyers as well. I began to climb this cliff edge, a narrow treacherous path
1350
of which I had to angle myself half climbing the rock face to proceed up and up…while the
battalion crashed speedily behind, gaining. The only way was for me to make my way towards
the end of the bleachers, using the perspective of height and transcending the game so that,
from that higher level, they would continue their chase of me, and perhaps plummet to their
death.
It was my only chance…
So many people, their backs turned to me, standing and cheering and squirming and pushing
as I struggled to hold my piece and also make my way along the playing area. There were
metal tracks on each plateau level, and these were seemingly used to hold something. But
while they extended beyond the dangerous precipice in the game, they also extended beyond
the dangerous precipice of my bleachers. In order to get my piece over the edge of the plateau,
I would have to extend my own body over the edge of the bleachers, climbing over the railings
of this highest rearmost level.
Andrew Lactose caught me near this edge and grabbed my little mechanized scorpion, tugging
at it aggressively saying “Oh My Gd! Its so intricate! Amazing” It seemed he was trying to break
it while pretending to examine it, a guise.
He wasn’t giving it back.
I was ignoring the important test, my boss sat beside me and was very charismatic as I spelled
his name in the box on the test, a dumber girl saying I spelled his name wrong.
The center of the bleachers was a staircase of cement, with walking areas extending flat be-
neath stairway sections. In one of these flat areas, I saw “The Migration.”
Thousands and thousands of very delicate spiders were migrating in a line down from the model
battle plateau. People were stepping over the line, many gathering to witness, like standing
along the edge of a river. The spiders were of many differing sizes, based on their gender
and age. Little babies seeming like crabs about the size of a dime, yet the larger females
looked like delicate hermit crabs with large translucent color and bulbous crisp “shell,” thin
and brittle. Slightly smaller than a girl’s fist. They swarmed through, a smaller scale “crowd”
cutting through my crowd. They would form in huge vats, which their body’s motion would stir
with regular periodic precision. The three vats were for food, sperm, and ….something else.
A narrator, in best David Attenborough voice, began to describe the intricate social life of these
creatures,
who rely on these three reservoirs for all their daily needs. They reproduce daily, and need to
do very little else other than eat.

They lay on these special rugs for seventy percent of their day, social rugs. Laying flat
on their stomachs, the front of the rug has a face and head, which they lay their own chin on.
This second head is the social identity adopted for games and Interactions.

Observing The Magnetic Force of Emotion (2010-11-30 03:54) - public

Music: Late of the Pier - Bathroom Gurgle | Powered by Last.fm

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There are glimpses of subtle energetic forces – emotional, internal, and external – which are
afforded by the altered state. These glimpses are not limited to the blatant revelation of the
psychedelic state, however. I’ll give an example...

On Halloween, I brought my ex-girlfriend and her friend to a party of other grad stu-
dents. I won’t get into the details of her night, but lets just say we all drank. As she and I
drank and danced, a subtle "chemistry" was revealed through our interactions, an interplay
representative of the state of our relationship (or, rather, lack of.) I would, while dancing,
touch her and she would reject this contact. Yet, she danced with me and acknowledged me
as a dance partner – the two extremes both teased at, the rolling oscillations of a love/hate
relationship.

She entered the bathroom and spent a fair amount of time in there, and I became con-
cerned. She was sick and I felt bad and wanted to help and comfort her through the ordeal.
When she finally opened the door and stumbled out, I was there and put out my arms to give
her a hug, as I knew she wasn’t feeling very good and could use one....

The emotional and conceptual energy of my arms opening to embrace her was so pow-
erful that it actually knocked her backwards, away from me, bracing herself onto a side table
and then the wall to keep from falling completely. In that altered drunken state, the inhibitions
which would typically impede that inflow of emotional energy, allowing us to control our
reaction and remain balanced both physically and emotionally, were gone – and we caught
a glimpse of the almost magnetic force of repulsion which, while sober, expressed itself less
noticeably. Very powerful...the PHYSICAL push and pull of emotion over our bodies. Like
magnetic force, it is invisible – but we can identify and define it indirectly by means of its
effects, the influence we can observe.

9.12 December

The Mechanics of Heightened Perception - Pt. 1 (2010-12-01 02:27) - public

Music: Czech Electronic Music Studios - Václav Kucera - Two Parts from the Kinetic Ballet (the Labyrinth)
|
I’ve devoted a lot of thought to how to describe the subjective experience of getting high,
trying to make sense of what is actually happening cognitively and perceptually when we
smoke pot, for instance. Of course, there are so many factors that influence a high: most
immediately apparent of these is there being as many types of pot as there are types of
people, with each type having a more or less distinct place along a spectrum of subjective
effect. But, across this spectrum, we can safely say all pot makes people high – that the
spectrum, as a whole, is representative of an ascent: a "heightening" of perception.

This is metaphoric imagery, though. Perception, when thought of more traditionally as

an "inflow" of awareness. This is a Western "object-centered’ paradigm though – as, yes, atten-
tion can be directed outwardly onto other, it can also be directed inwardly as self-perception, a
mode of awareness which is de-emphasized by objective science and its materialistic culture.
When high, however, one can quickly become aware of this inward direction of attention - as
it manifests as an amplification of one’s self-consciousness. This is the root of the paranoia so
often described by smokers of a certain personality type, a type which, for obvious reasons,
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often avoids marijuana. Yet, eve people with this inclination towards paranoia often abandon
marijuana before exploring the mechanics of their fear, and what brings it about...

The powerful influence of setting on the direction of ones attention, for instance, is of-
ten not considered. Many self-conscious people, like myself, are especially so when around
groups of strangers (especially beautiful strangers!) And OH! How I’ve learned NOT to
smoke socially when first meeting a bunch of beautiful girls, say after a party at their place.
My God! The tension that fills the air as my mind begins to race with anxious feelings of
self-consciousness – the painful sound of sexual drive falling under the scalpel of analysis! It
is one of the most unpleasant types of paranoia, but again – it is just an amplification of some
aspect of my personality which is usually far diminished and which, in moderation, can be
quite beneficial - provide the personality with an "edge" of wit.

So, to return to this generalized conception of what getting high actually is...

(2010-12-07 14:21) - public

Dreamt of a hilarious ad for "A detergent designed to fight those tough Indian male pattern
undergarment stains."

Apparently Indian men naturally stain their tighty-whitey’s with skid marks in the shape
of houses. The front door of the house is located right over their "back door." Hmm....

I laughed so hard in the dream! ...I woke up laughing. haha.

(2010-12-08 13:32) - public

Like a distant time’s memory, an aged veil of haze separates me from you,
a obscure wanting I was born with, a vague longing from the edge of dream.

Drawing In Victims (2010-12-10 00:28) - public

The night light lit once a home I feared,

and it doesn’t exist anymore.
This is a place harshly lit,
without a dark corner or shadow.

I know now light is to be feared, not dark.

I know now that it is better not to see,
I know now that it is better not to be seen.
But to speak the softest knowing,
from a great distance.

Unless me, love, for I have become less

and less
Unless you, love, who refill me beyond full
with such shuddering tears of bursting joy,
1353
can stand withstanding with me,
I may shatter on our mirror.

Like snow white chalk, scraped along cold cement,

this is the sign, the marked scene left behind.
Where did he stand? How many shots were fired?
All these bodies fell, outlined contorted angels,
who are gone.

Two souls less / two souls more,

balanced between a surface of water.
This side and that, to add is to subtract.
And the victim, once more, hugs her father.

(2010-12-11 04:18) - friends

[1] Kaleb R. Smith

So polite... even aggressively so.

Maybe we can all hang out and be polite at one another.

Yes, I would like that. Yes.

– DR: How very gracious of you!

2 hours ago
– [2] [3]Kaleb R. Smith Sorry, His grace is no longer mine to give. ...He likes the
young ones, it seems. Dirty old codger that He is!
– [4]
fuck you buddy. Can I play now? ..Wow, your post just reminded me how tired of egos
I am, mine and other peoples both. Hmmm, now what, excluding intoxication...
25 minutes ag
– [5]
Haha. It was just a thought I had about certain very polite and politically-correct
people I know...and how uncomfortable I’ve noticed I get around them.
...its that there seems something dishonest about all that sharp grit-tooth smiling at
...
one another, so forced. It makes me nervous.
Obviously I didnt express the thought very well, though... I apologize.
Yet, as you remind me, I am tired of egos too – tired of pampering other peoples
defenses. That’s kind of what the post is about. I’m sorry for seeming so impolite!

1. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
2. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
3. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
4. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=644264289
5. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

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Hey! Who You Callin’ "Fishy-Eyed?" (2010-12-15 01:57) - public

I am alone in the midst of these happy, reasonable voices. All these characters
spend their time explaining themselves, and happily recognizing that they hold the
same opinions. Good God, how important they consider it to think the same things
all together. It’s enough to see their expressions when one of those fishy-eyed men
who look as if they are turned in upon themselves and with whom no agreement is
possible passes among them.

—[1]Jean-Paul Sartre; [2]La Nausée/Nausea, 1938

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Paul_Sartre
2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nausea_%28novel%29

(2010-12-26 01:14) - public

We are all so cocky with our perception so limited,

with our posing and our posturing
we ignore the time.

But time knows us better than we, ourselves.

Time has layers and, in them, are eyes.
Eyes that must find our meaningless concerns so quaint,
and watch, us endeared like so many oblivious children.

Letters from Suzhou - March 12, 2008 (2010-12-28 01:21) - public

Heyo,

I just got back from a week in the ancient garden city of Suzhou. I climbed Tiger Moun-
tain, which inspired that ENO album Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy.) I was going to write
about all this in LJ, and about my trip to Shanghai, and snot rockets, and boiled pig intestines,
and and and... but I dont write. I lounge, mostly.

Anyway, Suzhou is a water city, like Venice. Marco Polo called it Heaven on Earth. I
took a little junk boat through the canals in old town, under arched foot bridges of carved
stone. The boatman sang to me. Amazing.

My girlfriend weighs 94 lbs! I weigh much more than that. She plays with my fluffy soft
stomach, making little ripples. I dont like when she makes me ripple. I dont like that I can be
made to ripple.

On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED note, I just fried up some amazing little eggroll meat pas-
tries in olive oil. I was quite proud...I have not cooked since I’ve been here, because all the
1355
food in the supermarket looks truly frightening (baby squid, globs of intestines, strange angry
looking fish, worms) Even the innocent looking bagged snack food tends to taste like Mystic
Chinese Ass.

I give an hour long multimedia presentation tomorrow on Monsters Of The Deep! The
strange bioluminescent angler fish and bizarre viper fish of the very deep ocean. I had
planned on showing excerpts from a BBC dive, but lo and behold, China banned youtube
yesterday. Oh I sure have come to love this place. These lovable tiny men in such big uniforms,
shouting into megaphones from all sides.

It is said China will invade the US in 2012, landing first in Florida with nuclear-armed
submarines.
The certainly do hate us here. They do business with grit teeth, tolerating the bumbling fatty
Americans, who truly disgust them. And their nuclear submarine force does continue to grow,
once rivaling, but now overpowering even the naval superpower, Britain. Their super-silent
"Song" fleet is entirely electric, and so they are mostly undetectable. While christening an
aircraft carrier off the coast of Japan, American naval elite were embarrassed to find that a
Chinese Song sub had bypassed 3 levels of security, and simply surfaced in the middle of
the ceremony to say "Hello." Chinese officials called the incident an accident, but you cannot
do those sorts of covert maneuvers into crowded and elaborate ceremonies by accident.
The fact is, China wants to be taken seriously, as both a military power and a Developed
(not DevelopING) country. They have something to prove. I have found them to be a very
ambitious but self-interested people.

What do you think of 2012, as described by Nostradamus, the I-Ching, and the Mayan
calendar?

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _60

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _60

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2660%26%26%26youtube%26
jKdiU_gzUrA%3Aff01606cb052eb2c5c7c6c9339e5b7440953a956
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2660%26%26%26youtube%26
jKdiU_gzUrA%3Aff01606cb052eb2c5c7c6c9339e5b7440953a956

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The Hermit and The Empress (2010-12-28 04:18) - public

All the way to California, in mom’s beat up shaky Oldsmobile, I prayed for guidance and pro-
tection in my choice and its journey. Finally arriving to California for my PhD in Transpersonal
(Spiritual) Psychology, I walked through downtown Mountain View and saw someone giving
tarot readings. So I decided to have my first...

— On Sat, 9/27/08, Kaleb Smith wrote:

From: Kaleb Smith

Subject: The Hermit and The Empress
To: *************@yahoo.com
Date: Saturday, September 27, 2008, 11:26 PM

I just got back from a night on the town, wandering the streets, people watching. Ev-
erybody holds hands and smile, standing in long lines.

I had a tarot reading and I asked if coming to California for this wacky zany expensive
degree is going to work out. The cards fell in a very meaningful way.
It said I am passionate now, which I am. This passion for spirituality was crossed, believe it or
not, by the science card. I am here, after all, to interpret spirit through science....what are the
odds that that would be shown there, in the cards?

It went on to tell me that this crossing of spirit and science would be met with great
strife, but that overcoming this difficulty would be reliant upon The Crown of Swords (hard
fucking work!) I have a lot of work ahead of me, and that is the deciding factor of my success.

Power will follow soon afterward, both inward and outward power. Interestingly, he said
justice is behind me...which he told me implies I already have experienced much more than
most people, and bring that knowledge with me to this place.

Finally, he told me I am The Hermit, the carrier of the light, the birth of new paths. When my
search is finally over, I will lower my defenses and be with The Empress. : )

Haha, I had never had a card reading. Have you?

After that one, I’m pretty much sold. I mean, the crossroads of science and spirit is where I
am now? How could it be any more accurate?

Oh, my deep slow heart, it races to catch up... ; )

The Well on Church Hill (2010-12-29 18:39) - friends

Make me ache, please, make me ache.

Make me long and search and need in stabbing cold rooms, unseen.
Make me ache, please, truly ache!
1357
It brings my heart to life again, to clutch in pain.

I still have something left to offer,

these remnants of pride still remain
where they were broken.
Take of me, all of me. I surrender.

The hollow well is old now,

and we plumbed it of its cold pure freely. Remember.
Remember how nothing compared to the taste of that spring water,
cold on our bare feet as we drank.

Remember, but never revisit our well.

The stagnant shame that remains would break your heart to see.

1358
10. 2011

10.1 January

The Subtle Ecosystem and The Greater Spectrum of Alignment

(2011-01-05 01:47) - public

Routines constructed of fear, brittle trenches of shards.

I know the relentless plodding march of ego’s soldier,

Dug in deep along the outermost line of defense.

I am apart from myself when defending myself.

“This is not me, this is a defense of me. Please excuse the …”

…intrusion, persuasion. From my left I feel presence, a vibratory dark, a brush of wind as he
moves from behind me. I feel a cold tingling sensation enter me from my left. I am never sure
what to think when they begin to interact, I am more discerning of the influence they bring
nowdays, as perhaps not every entity is a “gift.” Much as there is a spectrum of personalities,
of every mood and character, among the members of a human society, rationally so is the
case with all societies – be them observable, as is the animal societies, or unobservable, as
in the “subtle societies” of the unseen densities. Even the near culturally universal belief of
human society having a subtle form beyond death. This energetic residual of selfhood may be
represented graphically as the inverse of that selfhood and, thus, would exist, in some degree,
by any/all life with a sense of self.

Yet, even the word “society “ is too limiting if we are to let this spectrum of alignment
run its full course – as it extends far through these bandwidths, first beyond the bounds of our
species, and further yet beyond the bounds of our state of matter.
“Subtle Ecosystem” implies several species and several states of matter all interacting, com-
peting yet reliant. An ecosystem is a complex meeting of intentions into a web or, as I prefer,
a web-like tangle vibrant with interacting waves, of differing frequencies and amplitudes. This
is full consciousness of the system, the wider spectrum of individual “vibratory states” as they
coalesce in mutual expression. An subtle energetic ecosystem in harmony is beautiful and
balanced, yet when there is a knot of dissonance, all are effected by the rippling quakes of
tension and disorder.
In the observable ecosystem, we have species interacting with other species and, more rarely,
across boundaries of medium. The massive grizzly bear pawing at adult salmon is an example
of this, the salmon seemingly oblivious of the higher realm above their watery habitat (until it
so suddenly snatched up by the bear!)
To imagine the long trek of the salmon, perhaps simply "followed the light" up from the depths,
back through their ancestral memory, following a deep genetic sensitivity to a biological
1359
rhythm: the rise and fall of the spawn’s pull across the salmon’s life is a wide rolling wave
in time, one which the higher creature of the finer density medium, the air breathing bear,
exploits when he encounters (or, rather, when the rhythm of his intention interacts with the
wider ancestral rhythm of the spawn.) This is the interdependence of bandwidths, the set of
relationships which can facilitate interactions across divisions of species or states of matter.

(2011-01-05 01:48) - public

Poor kids got nothing to say, not me or anybody can compete with the cacophony.
The noise of lights, the noise of attention, the noise of blaring emotions and sounds,
How can our hearts not just explode from the excitation of our surroundings?
We are the most desensitized of human ecosystems, growingly ignorant and self-centered.
We have abandoned and nearly forgotten the oldest of our traditions,
The profession of shaman came first, the prostitute second.

(2011-01-05 01:49) - public

Rose the attention in a column up from my head, a shaft of ascent.

And in this upward cast of the broad exhale I heard distant chimes,
High as if through a long hallway, the image of them came in a red hue.
Her strong girl scarf is a long threatening highway, wrapped over her lips.
It’s a history that rises in defense, a wall that protects an older self.
Frail and unbecoming, her insides grow stagnant behind the baracade,
That heightened obsession, blocking the sun from its image it contains.
Ego, is the shell that binds, the carapace around the city.
Epigenetics made to withstand the what nature dealt man,
The most brutal punishment from even his fellow man.

(2011-01-11 02:26:00) re:

very interesting, thanks

turboswami (2011-01-11 03:25:11)

Thanks, I’m glad you like it. :)

A Consuming Fever Feeds Back (2011-01-10 19:34) - public

Metal room morphs for a screaming mind’s calmest moments.

Too many reflected reflections, bandwidths resonate in cyclic thoughts I can no longer
dampen. This is the sound of a fire out of control, a mad flaring wall of pain I must obsessively
1360
feed. I MUST think of her, for there is no other thought that can exist in this heat - this blind
raging all-destroying heat.

Attention is the fuel, the distilled accelerant, for which the fear still hungers even as it
gorges. The whole of my attention, my thoughts awake and through fever of sleepless nights,
are consumed by the bitter longing. I cannot release, even as she laughs at my pathetic pain,
my resentment drives the need deeper.

"Would you tell me if you were seeing someone else?" I ask her in my mind, knowing
the answer
...and it’s answer.

Breaking The Cycle, Killing the Feedback (2011-01-11 00:07) - public

The knee-jerk reaction to avoid a painful thought is driven by an energy of intention, which
drives a thought cycle. That is to say, the energy to avoid a thought only speeds the frequency
of oscillating return to that thought, a magnifying fuel which self-perpetuates exponentially,
driving faster and faster, feeding back on its own repetition until reaching a point of maddening
screaming resonance. This would be my main character,
“Oh! What a character!”
I reside alongside my life, a room, disconnected from its surroundings. From society.
Dogs bark like mad outside, competition of engines roar with distant struggles for dominance.
I see the face of the driver, young and sharp are the angles of his face, brows tightened with
intensity as he focuses from the slammed gas pedal.

Graphically-Representing A Type of Self-Directed Precognition

(2011-01-11 00:09) - public

The room besides in a line, each to one side of itself.

Here they stretch out along time, all my possible moments
This is a grid of potential interactions, coinciding lines share insides,
And their each co-inside-dance a a set of coordinates
Of the sum total of potential coincident moments.
In this grid space, a surge of light can reveal forward moments from one’s point on the line
of potential selves. This light is often a moment of peak selfhood, of radiant inner spirit being
contained, which is bright enough to be seen as it approaches through parallel selves. In this
way one can watch a future moment as it approaches, preparing to experience it, provide
carriage for the moment, and then watch as it recedes across to other points of identity.

The Phylogeny of Non-Physical Life (2011-01-11 00:11) - public

Of spirits, we must discern differences of personality, awareness, ability, and location (or “place
of origin” along the energetic expanse.) “Ability” is the most intriguing of discerned character-
istics, as it implies a whole range of differences; strengths, weaknesses among traits, much as
is the case among the differing traits of species in physicality.
1361
With our observations of the evolutionary differences in physical life, we can model a phylo-
genetic understanding of nonphysical life – that is to say “ability” is generally linked to “loca-
tion.” The environment of a certain geographic location decides what is needed of the DNA,
and pulls form from the intelligence of its code. The traits and characteristics of conscious
life which developed on distant bandwidths of the electromagnetic spectrum; “far off shores”
whose geography and climate are possibly very different from our own.
But, gradually, as we learn to traverse and interact within this inner landscape, a cartography
of locations across oceanic frequency could come to be drawn. At first, the means and details
of travel may be very personalized.
An example being Subject A interacts with Entity Z with the perceptual aid of a 5 mg dose of
DMT, Subject B, however, did not perceive Entity Z until 8 mg of DMT were administered.
(As with any medication, weight/height, age, gender, and genetics can dramatically influence
the effects of the drug. In a situation such as DMT, a precise scale of these differences in
subject response is required to systematically approach the multitudinous set of distinct states
of consciousness which the neurotransmitter affords.)
Regardless of these personalized details concerning the means of arriving at a certain subtle
location, the statistical significance of mutual perception of a given entity would contribute to
its formalized classification, with the experience of individual observations contributing to an
understanding of that form of conscious life and its environment.
With continued research of the neurotransmitter DMT, for instance, a range of commonly-
perceived state-dependent inward “locations,” or bandwidths of consciousness, tied to com-
mon subject experiences, could be defined. From the organization of data from the subjects’
state-dependent observations, a phylogenetic record of the distinct populations of these loca-
tions could be constructed, with data of dosage factors setting guidelines for the “prescription”
of the perception.
the pre-eminently shamanic technique is a passage from one cosmic region to another - from
earth to the sky or from earth to the underworld. The shaman knows the mystery of the
break-through in plane. This communication among the cosmic zones is made possible by
the very structure of the universe. –Eliade

"The very structure of the universe" is how Eliade describes the relationship between the
upper, middle, and lower worlds here – as a set of planes which the shaman can break
through. This interconnected relationship between the planes is also called the axis mundi or
world axis. When we consider what in our modern understanding of the measurable universe
can be compared to this traditional concept of a "grand scale" of existence upon which our
perceptual experience exists, the electromagnetic spectrum is the closest equivalent. Within
the visible spectrum is, essentially, the whole of our conscious experience in physicality. Yet
visible light is merely a narrow bandwidth in the grander scheme of things; the greater
unseen energetic expanse.

Key to relating the Eliade’s "mystery of the break-through in plane" to EM is in equating

frequency and density. The "wave" and the "particle" are, as we know, two conceptions of the
same energetic phenomenon. As Watts said so playfully, light is neither a wave nor a particle,
but a "wavicle." The spacing between particles is like the spacing between crests of a wave –
the more tightly packed the particles, the higher the frequency of that state of energy. When
we think of a spectrum in terms of differing layers of density, instead of as wavelengths, the
metaphor gains a dimension of depth which aids the conceptualization of the shaman’s
inward travel. When left to their own, densities of matter "settle" into layers, the heaviest or
1362
most dense mediums falling, while the highest or finest mediums rising. In observable nature,
the result of this universal law is seen when we go to a lake on a calm day. The dense state of
matter of water settles into the lowest areas of ground, separated from the finer state of
particle density, air, by a plane. Only in stillness and calm does this boundary become
perfectly planar, flat and mirror-like – likewise, only in still consciousness can we clearly see
ourselves, without the obscuration of distraction, when we peer into the dark of our inner
boundary. Yet its also with a calm surface that we can see through the boundary of water, to
all that lies below.

(2011-01-11 00:12) - public

I am apprehensive about my coming LSD session. I’ve noticed even mild psychedelics like pot
have been creating less and less controllable/manageable outcomes for me. The trip often
intense enough to annihilate the whole of my personality structure, deep ego death. In these
instances, the modes of interaction which require a personality are temporarily out of commis-
sion, as immediately following there is no form to carry the socialization, even if the intention
is present. Gradually modes of social interaction return with a newly developed sense of self-
hood, these interactions are often difficult or inappropriate. Often due to being granted a new
perspective on previously held conventions, this new sense of selfhood could be thought of
having expanded beyond the constraints of those previously held behaviors and beliefs, with
a less-rigid boundary of self-definition remaining. With this, hippies could easily ‘freak out the
squares,” and had the personal freedom granted in self definition to do so.

(2011-01-11 00:15) - public

Saul, I can’t help you not be yourself.

The mystery night lied masters asleep,
But for the record they drug up scars
From telltale plays and beasts forgotten.
On the stove there are brimming blames,
A breeding belly full of them, hot and toxic.
I can feel red magma caustic gurgle,
And smell the burning of bone and flesh acidic.

The Cartoonish Remants of Sea Beasts - Dream Journal 1-8-11

(2011-01-11 00:24) - public

Major life shifts occurring,

My dreams are spiritual and equivalent to giving birth .
I wake up exhausted and relieved at
passing such massive content.
Ancestry, the fishing village and father,
1363
Sexual frustration and its familial roots.
I attempt to have sex with Gilda Radner, but it pains her when I penetrate (through a little slit
in her pants)
Undressing I saw characters covering her penis? A critical Jewish mother wrapped up in a bitter
scarf, knit as a cock cozie. Two others – father, etc, each an angry and painful cock cozy for
me to contend with before intercourse.
...with her.

Distant big tit porn plays across a break in the center of the bridges railing. The television is
dark, outside, and in a swamp. The road is close, but obscured by a thin line of cattails. My
equipment, antennas and boxes, are near the tv and I feel good knowing they are somewhat
obscured from the view of passersby. A crude drunk man, a hunter, walks over the bridge and
becomes excited by the porn and begins to trouble my swamp woman. He grabs a gun off of
the wall, as do I. He tells me I do not have the guts to shoot him, as I shoot – the bullet nullifying
the charge of his bullet. He grabs a knife and stabs it through a can of gas I hold in defense,
spilling accelerant down his hand. I light him on fire, with grandpa’s help.
The celebration of family, ancestors cove darkened by nightfall creates a sort of nest for me to
mate with who they have chosen. They hide so close, behind this scene approvingly.
Father watches from so far, his fishing boat being criticized to me. I defend him weakly, describ-
ing the downriggers. Yet, I avoid his distant gaze, the eye contact implies acknowledgment but
distance serves
as a fine excuse.
I show my own son the trophies of the great sea beasts I have slain. An octopus’ head lies
mostly submerged beneath the sand – rubbery having become a sort of children’s jumping
spot. I ask my son what he thinks of it, and he says “its squishy inside.” I press my foot to it
too, and the organs still shift beneath the kraken’s skin, yes. .The other great fish I had
caught were near, a tourist attraction. My son did not believe I had anything to do with
them, this soft-bellied mild man in the sweater-vest. I am defended by my woman, who tells
him I killed them with only a knife. She taking the slightest bit of vicarious pride in the account.

What is wanted of me by now? The isolate call of spiritual discovery, and the battles for soul
and sanity that that will entail, or the quiet curling warmth of a family, and the security and
comfort that routine would bring.? My dream has so many elements of family, both behind
and before me, and all seem to encourage my being a father. But the dream is framed from
a future tense, AFTER I had slain the greats and made a name for myself. Such a relief, either
way, to awaken! My whole body seemed to vibrate from the intense psychic and emotional
upheaval . The change is a positive one, though, and all this being heaved up is is no longer
blocking.

(2011-01-11 21:22:32) Mass Money Makers

It’s every webmasters dream to have massive amounts of traffic isn’t it? I would like to to share
with you a fresh new program that came out Dec 28 2010 that is make people a HUGE amount of
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Money Makers[/url]

1364
The Eight Phases of Dating (2011-01-12 00:59) - public

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

Which phase are you in?

And Now I Feel Less (2011-01-14 02:49) - public

What happened? Where am I?

How did the story get so sad all of the sudden?

There are just so many days, will I ever be ready?

What happened? Where are you? Will you ever be ready?

Sunlight, tense brow, blockage and lies and lies.

Evade the sight as if it were possession,
evade the connection as if it were poison.

I know, but fight to hide my knowing.

(2011-01-17 21:12:37)
Source?

turboswami (2011-01-17 22:25:21)

Umm... I spose you could say the source of inspiration was being dumped. heh

(2011-01-18 21:54:09)
Got more? I thought I could relate. Was depressed last night..though, to be practical, you should get
things like this published somewhere. I’m sure many angsty teenagers who like to search for depth
and hidden meanings would love this. Actually, most of the whiny artsy crowrd would. ^^Not trying
to be an asshole..or nice, for the matter. Just stating a fact.

1365
 turboswami (2011-01-18 22:56:46)
http://poetrycritical.net/ turboswami/ Here’s some of the stuff I felt came out better - considerably
less whiney/angsty. :)

(2011-01-18 23:18:27)
Eh.. I had so much fun forming my opinion of you just from reading this journal..and there you went
and ruined it by that photo!

Lyrics For A Lush Folky Emo Song (2011-01-14 17:42) - public

These are the terms

The solemn longing far away
I have no more to give.

The ocean spreads on and on,

with you so far away
Why can’t you be (and all I see)
with me.

I surrender.

Tiny Clothes (2011-01-14 17:46) - public

Though the truth is I’ve been needing you (so),

so reliably you disappoint.
Though the truth is I’ve been dealing you (on),
led each other to a dead stop, yet...

When they saw your task,

all of your men fell back into the city,
Your baby wrapped tight,
freshly bathed and in tiny clothes.

Fire, Igniting. (2011-01-16 15:09) - public

"How can I get out of this slump and make all I want happen?"

30 - Thirty

Li / Igniting
Fire sparks more Flames:

The Superior Person holds an inner Fire that ignites passion in every heart it touches, until all

the world is enlightened and aflame.

1366
With so searing a flame, success will not be denied you.

Take care to be as peaceful and nurturing as the cow in the meadow; you are strong enough

to be gentle.

SITUATION ANALYSIS:
A Promethean flame is delivering light and heat to the situation at hand.
This radiance will cause such an alchemical transformation of circumstances that the changes
will seem magical, miraculous.
Yet they are only shifts of perspective and attitude that bring clarity.
The passions kindled by this fire must be harnessed and used judiciously, or they threaten to
consume your hopes and dreams.

On The Nature of The Pineal Gland’s Sensory Function (2011-01-17 18:26) - public

From the time of Dionysius to the time of Plato, the cultures of the Mediterranean consented
to the doctrine that claimed the existence of an order of ultimate reality which lies beyond
apparent reality.
It is perceived by an eye - the so-called third eye, the inner eye, or the eye of the mind. When
this eye is opened, a new and completely diff erent dimension of reality is revealed to the
practitioner of yoga. Western scholars when they first encountered this literature, took the
third eye to be an appropriately poetic metaphor and nothing else.

It was not until the middle of the nineteenth century, as the subcontinent of Australia
and its surrounding territory came to be explored, that a flurry of interest centered upon a
lizard native to the area, the tuatara (Sphenodon punctatum).

This animal possessed, in addition to two perfectly ordinary eyes located on either side
of its head, a third eye buried in the skull which was revealed through an aperture in the
bone, covered by a transparent membrane, and surrounded by a rosette of scales. It was
unmistakably a third eye but upon dissection it proved to be non-functional.

Though this eye still possessed the structure of a lens and a retina, these were found to
be no longer in good working order: also lacking were the appropriate neural connections
1367
to the brain. The presence of this eye in the tuatara still posses a puzzle to present-day
evolutionists, for almost all vertebrates possess a homologous structure in the center of
their skull. It is present in many fish, all reptiles, birds, and mammals (including man). This
structure is known in literature today as the pineal gland.

The gland is shaped like a tine pine cone situated deep in the middle of the brain be-
tween the two hemispheres. Studies then began to determine whether this organ was a true
functioning gland or merely a vestigial sight organ, a relic from our reptilian past. In 1959
Dr. Aaron Lerner and his associates at Yale University found that melatonin (1), a hormone
manufactured by the pineal gland, was created through the action of certain enzymes on a
precursor chemical which must pre-exist in the pineal in order for it to be transformed into
melatonin. This precursor chemical turned out to be serotonin (2).

It was E.J. Gaddum, a professor of pharmacology at the University of Edinburgh, who

was the first to note a connection between serotonin and mental states of being. In a paper
published in 1953, he pointed out the fact that LSD-25 was a potent antagonist to serotonin.
Serotonin is not an unusual chemical in nature; it is found in many places - some of them odd,
like the salivary glands of octopuses, others ordinary; it abounds in plants such as bananas,
figs, and plums.

What then is its function in the human brain?

The task of exploring the role played by melatonin, and its precursor serotonin, was un-
dertaken by a biochemist, Julius Axelrod. He found that melatonin suppressed physiological
sexuality in mammals. If test animals were stimulated to manufacture excessive amounts of
melatonin, their gonads and ovaries tended to become reduced in size, to shrink, to atrophy.
The estrous or fertility cycle in females could likewise be altered experimentally by doses of
melatonin.

Now two most curious functions had been attributed to the pineal gland, the third eye
of the mind:
It has now been established that this organ produced a chemical which had, indirectly at least,
been associated with psychedelic states
It also produced a chemical which suppressed functional sexuality
The literature of religious mysticism in all ages and all societies has viewed the mystical
passion of ecstasy as being somehow antagonistic to, or in competition with, carnal passion.

Axelrod and his co-workers also discovered another incredible fact: the pineal gland pro-
duces its chemical according to a regular oscillating beat, the basis of this beat being the
so-called circadian rhythm. They found that the pineal responded somehow to light conditions,
that by altering light conditions they could extend, contract, or even stabilize the chemical
production rhythms of the pineal.

The fact that the pineal responds to light, even if this response is indirect via the cen-
tral nervous system, has some fascinating and far-reaching conceptual applications. There
are many behavioral changes which overtake animals as the seasons change, and which can
be produced out of season in the laboratory by simulating the appropriate span of artificial
daylight.

Do such seasonal changes in mood and behavior persist in humans?

1368
The great religious holy days of all faiths tend to cluster around the times of the solstices and
equinoxes. Is it possible that the human pineal gland responds to these alterations in length
of daylight? Changing the balance of neuro-humors in the brain may perhaps effect a greater
incidence of psychedelic states in certain susceptible individuals just at these crucial times.
This possibility provides an entirely new potential dimension to our secular understanding of
the religious experience.

The pineal gland has thus been referred to as a kind of biological clock, one which acts
as a kind of coupling system; perhaps maintaining phase relations within a multi-oscillator
system; a phase coordinator for multiple bio-rhythms.

The pineal is a "cosmic eye;" it is aware of celestial rhythm. It "tunes" our biochemistry
to those subtle rhythms not observed by the normal eye, like seasonal and lunar changes
rather than daily ones. Serotonin can be seen as the "intensity knob" of the brain. As the level
of serotonin increases, so does the level of activation of the cortex.

Strong suspicion has fallen now on serotonin as being one of the principle agents of the
psychedelic experience. Studies now reveal that LSD-25 strikes like a chemical guerrilla,
entering into receptor granules in the brain cells swiftly, and then leaving after a very short
time, perhaps ten to twenty minutes (in animals). When the bulk of LSD-25 has left the
receptor granules, it is replaced by what seems to be excessive, or super-normal amounts
of serotonin. The LSD-25 creates what is called a "bouncing effect," like a spring pushed too
tight. When the LSD-25 leaves the system, the serotonin springs back and overcompensates.

For most of us, most of the time, our world is a Darwinian environment. We must ma-
nipulate ourselves within it, or attempt to manipulate it in order to survive. These survival
needs tend to color our appreciation of this world, and we are continually making judgments
about it. Some of these judgments are based on prior personal experience, others are provide
by the culture. This "recognition system" is one of the elements disrupted by the psychedelic
state.

The principle question concerning psychedelic states remains: How much disruption can
the system tolerate?

The problem of how to maintain a certain madness while at the same time functioning
at peak efficiency has now captured the attention of many psychiatrists. There seems to
be a point at which Edgar Allen Poe’s "creative madness" becomes degenerative, impeding
function rather than stimulating it.

In light of this analysis, a shaman can be seen to be uncoupling his internal bio-sensor
from the universal inputs. He gets "drift" where he is rushed toward new signal-to-noise
ratios. The particular rituals are set up to disconnect the shaman from his social and cosmic
environment. This is done through the ritual use of hallucinogens; they de-synchronize his
internal rhythms.

This de-synchronization produces more noise in his awareness. It also expands that awareness.
The rituals are so designed as to contain elements which focus or tune that "noise" and direct
the expanded awareness. Man is unique by virtue of being possessed by intuitions concerning
the scope of the mysterious universe he inhabits. He has devised for himself all manner of
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instruments to prove the nature of this universe. The beginnings of scientific un ...
derstanding of shamanistic ritual and the function of the third eye provide man with powerful
new techniques for exploration.

This will allow him to penetrate the vast interior spaces where the history of millions of
years of memories lies entangled among the roots of the primordial self.

turboswami (2011-01-18 02:30:57)

I’ve been reading a lot about the pineal gland this month, trying to associate it with peak shamanic
trance states and hypnagogia. Some new understanding (but, admittedly, not much!) has come to
"light" since 1975. The pineal of pre-mammalian vertebrates has two bodies: an ocular portion and
an endocrine organ beneath it. Yes, this ocular portion the "Parietal Eye," has a fully-formed retina,
lens, and cornea, but the author claims these are non-functional. However, Kappers (1971) was able
to show pineal gland photosensitivity – to light received indirectly through the eyes and also directly
(w/out sympathetic nerves) through skull light. So, in humans, it is sometimes called an indirectly
photosensitive neuroendocrine organ or "neuroendocrine transducer" (Anton-Tay, 1971) because it
can convert retinal light input into endocrine output. My own personal belief is that it is a sensory
organ whose perceptual capacity extends beyond the range of the narrow bandwidth of the visible
spectrum – allowing us to "see" the non-physical aspects of life, like those inhabitants of finer mediums
who we are gradually able to perceive with the help of DMT.

turboswami (2011-01-18 12:15:41)

References (1) The chemical substance melanin is the pigment which darkens skin color. It is located
in specialized cells scattered through the topmost layer of skin. Melatonin was found to be the
substance responsible for causing the contraction of melanin-producing cells. (2) Serotonin is of the
same chemical series of indole alkaloids which include psychedelic drugs such as LSD-25, psilocybin,
D.M.T. and bufotenine. The hormone serotonin is also known as 5-hydroxtryptamine. ADDENDUM
06-01-92 This paper was originally written in 1975 for several scientific publications, and was reprinted
IN THE CONTINUUM (Vol.II, No.3) in 1978. At that time, I made a very important discovery which was
added to THE HOLISTIC QABALAH series. I thought to share that discovery at this time, to complete
my thoughts on this subject: In 1979 I was in a very serious accident, where I was crushed between
a brick wall and an out-of-control automobile. My left knee was crushed, the parenteal nerve was
severed at the knee. I was going to lose my leg! I postponed surgery, did some specific rituals with
Kundalini and my "third eye," and now have complete regeneration of nerve tissue - something now
believed by mainstream medicine as physically impossible. Here is how I did it: There is a "chill" which
runs up (Gopi Krishna) or down (Sri Aurobindo) the spine at certain times of the week. You can, in
some situations, actually induce this event. Sometimes, you can make our whole body shake. This is
the physical aspect of Kundalini. On a physical plane, there are a series of small nerve fillia that stick
out from the spine - almost like a "ladder." The "chill" is an EM-wave that is traveling up (or down) the
spine, as each nerve fillia begins to oscillate. The most interesting fact about this is that the EM-field
frequency in the visible light region! This is what most religions refer to as "The Light." And what is at
the very top end of this wave-train of light? The pineal gland! Now, if you stimulate the pineal gland
on a regular basis - let’s do it 3 times each day, what happens next is wonderful. The pineal gland
is "light sensitive," its primary function now understood to regulate the body for seasonal changes
(health). This so stimulates the pineal gland that it sends out a signal down the neural cavity. The
neural cavity, of course, connects the pineal gland at one end with the thalamus at the other.... What
happens is that a resonant cavity oscillator is set up in the neural cavity, causing it to modify the glial

1370
cell it normally manufactures. If there are enough trace minerals in your diet, this stimulated neural
cavity will actually create true nerve cells, rather than those associated with sheath (glial). If you take
a trace mineral supplement and do this exercise, you can regenerate nerve tissue! The actual process
took some 5 months of daily meditation, as the actual consistency of nerve tissue is somewhat like
that of Vitamin E - very viscous and slow to travel down my central nervous system to my knee. I no
longer have nerve loss of any kind. This was documented by Clinic 7 (Pain Clinic) at the University of
Washington in 1980. I now walk normally, although I still have some structural problems. This is but
one application of the principles outlined in this paper. Serotonin can also be considered a "Gate" for
accessing other dimensions not accessible to "normal" consciousness

Latent Inhibition and the Semantic Network (2011-01-20 23:41) - public

Latent inhibition (LI) is a phenomenon by which preexposure to the conditioned stimulus (CS)
retards the subsequent generation of conditioned responses (CRs) when the CS is paired with
an unconditioned stimulus (US)> (Lubow & Moore, 1959). Since LI is modulated by attentional
processes, it has been suggested that the phenomeon might be useful in the study of those
psychopathologogies in which attentional deficits are thought to be important (Lubow, et
al, 1992). It is a unique and seemingly paradoxical interpretation which labels the low LI
scores seen in acute, thought disordered, and unmedicated schizophrenics as displaying an
attentional deficit. Since when are those who notice things other people don’t being accused
of not paying attention? It would seem quite the opposite, in fact. As it is a symptom of
schizophrenia, hypersensitivity to one’s surroundings is regarded negatively; as a deficit.
yet, in certain situations and under key conditions, this "deficit" often proves beneficial, in
creativity for instance (Carson, 2007).

Thought-disordered (TD) schizophrenia patients do display a loack of inhibitionary pro-

cesses; these evidenced not merely in their hypersensitivity, but also in their measured
"hyperprimed" state of semantic activation, as shown in repeated masked category priming
studies (Wentura, etal., Spitzer, 2007).

But how could uninhibited priming be related to uninhibited perception of sti8muli? I be-
lieve the answer lies in the cognitive faculty utilized in both paradigms: attention. A fluent
model which integrates the serial flow of sensory information as it enters and spreads through
the semantic network as the perception and interpretation of that stimulus integrates the two
functions into a single interdependent framework.

Nightmares and Visions - Cabin Journal 8/16/10 (2011-01-21 00:01) - friends

I slept little after last night’s ayahuasca experience, but was not exhausted or groggy the next
day when my mom and sister visited me in the woods. I was very calm , yet almost restless as
I tried to relax and meditate later in the day. I assumed it was from all the torrents of energy
which had coursed through my nervous system just hours earlier, but there was a cognitive
element which seemed to make the mind race with scattered disconnected thoughts. These
thoughts were peppered with momentary visions, glimpses of scenes dark and gruesome
as any of the thoughts. A grey purple Cthulu figure with a Nazi insignia devouring men, a
deformed baby, etc. It seems the aya was bringing a lot of negative content up to the surface
of my psyche...
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I tried in vain to sleep, even after being awake all that day and the majority of the pre-
vious night. Yet, eventually, a dream gradually came. It began with scenarios of me trying to
prove my masculinity to my dad, or rather conceal my femininity from him. This involved a
TV that seemed trapped on the porn channels. After dad had went to bed, the TV grew louder
and I realized I could not control it. It was an older dial model with many unusual settings
and ranges of channels. Volume down only made the porn screams louder, and there was an
airplane signal interference section in the back which made matters worse, as it slowed the
voices of the commentator in the set, making the hospital scene dark and grotesque. The
TV began to describe sexual torture, castration, and death and the undead cadaver covered
with a wet sheet on the cold tile floor began to taunt, his bloated blue grey skin accenting his
cloudy milky-blue eyes.

"Now that’s what I miss," he said "the way we did em in the good ol’ days!" with a raspy voice,
pointing at the torture porn.

Horrified, I instinctively hit the creature in the face with large pipe I had. Yet this only
caused the terror to laugh at me.

I awoke to a flurry of talking radio head bad. This is the thick nightmarish sediment, I
reasoned, which had been stirred up from below, where it had settled and been forgotten.
Stirred up, but not expelled - as the minute dos of a sixth cup only scratched the surface of
my psyche, shaking its deep contents up only slightly. I pray for guidance and protection
as I journey further tonight to expel that sickness which taunts me. NOTE: The airplane
interference which taunted me all night when I was twelve, eventually caused my remote
control car to start by itself. My dad told me airplane frequencies often maybe cause that to
happen, disregarding me and my experience in his well-meaning attempt to comfort me. That
is the receptivity I was unable to control in the dream.

When mom and Lisa came, Lisa pointed out the large bag of rice in the back of my truck.
While it was fine when I arrived out there in the woods, since that time something had gotten
into it – turning it dark and rancid on the inside. I was told that that inner rotting would attract
dangerous things and that I had to get it out of here as quickly as possible. I could not help,
last night, but to compare the occurrence to my OWN inner rotting - the immune disorder left
inside me after my possession and what dangerous things darkened inner disease may attract.

"I radiate health and youthful energy!" I am here to claim the white light and purity
which are my birthright and which will heal me, through and through, of any and all afflictions
which hinder the divine purpose of my life!

(2011-01-21 00:02) - public

I abandon myself to the fever of dreams, in search for new laws.

–Antonin Artaud
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(2011-01-21 00:02) - public

A man who bows down to nothing can never bear the burden of himself.
–Dostoyevsky "The Possessed"

Ego Transparency As Social Contagion (2011-01-21 00:13) - public

Because brain volume and the thickness of the cortical layer is positively correlated with
intelligence ( Ref...) it is tempting to assume that EEG power, too, is a measure that reflects
the capacity or performance of cortical information processing.

It is the meditative radiant selfhood accessed in those moments of ascent which are
contained in the personality, of varying transparency. Opaque egos, dark and brittle, allow
little light through. The tone of a personality filtering attentions brilliance, shading it so it may
not even be visible. The outward breath of meditation is like blowing slowly and steadily into
the coals beneath a fire, producing brighter internal light.

This ego tone is contagious socially – as I have observed, it appears to be transmitted

more prominently between peers of the same gender. Humor, mood, and acceptable expres-
sions for emotional state are all examples of things defined by the social group and shared
among its members. The generalized attitude of the Alpha male of a group of men will be
emulated by the other males in that group, often as a bid for acceptance.

Heraclitus and the Pythian oracle (from the Greek puthon, or "serpent"). It is said that
this serpent oracle "neither declares nor conceals, but gives a sign."

The Curious Wildlife - Cabin Journal 8/12/10 (2011-01-21 00:25) - public

At 12:50 AM, I make my way gingerly through the tall grass and ferns to the outhouse, down
the hill on the far end of an overgrown field. In my underwear, the dew on the ferns wets my
thights. As I open the heavy metal door of the small log shack, there is a loud cry from the
deep forest behind, unlike anything I’ve heard in my life. "CHAAH! CHAAHH!" followed by a
loud thump of a heavy body leaping to the ground from a tree. I heard the animal again cry
out with a half exhaled feline growl and a crashing of branches nearby, being torn through. A
quick frenzy of thoughts spun up in my head "Is it tearing towards me or away from me?!"

Climbing into the outhouse and shutting the heavy door tight, I sat and listened quietly.
The strange heavy growl extended twice more, longer this time, a deep throaty "CHAAAAHH!"
exhaling a final growl at me – decidedly in defense, not offense. still, I tried to think of all the
animals of that size I know of that reside in the woods of Northern Michigan, in the trees. I
had heard the call of a bobcat – a terrifying sound resembling the blood-curdling scream of a
woman. While this sound was decidedly feline, this big animal was not a bobcat.

Sitting there in the dark of the isolate woods at 1 AM, I heard the sound of something
stepping carefully behind the outhouse, sniffing. Sitting totally still and silent, I heard the
animal sniff again to my right, the branches of the maple tree faintly heard to run along its
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body. Stepping, circling, sniffing once more, I heard the heavy beast finally recede back into
the forest, curiosity fulfilled. I stomped my feet and shouted to see him off for good!

I was nervous to go back outside. I thought perhaps it may have come back around to
the front of the outhouse, and was there standing on the other side of the door. After a pause,
I stood up and, taking a deep breath, I kicked the door open fast and loud, flashlight blazing
at whatever may be waiting on the other side! Nothing....but some wet ferns and a gorgeous
clear starry night. FUCK YOU, BIG CAT! I’m ready for you! ...now that you’re gone. ;P

(2011-01-26 02:51) - public

I just saw some of the best acting I’ve ever seen, intensified within a character created by one
of the century’s greatest writers.

Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Season 1 - Episode 18

"Shopping For Death"

...
written by Ray Bradbury
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x7ml6l _alfred-hitchcock-presents-shopping _shortfilms

When she explodes and starts throwing things is good, but then you see that exterior crack
open and she shows vulnerability - around 19:20 - there’s so much complexity there between
her that noxious exterior and her acknowledging the truth ...
...of her sickness.

I saw a lot of Marlon Brando influence, and I’m convinced her taking the robe and throwing
it around in frustration was improvised, method acting, like Brando was famous for doing so
brilliantly just a year earlier in "On The Waterfront."

Pull The Wool Over Your Own Eyes (2011-01-27 04:05) - public

I’d love to believe my image, not just have them believe it.
Really pull the wool over my own eyes.

[1]

• [2]
[3]@ Kaleb:But your true self is wonderful, and it’s visible for all to see, in each moment.
It’s impossible for you to hide it. It’s hidden from you in plain sight. You think there is
something not authentic or not acceptable but it’s those thoughts that are the problem.
Just let them go, don’t ruminate on them.
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Bear with me - I’d like to share some critical thinking and "ruminations" on True selfhood
further...

Is my true self really visible to everyone except me? If so, it seems, the problematic su-
perficialities and egoic powe r plays that plague social interaction would dissolve in the light of
beautiful mutual awareness. Unfortunately, when you mention authenticity and acceptance,
we come again to that stark and often painful reality of social judgment, and the image(s) we
invariably portray in our filling of social roles.

Though, I suppose it should be said that we could easily be thinking of two different
things when we talk about "true" self. Its a vague concept, but I think of it as a genuine state
of Identity, absent of ego.

So, when I was told as a child to "be yourself," I would sometimes think deeply of what
was being requested. By age 20, I’d come to think of the request as one to drop the social im-
age I was portraying, as it was merely a defense ...of a defense, of some primal defensiveness
(the idea of the layers of selfhood I’d mentioned earlier.)

But, as I considered this request for truth more deeply yet, and tried to fulfill it as best I
could, I realized how sneaky and subtle ego could become – that while I could abandon my
social image, this quickly would became, in fact, merely the adoption of an image of having
no image! That what is genuine can quickly harden into a defense. More succinctly, I saw how
inextricably enmeshed personality, ego, and expression were...

To be that True self, that egoless identity, would mean to be free of, not just desire, but
all intention and opinion. I saw the very expression of an idea as representative of falsehood,
as the desire to change a person’s state of emotion or mind implies discontentedness with
who they are in that moment.

Yet, the rabbit hole of this "True" self goes even further than opinion and intention, as
to open your eyes and see the content of the world without opinion would require abandoning
categorization, itself. To see a red apple instinctively prompts reaction, be it either "I am
not hungry" or "I like only green apples." These reactions are reliant on a solid sense of self;
egoic judgment, preference, and opinion. So, the divisions and labels of things and ideas,
themselves, identified as apart from ourselves (identified,) are tied inextricably to our sense
of self and serve to solidify our ego’s boundary against the world.

So, you can see how absolute "truth" of self, and full abandonment of ego, would be
not just socially-problematic, but suicidal – as even survival, itself, is a desire for preservation
which we must constantly fight to fulfill. When our conception of self as separate is abandoned,
it is said we can "look through" culture, physicality, and self as theatric; the illusory wisps of
maya, finally transcendended.

My main point being that, without ego and its opinions, intentions, and desires, ITS VERY
HARD TO GET ANYTHING DONE! ;) When you see through and transcend all the roles and
tasks defined for you by society, its suddenly very hard to take them seriously! The passion
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with which you once tackled the world, when you had a solid sense of identity, place, and
perspective, is suddenly gone – as if the whole of your life’s drive and purpose was pulled out
from under you, revealed as an elaborate illusion.

This is what my original comment meant – I wish I could believe my own image again,
take culture and society seriously again. Ego is a tool, a solid edge with which we are to gouge
our niche and leave our mark here in physicality. Its development is both natural and, to a
certain degree, healthy.
1. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=52207479&id=2302530
2. http://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach
3. http://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach

turboswami (2011-01-27 12:06:54)

What I meant to say was that there is a feeling of safety in self-ignorance; a place, a perspective, and
a contained confidence. Yet, seeing through self and other reveals only vulnerability and doubt. All
passion, opinion, and intention suddenly revealed as illusory. At its worst, I imagine that lack of ego
would make it very hard to get shit done!

turboswami (2011-01-27 12:31:21)

"Be Your True Self." The Care Bears used to sing a song about it, Mr. Rogers gave us a solid lesson
covering it. Even ol’ Zack Morris of Bayside High told us a thing or two about "being yourself." I never
bought it, I’m sorry. Maybe layers... of selfhood, with more genuine facets revealed – but this idea that
you can strip away some false pretense like a mask and then "Whoop! Here’s the REALLY real me!"
Naw... I mean, I’m not saying Funshine Bear was giving bad advice. Its totally solid advice - even in
kids, ego can be very constraining. Its just the fact that nobody actually wanted the kids to retreat to
the desert and become ascetics. They didn’t want them to actually find THAT True of a self – nobody
should wish that on anyone, not even Make A Wish Bear.

(2011-01-28 08:10:50) Google Sniper 2.0 Review

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(2011-01-29 04:13) - public

[1]

Haterz gunna hate, eh?

Is there a secret anyone’s found to handling the hateful grudge-clutching people in your
life?

Simple clean severance isn’t always an option.

...and some part of me always wants to leap over their harsh glare and connect; show
them I am a good person, prove to them that I am a genuine and vulnerable – not deserving
all that hate they ’
re slinging.
Yet, that’s only PART of my reaction...

When I experience that harsh bitterness directed at me, another shameful part of me
feels pleasure in knowing that hateful grudge of theirs is seizing up their heart like a cold stone
fist, pulling them down into an early and lonely grave. As if they will get what they deserve
with all that misery.

I guess its just that resentment is so contagious!

Contagion, as in sickness. Even healthy people can become sick when exposed to ill-
ness, be it one of the body or the soul.

1. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=52207479&id=2302530

10.2 February

(2011-02-01 04:39) - public

There’s a vibrant close-quarter call, a nervous close call that surges across a moment of action
potential polarity. This is an experience of inner opening, an inlet of new perception. And if
even the crudest representation of this perception can be retained in memory, it may become
knowledge; held, shared, and utilized by a culture. But, to make use of knowledge, a culture
must first acknowledge that the knowledge has use! The spiritual perceptions of the inward
expanse have been disregarded in lieu of a singular regard for materialism and its observation
– if it cannot be measured, it shall not be acknowledged! Yet, this is such a Catch-22, as
the subtle non-physical aspects of life may, in fact, be measurable, if only we were to first
acknowledge their existence!

Goodnight bubble bum.

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Therapeutic Music and Standard of Living (2011-02-02 11:46) - public

Meditation comes hard with the cortical steroids. I can feel the frenzied panic of stress pumping
through my blood; it tenses my muscles and disrupts my focus. Yet, the internal bleeding
continues, in spite of the fasting. Today I will not eat. Perhaps the lack of food to irritate,
coupled with a double dosage of the cortisol hormone, will get the hemorrhaging back into
remission.
I was thinking of psychedelic psychotherapy and how there is no music designed specifically for
its facilitation, only some broad guidelines mentioned as a side-note in a few rare obscure books
1378
or website forums. Yet, music can be one of the most powerful factors in the establishment of
an optimally facilitative setting. For many journeyers, the music can immediately define the
mood and direction of the inner experience, for good or for bad.
That reason alone is
The development of a society progresses through many stages of increasing complexity on its
path towards higher civilization and, with every subsequent stage, the number of intermeshed
influences contributing to the state of that society increases. For this reason, it is difficult to
pinpoint some singular cause for, say, the fall of the Roman Empire as, even in retrospect,
it is seemingly impossible to tweeze out specific strands of influence from their innumerable
weavings within the much larger social system.
Struggling to finish that paragraph, I think of how the posturing of academic writing – this type
of formal writing which I continue to tug and fight with as I attempt to learn it – feels more and
more ingenuous the harder I try to master it.
Frustrated, I go to the kitchen for something to drink.
I open a bag of tea, and in it is the following message:
“If your word does not reflect your spirit and honor, do not speak. “
I’ll shut up now.

5 Steps To Reinvent Yourself (2011-02-15 02:14) - private

Change means reinvention. Each time a major shift happens in our lives—leaving a job or a
relationship, moving, losing a loved one—we have to take control of who we will become or
risk never reaching our full potential.
I’ve reinvented myself several times in my life. Most adults have.
But what I always forget is that we have to choose reinvention. Each time I’ve done it, I’ve
forged my new path deliberately and with foresight.
When I’ve waited for my future to find me, I’ve waited in vain, lost in confusion and sadness,
or I’ve gotten tangled up in a situation I didn’t want.
One morning, after struggling for months with grief and loss, I woke up and realized that I was
having so much trouble moving forward partly because I had no idea what it was that I wanted
to move towards.
I was thinking about my past, but not what I wanted for my future.
That morning, I woke with a vision: a crowd of people from the life I needed to leave behind
with the sun rising opposite them and me standing between the two, the sun beating down on
my face.
In the vision, I decided, finally, to turn from the group and walk towards the sun, my new life.
That vision told me what I needed to hear—that I had to take control of my future
instead of letting my pain choose for me.
These are 5 steps I’ve identified to reinvent yourself:
1. Create a vision for your future.
1379
Sit quietly, close your eyes, and imagine the people, places, or situations that you need to
leave behind. Now imagine the future that you want, whether it’s simply a feeling, a group of
people, or a situation such as a wonderful new job.
Imagine how it will feel to be in that new place. Picture the sun coming up behind your future,
the warm glow of the light on your face.
Stand for a moment and silently voice your appreciation of everything that came before. Once
you’ve thanked the past, turn towards the sun, and with compassion and gratitude, imagine
yourself walking away from the past and into the future.
2. Write about your reinvention.
Imagine a scene from it, or write about how you’d like it to play out. Where are you living?
What do you do in the mornings, afternoon, evenings? Who are your friends? What do you
spend your days doing?
Continue writing for as long as this exercise feels invigorating and exciting. Write scenes,
dialogues, lists, plans. Make the future come alive. Write about how it will feel to be there.
Keep your writing somewhere where you will look at it occasionally. Feel free to add to it.
3. Surround yourself with visual reminders of the life you’d like to create.
If it’s a new job in a particular field, put objects or images from that field someplace where
you’ll see them every day. If it’s a home, find a picture of a house that you love and put it near
your front door. It can be anything that reminds you of what you’re moving toward.
4. Now that you have a vision of your future, break it up into workable tasks.
What do you need to do—every day—to create that vision? Look for work? Meet new people?
Search for a place to live in your chosen town? Make it specific. Make a list of everything you
need to do and a schedule for when you’ll do it. Then do it and commit to keep doing it, one
day at a time.
5. Every day, go back to that vision of you walking towards your future.
Every morning or evening, close your eyes, and see yourself walking into the rising sun, towards
your dreams, and reconnect with why you’re moving toward this new possibility.
Reinvention is neither easy nor always smooth. Often we encounter resistance. We don’t want
to let go, even of things that cause us pain or that are obviously already out of our grasp. We
often struggle with limiting beliefs or stories about ourselves that hold us back from trying new
things.
But there is one way to keep your compass pointed to this new life, even in the midst of any
resistance or struggles you may encounter on your path.
Each time you find yourself slipping into old habits—isolating yourself, making excuses not
to look for work, procrastinating on a task that might help you advance in your career—don’t
bother wondering why you’re doing it or beating yourself up.
Just ask yourself this: “What can I do in this moment to keep moving forward?”
Then, no matter what you feel in the moment—lonely, self-critical, tired, lazy, or disappointed—
do something to maintain momentum, even if it’s one small thing. There’s an old adage that
says that true courage isn’t about not feeling fear; it’s about feeling fear and acting anyway.
Choose courage instead of letting your fear choose your future for you. –Melissa Kirk

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The Induction of Electrocortical Oscillations Via Externally-Generated EM

Field (2011-02-18 02:02) - public

If the oscillatory networks and rhythms of the brain can be recorded, that is transmitted
out to be measured quantitatively, for what reason could those micro-voltages of pulsing
electromagnetic fields not, inversely, also be received? Granted the electrical field generated
by those millions of discharging neurons composing the cerebral cortex is 10,000 times
smaller than that provided by a AA battery, it is safe to say that, like all oscillatory systems
in nature, these circuits, too, follow the basic laws of influence: resonance, entrainment, and
the convoluted phase relationships between interacting waveforms. The fluent radiance of
vibratory frequency ripples outwards across a medium, any medium – including the medium
of the cortex.

Reception: The Implied Inverse of Transmission

To measure and record the pure tonal consciousness of, say, a Buddhist monk with 20
years of meditation experience as he delves down deeply into a meditative Alpha state, and
maintains it purely by the strength of his years of exercised focus, is by now a commonplace
application of EEG technology, explored by many researchers (a good review of the literature
by [1]Cahn, 2006). In measuring the monk’s brainwaves, we can observe that they are quan-
titatively different in many ways from a recording made of a typical non-mediating person.
An increase in electrical activity in the insula and lateral prefrontal cortices, representing
the shifting of focus inwardly. Likewise, a measured decrease in the activity of the medial
prefrontal cortex and parietal lobe occurs, those areas believed to be utilized when attending
to our external surroundings ([2]Aftanas, 2001).

Some of these differences between meditators and non-meditators are subtle, some are
immediately obvious, but all represent, to some degree, a qualitative difference in the subjec-
tive states of the two subjects. The frenzied anxious Beta activity is common for most of us
and represents the tense task-driven state of mind which we approach and manage our day to
day lives in. The deep focused calm of a practiced Buddhist monk represents a dramatically
different state of mind, one which may be totally foreign to many of us. Yet, the cognitive,
emotional, and physiological benefits (Jevning, 1992) of that monk’s maintained state of focus
are well-established empirically and, however gradually, have come to be acknowledged by
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Western medicine.

We know that electromagnetic fields, when applied to oscillate on outward points of the
scalp, can dramatically influence an individual’s subjectively experienced state of conscious-
ness (eg: the "God helmet" (Persinger, 2006), electrocranial stimulation ([3]Limoge, 1998),
[4]etc). And we also know, however vaguely, the areas of the scalp where oscillatory changes
take place in correlation to qualitative changes in SoC, like meditation. So, it seems the
most logical next step to experiment with the electromagnetic stimulation of those areas
of the scalp – ideally using the measurements of the naturally-occurring range of states of
consciousness, and the electric fields tied to them, as a guide. That is to say, if we know
the area of frequency transmission, we can assume the area of frequency receptivity. The
electrochemical circuits which oscillate neath EEG electrode points can be influenced at those
same points – and, in theory, the recorded oscillatory state of our monk can be "received"
via the transmission of his frequencies to those points on another subject, like our tense Beta
businessman, fresh out of a traffic jam.

1. http://www.wisebrain.org/papers/MedStatesTraitsNeuroimaging.pdf
2. http://www.sahajayogaportal.org/papers/NEUROSCI.PDF
3. http://neurotraq.com/docs/Stanley_Review_98.pdf
4. http://www.carolinatherapeutic.com/repository/assets/pdf/kirsch-chronic%20pain.pdf

Consciousness As The Reflection of Activity (2011-02-19 22:14) - public

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“In simple brains, there are few neuronal steps between sensation and action,
whereas in complex brains, the number of neuronal steps through which activity
passes can vary from short through intermediate to long loops.”
– György Buzsáki, Rhythms of the Brain (2006), p. 49.
The complexity of the mind serves living things between the points of sensation and response;
between input and output lies the whole of thought, personality, and cognition. The neuronal
“loops” that carry and process the input could be thought of as resonating chambers of inter-
pretation, vibrating in a response to a stimuli in a manner decided by the complexity of the
stimulated organisms brain. Large brains serving to delay the “reflection” of a stimulus as re-
sponse behavior, and with simple one-celled organisms having fewer of these inhibitory loops
governing their response.
In all cases, stimuli is mirrored, with the brain merely serving to augment its reflection.
Yet, if we view this most basic function of consciousness, as “stimulus reflected,” even a
stone picked up off a beach, when tapped with another stone, resonates immediately with
an energetic response signature specific to that individual stone. Furthermore, the nature
of the interaction, be it a hard tap, soft knock, or even a screaming shout into the stone,
each further decide the nature of its resonant response. If we are to acknowledge that
consciousness is not defined in its totality by the inhibitory functions of the brain, in what
way is this “personalized” mirroring response of the stone to environmental stimulus not a
representation of consciousness in its most basic form?

"I tell you," Jesus replied, "if they keep quiet, the very stones will immediately cry out."
-Luke, 19:40
Think of a sudden unexpected loud noise, and the startle reflex that triggers immediately
in us. Mirroring a loud scream near our head, we too will probably scream out, many of
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our muscles suddenly contracting as one of our oldest and most basic neuronal circuits is
triggered into immediate response. There is no inhibition to those ancient instinctual response
circuits, reaction is immediate and unconscious – much like that of the stone on the beach.
Yet, the same sort of loud sound can be heard at a rock concert and, as complex vertebrates,
the perception of that sudden scream is embedded within the context of the environment,
inhibiting the lower level instinctual circuit from being activated. In this way, much of the
function of higher level neocortical activity is devoted to the suppressing the activation of the
"outdated" responses of the primitive paleocircuits of our brain.

The Aliens (2011-02-23 00:32) - public

you may not believe it

but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction of distress.
they dress well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy death, usually in their
sleep.

you may not believe

it
but such people do
exist.

but i am not one of

them.
oh no, I am not one of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them.
but they
are there

and I am
here.

• [1]charles bukowski
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1. http://community.livejournal.com/greatpoets/tag/charles%20bukowski

Demonic Possession and It’s "Residue" (2011-02-23 23:35) - friends

Hello Dr. Wesselman,

I have been reading your work and, specifically, many of your entity interactions mirror
those I have come to experience myself, during a spiritually "charged" period from 2003-2005.
During this time, several "classes" of entities came to inhabit an abandoned church I was
living in, in upstate Michigan. These interactions, specifically the possession or "incubus
attack" experiences, affected me and my girlfriend profoundly – her being the first to be
attacked, and me the following night. Growling and angry vocalizations were recorded on
my audio equipment (these recordings being analyzed by a professor of audio production
at Michigan State University, who validated them as vocalized speech, in English, without a
carnate source.) Bloody scratches following these attacks were also photographed, on areas
of the body, like the back, were we could not, ourselves, reach.

At any rate, following this hypnagogic state of paralysis, I was "expelled" from my body
and could only watch as the demon took control. It was a sensation very much like that of a
hypnic jerk felt at the elbow which curled my right hand into gnarled fist...

I don’t want to overwhelm you with an intimidatingly-long email all at once, as these
stories are long and detailed. However, I have some questions concerning entity interaction,
especially of this internalized type everyone in my house experienced.

Following the initial possession, I became very weak and gradually more and more sick.
Internal bleeding developed and, after fainting pale in the shower, I was hospitalized. The
doctors told me that my immune system sensed a "foreign entity" in my body and was
attempting to attack it, even though there was nothing physically there to attack. My body
was, instead, attacking its own tissues as it attempted to defend against this "foreign" intruder.

The doctors said they had no idea why my body was doing this – but, to me, it seemed
obvious. It seemed there was an energetic aspect of the illness: the foreign entity my immune
system sensed was THAT non-physical entity which had been within me not long before. As if
the demon left some manner of subtle residue behind.

Have you encountered in your studies or experiences this manner of spiritual interac-
tion? Do you have any advice of how best to approach the energetic aspect of this illness?

Suffice it to say, these interactions, and the other more benevolent entity interactions
which revealed themselves in response, dramatically changed me and my family’s under-
standing of the world. I abandoned my previous career to pursue a doctorate in Transpersonal
psychology, here in California – in hopes of getting some rational grip on the range of experi-
ences that had emerged into my life.

When I read your descriptions of similar experiences, I was overjoyed at having found
they are not so isolated, and that other people (academics no less!) can relate.

I am thankful to have found you and truly look forward to hearing back!
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Sincerely,

-Kaleb Smith

The Hidden Mysteries of The Wiglette (2011-02-23 23:59) - public

My mom left Michigan for the Winter and has been living with a friend in Nevada, where she
need not shovel snow or worry about ice. Seeing as my sister Lisa was in jail again, there was
nobody in the family to stay in the Michigan house – so a slightly-off neighbor friend we call
Wiglette offered to come and stay in the house occasionally, with her grandson. Wiggy and
her husband had been fighting and it was a good break for the two of them, apparently.

The first night sleeping in my mom’s bedroom, Wiggy was approached at the bedside
by my Grandma Helen, who died in 2007. Among other things, Grandma told Wig that my
sister Lisa had been stabbed in the boob, the right boob specifically. There was blood and
pain. Apparently these sorts of spiritual interactions are not uncommon for Wiggy and none
of this chat with Gram seemed especially out-of-the-ordinary for her. She was respectful, said
goodbye to her friend, and went to bed.

Calling mom the next day, Wig said matter-of-factly that she’d talked to Helen and that
she was well. Mom laughed and listened to the bizarrity Wiggy had for her that particular day,
with the same nonchalant humor she regularly takes it in with. The conversation scattered to
another topic, as it quickly tends to do when in conversation with Wiglette, and the incident
was mostly forgotten by my mother.

...until later that day, when Lisa called from the jail. She called to ask mom to bring a
new bra for her the next time she visits. Apparently the frame of her old one was frayed, and
a long sharp wire was protruding from inside the cloth. The wire had stabbed her pretty badly
in the right boob – deep enough to draw blood.

(2011-02-26 03:45) - public

All a forced life can grow is a pleasing shape, ideal for receiving.
The painful gouging of sharp edge, discipline, carves a cup,
for capturing the fullness of joy available in every moment. .

Too many after-naughts, fears born and shared with the family.
I

The Best Picture on The Internet (2011-02-27 02:08) - public

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(2011-02-28 00:00) - public

I feel something big stirring within me, in preparation.

Changes are aligning,

coinciding as opened opportunity.
I must become disciplined.
I must become a medic of spirit,
Because when materialism falls, help will be needed.

10.3 March

30 Things We Need – And 30 We Don’t (2011-03-10 11:18) - public

WE NEED LESS: WE NEED MORE:

Information Wisdom
Shallow billionaires Passionate teachers
Self-promotion Self-awareness
Multitasking Control of our attention
Inequality Fairness
Sugar Lean protein
Action Reflection
Super sizes Smaller portions
Private jets High-speed trains
Calculation Passion
Experts Learners
Blaming Taking responsibility
Judgment Discernment
Texting Reading
Anger Empathy
Output Depth
Constructive criticism Thank-you notes
Possessions Meaning
Righteousness Doing the right thing
Answers Curiosity
Long hours Longer sleep
Complaining Gratitude
Sitting Moving
Selling Authenticity
Cynicism Realistic optimism
Self-indulgence Self-control
Speed Renewal
Emails Conversations
Winning Win-win
Immediate gratification Sacrifice

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the2minh8 (2011-03-11 15:20:17)
Less winning? Does not compute. Less long hours? That is not even grammatically correct! (We need
more pedantic types.)

turboswami (2011-03-11 21:59:27)

Haha. You’re right, a win-win outcome just isn’t as fulfilling, is it? Even if we both get trophies, I’m
going to be looking of mine is a little taller. ;) You need more longer sleep, Theodore.

To My Future Yooper Shaman Girlfriend (2011-03-15 01:27) - friends

I know the feeling of being "summoned." Sometimes the way these spirits arrange the events
of my life for me is so incredibly unambiguous – just set after set of powerfully meaningful
coincidences aligning, orchestrating my arrival to Peru.

Ok, so, I had read about aya and was curious – so I ordered the plant parts from Peru,
intending to make it myself. The next day in class, a friend handed me a book. It was called
"Ayahuasca" by Ralph Metzner. I kinda freaked, and asked "Why did you just give me this?"

"Oh, I dunno. Seems like something you needed. Why?"

Anyway, in it, there’s a story of someone my age from my town, Palo Alto, going down
to Peru to learn from the shamans and the medicine. It described this idea of plants having
souls, a consciousness which, in certain induced states of hypersensitivity, a person can
interact with. This blew my mind, as I’d never really thought of plants that way. I was inspired!
I wrote about the idea all night, about aya and plant neurotransmitters and their influence on
consciousness.

The next day, after all that intense inspired writing, I woke up and had a single email
waiting for me. It was from Peru. !!! It was an invitation to the Amazon... to speak about
ayahuasca... at the 2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Conference. I simply was
floored...how the events simply fell into place, with such timing and precision – the direction
of my life, orchestrated for me. :)

The influence of this spiritual attention over my life doesn’t stop there, it gets more in-
credible once I actually arrive to South America (The Finnish connection really came out in
the Jungle!) but I don’t want to weird you out with my bizarro spiritual stories, at least not all
at once. ;P ...even though I sense you are receptive and surely have your own set of similar
experiences. :)

Oh, I picked up The Biology of Belief a while back and haven’t had a chance to dig in
yet. I’m so curious about epigenetics though, especially on that cellular level that Lipton
studied over here at Stanford. I haven’t been reading anything fun lately – picked up 3 books
this week on the endocrinology of the pineal gland, trying find some info on naturally-released
DMT for an article, but there is so very little known about that. I DID indulge in some Alan
Watts this week, though – reread some of The Book (On The Taboo Against Knowing Who You
Are.) Its one of those transforming books that sculpted my identity in high school. If you don’t
have it, give me your email and I’ll send you a copy. :D

1388
How’d the date go? Was he totally knocked into a starry glam-daze by your glammy-
sparkle presence? ;P I could see how that might get annoying!

I have nothing so cool to compare...although, today I swore a militant lesbian friend of a

friend was totally hitting on me, when it was just the two of us after hours at the school. She
invited me into the girls bathroom to be with her while she peed...? haha. Like I don’t have
enough trouble reading heterosexual girls signals, now I have THESE buff signals to try to
interpret too!? ;)

turboswami (2011-03-15 08:30:59)

oooh ooh! Ohhh how exciting to have a new mysterious fb friend i know nothing about. be it so! xoxo
to you cutiepattootie! Kaleb Smith March 8 :D:D Ohhh, you got me blushin over here. Teehee ;P I
admit, I dont usually accept requests unless I know the person, but you were just so pretty AND Finnish
AND a Yooper! So, yea, we’re already practically family... ;);) I know Jim from the old days, Mt. Shasta
and its music – we would always geek out talking audio production technique and casually compete
with one-another’s studio. You and I are both all fancified and important now, eh? Big city kids! ;P
Do you ever go back to that place and traipse about in the woods? Sometimes I miss it. two rut
roads!! xoxoxo to you, dearest hotpants. -K o tumblr _lhcqdo61WC1qd9rxfo1 _500.jpg # Lisa Peterson
March 9 Lisa Peterson * Kaleb, Hmmmm innnterresting here i was thinking you friend requested me
via James. Love it. I haven’t been home to the Keweenaw in a couple of years. Ready to make the
journey this summer. I ache for Superior like I ache for my mother. I’ve bounced all over the country
but have never felt grounded until this last place. I live in the far nw of nj in a dinkly ’lil town along a
beautiful river. Hour from NYC and an hour from Philly but pretty rural so it’s purt near perfect for me
and the kiddos. Life is facinating and I just try and ride it, basically. I’m looking forward to getting to
know you. Fb is a strange land that I haven’t quite been able to grasp yet. I’m convinced it’s doing
something to us all on a psychic level. Connection. Preparing us for the next evolutionary leap in
consciousness? hope so. peace out, sexy. LP # Kaleb Smith March 10 Kaleb Smith * Oh, yea. Jim did
like a "recommend friend" thing, I think because were are both Finns and both into shamanism and
fun woo-woo stuff. My grandma’s grandma did shamanic healing in village in Finland up in Sammi
country. I only hear little half stories, passed down, of what she used to do. Apparently a lot of people
kinda feared her, because they knew she worked with spirits, but...they sure knew who to go to if
they were sick! hehe. Ooh, yea. I went back this summer and totally went straight to the lake! We
have a family cabin right on Superior, in Shelter Bay – its an old Finnish fishing village near Munising.
Outta dah sauna, and run nekkid to jump off the dock!! Yessss! :D:D I needed it so bad! I also got
to explore a bunch! I followed the shore waaay up, past Pictured Rocks, all the way up to the point,
where I’d never been before. It was an awesome shipwreck graveyard called Hurricane river. I went
diving and actually found a piece of iron decking from a steamship, with some writing on it! I was
so proud! It looks like it says S.S. Lancastria, or something. Epic doorstops FTW! I really went home
pull a Walden out at my family’s other cabin, the super-isolated woodsy one on the little lake behind
Palmer. All I brought was a typewriter ...and a bottle of high-powered Amazonian ayahuasca. Whew!
Yea, Interesting summer. ;);) I’m glad Jim connected us. You have some incredible bright eyes kicking
there, girl! Beautiful! ;0 We are the searchers – it’s just what we do. :):) -K

turboswami (2011-03-15 08:31:12)

# Lisa Peterson Friday Lisa Peterson * Brother, I feel blessed to have connected with you. We do seem
to share a similar song. My great grandmother was also a practicing saami shaman from the far north.
Possibly where I get this itch from. Ohhh how I long for time in a cabin of solitude with some strong
drink to open my mind and let my soul soar. On the astral at least. Just finished reading Pinchbecks
latest. Have you read him? Soon, L # Kaleb Smith Saturday Kaleb Smith * Yes, totally! :D:D Wowww,

1389
really? Your gram too? Did you get to learn any of the techniques she used, or was all that lost in the
immigration over to here? I only know a few things, that gram would use spirit helpers to heal, but
also did blood cupping and divination using tea leaves. The whole blood cupping thing kinda irks me
out, I gotta admit, but I totally feel the inclination towards spiritual work. It surfaces into my life in the
strangest ways, revealing itself through some of the most unexpected cracks! I could tell you some
stories about interactions with Finnish ancestors in the Amazon, man oh man! Oh, but I’ll save it. ;);)
Don’t wanna give away all the juicy stuff all at once. :P:P Ooh, Pinchbeck, yea, I met him at the MAPS
conference. I got a weird vibe from him – kinda like defensive. I had heard him on a radio show before,
Dreamland I think it was, and he came off like an epic asshole to Whitley Strieber. But I’m on reality
sandwich a lot and even have an article up on there, about some consciousness stuff. I just jammed
some of the grittiest funk ever, downtown Palo Alto, on the sidewalk! Dug down deeeep! Whew! It
felt so good! I drummed for like 2 hours there, for the pretty Stanford kids; all gussied up and boppin
around on a Friday night. Heehee. I’m exhausted now, though, and got myself 3 nice blisters from the
digging. My eyes are brighter when I play drums though, I can feel them wake up and smile! :D:D Well,
you’re becoming my sexy shaman penpal apparently. ;P I like it. -K o tumblr _lhs46oU92t1qbusl5o1
_500.jpg # Lisa Peterson Saturday Lisa Peterson * What I have heard is that she was the one they
all came to for births, deaths, healing etc. Ya, the whole blood cupping this is a little strange but I
think I understand it. Pretty sure that she is the reason that I have fell into Shamanism. Oh, her and
Quezocoatl. Life pretty much shoved me into the direction of this center in the hills of PA to begin
my training about 18 months ago. I was summoned. Period. Felt very strange to be around all of
this South American Shamanism but I am trusting the journey nontheless. It’s very intense, deep
work, that leaves me freakin’ floored every single time I leave that place. I feel honored to have been
"requested" by these Shamans. Pinchbeck, ya that vibe totally comes off in his writing. Poor, haunted
soul. He does provide some decent insight, though. What else you reading? Just ordered Biology of
Belief by Bruce Lipton and an older bood called Bringers of the Dawn. Oh and some good erotica.
Shamanism, erotica, all the same. What a Friday night for you! Me, wine, book, candle, sleep. Tonight
I’m going to try the whole dating thing. Uhhhh. We shall see. I just get sick of meeting people that get
glamoured (unintentionally, promise!) by me and my weirdness. bla bla. oh and yes i think the gods
are smiling on two sexy finnish shamans communicating via fb rather than the astral. peace to you, L

To My Old Friend, The Alex Jones’ Conspiracy Fan (2011-03-15 01:32) - friends

Its all good. I try to diversify my media – I’m not sure why, but it simply seems dangerous to
get all my information from a single source or person, you know? (even if that person, himself,
cites many sources, everyone has their individual biases – so I guess I’m really diversifying my
biases. ;)

I thought to read a few of the books Jones cited as mind opening in that RS interview,
but I am so impressionable (we both are) and so I’m careful about choosing the impressions I
will consume, and predicting if they will have an overall positive or negative influence on my
state of mind. This is not necessarily a reflection of the validity of said impressions, only that
some truths are healthier than others – and the same truth can be expressed in a thousand
different lights, each shading its meaning and interpretation. I have become very sensitive to
negativity in these past few years, and that is really at the core of my immediate and strong
reaction to Jones. However knee-jerk a reaction it is, I’ve come to equate anger with dis-ease.

We have had a similar discussion before, and I am still as confident as I was then that,
1390
regardless of changes in politics, rulers, flags, or money, certain core human experiences will
never change. Love exists and grows in any condition, like a flower that can bloom in the
cracks of a prison floor or a ravaged red battlefield. I am confident I will be able to eat and
feed my family and that I will be able to love and teach my son honesty, truth, and purity and
that no man would ever try to stop such a bond, as it is recognized Universally as something
sacred, the love between parent and child. As you know, I still intend to home school, and
perhaps retreat from this city life to do so. In this way, any major economic shifts would only
serve to encourage my previously-held goals of isolating from what I view as the poisonous
culture and poisonous environment of the big cities. I don’t want my child to be exposed to
such negative influences, the contagion of anger or fear. These things are not healthy for a
child, in my opinion.

Anyway, I am glad we have this as a means to connect and remain updated on what’s
going on in our lives, however superficial facebook posts often are, its good to get little
glimpses of your day-to-day and be able to share a thought about them. :)

turboswami (2011-03-15 08:33:49) Reply

Indeed. True friends are irreplaceable. I would hate to dissolve (not that I ever planned to) a friendship
over something so trivial. I was actually kind of worried that you might take it that way and delete
me out of spite for walling you off. I just didn’t want to fight about Alex and was worried that people
wouldn’t understand the nature of the argument. I knew that it could lead to dismissal of valid
information if viewed as fraudulent due to a "nutjob" source. I’m not saying the guy controls his
impulses very well. Just that he has incredibly valid info 90 % of the time. The way he expresses it is
off-putting to several people I know, but luckily there are loads of experts (many of high esteem) who
would tell you the same basic thing in a more palatable manner. I feel just about exactly the same
as you about love, raising a child, etc. The one difference being that while I know love is all powerful,
and victorious in the end, there is a lot of imbalance presently on earth and I feel that it will have
to even out. Also, the globalists don’t believe the way we do. They literally have their own ancient
religion of sorts and live by what would best be described as a code. They MUST tell us everything
they are going to do before they do it... Like with the oil spill, 9/11, and other events. They also
believe they know best. Look into Bohemian Grove and the origins of eugenics. Those are prime
examples of their cultish beliefs and the fact that America supported Chairman Mao into power and
gave Hitler the idea to dive into eugenics, which led to many atrocities committed toward the Jews.
Also, I believe Hitler was the first to publicly fluoridate an entire water supply. Not for the Germans
teeth either. ;);) To pacify the Jews and promote complacency. Kaleb, it blew my mind how much I
found was public record for anyone willing to do a shit ton of reading! "Seek and ye shall find." turned
out to be a stellar truth!!! But, based on what we do know for sure, can you imagine the gravity of
some of the stuff we DON’T know??? It’s good to talk again. Even if it’s "superficial facebook posts." :):)

LITTLE D AND FLAPPY DEW (2011-03-15 01:35) - public

Derek, while working a cleaning job, would always made cute references when drunk to his
“secret helper” or “lovely assistant” on the job, but would never explain what he meant by
this. That is, until a certain Christmas in the old Fairlight Hotel, when I was with him
celebrating Christmas Eve on the clock with a Fifth of Old Crow.
The “lovely assistant” was Flappy Dew, the industrial solvent air freshener cake that was
the shape and feel of a jelly mold used by the hotel when cleaning large conference rooms
1391
or bathroom jobs. It came in an air-tight box, which appeared very much like a janitor mop
bucket. When removed from the bottom of the box, by which it was adhered using a small rod,
the pink jello-like mold smelled very strong – the flowery Lysol fumes becoming overpowering
almost immediately.

When working alone at night, Derek would pull back the wall curtain of the darkened
conference room, behind which there was a mirrored door. The door led to a smaller room,
which held extra chairs, old Holiday ornaments, and food trays for storage. There, Derek
would fuck the Flappy Dew, inserting his throbbing erection into the small-rod insertion hole
at the flat base of the soft pink mound.The large air freshener molded firmly around his cock.
While soft and dry on the surface, the inside of the Flappy Dew was moist and warm with
industrial chemicals, causing Derek’s member to tingle deep in a way that was, at first, cool
and refreshing...followed by hot burning.

The potent fumes from the cleaning solvents would make Derek light-headed and high.
Stumbling out after ejaculating inside of the gelatinous pink air freshener, he would stumble
out of the mirrored door, the red curtains of the conference room smearing sideways as he
struggled smiling through the unique mix of sexual afterglow and chemical inebriation. Finally,
a sexual partner you can huff!

(2011-03-29 03:51) - public

Ahoy grenadine foreplay, all these two dollar glamor shots discarded sticky for ants to feast
upon.
In a future time, when my mind recovered, its fluid clarity enjoyed by all. To force a last ditch
effort into being.

My real life is way more interesting. I’m sorry for all the wankery, but blank white is
just so little to go on sometimes.

One of my Chinese students just sent me pictures of her boobs.

Isnt taht just awesome. They are adorable. Its great to be a teacher.

GRANTED: The email had a FWD in the subject. Eh...

So it was like "Oh, I spose he’d want to see these too... hmph"
1392
10.4 April

Coming To Grips With Stress (2011-04-02 03:08) - public

Grip!
Coming to grips. Get a grip!!
I’ve got my fair share of gripes with grabbing and gripping, grubby digits galore!

I feel like getting and maintaining a "grip" on one’s life implies a tautness or tension; a
rope metaphor which, when followed through to its entirety of represented meaning, defines
two extremes of personality: the "uptight" and the "slacker."

"Come on, cut me some slack."

"I swear, if she says one more word, I’ll just fucking snap!"

Our musculature is like wire, taut with traveling electro-chemical charge. Tension mani-
fests as the tightening of our muscles, a simultaneous holding and firing of energy within
them. Action Potential! Anxiety and its tension is, at its core, a resistance to change, an
in-tention to maintain which prevents release and free flow along the wire, or fiber of our
muscles. The tense person holds onto everything, in an attempt to conserve. Fear keeps him
tight, ready, and safe. It is a state tied to his mental state, his intelligence; alert and vigilant,
the bright-eyed human prey had taut leg muscles like wound springs, ready to burst in a leap
from danger (before his lax and insensitive companion.) This was the evolutionary benefit of
stress, of heightened levels of adrenalin and cortisol.

Yet, today, the secretion of these stress hormones rarely serves that defensive purpose
intended by evolution. Between lunch hour and the evening news, we rarely have occasion
to fight or flee. Yet, in the long bumper-to-bumper commute, that cortisol is still secreted
and, like a systemic marinade, the caustic stress hormone readies us for an attack that never
happens. Blood pressure rises, sweat glands open, breathing rate increases, as we grip the
wheel with whitened knuckles and grit teeth. It is tension without purpose, like an engine
constantly racing in neutral, wearing the car down years before its time.

The Powerful Woman and The Divorce Proceedings (2011-04-02 04:52) - public

[1] [2]

[3] Jay Bland

many people have told me, upon seeing that my daughter is beautiful, that I need to buy a
shotgun... even strangers while walking through Safeway and such... I’ve thought about this
a few times, because my instinct is to laugh it off, while not agreeing. But here’s what I really
think:
[4] Thursday at 11:13pm
· (Submit) Like
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1393
 •

• [5] 2 people
like this.

– [6]
[7] Jay Bland
How about instead of buying a shot gun... I raise my daughter to be empowered, and
I let her know that I trust her. I will not generally impose my will over her freedom
and I will be there for her when she "makes mistakes", better known as ...
"hard but valuable life lessons".
If my view on life is that MY EGO is more important than trusting my daughter, then
sure, I might get the proverbial shotgun. But if I want a daughter who is strong,
empowered, smart, and will eventually have a healthy, happy sex life, then I will
skip getting that shot gun and I will focus more on acceptance, communication, and
support.
Although she is only three years old - I am utterly amazed at the depth of emotions
and comprehension she has, the knowledge of trust and nuance and humor. Having
Caitlyn as my daughter is the greatest gift I’ve ever recieved!
Thursday at 11:15pm · (1776560) Like
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[8] 7 people
Ava Pommerenk and 6 others like this.
– [9]
[10] Jay Bland
by the way - the shotgun idea has nothing to do with sex. It has do with parental
dominance, breaking a person’s spirit, authoritarianism. No thanks!
Thursday at 11:18pm · (1776573) Like
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[11] 2 people
2 people like this.

– [12]
Submit
[13] Kaleb Smith
Its very American, both having a shotgun and raising girls to be dominant, power-
ful, and "man-like." I try to view this fad of American society, as best I can, from a
perspective outside of that society and its culture. A relationship with ...
two dominant parties, attempting to enforce their will upon the other, is guaranteed
to be a short lived relationship! (check marriage/divorce statistics since the Women’s
Empowerment movement for evidence of this seemingly-obvious relational dynamic.
(And, Yes, I realize I’m asking for it by taking the unpopular view in support of tradi-
tional gender roles!) )
So, while POWER is a core American value, I will try to teach my daughter the subtle
feminine force of acceptance – the opposite of empowerment, essentially. Accep-
tance, "taking in" instead of "pushing out," is really the lost American value – lost
with the dissolving of a gender role.
1394
 As for never imposing your will over your daughters freedom, this too is something
I (of course) have strong opinions about. ;) That is, it is common fashion in America
currently for the child to be viewed as an "equal." Parents being their child’s best
friend. While this initially sounds quite peachy, it is fraught with hazards and unnatu-
ral parental difficulties. A best friend and and equal cannot also be a role model, for
instance. We do not tend to do what our equals tell us to, instead we feel entitled to
tell THEM what to do in return! I do not believe in trying to rationalize what or why I
am telling my 3 year old to do what I am telling them to do. I am your dad, that’s all
the rational that should be needed!
While, yes, children have great depth of emotion and comprehension, we know what
is best. We are parents. And, yes, we could ignore them, teach them nothing, and
leave them to learn those "hard but valuable life lessons" like "The Stove Is Hot!!!" or
"Dont have sex and get pregnant!!!" on their own, but I feel, as a father, my job is to
protect my child as best I can. That does not imply the extremity of guns, but it does
imply attention, modeling, and a delicate balance of unconditional love on one hand
and stern discipline on the other.
See More
Thursday at 11:56pm · (1776668) Like
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[14] 2 people
Jay Bland and Nakita Cobalt like this.

– [15]
[16] Jay Bland
Well said! There’s a lot there I want to comment on but I’m half asleep so it’s going
to wait until tomorrow. As a very quick sidenote, much of what we both discussed are
not mutually exclusive.
Yesterday at 12:03am · (1776691) Unlike
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[17] 1 person
You like this.
– [18]
[19] Jay Bland
one other quick note =p I don’t consider empowered and man-like at all the same
thing. Empowered is a more "know thyself" type of mentality, without fear of speaking
up, etc. A person can know exactly who they are and choose to be sexual, fl ...
irty, rude, kind, anything... but they do it with self knowledge and awareness of how
they come across.
Yesterday at 12:06am · (1776704) Like
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(1776704)
– [20]
Submit
[21] Kaleb Smith
I suppose I’m curious how you define masculinity, if not in terms of that powerful,
assertive, dominant male stereotype: the Alpha Male, the leader.
1395
 My point was that self-knowledge, an understanding of who one is, need not neces-
sarily lead ...
to social dominance. In fact, I’ve actually noticed the opposite: that is, the more
you understand yourself, the less you wish to dominate other people with your "em-
powered" forceful personality. For instance, the Dali Lama rarely seems interested
in showing others how powerful he is... The modern woman, on the other hand, is
pressured by her culture to compete. And this need to prove her power is not limited
to the workplace! :(
Yesterday at 12:33am · (1776777) Like
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[22] 1 person

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Japan, Fear, and The Sale of Paper (2011-04-02 05:22) - public

• Randy: So, my question then becomes, What do you believe? I’ve seen you post several
comments saying in effect, "All is well." I assume you’ve seen the cites in my wall note
postings which suggest "All is not well." ...
I’m truly not interested in getting into a citation war, because there are too many ways
numbers can go astray, and it wouldn’t increase understanding for anyone involved. I
am interested in hearing your take on the matter. What is your understanding of the
situation?
See More
March 27 at 5:37pm · (17440) Like
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1396
 • [1] Submit [2]Kaleb Smith
I am confident I will survive the ordeal that happened in Japan; so, yes, I suppose that
would mean I’m saying "all is *mostly* well." I am still a proponent of nuclear power and
still believe it is cleaner than burning fossil fuel sources ...
. I feel it would be a misguided mistake to limit or censor the progressing science and
safety of nuclear energy because of a single catastrophic but, admittedly, statistically-
isolated incident – as Germany intends to do, by closing its nuclear plants in response to
the Fukushima disaster.
I attempt to take conscious precautions, when reading the news or talking to friends, not
to get swept up in hype or emotionality. I’m not saying I’m always successful, nor am
I meaning to imply you are not well-informed. Nuclear energy was, is, and may always
be an emotionally-taut issue; it represents an "unknown" to the general public, feared
without rational basis and tied, however subconsciously, to war, cancer, and the apoca-
lypse. Those are 3 powerful forces and, when allowed to churn beneath an unknown like
that, can brew distrust and fear – seen manifested during the Cold War and, I believe, also
during this most recent nuclear crisis.
So, when I feel that pull to be swept up into fear and paranoia, I try to ground myself in
some basic down-to-earth information or frame of mind. In this case, I found I was both
comforted and grounded by being able to read the ACTUAL radiation level in my area, at
any point of the day. By monitoring the San Francisco Geiger counter, I was able to see,
with great assurance, that the radiation level around me was not elevated and that I had
no reason to worry. I will continue to monitor these readings and, if at any point, Heaven
forbid, they do begin to elevate above normal, I will have cause to begin thinking "all is
not well."

1. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
2. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

The Stigmatization of Unconventional Understanding (2011-04-02 22:12) - public

Think, and be rejected for thinking, for men who have novel ideas and share them attract
only resentment for their perceived difference. Share only bland, commonplace, and idle
observations if you wish to avoid controversy. These small ideas intimidate no one and stir
little thought in listeners.

The "Accepted" enjoy their social status by expressing accepted ideas, however faulted
or irrational they may be. This is teh idealogical flow of one’s culture and the ease and agree-
ability of the "In" group contrasts the difficult questioning of self and commonly-accepted
beliefs posed by the "out" group.

And that is why Hell is other people, and the torturous death of creative ideation lies
under the oppressive weight of the majority’s combined gaze!

(2011-04-11 03:44) - public

What is my life? Certainly not this, this meaningless clock.

So many days, overshadowed by towering glimpses.
1397
Unseen years, obscured by memories grander than a receding present.
I watch, from that pinnacle of selfhood,
a stranger grow older and more distant.

Lips pursed soft and low, her chest bared open to my warmth.
I am a man, I musn’t forget. I am a body and a carnal purpose, disregarded;
first by me, then by her...and her...and her.

As if I watched a spider build her web,

allowing her to continue, half out of curiosity, half out of laziness.
Just watching her legs, her translucent body, made me tingle,
an itching sensation that was less and less vague
but which makes me more afraid the longer I wait.

Her intended home is a trap, a delicate dream I watch her weave.

fetohemp (2011-04-13 09:13:58)

For some reason, I can’t see all of this content, stuff keeps hiding? Are you taking advantage of java?

ruwateak (2011-04-16 02:35:52)

The aims of acne treatment are to prevent new spots forming, to improve on acne treatment already
present, and to prevent scarrings.

(2011-04-13 03:28) - friends

Clothed in army fatigue, I slump into his corner chair, tired of defending.
A single black and white button on my right breast pocket with a single word: "No."
No. To all you could possibly say.
No. To all the types and colors of stress you bring for me.
No. To all the expectations of the world you represent.

I want only to seek the selfish depths of my belly button in private.

My head lodged firmly in my own ass, delving deep into the introspection it is most accus-
tomed.
"Get real! Wake the fuck up!" angry co-workers bark as I float about the room, disheveled and
absent-minded.
Their work is as important as their vain posturing, which it affords to decorate with expensive
fashions.
I resist succumbing to bland masters with tired superficial tasks,
but I am afraid that if they cannot succeed in mastering you, they simply make you one of
their own.

Sex, Drugs, and Rock n Roll: Everything (2011-04-18 04:58) - public

Sex, drugs and rock n roll: everything.

1398
But when you look back on the birth of jazz extending to the 20’s and 30’s, you see sex and
you see drugs – and, when you hear them wail and imagine those basement clubs at 3 am,
the legends curling their lips and letting loose with a stomp, they were fucking rocking! You
know it! Rock is as much the meat of sexuality as the drugs that, like utensils, let those young
legends tear into it.
I wanted to be there, in the steamy dark with those steamy darks, sweating and grinding to
that feverish beat, asses out in those sexy tight dresses
– the “girl” of the room and OH! How not a man could get his eyes off her, mmm! I see her and
she is so fine, swinging it out hot!
The fast set finished, the band relaxes into a slower tempo with the dancersup a more relaxed
tempoThe drummer is dropped into a state of calm, just curling out a slower grind now, and
they do.
Slow, don’t go slow. I won’t let them! I will take what they do, I will speed it up! Goddamn it, I
will tighten it to a nervous frenzy, to share my twitch through. Fuck!
Those blacks are waaay too relaxed!
Efficient German sex, frenzied Japanese power pop! And all the races came to refract the spirit
of that 1922 New Orleans liquor basement through their own cultural lens.
I’m not afraid to bring it up!
Racial tension defined Jazz (and Rock is just what poor white British boys did to Blues.) Without
the Civil War, those military trumpets would not have found their way into any New Orleans
marching band’s hands.
The mixing of races is the genetic chemistry that spurred American music, the resultant culture
which, in a blossoming splash, spread worldwide in rippling aftershocks of novelty.
The black man has soul! Yes! Beautiful soul, it flows out uninhibited and natural in a way I, in
my nervous white man way, my fray of tension and self-consciousness, can only admire, and
a way which many of those early white Jazz musicians, no doubt, jealously resented. For what
other reason could their emulation of the black’s distinctive sound be tied with such anger, and
even denial. It’s jealousy of a soul, uninhibited.
StrongOrder is a
fewel
A strong sense of order is a fuel possessed by few.
A jewel held by the foolish, who categorizes and names it, seldom considers true worth.
Every topaz and ruby is measured and organized into alphabetized sub-classes, every observ-
able phenomenal novelty between them is noted down through scales of detail, the racing
approach to infinity IS the fuel driving the dividing line of their categorizing empirical mind.

The Chemistry of Spirit (2011-04-20 02:20) - public

The miracles and visionary states which form the basis of most of religion have roots in a set
of non-ordinary states of consciousness (Grof, 1997).
1399
Many of these non-ordinary states were induced using psychedelic substances (like the amanita
muscaria mushroom), many occurred by means of other tools or techniques (like fasting, or
meditation), and still others, so it is said, occurred rapidly and unexpectedly in a manner not
unlike the sudden-onset of psychosis seen in certain cases of schizophrenia. Yet, regardless of
its means of induction, this set of rare and exceptional
human experiences can be thought to occupy a location on a spectrum of consciousness, a
location far and away from
the discrete range of our typically-experienced ordinary states of consciousness.
The rarity of the states existing on this outermost range of human experience should not dis-
suade us, as scientists, from attempting to study and understand them.
Their rarity may limit the objective or quantitative measurement afforded the more ordinary
states of consciousness, yet, with the progression of an organized understanding of the poten-
tial of human perception will, most likely, come an improved means of inducing the exceptional
state. With a reliable and precise method of changing the state of a person’s consciousness,
a formalized quantitative record of the subtle perceptual systems which facilitate that change,
and the maintenance of its subsequent state, may be charted. Likewise, a map of the wider
spectrum of all consciousness, and the specific natures of its individual bandwidths, could come
to be charted as well; a topography drawn for an inward territory.
The reliable and precise methodology for inducing an exceptional state of consciousness con-
ducive to objective study would, most likely at first, be from some established spiritual tradition.
The meditative fasting mentioned before, for instance, could be drawn from a Tibetan Buddhist
tradition, the sacramental use of amanita muscaria from a Siberian shaman’s healing practice.
The methods employed to traverse the spectrum of consciousness utilized by these differing
traditions can be studied using controls, so that the efficacy of their induction ability could be
scaled, allowing for comparison between traditions
It is my prediction that individual methods are bound to individual states and that by traversing
the bandwidths of varying states of consciousness, you would essentially be traversing a set
of varying methods of altering consciousness. Specific exceptional abilities, too, would most
likely be bound within certain bandwidths of consciousness.
With a scale measuring the efficacy of different methods, individual techniques within those
different methods could be contrasted with the most effective being synthesized, in order to
possibly modify or improve other methods.
In this practice, we scientists are essentially barging through the doors of the cathedral, the
restraint of sanctity and respect which once restricted us from bringing our microscopes under
God’s robe, finally “lifted.”
We demand the truth behind the rituals, the actual phenomenon which led to their repetition
could similarly be replicated in a laboratory setting. If we could finally take the guru out from
his ashram, the healer from his clinic, the shaman from his moloka, could we isolate their ability
in the lab or is the location an integral and necessary precursor to the experience?
This is certainly true of the psychedelically-induced state of consciousness, for which the term
“set and setting” was coined to describe the importance of emotion and surroundings to navi-
gation of the inward states.
Indian and Asian meditators also describe aspects of their surroundings as influencing the
nature of their meditative insight; being in the presence of a guru, for instance, can supposedly
induce powerful changes in consciousness.
1400
Similar, too, is the attention paid to emotion by many of these Eastern traditions; desire and
its control, for instance, being one of the centrally defining precepts of Buddhism.
This calming of passion, and the focusing of the furious frenzy of our undisciplined thought, is
both part and parcel of the meditative practice of Buddhism and most likely translates to the
psychedelic experience; a skillset which may allow for the control and isolation of components
within the “Set” half of Set and Setting.
Of those potential variables which fall under “Set” are several components shared with medi-
tative practice, of varying traditions.
The most immediately apparent of these being:
1)
Focusing of Attention (w/ Concave or Convex Lens)
2)
Regulation of Emotion
3)
Hypersensitivity (or the lowering of Latent Inhibition)

Focusing Of Attention
…

Certain types of auditory hallucinations (eg:,

two or

more voices conversing with one another or voices maintaining a running commentary

on the person’s
thoughts or behavior) have been considered to be particularly

characteristic of Schizophrenia. –DSM-IV, p. 309

Here, from the DSM-IV, is a reference to hearing voices, a core identifying symptom of
schizophrenia, to be used for its diagnosis.
The concept of suddenly perceiving two unseen individuals
in the middle of an engaging conversation is especially interesting to me. It is as if the person
were turning the tuning dial of radio, raising the frequency of the antenna, when all of the
sudden a talk radio station comes across the speakers – two or more individuals having a
conversation which we could not hear who, all at once, we CAN hear!
The perception of the voices in the case of a radio is dependent upon a certain bandwidth, or
station, on a much larger spectrum of frequencies.
Just a slight change in the tuning of the antenna causes the voices to suddenly appear or
disappear from our perception.
This understanding of radio frequencies and their reception serves as a powerful analogy for
the spectrum of consciousness.
1401
 Auditory hallucinations
are usually experienced as voices, whether
familiar or unfamiliar, that are perceived as distinct from
the person’s own thoughts.
The hallucinations must occur in
the context of a clear sensorium;
those
that occur
while falling asleep (hypnagogic) or waking up (hypnopompic) are considered to be
within
the
range of normal experience. –DSM-IV, p. 306
We know that consciousness, too, is governed by frequency and that a person’s state of con-
sciousness
can be reliably predicted by experts trained to “read” the EEG waveforms recorded, as a person
drifts off to sleep, for instance.
These frequencies of consciousness exist along a spectrum, not unlike the discrete bandwidth
of the electromagnetic spectrum which we traverse when tuning to our favorite station on the
radio. This spectrum of consciousness is divided by some EEG experts 40 times or more – with
levels of state specificity far beyond the initial crude divisions of the Alpha-Gamma states.
There are many “stations” of consciousness which we tune in to and out of each day.

To carry the metaphor further, our car radio receivers have limits; the tuning dial only
goes up or before the boundaries of the equipment’s capacity is reached. Yet certain “excep-
tional” or rare radios can extend beyond the typical frequency ceiling, like a HAM radio which
can explore and receive frequencies far beyond the bounds of a typical shortwave receiver
– and some of these outlying frequencies carry consciousness or, rather, act as a carrier
medium for information, speech, and culture.
Is it not reasonable to consider our perception, too, as having and upper and lower limit? And
that, again similar to individual radios, individual people can also vary in where the “ceiling”
and “floor” of their perception lies. The boundaries of what we are able to sense are very
personalized – with some people being far more sensitive to their surroundings than others.
And is it any wonder that one of the defining characteristics of schizophrenics is the symptom
of “hypersensitivity,” or, in addition to claiming to hear things that we do not hear, they show
the ability to hear things that MOST people do not hear, or which are barely perceivable to the
normal person.
It seems that these two symptoms of the disorder: hearing things that few people hear and
hearing things that nobody around hears, may actually be representative of differing degrees
of the same hypersensitivity. That is, the distinction of these two symptoms may simply be
between sounds which few people can hear and sounds which far fewer people can hear.
Mutual hallucinations suggest legitimacy to this spectrum view and its degrees or “bandwidths”
of sensitivity.
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Wild Strawberries (1957) (2011-04-21 03:21) - public

"Where is the friend I seek at break of day?

When night falls I still have not found Him.
My burning heart shows me His traces
I see His traces wherever flowers bloom
His love is mingled with every air."

...
–Traditional Swedish Poem
Each Ingmar Bergman film I see moves me more deeply than the one before it. I just watched
Wild Strawberries and smiled with tears and pain again and again. Isak, a bitter and miserly
old professor, looking back at his life, witnesses for a second time all of the beauties of naive
first love, and the pain of its loss – those pains which caused him to become the embittered
and loveless shell of a man he is finally able to see he is. Its the self-perspective of that dream
that reawakens him, to the innocent beauty of love in is purest and most radiant form – the
form seen in young traveling companion Sara, and the two boys smitten with her.

The movie resonates so powerfully with me and where I am in my life right now. The
deep loneliness I have felt recently is due to my cold, ruthless, and contentious ways of
alienating those in my life who try to be close to me. For the charge of such unforgiving
callousness, selfishness, and ruthlessness, Isak receives "the usual:" the merciless punishment
of loneliness. Yet, finding redemption and peace in caring deeply for others, Isak finally finds
his way home, to the mama and papa who wait for him in death.

(2011-04-22 01:55) - public

I am afraid of yesterday’s mistakes, and the wincing muscle memory of their pain. I pace
myself for long solitude, perhaps one which will last till my end. The idea of such an irreversible
loneliness is only intimidating at first. It soon becomes an idea part of me embraces, like
an approaching vacation or practice ceremony. I’ll say that I suspect that actual ceremony
flies by without as much pomp or circumstance. And perhaps the socially akward have active
social lives of a subtle sort – as emotion is not limited to the physical form and can express
itself in a way whose explanation is aided by frequency, as is the case with all energetic forms.

A woman holds it together just long enough to retreat to her bedroom, belly flop her
bed, and cry. You must compete, someone keeps stealing the thunder of her pouting. Fruit
baskets overfilled aside, there is a memory of a narrow wooden staircase with loud music
resonating through either claustrophobic wall. Make me know you love me, and make sure I
feel the safety of a mother’s attention to medication timing and dosage.

10.5 May

Notes From Big Sur (2011-05-01 17:26) - public

My first thought when finally reaching the ocean and hearing her roar her calm call was "Look
Mah! I made it out!" As if I climbed out and learned to survive without her, by holding her
1403
inside me as I explore further and further away from her shores.

What is it about the largest mammal that seems so meek, and gentle? the whale’s very
story is one of lack of confidence – having struggled up through lung and limb out of the ocean,
only to reconsider the whole venture and, as if in a thousand lifetimes of self doubt simply
turn around and go back into the water.

The marketability of art limits its range – artists may have the potential to be more creative,
but won’t in a capitalist system if there is danger that nobody will buy it. For government to
truly support the arts, it must support the artists; ensuring they can explore the full range of
their ideas, even the unfashionable and unmarketable among them, without having to worry
about food or shelter as a result. Likewise could be said for the sciences, which are really just
a specific branch of creative art.

The campground is bare, just three spots taken: me, some teenagers in a VW bus, and
an old couple in parked over in the corner. I park my Hyundai across the path from the
older couple and turn the car off, just resting for a moment after hours of driving. Someone
approaches the car from the drivers side "Excuse me sir..."

"Oh shit." I think "They are after me because I didn’t pay..."

I roll down my window. It’s the older lady camper from across the way. "Hi!"

"Hello. We just saw ’SISU’ on the back of your car. Are you Finnish?"

"Yes! I am."

"So are we. It’s so rare to run into other Finns. We’re traveling across country from New York..."

They were amazing people, like a benevolent grandma and grandpa. We spoke for a
long time. Everywhere I go, I seem to run into Finns. From the middle of the Amazon jungle
to my girlfriend’s family being best friends with Finnish millionaires, no matter where I go, it
seems my ancestors are looking out for me, arranging for the network of lineage to make itself
apparent to carry and support me. Shame we’re all so shy...

Identity fades with memory. Why does using my resume to start a campfire feel so sig-
nificant? I need to cook and keep warm, my social identity, and the whole of my outward
accomplishments serve only as fuel to sustain. My name is strengthened by fire, it becomes
something greater than its words and their past.

So often staying positive seems to require staying oblivious, as if to ignore the unpleas-
ant and the painful. yet not just in seeing those things, but seeing above them, as parts
played in the theater of passion, makes the negative bearable. Genocide and rape are theatric
roles played, transitory as all other aspects of the plot.

While recalling advice for posture: "The Penguin" whereby you place arms at side and
align your shoulders in a straight line to your ears. The moment I thought of this, and
straighten my body and spine somewhat awkwardly as I do "The Penguin" pose, I see the face
of a penguin smiling at me. Someone had placed a child’s penguin hat on the branch of a tree
right at that point of the trail, to greet me at that moment.
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Concept Album:

A man dies and we accompany him through the process of transition into death: through grief,
love, and exploration. Watching his loved ones, walking with them: "My Son, My Son. I am
with you..." The regret of realizing the potential he had in life, but wasted: "Opportunity
for change tied to that instrument of flesh and bone." Rising through frequencies of
perception, expansive vistas of vibrant life open before him: "I see! I see! The limits of
life’s beauty were only in my mind."

What remains of me? The days made inaccessible for their pain sculpt my form, nonetheless;
from thought up to posture, I carry those harshest days. Our senses sleep to keep us sane.
They dullen as a protective measure against a barrage of energy, a harsh storm of sensation.
We sleep to save ourselves from knowing the undercurrents of consciousness, the primal
drives we lie to hide, the grit tooth behind the smiling lip. We save ourselves with ignorance,
our minds naturally bound to the tranquility of shallow waters, as if inherently aware of the
dangers of the deep. The subtle is quiet and easy to sleep through. As to be "awake for the
first time" is to know both dreams and nightmares as reality.

There’s so much little s hit going on at the beach! Hey! There’s something! And what
the hell is this? Is this even alive? Little crabs scuttle between green curtains, gnashing their
mandibles with territorial fervor.

The fragrance of sun baked pines is one I recognize from my childhood in the woods of
Michigan. Yet the sheer size of these giant coastal conifers makes me feel so small, as if I were
a child exploring wide-eyed through those woods of my youth again.

(2011-05-04 00:57) - public

What a coward I am, telling mumbled stories and suffocating under seas of salt.
Season me this: a year ago’s sway over me still strong, baked fragrant in the sun.
I know an unclothed couth mistress without a mister
and watch her, waiting, knowing she never waits.
Please forgive me for never releasing my grudge.

In a dark brown sky, a shaved blue man oversees a plateau of desert night.
There is not much to see, as his calm matches the empty sand and its quiet wind.

Tunnels of wood bores, their black eyes glistening. They make meals of my mind.
Please forgive me, for I released myself to easily.
without a fight or a whimper, I surrendered.
And the rope fell with all it held lost.
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Grace Sprouts From The Fertility of Pain (2011-05-11 03:25) - public

Shake. Roll. A snake’s rattle is filled with diamonds, and the richest men defend their precious
treasure, attacking with little warning. They shake their wealth in our faces so often, the
warning rattle carries little meaning before the preemptive attack cripples the lesser classes,
the uneducated for whom the snake introduces knowledge–at a price. The slave state of
college graduates, working for decades to pay for the cost of having learned about the world
they live in. Such is the knowledge of the elites, and to be "on the inside" where those secrets
are whispered carries an elite cost.

Adam, provider of Eve, you must have knowledge; you must be educated to provide
adequately for your love. Take of the learning, the delicious bait which carries such an irre-
versible debt, so that you may make her happy and provide for her female needs as she has
provided for your male needs. The clothes are pretensions, and the role of the knowledgeable
you must play. You cannot unlearn self-consciousness and the pain it causes. The innocence
has been learned away, and as much as you miss the simplicity of naivete, you are no longer
a child living under a Father. You are a father.

Claim the falsest of friendships as your closest.

Live the best days in the barest difficulty.
The struggle is fertile, and you will know limits.
You will know the extremes and live them fully.

Pain, rain down on me, and I will move the land deep.
I will root myself in the mountain, where all are connected.
I will curl a voice that strains as we all knew it could.
And that will be the blues that changes the voice of man.

Like a simple wail, like a beaten dog, so you will feel me...
even as you kick, so you will feel the pain and know my place
You will fear the power in that wail, the pull of emotion,
as it rocks the earth beneath your grand institutions.

Take my freedom and break my body

your implements are crude and small
like your ideas and the power you wield,
This too shall pass,

Hammers rust and strong men fall at my children’s feet.

I rise above my body, which you control with pain.
I rise above your petty control as one would a game.
I see you from spiritual ascension as a lesser man

(2011-05-12 12:51) - public

In the forest I discover a flower.

The invisible life of the thing

Goes up in flames that are invisible,
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Like cellophane burning in the sunlight.

It burns up. Its drift is to be nothing.

In its covertness it has a way

Of uttering itself in place of itself,
Its blossoms claim to float in the Empyrean,

A wrathful presence on the blur of the ground.

The appeal to heaven breaks off.

The petals begin to fall, in self-forgiveness.
It is a flower. On this mountainside it is dying.

– [1]Galway Kinnell
1. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/galway-kinnell

Memoirs From The Edge Of Existing (2011-05-18 12:28) - public

To have a journalist from God working for you is good, but you must then keep creating hellish
problems and crises for him to write about – which becomes a full time job in itself.
Yoko Ono speaks of her deceased husband’s personal secretary. My memory fails as she speaks
so fast, and with such eloquence that I cannot retain to keep up.
Stories of lost love climb up inside you, up into your rib cage, and curl fetal there, like a grown
man hiding. Naked, bare, needing and unwanted, this is a necessary stage before the rib cage
is broke open and the whimpering man spreads his arms wide to say he is loved, to say he is
love: carried, felt, and radiated. I know this man, and he is you. Stand tall now, boy, because
I love you and I can carry you in my chest no longer.
Slow to respond, lovely puppy of a man – learn me
by releasing yourself from those heavy eyes of yours.
Their burden is one of restraint; you know to use them as sharp and heavy tools, but your brow
can wield them with grace and delicate flow if only you’d drop them back into my hands for a
time, she said.
Lets…
“You must teach the boy to vocalize.”
Unless we clothe our time with soul and let through the lesser time of spirit, we will trust no
one. Trust in the coming of the words, trust in spirit to guide, trust in the love you feel, and
it will resonate through all your relations. Towards your calling and the swift whispers of the
current you must turn your gaze of mind, and practice the subtle release of your doubt from
your musculature, where you carry it. Fear learned over a thousand lifetimes
can be released if you can brace the fires of simple purity , t hrough the storm of want, to your
center.
Taste is calmed with simple routine and focus and isolation
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heightens. Be a good friend at a distance first by being loving open and trusting in your self.
Fear is what you bring friends when you cannot hold and retain the center you delve down
through in solitude. Learning and relearning to be alone and content with that place and its
perspective of calm means abandoning a lot – from past, present, and future the solitary man
must release his heavy burdens of possession.
"The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens." - Rainer
Maria Rilke

(2011-05-20 15:17) - public

Hmm... I don’t know much about that.

I’d always thought of vision, itself, as a sort of measurement of electromagnetic frequencies

within a discrete range. Its force is in the current of radiated oscillations, and our eyes but
dainty instruments awash in blaring reflection.

10.6 July

Focusing On The Past (2011-07-04 03:05) - public

Listening to music bad music made by my ex’s new boyfriend. If I could do speed every day
and just surge through all of the work I’ve meant to do since giving up.

Scant remnants of a personality fail to satiate the momentary interests of passersby;

her patience for my quiet meditative calm was exhausted within 3 days of meeting me. While
my consistently-gnawing fears of mental degradation may be self-fulfilling, I still wait for
myself to recover as I have before – each time waiting longer and longer than the time before
until, perhaps, my identity simply hardens into a concrete image a weakened state.

Like a tonal patchwork wrinkled in the steam, crosslayers of thought pass under the dwindling
remnants of my foreground. I recede beneath layers lit open in resonance.
I feel the radiant current carry through me, blooming with intentions made beyond myself.
My place is integral, my every movement in coursing harmony with a greater way; a knowing
fluent carriage in which I may finally rest, surrendering the whole of my identity to her supernal
alignment. Divine mother, be with me. Divine mother, enter me.

Overcoming Thought Blocking After Social Loss AND The Importance of Rou-
tine (2011-07-05 02:06) - public

Evolution Mirrored In Organization Across Multiple Scales

Hmm... I avoid saying things like that, or even writing them in public forums, because
of the resentment those sort of ideas (at least, expressed in that way) have garnered in the
past. That resentment, those lost friends and severed ties, still make me wince when exploring
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that sore spot: my own thoughts, shared. Yet, I know that continuing to censor myself is
not the answer, my social circle seems to remain healthy until that point I stand out in that way.

Where does their resentment come from?

It exhausts me just to revisit that cyclic downward spiral, even rhetorically. I have de-
voted far too much effort and energy to appeasing the insecure with self-censorship. And,
like branches of a river strangled dry, I’ve found that censored ideas wither up alongside the
person who silences them. It is the expression of ideas that gives them form and life, makes
them fresh and tangible. Yet, while the energy of "damming" those branches of that river of
ideas is spent, the energy of that restrained water grows and expands behind! From behind
those tightly-closed lips, a powerful torrent of thought gathers.

Structure is so important. Routine, followed in alignment with a daily rhythm, amplifies

itself in a cyclic feedback loop of building energy which can be utilized for efficiency and
momentum in the tasks and intentions one sets for themself. That frame of predictability
is more than simply being cognizant of a schedule, but a pattern which can sink into our
very biology; our muscles and organs "singing" in the harmony of a balanced steady rhythm.
Exercising, sleeping, digesting, thinking, walking, meditating - when approached haphazardly
at disorganized times of day, they create a jumble of irregular "noise," which our mind and
body struggle to regulate. This is most obvious in sleep patterns, where sleeping at 10 pm one
night, then staying up till 4 am, and then till 1 am the next day, really throws your circadian
rhythm system out of order, making you feel tired and groggy and the wrong times, and
unable to sleep at the ideal times. Unnatural lighting can certainly take the brunt of blame
for our unnatural sleep cycles. But, like with any advance in technology, the ability to light
our surroundings without the sun should, ideally, come with an understanding and regulation
of that ability; one which recognizes the benefits and drawbacks of introducing an unnatural
influence. While there are certainly external benefits to lighting (being able to stay up later
and work longer) many of the drawbacks are internal and less obvious; the inward systemic
changes in melatonin production and cognitive degradation of sleep loss, for instance.

(2011-07-10 21:10) - public

My shyness is so rarely perceived as shyness.

...aloofness, arrogance, resentment, yes, but almost never is it seen as the simple, quiet, boyish
shyness that it is.

(2011-07-10 23:49) - public

Perfect teeth and ruby lips smear above her shapely hips
like clouds refracting the red sun, receding behind her desperate eyes.

All this is secondary, and I know that. These groins and their tugging to meet and to
know and to fuck and to show – they are hormone-pumping distractions clouding my mind’s
vision and my day’s ambition. I know full well that I could accomplish much more of my life’s
potential in focused solitude than in this endless parade of fruitless dinners and ham-handedly
distributed rusty charms, trying to hock my genetics to the highest bidder, to any bidder. My
purpose here extends beyond babies shitting on themselves, and I say that not in an arrogant
1409
way, but with a genuine sense of self-appraisal. I have things I must do, things I am intended
to do, before expiring or retiring from physicality. Yet, that approaching finality should not be
considered the deadline for those works, and I must remind myself of that. And while, sure, I
feel my groinal clock ticking, its hand pointing up straight and tall, as if to scream "It’s time!
Right now!" That clock hand, too, begins its descent as the window of my virility begins closing.

Formless knowing watches, my frustrated muse, for whom I no longer translate into form.
But even while I have abandoned you, please do not abandon me, for we serve the same
sunrise.
In spite of my forgetting and disorder, I wish to carry your words across and honor them.

Too much thought devoted to social ties of a lateral type – a horizon of faces to which
one could easily devote a lifetime in sifting and rummaging. Notwithstanding the most mean-
ingful potentials afforded by romantic relationships, the rewards of the flesh are short-lived
and, ultimately, detract from the greater supernal unions of solitary ascent.

Notes for "SCALAR EVOLUTION: A Biological Model for ’The Great Shift’"
(2011-07-11 01:09) - public

David Sloan Wilson, an evolutionary theorist at the State University of New York at Binghamton,
sees the onset of humanity’s cooperative, fair-and-square spirit as one of the major transitions
in the history of life on earth, moments when individual organisms or selection units band
together and stake their future fitness on each other. A larger bacterial cell engulfs a smaller
bacterial cell to form the first complex eukaryotic cell. Single cells merge into multicellular
organisms of specialized parts. Ants and bees become hive-minded superorganisms and push
all other insects aside.
“A major transition occurs when you have mechanisms for suppressing fitness differences and
establishing equality within groups, so that it is no longer possible to succeed at the expense
of your group,” Dr. Wilson said. “It’s a rare event, and it’s hard to get started, but when it
does you can quickly dominate the earth.” Human evolution, he said, “clearly falls into this
paradigm.”
Interestingly, [1]another recent study found that when Americans were given the chance
to construct their version of the optimal wealth gradient for America, both Republicans and
Democrats came up with a chart that looked like Sweden’s. There’s no need to insult the meat
in the land of lutefisk.
Novelty, what is time?

Novelty, complexity and advanced organization, increases as we approach the present

moment. Today is far more complex a place than it was a billion years ago. Unfolding
developmental processes, order from disorder. What are developmental processes? Why does
nature prefer order to disorder? Everywhere the emergence of more and more complex forms,
organisms, and technologies, building on the previously achieved levels of complexities...

This process of complexificaiton through time is occuring exponentially. Singularity, and

the graphic representation of technological advancement, for instance. Human emergence
is happening more quickly, so it seems, along the platform of our culture and its rapid rush
towards social organization and communication. Faster and faster, this rapid complexification
is "wrapping up" our species, or creating a boundary for which we can organize within. This is
1410
the end game of developmental processes on this planet, our species will be unrecognizable,
and our science and technology has been building towards this culmination of associative
networking and communicative interdependence.

Time is defined and experienced by the events which occur in it. There are many more
physical and energetic domains within which change can occur now in the early universe.
Each of these systems occurred from the previous domain or "bandwidth" of complexity which
birthed. Connectivity and complexity are intimately linked – co-relationships. Atomic systems,
molecular chemistry, life, complex speciated life, dynamic ecosystems, each one of those
complex phenomena crystalized from those previous less-complex systems which predated
them. More and more is happening in less and less time.

When all points are connected to all other points, we become a superorganism. We are
connecting the dots. Everything is in co-relationship with everything else. Production of
consciousness. Consciousness is this integrative function in biology, which takes data and
brings it into a congruent sensible relationship. Coordinating a point of view, a perception of
self and surroundings.

Before man and culture, the source of change was genetic – which took millions of years.
Language, customs, and behavior is what man and culture brings via his communication – the
accelerated novelty of epigenetics. The evolution of a fruit fly vs the evolution of social order
in France differ in that the latter is able to progress much faster, connectivity and change
accelerated.

Time resonates along a waveform with all other times. "Every day contains 4 days."

Like the belief that all nature can be represented and structured as 128 elements, so
the Chinese believed all time, itself, could be represented and structured with 64 elements
(The I-Ching.) 64 subtypes of time, can represent all possible dynamics of time – the physics
which allow physicality to come into the current moment.

A pressure-variant phenomena...the ascension through mediums of finer and finer den-

sity. Nature having a purpose, in the 19th century, was considered anti-evolutionary. Only
recently in scientific thought has come the idea that events are pushed by causal necessity.
"Attractors" can exist in the future, and "pull" causality towards that future point. A ball
bearing spiraling around the edges of a bowl is "attracted" towards the central base point
of that bowl by gravity. All nature aspires towards order, but not habit, complexity and
connectivity, but not static stagnation. We are an engine, a factory of creation and the carriers
of higher and higher states of order, the cutting edge of organized systems. To advance and
preserve consciousness is the purpose of being, to sense greater and greater and higher and
higher realms of energy.

Weather patterns, economic market patterns, magnetic resonance, and radio wave radi-
ation, the greater awareness afforded by social order allow sensation and processing of these
"unseen" realms. We are extending ourselves through technology, and the sensitivities which
our biology is blind. We are finding ways out of the limits of our body, and creating windows
into the unseen higher realms beyond the visible spectrum. This is our ascent to the higher
bandwidths of the electromagnetic spectrum. We can move information at the speed of light,
communicating terabytes between individuals, members of our organized civilization, every
1411
second. The ascent out of the ocean to the higher and finer medium of air. This transition
towards the light, on the other side of that surface, are inborn and instinctual and the same
which pulls us upwards and onwards beyond the limits of base physicality.

Whole realms of experience can be seen and immersed within by the windows of ma-
chines. A event of cosmic occurrence and importance is going to occur. Human history is
being CAUSED by the nearby presence of this occurance – with radiant shells of influence
extending back, pulling us out of the ocean, and extending back to Egypt. Human history is
the shockwave which precedes the eschaton. –Terence McKenna

‘Concrescence’ is the name for the process in which the universe of many things ac-
quires an individual unity. An actual .occasion is nothing but the unity to be ascribed to a
particular instance of concrescence. This concrescence is thus nothing else than the ‘real
internal constitution of the actual occasion in question’. The process itself is the constitution of
the actual entity. This is a theory of monads; but it differs from Leibnitz’s in that Whitehead’s
monads change. In the organic theory they merely become. Each monadic creature is a mode
of the process of ‘feeling’ the world, of housing the world in one unit of complex ‘feeling’,
in every way determinate. Such a unit is an ‘actual occasion’; it is the ultimate creature
derivative from the creative process. Each actual entity is conceived as an act of experience
arising out of data. The objectification of other actual occasions form the given data from
which an actual occasion originates. Each actual entity is a throb of experience including the
actual world within its scope. It is a process of ‘feeling’ the many data, so as to absorb them
into the unity of one individual satisfaction.

Something grows together, connected, something which becomes dense and becomes
or crosses a boundary, to become carnate, for instance. Individual unity of many individual
things – the unicellular cells concrescing into an organized multicellular individual, for instance.

1. http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:1fGtx9Tc_nYJ:duke.edu/%CB%9Cdandan/Papers/BuildingBet
terAmerica.pdf+shelly+kagan+on+norton+and+ariely&hl=en

(2011-07-11 11:58) - public

Sometimes when I see a person’s name, I momentarily remember their smell. Certain people
just naturally smell really good.

I’ve been told I have a good smell – kinda sweet and piney.

...why the hell do I post these things?

Like it isn’t bad enough to be sitting in my bathrobe thinking about how good I smell.
But...

"The world gotta know about my pine tree-fresh scent!"

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10.7 August

(2011-08-03 21:49) - public

Homeslice wet t-shirt gorge-bottom sweet knee McGee and the pumice twisters.

(2011-08-04 02:30) - public

All women are bad.

They splash in the water and bite at my fingers.

(2011-08-04 04:24) - public

Too personal. I get too personal too fast. I shoot right for the depth I’m most comfortable at,
immediately, and it seems unsettling to most–as if it’s something they aren’t accustomed to.
There is no level of intimacy as deep or profound as that felt in solitude, the inward subjective
intimacy with the divine.

The level of truth and genuineness is indirectly proportional to the number of people
communicating. Two people, the intimacy of marriage and lovemaking, is most likely the
deepest connection we will have with another person in our lifetime. Our spouse is the one
person we trust to reveal our weaknesses and fears, the aspects of selfhood which remain
hidden in all other social interactions.

With 3 people, immediately there is an imbalance which makes the relationship less genuine
and equally-beneficial. The literal imbalance of gender, there immediately being either two
women and one man, or two men and one woman, sets the stage for competition in intimacy
– or, at best, an oscillation between two sets of one-on-one romantic relationships with a
single person. This arrangement is less meaningful, by design, and is unavoidably subject to
favoritism, be it expressed or not.

(2011-08-05 02:15) - public

There is a sound, indirect, which fills this room above hearing.

A conversation between watchers, a light unfolding from unseen eyes.
I drink to hear it, I drink to know them, and to know myself as they do.
I drink to remember loved ones who have not forgotten me as I have them.
Their gifts are felt as warm graceful love,
smiling throughout, with eyes closed and heart open.

Some rhythm builds there, a gradual hum expanding like all is inhaling.

(2011-08-06 03:12) - public

He’s good to go, and he should. Thought last burning trouble, a last ditch effort to think straight,
clutching at remnants, like loose bricks along the inside of the well. Image
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Season 4, Episode *Knife Stab Sound* (2011-08-07 20:00) - public

Lets look together at something, lets watch this thing I know together. In silence. Lets not talk
and look at this video I procure from my collection of videos, together. I enjoy your company
with this funny video, and hope you laugh at this video which is funny. I will laugh too and we
will enjoy it very much, together.

Lets eat this and watch this and then maybe we will talk, but not too much – we do not
want to interrupt the video. If you have something you want to say to me, I can put it on pause,
but please make it quick! Let us speak of media if we do speak, lets have a conversation
about what we just watched, then lets talk about what we watched yesterday, then perhaps I
will ask you what you FAVORITE television video program is and we can each have an opinion
about that program, which we share, together.

Have you seen the episode of that television video program when she gets hurt? It is
my favorite episode, and is the season finale of that season. I enjoy very much her getting
hurt, and will always laugh when I think of it. You should come over and we will watch the
episode of her where her get hurt and I expect and hope, very much, that we will laugh,
together.

Have you seen the fucking part where goddamn fucking Jews stab stab stab all the fuck-
ing stab cunt whore slut machine death? It is my favorite episode, and is the season finale of
that season. I enjoy very much cancerous stab fucker gore death glass shard wound, cut face
torn baby leg socket flesh gnaw assault fucking, and will always vomit ulcer blood when I think
of it. You should come over and we will watch the rotting pus father bloat with stab stab stab
1st degree burns of the eyes and face episode of her where her get pregnant with incubus’
child of Lucifer and I expect and hope, very much, that all which entertains us will fall away in
a brilliant flash and we will, all at once, wake up to the genuine authentic connection which
had been hidden beneath all that fear.

Interviewing For A Home (2011-08-11 01:21) - public

Interestin g Fellow For Unique Garden Room

Reply
|

Kaleb Smith ✆
to hous-ufyjz-253.
show details
1:18 AM (0 minutes ago)

1414
Hello!
My name is Kaleb and I am interested in living with you.
I am a 20-something Transpersonal psychologist, artist, and
brainwave researcher currently working as a psychology
teacher at IME college in South Oakland.
I am clean, easy-going, and sociable. I enjoy going out
to see music on weekends and am active in the West
Oakland art/music scene (particularly East Nile and Zoo
venues.) I collect and play vintage analogue synthesizers,
and am excited that you all have musicians – I would love
to share my studio equipment and play along.

THE QUESTIONS!

1) Tell me the last thing that blew your mind, ie. facts, discoveries, adventures

I recently traveled to the Amazon jungle, to speak at the International Shamanism Con-

ference about my brainwave and hypnagogia research. While there, I traveled with a Stanford

anthropologist up the Amazon river for many hours in a small handmade boat, and then hiked

several more hours into the jungle where I met with members of the Shipibo-Conibo tribe. I

lived with them there in the deep jungle for almost 2 months, partaking in their spiritual cere-

monies and healing rituals.... LOT more story there, but I’ll save it for after we’re roommates. ;)

2) an animal you really like and WHY

I love lions and am very gentle and lion-like myself (I have mane and everything!) There is a

sense of calm noble pride and confidence in a male lion, overseeing and protecting his loved

ones. Not to get all ’woo-woo’ and emo, but I really like that idea. The idea of sharing and

looking out for one another.

3) music/artist/performer you really like and WHY

1415
I collect music. (no, like obsessively.) I recently hit 3800 albums. Don’t worry, they are

mostly digital format – I’m not lugging in 3 thousand vinyls. ;)

I focus on prog, glam, and kraut rock – and love a certain musician, Brian Eno, who overlapped

all of those genres at once. He was the first to describe the studio, itself, as an instrument. (my

first degree was in music production, so he was a major inspiration in my early development

in that field of study – helping me to define my own sound in a lot of ways (In other words, I

ripped him off a lot! haha. ;) )

4) fiction or non fiction and WHY

Unfortunately, I rarely have any time to read the fiction I’d like to. I’m usually diving

into some academic article or textbook, even now that I’m finished with grad school. As of

tonight, I am studying the life cycle of the slime mold. (Haha! Yea, I know.) I’m trying to find

some way to associate early cellular evolution to social psychology, for a presentation at the

Transpersonal Psychology Conference next month. I’m not so huff-puffy tho, no worries! I’m

just trying to make a living as an academic, which means getting wordy once in a while for

these hoity-toity sort of events. :)

5) make up a word, and make up a definition for that word.

I’ll give you a couple words, how ’bout that? Throw in some extra, for the same price!

;)

’Twas two lurists in truest slys,

who prounced a shlone selder.

Down dark swally puds unlet ties,

They coyled the nage unhelder.

But a thorate glimpsed the snatch,

and called red searing freques.

1416
Quick sets cruffed their lures attach,

and splayed soon up thy creek.

haha. It’s about a cop catching two shady thugs mugging an old man in an alley.

I am looking for like-minded, down to earth, and respectful

people in a friendly, drama-free environment. :)
I would love to see the room sometime. I am up in that
neighborhood on Tuesdays and Thursdays – and next week
I’ll be right by there, for a studio session that Wednesday.
I have attached my current resume, in case you wish to
know a bit more about my background.
I can be reached at this email address, or at [1]650 283
1175.
Thanks, and look forward to hearing back!
-Kaleb
–
Prove it with a wink.

[2]http://www.subtledensity.com
1. tel:650%20283%201175
2. http://www.subtledensity.com/

(2011-08-13 03:35) - public

• [1]
[2]Ron Blemberg nah man all natural man haha fuck cologne!!!! I smell like a champ, the
beer farts are from eating meat. Steak grilling man.

• [3] [4]Kaleb Smith

haha. You’re right!! Girls LOVE the smell of red meat!
That’s why before every date, I like to put about half a pound of raw hamburger in each
shoe. (of course, using plastic to control the blood!)
Not only does the smell gradually waft upwa rds during our movie, activating her carnal
animalistic side, it also feels very cool and relaxing squishing between my toes – calming
me down immediately if I begin to feel any nervousness whatsoever.
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 See More

• [5] [6]Kaleb Smith ...datin’ tips from the pro, man. You should be writin this shit down!

1. http://www.facebook.com/VonBlemthorn
2. http://www.facebook.com/VonBlemthorn
3. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
4. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
5. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
6. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

Speed Makes Me Bitter (2011-08-15 05:01) - public

I have received the tragic existence I wanted, the one I pretended so hard to have.
For those that have the greatest potential create the greatest spectacle as they fall.
And even to admit I was rare, to say such things here, to myself, like that I once had great
potential; even these things create the gnawing of self-depreciation, that reflection of how it
must be for THAT hateful person I’ve come to know so intimately to hear me say such a thing
as “For those that have the greatest potential…”
I know she would grit her teeth and tighten her eyes and prepare to pull my hair and hiss out
“Who do you think you are? WHAT did you say?? WHHAT did you say??! I can’t stand to look
at you.”
Trouble and pain, behind me. That mother exists now only in my dark corners, but those
are the corners which people sense behind my eyes. Those are the shadows they come to
resemble, and that is the fear that drives them away. The projection of a role that deep is
powerful, magnetic, and can quickly encompass a room, a lover, an institution until all those
old characters lock into place, played by new people.
The past simply cannot be abandoned, free and clear. No matter how far you distance yourself
from it, it clings – the heavier it is, the more it drags you down, hounding to surface, haunting
until it can finally repeat itself.
A calm moment.
Freedom, my very musculature savors release from my fear. Hunched, as if a dog that has
been beaten huddles in the corner, so this is the appearance of a man prepared, forever, to be
whipped silent again. This is the bloody key to transcending through the body’s door, leaving
that whole lower carnal realm, and its pain, behind. I feel the relationship between punishment
and solitude create a track, for which sensitivity can be the fuel, a motor for ascent. In my
calmest moments, I am still awake and in control. (My calmest moments are in dream.)

(2011-08-16 02:14) - public

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(2011-08-20 03:18) - public

Slow delicate nothing elicits no response,

the running of barely fingers along her naked back
their lightest tracing down her spine;
she snores crude response, annoyed.

Almost meaningful, almost wanted, almost acceptable.

These strange things I give from my strange heart
only to those who I love dearly, in the remains of this life.
The things I say, the things I don’t,
the fog of tension that will never decend again.

Close up the plumes of sprayed legs’ blooms, wet like a summer fountain,
age and grey and cold and ugly neglegence await
,pain and confusion and dull silent waiting await
Slow delicate nothing will be missed, a bitter taste, a faint memory of a lover’s face.

Lineage and The Surfacing Lines On This Face (2011-08-21 02:08) - public

What is it about life?

Its stages that somehow are evident in everyone except myself;
to be surprised that I am suddenly _that _ guy, all at once.
Irreversibly.

I don’t follow my direction, refusing to march even to my own drummer.

And I suffer for it, for my refusal to conform even to my own identity.
Fighting easy thinking, even while living a life of ease. F
Fighting inclinations, if only for the matter of cliche and novelty.

Character, what is a man of character. Is he a good character? Well acted?

Act well, behave, mind your manners. Actions speak louder than words.
A well-written character, then, would know the rules and know when to break them.
Character is self-determined in that way; it distinguishes itself apart.

Czech monks, Southern slave owners, Chinese opium dealers, Scandinavian housewives,
they all cried and masturbated, flirted and doubted, kicked and screamed, and died.
We know only the idea of them, a vague semblance of their time.
They, themselves, are forgotten.

(2011-08-23 02:09) - public

Is this what getting old is?

Again and again, waiting for a recovery that never comes?
The cumulative of "bounce-backs" that never arrived?
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(2011-08-25 02:02) - public

So these are the terms,

I am told, you are told,
we are sold till our souls
are quieted,
and do what they’re told.

I, who once could be lifted by a breeze,

I, who would sing to her all night without a word,
I, who did not know the reason for the limit, or want to,
I was punished there, along the edge.
Scarred irreversibly.

but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?
The inward dimension, no less true than its fucking goddamned fisting

The Spirit Circuit (2011-08-25 14:22) - public

Running tin foil across solder points amongst a circle of family, and they claimed they could
feel the jolts, at first like a tingle, and then the skeptic said “Yes, I feel it too. It actually
hurts, like my brain is bleeding.“ The most sensitive girl said it was making things happen
for her, that she was seeing/hearing entities, and left. When she left, the shit hit the fan!
What was just simple toying/scraping along metal with metal became flashing lights, sounds,
voices, screams, cries, the whole Oakland neighborhood being bombarded with an earthquake
of paranormal activity. It somehow opened the gates, my random playful brushing of that
strange Braille-like circuit board of raised points was attracting major attention from the
unseen, and some of it was negative. And she was gone, she was my ground, my confirmation,
my down to earth presence. I heard demonic angry voices and saw shadowy figures flit quickly
across bedrooms and living rooms in apartment windows. The others in the circle were deeply
affected, some handling it better than others. “Its happening again!” one cried out. “I can
see them!”

Black juju, saline nasal spray from the Government making paranoid schizophrenics ner-
vous that there was something more, that it contained something darker than just salt. The
swamp relatives, on the other side asked coldly how we are related, suspicious as I step off
the boat onto the dock. There’s a shack out behind with a history, and the three of them hide
out there. I’m not feeling like I belong. It takes a while for my legs to adjust to the floating
dock stump walking. Yet I am vouched for, I am safe, but I keep my mouth shut, because I feel
some of these people could be dangerous, relatives or not.

(2011-08-26 01:53) - private

The most beautiful girl in the whole wide world,

bashful, busty, blushing as she waited. For me.
A delicate voice slow heart smile trying with a look up

She deserved glass smooth moonchance, a solemn swear to ravish on.

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She selected a lesser stoop to watch me from, to tease me with our knowing.
I see an empty glass, a magician’s expectation, his percepts and trap.
Don’t glance up into my eyes anymore. I’m a wolf hiding in the valley.
You tempt me to climb, and to be what I no longer am.
You tempt me to howl, to hunt, to run beneath the night brush. To you.

Solemn in a feverish swarm, remain cool.

Collect the breath from an inward distance.
Costly beauty, better left unseen.
You will torment me with smiling regret.

The Wolf Descends To the Valley (2011-08-26 01:54) - public

The most beautiful girl in the whole wide world,

bashful, busty, blushing as she waited. For me.
A delicate voice slow heart smile trying with a look up

She deserved glass smooth moonchance, a solemn swear to ravish on.

She selected a lesser stoop to watch me from, to tease me with our knowing.
I see an empty glass, a magician’s expectation, his percepts and trap.
Don’t glance up into my eyes anymore. I’m a wolf hiding in the valley.
You tempt me to climb, and to be what I no longer am.
You tempt me to howl, to hunt, to run beneath the night brush. To you.

Solemn in a feverish swarm, remain cool.

Collect the breath from an inward distance.
Costly beauty, better left unseen.
You will torment me with smiling regret.

10.8 September

Social Issues Surrounding My Energy (2011-09-17 06:29) - public

The trouble with energy fields, the issue of approachability. Of attraction and repulsion. I
can only say each polar extreme grows stronger with the strength of the given magnet. An
electromagnet, the energy which flows into it, defining that duality with its flow. I have a lot
of energy, and it is somehow reassuring in an ominous way to be told that I have a strong
energy – something I perceive of myself, but rarely acknowledge publicly, for fear of appearing
pompous or proud. In fact, the intensity of the energy that seems to burst from my chest,
outwards through my arms and personality of brightened eyes, is more a strange exhausting
curse than something to be proud of. A double edged sword which I have no illusions of being
able to yield maturely or control.

Its a lovely girl, and another. They smile and kiss my face, or don’t. To them, I share
introspective and elaborate thoughts which cannot be easily replied to. It is silent agreement,
and the conversation falls, uncarried, to the floor. I smoked pot, for real, and coughed and
became something – whatever it is I become on pot: that analytical hypercritical radiant ball
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of firing nerves, electric, the gravity of my attention can be felt to fill a room. The beautiful
girl I want to kiss says "There is a gravity in this room, it is strong and it pulls me in."

A beloved roommate who also wants to sleep with the beautiful girl asks which direction
the gravity is pulling her. He points broadly towards the opposite wall "There? Or..." He avoids
pointing in my direction. I feel it is him edging her to choose which of us she will lay beside
tonight.

Lovely, I kissed so tensely with forced tenderness and breath. My neck cracked loudly
with the release of stored tension as I leaned sideways to kiss her downturned lips. Expensive
portions, expansive tension, I hug her and breath deep into the embrace.

(2011-09-17 07:17) - public

Glaring close through the darkness, the sly wolfman bares his teeth, lips curled back, behind
incisors seem almost to smile. A delicate perforated design in tin, extends onwards and
upwards defining the inner edges of a circular tunnel whose expanse is obscured by light.
Two women, one in black and one in white, meet in militaristic fashion. Two black-dressed
uniformed women stand at attention, in attack formation, preparing, with the stomping of feet
in a formed line, to fire on the unarmed blonde.

A beetle’s carapace is decorated with dainty designs of white lines formed along height-
ened bumps. A man, a friend, and a romantic interest we share. A sun, radiant within, rises
with its blaring frequencies. What trouble have I gotten myself into this time? Most people
who claim I’m Irish, and that the bags of wild farmers green are fake, still pay $50 to have one
of their own. Compressed herb, green vacuum sealed bag is like a brick – a brick of dried plant.

The woman goes to pet the mounted beast head, saying the hair is really nice – he is
the brother, the wolf destined to take the throne before me when father dies. The girl knows
where her interests best lie and avoids me, not even acknowledging my arrival. Roses paste
upwards like smeared Valentine’s Day stamps. What of my heart, what of my eyebrows and
ugly nose? Do these things ever become quiet and calm in my mind? My age brings so little
direction or wisdom any longer, where once my inward development was felt and expressed
with words and beautiful experiences, shared. Now I wear a blue bucket over my head, with a
smiley face painted crudely on its front.

Some form of clamp to keep the drip steady, to keep my troubles in check. If any great
thief breeches the wall of color for stealing a glance at the higher nature, I pity his self-divided
torture in. I’ll plaster a board for his bad mood and hang it on his back pack for all to see.

Please, feign interest in my meandering dialogue. The helper dogs were taught to mock
each other, to stick out their tongues and use special dog codes to communicate. In fact, they
had approximations of full conversations, which could be monitored and televised via iphone
headsets, each with an eyepiece. This idea of sellllffddddddddd, the secret night, waiting for
santa.

Perhaps, per lapse, like all.

Perhaps sex is not an interest or a strong drive as Engines thread stowed revenge from
1422
sleepless concocting. Like a room of boxes, each with an elderly musician past his prime, so
there is a way for women tofffffffffffffd That damned dog gets in everything, sheep’s wool coat
hanging near the pantry, ready in closed longing.

(2011-09-17 08:38) - public

Sex is work, shameful degrading work which I can barely pretend to want any longer. A fly’s
wing lays severed and abandoned in a small metal thimble, it juts out towards the dusty light
like an intricately webbed satellite dish.

Colored plywood, particle board, layers of decorative set pieces stacked from previous
plays, big shows long ago, mostly forgotten names and funnel-haired elderly women, grey
split floating above a faceless Mrs. Doubtfire neath an expanse of thin decorative metal
of black tin flowery blooming patterns, like an expanse drawn from a red bird, two an-
gles meet in their shared layer while, within them, whole realms of green games carry on,
oblivious. This is the sought higher world of orchestrated coincidence, of timed body releases.

If I said I felt the presence of a spirit, a figure of a body, a black silhouette moving in
my periphery, would you doubt my perception? Or would you admit to some similar experi-
ence which, perhaps, could not be disregarded fully?

If there is a prison, a polarity which restrains by its very existence, so we are restricted
between the higher bandwidth and the lower bandwidth, those boundaries which are not
easily breached, but which carry consciousness just the same. Our frequencies, these physical
senses, are so narrow in breadth and subject to waves of individual conscious forms, just
the same - knowing by physical models of depth and current that this modulation travels
horizontally.

The Spectrum of Consciousness (2011-09-20 03:38) - public

Thoughts of subjective difference between ethnicities of people are mostly censored from
public discussion – with “gene” becoming a four-letter word, which, much like “race,” can
immediately cause people’s blood pressure to rise with its ve...ry utterance. I feel this extreme
degree of social restraint, internalized, restricting us from understanding or discussing our
very inborn nature is a shameful blockage, inhibiting the development of our self-knowledge,
both as individuals and as a species.

If race was something we WERE allowed to discuss, study, and understand, one of the
first things we would realize is how short lived this concept of _diversity _ actually is. That is to
say, as things are, within 10 generations, we are all going to be a sort of light tan color. Haha.
All these heated racial tensions will be resolved once the melting pot finally finishes melting,
and _cools _.

America really was the great genetic experiment – the separation of nation and state;
the combination of many nationalities within a single country. Types of men and women from
far flung parts of the globe – from dramatically different environments, genes, and cultures –
suddenly combined into a single part of the globe, and single environment. It’s like we “stirred
shit up” with America. Advances in transportation technology developed alongside us, and
1423
facilitated the meeting of people from those far-flung parts of the Earth to meet for the first
time, something which was not previously a possibility in nature, and is arguably unnatural.
This lost continent was found, and needed to be filled!

I like to think of this “stirring shit up” using the analogy of a river delta, where many
densities of soil, rocks, sand, and silt meet. During a heavy storm, the delta is flooded, and all
of the different layers of sediment are thrown up into the sudden rapids. Likewise, in America,
many different types of people have been suddenly tossed and thrown together, haphazardly,
in a flood of immigration and, like the delta, these are different “densities” of consciousness,
physicality, and energy level, all stirred together amongst each other, in a frenzied storm of
agitation and unrest. Yet, over time, the delta calms once more and, gradually, the sludge of
different particles begins to settle back to its natural state: sedimentary layers of different
densities.

I admit, this is an unusual view of the current state of America’s composition, and the
slow development of the American “race,” but it is useful in my thinking to look towards
nature and observable phenomena to understand the dynamics similar phenomena occurring
on a different scale. That is to say, when one of those many swirling haphazard particles in
the storm, it is VERY hard to get much perspective on what things are going to be like for
the entire 100 square miles of the delta, say, 7 days later. Likewise, being a single person in
this grand genetic experiment, being tossed around and mixed and stirred in with the whole
diverse spectrum of humanity, it is very hard to get much perspective of the greater systems
at play – the current of the wider stream which carries me, the meteorology of the wind that
whips that current into a frenzy and the rain which agitates and dissolves the layers of soil
beneath, and how this "delta" of human civilization are going to look in 7000 years. Yet both
scales, that one which can observe in our lifetime and that one which we cannot, are simply
Nature, and the patterns of nature cycle with little concern for our concept of time.

Sediments of Sentiments

It seems childish, but I am still enamored with rainbows – that feeling of first seeing one
after a hard rain, the air charged electric, when it feels like you’re getting a glimpse of
something secret. It always felt like a doorway was momentarily opening to reveal the true
and beautiful hidden nature of the everyday. It’s that idea of a spectrum that is still so
meaningful to me, and I’d rather not refer to it as the “segregation” of light, but rather the
natural settling of unity into its composite frequencies. Composite, that is to say, light is
a composition of various distinct bandwidths, or bound layers of varying density. Red is a
“finer” density, whose particles are like the silt in our delta. Violet, on the other extreme, is
“deeper” and slower to move, like the solid clay beneath the sand and silt. Is it ACTUALLY
a wave, or ACTUALLY a particle? The details of either metaphor are of little concern. Like
Alan Watts said, lets call it a “wavicle” and move on. The point being that it is nature; in
that interaction and division within unity is ALL observable nature, all we can see, hear, and
know follows its delicate dynamics, the dynamics of frequency, its flow, division, and influence.

So, to recap the convoluted metaphor we’ve constructed here: we and everything we
could possibly know, inward or outward, is a composition of frequency; particles of varying
depths, which are stirred and resettle with the waxing and waning of the cyclic “rain season”
of our lives and our species.

Consciousness, then, can be thought of in terms of frequency, as well – the electroen-

1424
cephalogram being, essentially a quantified measurement of differing states of consciousness,
waveforms of neuronal activation traversing the surface of the cortex like ripples across the
surface of a pond. Thoughts can be dense or airy, fast or slow, foggy or clear, but always with
an essential baseline state for which an individual naturally gravitates towards, as his father
before him.

The Subtle Cymatics of Emotion (2011-09-25 05:05) - public

I still want to relate my brainwave work to my obsession with cymatics and sound healing...

Cymatics gives us a glimpse of the unseen web of energy, ripples of radiant frequency
through a medium, revealed as intricate woven geometries surfacing into physicality. The
dynamic forms and energetic patterns observed in these cymatic studies of Dr. Jenny are
based on laws which extend beyond the limits of sound, to include all frequency, including the
subtle vibratory signature of consciousness.

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _61

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _61

Here’s a thing, thinking about cymatics:

Like a resonant chamber of personal energy, as soon as I enter my room, a high reso-
nant tone resounded with the closing of the door. This is not a typical occurrence, by the
...best of my knowledge, for the walls, themselves, to resound as if being struck like a bell?
A second higher overtone reverberated as a multiple of the original frequency. I try as best I
can to rationalize the reason for the door or myself to have caused such a resonant response,
but being incredibly high seems to have increased some aspect of my attention, a frequency
of an inward source for which marijuana caused an increase in amplitude. Suddenly the entire
room begins to align with this frequency, it becomes the dominant rhythm of the space, which
other personalities sense and respond to.

While dancing in my distinct predictive way, dropping into a tight half-time from the rest
of the room, people responded in a variety of ways. One of the older psychonauts actually
approached me in the center of the room and held out his palms, as if to absorb the radiance
of that frequency’s attentive amplitude, the gravity of its entrainment. A responsive and
empathic individual, as he was, can become aware of the subtle energetic aspect of social
interaction very quickly, and in sensing the “oceanic medium” aspect of his social surrounding,
begin to respond to it immediately. An inward perceptual sense of this energetic medium could
1425
be considered a trademark of the psychedelic state of consciousness, in its hyper-attentive
awareness of emotive energy, the external perception of an other’s subjective emotional
state, temperament, or mood. The emotions of a person can be sensed and even identified
without any mode of physical or external expression. Without words, without body language,
without any outward expression of any kind, someone in a bad mood can perceivably alter
the “vibe” of the room, the heaviness or lightness of the “air;” these common turns of phrase
which have been used to describe changes in the subjective or subperceptual character of the
room, the perceivable aspect of one’s state of attention, as altered or controlled in a variety
of ways, as to become non-ordinary.

William Braud’s experiments (2001) into the influence of a state of consciousness onto
another individual, regardless of distance, or physical proximity, have been well-documented
as being statistically-significant. Most people, when you ask them in a straight-forward,
one-on-one manner, if they have ever been able to feel or communicate with a lover or close
friend without words, each person will have a personal story of experiencing an aspect of this
extraordinary phenomenon, at some point in time in their life. Identical twin studies, again,
are invaluable in isolating this somewhat rare, but not unheard of, human experience of a sub-
jective connection or means of communication with a loved one – a sort of “heart connection”
with a mother, twin, or life mate, a state of empathic connection which seems to modulate
a subconscious medium, some "emotional bandwidth" of frequency tied, most measurably,
to the heartbeat or breath. When these physiological frequencies change, that change can
be experienced by those in close proximity, regardless of external cues from the physical
body (Braud, 2004). This is especially true of those fully-engaged in a “spiritual emergence”
or Transpersonal psychedelic state of empathic sensitivity (LLLL, 2005). This hyper-attentive
state predisposes one to be “resonant” or responsive to another person’s subjective state, or
to notice subtle energetic phenomenon which are typically ignored or filtered from perception
by the natural or ordinary state of one’s latent inhibitionary system. For this reason, it makes
sense that the typical LI score of a chronic schizophrenic is much lower than that of the normal
population – and that the ingestion of a psychotomimetic, or psychosis-replicating, substance
leads, similarly, to a lowered LI score, and the hypersensitivity experienced in that lowered
latent inhibitionary state.

Low LI and high IQ are a recipe for extraordinary or "eminent" states of creative achievement.
Somehow the flood of semantic categories “carried in” along the low LI flood of attention, when
organized and modulated by the increased categorical capacity afforded by high IQ, leads
to a coherent and highly expansive state of creative “flow” or expression; loose associations
coupled with a short term memory capacity allowing long “strands” of semantic association,
the priming capacity of a hyper-attentive mind, yielded.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2661%26%26%26youtube%26
05Io6lop3mk%3Ab17cd600b51b64f4f979ab4b89e3ccbfaaaa22b5
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2661%26%26%26youtube%26
05Io6lop3mk%3Ab17cd600b51b64f4f979ab4b89e3ccbfaaaa22b5

turboswami (2011-09-25 12:09:57)

"At 2:40 in part 2 - one wonders whether this tone could be used to clean plastics from the ocean?..."
I suspect it’s rare to find plasticized particles in nature, even in ecologies polluted by plastic. Perhaps
a long term plan could be drawn up, taking account of the biodegradation stages of polymers. Or,
yea, oil spill fluid mechanic dynamics? How does oil and water react to being pumped with low speed
oscillations? What bandwidths of ocean depth carry these frequencies best/longest?

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turboswami (2011-09-25 12:25:36)
# Ignites the imagination! On a different note (chuckle)... I was wondering what effect headphones
were having on the physiology of people as opposed to people who predominantly expose their entire
bodies to music through speakers. 11 minutes ago · LikeUnlike # Kaleb Smith: Its interesting that
in the brainwave entrainment EEG sessions, participants were wearing only headphones, yet the
throbbing isochronic and binaural rhythms were often described as resonating through the entire body,
pulsing in the chest, causing the whole middle body to throb in entrainment to the beat frequency.
Suggestion influenced this a lot – suggesting the percieved bass tone was originating from their own
lungs, traveling up their larynx and voice box, and out, seemed to help a lot! Often the pulsing was
audible, as what I assume was simply a strongly beating heart, somehow pulsing audibly through the
chair they were sitting in. I dunno, man, there was a lot going on in that brainwave lab...it needed
other physiological measurements. GSR, ECG, respiratory rate/volume during meditative state, all that
juicy data on different modes of physical entrainment to certain frequencies, audio, EM, or otherwise.

pigshitpoet (2011-10-17 10:21:09) bodies at rest and in motion..

i see your point and i think it is that we are wired neurally connected from our sensors through our
sensory body. you make me want to go out and get a brand new set of headphones and some new
age brain technology. do you listen to much meditative music, sounds? for instance what affect does
the sound of ocean, rain or wind have on our bodies? or simply the sound of silence.. ? does that
affect us subtly? psp

pigshitpoet (2011-10-17 09:24:19) emf

ignites imagination of dr. emoto’s work with water crystals and emotion, i’m sure you’ve heard of
him.. since we are highly made of h2o our lives are electromagnetically conditioned if not controlled
by sound, ie. haarp.. you know those days when you have a bad feeling in your gut and weird shit
happens.. [EMBED] [EMBED] pleased to meet you! psp

pigshitpoet (2011-10-17 10:16:22) hi

could you consider this mode of sound creation, "the word" the sound of "god" creation? it all seems
highly metaphysical from the old get go.. like mind over matter, sound form is tangible to me. what
seems intangible, ie. electromagnetic frequency, telepathy, ie. remote sensing, emotional intelligence,
it the greater mystery to me. my question then is how can sound affect matter intelligently? quantum
particle physics and random chaos made with violent fusion is not beauty in symmetry.. is it? psp

(2011-09-27 01:02) - public

A lot of trouble being a person, again. All this business of getting up, dressing, walking, and
talking – each step seemingly more difficult than the previous. And getting up is hard! God, I
need some way of hiding; a long term plan for avoiding personhood.

10.9 October

OkCupid | Conversation with Jpepper666 (2011-10-03 16:14) - public

Hey TurboSwami, We chose each other!

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Reply to this message to
contact me. If you don’t want to receive rating messages, go to the
settings page to [1]change your notification settings.

This message was sent to

you by OkCupid on behalf of Jpepper666 [2]Report
this
11 % Enemy
83 % Friend
86 % Match
Message from [3]Jpepper666

Hey Jpepper666! WE chose each other!

I like how you have spices and satan in your name. Very much that tells me you are
spunky very much. I love a gal with spunk, but not too much. A moderate amount of spunk,
but not to the point of being a full-blown spunky punk w/ sass. Perhaps a half-blown spunky
punk w/ unique opinions expressed in a reasonable tone.

haha. Sorry, I’m still awake and it said you sent me a message, but it lied so I sent you
a message, but its not really much of a message since I havent slept and get rambley and
borderline-absurdist around sunrise.

Anyhoo! We’re only 11 percent enemies. I like those numbers, 11 % Enemy ’o’ Mine!
It’s done the math for us, see, and has assured that, while there is a nominal chance of us
becoming enemies, you will most certainly never become my Arch Nemesis. In fact, there
is a much better probability that, overall, of you and I joining forces and fighting my Arch
Nemesis together, side-by-side through the burning and the awesome, at least according to
these figures.

Our Nemesis would surely be psychologically-minded, like us. No doubt one of those
Masterminds, or an evil psychoanalyst. I would wager money he’s a trained hypnotist, state
certified. I’d also assume he has an aquarium, with weird types of fish in it. These fish will
probably be carnivorous. We will have to smash that aquarium eventually, you know this right?

-K

1. http://www.okcupid.com/settings
2. http://www.okcupid.com/messages?readmsg=true&threadid=4540312747141114986&folder=1&new=1
3. http://www.okcupid.com/profile/Jpepper666

Self-Transcendence Research Study Participant #94 - Item 13

(2011-10-03 16:18) - public

13. Please describe a meaningful self-transcendent experience from your life,

1428
including relevant information about where and when it took place.

I’m not really sure what the definition of self-transcendence is, but if it is anything like
regular ol’ transcendence, I can describe the most recent episode...

I was coming out of Oakland YMCA 2 weeks ago at around 10 pm. I had exercised vig-
orously, and then had a very hot sauna for about half an hour. I came out feeling very fresh,
loose, and relaxed, like my bones were rubber. I sat in my car and zoned out, as I watched a
black man scrub the windshield of his beat up old 80’s pickup truck.

For a moment, I realized that my environment was one layer of many possible layers of
a transitory dream, and that all that I consider myself, all I worry, fight, and fret over having,
making, and being, would dissolve with the rest of the dream’s beautiful and elaborate plot
the moment I awoke, in death.

I wrote this into my notebook:

"So many cliches represent powerful realizations which, when expressed, are heard but
not shared.

’LIFE IS A DREAM’

is one such cliche which, in a precious few instances in this life, I have experienced as a
state-of-consciousness fully-immersed in the palpable realization that every aspect of self
and surroundings which I took to be so seriousl and real moments before, is the gorgeous
transitory details of a temporary state of being I occupy. A fact we can hear, read, KNOW, but
so rarely FEEL.

The sense of freedom in those moments is limitless – to fully radiate the knowledge that
anything I can possibly do, say, or become is merely theater, falshood worn for this short time
that I am playing this part. Despite how it feels, no role is set in stone. I can stop at any
moment and release myself from the engaging and hypnotic gravity of Maya as this perceived
loss, too, is a transitory falshood which will be forgotten upon remembering."

* 14. Did this experience have any important effects on your life at that time
(e.g., change in worldview, career, relationships, etc.)? If so, what were they?

That particular instance was only 2 weeks ago, but previous transcendent states have
dramatically changed my personality, goals, life direction, and relationships.

I immediately become more genuine with those around me, my loved ones as well as
strangers. This can really surprise people, to see someone acting so "real" or in such a very
personal, unguarded way, seems to almost "wake them up" in a way – or, in some cases,
people will respond in a negative way to this unusual and uninhibited social self. The genuine
self, the authentic self, when I can muster him, is no longer concerned with many of the
social customs, self-restraints, or fears which do not serve him. This is very refreshing, to
drink in the full potential of my every relationship without the fear or restrictions of self-defense.

15. What significance do you attribute to this experience now? Has your under-
standing of this experience changed at all from the time when it originally occurred?
1429
I feel that the sauna can be a very spiritual experience – perhaps part of that stemming
from my Finnish heritage and our deep healing connection with the sauna, which, in America,
does not carry the spiritual or medicinal connotations which it does amongst my people.
Given this, it is no great surprise to me that, in taking a hot sauna, I had a spiritual or
self-transcendent experience – this has happened many times previously in solitary saunas at
my home.

Yet, it is the sensitivity imparted by those early powerful psychedelic experiences which
I believe "opened up" access to these higher states of awareness. In other words, once you
learn something, it is very difficult to UN-learn it. Once you become aware of a certain truth,
it is yours and you carry it with you from that day forward. Sometimes it does not take much
at all to remind me of that truth – what for one man may be a small or inconsequential bit
of steam or crashing wave can, for me, trigger the full breadth of my life’s most powerful
memories of awakening, of a radiant state of peak selfhood, experienced perhaps decades
before.
16. How do you define self-transcendence?
Suddenly achieving a perspective of "height" over your life which, like a map, affords a more
expansive view of your path; where you have been, where you are going, and where you
currently are in relation to surroundings which, moments before, you had been unaware of
from your "grounded" view.

Ascension.

State of Consciousness As A Form of Communication (2011-10-09 02:28) - public

Neurons use specific compounds, neurotransmitters, to transfer specific messages to one

another. But, in fact, the neurotransmitter, itself, is not a message, per se, but a specialized
substance used to induce a specific internal state upon uptake by the postsynaptic cell.
Generally, this reception, regardless of the neurotransmitter received, changes the oscillatory
nature of a given circuit of neurons ( ). That is to say, based on the receptor site activated, the
neuron is either more or less likely to fire an action potential. It makes sense to think of this as
a gas or brake on the frequency of a given cell, with some substances making the cell "awake"
and others putting the cell "to sleep." This balance of chemicals governing the internal state
of the neuron cells is the basis of their communication and, thus, our state of consciousness.

Much like perception and memory, certain forms of human communication are depen-
dent on the communicators’ state of consciousness. For instance, even the most proficient
mathematician will have trouble understanding a complex mathematical statement spoken
to him when he is in a groggy half-asleep, or low theta, state of consciousness. Likewise,
someone in a hyperattentive high beta state would most likely be annoyed trying to listen
to someone speaking from a slow theta state of consciousness, no doubt gritting their teeth
thinking "Jesus! Hurry up and just say it already! You’re wasting my time!!" and miss that
"slow wave" message completely.

In this way, effective communication is an empathic process, whereby communicators

"hone in" on each other’s subjective state, and gradually naturally come to match it, within
reason. State of consciousness extremely different from our own can be alienating, based
on the nature of the relationship, and no attempt is made to match. For instance, a stranger
1430
crying on a subway train is experiencing a state of consciousness far and away from what is
typical for that given social situation, and others will resist being "pulled in" to that unpleasant
state of consciousness.

The jump in this understanding of brainwave frequency, state of consciousness, and

communication is made via the state-dependent nature of cognition, perception, and memory.
A change in state of consciousness can dramatically change the nature of one’s thoughts;
their speed, character, intensity, or mood being subject to that given state. That being said,
thought associations created in a certain state of consciousness are best received by a person
in that same state of consciousness – in that way the state of consciousness is, in some cases,
necessary to facilitate the communication of some types of messages. In that way, it makes
sense that individuals who induce non-ordinary states often describe, all at once, suddenly
"getting it," or seeing and understanding things which they previously had not been able
to. It is not that their stimulus stream has changed, but rather that, say in the case of LSD,
their state of consciousness is heightened and, in that induced hyper-sensitive state, aspects
of their surroundings or of messages they receive are suddenly meaningful in new ways, or
rather they are able to, all at once, perceive aspects of those phenomenon which, in their
normal state of consciousness, were ignored or "filtered" from awareness.

This phenomenon of state-dependent perceptions can be thought of in terms of band-

widths or, much like radio frequencies, there is a vast range of possible perceptions we
may "tune into" at any given point in time. Changes in an individual’s consciousness, either
upwards or downwards in frequency, allow them to become aware of new "stations," or non-
ordinary ranges of communication, different aspects of the same spectrum of consciousness
they traverse subjectively.

Certain compounds, which change the frequency of our state of consciousness, can be
thought of as exogenous neurotransmitters for inducing states of higher communication.

The Urantia Book – Paper 55: The Local Universe - 3. The Golden Ages:
Spheres of Light and Life (2011-10-14 04:11) - public

The public activities of a world in the first stage of light and life which I recently visited were
financed by the tithing technique. Every adult worker – and all able-bodied citizens worked
at something – paid ten percent of his income or increase to the public treasury, and it was
disbursed as follows:

1. Three percent was expended in the promotion of truth – science, education, and phi-
losophy.
2. Three percent was devoted to beauty – play, social leisure, and art.
3. Three percent was dedicated to goodness – social service, altruism, and religion.
4. One percent was assigned to the insurance reserves against the rise of incapacity for labor
resultant from accident, disease, old age, or unpreventable disasters.

The natural resources of this planted were administered as social possessions, commu-
nity property.

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pigshitpoet (2011-10-17 10:05:00) the golden age of light and life
this sounds like shangri-la.. how do i get there? i would like to paint some beautiful murals devoted to
beauty psp

Subtle Density: Traversing Bandwidths of Consciousness (2011-10-22 00:52) -

public

The division of consciousness into a spectrum allows for a model

which divides perception into certain bandwidths„ which can explain
all “tones” of awareness, personality, and different natures of
cognition. For instance, often an individual notices or realizes things
that other people do not. In trying to understand where they are coming
from, it is common to describe needing to change or “shift” our
perspective, to see it from their point-of-view. This is not a literal
change in our physical location, of course, but an inward “shift”
upwards or downwards to a different inward state of consciousness — the
one from which that perception or mode of expression originated. Key to
the conception of state of consciousness as a point along a spectrum
is frequency, or the vibratory nature of consciousness. While EEG has
always suggested that our inward state is energetic and periodic in
nature, the state of consciousness of an individual can be thought of
moreso as a state of receptivity, with the actual “shaking” vibration
and communication flowing inwards from other sources. This is where
clearly delineating the “medium”, “modulator”, and “receiver” — those
components present in all forms of communication — really helps to
clarify the nature of consciousness, its bandwidths and their
traversal.

The Color of Fear (2011-10-22 00:53) - public

Purify the body to purify the mind.

Do this, if you wish divinity to enter.
I am a waiting soul, I am underwhelmed by want.
I am an opening hand pointed towards the heavens.
Love is smiling together, but how?
By sharing the inward smile,
by letting it radiate from your eyes.

Thoughts echo in images of fading color, each a tone of emotion.

Fear, the color of its thought, distracts me from connection,
pulling my eyes downwards, it is felt as a color shading the radiance of my attention.

Clues, glimpses of truth seen to glimmer in an inward reflection, so quickly swallowed

by the haphazard disruption of that reflecting pool’s surface, its inner surfaces obscured by
1432
ripples. So sensitive my disposition, like the thinnest of fluids, made upset by the slightest
wind. I need to tend to the wind, else my clear pool will thicken, restrained by darkness.

Your love has an eloquent tone.

The sky and I want to hear it!

Fill my palms with radiance, a luminous rain to surround me.

Kurt Schwitters / Terry Riley (2011-10-26 17:56) - public

Shed the restraint of social space; its heavy obligation released – for a moment, it no longer
defines my expression and I am inwardly attentive and free to project hidden facets of identity
from the solitude there.

At first, all the heat of social friction will rise to escape, but with time, my upper self will
cool atop a column of clarity.

Shards of tone, rhythmic personalities, call and respond.

Playful prodding quick! While it’s still convincing!

I love better from a distance.

I love better from a heartfelt warmth sent across just before dreams,
across to where I can still hold you

This is a spiritually powerful time – many interplayed shifts in the stream,

helpless children fall into my upturned palms, but I do not catch them,
I make no effort at all.
Paralysis, layers of intertwined indecision knotted fatherhood searches, deadening.

(2011-10-26 18:22) - public

"Pay a little extra for .... THE SUN"

muffled talking* ....CANNIBALS..." (monotone, staring blankly into the distance)

close up of hand writing "The Sun"* w/ audio from many simultaneous conversations:
"Crowley wrote ...SUN"
"Picked up a 215 SUN..."

"The Movement, Drone Church"

Cut to concrete floor drone*

Dis-Spirits - ed,

The old woman squawks car, parking haphazardly across two handicapped spaces, and
flies out sideways with door swung open

1433
"They come from Sweden! Screaming Nordics sailing into Japan, taking by storm.
They come from Sweden!"

—percussive treatments like reverb get muddled with a long sustain —

"Its crazy you have the same mannerisms as your identical twin, your monozygotic brother."

close up: single eyebrow raise

close up: lip curl
close up: mysterious intrigue face.*

"What’s your name again?"

"Eve...evi, ween,
Evil - een, guillotine,
The Evil Eve."

(2011-10-27 02:45) - public

What woman could ever accept me fully? All this weakness and self-defeat with which I com-
pose my days. I am better off as I am, fathering only statements addressed to bare walls.

Even A Single Word Would Suffice (2011-10-31 16:19) - public

To write even a single word would suffice, was the message, and that she would write another
word for every one I wrote. And, in this way, together we would journal the turn of events as
they unfolded, both inwardly and outwardly, and the world would see; the presses were waiting.
There was a feeling of revolution’s anticipation, that even a single word could spark fire to the
tension in the air. All we needed was the first stroke, a beginning.

HOPE
(quietly)
Sorry! I’m really sorry

MAN #1
(to Hope)
What are you, stupid? Why, I have half a mind…

Sister wanted to drink, if only to stop hearing the voices of the dead. One, specifically, was in
a certain corner and wanted to be reborn as me.

RAY
(deceased, to Lisa)
So, tell me what is up with this back corner, here?

1434
 LISA
There is a heavy effeminate boy who wants very much to be reborn as you (to Kaleb) in that
corner, he won’t stop! I would take any voice over his, anything just to drown him out of my
hearing.

Art, blood red, rich messages. They are concerned with my having children.

I am responsible for producing a high end product for them. There is a schism concerning
aspects of its production and I am endangered and must flee a certain area. There is a
blockage restricting my escape. Some are helping

Beloved Teachers of Things Forgotten (2011-10-31 16:27) - private

The floating semblance of a way of thinking resembles once more, forever more.
A movie plays in a moment, one we both acted in, and I smile like I did then.
Stowed away were these memories, these distant places and people I once loved.
I return in their inspiration and those places and loved ones speak through me,
and I know them again.

Be patient with me, teacher, for I am an inattentive child in your world.

I, who cannot sit still or keep focused on any one thing for longer than a few moments,
I, who have not kept myself clean or done the homework you wanted me to,
I, who accepted your special guidance and coaching only to use it for nothing,
I am sorry and kneel beside my bed so that you may pity me.
I know you love me and see my potential, as only a teacher can.

Teach me about the way things were, about the decisions of a lifetime,
Of unconditional love, without fear, obligation, or regret,
Of torrents of it that fill you until you simply burst with tears.
Teach me to remember all of these things.

Sweetness, who I held so close to the warm sunlight of my heart,

Beautiful girl, in all of the softest most fragile things wrapped,
I know you still, beneath all this life’s distraction, I know you still.
And I hear you at night, even though I do not respond,
I hear your voice at night.

So soft, and low, and with the curl of a pursed lip inwards, I know.
As I knew, as all the joy of past harvests, falls for years extending back.
I’m sorry.

1435
Beloved Teachers of Things Forgotten (2011-10-31 16:48) - public

The floating semblance of a way of thinking resembles once more, forever more.
A movie plays in a moment, one we both acted in, and I smile like I did then.
Stowed away were these memories, these distant places and people I once loved.
I return in their inspiration and those places and loved ones speak through me,
and I know them again.

Be patient with me, teacher, for I am an inattentive child in your world.

I, who cannot sit still or keep focused on any one thing for longer than a few moments,
I, who have not kept myself clean or done the homework you wanted me to,
I, who accepted your special guidance and coaching only to use it for nothing,
I am sorry and kneel beside my bed so that you may pity me.
I know you love me and see my potential, as only a teacher can.

Teach me about the way things were, about the decisions of a lifetime,
Of unconditional love, without fear, obligation, or regret,
Of torrents of it that fill you until you simply burst with tears.
Teach me to remember all of these things.

Sweetness, who I held so close to the warm sunlight of my heart,

Beautiful girl, in all of the softest most fragile things wrapped,
I know you still, beneath all this life’s distraction, I know you still.
And I hear you at night, even though I do not respond,
I hear your voice at night.

So soft, and low, and with the curl of a pursed lip inwards, I know.
As I knew, as all the joy of past harvests, falls for years extending back.
I’m sorry.

The Smallest Bedroom (2011-10-31 16:50) - public

Measure a house on a different plane,

Stretch sidways along an inner scale to see.
I will find this home’s darkest corner,
I will check it from time to time.

This time, who knows or can guess when it is so dark.

But just to know I am here again,
and can come back to this secret enclosed place whenever I want.
This is my hiding place…but not only mine.

The small back bedroom

The most horrible family spirits hid.
Night secrets, night church.
The cat didn’t like you either.
1436
(2011-10-31 16:56) - public

Grown To Full Blaze

Audrey Redfield, with the red hair and the fire to match,
1

Stepped along a thin line across that hard wood floor,

2

a line that existed only for her, and those high heel shoes,
3

and anybody else who watched her curve along that narrow tail.
4

I get frustrated.
5

All that red and voluptuous business bulging,

6

I need to be busy somewhere else, excuse me.

7

Tease her in my mind with extravagant gestures.

8

When she laughs, I won’t question why.

1437
(2011-10-31 16:57) - public

White noise of rain can be divided into strata,

The highest crackle to the low roar,
Extract one high shard from the spectrum, and sculpt only that bandwidth, extend it out into
time, let it be contained and reverberated along a hallway. Let it carry you INTO the rain,
inbetween the drops.

(2011-10-31 16:58) - public

Lovely people, all of them.

I’m sure.

Preparing For The Psychedelic Journey (2011-10-31 16:59) - public

(Preparing To See Yourself ;)

You have just been given a tool, a bridge by which you may traverse fluent frequency,
the currents of consciousness. But just like the tools of a carpenter, like a saw: beautiful things
can be made if used by someone with knowledge and a plan – but give a saw to a child and it
can be seriously dangerous. Psychedelics can be dangerous too, like any amazing sharp tool,
if used without preparation and knowledge. It needs to be used with respect...

Respect, discipline, intention, and vision are some things that make a skilled carpenter,
or any tradesman. Like in those old apprenticeships, too, supervised training and hard work
are part of it.

Respect – for this perceptual tool.

Discipline – learning how to control the hypersensitivity, and channel it into expression.
Clarity, of mind and body – veganism, exercise, yoga and focusing practices can help to induce
cleansing clarity. In-spire, Ex-spire – the breath is both the discipline and the creative reward.

Intention – if you set an intention, it will most likely be opened by the psychedelic: a
goal for your life, an image of what you wish to accomplish, or a problem you wish to solve –
all these things will get attention, and in-sight.That is to say, the perspective of great height
can afford you an invaluable view of where you are, and where you’ve been – but it can also
help show you where you need to go; a path drawn across an inward territory.

Vision – of truth to guide you through the sedimentary layers of identity, towards gen-
uine and vulnerable selfhood, in all its freedom and brilliance.

Let vision echo, to be revisited and revisioned again and again - in writing or music, however
the inspiration wishes to flow out from you – the mediums for expression are unlimited.
Capture as much as you can, though. Insights like these can hardly be contained, and fade
quickly. This will be a test of your mind’s furthest capacities; for perception, attention, and
retention – a precious short glimpse something not many have seen.

1438
bags003 (2011-11-07 09:14:09)
wow

The Divine Sage - Transcript Recorded By Ms. Mailan T. Pham (2008)

(2011-10-31 17:34) - public

"Head-To-Toe-nasity"

That is what I meant to say when I placed this down and the light of memory began for
my family. A crazy sideways shuffle my dad once did in the bedroom. Yea, it was a yellow
board that he was using for the deck when he was building it. And so there is that sort of light
that came through the living room window and then, in the shape of, and upwards, cathedral
ceiling shape. The windows of catherman responsetivity. It made so much sense in that
moment. In that moment I realized the thousands of selves I represented and how many each
one, how much each one, would fulfill in turn as the surface of this sun, this sun of spirit,
interacted with our people, interacted with our kind. So incredible to know that I was able to
carry that, that I was chosen to be that carriage for that moment. And each portion of my
body, as it was able to hold that light, was almost destined or chosen to do so. In turn, I could
see the future of the interaction. Pages, as if individual pages of selfhood. As if there were
twenty moments, twenty or thirty selves, each one a messenger.

Wow, like you were totally lost in it. Like in, as if the, the quick shuffling of pages, and I
could just barely see you through it all and remember that you’re in this moment of my life
and the significance of this room and this life fell away and our relationship was put into
this perspective of eternity and you became the woman of a thousand lifetimes, as if you’ve
always been there. I’m sorry, it’s not an insult. It’s beautiful. I could see your eyes, I could see
the response, the eternal responses of…you, that you’ve always made. For thousands of years.

Wow, just to put myself in perspective and remember the reason for my life. The rea-
son I chose to even come here. And how easy it was for me to forget, and get lost in it. To get
in the theater, to get lost in the movie, and to get lost in this…body. Haha. Say it like that.
This BODY…its so easy to get lost in it, and to let it distract me from…my purpose.

Haha. I just vaguely remember doing something really weird a couple seconds ago, maybe a
minute and a half ago. Thank you for being here. "Thank you for being here."

"With A Crack The Sky Was Broken" – Lyrics (2011-10-31 17:37) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _63

1439
IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _63

[3]With A Crack The Sky Was Broken by [4]The Band Reflected

They’re forces inside

To their will, I’m tied.
These forces inside,
Come in from their side.

My eyes no longer open,

These last things left unspoken
Like open arms they waited
‘til with a crack the sky was broken.

The pounding drums that drove us.

Across at death we focus,
With open arms it waited,
‘till with a crack the sky was broken.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2663%26%26%3A63cd9a55ab
dd0719991a807283b826ef625ff3c3&moduleid=63&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2663%26%26%3A63cd9a55ab
dd0719991a807283b826ef625ff3c3&moduleid=63&preview=&jo
3. http://soundcloud.com/the-band-reflected/with-a-crack-the-sky-was
4. http://soundcloud.com/the-band-reflected

10.10 November

Olga and The Lab (2011-11-04 16:36) - friends

Hi Olga,

Yes,
I have been trying to get my foot in the door at Berkeley’s sleep lab,
as well as their cognition/perception lab, but no bites yet.

I am still very interested in the brainwave entrainment phenomenon,

both auditory and photic, but that is such an obscure and fringey
area. However, it relates to hypnagogia, and the drifting down from
Theta towards Delta before sleep, which is what prompted me to try for
the sleep lab. Without knowing anybody in the program, though, it is
really just a matter of luck and how well I can sell myself.

1440
I am currently teaching psychology at IME College, here in Oakland,
but not a lot of hours and not much room for advancement. I have
gradually come to be part of a community of artists and musicians in
Oakland, and so that initial exploration of sound and its influence on
brainwaves comes up a lot and is so often on my mind. I wish I had
handled it differently – more organized and through all the proper
channels, instead of just informally testing on friends – but
hindsight is 20/20. :)

A problem that came up from the subjects listening to the

entrainment audio was that, while some definitely had a strong Alpha
response, others were simply falling asleep with no entrainment. I
tried to figure out what the difference was and began to suspect that
some were just ACTIVELY listening, while others were just passively
listening, until they dozed off.

I tried to think of some way to overcome this, and to get people to

pay attention to the beat frequencies in the audio track. This is where
I came across something very interesting – the role that suggestion could play in their
individual brainwave response. I started to tell them, in the preamble before the recording
session:

"You are going to hear a sine wave tone. It will be low and
bassy. When you hear it, I want you to imagine that it is coming from
your own body, that it is your own voice. You will feel it travel as
air from your lungs, up your diaphram, vibrating through your larynx
and voice box, your throat, and up further, your whole head feeling as
though it is resonating to the tone."

The brainwave entrainment response, after this introduction, was

DRAMATICALLY different – improved, with nobody falling asleep anymore.
In fact, one of the first people I tried it with, Lauren, said she
COULD feel her whole body throbbing, vibrating with the 10 Hz rhythm of
the entrainment stimulus – in her chest especially she claimed she
felt this throbbing, even though she was only wearing headphones. She
said it was one of the most powerful experiences she’d felt in her
life, her eyes watering a little. I couldn’t believe it. I got excited
when that happened, I felt like we were getting close – that there was
a lot of potential there.

I’d give anything to run a formal pilot of that phenomenon, to show

that suggestion DOES have an actual electrocortical influence.

Yours,
1441
-Kaleb

- Show quoted text -

On Sun, Oct 23, 2011 at 11:55 PM, Olga Louchakova <[1]olouchakova@gmail.com> wrote:

Kaleb, really, such a synchronicity.

I
do not do any research in the lab currently - I am writing a lot and
preparing for sabbatical. Perhaps, in 2013. Sorry to hear that you
feel a loss of direction - it happens, and it is a hard period in life.
berkeley has many possibilities of research volunteering, but I do not
know what is your current interest, what do you do and what do you want
to do. Do you have a community, friends here? Job?
Olga
On Oct 23, 2011, at 5:48 PM, Kaleb Smith wrote:

Hi Olga,

Long time, no talk. You have been on my mind lately, wondering what you
are doing and meaning to check in for a while.

I
live in Oakland now and am over by Berkeley a lot. Today, getting some
tea, I saw a man working in the crowded Peet’s. It so happened the only
chair was next to him, and so there I sat. Something was pushing me to
talk to him, and I could not figure out why – I’m still so shy, and
don’t start conversations in public. Ever. But, this push to talk to
him kept edging me until, several minutes later, I had to ask "Hi. May
I ask what you are reading?"

It makes sense now why I would have been meant to start up a

conversation with him – he’s your husband, of course! :) This
intention to get back in touch with you surfaced, somewhat indirectly,
but perhaps it was ideal. We talked a great deal about Islam and the
Jewish influence on language in Iran before I even mentioned ITP. He
asked if I knew you, and I immediately reached into my pocket – in my
backpack that day, I had found some of those cards I had had made for
the MAPS conference, where you had said I could put the NP lab on
there. I happened to have these on me and gave him one. So many little
coincidences meeting at once.

1442
 You
know, we never had a chance to discuss the results from those three
participants me and Albert ran through that brainwave entrainment audio
stimulus, but two of them were VERY promising – after several minutes,
we were able to induce strong Alpha in the occipital lobe, a rhythm
that then seemed to spread forward as their state of consciousness
changed. It was very exciting, but I feel I sometimes get TOO excited
about ideas and forget to follow the proper steps. That same excitement
helped me to devour the journal articles on the subject though!

I’ve
been feeling lost since graduating. I would like to get involved with
research again – I was learning so much from you and the work at the
lab. I would love to volunteer my time to assist and help with the
projects underway there currently, if only to learn what those projects
are about. I know you are always so busy – and since lately I am not,
I thought the idea of a free assistant might appeal to you. :)

I hope all is well, Olga. Your husband made a really good impression
on me today and I enjoyed talking to him immensely.

Yours,

-Kaleb

–
Prove it with a wink.

[2]http://www.subtledensity.com

Olga Louchakova-Schwartz, M.D., Ph.D.

Associate Professor of Psychology,
Neurophenomenology Center,
Institute of Transpersonal Psychology
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1069. E. Meadow Circle
Palo Alto, CA 94303
[3]www.itp.edu
Tel: [4]650-493-4430 ext. 264
[5]http://www.itp.edu/academics/faculty/louchakova.php
–
Prove it with a wink.

[6]http://www.subtledensity.com

–
Dear Kaleb,
of course people’s rain responds to em fields. But what does it do to the brain, thats the
question.
I am glad you are teaching and finidng friends. Things will come together in due course. :).
1. mailto:olouchakova@gmail.com
2. http://www.subtledensity.com/
3. http://www.itp.edu/
4. tel:650-493-4430%20ext.%20264
5. http://www.itp.edu/academics/faculty/louchakova.php
6. http://www.subtledensity.com/

Being Taught In Dream School (2011-11-04 16:37) - public

Several ancient societies encountered crashed UFOs and formed a belief system around them.
This belief was not that these machines carried their occupants out of their solar system but,
rather, that it carried them out of their body.

I didn’t have the correct ident card, the security guard swiped it several times before
beginning to approach to apprehend me and the girl. I ran back down the corridor and one
guard said to the other "Don’t worry, let him go, he doesn’t know his way around here. This is
the only way out."

I peeked in on many classrooms, and wished to join several of them – art, philosophy,
consciousness, history. I reached the end of the corridor, looking back sheepishly at the
guards; it split 3 ways, but each way was just another single room, each a dead end. I chose
the left. It was a gymnasium full of people, playing a ball game I’d never seen where rows
of women played individual games, with strips of boundary between. Yet there were nets on
the far, much like a volleyball net. But, each of the boundary portions of the floor extended
outside through large doorways, where all the light for the room shone in. I couldn’t make
it across to the doors without walking all over the playing field though, so I waited. When
halftime came, I blended in with the crowd out the door, then had to climb down to a lower
level along a ledge in front of a window. In the window, they were in class discussing an
early psychedelic researcher, named Robert, and a projector showed his image. I recognized
him. But was focused more on the delicate placement of my feet on this narrow ledge
portion, which was stepped along the side of the building as decoration, and the electricity
1444
box 7 feet below. I had to sit down to reach the box, and would have to jump and try not to slip.

My car was still on the train, and I asked her if my bag was in the car as well? Were
they taking the car, was the train leaving? She said we had to rush back to get the car before
the train left the station again.

Having lost my luggage, I got in the car and drove around the blizzard. Very heavy
wind was coming off the water, blowing people all over. I felt it push the small car, making it
rock slightly. I saw a student at the stopsign. The cross street created a break in the line of
trees which had been blocking much of the wind from the water, so as soon as he reached that
point, he was blown down. I watched as he fell and laughed a little to myself. Then I reached
the stop sign and my car was also blown over onto its side. (it was a Geo-Metro, a very light
Asian car!)

(2011-11-14 05:05) - public

A song recording is really a snapshot of a moment in a person’s development, both their body
and their personality. When I was young, I would sing songs every day in the car ride to school
– loudly, excitedly singing my favorite songs the best I could, gradually adding little flourishes,
melodies, or vocal parts to the song over time. Eventually, with all these little flourishes and
bits of personality, these songs would truly become my own, with so much of myself added to
them. And, I can say with confident objectivity, that sometimes the song I was singing would
sound better than the original.

Yet, many of those vocal flourishes I added were very tied to my level of development.
My vocal range, and other abilities, change over time and, gradually, many of the things I was
doing as a young man, singing on my drive to school, I cannot do anymore. With the same
confident objectivity, I can hear that my voice is no longer able to improve the song, as it once
did, but now shows its limits as my ability recedes and is gradually lost.

A recording of the song is a recording of the stage of development that person is currently in.

Ambition and Dharma (2011-11-14 17:19) - public

What results from deep stillness which is not both slow and quiet? And can I think of more
than 1000 ways which slow and quiet do not serve me, dosconnected from physicality and its
frenzied obligations far above? This is the necessity of dharma, the functional daily anchors
of social roles which remain even after becoming transparent. Can I see through all I am to
the world, all my layers of falsehood, and still maintain the ambition required to sustain them?
What is implied by "letting go" if not the letting go of care – the care to compete and impress,
judge and secure. When these intentions are seen as the beautiful decorations of defense that
they are, there is a sense of inward peace (and very little gets done!)

(2011-11-14 18:25) - public

I don’t like yelling over the music to talk to people when a band is playing and I am worried it
makes me seem even more aloof than I usually seem already.
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So I’m shy and am not really into yelling – that doesn’t make me a dick! Just hug me
and we can talk about it later.

The Emotional Content of Words (2011-11-15 01:41) - public

Its wild to see how many people do not hear the meanings of words, so much as they hear the
emotions of words. These emotional associations to certain words decide their opinion – not
rational thought or critical discernment, but vague emotional association.

When reading the following words, pay attention to the emotional response and thought
associations that come up as you imagine each individual word being spoken to you:

"Race.", "Republican.", "You are.", "Intelligence," "Marxist.", "Genetic."

The word may even change the nature or context in which you imagine the word being
said to you. This too is meaningful..

All of these words have such powerful emotional baggage so that, once uttered, the
tone of the conversation often changes immediately. The word "racial," for instance, can
make a room of adults become immediately tense, their blood pressure rising with the anxiety
of the conversation. But why? Is the concept of heritage really that threatening to discuss
openly and maturely?
"Heritage" is has a different set of emotional associations, conjuring thoughts of the celebra-
tion of culture and diversity, and so, as you saw in the last sentence, a person who is aware
of this socio-political connotation of the word can easily juggle a listener’s emotional state.
Even though race, heritage, and lineage are essentially synonymous to one another, by their
definition, they are very VERY different words in terms of their emotional content – some of
them defined by our society as "good" words, others "bad," but very rarely is any word totally
neutral.

pigshitpoet (2011-11-29 04:00:34) the power of words

yes, so you better watch what you say. i concur, psp

Finnish Shamanism (2011-11-15 03:37) - public

According to DuBois (1999), as late as the Viking Age (800 B.C.-1025 A.D.) the Finnish and
Saami shamans:

"...battled against instances of either soul loss (when the patient’s soul became
stranded in some otherworld) or soul intrusion
(in which a foreign soul
invaded the patient’s body)." T
1446
hey relied
on "ecstatic trance and the accompanying spirit journeys....to rescue
souls, discover the etiology of a disease, or find out details useful
in controlling an entity’s activities (e.g., its secret name or
origin)."

“The tietäjä was more than a master craftsman.... Although tietäjäs

were not religious or spiritual leaders in their communities, they
nonetheless tended to command respect and authority based on their
knowledge, competence and an inner supernatural force known as luonto.” (Stark, 2006)

According to Shepherd (1999), “The elements could themselves be addressed as powers, and
for the Finns in their unique environment, the Greek quadruplet of
fire, water, air and earth became in great measure fire, water, air and
forest.”

Subtle Density of Genetic Influence (2011-11-19 20:34) - public

The idea that any animal on Earth could come to construct and use a tool as complex as
the laptop computer without receiving some genetic assistance somewhere along the line is
absurd. Our engineered advance is so blatantly obvious when given its time frame compared
to that of all the other species on our planet. The signs are all there, the paintings – from cave
walls to Renaissance reliefs – all depict the interaction and influence of entities from the sky.
Why not consider the reality which the roots of all those religions is based?

I think of human genetics, and its manifestation through our range of differences, in a
very fluid way. The image of a pitcher of water, and then the introduction of a single drop
of blue dye, helps me to conceptualize the introduction of a strain of genetic information
dramatically different from the general population. Gradually, the drop expands downwards,
in spiriling roots and tendrils, branching out into the current of the fluid medium, our lineage.
Our culture is gradually colored, as the once opaque dye becomes transparent, diffusing and
diluting as it continues to spread through the depths of the liquid.

When the pitcher of water image is extended to a different scale, to that of an ocean,
those varying depths of fluid medium become more distinct, with different levels, density,
and currents of water influencing the manner of dilution. Culture, too, has many currents and
depths. These are fueled and agitated by frequency, by hot and cold and the force the exert
in a cyclic engine of seasons. The once concentrated genetic "dye" introduced would, in a still
medium, gradually settle to a certain level based on the density difference between the dye,
the water, the oil, the blood, whatever. That is to say, in the realm of genetic influence and
cultural expression, blood is thicker than water. Or, like peanut butter, "Separation Occurs
Naturally."

That metaphor treads on very sensitive ground though. "Genetics." Whew...that’s get-
ting pretty close to "race." And we all know how THAT is our newest four-letter word! "So, he’s
1447
talking about race and then said ’Separation occurs naturally?’ Jesus! Call the cops! We have
a raging racist on our hands! Ick!"

The spectrum of human difference is a beautiful thing, but, lest we forget, the beauty of
a rainbow is in the transcendent truth of its divisions – that in the purity of the Sun’s one
light, there is contained all of the colors we can see. Unified, in concert, but their levels
or bandwidths of frequency made distinct for just a moment. That moment when we were
children, laughing beneath the sprinkler in the hot sun, when we caught our first glimpse;
stopped dead in our tracks in amazement and awe, seeing suddenly what the source of all life,
the Sun’s’ radiance, actually is; its true nature behind the veil. Roy G. Biv: that mysterious
mischievous elf on the other side of all we see.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8oo _t _09Qs &t=5m55s
Here, the "Undersea Ocean."

Deep sea density disparity creates a sort of second beach, with its own shore and waves,
existing far beneath as a darker mirror of the oceans actual shore and beach – or, should I say,
the one WE know.

(2011-11-20 17:13) - public

Radiation, slow and gentle,

(2011-11-21 16:27) - public

To call someone with a defined and expressive ego ingenuine is like calling a painted portrait
of a beautiful woman false. Both statements are correct, in a formal sense, but neither
acknowledges the subtle beauty and art of a fine representation.

“One must give value to their existence by behaving as if one’s very existence were a
work of art.” –Friedrich Nietszche

Hypnagogic Thoughts (2011-11-23 20:38) - public

Realization: I’m open all the way back to my open!

I drank too much money.

Who fed me, which way did he go? He’s of an older place, hidden outside from us.

Let’s put a top on you. Congratulations are in order. I have aids tomorrow *walks out
quickly*

You owe $436 million. "You wouldn’t impose any deadlines on that, would you?"
Naw. It’s a factory trust.

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Cheers! To Being A Failure. (2011-11-25 00:22) - public

Famous Failures
By Michael Michalko
Created Nov 22 2011 - 12:01pm
When people speak of a "[1]fear of failure," they are really describing a hazy free-floating
malaise and feeling of worry or discontent which induces lethargy and explains lack of effort.
This malaise protects us from the anxiety that comes with freedom and taking risks. We tran-
quilize our lives by limiting the amount of anxiety that we experience by not trying anything
new or different that might fail.

Whenever we attempt to do something and fail, we end up doing something else or producing
something else. You have not failed; you have produced some other result. The two most
important questions to ask are: "What have I learned?" and "What have I done?"
Failure is only a word that human beings use to judge a given situation. Instead of fearing
failure, we should learn that failures, mistakes and errors are the way we learn and the way
we grow. Many of the world’s greatest successes have learned how to fail their way to success.
Some of the more famous are:

• Albert Einstein: Most of us take Einstein’s name as synonymous with genius, but he
didn’t always show such promise. Einstein did not speak until he was four and did not
read until he was seven, causing his teachers and [2]parents to think he was mentally
handicapped, slow and anti-social. Eventually, he was expelled from school and was re-
fused admittance to the Zurich Polytechnic School. He attended a trade school for one
year and was finally admitted to the University. He was the only one of his graduating
class unable to get a teaching position because no professor would recommend him. One
professor labeled him as the laziest dog they ever had in the university. The only job he
was able to get was an entry-level position in a [3]government patent office.

• Robert Goddard: Goddard today is hailed for his research and experimentation with
liquid-fueled rockets, but during his lifetime his ideas were often rejected and mocked
by his scientific peers who thought they were outrageous and impossible. The New York
Times once reported that Goddard seemed to lack a high school student’s basic under-
standing of rocketry. Today rockets and space travel don’t seem far-fetched at all, due
largely in part to the work of this scientist who worked against the feelings of the time.

• Abraham Lincoln: While today he is remembered as one of the greatest leaders of our
nation, Lincoln’s life wasn’t so easy. In his youth he went to war a captain and returned
a private (if you’re not familiar with military ranks, just know that private is as low as it
goes.) Lincoln didn’t stop failing there, however. He started numerous failed businesses,
went bankrupt twice and was defeated in 26 campaigns he made for public office.

• J. K. Rowling: Rowling may be rolling in a lot of Harry Potter dough today, but before she
published the series of novels, she was nearly penniless, severely depressed, divorced,
trying to raise a child on her own while attending school and writing a novel. Rowling went
from depending on welfare to survive to being one of the richest women in the world in a
span of only five years through her hard work and determination.
1449
 • Walt Disney: Today Disney rakes in billions from merchandise, movies and theme parks
around the world, but Walt Disney had many personal failures. He was fired by a news-
paper editor because, "he lacked imagination and had no good ideas." After that, Disney
started a number of businesses that didn’t last too long and ended with bankruptcy and
failure. He kept trying and learning, however, and eventually found a recipe for success
that worked.

• Harland David Sanders: Perhaps better known as Colonel Sanders of Kentucky Fried
Chicken fame, Sanders had a hard time selling his chicken at first. In fact, his famous
secret chicken recipe was rejected 1,009 times before a restaurant accepted it. He learned
not to fear rejection and persevered.

• Thomas Edison: In his early years, teachers told Edison he was "too stupid to learn any-
thing." Work was no better, as he was fired from his first two jobs for not being productive
enough. Even as an inventor, Edison made 1,000 unsuccessful attempts at inventing the
light bulb. One day, an assistant asked him why he didn’t give up. After all, he failed over
a thousand times. Edison replied that he had not failed once. He had discovered over
1000 things that don’t work.

• Ludwig van Beethoven: In his formative years, young Beethoven was incredibly awk-
ward on the violin and was often so busy working on his own compositions that he ne-
glected to practice. Despite his love of composing, his teachers felt he was hopeless at it
and would never succeed with the violin or in composing. In fact, his music teacher told
his parents he was too stupid to be a music composer.

• Michael Jordan: Most people wouldn’t believe that a man often lauded as the best bas-
ketball player of all time was actually cut from his high school basketball [4]team. Luckily,
Jordan didn’t let this setback stop him from playing the game and he has stated, "I have
missed more than 9,000 shots in my [5]career. I have lost almost 300 games. On 26 oc-
casions I have been entrusted to take the game winning shot, and I missed. I have failed
over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

• Stephen King: The first book by this author, the iconic thriller Carrie, received 30 rejec-
tions, finally causing King to give up and throw it in the trash. His wife fished it out and
encouraged him to resubmit it, and the rest is history, with King now having hundreds of
books published and the distinction of being one of the best-selling authors of all time.

• Bill Gates: Gates didn’t seem destined for success after dropping out of Harvard. He
started a business with Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen called Traf-O-Data. While this early
idea for a business failed miserably, Gates did not despair and give up. Instead he learned
much from the failure and later created the global empire that is Microsoft.

• Henry Ford: While Ford is today known for his innovative assembly line and American-
made cars, he wasn’t an instant success. In fact, his early businesses failed and left him
broke five times. He was advised by countless people not to get into the manufacturing
of automobiles because he had neither the capital or know how.
1450
 • F. W. Woolworth: Some may not know this name today, but Woolworth was once one
of the biggest names in department stores in the U.S. Before starting his own business,
young Woolworth worked at a dry goods store and was not allowed to wait on customers
because his boss said he lacked the sense needed to do so. Woolworth also had many
ideas of how to market dry goods - all of which were rejected by his boss. His [6]marketing
ideas became the foundation of his phenomenal retail success with his own stores.

• Akio Morita: You may not have heard of Morita but you’ve undoubtedly heard of his
company, Sony. Sony’s first product was a rice cooker that unfortunately didn’t cook rice
so much as burn it, selling less than 100 units. The rice cooker was the object of scorn and
[7]laughter by the business community. This did not discourage Morita and his partners
as they pushed forward to create a multi-billion dollar company.

• Orville and Wilbur Wright: These brothers battled depression and family illness before
starting the bicycle shop that would lead them to experimenting with flight. They were
competing against the best engineering and scientific minds in America at the time, who
were all well financed and supported by the government and capital investors to make
the first airplane. After numerous attempts at creating flying machines, several years of
hard work, and tons of failed prototypes, the brothers finally created a plane that could
get airborne and stay there.

• Vincent Van Gogh: During his lifetime, Van Gogh sold only one painting, and this was to
a friend and only for a very small amount of money. While Van Gogh was never a success
during his life, he plugged on with painting, sometimes starving to complete his over 800
known works. Today, they bring in hundreds of millions of dollars each.

• Fred Astaire: In his first screen test, the testing director of MGM noted that Astaire
"Can’t act. Can’t sing. Slightly bald. Not handsome. Can dance a little." Astaire went
on to become an incredibly successful actor, singer and dancer and kept that note in his
Beverly Hills home to remind him of where he came from.

• Steven Spielberg: While today Spielberg’s name is synonymous with big budget, he was
rejected from the University of Southern California School of Theater, Film and Television
three times. He eventually attended school at another location, only to drop out to become
a director before finishing. Thirty-five years after starting his degree, Spielberg returned
to school in 2002 to finally complete his work and earn his BA.

• Charles Darwin: Chastised by his father for being lazy and too dreamy, Darwin himself
once wrote that his father and teachers considered him rather below the common stan-
dard of intellect. When Charles Darwin first presented his research on evolution, it was
met with little enthusiasm. He continued to work on his theory of evolution when all of
his colleagues called him a fool and what he was doing "a fool’s experiment."

The artist genius of the ages is Michelangelo. His competitor’s once tried to set him up for
failure or force him to forgo a commission because of the possibility of failure. Michelangelo’s
competitors persuaded Junius II to assign to him a relatively obscure and difficult project. It
was to fresco the ceiling of a private chapel. The chapel had already been copiously decorated
with frescoes by many talented artists. Michelangelo would be commissioned to decorate the
1451
tunnel-vaulted ceiling. In this way, his rivals thought they would divert his energies from sculp-
ture, in which they realized he was supreme. This, they argued, would make things hopeless
for him, since he had no experience in fresco, he would certainly, they believed, do amateur-
ish work as a painter. Without doubt, they thought, he would be compared unfavorably with
Raphael, and even if the work were a success, being forced to do it would make him angry with
the Pope, and thus one way or another they would succeed in their purpose of getting rid of
him.
Michelangelo, protesting that painting was not his art, still took on the project. In every way it
was a challenging task. He had never used color, nor had he painted in fresco. He executed the
frescos in great discomfort, having to work with his face looking upwards, which impaired his
sight so badly that he could not read or look at drawings save with his head turned backwards,
and this lasted for several months. In that awkward curved space, Michelangelo managed to
depict the history of the Earth from the Creation to Noah, surrounded by ancestors and prophets
of Jesus and finally revealing the liberation of the soul. His enemies had stage managed the
masterpiece that quickly established him as the artist genius of the age.
1. http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/fear
2. http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/parenting
3. http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/politics
4. http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/teamwork
5. http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/career
6. http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/consumer-behavior
7. http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/laughter

pigshitpoet (2011-11-26 16:55:19) hi

i reposted this in part because i once visited the sistine chapel and wrote a poem to michelangelo
http://pigshitpoet.livejournal.com/150821.html thanks for the inspiration! psp

You Smooth Aching Beauty (I Miss You) – 2/15/09 (2011-11-25 05:12) - public

Somehow, it seems like I was telling the future in this poem. You think?

07:56 pm October 19th, 2008

Pretty girl, tell me all your troubles

and I will listen with a glimmer to match your dress,
Tell me all about the children you love,
and tell me about how you want only to be held.
And I will hold you.

It is far simpler a thing than you let on.

You have this beautiful body that needs to be protected,
and I happen to have some free time.

Show me, after all has fallen away

and you have nothing left to be stingy about,
Show me, after my focus becomes an issue to us,
and I share it with you, unfortunately.
1452
Show me, tried and true, show me myself again though you never have.
And I will reject myself through you in that same silent goodbye...

I give it to you to deal with, and honestly who would?

God knows I’ve accepted these faults,
these imperfections I’ve devoted a life around,
That doesn’t mean I ever expected another to be able to do the same.

It is hard, and I am sorry...But I still love you so much.

Regardless and in spite of this body.

I love you.
I love you.
I miss you already, you smooth aching beauty, arched in a glance
behind, waiting for only a moment.

Before deciding we are best friends forever.

and ever.

Curse these erections I hide,

Curse them more when they hide from me.

I am a man, I must remind my manhood of that.

I have years to go before I rest in my fertility.
And this beautiful mess knows she is undeserving of that surrender.
I scoop her up and love her fully, none the less.
I scoop her up with arms so long and wide, and rock her to sleep
wrapped tight in the safety of my love.

So, I DO miss you..

It seems I have this habit of believing I am closer to the people I
love than I actually am...
I really felt like we were close. Were we? Are we? I just wish I could fix it.
Undo what I did, or do more... Unsay what I said, or say the perfect
thing to you right now...
So you would understand me again,
So you would accept the love my soul so desperately wants to share with you...

Desperate.
There it is. I have used the word, that ugly shameful word I never
wanted to admit.

I have become ashamed of my love for you

I have hidden my thoughts of you, my dreams of you, my longing...
For all of these seem constant, and ever inflamed by the mere sight of you.
And my every reach, my every word, my ever loving care for you,
seems only to dig your coldness for me deeper, further, darker,
towards the inescapable.

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I am sorry that I have so much love for you.
I am sorry that I have cared so deeply for you, my beautiful little girl...
My beautiful little girl...

deep is my caring, deep beyond hope

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _65

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _65

[3]Lost Ways by [4]The Band Reflected

So dramatic, I know... ; )
You know me...emotions to spare.

But please, Sweetheart, you know I mean well...

Think of me with kindness,
Remember running through the San Mateo High School,
Being chased by the Janitor in the basement. : D

Beautiful warm memories of us smiling, excited, running together.

Please, keep those memories safe, warm...
And I kissed your hand and sang to you in the softest voice...
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2665%26%26%3A6052947bc2
a0940dfe6c0b4edd7d30cc73ef0f72&moduleid=65&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2665%26%26%3A6052947bc2
a0940dfe6c0b4edd7d30cc73ef0f72&moduleid=65&preview=&jo
3. http://soundcloud.com/the-band-reflected/lost-ways
4. http://soundcloud.com/the-band-reflected

edensgray (2011-11-29 19:51:20)

Hmmm....you’re still very active here, huh, K. This is nice.

turboswami (2011-11-30 08:00:56)

Yea, I gotta put my writing _somewhere _. I am still resisting the WordPress webpage blog, just
because I want only my best stuff there...all the rest can be dumped here, to be sifted through. :) I’m
glad you liked this one. Thank you.

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10.11 December

2009 Notebook – Selected Pages (2011-12-08 16:38) - public

Put on the old Winter coat I bought from Shanghai and felt in the breast pocket an old notebook.
It was a very vivacious time, and the state of consciousness is an optimistic and adventurous
one:

6-5-09

Inward tone "feeds" the guardian spirits – providing them a pure inner medium to modu-
late their guidance upon.

They hunger for your meditation – and calminward tone attracts them, bringing power
and energy.

There is a way of moving the body that allows rhythm to traverse, not just tapping the
feet or bobbing the head, but allowing the depths of subconscious to flow upwards through
the chest and stomach.

7-20-09 - First Santo Daime Session

Work. Work!
Strive to manifeest the fountain of inner selfhood into carnation.
This is divinity expressed into physicality.
Love wholly, wholeness is felt within us. Us.

Thank you, Love.

Thank you for feeling with me now.
I love you so much, with purity.
I know you.
I know your quest,
your longing,
your needs.

I embrace them.
I embrace you and share my inner rapture with you.
With you
Without.
Memory of knowing me yours.

Wilt and fade not.

Wilt and fade not!!

Remember this spiritual gift you felt.

Entrain becomes ATTTAIN!
No past, no guilt, no self exists in It’s purity,
It’s relentless rushing purity...
1455
Know us.
Not you, not me,
Know only the rapturous bounty of carnate sensation.

Binary resonant soul

we can open with(out) solace.
Knowing the gushing throbbing rapids will always take turns.
Feel it? The layers of structured meaning.

Jay-Zeus
Gee...
Wiz.

Don’t play it tough,

It will fight you down,
it will hurt.

8-2-09

The gain and the loss of DMT measured, felt in stretch to balance found.
Worth in clarity, expressed, decides.
Calm brings clarity of expression in the flood of perceptions of ayahuasca.
Discipline, diet, and meditation clear the mind for fullest carriage of holyness (wholeness.)

Work to get as much of the flood expressed as possible.

Inward flow made outward knowledge, worded.

Contain myself not!

The purity of this flow carries history, ancesteral lineage.

Disciplined stillness must be practiced if it is to manifest as social worth.

The energetic force of the eyes rule our social behavior as alligning to the law of mag-
netism - - the polarity of expression in the fluid interaction of.. *page torn*

Sensitivity to reward and punishment and with it, my love, I know and feel your moment with
you, embracing your inner with your outer...together. Together we are in that moment two
gathering from a single source, a single feeling body.

Await death with the same anticipation with which you awaited life.

There is a knowing I can see in your eyes. It draws me to open into you, beautiful.

8-18-09

Bedtime for the Golden Child, relive rejection in her lullaby scheme.
I know this kiss goodnight is a forever goodbye in your hope.
Still I’ll pursue all the future you carry beneath your masked rejection.

1456
Rhythm will always be attractive.
Slow rhythm resonates with the queen’s delicate treatment
in servitude:
Consider sensitivity, consider all that cuts me to fall to my knees.
So baby, hear?
With me, you will, I promise you will...

Slow the gaze, hear it?

Breath into my eyes and you will hear it.

The nervous Princess Nervousa

gouges at her eye and adjust her breasts in the long silence
beside her, braver and rarer, Prince Drinky.
Yet beneath awkward clouds their beauty shines
with blessings from God they never hear.
If I could only grow up the way I want them to.

(2011-12-12 02:30) - public

I’ll be home in the Spring, because it is the season which carries the happiest memories of
that place, that land.
I want everyone there to be young, in the Spring; young like they were, because maybe I
would be young as I was too and God knows, I need some anchor now, some tugging reminder
of who I am. If that is family, then I should be with them, and build upon that rock some new
additions. Who would the baby be for, really? Mom? No, she is content. My father needs a
boy, a grandson. That would make him a happy man.

I must remember to stop breaking people’s fingers if I ever want them to give me a
hand again. When I need help is when I am most defensive, though. I am very difficult to
connect with when I perceive I am being criticized.

The Long Forgotten Muse (2011-12-12 20:15) - public

I recall sitting in the restaurant booth, wooden, leaning back against wall, extending my legs
across the cushion on my side. Across from me was Henry, sitting upright with tension and
tight, sick with misdirected vague raand the frustration. The television announced Obama as
the Democratic presidential nominee.
"We are going to have a black president." I said.
"It’s about time." Henry said, quickly affirming my prediction.

Henry’s wife, a woman older than her age, unwraps a quilt, which had been rolled around
some cylindrical item. Rose pedals fall from inside the quilt to the wooden floor as she carefully
unwraps the seemingly delicate item, she speaks of travel. "If we do go, everyone must come
back. There will be no deserters. We are Americans!"

"I would not have it any other way. Mmmhm..." Henry said, half dozing, with his glass
1457
of bourbon beginning to slip from his hand.

Wooden as we all were, we could remove our masks here, in

this dark tavern, and sit at a table, dark and enclosed, to dis-
cuss our guarded and secretiveddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd-
ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd-
dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd-
ddddddddddddddddddddddd ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd-
dddddddddddddddd dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

He walks with the deer and the dog, towards the gate along the two rut road, deep cut
tracks of once wet mud, now dried. The jeep came along these tracks approaching calm and
centered Henry, with his animals. The doe bolted immediately, its white tail raised in a flash
as it jumped into the tall grass towards the treeline.

"I want only to love and be loved back. For I have so much to give, if only you would
open yourself. Free of conditions and judgement, I will love you, and through your brutality,
my affection and caring will reach That small fearful boy is the aspect of you I will embrace
And your fear will subside."

"Yes, but only for a moment. My thoughts are many and I cannot control them.."
"That’s what they all say."

"I made the song when I was four years old," she says, "about a hot air balloon built of
sewn-together panties. I dreamed of suicide even then, at that age. I knew I could not be...
*begins to breath heavy, looking around, a frantic hyperventilation*

"What the fuck is happening!?" her eyes growing wide, as the confusion of her situation
becomes fear.."

ccc

This is a very distinct and non-ordinary state of consciousness which I can harvest unique
perspectives from. It is a trip, an inward journey to another place – and like any other trip, it
is most fulfilling when you must plan and prepare, knowing where you intend to go and what
you intend to do. Having intention, and setting goals, helps to give form to those thoughts, so
that they may manifest and be achieved.

What is the most honest measure of my worth, as a person here?

What is it?
Where can I focus my attention and energy where it will have the most worth, to self and
society?

How many opportunities can we waste before we stop receiving them?

The original meaning of that relationship with the muse, mediumship.

1458
The medium, like mediums of radio waves or sound through air, is merely something
carrying message. In that way, we are mediums existing along the boundary between the
physicality and life and the subtle non-physical consciousness remaining after death.

So what is the muse, truly? The original meaning, beneath all that watered down "inspi-
rational poster" use of the word.
Are certain people more open to the muse than others?

The presence of a conscious entity, aware of your life and wielding you as a tool, an in-
strument of expression, both arranging opportunity for us and then fulfilling that opportunity
with inspired content, the message.

White light, a tunnel of cloud carrying this beautiful warm radiance to us, and through
us. I felt the waves of my form rippling with my every heartbeat, slow pure waves of smiling
release, health, and remembrance. Thank You!

pigshitpoet (2011-12-13 04:58:51) original meaning

thank you for sharing those deep thoughts and feelings around what nobody much seems to talk
about, what is really happening to us. your vision is hopeful. our state of existence, not so much.. it is
from fear we can’t let go, we want love, yet are afraid. some are more open, others just thick skinned
and still others oblivious to it. in the beginning was the muse and the muse was sound... psp

turboswami (2011-12-13 15:34:26) Re: original meaning

Oy, thanks! I cleaned up that messy writing a bit... It came from hypnogogia, me trying to write as I
drifted off to sleep. hehe. That explains the long drifting ddddd, as I would fall asleep for a moment
at the keyboard. ;) The muse was sound. You mean muse-ic? Yes, they love to jam out. And certain
people are antennas, well-tuned, bringing their incredible music through to us.

OK Cupid Profiles – The Descent Into Self Advertisement (2011-12-12 22:29) -

public

Calm yourself, boy, there are great patterns at every level its a matter of taste which color of
the spectrum is your favorite. You tend towards the darker colors, naturally, and so this is the
frequency you radiate in the expressions of your being. Plodding mysterious dark green, he
thick enclosure of dark woods, safe and unseen.

The higher colors, I feel the radiant youthful energy of teen spirit, cheerleader and Brit-
tany Spears – so many of us more relaxed ones are annoyed by the high energy, loud high
bitched annoyance and the resentment that comes with witnessing that ego adopt that role,
laying fat in her bathtub, a crown and a small brass bell. She lives off her legend, as she
descends gracefully to a lesser color, a slow frequency to relax and retire through the remains
of her life.

A gelatinous wall, a square black jello twisting in response to my strong frequency arriv-
ing. It is darkness, and everybody knows of the evil negativity within its writhing seemingly
frantic, like a wolf in a trap, trying to escape.
1459
There are guilded roads spiraling up mountain sides, the gold miticulously carved as
wings, like the wrapped protective wings of an American Eagle. The gold is safe if you trust
the man behind this desk we’re climbing. I am ...

[1]

TurboSwami
30 / M / Straight / Single
Oakland, California
[2]My self-summary
I am tall, dark, and handsome. ;P

Haha. Yea, well, I get a kick out of exploring new things, new
people, new places. I value "memorable" experiences, even if they
end up not being the most conventional.

I am funny-serious and easy-going-analytical. I have a raging

passion for creativity, and bring it out in as many ways as I can.
1460
I value solitude and genuineness. I am bright and open...a gentle
man, through and through. :)

I like to blurt out things that are so refreshingly

(embarrassingly) perceptive and honest, that they make people crack
up. Like "As if he went there!"

I "go there," consistently and unabashedly. I am rarely content

with superficiality.

[3]Style guide
[4]Save
[5]Cancel
[6]What I’m doing with my life
I just got a Master’s Degree in Transpersonal Psychology and am
working towards a doctorate.

I recently presented a paper entitled "Hyper-Sensitive States

and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of
Psilocybin’s Novel Association Effect" at the 2010
Multidisciplinary Association of Psychedelic Studies (MAPS)
Conference in San Jose. It went really well!

I traveled down to the Amazon jungle in 2009 and spent almost 2

months with members of the Shipibo-Conibo tribe, partaking in
spiritual medicine ceremonies. Very powerful...

I’m currently working at Stanford University’s Psychophysiology

Lab, exploring brainwave patterns as they relate to the regulation
of emotion.

All that’s for show though...

1461
I really just like making loud music and writing loud poetry.

[7]Style guide
[8]Save
[9]Cancel
[10]I’m really good at
I wont lie...

I totally rock hard and epic on a drumset. Its my pride, hitting

the drums as hard as I can while singing as loud as I can! Haha. It
feels so good! Such an outlet. You may sometimes see me playing
over on University Ave, near Pizza My Heart. :)

My first degree was in music production, and I have a studio in

Michigan. I have other instruments too...but I play them all kinda
like I play drums – rhythmic and chugging. My studio is sort of a
collection of vintage electronics...

For instance, I LOVE the old analogue synthesizers. Once you learn
what all the knobs do, you can start to actually sculpt and shape
tone. Flashing lights and twiddling knobs and throbbing bass! I
love it! Its like The Sound of Science – delicate laboratory
machines. :D

[11]Style guide
[12]Save
[13]Cancel
[14]The first things people usually notice about me
I’ve been told I have very striking eyes – bright and deep.

Sometimes I feel like they are part of my Scandinavian heritage,

passed down. I believe certain states-of-consciousness make them
brighter, actually.
1462
My voice is somewhat unique, kind of deep and calm sounding. I love
to sing, I consider karaoke my spiritual practice. ;)

[15]Style guide
[16]Save
[17]Cancel
[18]Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
I enjoy finding rare gems of culture, and will dig deep to uncover
them. It’s indulgent, to collect, but I take great joy in sharing
what I’ve found, and knowing other people enjoy it as much as I
do.

MUSIC:

Kraut Rock, Prog, Glam...I love the show offs and the
artsy-farts!

Cluster, The Zombies, Tangerine Dream, Eno, John Cale, Beach House,
Gentle Giant, Morton Subotnick, Stockhausen, Faust, Talking Heads,
Television, The Kinks... (also, a guilty weakness for Vintage
Hawaiian music. haha.)

BOOKS:

-"The Joyous Cosmology" by Alan Watts

-"Women" by Charles Bukowski

-"The Sun Also Rises" by Ernest Hemingway

-"The Sorrows of Young Werther" by Goethe

-"The Cosmic Serpent" by James Narby

-"Steppenwolf" by Hermann Hesse

1463
MOVIES:

-The Holy Mountain,

-The Road to Wellville,

-Quills,

-Dog Star Man,

-Blue Velvet,

-Solaris (Tarkovsky version)

-Aguirre: the Wrath of God

[19]The six things I could never do without

-Soap/warm water

-Super Happy Creative Time

-Clean Under where

-Microphones

-Pen/paper

-Rhythm
[20]I spend a lot of time thinking about
Subtle things and pretty girls.
[21]On a typical Friday night I am
Ideally curled up watching a good movie with my girl. Popcorn,
maybe a fancy beer or two. .

Sometimes I like to go out dancing.

...and I totally love karaoke! haha. :D

[22]The most private thing I’m willing to admit

One night when I was 3, I put a rock in my nose and couldn’t get it
out. Neither could my mom...or my dad (with the needle nose pliars,
ahem!)

1464
Although I didn’t know it then, I would eventually get to know the
inside of that Emergency Room very well... ;)
g for

• Girls who like guys

• Ages 19-33

• Near me

• Who are single

• For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating, activity partners

[23]You should message me if

you are intelligent, adventurous, and creative and appreciate those
qualities in others.
I<br />am tall, dark, and handsome. ;P<br />Haha. Yea, well, I get a kick out of exploring new
things, new people,<br />new places. I value "memorable" experiences, even if they end up
not<br />being the most conventional.<br />I am funny-serious and easy-going-analytical. I
have a raging passion<br />for creativity, and bring it out in as many ways as I can. I value<br
/>solitude and genuineness. I am bright and open...a gentle man, through<br />and through.
:)<br />I like to blurt out things that are so refreshingly (embarrassingly)<br />perceptive
and honest, that they make people crack up. Like "As if he<br />went there!"<br />I "go
there," consistently and unabashedly. I am rarely content with<br />superficiality.I<br />am
tall, dark, and handsome. ;P<br />Haha. Yea, well, I get a kick out of exploring new things,
new people,<br />new places. I value "memorable" experiences, even if they end up not<br
/>being the most conventional.<br />I am funny-serious and easy-going-analytical. I have
a raging passion<br />for creativity, and bring it out in as many ways as I can. I value<br
/>solitude and genuineness. I am bright and open...a gentle man, through<br />and through.
:)<br />I like to blurt out things that are so refreshingly (embarrassingly)<br />perceptive
and honest, that they make people crack up. Like "As if he<br />went there!"<br />I "go
there," consistently and unabashedly. I am rarely content with<br />superficiality.I<br />just
got a Master’s Degree in Transpersonal Psychology and am working<br />towards a doctor-
ate.<br />I recently presented a paper entitled <em>"Hyper-Sensitive States<br />and In-
direct Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of Psilocybin’s<br />Novel Association Ef-
fect"</em> at the 2010 Multidisciplinary<br />Association of Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) Con-
ference in San Jose. It<br />went really well!<br />I traveled down to the Amazon jungle in
2009 and spent almost 2 months<br />with members of the Shipibo-Conibo tribe, partaking in
spiritual<br />medicine ceremonies. Very powerful...<br />I’m currently working at Stanford
University’s Psychophysiology Lab,<br />exploring brainwave patterns as they relate to the
regulation of<br />emotion.<br />All that’s for show though...<br />I really just like making
loud music and writing loud poetry.I<br />just got a Master’s Degree in Transpersonal Psychol-
ogy and am working<br />towards a doctorate.<br />I recently presented a paper entitled
<em>"Hyper-Sensitive States<br />and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of
Psilocybin’s<br />Novel Association Effect"</em> at the 2010 Multidisciplinary<br />Associ-
ation of Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) Conference in San Jose. It<br />went really well!<br />I
traveled down to the Amazon jungle in 2009 and spent almost 2 months<br />with members
1465
of the Shipibo-Conibo tribe, partaking in spiritual<br />medicine ceremonies. Very power-
ful...<br />I’m currently working at Stanford University’s Psychophysiology Lab,<br />explor-
ing brainwave patterns as they relate to the regulation of<br />emotion.<br />All that’s for
show though...<br />I really just like making loud music and writing loud poetry.I<br />wont
lie...<br />I totally rock hard and epic on a drumset. Its my pride, hitting the<br />drums as
hard as I can while singing as loud as I can! Haha. It feels<br />so good! Such an outlet.
You may sometimes see me playing over on<br />University Ave, near Pizza My Heart. :)<br
/>My first degree was in music production, and I have a studio in<br />Michigan. I have other
instruments too...but I play them all kinda like<br />I play drums – rhythmic and chugging.
My studio is sort of a<br />collection of vintage electronics...<br />For instance, I LOVE the
old analogue synthesizers. Once you learn what<br />all the knobs do, you can start to ac-
tually sculpt and shape tone.<br />Flashing lights and twiddling knobs and throbbing bass!
I love it! Its<br />like The Sound of Science – delicate laboratory machines. :DI<br />wont
lie...<br />I totally rock hard and epic on a drumset. Its my pride, hitting the<br />drums as
hard as I can while singing as loud as I can! Haha. It feels<br />so good! Such an outlet.
You may sometimes see me playing over on<br />University Ave, near Pizza My Heart. :)<br
/>My first degree was in music production, and I have a studio in<br />Michigan. I have other
instruments too...but I play them all kinda like<br />I play drums – rhythmic and chugging. My
studio is sort of a<br />collection of vintage electronics...<br />For instance, I LOVE the old
analogue synthesizers. Once you learn what<br />all the knobs do, you can start to actually
sculpt and shape tone.<br />Flashing lights and twiddling knobs and throbbing bass! I love
it! Its<br />like The Sound of Science – delicate laboratory machines. :DI’ve<br />been told I
have very striking eyes – bright and deep.<br />Sometimes I feel like they are part of my Scan-
dinavian heritage, passed<br />down. I believe certain states-of-consciousness make them
brighter,<br />actually.<br />My voice is somewhat unique, kind of deep and calm sound-
ing. I love to<br />sing, I consider karaoke my spiritual practice. ;)I’ve<br />been told I have
very striking eyes – bright and deep.<br />Sometimes I feel like they are part of my Scan-
dinavian heritage, passed<br />down. I believe certain states-of-consciousness make them
brighter,<br />actually.<br />My voice is somewhat unique, kind of deep and calm sounding.
I love to<br />sing, I consider karaoke my spiritual practice. ;)

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1466
20. http://www.okcupid.com/profile
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(2011-12-12 23:38) - UN - private

She is impressed that I can whistle so slowly and calmly. I cant into the prison. IM GOING TO
BE THE ENERGY DEINER tHAT WILL BE A LOA.AhAHA.. \\

The conet of this message is NEVER. A favor betwee endsl ii\\JUYou I

(2011-12-13 00:19) - private

"get all I can get" is a motto fo people who, slow or incompetent among us – he abandoned
everything to live tife of Buddha in India. He sat aroundand closed eyes.

"You’re pretty. Annd nice to talk. Lets look at eachother awkwardly at a party and bar-
tender, but that is not what I’m do ding ow.

Atheism and Confidence (2011-12-14 04:15) - public

VS [1]

To question the existence of a deity is incredibly stupid. To question why you feel a deity (or the
rejection thereof) to be necessary is the first step on the path to not believing your own bullshit.

M Janet Mars The questioning of the existence of deities is in my opinion, too impor-
tant to let it be ignored. In an intellectual level, it’s the difference between rational thought
and faith, and in a moral level, the difference between humanism and God’s will. So, yeah.

Kaleb Smith What do you feel about a more personal spiritual interaction, like the original
conception of a muse? That of an old guardian and friend who inspires through collaborative
mediumship.
Kaleb Smith ...I suspect that what many people call an "interaction with God" is actually just
the experience of being visited by an old friend – a friend from before this birth.

Matthew D Howell but.. that is just as made up as other thing.. heheh belief is up to
the believer..

Kaleb Smith Perhaps for you, who only have belief.

For others, however, there is personal experience. And I will never doubt my personal
experience to appease the limited life experiences of a close-minded majority.

M Janet Mars If we have learned something from schizophrenia, is that personal expe-
rience does not correlate with assumed reality. That is, your brain is not infallible.

1467
Kaleb Smith If we have learned anything from schizophrenia, it is that difference is not
tolerated by our society – and that the modern shaman must be medicated until silenced.
Kaleb Smith (The schizophrenics I spent years counseling were the reason I pursued my
degree is psychology. They were gifted souls, many of them, who did not deserve to be
tranquilized away.)

M Janet Mars And that’s supposed to be a good argument in favour of delusion and in-
sanity? That some of them were good fellows? And how about all those crazy individuals that
only propagate hate? Are those okay too?

Kaleb Smith haha. Only if the argument brings people like yourself to question your
definition of "insanity," yes.
Sensitivity to one’s surroundings is not a sickness.

M Janet Mars When did I question my definition of insanity, as in, someone who can’t
tell the difference between reality and illusion, which, in my opinion, are dangerous if powerful
enough— consider cult leaders, religious pundits, fascists and sociopaths.

M Janet Mars Remember that most war and genocide came from people who felt vindi-
cated by gods, chosen by spirits. From the muslims to the aryans, from the fundamentalists
to the orthodox, from the ancient lost religions to the modern holy wars, all of that came from
delusion, insanity, hate and, you know, faith.

Kaleb Smith
Well, I will not water down the legitimacy of spiritual interactions with fluff about morality,
politics, and the fear of God.

In truth, if the atheist had a choice to believe, he wouldn’t be an atheist.

And I’d venture to say the theist... is no more likely to experience the extraordinary
than the atheist. These are central and universal human experiences, not bound to any
culture or belief system of the world.

Science has had difficulty encompassing these subtle interactions, if only because of their rarity.
Though, I will not place limits on the potential reach of science...

M Janet Mars
1) There’s no spirituality without religion, since there’s no spirit without a theism. Science has
proven spirits to be non-existent.
2) Myself, as an atheist, oppose completely the idea of belief in the face of rational thought.
3) Except..., you know, science, which has proven most of what’s considered to be "extraordi-
nary" to be either product of science itself or non-existence.
3) Nature is made of science. Technology is made of science. Science is not an abstract idea,
but a recollection of our proven knowledge of how nature interacts with itself, that includes
from the largest sun in the universe to the small dot in your pinky finger.See More

Matthew D Howell This thread has hit my ’gonna say shit you will feel bad about af-
ter’ wall so I am going to bow out of this.
1468
Lisa Miralia oh jesus, you had to go and bring up pinky fingers. i am SO OUT now. (haha -
enjoying this discussion)
Lisa Miralia
i think that each side of this multifaceted debate is correct. nobody actually knows what the
answer is. science doesn’t know. faith doesn’t know. so it all comes down to each person’s
individual experience and journey. lack of toleran...ce to other people’s journeys is what
causes most of the problems. and yes, serious mental illness can be seriously dangerous to be
around, regardless of how "gifted" the person may or may not be. but that again, is a matter
of degree and circumstance. sociopaths suck, though, and every single one of them can bite
me. same for psychopaths.See More

Kaleb Smith
Your statements are both declarative and broad. For the most part, they are also incorrect.

1) Theism is the belief in God. Spirituality does not necessarily adhere to that require-
ment, as I am, as they say, a very spiritual but non-religious person. I am also a scientist.

That is to say, spirituality does not require a deity.

I can tell you do not work in the field of science, as we avoid certain words like "prove."
Experiments do not "prove" anything, but merely show, in lieu of further data, that a hypothe-
sis is more likely to be true.

"Science has proven spirits to be non-existent." Do you have any references for that
statement? A peer-review journal citation?

As I will ask that you review the research supporting the existence of reincarnation (Stevenson,
1992), the out-of-body experience (Tart, 1968) and the near death experience (Atwater, 2007).

The perceptions of these states have been shown to be legitimate – Dr. Tart’s research,
specifically, so brilliantly designed as to provide proof for the existence of the human soul.

It is in man’s egocentric ignorance that he assumes that the whole of consciousness re-
volves solely around him – both beginning and ending within the narrow bands of his visible
spectrum and crude physicality. The fact is, as we learned, the universe does NOT revolve
around us – and, as we have yet to learn, neither does the electromagnetic spectrum.

I’m sorry to be the one to break that to you.

M Janet Mars hahahaha, in other news

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2010/04/100408-near-death-experiences -blood-
carbon-dioxide
M Janet Mars And also:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvxFXkv7L24
M Janet Mars But, just as easy, indicate me where is the soul in the human body.
M Janet Mars Also, Ian Stevenson is a controversial figure, and his work has been considered
pseudoscience by Skeptics Society.

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Kaleb Smith Well, I like comedy as much as the next person – and if Penn and Teller is
your answer to peer-reviewed academic journals, then laughter is, for sure, the most appropri-
ate response. ;)

Feel free to limit the boundaries of science and what it can understand. But just hope,
to God, that actual scientists never follow suit!

M Janet Mars And you just reached ad hominem. Good work!

Kaleb Smith I’m sorry. I’m sure you mean well. It simply is not an option for me to re-
turn to atheism. I’ve been shown too much of how things actually are to ever doubt again.
M Janet Mars Funny how you cite Atwater as a reference. She’s the same loony that wrote
about Indigo childs. Good job there too.
M Janet Mars Is not like her could have any agenda behind her work. Not her various books
on the subject. No.
M Janet Mars Because, you know, I’m reading about those guys you cited.
M Janet Mars Did you know Tart was a buddhist, too? No conflict of interests there.
M Janet Mars But even so, all of those issues aside, their evidence is indeed controversial and
not accepted by most of the scientific community, skeptic community not counted. They all
declare that the current state of science can’t measure their own ’scientific’ discoveries, which
is interesting on its own paradox. And indeed, it does not prove in any way the existence of a
soul or spirit, which brings us back to the beginning.
Lisa Miralia "nobody knows for sure"

M Janet Mars Well, I rest my case for today. It’s not my job to prove a negative— the
responsability is in the arms of whose say there are souls and spirits. For what I’ve recollected,
and remember, I’m just a layman, I can say with confidence that there’s no evidence for any
of it, and that those who declare to have it are suspicious at most. Now, I’m gonna drink some
hot cocoa and smile.

Kaleb Smith
It is that confidence of the skeptics that closes their mind’s shut.

The fact is, scientists like Dr. Tart provide evidence to a scientific community which can-
not ALLOW for the existence of such evidence.

His Ms. Z experiment was a gorgeous, elegant design, executed carefully with meticu-
lous attention to control for every possible detail.

Yet, it was that same stubborn prideful confidence which ensured that the results of his
study would never see the light of day – because, regardless of the high quality of his work,
those confident "scientists" could never ALLOW themselves to believe that they have souls.

Science’s only limit is the minds of its adherents. It is a belief system like any other,
and so is it any surprise Tart was branded a heretic.

Yet, those of us who have had them, while taking comforting in knowing that there is le-
gitimate experimental data supporting the legitimacy of the out-of-body experience, we do
not need it. The vivid real-life experience of autoscopy is all the evidence I truly need – and
rest assured that you, too, will have that same evidence soon enough, worry not! ;)See More
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M Janet Mars Err
http://www.skepdic.com/tart.html
M Janet Mars .
And going beyond into the magic world of Charles Tart
http://www.genpaku.org/skepticj/tart.html

Kaleb Smith
Well, I suppose if you insist on providing empty biased links instead of forming an actual
opinion of the study, then yes.

Yes, you are certainly proving your confidence in a baseless opinion, and all that stems
from it. However, I recomme...nd you learn to show some critical discernment in choosing
your sources.

You are free to jump on board with James Randi and his $100,000 circus wagon. While I
prefer to cite academic sources, I cannot force others to do the same.

Tart is an impeccable scientist, with a piercing critical mind. He is also a prolific writer,
and a valued friend. His only thought is that there is more to life than crude endless mate-
rialism – something those who worship materialism and the American way of life, obviously,
don’t want to hear.

Well, I’ll let you get back to that...

1. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

(2011-12-14 09:48) - public

Abandoned house back behind mine. I told the big kids on the corner that that was where I
got my face scraped up, because falling off my bike was too embarrassing. .Old dryrot green
fabric of a chair, torn like the walls, but behind the fabric, I could see a face with eyes staring
forward blankly. My sister’s dead body. I threw off the chair, but the body was long-ago
decayed and eated by maggots.

Are they towing my fucking car??!

Clarity, Guilt, and Resolve (2011-12-18 01:36) - public

Clean yourself out, boy. You’re muddy with unrestrained want, gorging on a fat calf, your
visions saturated with lust.
Gotta gut all that filth out and wait for what’s always been there to surface from the quiet.

"I know. I’m sorry. Is it too late?"

Your disease is a track on a slope that grows steeper with every day you let pass through idle
hands. You feel it now, years later, rising up through your thoughts, settling into your very
musculature. We never wanted it to progress this far, but we cannot heal you if you are not
ready to be healed. You forget the voracity of that anger as it sleeps inside you, as you serve
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it all the comforts flesh can afford; gracious host, your grace is depleted.

"Forgive me for being misguided, for allowing distraction to bury the light you gave me
to carry. I was not wholly yours.

My breath is hot with inflammation, my sacred center red with blood. There is no hiding
it. Heat rises."

The Sharpness of a Bird’s Eye (2011-12-20 15:33) - public

Clear the calendar, clear the mind of all allotted appointments and dates,
and knots of cyclical neurotic thinking will form in the slack.
Insistent thoughts of minor things,
small barricades lined up carefully in rows of defense around you.

These concentric walls radiate outwards, like ripples,

maintaining control over a certain set of frequencies.
In this way, my ego allows me to focus, by wielding the mind,
rearing it to ignore those extraneous things which do not serve.

Self-consciousness, pull my reins back once more ,

keep me looking at where I should feel.
keep me closed in and safe, to the edge of suffocation,
to the verge of cutting off circulation to all which is concealed.

I am aware now of the place where I lay.

I can look around, and see this location in relation to the path.
I am afforded a momentary glimpse of a perspective of height,
And I can see the grand expanse of landscape as it truly is.

pigshitpoet (2011-12-21 00:00:17) in and out

is the bird’s eye going inward or a bird’s eye view from outside as seen by the one being viewed from
the bird outside you? third eye, all of that... where the universe meets the sky psp

turboswami (2011-12-21 01:28:12)

Inward height across the invisible landscape affords a view of where you are, where you’ve been, and
where you need to be. Its so healthy to give your thoughts some air from time to time – they’d been
cooped up in this rut for too long.

pigshitpoet (2011-12-21 08:34:14)

sometimes it feels like i’m rutting ; i

Success and Ego (2011-12-20 15:44) - public

– [1]
Success is the result of performing a series of non-predictable action steps, each one
of which is usually "wrong."
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 [2]Duncan Riach
Success at any level is constructed from repeated failure at a lower level. A successful
life is full of failure. The failure of death is part of a larger success.

– [3] [4]Kaleb Smith I like the last sentence of your comment a lot.
And, yes, success is a composition of failure, but the composing, itself, is a function
of a certain state-of-consciousness or attitude; that buoyant resilience to failure, the
thick skin of ego’s defense that lets you plow through your mistakes without losing
momentum.
The hypersensitive are often overwhelmed by what, for others, are simply minor short-
comings or setbacks. There needs to be a sort of stubbornness, an insistence on
success.

[5] [6]Duncan Riach Sometimes the next action step is to pay attention to the sensations
in the body and say to yourself, "You sweet, sensitive little thing! It’s okay to feel these strong
feelings, to feel overwhelmed by them. This is your loveliness and your specialness right now
and it’s okay to let this happen. Soon you will feel different."
1. http://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach
2. http://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach
3. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
4. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
5. http://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach
6. http://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach

pigshitpoet (2011-12-20 23:56:56) tuscan sunset

success is filling my belly with the tastiest dish on the planet, having prepared and cooked it and
enjoying every savoury bite, chewing each mouthful forty times.. : )

Goals For Winter 2011 (2011-12-20 17:22) - public

This ended up being one of those inspirational life-organizing highs. I love when you can get a
perspective on what you aren’t doing, and then simply draw out the steps to doing it.

GOALS FOR WINTER 2011:

Write Formal Essay Describing “Spectral Model of Consciousness”

Shamanic Conference Presentation Revision

∗ Remove Personal Account
Install Open Office For Making Youtube of Slides
· Open Office => PPT Conversion?
· Software for Monitor to Video
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 – Ayahuasca Focus – Hypersensitivity
– Brainwave/State of Consciousness Relationship Sources?
Yoga Descriptions of “Radio Frequency” Consciousness (Additional Paper?)
∗ Yogananda’s Yukteswar – Cabbage “Transmission/Reception”
∗ The Holy Science?
∗ Contact MSU Brahmin
Audio Production
Kolby Early Jam – “Time To Get Away” Drum Submix => Layers
∗ Learn Construction of .REX files/Kontakt Sample Maps for Keyboard
∗ Learn Assignment of Drum Loops into Ableton using MPC
∗ Extract King Tubby Loops from “Scrubby Dubz”
– Upload Selected Vocalization Tracks – Separate Album (Name?)
CIIS Registration Information
Clinical Master’s
∗ Credit Transfer ITP?
∗ GRE Requirements?

Storage/Archival
Organize “SMOKEY” Drive
∗ Send to Mom For Safe Keeping (w/ Master’s)
– Prepare New Drive – Post-SMOKEY Backup
– DVD Burns For All Material 2010-2011
Fitness
Find EPA or PA YMCA Card
∗ $3/day Downtown Oakland Y (OR price quote at 24 Hr. Fitness)
– No Meat (Casein) From December 18th to Jan 18th

(2011-12-20 18:20) - public

Marry Christ, Massive As He Is.

Love him anyway, try to wrap your arms around him.
He’s been takin it easy since his stint in the desert,
he’s surrendered his ego, let go of his social self
...and man, has he EVER let himself go!

Red and Green Window Stickers,

the smell of latex on Rudolph’s collar.

Get tired and wish the kitchen was empty.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJ4uH _rvxTA
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Get Jolly, You Fat Fuck! (2011-12-20 18:41) - public

Marry Christ, Massive As He Is.

Love him anyway, try to wrap your arms around him.
He’s been takin it easy since his stint in the desert,
he’s surrendered his ego, let go of his social self
...and man, has he EVER let himself go!
Red and Green Window Stickers,
the smell of latex on Rudolph’s collar.

Get tired and wish the kitchen was empty.

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _67

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _67

1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2667%26%26%26youtube%26
JvNzZ7RXQtM%3Ac7f85de6f2118ce07adfe6c75f02ea8523798ebe
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2667%26%26%26youtube%26
JvNzZ7RXQtM%3Ac7f85de6f2118ce07adfe6c75f02ea8523798ebe

pigshitpoet (2011-12-23 05:34:20)

son of grangantua, Pantagruel’s Nativity As they were tattling thus together after their own manner
of chat, behold! out comes Pantagruel all hairy like a bear, whereupon one of them, inspired with a
prophetical spirit, said, This will be a terrible fellow; he is born with all his hair; he is undoubtedly to
do wonderful things, and if he live he shall have age. panurge merry christmas gentle giant : )

Dreams and Hypnagogic Masking Phenomenon (2011-12-21 06:54) - public

Often those who claim they do not dream or to never be able to remember their dreams,
do in fact have lush and meaningful dream experiences. The issue is often that of their
hypnagogic and waking state of consciousness. The generation of more active, or even
frenzied, thought content as a person surfaces through the hypnagogic state can mask the
memories formed in those lower states of dream consciousness. For instnace, someone
who, before they even fully awaken, begins immediately to think of their car parking per-
mit, their roommate’s girlfriend, and an appointment they have at 10 am, does not even
have an opportunity to become consciously aware of their dream content – that content
is masked by extraneous material from a different state of consciousness before they are
even fully awake. It is, in this case, not uncommon that by the time they do fully awake and
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attempt to recall the dream they just had, the dream is fully obscured as to seem non-existent.

A metaphor I like for this masking phenomenon of the overactive mind is minnows near
the mouth of a stream. Standing knee-deep near the inlet of a stream into a lake, minnows
could be nibbling on my toes but, looking down, I would be unable to see them through
the water. The water from the stream is very agitated and, even on a nice sunny day, the
surface of the water would be too busy for me to see what was happening beneath. Very
Jungian metaphor, but this is very much like the frenzied highly-active mind which prevents
the penetration of introspection and memory, across the differing levels of consciousness, to
what is happening down below. Yet, if I wade further along the beach, away from the inlet of
the stream, the water would become calmer and I can see clearly down through it, observe
the sand and items in it, and see the minnows as they move and nibble at my toes. This, too,
is like the clarity of a calm waking state of consciousness in that it allows for deep-penetrating
levels of introspection. The stillness of meditation assures that no facets of ones self are
obscured from one’s self – even the deepest parts are visible and can be understood.

REM Relapse Dream – The Looming Wall of Streamlined 1950’s Car Grille De-
sign (2011-12-21 13:25) - public

I made a painting to accompany, there on the table. It was a Rorschach ink blot of many colors
that ended up looking like an Asian woman. The man looked half interested at all the works,
less than half-interested at mine for a moment, then tossed it back to the table. I wanted to
impress him, and asked him if he could tell how I had made it.

In storage were so many machines, streamlined 1950s beauties; typewriters, jukeboxes,

cars in cars. I wanted something to write on. I wanted to lay on a hamburger.

The incredibly fast car ride escape approached huge broken teeth, a wall of a larger
scale, and I pulled back and then we were riding upthem. The girls were terrified, but smiled
as they screamed. Another huge hood of a 1950’s Buick loomed up ahead of us, was it opened
this time? We were going too fast! We pulled back and rode up it.

Two women, in the booths of an old fashioned diner. Jiang Hui watched me from behind,
in a corner booth with another girl. This moment was held in time, frozen there. I could not
escape and wished I could somehow tell her that I would come and sit with her if only I could
escape this booth with this other girl, but to her it seemed I simply did not want to sit with her,
that I had chosen another and was even flirting with her in front of her. But I could not – the
thought of her eyes watching burned a hole in the back of my head.

The White Points (2011-12-22 08:21) - public

The musicians convened on the overpass of the old freeway outside of the city, in a post-
apocalyptic future where I was running from the authorities and so many of us sought some
form of nostalgia to comfort us on Christmas. In the decay and cold, the formally trained
musicians dressed as nutcrackers. Very gay, flaming gay, all of the men were. Yet they
were, too, part of an underground illegal network and knew the times and synchronized their
watches just like the rebels and the metalheads and their black leather snarls.

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The car had to be there at a certain time, stolen away and being sought by police, we
made it in time and a conductor led the individual musicians through the game. Four colored
boxes lit as the song was played, each a sort of big band era/Jeopardy contestant podium,
each lighting up in reference to a score that that musician had attained for his performance.
Conductors were many, and it was a saught-after position, with music writers competing over
the opportunity to lead the rebels through . Additionally, there were OTHER scoring systems,
in addition to the main Jeopardy podium score which some musicians adhered to while others
did not acknowledge. The fine arts kids did not care for the "white" score, which the punks
and metal boys took very seriously. Above each jeopardy podium, the white score appeared
as segments of green/white hardened paste/frosting/cum in the shape of rhythmic phrasings
in the conductor’s music. Very tight and syncopated performances created a very high set of
white points, which looked almost like tall buildings or blocks of impressive caked score, based
on how much volume, machismo, anger, and testosterone you pumped into the performance.
The fine arts kids distanced themselves from this display, not wanting to be associated with
crude cum-shooting competitions between snotty boys, but there I was, performing under one
of them on a freeway overpass in a dying abandoned world.

The whole thing was about militaristic marching – very strong machismo, chunky perfect
rhythms, and a lot of forward-moving anger about it. Fucking diseased as well, which turned
the whole white structure above the podiums a sickly green. It was goddamned Nazi UFO war
machine secret base music and as soon as I took part in performing it, I started getting white
points, whether I liked them or not, and all these unwanted associations began popping up on
my youtube and facebook links. Neo-Nazi white pride UFO historian links.
"What the fuck is this shit??!" I said to my friends, who got me to perform this guy’s piece.
"Now I’m getting all these Nazi UFO freaks contacting me? Nice job! I don’t give a shit about
the points, this guy’s a creep."

The Stream and The Cup (2011-12-22 21:20) - public

Like an explosion taking place at the very peak of the last Winter Eclipse, and the devotees
of McKenna’s, those believers in the true depths of his exploratory genius, begin to feel the
growing, no longer subtle, now volatile volcanic, the whole contents of my life is strewn across
my room. I am being opened and searched through. Oh! To be open again, my God. I tell
Charlie it feels like my heart is going to explode to keep up with it all, and that disconcerting
quivering sigh that I cannot pretend to explain. Charlie begins to speak of mediumship, of
having so many personalities come up through.

I relate back, course troubled with a knot of self-consciousness.

It grows back, the self-consciousness but acts as a sort of fuel,
a compressed resonant loop back onto one’s self, oscillating.

Release selected works as collections.

Begin and follow through with your efforts.
Close yourself to negative influences, remaining on the pure track.
These are the instructions we’d given you, when you angered us.

Close, open flow open and recieve

There is a way to let your hands feel without the conscious effort which bind them to thought,
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There is a way to hold a breath BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM...BAM BAM!

I begin to exhale as writing about the exhale, and my chest becomes vibrant with in-
credible energy....

There is someone wailing... in the distance.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"You heard it, Charlie??"

It’s happening. They’re here. Now angry screaming, and a pounding sound. Singing...
"AUGHH!!!"

I am without a care in the world. I am without a care in the world.

I am a central magnetic force, I feel myself fill a space beyond my body.

I strengthen this with focus, dedicated breath, and inward tone.
Ah, ch, ah, ch...

I am sorry that I got distracted, this room is so cold.

My breath pumps with my fast beating heart.
It pumps so hard!

Damn music, damn clothes clothsets.

Damn amphetamines, damn response curves.
Damn epidermal growth hormones, damn negative feedback loops.
There’s a story for every angry raging demon being starved of his host’s hospitality.

I know of a less garnished follower who may serve you better,

I know of a swine without the focus, without the resolve or discernment to cleanse through till
the end.
I do not know of an exorcist.

Trace models of modes of interaction, traced lines, both dotted and solid.
Both physical and imaginary, we must draw these lines within the world.
For there is consciousness and then there is our perception of it,
like there is a stream and there is a cup.

Please empty my cup, I wish to drink from the stream.

Please show me the art of pottery, so that I may learn the expanses afforded by vessels.
My place, my place, please give me a place
in your company, oh spirits, in your company.

pigshitpoet (2011-12-23 06:48:57)

have you ever thought of starting a following? like for a livelihood? have you read ’sex sin and zen’
by brad warner? yes, that brad warner.. ’it down and shut up’ http://www.wildmind.org/blogs/book-
reviews/sex-sin-and-zen-by-brad-warner i think your enlightenments could be aptly translated.. ; )

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 turboswami (2011-12-24 11:18:44)
Wow, thanks. I hadn’t heard of him. Yea, I’ve been trying to think of some outlet for my writing for
ages. It’s an ongoing concern... ;)

pigshitpoet (2011-12-29 09:33:25) ongoing concern

you are certainly channeling something.. maybe we could tune in to it : )

pigshitpoet (2011-12-29 09:34:43)

hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy, no. 1 rule: don’t panic..

pigshitpoet (2011-12-29 09:35:23)

am sorry that I got distracted, this room is so cold. My breath pumps with my fast beating heart. It
pumps so hard! Damn music, damn clothes clothsets. Damn amphetamines, damn response curves.
Damn epidermal growth hormones, damn negative feedback loops. There’s a story for every angry
raging demon being starved of his host’s hospitality.

MAPS (2011-12-22 21:52) - public

The clinical side of the Transpersonal field is burgeoning with the continued growth of the MAPS
Conference, and the Psychedelic Renaissance of reopened clinical research on entheogenic
compounds. I support this and am proud to have presented at MAPS, but am looking forward
to a similar renaissance in the theoretical models implied by the healing hypersensitivity of
the psychedelic experience, not simply of the mind, but of the surroundings we live in. The
transpersonalist must be trained to adequately administer these psychedelic therapies.

Respect For Authority (2011-12-22 22:04) - public

I respect my authorities. I respect my authorities.

I respect the face, I respect the body.
I respect the restraint over behavior and thought,
I respect the fellow man left beaten for dead.
I respect the sound of explosions, the sound of subversion.
I say that out of respect for authority.

Respect for authority.

I felt the cold before, I know it.
I felt isolation and know the growling sound of hate, expressed to a child.

Misfortune will not cling itself to me, as I know the path and follow it.
I’ve learned through sickness how it is to be punished for your gifts.
I must stay sensitive to the course, and the balance of control for it as it comes.
Meditation is my greatest strength and weakness, it brings more than my attention span can
withstand.

I surrender respect to the inner authority.

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(2011-12-22 23:46) - public

Lows of forced data communication plan,

The mediumship via soma with the physical disconnection of hypnagogia via a sleep aid.

God, the issues surrounding small busy self-conscious thinking.

Its like being on the beach, all the time.

beach _metaphor.gif*

I want to photograph someone exactly in the shape as the Shame figure, beneath – ly-
ing in a bed.
The idea of leaving your body, rising out of shame, judgment, and self-consciousness.
Rising out of the shell of ego, free of all its restraints.

Fears are tied to the body, mostly. Only the remnants of fear remain after death.

Conversation (2011-12-22 23:47) - private

[1]
2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[2]Francis Jervis

– Hey - looks like im escaping Davis for east bay xmas

{[ } \ _ {] }

[3]
2 hours ago[4]
Sent from Chat
[5]Kaleb Smith

– My God! I am so retardedly high, I’m sorry...

– its just about too much
– my heart is beating waaay too fast
– just pounding in my chest
– heh, anyway....MAPS is a closed fb group
– and I’m not a member

{[ } \ _ {] }

[6]
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2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[7]Francis Jervis

– ooh yr serious!
–
What??

{[ } \ _ {] }

[8]
2 hours ago[9]
Sent from Chat
[10]Kaleb Smith

– DO you get the heart fluttering highs much?

– Is that a thing that people get?

{[ } \ _ {] }

[11]
2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[12]Francis Jervis

– MAPS? Fuckun neoliberals ;)

–
Yes
– My friend called himself an ambulance once

{[ } \ _ {] }

[13]
2 hours ago[14]
Sent from Chat
[15]Kaleb Smith

–
Are they the best ones?
– I am so so paranoid though
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 {[ } \ _ {] }

[16]
2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[17]Francis Jervis

–
(I mean phoned for one rather than said "o hai I’m an ambulance)
–
Totally fine
– Console yourself with the fact that if you snuff it, you will go down in history as the
first ever ;)

{[ } \ _ {] }

[18]
2 hours ago[19]
Sent from Chat
[20]Kaleb Smith

– Every vehicle I’m convinced is a tow truck, coming to get my car...

– haha

{[ } \ _ {] }

[21]
2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[22]Francis Jervis

– oh I’d be more worried about the natives

{[ } \ _ {] }

[23]
2 hours ago[24]
Sent from Chat
[25]Kaleb Smith

–
7 gunshots
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 – at the peak of my high
– its like they christened it
– or something...

{[ } \ _ {] }

[26]
2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[27]Francis Jervis

– Man they used to fire warning shots

{[ } \ _ {] }

[28]
2 hours ago[29]
Sent from Chat
[30]Kaleb Smith

– one long exhale, then bam bam bam

{[ } \ _ {] }

[31]
2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[32]Francis Jervis

– During ceremony in peru

{[ } \ _ {] }

[33]
2 hours ago[34]
Sent from Chat
[35]Kaleb Smith

– then a scream, howling

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 {[ } \ _ {] }

[36]
2 hours ago
Sent from Mobile
[37]Francis Jervis

– One time bare close to the Malocca

–
At Guillermo’s
–
That’s fucked up dude

{[ } \ _ {] }

[38]
2 hours ago[39]
Sent from Chat
[40]Kaleb Smith

– Hmm. I was supposed to go to peru to get cleansed. I never told you about it
– ...about the unambiguous spiritual arrangement of my life

{[ } \ _ {] }

[41]
about an hour ago
Sent from Mobile
[42]Francis Jervis

– fuuuuck Matthew

{[ } \ _ {] }

[43]
about an hour ago[44]
Sent from Chat
[45]Kaleb Smith

–
which led me to peru
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{[ } \ _ {] }

[46]
about an hour ago
Sent from Mobile
[47]Francis Jervis

– no?

{[ } \ _ {] }

[48]
about an hour ago[49]
Sent from Chat
[50]Kaleb Smith

–
Yea, I had visions of Javiar
– BEFORE I hit Iquitos

{[ } \ _ {] }

[51]
about an hour ago
Sent from Mobile
[52]Francis Jervis

–
Which

{[ } \ _ {] }

[53]
about an hour ago[54]
Sent from Chat
[55]Kaleb Smith

– In LIma
– de SIlva
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 {[ } \ _ {] }

[56]
about an hour ago
Sent from Mobile
[57]Francis Jervis

– Sketchy

{[ } \ _ {] }

[58]
about an hour ago[59]
Sent from Chat
[60]Kaleb Smith

– I wrote about it in my journal...

– as well as the messages he gave me
– ...things I did not know about, he told me.
– I was totally ignorant of Peruvian ritual.

{[ } \ _ {] }

[61]
about an hour ago
Sent from Mobile
[62]Francis Jervis

–
what kind of vision?

{[ } \ _ {] }

[63]
about an hour ago[64]
Sent from Chat
[65]Kaleb Smith

– Hypnagogic
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{[ } \ _ {] }

[66]
about an hour ago
Sent from Messenger
[67]Francis Jervis

– Interesting

{[ } \ _ {] }

[68]
about an hour ago[69]
Sent from Chat
[70]Kaleb Smith

– Out of body, he was able to describe the Teacher plant idea to me...
– as the seed...which ayahausca merely opens
– and then showed me how to get beneath the earth, into the roots, into the subcon-
scious of plants
– He physically took me there
–
Very powerful
–
The first night in Lima
– Eh, there is so much in that journal...

{[ } \ _ {] }

[71]
about an hour ago[72]
Sent from Chat
[73]Kaleb Smith

– online

{[ } \ _ {] }

[74]
about an hour ago
[75]Francis Jervis
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 – ya?

{[ } \ _ {] }

[76]
about an hour ago[77]
Sent from Chat
[78]Kaleb Smith

– Do you realize I’ve written a 1,400 page book?

– If you were to put those journals onto paper

{[ } \ _ {] }

[79]
about an hour ago
Sent from Mobile
[80]Francis Jervis

– Srsly?

{[ } \ _ {] }

[81]
about an hour ago[82]
Sent from Chat
[83]Kaleb Smith

–
Yea, I have a PDF
– I made art today
– I’m so fucking proud. haha
– I never do shit like that
–
when I do, I get excited about it. Its very refreshing.

{[ } \ _ {] }

[84]

about an hour ago

[85]Francis Jervis
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 – Sweet
– Oh - you don’t know anyone with a musician-friendly room? (ie not for me...)

{[ } \ _ {] }

[86]
about an hour ago[87]
Sent from Chat
[88]Kaleb Smith

–
Yea, I recorded most of tonight.
–
Just got a new MIDI setup today, live drums

{[ } \ _ {] }

[89]

about an hour ago

[90]Francis Jervis

– oh cool

{[ } \ _ {] }

[91]
about an hour ago[92]
Sent from Chat
[93]Kaleb Smith

– Review my writing, lemme know what you think...

– I’ll do the same for you
– if you ever want

{[ } \ _ {] }

[94]

about an hour ago

[95]Francis Jervis

– Link?
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 {[ } \ _ {] }

[96]
about an hour ago[97]
Sent from Chat
[98]Kaleb Smith

– [99]http://turboswami.livejournal.com/

1. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
2. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
3. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
4. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
5. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
6. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
7. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
8. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
9. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
10. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
11. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
12. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
13. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
14. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
15. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
16. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
17. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
18. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
19. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
20. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
21. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
22. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
23. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
24. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
25. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
26. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
27. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
28. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
29. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
30. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
31. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
32. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
33. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

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34. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
35. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
36. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
37. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
38. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
39. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
40. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
41. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
42. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
43. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
44. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
45. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
46. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
47. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
48. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
49. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
50. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
51. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
52. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
53. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
54. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
55. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
56. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
57. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
58. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
59. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
60. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
61. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
62. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
63. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
64. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
65. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
66. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
67. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
68. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
69. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
70. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
71. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
72. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
73. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
74. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis

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75. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
76. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
77. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
78. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
79. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
80. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
81. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
82. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
83. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
84. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
85. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
86. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
87. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
88. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
89. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
90. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
91. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
92. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
93. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
94. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
95. http://www.facebook.com/francisjervis
96. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
97. http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10101504987634534&set=a.10101504985463884.3393310.2302530&type=3&t
heater
98. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
99. http://turboswami.livejournal.com/

Sacrum (2011-12-22 23:53) - friends

Stomach, what do you think?

Are you clean?

I wonder, I mean, I remember all that.

Do you think I’m being invaded? By foreign bodies?

The immune system, fighting as best it can,
to defeat an invader that isn’t physically there.

After the possession, why did my immune system begin to function this way?

Stomach, what do you think?

Are you clean?
1492
(2011-12-24 03:06) - public

I can see myself as the character I’m seen to portray and, as disorienting as it is – much like
that initial shock of seeing a face and body approaching you, then realizing it’s yourself in a
wall mirror – it gives me compassion and forgiveness. As if "No wonder they were angry at me –
look at who they were dealing with!" Or, rather, who they thought they were dealing with, their
perception of what I presented them with, often times, very different from what I intended to
convey.

(2011-12-25 14:12) - public

The more real you are, the deader you become,

because, as a rule, the dead don’t care about much of anything.

pigshitpoet (2011-12-26 05:51:30)

the smoker you drink, the player you get - joe walsh ; )

The True Meaning of Christmas (2011-12-25 14:13) - public

All of the symbols and icons we associate with Christmas celebrations are derived from the
shamanistic traditions of the tribal peoples of pre-Christian Northern Europe.
The sacred mushroom of these people was the red and white Amanita Muscaria mushroom, also
known as "fly agaric." These mushrooms are now commonly seen in books of fairy tales, and are
usually associated with magic and fairies. This is because they contain potent hallucinogenic
compounds, and were used by ancient peoples for insight and transcendental experiences.
The major elements of the modern Christmas celebration, such as Father Christmas, Christ-
mas trees, magical reindeer and the giving of gifts, are originally based upon the traditions
surrounding the harvest and consumption of these most sacred mushrooms.
These ancient peoples, including the Lapps of modern-day Finland, and the Koyak tribes of the
central Russian steppes, believed in the idea of a World Tree. The World Tree was seen as a
kind of cosmic axis, onto which the planes of the universe are fixed. The roots of the World
Tree stretch down into the underworld, its trunk is the "middle earth" of everyday existence,
and its branches reach upwards into the heavenly realm.
The Amanita Muscaria mushrooms grow only under 2 types of trees, Firs and Evergreens. The
mushroom caps are the fruit of the larger Mycelium beneath the soil which exists in a symbiotic
relationship with the roots of the tree. To ancient people, these mushrooms were literally "the
fruit of the tree."
The North Star was also considered sacred, since all other stars in the sky revolved around
its fixed point. They associated this "Pole Star" with the World Tree and the central axis of
the universe. The top of the World Tree touched the North Star, and the spirit of the shaman
would climb the metaphorical tree, thereby passing into the realm of the gods. This is the
true meaning of the star on top of the modern Christmas tree, and also the reason that the
Super-Shaman Father Christmas makes his home at the North Pole.
Ancient peoples were amazed at how these magical mushrooms sprang from the earth without
any visible seed. They considered this "virgin birth" to have been the result of the morning
1493
dew, which was seen as the semen of the deity. The silver tinsel we drape onto our modern
Christmas tree represents this divine fluid.
The active ingredients of the amanita mushrooms are not metabolised by the body, and so
they remain active in the urine. It is safer to drink the urine of one who has consumed the
mushrooms than to eat the mushrooms directly, as many of the toxic compounds are processed
and eliminated on the first pass through the body.
It was common practice among ancient people to recycle the potent effects of the mushroom by
drinking each other’s urine. The amanita’s ingredients can remain potent even after six passes
through the human body. This is the origin of the phrase "to get pissed," as this urine-drinking
activity preceded alcohol by thousands of years.
Reindeer were the sacred animals of these semi-nomadic people, as the reindeer provided
food, shelter, clothing and other necessities. Reindeer are also fond of eating the amanita
mushrooms; they will seek them out, then prance about while under their influence. The urine
of tripped-out reindeer would be consumed for its psychedelic effects.
This effect goes the other way too, as reindeer also enjoy the urine of a human, especially one
who has consumed the mushrooms. In fact, reindeer will seek out human urine to drink, and
some tribesmen carry sealskin containers of their own collected Wee, which they use to attract
stray reindeer back into the herd.
The effects of the amanita mushroom usually include sensations of size distortion and flying.
The feeling of flying accounts for the legends of flying reindeer, and legends of shamanic jour-
neys included stories of winged reindeer, transporting their riders up to the highest branches
of the World Tree.
Although the modern image of Father Christmas was created by the advertising department of
Coca-Cola, in truth his appearance, clothing, mannerisms and companions all mark him as the
reincarnation of these ancient mushroom-gathering shamans.
One of the side effects of eating amanita mushrooms is that the skin and facial features take on
a flushed, ruddy glow. This is why Father Christmas is always shown with glowing red cheeks
and nose, even his jolly "Ho, ho, ho!" is the euphoric laugh of one who has indulged in the
magic fungus.
Father Christmas also dresses like a mushroom gatherer. When it was time to go out and
harvest the magical mushrooms, the ancient shamans would dress much like Father Christmas,
wearing red and white fur-trimmed coats and long black boots.
After gathering the mushrooms from under the sacred trees where they appeared, the shamans
would fill their sacks and return home, then climb down the chimney they would then share
out the mushroom’s gifts with those within.
The amanita mushroom needs to be dried before being consumed; the drying process reduces
the mushroom’s toxicity while increasing its potency. The shaman would guide the group in
stringing the mushrooms and hanging them around the hearth-fire to dry.
The psychedelic journeys taken under the influence of the amanita were also symbolised by a
stick reaching up through the ’Chimney’ in the top of the yurt. The ’Chimney’ was the portal
where the spirit of the shaman exited the physical plane.
Father Christmas’s famous magical journey, where his sleigh takes him around the whole planet
in a single night, is developed from the "heavenly chariot," used by the gods from whom Father
Christmas and other shamanic figures are descended. The chariot of Odin, Thor and even the
1494
Egyptian god Osiris is now known as the Big Dipper, which circles around the North Star in a
24-hour period.
In the ancient story, the chariot was pulled by reindeer. As the reindeers grow exhausted, their
mingled spit and blood falls to the ground, forming the amanita mushrooms.
Saint Nicholas is a legendary figure who supposedly lived during the fourth Century. His cult
spread quickly and Nicholas became the patron saint of many varied groups, including judges,
pawnbrokers, criminals, merchants, sailors, bakers, travelers, the poor, and children.
Religious historians agree that St Nicholas did not actually exist as a real person, and was
instead a Christianised version of earlier Pagan gods. Nicholas’ legends were mainly created
out of stories about the Teutonic god called Hold Nickar, known as Poseidon to the Greeks.
This powerful sea god was known to gallop through the sky during the winter solstice, granting
boons to his worshippers below.
When the Catholic Church created the character of St Nicholas, they took his name from
"Nickar" and gave him Poseidon’s title of "the Sailor." There are thousands of churches named
in St Nicholas’ honor, which were also converted from temples to Poseidon and Hold Nickar.
(As the ancient pagan deities were demonised by the Christian church, Hold Nickar’s name
also became associated with Satan, known as "Old Nick!")
Local traditions were incorporated into the new Christian holidays to make them acceptable to
the new converts. To these early Christians, Saint Nicholas became a sort of "super-shaman"
who was overlaid upon their own shamanic cultural practices. Images of Saint Nicholas from
these early times show him wearing red and white, or standing in front of a red background
with white spots, the design of the amanita mushroom.
St Nicholas also adopted some of the qualities of the legendary "Grandmother Befana" from
Italy, who filled children’s stockings with gifts. Her shrine at Bari, Italy, became a shrine to St
Nicholas.
Some psychologists have discussed the "cognitive dissonance" which occurs when children are
encouraged to believe in the literal existence of Father Christmas, only to have their parents’
lie revealed when they are older. By so deceiving our children we rob them of a richer heritage,
for the actual origin of these ancient rituals is rooted deep in our history and what Jung would
call "our Collective Unconscious". By better understanding the truths within these popular
celebrations, we can better understand the modern world, and our place in it.
Many people have rejected Christmas as being too commercial, claiming that this ritual of
giving is actually a celebration of materialism and greed. Some Socialists say that "Christmas
is a pernicious racist-imperialist construct, an unholy alliance of Catholicism, Coca Cola and
capitalism whose only function is the exploitation and repression of the international working
classes."Yet the true spirit of this winter festival lies not in the exchange of plastic toys, but in
celebrating a gift from the earth: the fruiting top of a magical mushroom, and the revelatory
experiences it can provide.
Instead of just perpetuating outdated and confusing holiday myths, it might be more fulfilling
to return to the original source of these seasonal celebrations. How about getting back to
basics and enjoying some magical mushrooms with your friends & loved ones this solstice?
What better gift can a family share than a little piece of love and enlightenment? "Ho Ho Ho".
Merry Christmas and wishing you all a Truly Wonderful Solstice!

•
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turboswami (2011-12-25 22:31:36)
REFERENCES: http://www.danielmoler.com/2011/12/shaman-claus.html - The Hidden Meanings of
Christmas, Mushroms and Mankind, by James Arthur - Who put the Fly Agaric into Christmas?, Seventh
International Mycological Congress, December 1999, Fungus of the Month - The Real Story of Santa,
The Spore Print, Los Angeles Mycological Society, December 1998 - Santa and those Reindeer: The
Hallucinogenic Connection, The Physics of Christmas, by Roger Highfield - Fungi, Fairy Rings and
Father Christmas, North West Fungus Group, 1998 Presidential Address, by Dr Sean Edwards - Fly
Agaric, Tom Volk’s Fungus of the Month for December 1999 - Father Christmas Flies on Toadstools,
New Scientist, December 1986 - Psycho-mycological studies of amanita: From ancient sacrament to
modern phobia, by Jonathan Ott, Journal of Psychedelic Drugs; 1976 - Santa is a Wildman, LA Times,
Jeffrey Vallance BOOKS WORTH READING: - Mushrooms and Mankind, by James Arthur - Soma: Divine
Mushroom of Immortality, by Gordon Wasson - Mushrooms, Poisons and Panaceas, by Denis R. Benjamin

pigshitpoet (2011-12-26 05:46:45)

In the 17th century Puritans banned Xmas because they saw it as a decadent tradition that really had
nothing to do with the birth of Christ. Although this ban was extremely unpopular and only lasted for
about 30 years untilCromwell was deposed, the Puritans were 100 % correct on both points. Long
live, decadence I say! I. When was Jesus born? (Nobody really knows but it definitely wasn’t Dec 25,
1 CE!!!) A. Popular myth puts his birth on December 25th in the year 1 C.E. B. The New Testament
gives no date or year for Jesus’ birth. The earliest gospel – St. Mark’s, written about 65 CE – begins
with the baptism of an adult Jesus. This suggests that the earliest Christians lacked interest in or
knowledge of Jesus’ birthdate. C. The year of Jesus birth was determined by Dionysius Exiguus, a
Scythian monk, “abbot of a Roman monastery. His calculation went as follows: a. In the Roman,
pre-Christian era, years were counted from ab urbe condita (“the founding of the City” [Rome]). Thus
1 AUC signifies the year Rome was founded, 5 AUC signifies the 5th year of Rome’s reign, etc. b.
Dionysius received a tradition that the Roman emperor Augustus reigned 43 years, and was followed
by the emperor Tiberius. c. Luke 3:1,23 indicates that when Jesus turned 30 years old, it was the 15th
year of Tiberius reign. d. If Jesus was 30 years old in Tiberius’ reign, then he lived 15 years under
Augustus (placing Jesus birth in Augustus’ 28th year of reign). e. Augustus took power in 727 AUC.
Therefore, Dionysius put Jesus birth in 754 AUC. f. However, Luke 1:5 places Jesus’ birth in the days of
Herod, and Herod died in 750 AUC – four years before the year in which Dionysius places Jesus birth.
D. Joseph A. Fitzmyer – Professor Emeritus of Biblical Studies at the Catholic University of America,
member of the Pontifical Biblical Commission, and former president of the Catholic Biblical Association
– writing in the Catholic Church’s official commentary on the New Testament[1], writes about the date
of Jesus’ birth, “Though the year [of Jesus birth is not reckoned with certainty, the birth did not occur
in AD 1. The Christian era, supposed to have its starting point in the year of Jesus birth, is based on a
miscalculation introduced ca. 533 by Dionysius Exiguus.” E. The DePascha Computus, an anonymous
document believed to have been written in North Africa around 243 CE, placed Jesus birth on March
28. Clement, a bishop of Alexandria (d. ca. 215 CE), thought Jesus was born on November 18. Based
on historical records, Fitzmyer guesses that Jesus birth occurred on September 11, 3 BCE.

pigshitpoet (2011-12-26 05:47:15)

II. How Did Christmas Come to Be Celebrated on December 25? (Come all ye pagans!) A. Roman
pagans first introduced the holiday of Saturnalia, a week long period of lawlessness celebrated
between December 17-25. During this period, Roman courts were closed, and Roman law dictated
that no one could be punished for damaging property or injuring people during the weeklong
celebration. The festival began when Roman authorities chose “an enemy of the Roman people”
to represent the “Lord of Misrule.” Each Roman community selected a victim whom they forced

1496
to indulge in food and other physical pleasures throughout the week. At the festival’s conclusion,
December 25th, Roman authorities believed they were destroying the forces of darkness by brutally
murdering this innocent man or woman. B. The ancient Greek writer poet and historian Lucian
(in his dialogue entitled Saturnalia) describes the festival’s observance in his time. In addition to
human sacrifice, he mentions these customs: widespread intoxication; going from house to house
while singing naked; rape and other sexual license; and consuming human-shaped biscuits (still
produced in some English and most German bakeries during the Christmas season). C. In the 4th
century CE, Christianity imported the Saturnalia festival hoping to take the pagan masses in with
it. Christian leaders succeeded in converting to Christianity large numbers of pagans by promising
them that they could continue to celebrate the Saturnalia as Christians.[2] D. The problem was that
there was nothing intrinsically Christian about Saturnalia. To remedy this, these Christian leaders
named Saturnalia’s concluding day, December 25th, to be Jesus’ birthday. E. Christians had little
success, however, refining the practices of Saturnalia. As Stephen Nissenbaum, professor history at
the University of Massachussetts, Amherst, writes, “In return for ensuring massive observance of the
anniversary of the Savior’s birth by assigning it to this resonant date, the Church for its part tacitly
agreed to allow the holiday to be celebrated more or less the way it had always been.” The earliest
Christmas holidays were celebrated by drinking, sexual indulgence, singing naked in the streets (a
precursor of modern caroling), etc. F. The Reverend Increase Mather of Boston observed in 1687
that “the early Christians who first observed the Nativity on December 25 did not do so thinking that
Christ was born in that Month, but because the Heathens’ Saturnalia was at that time kept in Rome,
and they were willing to have those Pagan Holidays metamorphosed into Christian ones.”[3] Because
of its known pagan origin, Christmas was banned by the Puritans and its observance was illegal in
Massachusetts between 1659 and 1681.[4] However, Christmas was and still is celebrated by most
Christians. G. Some of the most depraved customs of the Saturnalia carnival were intentionally
revived by the Catholic Church in 1466 when Pope Paul II, for the amusement of his Roman citizens,
forced Jews to race naked through the streets of the city. An eyewitness account reports, “Before they
were to run, the Jews were richly fed, so as to make the race more difficult for them and at the same
time more amusing for spectators. They ran… amid Rome’s taunting shrieks and peals of laughter,
while the Holy Father stood upon a richly ornamented balcony and laughed heartily.”[5] H. As part of
the Saturnalia carnival throughout the 18th and 19th centuries CE, rabbis of the ghetto in Rome were
forced to wear clownish outfits and march through the city streets to the jeers of the crowd, pelted
by a variety of missiles. When the Jewish community of Rome sent a petition in1836 to Pope Gregory
XVI begging him to stop the annual Saturnalia abuse of the Jewish community, he responded, “It is
not opportune to make any innovation.”[6] On December 25, 1881, Christian leaders whipped the
Polish masses into Antisemitic frenzies that led to riots across the country. In Warsaw 12 Jews were
brutally murdered, huge numbers maimed, and many Jewish women were raped. Two million rubles
worth of property was destroyed.

pigshitpoet (2011-12-26 05:49:07)

III. The Origins of Christmas Customs (Yup, it’s them darn pagans again.) A. The Origin of Christmas
Tree Just as early Christians recruited Roman pagans by associating Christmas with the Saturnalia,
so too worshippers of the Asheira cult and its offshoots were recruited by the Church sanctioning
“Christmas Trees”. Pagans had long worshipped trees in the forest, or brought them into their homes
and decorated them, and this observance was adopted and painted with a Christian veneer by
the Church. B. The Origin of Mistletoe Norse mythology recounts how the god Balder was killed
using a mistletoe arrow by his rival god Hoder while fighting for the female Nanna. Druid rituals
use mistletoe to poison their human sacrificial victim. The Christian custom of “kissing under the
mistletoe” is a later synthesis of the sexual license of Saturnalia with the Druidic sacrificial cult. C.
The Origin of Christmas Presents In pre-Christian Rome, the emperors compelled their most despised

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 citizens to bring offerings and gifts during the Saturnalia (in December) and Kalends (in January).
Later, this ritual expanded to include gift-giving among the general populace. The Catholic Church
gave this custom a Christian flavor by re-rooting it in the supposed gift-giving of Saint Nicholas (see
below). D. The Origin of Santa Claus a. Nicholas was born in Parara, Turkey in 270 CE and later
became Bishop of Myra. He died in 345 CE on December 6th. He was only named a saint in the 19th
century. b. Nicholas was among the most senior bishops who convened the Council of Nicaea in
325 CE and created the New Testament. The text they produced portrayed Jews as “the children of
the devil” who sentenced Jesus to death. c. In 1087, a group of sailors who idolized Nicholas moved
his bones from Turkey to a sanctuary in Bari, Italy. There Nicholas supplanted a female boon-giving
deity called The Grandmother, or Pasqua Epiphania, who used to fill the children’s stockings with her
gifts. The Grandmother was ousted from her shrine at Bari, which became the center of the Nicholas
cult. Members of this group gave each other gifts during a pageant they conducted annually on the
anniversary of Nicholas’ death, December 6. d. The Nicholas cult spread north until it was adopted
by German and Celtic pagans. These groups worshipped a pantheon led by Woden –their chief god
and the father of Thor, Balder, and Tiw. Woden had a long, white beard and rode a horse through the
heavens one evening each Autumn. When Nicholas merged with Woden, he shed his Mediterranean
appearance, grew a beard, mounted a flying horse, rescheduled his flight for December, and donned
heavy winter clothing. e. In a bid for pagan adherents in Northern Europe, the Catholic Church
adopted the Nicholas cult and taught that he did (and they should) distribute gifts on December 25th
instead of December 6th. f. In 1809, the novelist Washington Irving (most famous his The Legend
of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle) wrote a satire of Dutch culture entitled Knickerbocker History.
The satire refers several times to the white bearded, flying-horse riding Saint Nicholas using his
Dutch name, Santa Claus. g. Dr. Clement Moore, a professor at Union Seminary, read Knickerbocker
History, and in 1822 he published a poem based on the character Santa Claus: “Twas the night
before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The
stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in the hope that Saint Nicholas soon would be there…”
Moore innovated by portraying a Santa with eight reindeer who descended through chimneys. h.
The Bavarian illustrator Thomas Nast almost completed the modern picture of Santa Claus. From
1862 through 1886, based on Moore’s poem, Nast drew more than 2,200 cartoon images of Santa for
Harper’s Weekly. Before Nast, Saint Nicholas had been pictured as everything from a stern looking
bishop to a gnome-like figure in a frock. Nast also gave Santa a home at the North Pole, his workshop
filled with elves, and his list of the good and bad children of the world. All Santa was missing was his
red outfit.

pigshitpoet (2011-12-26 05:49:16)

i. In 1931, the Coca Cola Corporation contracted the Swedish commercial artist Haddon Sundblom
to create a coke-drinking Santa. Sundblom modeled his Santa on his friend Lou Prentice, chosen for
his cheerful, chubby face. The corporation insisted that Santa’s fur-trimmed suit be bright, Coca
Cola red. And Santa was born – a blend of Christian crusader, pagan god, and commercial idol.

anaisverdant

pigshitpoet (2011-12-31 22:15:17) cosmic joke

or the ultimate humour.. the gods must be crazy!

(2011-12-26 16:35) - public

Laziness, pea soup, and nightmares.

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Lets build a day out of these things.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=REkbY-eEuus

Make The Invisible Visible (2011-12-28 02:53) - public

[1] [2]Dan Gaylinn

make the invisible visible.

[3] [4]Kaleb Smith

To see what nobody else sees, you gotta have your windows cleaner than theirs.
1. http://www.facebook.com/dan.gaylinn
2. http://www.facebook.com/dan.gaylinn
3. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
4. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

The Water Bearer (2011-12-29 02:18) - public

Stream of water.
Stream of thought.
Stream of knowing,

...
you are sought.

Beneath the ground,

are the roots.
In the sunlight,
is the truth.

Folded and hidden, contained in Its bands,

Not just lives, but layers - each a whole land.
And if we could see all the life that light brings,
We’d never feel lonely, knowing They, within things.

The current, in-fluent,

the course of the stream.
Guides within the moment,
our life just a theme.

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pigshitpoet (2012-01-01 10:03:09)
intelligent water, the source of life..

turboswami (2012-01-01 13:24:20)

Woah. That girl in the short-shorts could make it a Happy New year, indeed! ;P

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11. 2012

11.1 January

(2012-01-02 06:31) - public

America (Continued) (2012-01-04 16:10) - public

...when you were raped and forced to sell your body.

And it hurt to watch and I cried,
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the world cried for you, America.

But you grew accustomed to our pity,

and you used it as leverage,
After our faces had dried.

Attention As That Which Is Primed (2012-01-04 16:12) - public

Attention span refers to the number of semantic nodes held in an associative strain.

Competition and The Development of The Male Personality (2012-01-07 05:04)

- public

Competition and The Development of The Male Personality

There are many developmental stages which are biologically-based and culturally univer-
sal. Piaget’s four to Erikson’s eight, children of all ages learn language, operation, interaction,
and logic in a developmentally linear way, which can be correlated to certain months and
years of age. Yet, these developmental stages extend beyond childhood and adolescence –
as humans continue to mature all through their lives, so there are stages of maturation which
we pass through in that time, in theory extending straight through until death. While those
cognitive stages accompanying rapid physical development, those seen in ages 1 through
12, are the most obvious, I feel the growth (and degradation) of cognition and personality,
as they change in more gradual and subtle ways through adulthood, has not received as
much attention academically. However, many aspects of our culture could be interpreted as
representative of those distinctly adult developmental stages and so, inversely, by studying
these aspects of cultural expression, we can potentially learn about the stages of development
which gave rise to them.

Age 24: The Magic Average, The Peak of Male Personality

A curve can be drawn to represent the development and degradation of a man.* The
growth of the body and that of the mind represented as the rising of a line, through chronology
and capacity. There, however, will inevitably come a point in a man’s life where those growth
stages are completed – physically, neurologically, cognitively, this is the peak of the male
identity. Inevitably, this zenith of identity passes, and the sun of a man’s life begins to set.
This can be observed as the fluid and flexible aspects of personality gradually becoming more
concertized and rigid in routine, the open minded youth becoming the inflexible elderly man
of stereotype. That is, there are the formative years of a man’s personality, and then there
is the crystallization of those ideas, skills, and behaviors. While there is little formal research
as to the exact time in one’s life when that peak of identity is reached, it can safely be
assumed it is in the early adulthood years, between 23 and 27. I have found 24, specifically,
to be an especially powerful and meaningful year in the personality and creative output of a
man. Let me describe a few ways by which I came to acknowledge the significance of this year.

For every musical artist with an extensive discography, you can look at what is consid-
ered by the majority of critics to be their most culturally significant work – the peak of
their career. If we consider classic rock for instance, for David Bowie, this is peak album
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is unanimously Ziggy Stardust. For Pink Floyd, this is unanimously Darkside of The Moon.
For Led Zeppelin, this is IV. For Jethro Tull, this is Aqualung. I began to informally research,
looking at how old each artist was when they created what is considered their "best" work. I
did not want to believe that our culture was driven by 20-somethings (as I was, at that point,
reaching 25 myself, and was fighting the acknowledgment of my own adulthood.) Yet, time
and time again, the math was clear: "Born in 1949, that would make him...23," "25," "24," "24."

I began to look outside of music, to other areas of culture. While not every field and
realm of achievement is youth clearly evident as it is in music, Bill Gates formed Microsoft at
24. Likewise, the peak defined by Citizen Kane for Orson Welles, or the early acting career of
Marlon Brando could be used as non-musical examples of this.

It is not that older men do not still make very meaningful and rewarding works. Authors,
musicians, and men in other fields often create their best work in their twilight years – often
only because they got a late start in their career, for whatever reason, and did not create
until later adulthood. But the developmental stage is discrete and exists whether or not the
individual has creative output during it. Yet, there is another way to explain the creative
output of prolific men in their 30s and 40s...

*I say "man" in this instance, as the evolutionary role of a man, from the standpoint of
procreation, is very different from that of a female. The need to impress a female mate has
a dramatic influence over the development of a male personality, be that a human male
competing monetarily, or a young Alpha male lion, competing against the old leader of the
pride, the right to mate with the choice females is earned; it is a powerful force which fuels, to
one degree or another, the creative development of every aspect human culture.

The Chronology of Self-Awareness

Around age 20, according to Erikson, we begin to ask questions like "Who am I?" and
"What am I to be?" This is, coincidentally, when many young men begin to think of their
ego, authenticity, and social roles. It is the formative period of one’s identity, when the
personality is fluid and the future open. With so much potential, considering different careers
and weighing what it is that they are truly good at and enjoy doing, important choices are often
made at this point, at the end of high school. The defining ideas, skills, and behaviors of a
man’s life are typically carved out during this period of formative self-searching. Yet, gradually
over the period of several years, the wide range of potential directions for self-development
begins to narrow – one has either made their choice, or not. The flexibility of that formative
period of one’s identity begins to "harden" and crystallize into a distinct personality.

The male in his 40s who writes a meaningful and culturally recognized book or piece of
music is, if you pay close attention to the whole body of his work, often actually REworking
techniques and ideas, which were created during his early formative period, in a new way.
This is not creativity, per se, but more rehashing of old territory. Those ideas which were
once radical and outlandish when first forged can be made more palpable and accessible
when re-expressed with the softening of maturity. Yet, this quieter, softer, more mature work
does not define the peak of that man’s identity – that height of physical, sexual, and mental
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prowess, whose work has the trademark characteristic of a high degree of energy. This is the
"Piss and Vinegar" energy, the "Old College Try" energy.

(2012-01-14 15:09) - public

When I had journeyed half of our life’s way,

I found myself within a shadowed forest,
for I had lost the path that does not stray.
Ah, it is hard to speak of what it was,
that savage forest, dense and difficult,
which even in recall renews my fear;
so bitter — death is hardly more severe!
But to retell the good discovered there,
I’ll also tell of other things I saw.

-DANTE, Inferno, Canto I

pigshitpoet (2012-01-15 04:01:19)

was it the taiga? the infernal psp

Submitting A Hot Secret To The Crystal Cop Idea Bin (2012-01-23 02:08) - public

I know that should go into the Crystal Cop Idea Bin, I know it should....sometimes.

Smooth, like a lion. A rounded metal hat, a beehive silhouette.

Luigi hates Japanese pop music.

Christmas hoe dag.

Amphitheater system speakers designed with your family in mind. Like a huge deep
chasm splitting down through the center of the skull, like breaking a cake in half. Your eyes
will light up like that, cheese curd big bird.

So, maybe I’m not sweet in that traditional way there are tender things I feel you should know,
nonetheless. None the less, a showroom floor announcer screaming for us to get on the bus.
Neon green bright blue smurf, a tent of neon waiting. A closet of colors, hidden. A sand dune
dips into a toothy carnivore’s grin. Whiskers show me I’m not alone, they sense me and lead
me.

150 mHz (2012-01-23 05:17) - public

"...In truth, DNA is not just a blueprint for constructing the body; it is also a storage medium
for optical information as well as an organ for communication.

The German biophysicist Fritz-Albert Popp spent many years studying biophoton emis-
sion, i.e., the light that the body naturally emits. Popp’s studies indicate that DNA is one of
1504
the main suppliers of biophotons. Through comprehensive studies, he discovered that DNA is
a harmonic oscillator – an oscillating system with its own particular frequency, or resonating
frequency. Using the length of the DNA molecule (about two meters, when stretched out), and
the known speed of light, DNA’s own frequency is calculated as about 150 megahertz...

A Beautiful Sound That Can’t Be Heard (2012-01-28 10:09) - public

A long cold expanse of barren desolation held in a single sound, a single hit, a single shot.
And, in the transient, the attack, is all the surge of potential that once existed and flowed
into that moment between two lovers who had not yet loved. Their peak’s intensity fades off,
apologizing. I’m sorry such a sound ever existed, and that regret reverberates and echoes
inside, those thoughts that linger in the cold harsh morning.

I want to deny it. I want to forget it ever happened, that a meeting ever took place –
as good as it sounded to express openly for the first time, we must never let it happen again
because it never happened. The sound wasn’t heard by anyone that night, the sound that fell
into place so naturally. The sound that repeats only in shameful memory.

edensgray (2012-02-01 22:21:20)

:(

11.2 February

(2012-02-01 02:30) - public

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Goodbye San Francisco Bay (2012-02-04 19:38) - public

Is it worthwhile to even try to defend my character against slander?

Or should I simply allow her shame to dictate the conditions of my severance, saying
my goodbyes to the bay with self-respect and whatever remnants of grace? Realistically,
if I can salvage one friendship from this, I don’t feel I need much else from this period of my life.

To her, I represent a harsh truth, a memory of behavior bound to a place.

To them, I represent 6 shades of unknown; the quiet and dark outside where trust does not
venture.

Every loss is a shake awake,

Every breakdown an opening.

Talk Therapy (2012-02-04 19:47) - public

I believe being in close proximity to others is inherently healtheir than solitude – even if
socialization doesn’t take place, non-verbal cues and responses keep us alert and "in good
form," reinforcing our social role.

Q: "But what of unhealthy or negative social roles, or stereotypes which an individual

may not wish to internalize? Unspoken cues in that instance may be harsh or unwarranted
judgments."

>:| ——-> ( ’ _ ’ )
zap! ("fat fatty!!")

A valid point, at which a distinction must be made between varying densities of social
situation: a tightly-packed elevator? Or a romantic dinner for two with a blind date? The
spectrum between overcrowding and solitude is wide and further informed by the "depth" of
the given relationship(s) with the people involved (eg: family VS strangers.) The transition
into interpersonal depth and the formation of trust requires a social skill set, a functional
personality, and both the establishment and testing of norms – all of which are generally
healthy or therapeutic developments.
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Solitude And The Ocean (2012-02-12 00:18) - public

The forth and the fit of Duty, a month of July, shall be set aside for others.
A place where I can be safe? The foolish awkward fears and the style defined by what is
obscured.
Less I free a dozen days a month, slaving in the freedom of isolation, for writing all I need to
write.
The descent of the second week will be accessing whole ranges of subconscious content,
releasing them into expression.

There is a great field of tension, one which acts like the surface tension of a medium of
water. It defines the waking fully-alert state of consciousness as a density, like that of air,
and the "breadth" of our fully physical awareness – that bandwidth of consciousness whose
boundary is defined by the perceptual organs of the body. Yet, the water below is a density
of medium beneath whose diverse contents of conscious life in its variety of diverse forms, is
mostly invisible to us Standing along the beach, an uninformed man could only wonder what
manner of wildlife, huge whales and squid, existed in those inaccessible depths. Yet, he may
hear a myth, an account of those long dead men who once had their encounter with some
massive beast of the great depths, when they once traveled far away from shore. So, too,
there are those brave explorers of consciousness who decided, with intention, to travel far
and beneath from the sunlit beach, perhaps holding our breath in meditation, and descending
as far as we can on that single breath. We can access many things in those meditative dives,
the invisible inward landscape and all beneath it.

"Trouble with hum"

Yes, there is definitely a change in my capacity for extending focus, to really let the in-
ward hum resonate fully up and through the contents of the mind, flooding the state of
attention with simple pure tone – inward resonant tone is a powerful method of altering or
"traversing" a range of states of consciousness.

Less means more, get shit simple – it’s like playing drums. Make a motor of rhythm, to
move you along through consciousness.
This is the shaman’s drum, on one level.
But in a larger rhythm, circadian for instance, perfect harmony can be achieved with steady
routine, the biology of sleeping and eating can be made regular, so that a resonant state can
come to multiply the activity in the cycle of those biological functions. For instance, sleeping
at the same time every night makes you gradually get more tired at that sleep time and,
inversely, feel more awake when starting their day. And so steady rhythm in our routine
makes us more efficient.

Attention and Latent Inhibition (2012-02-12 00:43) - public

There is an inward flow of attention, the volume of which is a variable which influences
cognition and state of consciousness. Many people notice very little of their surroundings,
while others are literally bombarded by their perception of their surroundings, as evidenced
by the behavior of a hypersensitive or hyper vigilant person. This range of sensitivity could be
referred to as a change in attentional state – some people pay close attention to everything,
while others ignore many of those things.
1507
This inward flow of attention can be conceptualized as that which is"inhibited" in the La-
tent Inhibition model used in schizophrenia.

The arrows flash flaring concentrically upwards, like mountains reflecting the light of a
great fire.

The clothes, the resignation, the abandonment of a taut and mentally fit "gymnast" of
meditation, flexible yogi’s doing yoga inwardly and outwardly. The purity of their body and
the clarity of their mind is like a radiant antenna, both broadcasting and receiving – and his
strength is in being able to hold states of consciousness for long periods, much like they hold
difficult yoga poses. That is to say, over time, as they learn to manage their attention, so
they come to learn how to control the flow of the "dam" of perception, Latent Inhibition, and
gradually lower it, allowing greater volumes of attention to flow inwards.

Cats Eyes Attending Even After The Peacock’s Full Regalia (2012-02-12 01:18) -
public

Has this not happened?

A close-eyed thrill ride through the disease of another person?

Seeing "into" their body, a sea urchin infesting my intestines.

A cat’s eyes are revealed.

trust in their attending to my best potentials, assisting with my best interests in mind.
Garden brook of bee’s yellow black, flowers blurred in a pattern along a portion of a feather.
Above, the black and white green accent of a mallard cheetah.

Summer will, in all its radiant powers, accomplishment and triumph of youth’s energy,
the vivacious virile electricity of our sexual peak, the tension that drives us to make our mark
on the world, if only to impress her. Clampet wagon, everything I own being hauled across the
country. Chairs tied to the top, a real sight, outhouse door on the back.

So sharp, yet I lose feeling in my fingers, and have pain shooting down my back into
my legs.

Creature. Take a picture, oh yes, oh yes...

Standard Synthesizer Module Dimensions (2012-02-12 16:02) - public

Power Req. Jack Size Module Height Module Width

(Minimum) Module Depth
(Max.) Number of Modules Kits Assembled Comments
Blacet +/-15V 3.5mm 5.25" 4 3" (1.5") 6.5" 13 Yes Yes Unusual, multi function modules
Cyndustries +/-15 Banana 9" 2.25" 7 17 No Yes Modcan style modules
Analog Solutions +/-12/+5V 3.5mm 5.06" 5 (.8") 6 4.725" 32 No Yes Lots of drum modules
Doepfer +/-12/+5V 1 3.5mm 5.06" 5 (.8") 6 65+ No Yes Simple modules
Metasonix 12VAC 1/4" 3 See Note 3 4.5" 3 No Yes tube based
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 Modcan +/-15 Banana 9" 2.25" 7 29 No Yes Popular Canadian system
Paia +/-18 or +/-15V 2 3.5mm 5.25" 4 3" 6.5" 4 Yes No Extensive normalling
Analog Systems +/-12/+5V 3.5mm 5.06" 5 (1.2") 6 42 No Yes
STS (Serge) +/-12V Banana 7" 17" 65 No Yes panelized "modules"
Synthesizers.com +/-15/+5V 8 1/4" 8.75" (2.125") 2.5" 35 No Yes Simple Moog style
modules
Synth Tech (MOTM) +/-15V 1/4" 8.75" 3.5" (2.125") 4.5" 21 Yes Yes Very rugged
Technosaurus +18/-18V 1/4" 15.75" 1.6" 11 No Yes
Wiard +/-15 3.5mm 10.5"9 2.83" 8 No Yes Very unusual and creative modules.
All Modulars accept signal levels in the 10V P-P range, control voltages in the +/-5V or 0-10V
range and Gate levels of 5V.

Bought PCBs for two analogue synthesizers today – one 3 oscillator drum synth and a 3
layer sequencer. All voltage controlled.

I am thinking I want to build the enclosures into standard synth module dimensions, probably
following the Moog module specifications as a template: 1/4" patch cords, with 8.75" X 2.125"
(or 4.25" based on the width of the board, itself.)

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Then, hopefully, mount those modules into a nice wooden enclosure. Something portable, like
a wooden suitcase sort of thing...
Here’s the MPS, or Mega Percussive Synthesizer:
http://www.birthofasynth.com/Thomas _Henry/Pages/MPS.html
[1]

This one will be the most difficult...

http://www.birthofasynth.com/Scott _Stites/Pages/Klee _Birth.html #The _electro-music _Klee
_Sequencer _
1. http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2446/3735086972_741e38f0e8_z.jpg

Scalar Model / Latent Inhibition (2012-02-16 01:22) - public

Scalar Model of Cultural Development

The organization of society is, most generally, a process of division and is, from this offered
perspective, is systemically-established upon the basis of our body’s own organizational divi-
sions. This perspective on our culture is one from a location distant and reversed, that is to
say looking back onto civilization from a grand scale, and noting similarities to the microscalar
organizational structures, or organs, of multicellular organisms.
Latent Inhibition
1510
Latent Inhibition, (potential prevention) is a technical term used in Classical conditioning. A
stimulus that has not had any significance in the past takes longer to acquire meaning (as a
signal) than a new stimulus. For most of us, the majority of the world and our surroundings
compose the set of these inhibited stimuli, with only a miniscule set of items receiving our
actual attention. This tendency to ignore or disregard whole ranges of potential information,
and to inhibit the formation of memory by preventing associative learning of the given stimuli,
is an unconscious response and is assumed to prevent sensory overload and cognitive overload
(Lubow, 2010).

The Spectrum of Genetic Variance (2012-02-24 01:01) - public

As a society, we will eventually come to terms with the actual nature of genetic difference
– fully acknowledging race, the genome, and the full multitude of implications found therein.
This honest and unabashedly direct approach to human diversity will crumble the old societal
structures built on dishonest or indirect ways of being and, instead, shed light and perspective
revealing the greatest potentials afforded by diversity – many strengths operating under a
singular purpose. The spectrum of a single vision.
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Stairway of Cliche (2012-02-24 01:12) - public

God, cry down your mangled shards’ sharp puncture.

1512
Slug fulla too slow bucket to the face,
we children make a home behind the crank shaft chassis.

All my heroes fought for life or death just to socialize,

And I’ll be damned if I’ll let it all be in vain!

Relax, they got nothin on me?

Relax, they got nothin on you!

Cowboy grain shift swaggers with horse rearing up.

His beat is contained.

The question always was:

Are those stereotypically psychedelic visuals I’m seeing the original basis for all those
cheap posters and so on,
or do those posters somehow inform my trip?

A: The culture we are exposed to provides material for mind to manifest THROUGH. Never
identical, always with new meaning behind, the novelty is as simple, often, as recombining
cliches in new and suddenly fresh ways – which transcend the levels of all composite parts.

Let’s go up into the next level.

"I am at the door."

Woman: "Crawl up there!"

Massive Approaching Borg-Like Barbi Cube (one side=the whole of the visual field.)
GOLD CONTACTS!

(2012-02-24 01:19) - public

ROOMMATE NOTES

Wet baby lover stays dry in the heat with the patented Tri-Touch System.
Too many lasters fret neath the puls-kind spirit watch of listers, post-urn.

BEGIN
NEW
TRANSMISSION
MISSION 3-1-12

Charlie. Charlie, are you there?

YES, I AM HERE.
1/2 Charlie, 1/4 Charlie, are you all there?
MOSTLY.

Full Nelson, are you still there? How are you holding up through all this?
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I am the tragic figure brooding over my own funeral. Earplugs.

Glue nipples to Couger, and to medicine cabinet.

Call elderly lesbian doctor.

Slander is a girl’s best friend.

Ask the ghosts how to improve recording.

(2012-02-24 06:27) - public

I say to my breath once again, little breath come from in front of me, go away behind me, row
me quietly now, as far as you can, for I am an abyss that I am trying to cross.
–w.s. merwin

turboswami (2012-02-24 14:27:26)

"Breathing from behind" is fancy poetic talk for farting. ...more like a Motorboat, honestly. ;P

The Value of Distraction: The Influence of Others (2012-02-26 04:11) - public

What is the worth of influence?

What is the value of being genuine, and expressing one’s thoughts without self-censorship?

I feel like often so much energy is wasted on competitive people...

as if, they get us riled to compete
where we otherwise wouldn’t. Its hard not to get sucked in.

Its a constant issue.

I feel like its a man thing, or that that’s a facet of it.
Alpha male bullshit, and the primitive need to assert ones power in order to find a mate.
Its shameful business. Its outdated!

I need some time away from all that emotion, and the flooding primal drives other people illicit.

[1]
Report ·
3:48am
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mm, solitude

[2]
Report ·
3:48am
To find baseline
yea. focus...

[3]
Report ·
3:49am
Yeah. That’s a noble endeavor man

[4]
Report ·
3:49am
It’s intimidating, being so NOBLE as to live alone...
I dunno if I could handle that kind of nobility.
Some part of me has gotten used to company
...solitude is a very sharp tool.
Dangerous.
Do great work, or great damage.
Double edged, that way.

[5]
Report ·
3:51am
Mm, agreed.
Returning to baseline feels noble to me. I’ve come to finally realize the truth

[6]
Report ·
3:52am
I’d need to be totally directed, focused, and with intention.

[7]
Report ·
3:52am
of transcendence immanence
so no matter how much I go up, the world will call me back
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[8]
Report ·
3:52am
To ensure its more a Walden, than a Ted Kazcinsky manifesto. ; )

[9]
Report ·
3:52am
it’s just the nature of things
indeed
[10]
Report ·
3:53am
Ted probably felt pretty directed, focused....
and god knows, the man had intentions!

[11]
Report ·
3:53am
very true

[12]
Report ·
3:53am
So, what safety net is there? Other than social consensus?
The reference of culture, to reel us in
We need others.
[13]
Report ·
3:54am
consensus reality?
agreed

[14]
Report ·
3:54am
Consensus of what is safe, sane, and reasonable thinking.

[15]
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Report ·
3:54am
otherwise we’re all just schizophrenic, essentially split off

[16]
Report ·
3:54am
Ted lost that consensus...
That reference in the norms of society
They are limits, but also tracks.
A woman is like that. Keeps us grounded in a way.

[17]
Report ·
3:55am
when a society marginalizes an individual, that in the act breeds the discontent that rises up
in those like ted
[18]
Report ·
3:55am
Keeps us practical.
The first Eureka came after a woman insisted her man bathe
[19]
Report ·
3:56am
I think we just need more MDMA floating around!
(with skillful means, of course, safe use and knowledgable users)
...

Hmm...
you’ve found some tolerance, in an ego-resistance sort of way.

ENTHEOGEN

Yea. I could use a bit of that. I’ve been so tense lately!

The tension around not having a home in 3 days has spilled over into other parts of my life.
I can feel it in my very musculature.
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Even my eyes feel tightened. Its so unhealthy, the insomnia, all of that...
1. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
2. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
3. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
4. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
5. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
6. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
7. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
8. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
9. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
10. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
11. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
12. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
13. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
14. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
15. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
16. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
17. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality
18. http://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
19. http://www.facebook.com/LucidSurreality

turboswami (2012-02-26 12:16:21)

Speaking of, 4 oclock, my friend. I’m going to hop in the shower quick Thanks for messaging. Trevor
Williams Report · 4:09am indeed. sleep calls. sleep good. mind fried, still frying.. needs cooling
shower well my friend, may you have wonderful relaxing times ahead Kaleb Smith Report · 4:13am
haha. I’ll shower very well. I’m the best showerer in these parts! * looks at crotch * I mean, in this town!

11.3 March

Psychedemia Conference Abstract (2012-03-12 00:39) - public

ABSTRACT

As a community, we are witnessing the Psychedelic Renaissance as it approaches full

bloom – blossoming through the development of modern culture, finding expression in both
academic and popular circles. But, as the members of the leading edge of this expansive
reopening of attention onto the tools and techniques of consciousness exploration, we have
special responsibilities. Our choices at this delicate juncture will define the future of the
entheogen, and its place in Western society. In what ways can we avoid those same pitfalls
which doomed the first Consciousness Expansion movement of the 60s? How can we establish
and maintain the sense of respect, reverence, and awe for the Transpersonal experience, all
of which it not only deserves, but requires if it is to grant us access to our highest potential, as
individuals and as a species.

Throughout this talk, I would like to frame one of several potential futures for academic
psychedelia, focusing primarily on clinical training in the psychotherapeutic use of the
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entheogen and the empathgen, with an overview of relevant and proposed research. The
guidelines for psychedelic therapy developed by Jim Fadiman, and the formal diagnostic crite-
ria for spiritual emergence developed by Grof and Lukoff, have provided a solid groundwork
for a formal clinical approach to entheogenic healing. Yet, in many ways, the Western medical
paradigm alone is inadequate, unable to account for the full range of sensitivity afforded by
the psychedelic. Cultures much older than our own, Eastern meditative, and shamanic, can
each help supplement the gaps in our understanding of the subtle and spiritual facets of our
consciousness.

The community we are all part of, the subculture we represent, is unique in that is not
necessarily defined by a specific location or religious affiliation, but rather a state-of-
consciousness. Or, to put it another way, we are unified by a location, not a physical location,
but an inner location along the spectrum of consciousness – a bandwidth of higher frequency
we have each crossed over into and which changed us in some way, changed our perspective
of our self or our relationship with the world, and left us with what we learned and a lifetime
to appreciate it.

turboswami (2012-03-12 11:18:07)

KALEB SMITH - BIO Kaleb Smith was born deep in the woods of Northern Michigan’s Upper Peninsula,
in the town of Ishpeming – "ishpiming" being an Ojibwa word meaning "the higher plane." His grand-
mother’s grandmother was a shaman and healer in the forests of Finland; in the solitude of the Great
Northern forest, he gradually grew to know these aspects of his lineage more intimately, as they came
to express themselves in his experience and personality. Attaining a Masters degree in Transpersonal
psychology, with hopes of coming to rationalize and understand a set of spiritual experiences which
defined his development, Kaleb specialized in psychological research and education, with special
focus on schizophrenia, shamanism, brainwave entrainment, as well as the perceptual anomalies of
hypnagogic and psychedelic states of consciousness. His work at Stanford’s Psychophysiology lab was
concerned with the study of emotional regulation and introduced him to the strengths and weaknesses
of an event-related potential (ERP) based research designs.

Metaphor for Hyperdimensionality (2012-03-12 03:15) - public

What’s the set of legitimate phenomena which we can extract from the psychedelic and
spiritual traditions of the world and apply to the establishment of a groundwork of safe and
scientifically-informed assumptions?

Range. What is range as it pertains to dimensionality?

4th dimensional object, a square shown to exist within a square, is merely one of an in-
finite set of objects, but which demonstrate an extension beyond our range of experience. The
inner square existing within the surface of the outer actually can extend, in theory, beyond
that surface – and, in thinking in terms of the grid containing the points of this object, it does.

A metaphor I prefer to use is that of a grid of streets – North/South crossing East/West,

as streets tend to do. With this grid, we have a set of defined intersection points which help
us to map things and locations. Let’s say we have the corner of Pine Street and Main Street,
and that is where we usually spend our time. Yet if, at that corner, there were to be built a 10
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story building, with a 4 level subterranean parking garage beneath, we would sudden have
a new range of experience available to us, both above and below that grid, at the location
of Pine and Main. That is to say, we could suddenly dip "beneath" that grid, and see whole
levels of existence hidden from the sidewalk. Or, we could ascend upwards, to higher levels
of existence – each level, or "floor," existing totally separate from the outdoor or "external"
world we’d come to know so well. So, very much like our hyperdimensional cube, within the
"square" defined by the grid at Pine and Main exists another "square" and grid, one which
allows access to "up" and "down" along an inward expanse. Knowing that all this is available,
our only task is to learn how to operate the elevator! Let’s start exploring these other floors!

Eh, sorry. It all sounds too proud.

I mean to work towards something, yet I am so often reminded it is the something which
wishes to work through me, towards my highest potential. It’s this peak of identity these great
somethings, these friends and relatives who love me, wish to share and celebrate with me.
These are reminders to drop the act and remember that this isn’t all about me – this life isn’t
JUST mine, and that my true Identity is something not bound within this quickly-weathering
bag of skin, but is a window allowing light through, from wherever it may come.

"Get out of the way, you are blocking my light! I’m trying to work here!" ;)

Light is not simply a metaphor for consciousness; in my mind, it is a literal carrier of

conscious stimulus, the waveforms of radiant frequency of which our experience is composed.
These physical laws govern our sense experience of the visible spectrum, yes, but that is
no reason for us to assume the are bound TO the visible spectrum. Rather, we must use
our knowledge of the mechanics of light and the visible to better understand the non-visible
aspects of conscious life, those ranges of electromagnetic energy which extend above and
below that narrow visible bandwidth. The full spectrum of light includes ranges radiant beauty
the likes of which of ol’ ROY G. BIV could only imagine.

Taming attention, gradually loosening the neurotic knots that tangle over time in our
thought and behavior, is the main benefit of meditative practice, as best I can tell. Attention,
when broadened, calmed, and focused, is a resource with no known limits. So much of
mental illness is born first in these unpleasantly tight little "cyclical" thought patterns; habits,
obsessions, addictions - each a tense, restraining obstruction, much like a knot. If this set of...

(2012-03-12 23:11) - public

The inner edge is curled in a snarl, an itching agitation beneath the skin.
I want to tear out of myself, I cannot stand this body or its place,
or these people and annoyances that surround, aflame with restraints.
This spirit is untamed rage, I feel it’s hot red surface in my blood.
I cant sit still, my head turns to either side in bed.
Any sustenance, if I could sustain even just a moment,
but the thoughts never submit, not for a second.
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Dear I Ching, (2012-03-28 04:19) - public

What will happen if I move to the isolate cabin in Washington?

ANSWER:
Cast Hexagram:
43 - Forty-Three

Kuai / Breakthrough
A Deluge from Heaven:
The Superior Person rains fortune upon those in need, then moves on with no thought of the
good he does.

The issue must be raised before an impartial authority.

Be sincere and earnest, despite the danger.
Do not try to force the outcome, but seek support where needed.
Set a clear goal.

11.4 April

Social Order As Evolutionary Progression: The Ascension of Natural Selection

(2012-04-06 23:25) - public

Social order can be thought of as the organizing principles governing civilization’s development
and, to facilitate that development adequately, must serve as a framework whose complexity
matches that of society’s expansion. Yet, ideally, the ordered frame does not merely provide
structure for society’s current level of development. A good frame, by its very design, guides
the direction and form of that development, to ensure that order is maintained and managed
given the changes to follow. This is a systemic understanding of civilization, yes, but a natural
system, in so far as we define organic life by its use of organs. Organizational structures,
ordered and divided into specific cell types whose social roles are defined by their very physical
development. Yes, I use the word “social” to describe the relationship between the various
cells of our body – and what better word could be used to describe the transmission of sensory
information between neurons, for instance. These cells are living things interacting within a
complex network – a civilization with an incredible degree of social order. And, if we were to
generalize the structures and functions seen in our own body, we would have a blueprint for a
sophisticated and elegant social system; the most complex nature has yet devised.
“Know thyself.”
The intention to truly know one’s self is the deepest we can aim to know. And it could be
said that understanding identity is a goal which has no end, as there will always be a further
layer, of time, ego, or causality, left to uncover. In physicality, however, we have the body
and material science has come to know this aspect of self extensively. The function of organs,
their composition, development, and maintenance, is now understood by medical science to a
degree of meticulous detail.
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Uncle Alan (2012-04-06 23:33) - public

The tide has come in and I try to imagine the consciousness of a duck, diving to the bottom
of the water, searching for food in the mud, and then popping back up to the surface. I watch
a small black and white duck do this and the seemingly self-conscious way he quickly turns
his head to the other ducks right after surfacing, as if to be ever aware of the group in refer-
ence to himself. There must be a thought there, however simple; some universal concept like
loneliness/togetherness, or competition.
5 days at this cabin, mostly alone save for Stet. He is like me, but more like my Uncle Alan.
When talking to him, you can sense the gnawing tension in his gut, the urge to get away and
escape to safety. Uncle Alan lived far away from civilization, too, on one of those long roads
that’s barely a road anymore. We would go to Uncle Alan’s and Aunty Sue’s for Thanksgiving,
almost an hour drive into the woods from our house, which was already so far from town. No
children, I think he was sterile, so it was just the two of them, Sue and Alan, out there in all
that quiet nothing.
Walking in there for Thanksgiving, even as a child, there was a sense of it being his dominion,
his space. He had hunting beagles and a machine for pressing his own shotgun shells in the
basement, by the pool table. He ruled over that place, and everything in it. He was a cruel
and angry king, so they say, and mistreated Aunty Sue in maligned ways.
My dad tells a story of bringing mom out muddin in his truck once, on the backroads there in
the deep woods behind Gwinn. Just a 12 pack and the two of them, enjoying the summer and
the trees. The truck broke down somewhere far back, in the middle of nowhere, and so they
had to start walking. My parents walked for over 4 hours until the reached Uncle Alan and Aunt
Sue’s place. It was past 1 am by that point. They knocked and yelled, but there was no answer.
Dad pounded on the door hard, but nobody came down. He cupped his mouth and yelled up to
their bedroom for help, but the light never came on. They were in there, he knew it, but Alan
firmly told Sue to stay in bed, to not answer the door. And so, with bleeding blistered wet feet,
my parents kept walking…

In-To-Body Experience (IBE) (2012-04-30 02:44) - public

Why, yes, I am definitely a believer.

I believe it’s dark, I believe in America…
I believe America has grown to be dark.
Why, yes.
Why?
Yes.
The fortunes of undersea kings,
hidden neath frothy waves and wrapped in delicate coral,
are the treasures of lonely men who turned their back to the land
and everything they once loved
which did not love them back.
They became foreigners in distant lands of the mind,
Whole inward worlds opened before them, exotic and strange.
And they attracted attention, these foreigners who could walk between worlds,
Those who travelled far from physicality, but still had a body there.
They, shamans, half alive and half dead,
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who could fly through the skies
and learned the art of leaving their body.
To test them and their abilities, great shapes, insects and animals, were drawn in huge scale
with rocks. The Nazca lines of Peru.

[1]
May the windows hidden in the night swing open with my late and genuine prayer, And the
sweet blue white light of her visit shower my heart with the indescribable warmth of her know-
ing, the realm she descended from to see me, or rather, so that I could finally see her, who has
watched with pure radiant love, and heard my call, if only because of its persistence, and the
depths of its insistence.
Purity is needed. It is the path drawn to that blue white place, a place of clean clarity and pure
seeing The distance of vision afforded to the air and its higher plane composed of a finer density.
If, perhaps a lapse or staff axis could rise or tumble, a lesser one as us could climb or descend
in a mastered state of pre-sleep. Awake we can descend through ranges of consciousness and
beneath the range to which our physical body is devoted, there, where it is as if buoyant. In
doing so, the subtle frequency interactions between our nonphysical self and our physical self
reveal themselves via energetic rules which we can observe between other mediums, those of
matter. Specifically, for instance, the documented convulsive state of the research subject’s
body as she leaves physical body and begins her out of body state.
This convulsive outburst is the observable manifestation of an energetic interaction, the phase
of the residual self gradually losing sync with the physical self, creating “noise” during the
transitory shift towards “unlocking.” The sensation of this separation period is dependent on
it’s speed, how fast the transition occurs cleanly. But this phase “noise” period, as one would
expect, sounds like noise – white noise, building to a crescendo and releasing. It can occur as
quickly as to sound like a gunshot, or builds slowly, sounding almost like a waterfall.
The wolf in sheep’s clothing,
The sheep in wolf’s clothing. When you say sheep, you mean the follower, feeble and timid,
putting on his leather jacket and stumbling somewhere, swagger lost to a tension that can’t
be drowned. Speaking of, a toast to old age! ...where even the most vicious of wolves can
become timid, settled and comfortable, growing feeble trying still to even follow, but he
finds he can’t – and accepts that he can’t, quite run as fast or make those leaps he used to,
in his mind or in his hunt for meat or mate, that one competitive evolutionary male drive,
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in all its forms, both ugly and brilliant, to tower above, to prove his place in the world, his skill...

What skill is THIS? What work is it that can be shown in retreating? What was the purpose of
ascetic retreat? It would define the work of retreat (all the work I’ve never been able to do!
;) The skill of self-restraint, of restriction and the limits placed in self control. This one type
of work, in truth, must be the most difficult of all of the labors men can choose to take onto
themselves to build a trade and a social identity. That instance would be the social identity
defined by its apartness from society.

It seems as if, at some point, some sections of the Transpersonal movement came to
deny their roots, as if to wash their hands of that dirty narcotic, LSD, and all associations
with that psychedelic culture that gave birth to that frame of mind, the Trans-personal,
which could be called a “perspective of height.” The transcending of personhood is what I
wish to write about. The change in self, to which point Identity comes to be seen with a capital I.

I cannot contain the quivering torrents of bliss sometimes, they cause my whole nervous
system to almost clench with the torrents of sensation. I have visited cardiographers to try to
understand these quivering chest sensations, which at some point began to simply represent
states of intense sensitivity, which bombarded my heart, as if something of a presense was
being held in my rib cage and quivered taut intention. I can activate that sensitivity in less
and less dosage, as psychedelics follow an activation curve of reverse-tollerance. I relay
between states of ascension and the vibratory sensation is that of approaching some out of
body state, or in to body state, where presnese enteres the body. Both are subject to the
same rules governing the phenomena of the residual self. Whose subtle energetic signature
can be represented as frequency.
I don’t feel I’ve made the purpose of my retreat clear, either to myself, these women, or the
spirits. The purpose of this retreat from society is clarity. I must cleanse myself of all unhealthy
influence, first, and then to all influence, in time.
Begin with painting a character, an individual born into a certain culture, :America, in the turn
of the century, and in the twelve years that have since followed. The torrents of corruption and
military power awash against the shoresof humanity like the onslaught of radiation bombarding
the shores of the West coast from Fukushima, and the solar radiation bombarding the skies with
blaring electromagnetic intensity.
A whistling sound is heard in the back of my ear. I breath deeply and focus on it, and gradually
it defines a peak which, within it, white noise is heard, much like a waterfall in the distance.
Like so many things, there is no distinct edge, but a gradation, (misspelled as gradiation (gra-
dation of radiation. )) There is a light rain, and I swore I saw something in the window, a head
peak up. I feel chills as weight shifts near the door where I saw it. I feel deep rippling expanse
come through me, oceanic realm which encompassed my whole room, the whole floor being
felt to quake in transmission, wind sensation with deep breath again…
Wow! Whew, who the hell was THAT guy.
Haha. Sorry about all that. I sometimes forget my place
Certain sensitivities attract attention and, if not tended and cleansed with intention and prayer,
can bring negative influence. I say prayer as meaning focused communion with a spiritual
entity, a relationship which, once established, can grow and develop or become abandoned
and be cut, like any other. Prayer, as a practice, is the gradual nightly building of a relationship
with spirit. And, like so many other relationships in my life, even when I have not connected
with them in a while, I know that with good friends, old friends, I can always call on them.
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Why, yes, I am definitely a believer.
1. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3b/Nazca_monkey.jpg

11.5 May

Hypersensitivity and Semantic Priming (2012-05-02 23:35) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _68

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _68

Lets begin with a bit of background into the universal aspect of psychedelic use, histori-
cally, before getting into modeling psychedelic cognition.
EPIC INTRO
"Since the Dawn of Time, Man…has…wanted to get high."
So…
For what reason should science, devoted to understanding man’s past and building the foun-
dation of man’s future, not take into account this universal aspect of human nature?
Moments after taking mushrooms, or smoking marijuana, we feel the cognitive rush, the ten-
drils of branching neuronal activation, the priming of semantic nodes, spreading outwards
across strands of associations in thought. It feels as if this associative phenomena would ex-
tend out into any direction or area of thought we focused on, branching in and spreading out
across the semantic network.
(at this moment, I receive a call. The first call in over 2 weeks. By a somehow not-so-strange
coincidence, it is my dealer. Haha!)
I should have measured latent inhibition and semantic priming using ERPs in the lab. I wonder
if the global program allowsstudents to use the NPL?
BACKGROUND

As humans, some part of us tends to wants to change our state-of-consciousness, at

some point. We are either feeling too slow, and want to speed up with COFFEE…or we’re feel-
ing too fast, or worked up, and want to slow down with beer, or some other depressant. Or, we
want to take a nap, or we want to jump out of an airplane, or we want to eat some mushrooms…

whatever the case, it seems we’re rarely content with our normal, everyday, waking
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state of consciousness and, for either utility or boredom, want to change that ordinary state
to a non-ordinary one, from time to time.
I, for one, think this is quite ok and natural, for the most part. There is evidence we’ve been
doing this for a very long time – perhaps even the WHOLE time, or even before we started
thinking of time. The shaman, the medicine man, may be the ACTUAL first human profession –
it’s really a toss up between that and the prostitute, depending really on what happened first:
Did we get sick or did we get horny?
Eh, its hard to say, (DON’T SAY HARD) but regardless, we’ve been doing this a while. And by
we, I mean ALL of us… There’s evidence of the same set of shamanic activities going on in
ancient China, to Scandinavia, to Peru, to the aborigines in Australia, to the Antarctic, to Africa,
the Middle East and Siberia…
We’ve been doing this all over, and for a very long time. That is, there is a set of central
human experiences which arose in and of themselves, in nearly every culture in the world –
as if the wisest men of every one of those cultures came to the same conclusion, without any
pre-existing knowledge or influence from any one of those other cultures. In instances like that,
it is safe to call it a Universal human experience, some defining aspect of our character which
could be thought to exist beneath culture, in our species, itself.
Experiences of extra-ordinary states of consciousness, however rare, are one of those rare and
precious handful of experiences which could be termed universally human. The differences
between us arise only afterwards, in the rituals, costumes, and stories which individual cultures
decorate that peak human experience with.
…and then we have our culture. Where the ancient tools used to explore higher regions of
spiritual consciousness are banned, and deemed without worth, either medical or otherwise.
Haha. Wow, yea, what can be said about the West other than that we are young – with barely
half a millennia under our belt – and we have a lot left to learn. And perhaps we’ll learn the
hard way that you cannot suppress the knowledge of self… ANYWAY….
PSYCHEDELIC COGNITION
That flood of insight and self-understanding that comes with the psychedelic experience is
usually described as expansive. And I can recall, years ago, the first time that that term
“consciousness expansion,” which I had always considered a clichéd catch phrase from the
60’s..became no longer just a meaningless catch phrase, but a powerful experience, suddenly
filled with personal meaning. Just to think of it – the idea of the whole of our awareness and
understanding of the world….EXPANDING outwards.
It was at that point I wanted, very much, to understand the mechanics of this expansion of
awareness, and describe it as clearly as concisely as I could to the people in my life for whom
the term was still just that same meaningless 60s catch phrase, as it had been for me.
So, I began, first, to think of other descriptions of the experience – those common sayings
and metaphors that, in the last half century, have become established as the main effects of
psychedelic drugs. These subjective experiences became the basis for making sense of what
is actually happening during the ineffable psychedelic peak.
EXPRESSING THE INEFFABLE
Many people, even very “experienced” people, said that this could not be done – that the
expansion of consciousness was “ineffable.” For the record, I feel simply labeling amazing and
transformative experiences “ineffable,” and saying they can’t be put into words, is a cop out.
I mean TRY! Do your damnest to form that peak experience into SOMETHING, some form of
1526
expression. If it cannot be expressed, the experience has no social worth. If not words, how
about an image, a metaphor, a…whatever, a sculpture. To just say “Naw, its ineffable” is just
lazy!
In what way can we take the ineffable and distill it down into an understanding or model of
perception?
So, I tried for years to write about that “flood” of inspiration and ideas that came from the
peak psychedelic experience, and that writing helped solidify some key universals to work
with. In cognitive psychology, I found models of cognition which described aspects of the flood
of inspiration – no model alone covered everything, of course, but each was a perspective
that revealed one facet of the psychedelic experience. With another, so another side of the
experience could be seen and described. From that point, of seeing the many sides of this
thing, I wanted to describe the corners and edges, where those sides meet. In this way, we
can begin to see the thing, as a whole.

(image of 3d shape, like a gemstone, rotating in the dark, with single light source
revealing just one facet of the shape at a time)

When we think of psychedelics like mushrooms, and the DRAMATIC change in consciousness
that they can bring about, we are provided with a range of discrete states; with minor changes,
like our coffee and doughnut consciousness, located close to baseline, and our DMT insectoid
spaceship laboratory consciousness, here, some light years away from baseline. But, at any
rate, the psychedelics help to define a spectrum of these distinct states, all of which are, pre-
sumably, available to us in the right circumstances.
I say presumably, as, if there’s one thing we’ve learned in this territory, it is that no two people
have the same experience and, regardless of the similarity of dosage, the experience induced
tends to be very personalized, with all this interesting state-specific material concerning one’s
ancestry and genetics often coming down the wire that I won’t even begin to get into. Suffice
it to say that you may have an experience which, even with controlling for setting and dosage,
you will never be able to share with your friend – that inward “set” component is a biggie, and
there are many clues pointing to there being a genetic aspect to it.
The branching of semantic hyperpriming is problematic in it’s lack of focus. When thought of
in fluid terms, this could be referred to as semantic “flooding,” oras if a volume of water is
sourced on a land area without incline or “rut” for flow to occur. The area floods instead of
forming inletsand branching out, as rivers do.
stock video footage of river? Imagining 50’s educational film style, river or raising
water of pond, etc.
It has been said that, at any given moment, we have about 10,000 individual bits of information
that we could perceive from our surroundings. Yet, at most, we typically attend to about 500
of those. The rest are filtered away, and ignored – seen here as held back from even flowing
through the dam of Latent Inhibition.
Yet, when we take a psychedelic, latent inhibition lowers, allowing, instead of 500 bits, per-
haps as much as 1500 or 2000 of those bits of information from our environment through, to
be perceived and learned. This is like a flood of sensation, suddenly flowing inwards. What’s
more, it can be focused – wherever you direct your attention decides the content of that sud-
denly opened inlet of new information. Focusing attention inwards, in meditation for instance,
similarly reveals whole layers of selfhood typically not available for us to see. Much of the
therapeutic benefit of psychedelics is in that deeper understanding of self and identity.
1527
My thought, and the main point of my paper, is that this flood of heightened attention, the
lowered LI on one side, and the flooding of novel semantic associations, the expansive river-like
branches of hyper priming, are two phenomena which are connected. By thinking of attention
in these fluid terms, we can easily see how the inner is a reflection of the outer – and so when
you have more of the outer flowing in, you have more of the inner representation of it branching
out.
Very powerful understandings and realizations can form when this hyperpriming phenomenon
is focused, something which requires an equally expansive resource of working memory and
intelligence.
If we think of the doors of perception as a dam, latent inhibition paradigm would concern
everything on the outside of the dam, including its opening. The semantic network would
concern everything on the inner side of the dam, including the priming phenomenon.
But, if we think of priming using this fluid metaphor, and LI as the dam for that fluid, what IS
the fluid being held back and branching out? I’d like to think of it as attention, and the length of
associative strands one can maintain, that is the length of semantic branching possible, being a
measure dependent on the capacity of one’s attention span. (Quote introduction of “Attention,”
explaining the interpretation as attention being, not what is ignored, but the volume of the inlet
of information NOT ignored.)
As it is, the word “priming” already suggests a fluid model, that of a pipe and the idea of priming
the pump, the get the water from the well or source up to the spicket, where it would flow
immediately, once primed. This was an appropriate metaphor, given the priming phenomena
and the timings arriving from those semantic information experiments. But the phenomena of
waterways is more inclusive of the whole of the priming paradigm, both the experimental and
the theoretical sides, in that, like the concept of a pipe, a river also brings water and makes it
available a great distance from its source – but, a river also accounts for the natural system
of branching. From above, the expanse of rivers into streams and tributaries is, in all shapes
and appearances, identical to that of arteries branching into blood vessels and capillaries, or
nerves branching and spreading. Flow is central to all of these systems, and all are naturally
developing, unlike the metal pipes of the plumbing under our sink.
(USE ALAN WATTS QUOTE, DESCRIBING ATTENTION AS A FLASHLIGHT OF CONSCIOUSNESS)
The early psychedelic writing of Alan Watts has been a source of great inspiration to me, over
the years. This quote here from “The Book: On The Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are.,” his
declared psychedelic text, “The Joyous Cosmology: Adventures In The Chemistry of Conscious-
ness” has a poetic simplicity and playful freedom to its writing that I felt Huxley could never
allow himself in “The Doors of Perception.” For that reason, Joyous is a much more enjoyable
read for me. Get both!
Writing using large quotes and then expanding/discussing is like a return to the revered text
w/ comments system used in the wisdom traditions. Each commenter forms a “step” of ascent
and development onto the original of, say, The Art of War.
The selfishness of unique perspective is often viewed as a blemish “standing out” from the
uniformity of popular belief. That it is, in many ways, similarly inflamed – the writer discon-
tent with the current system, or with society in general. I think immediately of the miserly
negativity of Nietzsche , the sharp clarity of his insightful gripes. But, often new opinions can
be born of truly positive insights, the main clear and healthy understandings granted from
psychedelic inspiration, for instance, which led to those social changes and developments of
the Consciousness Expansion Movement beyond the restrictions of previous social conventions
of the 50s.
1528
TART:
An example of the ready creation of meaning is a test we used in the laboratory to decide
whether a subject had sufficiently recovered from the psychedelic drug effects to be allowed
to go home on his own. Keeler had taken a number of ordinary proverbs, split them in half, and
randomly mixed the beginnings and endings. To evaluate whether a subject would be allowed
to go home, he would be asked something like: "Do you under- stand that birds of a feather
gather no moss?" If he understood, he was not ready to leave the laboratory. The capacity
of the mind to read meaning into random collections of stimuli is indeed extraordinary. Even
today I suspect that that particular proverb could be quite meaningful in certain circumstances.
One of the most important professional benefits of becoming sensitized to this hyper-creative
faculty of the mind is a certain caution about feelings of insight. I know how much I enjoy such
feelings, but I also know that their intensity does not guarantee their applicability and validity
in any particular situation.
When the flood of semantic priming occurs, does it create a “pond” or a “river?”
That is, does it simply gather static into a single spot, collecting near the source? Or does it
flow outwards, branching and expanding old ruts? In nature, the collecting or expanding of
water is decided by gravity, and the stream, flowing down the mountain, or the lake, collecting
in a valley. What is the equivalent cognitive faculty, if water is equated to attention in our
metaphor? I say the force, which decides the direction of associative “strands” in the semantic
network, is focus; the area one directs their attention. If the hyperpriming state is NOT directed,
it simply saturates outwards in all directions from the hyperprimed node.
When we think deeply of a concept while in the hyperpriming state, we begin to “branch out”
from that location, extending association across the semantic network, connecting one node
to another, to another, down the line. Many nodes, close together, are connected often. Yet,
when the flood of attention from the hyperpriming state hits those old dry “ruts” of association
between those ideas, they fill them fast, and extend them out to finer ruts, capillary river beds
which have, perhaps, been dry for a long time. And, further yet, the flood of water pushes the
furthest reaches of even these river branches, cutting streams into new territory, connecting
conceptual areas which have never before been branched into one-another. Based on the state
of attention, this hyper-associative state can continue, until, like in psychedelic cognition, we
are fully aware of the fact that “everything is connected!”
“All is one.” to use the cliché – although, for the record, it was a cliché among the Hindu mystics
first. It only caught on with the hippies millennia later, when they too started thinking in terms
of that scale.
Cognitively, I can recall being able to literally see this scale of perspective as a sort of “map” of
my inner world, and suddenly being granted a perspective of great height. Where, in moments
of marijuana association, I had been able to see new connections between concepts, and, at
that time, could be localized into categories, like say “social self,” “women,” “private self,”
“emotion,” “family,” “sexuality,” “society,” “other,” “friendship,” “animals” etc…
[create video of expanding outwards from street view to globe view]
(Consider using worldwide map of electrical grid to represent SN)
CATCH PHRASES / CATCH SYMPTOMS
This hyperpriming state, present in both thought disordered schizophrenia and psychedelic cog-
nition, helps give a tangible representation for popular catch phrases like “far out” or “high.”
Someone who is “far out” describes ideas that are “far out” from one-another, semantic nodes
1529
strung together with associations that span great inward distance. These associatons, them-
selves, imply cognition which has taken place in a certain state-of-consciousness – they imply
the individual has explored perspectives of great height.
Likewise these same thought associations can be labeled pathological with just a change in
wording: “loose associations” or tangential thinking both describe the same hyperpriming
state, yet are key symptoms of thought disordered schizophrenia. Yet, the sharing of a height-
ened state of attention does not necessarily support the psychotomimetic theory. It need only
imply that the hyperpriming state is a sharp and double-edged sword which, like any tool, can
be dangerous if not handled with focus and intention.
[QUOTE CAMPBELL “Shaman and Schizophrenic”]
The highest perspective I’d been granted of each of those concepts defined the extent of its
semantic network, the furthest association outward from that node. Marijuana had helped me
to understand greater aspects of self, ego, society, and emotion, for instance. Yet, when I
was given LSD for the first time, I can vividly recall seeing these distinct areas of semantic
association and personal understanding, all at once, as small isolate islands, limited by my
previous perspective. That is, I’d only ever had small local maps of individual countries. For
the first time, I was given a view of the world,. For the first time, I could see the lay of the
land, and how each of those isolate islands of understanding were, actually, connected to one
another. I watched the inroads and branching associations gradually connected my self to my
society, I became my friends, my family, my lovers, in a very real sense, my identity expanded
to encompass all I’d ever known or shared. This is the benefit of a perspective of height, it
allows you to see your life, place, and direction as a map, and see what is coming up, where
you’ve been, the bends and curves in the trail, the full breadth of the inwards expanse, and its
differing terrains and distinct territories. And, all at once, the way we’ve separated the world
into things, and the way we’ve separated our self from the world, seems quite superficial and
short-sighted, as the grander scheme of things rises into awareness. And, all at once, you can
laugh heartily at yourself, that unfortunate grounded ant clutching terrified so far down there,
and find the transcendent joy where you once had convinced yourself you were trapped and
limited to sadness.
–
Disciplined and reverent use of psychedelics – two things which a great cross section of the
youth culture are not interested in given them. At all. It’s a lot of work. Meditation and focus.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2668%26%26%26youtube%26
IkMZWgJKTHE%3Aa680a30f705803669bf3f077510f1bec856cd2eb
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2668%26%26%26youtube%26
IkMZWgJKTHE%3Aa680a30f705803669bf3f077510f1bec856cd2eb

all_this_beauty (2012-05-15 15:03:17)

I have thoroughly enjoyed your entries. This part really stuck with me; "...we can easily see how the
inner is a reflection of the outer –and so when you have more of the outer flowing in, you have more
of the inner representation of it branching out" I am actually about to embark on a journey myself. I’m
thankfyl to have stumbled upin this. I justt

turboswami (2012-05-18 09:43:27)

Thank you! I hope you liked the video. I think it explains better than my words can. Good luck on
your journey. Let me know what you find!

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Latent Inhibition Says... (2012-05-07 00:36) - public

Latent Inhibition (LI) describes the perceptual capacity to filter stimuli previously experienced
as irrelevant from our conscious awareness. This ability to screen away environmental
stimuli previously experienced as redundant helps us to focus our attention on only the most
immediately relevant aspects of our surroundings. The failure of this perceptual filter has
been shown in both schizophrenia (Lubow, 1995) and the use of psychoactive substances, like
psilocybin (Spitzer, 1996) or marijuana. (cite)

Could a change in a neuron’s threshold be used to describe different levels of latent in-
hibition? Or priming?

If threshold level is dynamic, and changes with increased action potential firing frequency,
this would mimic what is described theoretically as the priming effect. This threshold could be
called the “sensitivity” of the neuron to synaptic transmission and, I am curious, if the neuron’s
weighted cell membrane is fixed, between individual neuron types and individual person types.

Typically, the weight of the synapses is seen as the deciding factor in the firing of an ac-
tion potential, but if threshold were to be low, less synaptic transmission would be required
for depolarization of the cell.

Remmy says “Fuck you all” and I leave Remmy to his or her self, in the virtual room. I
should know better, again and again, I should know better. That is to say, I do know better,
so much better. Brilliant radiance I have known personally and we collaborated on a project
for my life. I know better than violence for humor on a Sunday night. I know better than
mired negativity and the desperation of entertainment. I know better, and I strain so needily
to know that we all do, somewhere deep and genuine. Please, know me there with this long
truth we can breath together. I am so much searching for a self I knew once, who could live in
this deeper place and still maintain to walk to town. What happened, Decade, to my ability to
love fully and with self-abandon?

Hide my ears up into a curling cochlear cubby, and there I will listen to the things going
on upstairs. I calm my heart along a long thin wire, a surface resonating within that wire like
a corner window. I’ll take my own pulse there, and ride it inward across the realm of that flat
line. Taste and touch exist represented in-fluence, whose waves give only rare indication of
what lives beneath them. Tomb me here is nothing to be seen, to me there is a new world to
be lived. And we will all someday dissolve into that surface of dreams.

Consistency breaks away in steps outward from an intention. I’ll close my eyes to see
the shape of the pattern, a transient waveform whose amplitude is defined by the degree of
my effort. And so my intention can fill a room, if only for the intensity and dedication of my
choosing. Lay claim, Claimed laying about for a lifetime A guilty claim, negated only if by
the radiant bursting of my heart from its cage. Ecstasy, back arched for release, the tension
gripping my chest and surging neath skin for expression. Boil through the distractions until
breath is realized. Hear the resonance of a long calm exhale, and let that resonant tone ra-
diate pure through the whole spinal column. Spread your arms wide, to let the whole self open.

Woman, do you want to play strong or do you want to play victim? You cannot be both
roles and remain convincing. You are a woman. Beneath all that empowerment, you wait for
me to come and pick you up and carry you across the threshold. There is no threshold without
1531
that duality of within and without. You must be carried as you once carried me, in the birth of
my closed eyes, before I was opened. Please let me lead and prove myself to you, please let
me win all I want to give you. I love you so much when I can wrap you up and keep you safe
in the warmth of my chest, as if I open up my ribcage to let you curl up warm inside me to sleep.

Uh! It aches….

Attachment, to something beyond a person…attachment to a line of a thousand women

who I have held, her ear cradled against my heart. What worth is that? If to be thrown away so
many times? What worth was all of that, to give so openly and have cut away? The aching of a
long memory extending back through a thousand men I have been, and a thousand daughters
and wives, lovers, mothers… Who could not ache with arms outstretched for them all?

The screenplay for this scene has me writhing in a bed, unbuttoning my shirt as if grop-
ing to let my spine out. I scrape the meat of my palms and fingers against my neck, feeling
the raw edge of my nerves within. I was neglected... [censored]

A forest wall grows upended cartoonish protrusions, square ended, like fat table legs ris-
ing up to see the sun’s rays. I’ll sprout as many, like tentacles, and let them turn darker tones
as they squirm and squire, conspiring to impregnate a meaty purple-red-pink vessel. Fleshy
bottoms pursed like a peaches soft lip. Phallic octopus of the forest, come down from your
tree and know your place! God, Jesus, get tangled in sprouts like celery purple rhubarb stalks
spreading open from inside the vampire’s tent.

[Macro photography of purple green blue dinosaur kale.]

Oxygen, accelerant medium, you age us against a rainbow of nutrient protectants Splay
a fractal crystal spires freeze into place like conical braids raised from our hair. I know now
those silvery edges of wisdom older than this body.

An aging captain caves into himself in spasming jerks and stuttered seizure echoes. I’ll
take his place, not quite the same. A fat purple bulge, like a belly behind a plyester flap. Silk
flap. Paisley inlays of embroidering the cushions of the royal seat. This image mocks me.

The Ego Garden (2012-05-18 02:41) - public

RHYTHM OF HEALTH

Daily routine is the key to health and clarity of mind and intention. It allows for the
gradual development of a biological rhythm for all the activities of our life, and the alignment
of those activities with our natural circadian rhythm. The regular and balanced cycling of our
circadian rhythm is the wellspring of our mood and level of energy and, when it becomes
irregular or fluctuates out of steady predictable rhythm, all aspects of our life suffer. Mood and
energy level are the basis of our place and view in the world and, when they lose regularity,
our perspective and all our activities and expression begin to wilt and lose potency, as if like a
plant not being regularly tended.

1532
TENDING TO OUR GARDEN

We forget that WE are a living thing, that the basic rules we know of caring for living
things apply to ourselves, as much as to a plant in our garden. In this way, the skills of
gardening can, perhaps, teach us more about the practices that lead to our well being than
any branch or theory of psychology. Our behavior has the potential to bear fruit, but also to
be overrun with weeds, strangling our lifeblood. Regular rows of plants are like daily habits,
the seeds sown by our behavior which develop across the season of our life. There are so
many factors that lead to a healthy beautiful crop of plants, and I believe each one can find
some reflection in the development of a person.

Sun and soil, nutrients and exposure to the radiant source of all life, are needs we share with
plants in a very literal way, no metaphor needed. But when we extend these needs we have
from our environment to the non-physical, the psychic aspect of our being, we are given a
special perspective by the directly observable health of plants, and the subtle variance of
minute factors (soil pH, humidity, climate preference, cO2 levels) which must be taken into
account by a skilled gardener if he wants his given temperamental strain to thrive. Many of
these same aspects of self-care are, perhaps, lost to the blind spot we tend to have when
1533
attempting to observe and understand our own behavior. This is as true on a cultural level as
it is on an individual level; the blind spot prevents us from seeing ourselves as we truly are*
as a tree, itself, can never see the forest through the trees.

THE GENETICS OF CLIMATIC PREFERENCE AND GROWTH

Think of how, when you take seeds and “immigrate” them from a tropical land to a harsher
Northern climate, they do not thrive as well, if at all. Their genetics developed in the soil of
their home, and that environment. Suddenly pulling those genetics from their unseen “roots”
in that soil and dropping them into a dramatically different ecosystem can cripple their devel-
opment. Yet, as a species, these simple truths about living things evade our understanding
when looking in the mirror. Immigration, as a cultural phenomenon, is not thought of in these
genetic terms. Yet our common sense tells us the character of our environment has enormous
influence over our growth and ability to “bear fruit.” To imagine taking a newborn baby from
the depths of Northern Siberia, and dropping him into a family in the heart of Jamaica. We can
see how, regardless of how much that family cared, loved and nurtured that baby, difficulties
would quickly arise in the development of that infant whose genetics are rooted in a different
land, with a drastically different climate and culture.

*Science’s egocentric tendency to separate Man from Nature, as if we are somehow di-
vided from the ecosystem we inhabit.

In my own family, which shares a similar Nordic lineage to that of our Siberian infant, it
was always by my dad that “our blood is too thick for that Southern heat.” That, imagining it
something like oil in a car, our blood is heavy – not that “summer weight” oil that performs
so well in those hot temperatures. This was a truth I experienced in years experimenting with
living in dramatically hotter climates of the Southern hemisphere, like my years in Southern
China, for instance. I found myself simply unable to function in the glaring heat of that region,
my pale Scandinavian skin quickly burning under beads of excessive sweat. And, in that
desperate state of exasperation, boiling in an area of the country traditionally called The
Furnace, I was constantly surprised and embarrassed to find the people around me content
and productive in the same heat, seemingly unphased, without a drop of sweat or hint of
burn. Being born in that same climate their ancestors were born, and developing in that same
land their lineage is rooted in, those people observably thrived. I honestly longed for the cold.
It felt, at times, that I would simply drop dead if not for my air conditioner, which I quickly
learned I could not stray far from. I joked the AC a sort of expensive life support system for fat
Americans. Haha.

But, in truth, I was the fittest I’d been in a decade, and yet my body still responded so
strongly to the climate, inhibiting my ability to think clearly or work efficiently. After just a
short time in the country, my health began to fail and I was hospitalized for immune system
complications. It, of course, cannot be said for certain, but I believe my body would not have
undergone such a negative response had I stayed in the cold Northerly climate I was born
in, and flew out for Southern China from. Of the many dramatic changes to my environment
that occurred with that move, I believe climate was the most detrimental to my personal
well-being. Our theoretical Siberian baby, carried like a seed an unnaturally large distance
from home, would surely experience complications similar to mine. Our intuition tells us that,
anything that stresses the mother, will also stress her infant. A hot, sweaty, feverish mother,
a Siberian in Jamaica, will share her irritation with her baby – a transference whose incredibly
1534
subtlety we are only beginning to understand, in the levels of the stress hormone, cortisol,
and influences in breast milk, for instance.

Yet, we rarely acknowledge this influence of climate on our development, as immigra-

tion, itself, in the grand scheme of our species, is a relatively new phenomenon. For the
most part, oceans and great distance have limited our ability to see and settle in lands
dramatically different from those of our ancestors. While sailors have existed for millennia,
their explorations were exceptionally rare and dangerous. To cross the Atlantic ocean, lets be
honest, is no small feat, nor is traveling from Siberia to a Southern hemispheric ecosystem by
foot.

The technology of travel has taken what were great and rare feats of human kind and
made them commonplace. Everyday people travel distances which would, for our ancestors,
may have taken a lifetime. For me to leave my home with intention on arriving on the other
side of the Earth, in China, during any other phase of our species’ history would have been,
essentially, a decision of the goal of my life, or suicide, based on how many millennia BC it was.

RETURN TO THE GARDEN

So, the garden metaphor we drew for understanding human development gives us a
perspective on the importance of periodicity and climate to our wellbeing. But these are
just two examples of the many considerations of a skilled gardener; the choices he makes in
planting and nurturing a crop towards a plentiful harvest.

EXPLORING THE GARDEN METAPHOR:

Techniques of Promoting Growth

- Choice of Strains (Marketability, Soil, Climate-Specific Considerations)

- Light Cycle (Indoor/Outdoor)
- pH Acid/Base
- Additional outside nutrients / supplementation
- Creating “Challenge” / Wind to Strengthen Stalks.
- Artificial Lighting
- Fertilization / Co2 Supplementation
- Co-Habitation of Different Strains
- Perishability of Fruit Product
- Heartiness / Sensitivity of Strain
- Pruning / Directing Excess Growth
- Efficient Harvest Technique
- Sale / Distribution of Fruit Product

And the advanced gardeners, perhaps after many generations, begin to learn the art of
cross-pollinating or hybridizing different species to create new strains.

- Strain-specific traits isolated (phenotypes)

- Other beneficial traits and strains isolated, nurtured.
- Ideally, the hybrid species accents these positive genes while minimizing those less- benefi-
cial genes.

Additionally, the metaphor could be extended beyond cultivation, to include:

1535
- the preparation of the fruit of these harvested plants
- the culture which develops out from the advent of agriculture,
- the different markets and distributed roles which arise within a successful agricultural system

Admittedly, these higher level aspects of our metaphor can become challenging to en-
compass within a conception of personal well being, but that difficulty does not necessarily
invalidate the metaphor. The relationship between plants and animals is an ancient and
complex one, and it is my personal experience that, although subtle and infrequent by our
standards, we, too, are “tended,” in a sense, by the intentions of wise and forward-thinking
entities, “gardeners” of a finer density of conscious experience. This, for me, is not a belief
system but a factual, however exceptional, aspect of my life experience. So, given that I
accept as truth the rare privilege of having interacted with these “tending” personalities, my
experience of their influence is open to be analyzed and rationalized, scientifically, as any
other observable aspect of natural human experience. The rarity of an experience does not
exclude it from the reach of scientific inquiry, it only limits the availability of that data we
intend to study.

erauqs (2012-05-18 23:18:55)

Excellent reading. Thanks for sharing, we’d done some thinking about the gardening analogy as well,
but spun off in different direction, this ties in well though...

Quotes From "Demian" by Hermann Hesse (2012-05-28 12:39) - public

But where we have given of our love and respect not from habit but of our own free will, where
we have been disciples and friends out of our inmost hearts, it is a bitter and horrible moment
when we suddenly recognize that the current within us wants to pull us away from what is
dearest to us.
Someone who seeks nothing but his own fate no longer has any companions,
"One never reaches home," she said. "But where paths (hat have affinity for each other inter-
sect the whole world looks like home, for a time."
with prodigious efforts mighty new weapons had been created for man- kind but the end was
flagrant, deep desolation of the
spirit. Europe had conquered .the whole world only to lose her own soul.
That is why we are marked—as Cain was—to arouse fear and hatred and drive men out of a
confining idyl into more dangerous reaches.
"Love must not entreat," she added, "or demand. Love must have the strength to become
certain within itself. Then it ceases merely to be attracted and begins to attract. Sinclair, your
love is attracted to me. Once it begins
to attract me, I will come. I will not make a gift of myself, I must be won."
Another time she told me a different story, concerning a lover whose love was unrequited. He
withdrew completely within himself, believing his love would consume him. The world became
lost to him, he no longer noticed
blue sky and green woods, he no longer heard the brook
1536
murmur; his ears had turned deaf to the notes of the harp:
nothing mattered any more; he had become poor and wretched- Yet his love increased and he
would rather have died or been ruined than renounce possessing this beautiful woman. Then he
felt that his passion had consumed everything else within him and become so strong, so mag-
netic that the beautiful woman must follow. She came to him and he stood with outstretched
arms ready to draw her to him. As she stood before him she was completely trans- formed and
with awe he felt and saw that he had won back all he had previously lost. She stood before
him and surrendered herself to him and sky, forest, and brook all came toward him in new and
resplendent colors, belonged to him, and spoke to him in his own language. And instead of
merely winning a woman he embraced the entire world and every star in heaven glowed within
him and sparkled with joy in his soul. He had loved and had found himself- But most people
love to lose themselves.

Quotes from "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath (2012-05-28 12:40) - public

The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.
Whew, that’s a relief, now we can stop pretending to be ourselves
I feigned sleep until my mother left for school, but even my eyelids didn’t shut out the light.
They hung the raw, red screen of their tiny vessels in front of me like a wound.
They understood things of the spirit in Japan.
They disemboweled themselves when anything went wrong.

The Black Money I Couldn’t Get Back (2012-05-28 12:42) - public

At Negativland’s apartment with some girls, there is a performance in session. One of the
members, Mark, decides to unspool a friend’s film onto the stage, allowing the light to damage
the film in a creative way. He then loaded this light damaged film into a projector, and began
to play it. His friend appeared shadowy and mysterious, with a ragged naked complexion, but
could not make an interesting film, sadly.
There were several others surrounding at this little performance party, the Upper Class of
Oakland’s art scene, many people who I secretly wanted to impress. Such an unhealthy impulse
of mine, but networking has never come naturally to me. A girl on the couch turned to me, and
asked me for "little helpers," it was exam week and etc. I immediately became uncomfortable,
as Negativland turned to watch her give me money, and I said I had to go get them, and then
I could come back…?
At that point, Mark announced the night was over, as if in response to the idea of me dealing
drugs in his home. Yet, even as I left, a chubby man approached me with a handful of big bills
and started counting them off, with the exam girl in attendance. "How many can I get? 80,
100, 120… here, just take it all and bring back what you can."
He handed me a big stack of money, and my eyes lit up. I immediately nodded and left for the
door, hearing him lightly berate her for how expensive she is.
1537
I arrived to my dorm room, two buildings over and up a floor, and started to count the money,
to work out how much to give him. We hadn’t even talked about the price, he just quickly
handed me a large sum of money and I left. It looked like a deep stack of 20s at first, but once
I got up over 200, there were ones and fives crumpled up in the mix and it threw off my count.
I tried to mute the music on my laptop to concentrate, but the mute button seemed, now, to
only drop this obnoxious music down to half volume, which still seemed really loud.

Attempting to recount, I found several 100 dollar bills crammed into his bill fold, as well as
several syringes with needles. I put the needles to the side and tried to iron out all these
crumpled up benjamins. They seemed to be some manner of "special edition" 100 dollar bills,
one was a cool jet black, the other a reddish, then one plain one. I was beginning to count
them again when suddenly there were two people walking into my living room.

It was some grizzled junky and his flunky friend. I want to say Jason Issacson, but this guy
looked distinctly British, with white wifebeater on, fetal alcohol syndrome face, and some major
scarring issues. I immediately jumped up, saying "No! No, no…" and pushed him back towards
the door, trying to get them back out into the hallway. It was difficult, he was wiry but strong,
but I managed finally to get them both outside, half by just surprising them with force. Once
they wee outside, they were trying, already, to squeeze past me in a slippery friendly snake
sort of way. I explained that I was very busy with exams and could not see anyone tonight. I
saw him looking past me, eying the drugs and money, and he had a renewed burst of energy
to fight past me to get in. I said "We’ll hang out soon." and shut the door, relieved.

Just as I sat back down and took up the money again, he was inside again, and walking quickly
towards the couch. He held a credit card in his hand, held it up by the doorknob proudly
"Carded it." and I was immediately there again, trying to keep these junkies out of my business.
Even while I held one off, others went past and I became quite terrified, looking back over my
shoulder towards the couch (and the big stack of money sitting on the coffee can) while pushing
this guy back out the door. I finally just gave up on the main gnarled British junky and rushed
back and put the money in my pocket, wondering if it was all still there, as the book looking
long hair eyed it and me sheepishly. The needles on the floor, adder all pills everywhere. This
was not a healthy situation for guests, yet the poured in, women, coeds were i the hallway. I
grabbed up what I can and left to find peace…

I took a running jump and hopped a fence by the basketball courts, feeling quite free of it all as
I cleared it. On the other side, there was some class taking place, with a tall peculiar looking
militaristic hispanic gym coach. I went into a quiet area, trying to count the money, aware that,
by this time, the fat man and his girlfriend must be turning from impatient to scared that I was
not coming back. Those peculiar black $100s, I believed, must have been part of a Newport
mail in rebate, minted special for the cigarette promo. As long as it was spendable, I didn’t
care.

All at once, all of these kids were running past, dropping their sports gear and footballs, and the
hispanic coach stood above, saying it was now time for basketball. I struggled to get through,
back to the fence, as hundreds of basketballs fell onto the floor from all sides. I was dodging
them as best I could, but was totally nervous and aware of being the center of attention. I
conspicuousy began to climb over the fence again, and felt surprisingly light, made it back into
the school without much effort, and recall thinking how it felt as if someone was giving me a
boost, pushing me up over the last bit of the fence. Yet, the gym coach watched and cooly
began to ask me questions about what I was doing there, where I lived, and if he could see my
student ID. I copped an attitude with him and thought to bolt, but something held main place,
as he suggested I come with him.
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He took me to the police department. I was held overnight. I was questioned about my ad-
dress, the one on file being outside the school. Owen hall, I was staying there secretly, illegaly
squatting, but they couldn’t know that. I told them I had no car and was staying with a friend.
I suddenly referred to the coach as "sir." which he seemed to respond to. Doing a quiet gentle
man act, I got off with a warning, and the coach said "You’d better come see me tomorrow
morning for questioning." and I said "Yes, sir. Definitely."
I checked my pocket, still had all of that money, that crisp black benjamin on top. ...That one
guy called me tubby, where am I going?

All Heroes Pass (2012-05-28 12:44) - public

A blue 33, a 57 Chevy, a Cougar with a full vintage cassette recording stereo, and a swivel
sliding arrow top door. These were a few of the cars in the dying man’s garage. He explained
that, no, in fact he doesn’t drive any of them. Ever. He merely collects them, like he collects
everything.
His hot wife took us in the 33, it was her car….it streetched out like a long blue boat, I sat
in the back seat, crushed velvet everything, purple and roomy. It felt like a woman’s car,
warm engorged plush inviting, she had Stevie Nicks or something playing up front, where
mom sat with her. She was a manic woman, spoke somewhat desperately about her husband,
as if she were accustomed to receiving pity in her mind for the relationship to the reserved
collector. I was more obsessing about the car, the front panel a work of pure beauty, delicate
instrumentation set deep into dark oak or mahogany, I could not tell, but something heavy and
rich. The engine purred in a similarly deep dark tone, deep with untaped capacity. Yet, she
jabbered away, barely attending to much of anything, least of all the actual driving.
She was talking about his many cars, and his intended suicide.
"How much are they all worth?"
"Well, with the main 12, and the appraisal of the redone Cougar, plus, god, if you count his
album collection…."
She paused considering, seemingly building anticipation into the air while me and mom waited,
engrossed, for a number.
"…100 million??" I blurted out, unable to contain my excited thoughts of the money.
"250 million." she said, matter of factly. "They are all mint, except this one."
We approached a steep hill and my focus shifted back to the car "Ooh, how does it handle
hills??" myself never having owned a car that could climb a hill without sputtering down to half
speed.
The girl became upset on the descent side of the hill, and mom took the wheel from her shaking
hands. Steadying the boat down the long straight stretch into a desert valley, mom also ended
up with her left foot on the gas pedal as well, and finally opened the car up! It seemed to
take off, like a rocket, up and up further, the wheel shook, seemingly from the intensity of
the g force. There was a green curve, followed by a stoplight, and mom is a horrible driver,
I suppose even wore when half driving from the passenger seat. She spun from her place in
the wrong lane sideways through the stop light, seeming to give the oncoming drivers a sign
her hand as she barreled through, a homemade hand signal none of them saw, kind of like a
karate chop. I couldn’t look, and buried my eyes in the back of the seat, hearing the horns and
loud screeching tires, waiting for the sound of crushing metal, caving into crushing metal.
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I peeked to see that we were in a city center now, climbing another hill.
"Here!" she cried, and mom abruptly swung into a spot, in front of the Swedish national flag.
The Bank of Sweden. The woman left the car to go in, and me and mom sat. I looked in the
wide woven bag I had in the back seat and was excited to find what I thought was an unopened
beer. I picked it up, thinking I remind my mom firsthand that I drink beer now, but it turned
out to be a Diet Coke. There was a fifth of vodka in the other half of the bag, but I wasn’t THAT
intent on proving anything to her. There was also a random mix of odds and ends, some mints
and an enema bottle, Then the song came…
Recorded song "Hero’s Pass"

The Balloon Skanks Outside The Dipping Stand (2012-05-28 12:45) - public

A prison mall of many sleek rooms, a TV studio, a long conference table black as obsidian,
outside a car dealership hired black hookers to dance, all in low cut purple skank suits. They
were cartoonishly obese, as to appear like many inflated balloons, straining under cloth. One
elephantine woman seemed to float above them all, her massive breasts appearing like the
ancient stone sculpture of the First Mother. As I walked by, some sort of huge explosion of noise
went off, and confetti fell, as all of the black hookers ran up to an elderly man in a brown suit
and smooched their balloon breasts up against his face, while an announcer barked "HAPPY
BIRTHDAY MR. ROBERT SANDBERG!"
I hurried along, for fear they might find a reason to pull me into that car dealership, like they
did Bob. I entered the mall through the prison metal detector gate, with many fashionable
young people all around. I did not like the place and did not find what I was looking for, and
left out the same door. It was darker now, slightly rainy, and I could still see the ghetto balloon
women floating around, gathering attention across the street.
As I prepared to cross, two older women passed and one said my name. I asked if I knew her,
and she said she was a friends mother. She had a bag full of identical jars, which looked like
sliced pears, but she called them "peems" or something. Said she was going to make a pie
with them.
We were at a concession area, across from the mall. Baskin Robbins, pizza, and a chocolate
dipped banana stand.
"Doesn’t that sound good?" she said, about her intended pie.
"Yes, this ALL is sounding really good." I said, looking around at all the stands. I looked back at
her pears, and they were actually little white fingers or wieners. I said something that made
her laugh very hard, when she complimented my coat. "Yes, the rest of it’s kind of a mess, but
hey, put a nice coat on it!"
We began to talk about relationships, and age difference, and she said quite a bit about falling
in love with someone of a different age. She spoke until she started to pause, and I jumped in,
describing the many developmental phases we each go through, giving the example of men of
about 20 tending to question their identity, and place in the world. I realized this was a much
more serious topic than the jokes about my coat, and that it would change the mood of the
gathering people dramatically.
I then began to talk about the different types of relationships which can form between hus-
band and wife, to accommodate these different developmental phases each may be in – fa-
ther/daughter, same age, etc…
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The hefty black hooker on my knee was so bored by this talk, she actually fell off, onto the
ground. Her purple sweat pants had left a wet spot on my lap, as she had been sitting there
a while. She looked up apologetically and touched my leg, where it was wet, and I got self
conscious of the sweat. She didn’t seem to notice…
Oh, the things that go on in front of a banana dipping stand!

Golden Shower For The Sleepy Fern (2012-05-28 12:51) - public

I turn from the well-worn trail that runs along my neighbor’s property line into a broad clearing
and what appears to be a deer trail. I am amazed by the diversity of different shrubs, ferns
vines, grasses, and flowers that compose the forest floor – all intertwined into a thick green
tapestry, covering a plush mattress of wet moss, sounding spongey beneath my feet. The
forests of Michigan were never so lush or thick with musty growth.

I pee on a fern and think of plant consciousness – that the bandwidth of existence which
nourishes our physical being may not be the same used for communication or perhaps,
inversely, some part of us is nourished by our descent into the non-physical existence of sleep.

WE Break In To...
But Can We Break On Thru...?

The Many Limitations of a Physically-Based Life

-Unity Blindness
-Ego Defensive Anxiety
-Materialist Obsessions
-LImited Sense of Self
-Mortality Illusion
-Impeded Development

"Pirate Cut" Lyrics (2012-05-28 12:58) - public

IFRAME: [1]embed _753488 _72

IFRAME: [2]embed _753488 _72

[3]Peak of Male Identity, Age 24 by [4]The Band Reflected

At the descent of the wind,

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At the final fall from grace
I look for one to save.

Lost far away at sea

No one home waits fro me
Good by to the world I once knew,
I am the one to blame.

I am the one with stories of far away,

stories told in my own distant gaze.
1. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2672%26%26%3A5e6920f145
77c27d9306f92582f7964d7db5333b&moduleid=72&preview=&jo
2. https://l.lj-toys.com/?auth_token=sessionless%3A1638147600%3Aembedcontent%3A753488%2672%26%26%3A5e6920f145
77c27d9306f92582f7964d7db5333b&moduleid=72&preview=&jo
3. http://soundcloud.com/the-band-reflected/peak-of-male-identity-age-24
4. http://soundcloud.com/the-band-reflected

11.6 June

Flee The Competition With Heavy Lights From My Chest (2012-06-16 18:49) -
public

The heavy motion sensing headlights on my chest, hung like a punishment to attract attention
and ridicule. I run from my own birthday party, just as all the people there come to stand
up early, with their coats on, smiling awkwardly at their watches. Courtenay and I are back
in love – or, rather, we had seemingly great sex and are now very polite. I am happy, but
it’s a very cautious happiness, as the ground beneath this revived relationship has caved
before. Such doubts are, of course, self-fulfilling and within the hour, me and her are quietly
competing – this time over the music playlist for MY party. Some selfish little 8 year old in me
screams "MINE!" and I suppress him as best I can, but she’s played that bland rockabilly folk
song 3 times now, and everyone is bored as hell. I have all that new catchy French dance that
would wake people up… plus that whole psychedelic compilation I made for this very occasion.

So I have someone help me with my iPod, trying to find he psychedelic comp. "Just
type in ’psychedelic.’" I told him, but he claimed that wouldn’t work. He was taking too long,
there was no music at the party, and I was getting short with him. He found it, and the
secret – that many of the tracks on MY compilation had come from a different purchased 60s
compilation, was revealed in the scrolling album art! Oh no! By that time, Courtenay had
already snatched up the cord and…was playing that same damned Gories tune, again. So,
here was me and her sitting silently on the couch, looking at our iPod screen, locked in some
kind of unspoken competition about music taste. It’s no wonder people started standing near
the door, waiting for their goodbyes.

Breaking into a large department store at night, we find the place is already full of peo-
ple. Young party people who, for the most part, had gone to sleep. I asked if there was a
shower, and was directed up a small set of wooden steps, which led to two small cubbies. I
1542
was told there was a shower in both. I went into the one on the right. It was a miniature room,
feeling much like a cardboard box, only with wood panelling – the shower was supposedly an
even smaller room of from this one. Soon other friends came in, Charlie and girls, and so I
cranked up the music. What had been a pile of laundry started to move and I realized this
cubby was some kid’s bedroom. We kept the music loud and continued to talk and laugh, as
he tossed and turned angrily. We eventually left.

As me and Charlie descended the steps. an Asian girl came from the elevator and ran
up to me. I did not recognize her, but apparently she did me. She gave me a CD with an
elaborate figure drawing on it, done in black magic marker, and thanked me for the CD I had
given her. I was appreciative and we hugged and she put out her cheek for me to kiss, and
I got confused and half-kissed, and then nervousness, then awkwardly we kissed on the lips.
Charlie watched and I was embarrassed, but whatever. I was also proud to have a cute Asian
making me gifts.

pigshitpoet (2012-06-17 02:10:02)

where did this come from? inspiration! what a beautiful dis-ease.. i know it’s not your birthday, are
you reminiscing as a man being a woman being a girl again? i love the writing. it’s light and interesting.
not like those dark dreams we’ve all been having. psp

turboswami (2012-06-18 02:57:31)

Thank you! It was just a dream I had had that night. Interestingly, it was one of perhaps 2 or 3 dreams
that I’d ever had and remembered of a birthday party. It was the only birthday party dream I’d ever
written down. A few hours after writing it, I was invited to a birthday party – the first birthday party I’d
been invited to in a long time. It turned out to be a fairly traumatic event... Interesting coincidence
though and, although it’s bold to suggest, I think it hints at precognition.

pigshitpoet (2012-06-18 15:41:56) well

wish i could dream like that! as for the birthday party, birth itself is a pretty traumatic event, why
shouldn’t we celebrate it?!! ; )

EVP Experiment 2 - 6-16-12 (2012-06-16 18:53) - public

Recorded for 3 minutes, with Sennheiser mic approx 6 inches from Roland amp white noise
source, "T" axis from cone center. Adjusting mid-range on amp, a female voice was heard.
I asked "Does this help?"
In a familiar calling tone of voice from previous recordings "Kaa-leb… Of course it does."
Preparing to stop the recording, I ask "Ok. Is there anything else before I stop?"
Sudden burst of static immediately followed, revealing a male voice, indistinct.
Seconds after I pressed stop, the speaker made a loud buzzing sound, the outside motion
sensor light flashed on, and the bathroom light burnt out in a flash. Whew!

We seek simplicity as much in others as we do in life. No one seeks out a person for
their ability to make life complicated; to overanalyze, critique, question, and bring doubts. (If
this complex person IS sought, it is often because they make OUR problems suddenly seem
1543
simple, by comparison!)

So why have we, as humans, developed these extraordinary intellectual capacities if we

resent the increased complexity they introduce to our day to day life? This struggle with
knowledge is the basis of the story of Adam and Eve, and our deep driving desire to escape
the complications of society, and retreat to nature, return to the Garden of Eden. You could
say that those regrets of the apple of knowledge are genetic regrets, carried up from a
place deep below by a spiraling serpent, wrapped caduceus-like around the tree. It is more
than just a visual similarity between the serpent of the tree of knowledge and the caduceus,
that double-helix of sorts signifying a message from the realm of spirits. In both cases, the
serpent ascends an axis of sorts, both the tree of knowledge and the caduceus staff could be
generalized as representing the "axis mundi," or center-most axis of the world, connecting
higher and lower realms, and both represent some secret or other-worldly knowledge, not
intended for mortals.
The sperm bank on the campus of Stanford University is a Eugenics program, by every
definition of the word.

See Hermann Muller’s "Out Of The Night" (1935) and "The Geneticists’ Manifesto" (1939)

INDIVIDUALISM / COLLECTIVISM – Reading Notes (2012-06-16 18:55) - public

"collectivism ... treats society as if it were a super-organism existing over and above its
individual members, and which takes the collective in some form (e.g., tribe, race, or state) to
be the primary unit of reality and standard of value." – Prof. Fred D. Miller

Not to say that individualism and exceptional self-expression is without worth, only that
it has its place in a larger social scheme. All perceived difference is bound within society, as
it requires a perceiver and a comparison to others. This holds true for the difference of novel
or creative individual expression as well, which is bound within society insofar as expression,
by definition, serves a social function. The romanticized individual of Individualism, some
idealogical lone wolf and martyr for Truth, is seen as standing in solitary opposition to the
status quo of society’s herd.

pigshitpoet (2012-06-17 02:13:46)

individual collectivism, that’s how the egyptians got rid of mubarak.. ; ) i’m reading a book at the
moment called sacred economics by charles eisenstein that you might dig. it talks about individualism
and collectivism at many levels. psp

Irony and Self-Knowledge (2012-06-17 19:39) - public

Ironic detachment is an attitude that leads to a clever but ultimately egoistic outlook that
undermines the vital life forces that are needed to take decisive action. By regarding all higher
ideals as transient and ultimately contingent constructions, the consistent ironist will not be
able to engage in projects of self-creation with the commitment that is necessary for carrying
them through to completion.
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“An age acquires the dangerous disposition of irony with regard to itself, and from this the still
more dangerous one of cynicism: in this, however, it ripens even more into clever egoistic
practice through which the vital strength is paralyzed and finally destroyed.” –Nietzsche
Viewing one’s self with irony, with sarcastic humor, was considered essential to understanding
and gathering self-knowledge by Rorty, who said a personalized vocabulary would develop with
a consistent introspective practice. Self-aggrandizement is a common danger in the convoluted
deception of one’s ego and I feel Rorty’s insistence on viewing self ironically was intended as
a failsafe mechanism against this; with self-deprecating humor acting as a sort of valve, to
deflate the ego, as needed, if it begins to take itself too seriously.
Nietzsche, on the other hand, seems to suggest irony is a slipper slope, into cynicism and self-
restraint. If you cannot take your goals and ideals seriously, you will be sapped of the ambition
needed to achieve them. Seeing “through” the world and everything in it, including one’s own
self, can potentially lead to a snide sort of sarcastic superiority which makes it very hard for a
person to engage meaningfully with the world, or to make something of himself in it. While the
ironic attitude does not necessarily invalidate the perception of transparency that gave rise to
it, there must exist some ideal middle ground, where the freedom of seeing society and self
as theatric is felt, but does not impede, but bolsters, the vigor with which our ego engages in
that society.

University of the Forest (2012-06-17 19:42) - public

Ayahuasqueros
don Juan Flores Salazar (Tindall 2008: 150) and don Agustin Rivas Vasquez (Adair, 1996) have
both described
ayahuasca
as a “university of the forest.” Don Agustin explained that:

•
“I have very little schooling, and ayahuasca has been my university. I have been able to
begin to recognize the energies not only of ayahuasca, but also of other plants that have
their elementals, their spirits . . . For many years I have known that space is full of beings,
like radio waves. All one needs is a radio. If one turns it on, one can hear voices that come
through the air. Similarly, the spirits’ voices, and their sound, can only be heard and the
spirits seen, when one uses ayahuasca or other psychoactive plants, and only then one
sees that space is populated with a myriad of beings. It is very hard to understand. Many
don’t understand . . . Ayahuasca is a plant that can make one see and feel the spirits
and can teach one about true spiritual magic. But atheists and other skeptics don’t know
about these things because they don’t know about the invisible, but only what they can
see” (Adair,199
6) .

Despite the overwhelming fact that “experiences of spirits (or other extraordinary beings) are
reported in every society and culture, regardless of sociodevelopmental status, religious pref-
erences, or the educational and class background of individuals” (Koss-Chioino 2010: 138)
Joan Koss-Chioino, who felt she had “accumulated so many experiences with spirits that I could
no longer play the game of hiding behind someone else’s belief. I began to appreciate spirits
1545
as part of my world, although I remained very cautious regarding those with whom I shared
this idea” (Koss-Chioino 2010: 132).

(2012-06-17 19:43) - public

You, who are now abandoned.

You, who said you’d be my wife.
And pictured running children.
I would still give you my life.
But maybe there’s some part of me who’d remember what you said,
And even in forgiving, to build a home on forgetting,
Is to build a home on the softest sand

(2012-06-17 19:43) - public

“I’ve often lost myself, in order to find the burn that keeps everything awake.”
—
Federico García Lorca

Born From An Older Self (2012-06-17 19:46) - public

My falseness rages without quiet. I cannot sleep while I live.

I need to surrender deeply to the dead of night, and lay in pieces with them
Mourn nothing, for this skin I shed is not me,
and an authentic self is born from beneath it.
Horrors, nightmares of memory, enemies I cannot see
Follow this man to his grave, and stay there with him. Die with him.
The newborn child does not know his father’s debts.
And should not be punished for his father’s crimes.
So curses too are disemboweled and buried.

Magnet As Metaphor For Attention: Latent and Manifest Influence

(2012-06-17 19:49) - public

Attention has a positive and negative force, a lot like a magnet. When many magnets of
differing strengths and alignments come together into a space and interact, we can observe
the influence of their fields; while not directly visible, we can see and study these magnetic
fields indirectly, by watching their influence on the surroundings – paper clips, iron filings, other
magnets, and so on. Likewise, we can observe the positive and negative force of attention in
1546
a room of people, with different people having different degrees of attentive strength and
alignment, all of which influencing the environment and the people in it.
Let’s imagine an attractive female, put in a room with two young single men, and left to con-
verse. She will not attend equally to both men, of course, but most likely to the man who is
most talkative, or charismatic (a personality quality often described as “magnetic.) That posi-
tive attention paid to the charismatic man will influence his behavior in some predictable ways.
Likewise, the negative, or lack of attention paid to the quiet man will influence him as well –
seemingly effecting him more and more strongly the greater his attraction to the girl is.
This scenario reveals an important point about this attentive force – mainly that it has both
manifest and latent influence. In the charismatic man, we see his behavior observably change
in response to the enamored gaze of this beautiful girl. He will sit up a bit straighter and
probably smile a bit more. His heart rate most likely increases a bit, with a sense of excitement.
His stories and jokes will have more vigor and charm than if he were telling them to his mom,
for instance. This girl is attractive and interested, perhaps even enamored with him; that
strong attention influences him, and a portion of that influence can be observed – that is, it is
manifest. The posture, the smile, the exciting stories are all the “surface” level of his response
to her attention.
Our quieter man, on the other hand, may be just as interested and attracted to this cute girl,
but for any of a variety of reasons, cannot capture her attention as effectively. He is feeling the
tug of negative attention, a sort of void or vacuum in the interaction which he feels a need to fill.
The more she ignores him, the more powerful this void comes to feel, exerting its subconscious
force, and the more he will become fixated on getting her attention – something which, as I’m
sure we’ve all seen, can lead to some desperate attention-seeking behavior in some people.
All of the emotions the shy man feels by being ignored, and the urge to get the beautiful girl’s
attention, could all be called the latent influence of that interaction.

Social Anxiety: Double-Edged Sword, Genetic Sheath (2012-06-17 19:53) - public

Jacket Notebook - 5/29/12

Social anxiety can serve to keep us civil and respectful – in that way, it could be considered
evolutionarily beneficent, as a sort of communal cohesive. Yet, extreme social anxiety induces
the opposite effect, whereby that self-restraint of civility becomes overbearing, to the point
of inhibiting normal social functioning. The natural flow of personality in social interaction
becomes so restricted, that something akin to choking occurs to the "respiration," that natural
give and take, of the conversation. To think that someone could be suffocating in anxiety,
and we may not even notice it. While many become so obviously flushed and sweaty when
subjecting themselves to this sort of torture, I’ve known a handful of people with social anxiety
disorder who betrayed no outwards signs of the gnawing inner tension they were feeling.
Many hours of people watching, in both Oakland, Palo Alto, and Olympia, WA, I’ve notice ob-
servable differences in the populations, with Olympians being more anxious, introversive, and
shy, much like the stereotypes of Finlanders, who also inhabit the North, essentially the same
temperate zone as Northwestern Washington.
I think of tension, in general; the way it seems to gradually store up in the spine, shoulders, and
neck, collecting over months in slow building swells, tightened thoughts cycling to a crescendo
of florid restraint. This presents outwardly in a taut unnatural gait, as if the whole nervous
system becomes knotted, its natural flow blocked.
1547
What makes the muscles tight and unnatural, if not some equally unnatural behavior?
Sloth, social isolation, and quiet paranoid fears that form like cobwebs in the corners of the
mind when that self-neglect is allowed to continue.
Genetics predispose whole nations of individuals to these distinctly anxious states-of-
consciousness, that is to say, certain genetic traits, both objective and subjective, see expres-
sion in those specific locations and ecosystems for which they are best suited. These subjective
aspects of natural selection, like temperament, are rarely acknowledged in popular literature,
as there is something inherently dangerous, or politically incorrect, in openly discussing ways
in which biological difference is NOT "just skin deep." We carry the personalities of our fathers.
How foolish that we should pretend otherwise!

Journey To The East - Hermann Hesse (2012-06-19 18:38) - public

"He who travels far will often see things

Far removed from what he believed was Truth.
When he talks about it in the fields at home, He is often accused of lying,
For the obdurate people will not believe
What they do not see and distinctly feel. Inexperience, I believe,
Will give little credence to my song."

turboswami (2012-06-20 01:39:15)

"Grace cannot be bought with repentance; it cannot be bought at all. A similar thing has already
happened to many other people; great and famous men have shared the same fate as this young man.
Once in their youth the light shone for them; they saw the light and followed the star, but then came
reason and the mockery of the world; then came faint-heartedness and apparent failure; then came
weariness and disillusionment, and so they lost their way again, they became blind again."

(2012-06-19 18:39) - public

It was themselves he gave back to them, blurred by the compromises of how many years.
"’Child,’ the master said, though apparently I was nearly twice his own age, ’for the faults of
the many, judge not the whole."
You did not see me, hidden behind the sunlight.

PREBIOTICS READING NOTES (2012-06-19 18:43) - public

The highly competitive ecosystem which is the human colon…

Amazingly, bowel bacteria cells comprise approximately 95 percent of the total number of cells
in the human body.
Gastrointestinal Tracts and River Ecosystems
The GIT ecosystem is in many ways similar to river systems that originate in a lake or reservoir
(i.e., stomach) with an outflow into a fast flowing stream (i.e., small intestine) that receives
1548
inputs from other sources (pancreas and gall bladder) and eventually become slow moving,
large rivers (colon) that empty into the ocean (> Figure 1.1). Many of the tenets of the ‘‘river
continuum concept” (Vannote et al., 1980) apply to the GIT. For example, both rivers and GIT’s
are character- ized by physical and chemical gradients, which include regional differences in
size, velocity of flow, and lumenal composition. The gradients shape the patterns of species
distributions along the GIT, with the resident assemblages of biota

Using Probiotics and Prebiotics to Manage the Gastrointestinal Tract Ecosystem 1 3

. Figure 1.1
The gastrointestinal tract shares several similarities with many river ecosystems.
adapted to specific regions. Sharp gradients, such as the transition between the stomach and
small intestine, result in distinct regional differences in biota, whereas the gradual gradient
along the length of the small intestine results in a less distinct distribution of the resident
biota. Furthermore, in both types of ecosystems the downstream communities of organisms are
largely dependent on upstream inefficiencies that allow for the availability of needed nutrients.
Each region of the GIT represents a habitat with unique structural, chemical, and biotic com-
ponents. Moreover, the regional processes of digestion and secre- tion alter the composition
of the lumenal contents as dietary inputs are processed and flow distally, thereby influencing
the species composition and metabolic activities of the resident bacteria. Exemplary are the
profound differences be- tween the stomach, the small intestine, and colon. Even within each
GIT region there are sub-habitats. Specifically, the physical, chemical, and biotic character-
istics of the lumenal contents differ from the layer of material that is immediately adjacent to
the epithelial lining. Similarly, the physical, chemical, and biotic characteristics found in the
middle of a stream or river differ markedly from those at interface between the water and the
land (riparian zone), resulting in different biotic communities.
Many of the ecological principles that apply to rivers are also relevant to the understanding
of the GIT ecosystem. For example, the characteristics and func- tions of other ecosystems
are closely related to the species composition, densities, and functions of the resident biota
(Tilman et al., 1997). Of importance are the numbers of species and functional groups that
constitute biodiversity (Hooper and Vitousek, 1997), with productivity and ecosystem stability
increasing with greater species diversity. Similarly, the GIT and host health is related to the
abundances, diversity, and metabolic activities of the commensal and pathogenic bacteria,
and the responses of the bacteria to dietary inputs, including probiotics and prebiotics.
Differences do exist between rivers and GIT ecosystems. Unlike the abiotic substrates of rivers
and streams, the living cells constituting the epithelium and underlying layers of the GIT are
responsive to the chemical composition and bacterial assemblages of the lumenal contents.
Exemplary are the changes in epithelial cell patterns of gene expression in response to dif-
ferent species of bacteria (Bry et al., 1996; Shirkey et al., 2006) and to changes in nutrient
concentrations (Beaslas et al., 2008; Le Gall et al., 2007). Moreover, unlike river systems, sig-
naling from distal to proximal regions of the GIT provides a mechanism whereby characteristics
in the proximal regions of the GIT can be altered in response to events ‘‘downstream.” This
is exemplified by the regulatory peptides secreted by the ileum and colon (e.g., glucagon-like
peptides 1 and 2, peptide YY) in response to the presence of nutrients and bacterial metabo-
lites (e.g., short chain fatty acids) and the changes they elicit in the proximal small intestine
(i.e., regulate digestion and stimulate growth and functions).
1549
–
Due to its complexity, its proximity, and its close relatedness with human health, the human
colon ecosystem has been fascinating microbiologists for many decades (Dethlefsen et al.,
2006; Flint et al., 2008; Macfarlane and Cummings, 1991; Turroni et al., 2008; Zoetendal et al.,
2006)
What we’ve learned:
(1) host health and well-being are influenced by the colon microbiota (Macfarlane and Cum-
mings, 1991; Roberfroid, 2005b), (2) the nature of a healthy or balanced colon microbiota is
definable (Louis et al., 2007; Macfarlane et al., 2006), and (3) the composition and/or metabolic
activity of the colon microbiota can be influenced (transiently) through changes in the diet
(Rastall et al., 2005).
Although the prebiotic properties of other non-digestible food ingredients have been acknowl-
edged by now (Gibson et al., 2004), oligofructose and inulin still remain best studied and have
gained themselves a status of model prebiotics (Bosscher et al., 2006; Roberfroid, 2005c).
Inulin-type fructans are present in significant amounts in several fruits and vegetables (e.g.,
onion, banana, garlic, leek, chicory) (Makras et al., 2004) They are neither digested nor ab-
sorbed in the human upper gastrointestinal tract (Molis et al., 1996). They reach the colon
virtually intact, where they are selectively fermented by the large-intestinal microbiota, specif-
ically by bifidobacteria species.
However, most studies concerning the bifidogenic effect of inulin-type fructans tend, unfortu-
nately, to consider the bifidobacterial colon population as a whole, not taking into account the
interspe- cies differences that exist between various bifidobacteria (Macfarlane et al., 2006).
Recently, the existence of four phenotypically distinct clusters among bifidobacteria, based on
their inulin-type fructan breakdown capacities, has been revealed, proba- bly reflecting niche-
specific adaptation (Falony et al., 2009b).
Many of the health-promoting effects attributed to oligofructose and inulin are at least partially
due to their influence on the production of SCFA, specifically Butyrate, by the colon microbiota
(Delzenne et al., 2002; Guarner, 2005; Nyman, 2002; Pool-Zobel, 2005; Weaver, 2005).
Butyrate is of key importance for colon health: it is not only the preferred energy source for
the large-intestinal epithelium (Macfarlane and Cummings, 1991), but it also has important
effects on the development of and the gene expression in intestinal cells (Mariadason et al.,
2000; Scheppach and Weiler, 2004). In addition, it is thought to play a protective role against
colorectal cancer and colitis (Hague et al., 1996; Hamer et al., 2008).
increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind
increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind
increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind
increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind
increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind
increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind
increased wind increased wind increased wind increased wind phht.

Unsightliness Is Next To Ungodliness (2012-06-19 18:45) - friends

Peter, the media professor, took an nearly instant and obvious dislike to me. Ben and Ben
also seemed to resent me, and I’ll be damned if I can understand why. Peter cut me off,
1550
mid sentence, several times as I attempted to share some interesting story or idea similar to
his own. Yet I watched as he held and maintained the most bland conversations with others
about watersheds and iPhone apps, probing these people to talk more about these seemingly
monotonous topics. I can only imagine that certain people are most comfortable talking with
boring company, and perhaps consider people with interesting or distinct ideas as a threat.
The redneck fellow, Ben, attacked me for describing the blood-curdling sound of a bobcat as
something like "a middle aged woman being badly burned." Granted, perhaps the joke was in
bad taste, as it is a bit of a gruesome image, I do not think it warranted his harsh deriding "I
don’t believe you. What, are you some kind of bobcat expert??"
I tried to explain that, in my hometown in Northern Michigan, bobcats were fairly common –
my middle school basketball team even called the "National Mine Bobcats."
"Oh, so your basketball team makes you some kind of fucking expert on bobcats?"
I just fell silent, mostly paralyzed with shock, as I tend to get in situation of surreal and irrational
hostility. After nearly 10 seconds of long sinking silence, he stood up and said he had to leave
the party.
I do not feel I should have to defend myself, or my experience, in this way. Instead of repeating
myself, or sharing the handful of bobcat encounters I’d had in my life, I just fell silent and
absorbed the resentment, as I had with Peter, the media professor who made his resentment
for me clearer and clearer the drunker he got. This is apparently an ongoing issue, whereby
some chemistry of our personalities becomes noxious and combustive, despite my best efforts.
Is it my using words like "whereby?" Is it my sharing of personal experiences related to an
individual’s area of expertise? I am soft spoken and polite, being almost overly careful to
avoid interrupting another person, or speaking over anyone. I try my best to be engaging
and interesting, while actively listening and being interested in what others are sharing. And
perhaps all this energy I spend on conversation is, in fact, part of the problem. I only know, the
problem, at least partially, somewhere in me, as certain types of people continue to respond
so strongly to my personality.
Something I noticed, that might be a hint at the negative perception these people I respect
seem to have of me, is that I often begin sentences with "I know…" which sounds, at first
hearing, like something a pompous dickbag would say.
Yet, usually when I begin a response with "I know…" it is in acknowledging that I know little of
what the person is talking about, but am somewhat familiar with a related topic. For instance,
when I asked Peter how he first got interested in audio, he described building speakers in high
school. I attempted to begin "I know…" but stopped, as someone else attempted to talk at
the same time. He seemed to actively try to keep me from making any contribution to the
conversation, by continually cutting me off, even when it was obvious he had little more to
say on the topic. When I finally was able to expand on the sentence, it became clear I was
not attempting to brag or compete in any way, as I said "I know, when I tried to build my own
speakers in high school, I found out how complicated a procedure it actually is! I had found
some old 15 inch home theater speakers and tried to build my own enclosures for them, to put
them in my Geo Metro. But certain things, like the length and dimensions to cut the porting,
involved so many levels of dense math equations, I soon realized it was way beyond me…"
So, even while I admit that this topic is far too complex for me to understand, perhaps it still
seems somehow pretentious or narcissistic. i mention specifics – the Geo Metro, the porting,
and, while not directly expressed, my pride in building my own speaker system by hand – all
of which must have gradually filled the media professor with disgust.
1551
Likewise, when he shared a story of a small town lumber industry in the place he had grown up
which had gotten out of hand, I immediately thought of my own hometown, and the story of
Negaunee – where, instead of fishing or lumber, the industry was mining. I began by describing
how the CCI corporation sold the rights to the land to the citizens, the fine print read they only
had rights to the first 2 inches of the soil – everything beneath that belonged to Cleveland Cliffs
Industries. Over half a century, CCI gradually mined all of the iron out from under the city until
finally, in the 50s, the whole city began to simply fall into the Earth…
He cut me off mid sentence, and it seemingly took great effort on his part to ignore what I
was saying, and steamroll through to a wholly different, louder line of conversation, over top of
mine. I was left talking to a person having a different conversation, and felt immediate shame
for attempting to share, what I thought, I was a very interesting story about the place I grew
up.
I tried to continue the story, describing how, walking into the abandoned half of Negaunee, the
sidewalk of Main St. suddenly ended sharply, at the edge of a huge hole in the Earth. How you
could see the tops of the trees growing up from the bottom of this deep shaft, felt like a mile
down.
"A mile down?? My ass!" rejected Ben.
"Well, it was a very deep shaft, that’s all I know… I’d never seen anything like it. It’s really
surreal to walk down what WAS a bustling Main Street, and, all at once, see…"
He had looked away. I was talking to no one.
Why do I care??
As if I wish to strain to patiently nurture a relationship with an impulsive redneck or a pompous
dickbag? As if tolerating childish bullshit like this on a regular basis will bring fulfillment to my
life?
Tonight was a birthday party for Paul, a visiting friend of Eric’s. I was invited at 3 pm. What was
interesting was that, the night before, I had dreamed of being at a birthday party. I mentioned
this, what I felt was a interesting coincidence, to Peter, the professor…
"Oh! So you believe all the world revolves around you? That all that happened tonight is
somehow created by you, and your little dream? You live in a gelatinous cube of delusion…"
Later, when Eric explained that I was Finnish, Peter nearly burst exclaiming "Oh! No wonder I
don’t like him!"
"Well, actually, I’m half Finnish and half Swedish…"
Oh! Swedes…sound’s about right. They’re another grizzly bunch.
"Yea, the Finns and Swedes HATE each other. I sometimes feel like they are warring in my blood.
Maybe that’s why I’m so self-critical. Haha.
Seriously, I have self-criticism to spare! I shower it on anyone close to my self. "
These obsessions about my perceived confidence return, as if the years since I was chased
out of ITP were had been hours. I get so tense around strangers, the scripts to my stories
become tight and unnatural, as I rush to please, and impress, in a desperate way. Sleepless
night of replaying the dialogue of the night over and over in my head, as I used to do in the
first grade, deriding myself for my mistakes. Yet, first graders tend to easily forget awkward
bits of conversation within a week. Older adults are less likely to forget how you made them
feel.
Embarrassment following confidence following whiskey.
1552
The Shade Child Must Never Taste Blood (2012-06-19 18:50) - public

Mexican drug soda is not sold after 3 pm.

Somewhere in the crowded caged gates of the museum, I lost the old man.
I called Lassandra from the kitchen phone and when she picked up, I got nervous and hung
up. Yet her end was still on the line. She was having sex. I listened to the heavy breathing
and looked over at Aunty Sue, sitting in Grandmas chair, sheepishly not acknowledging what
she was hearing. Then I saw one of the kids wake up, confused by the sound, and I tried
desperately to stop what was coming over the speakerphone. I pushed buttons randomly,
blindly, but Lassandra’s phone was off the hook and I could not get her to hang up. I could only
sit and listen. She moaned… Then i heard a name, "Oh, Lisa…" and my mind couldn’t make
sense of it. "…purify me."
At that moment, the shade child slithered into the kitchen from the dark place it had been
forgotten. Unacknowledged, unloved, all this time since its birth. The boy was oily black with
a grey texture beneath on his amphibian-like skin. As he crawled past me, I could see his ribs
jutting out, sickly. When he reached the kitchen sink, he stood up on his hind legs and I could
finally see his full height – how much he had grown in his dark exile. Feral in his family’s own
home, he was starving. He looked perhaps 7 or 8, but stunted. Mostly bald, patches of long
and stringy hair slicked down around his scalp, falling out in patches from malnutrition.
I was afraid of him, even though he was weak and shy, avoiding even to look at me, he looked
out the window above the sink. I realized his coming out at this moment must be a desperate
act, from the edge of starvation. I didn’t know what evil shade children eat, but I thought that
if I could take him under my wing, and guide his development, he may not become as evil as
nature intended.
My first thought for the shade was to make him a vegetarian; that somehow meat would pro-
mote his violent natural tendency towards carnage and death. But I reasoned that any vegeta-
bles he ate would have to be, in their own way, black and diseased like himself. I found a badly
dented and very old can of black beans in the cupboard, bloated with infection. I pictured that
this would be to his liking. Next to it was a much larger surplus store can of Mexican beans,
the 12 lb kind for restaurants. It, too, had a huge dent and bulged from bacteria, yet I shook it
and I could hear only one dried up bean inside the drum. My God…had he been living in this
can?
I had met Obama again, this time at the colosseum-like central floor of the museum. He had
finished his official business and speaking engagements there and shook my hand, sitting
across from me. He said "You look great!"
I did not believe that his compliment was genuine, but thanked him anyway. I later overheard
him talking to some people about how sickly and pale I looked, and how someone should get
me some vitamin D.

THE MAN WITH MOTION-SENSING LIGHTS ON HIS CHEST (2012-06-19 18:53) -

public

See a man with a motion sensing light around his neck, hanging down from heavy golden
chains, the two huge halogen bulbs shining out at angles from his chest.

This light is his curse, this heavy fixture he is forced to carry shining out from his heart.
1553
He slouches from the weight and is seen walking on the sidewalk from the bus stop, lugging
his b urden, these glaring lights hanging around his neck.

There was a time, when he was younger, when he tried to live a normal life with these
huge obtrusive lights in-between himself and the world.

show photographs of different phases*

1) Loud rapper pointing and laughing at motion sensing lights, in a public place. Girls in
background laugh too, some look afraid and confused.

2) A photograph of a party, and our boy attempting to hide his outdoor lights under a
large Hawaiian button up shirt, with the light shining through his chest, awkwardly.

3) A photograph of him attempting to decorate the lights… with different colored mark-
ers over the bulbs…first black gothic sharpies and velvet to match his goth clothes, then
swirling rainbow psychedelia, to match his tie dyed shirt.

The light detected motions, inward motions. E-motions. and would turn on in response
to these unseen things. The motions of spirits would cause the light to shine bright in the
night, when he wanted only to sleep. The light attracted many things in the night, unwanted
dark things and other nocturnal pests. They were drawn to the light on his chest, because it
was night and it was all they could see. They thought such a light meant he had a direction,
or knew where he was going.

Walking, he encounters himself. A future self, worn out and broken. Where there had
been lights shining from his chest, this future man of 40 had only the broken shareds of
bulbs, jutting out sharp from their sockets, elements exposed. When he saw himself, walking
alongside him for a time, he identified with his gait and manner and saw the world as he sees
it, dimmed and broken. In these perceptions of empathy, he became that older self and the
weight of his burden felt heavier around his neck, and no longer provided the illumination of
his path he had been so accustomed to.

Every woman he tried to embrace was stabbed in the chest by the broken remnants of
his gift, or felt the shock of the bare filament electric, like a raw nerve exposed to the world.
For this inability to be close, no woman would love him despite all his attempts and longing.

He became sick, the pieces of glass from the broken bulbs being lodged in places he
could not reach as he slept. These painful glass wounds became infected, as he could not
remove the glass.

The old broken bulb must be removed, carefully. Only then will a new light sprout up
from your sockets, reborn anew, and let you see the path again."

show a light golden balloon blown from inside a light socket, with LED light behind it*

New light.

Photographs of man and woman, eyes closed, holding each other close, a warm light
shared emanating from their chests as they embrace.
1554
Photograph of helping others with his light. Somehow...

Fantasies of Cursing People (2012-06-19 18:58) - friends

Fat bald Hispanic man, smoking cigars with 2 male friends on the fenced outdoor area of a
smoke shop. Walking by, I made eye contact and then looked away, forward to the sidewalk.
The bald man kicked his foot out beneath the fence, as if to trip me. He then boasted to his
friend about his intention, and of me falling flat on my face "Bam!" after he tripped me.
Where does that unprovoked aggression towards me, from complete strangers, come from?
Was it the way I shyly looked away after making eye contact? Or simply my appearance, itself,
that attracts resentment?
Perhaps I look too proud? When our eyes met, I quickly looked forward, instead of downwards,
which would have been the more acceptable submissive gesture, if we think of it in strictly
animalistic body language terms. But I certainly didn’t feel like I looked proud…. I had a big
backpack I was lugging on my shoulders, my coat was a bit too small and, honestly, I thought
I looked a bit silly and awkward, or at least burdened.
"You got a problem with me? Huh?
Apologize."
"I aint apologizing shit. I didn’t do anything."
"You didn’t do anything? Ha! Well, guess what. I’m doing something. Right now. I’ll make you
bleed all over this sidewalk for your little friends?"
"Oh yea? You stupid fucker. I…
"You are malignant. Neither respected or loved.
You will take your own life.
shhhhhHHH-OOK!" the walker makes a python like gesture towards the mans heart, as if shoot-
ing an arrow deep into it.
The man looked up, dazed, his mouth slightly open, as if he had just been shot.
The stranger turned calmly and continued walking.
Blah.

Native Americans of Northern Michigan – Communicating with Spirits (1860)

(2012-06-25 03:14) - public

From "The Fortress of The Lakes" by W.P. Strickland (1860)

CHAPTER II.

Indian Spiritualists -- Medicine men -- Legends -- The

Spirit-world -- Difference between Indian and Modern
Spiritualists -- Chusco the Spiritualist -- Schoolcraft's
testimony of -- Mode of communicating with spirits -- Belief
in Satanic agency -- Interesting account of Clairvoyance.
1555
The earliest traditions of the various Indian tribes inhabiting this
country prove that they have practiced jugglery and all other things
pertaining to the secret arts of the old uncivilized nations of the
world. Among all the tribes have been found the priests of the occult
sciences, and to this day we find Metais, Waubonos, Chees-a-kees and
others bearing the common designation of Medicine men. In modern
parlance we would call them Professors of Natural Magic, or of
Magnetism, or Spiritualism. The difference however between these
Indian professors of magic and those of modern date is, that while the
latter travel round the country exhibiting their wonderful
performances to gaping crowds, at a shilling a head, the former
generally shrink from notoriety, and, instead of being anxious to
display their marvelous feats, have only been constrained, after
urgent entreaty and in particular cases, to exhibit their powers. The
Indian magicians have shown more conclusively their power as
clairvoyants and spiritualists, than all the rapping, table-tipping
mediums of the present day.

Numerous interesting and beautiful Indian legends show their belief in

a spiritual world--of a shadowy land beyond the great river. Whether
this was obtained by revelations from their spiritual mediums, or
derived from a higher source of inspiration, we know not; but most
certain it is, that in no belief is the Indian more firmly grounded
than that of a spirit-world.

The Indian Chees-a-kees or spiritualists had a different and far more

satisfactory mode of communicating with departed spirits than ever
modern spiritualists have attained to, or perhaps ever will. Forming,
as they did, a connecting link or channel of communication between
this world and the world of spirits, they did not affect to speak what
the spirit had communicated; or, perhaps, to state it more fully,
their organs of speech were not employed by the spirits to communicate
revelations from the spirit world; but the spirits themselves spoke,
and the responses to inquiries were perfectly audible to them and to
all present. In this case all possibility of collusion was out of the
question, and the inquirer could tell by the tones of the voice as as
well as the manner of the communication, whether the response was
genuine or not.

Chusco, a noted old Indian who died on Bound Island several years ago,
was a spiritualist. He was converted through the labors of Protestant
Missionaries, led for many years an exemplary Christian life, and was
a communicant in the Presbyterian Church on the Island up to the time
of his death. Mr. Schoolcraft in his "Personal Memoirs," in which he
gives most interesting reminiscences, running through a period of
thirty years among numerous Indian tribes of the northwest, and who
has kindly consented to allow us to make what extracts we may desire
from his many interesting works, says that "Chusco was the Ottawa
spiritualist, and up to his death he believed that he had, while in
1556
his heathen state, communication with spirits". Whenever it was deemed
proper to obtain this communication, a pyramidal lodge was constructed
of poles, eight in number, four inches in diameter, and from twelve to
sixteen feet in height. These poles were set firmly in the ground to
the depth of two feet, the earth being beaten around them. The poles
being securely imbedded, were then wound tightly with three rows of
withes. The lodge was then covered with ap-puck-wois, securely lashed
on. The structure was so stoutly and compactly built, that four strong
Indians could scarcely move it by their mightiest efforts. The lodge
being ready, the spiritualist was taken and covered all over, with the
exception of his head, with a canoe sail which was lashed with
bois-blanc cords and knotted. This being done, his feet and hands were
secured in a like firm manner, causing him to resemble a bundle more
than anything else. He would then request the bystanders to place him
in the lodge. In a few minutes after entering, the lodge would
commence swaying to and fro, with a tremulous motion, accompanied with
the sound of a drum and rattle. The spiritualist then commenced
chanting in a low, melancholy tone, gradually raising his voice, while
the lodge, as if keeping time with his chant, vibrated to and fro with
greater violence, and seemed at times as if the force would tear it to
pieces.

In the midst of this shaking and singing, the sail and the cords, with
which the spiritualist was bound, would be seen to fly out of the top
of the lodge with great violence. A silence would then ensue for a
short time, the lodge still continuing its tremulous vibrations. Soon
a rustling sound would be heard at the top of the lodge indicating the
presence of the spirit. The person or persons at whose instance the
medium of the spiritualist was invoked, would then propose the
question or questions they had to ask of the departed.

An Indian spiritualist, residing at Little Traverse Bay, was once

requested to enter a lodge for the purpose of affording a neighboring
Indian an opportunity to converse with a departed spirit about his
child who was then very sick. The sound of a voice, unfamiliar to the
persons assembled, was heard at the top of the lodge, accompanied by
singing. The Indian, who recognized the voice, asked if his child
would die. The reply was, "It will die the day after to-morrow. You
are treated just as you treated a person a few years ago. Do you wish
the matter revealed." The inquirer immediately dropped his head and
asked no further questions. His child died at the time the spirit
stated, and reports, years after, hinted that it had been poisoned, as
the father of the deceased child had poisoned a young squaw, and that
it was this same person who made the responses.

Old Chusco, after he became a Christian, could not, according to the

testimony of Schoolcraft, be made to waver in his belief, that he was
visited by spirits in the exhibitions connected with the tight-wound
pyramidal, oracular lodge; but he believed they were evil spirits. No
cross-questioning could bring out any other testimony. He avowed that,
1557
aside from his incantations, he had no part in the shaking of the
lodge, never touching the poles at any time, and that the drumming,
rattling, singing, and responses were all produced by these spirits.

The following account of Chusco, or Wau-chus-co, from the pen of

William M. Johnson, Esq., of Mackinaw Island, will be found to be
deeply interesting:

* * * * *

"Wau-chus-co was a noted Indian spiritualist and Clairvoyant, and was

born near the head of Lake Michigan--the year not known. He was eight
or ten years old, he informed me, when the English garrison was
massacred at Old Fort Missilimackinac. He died on Round Island,
opposite the village and island of Mackinaw, at an advanced age.

"As he grew up from childhood, he found that he was an orphan, and

lived with his uncle, but under the care of his grandmother. Upon
attaining the age of fifteen his grandmother and uncle urged him to
comply with the ancient custom of their people, which was to fast, and
wait for the manifestations of the Gitchey-monedo,--whether he would
grant him a guardian spirit or not, to guide and direct him through
life. He was told that many young men of his tribe tried to fast, but
that hunger overpowered their wishes to obtain a spiritual guardian;
he was urged to do his best, and not to yield as others had done.

"Wau-chus-co died in 1839 or '40. He had, for more than ten years
previous to his death, led an exemplary Christian life, and was a
communicant of the Presbyterian Church on this Island, up to the time
of his death. A few days previous to his death, I paid him a visit.
'Come in, come in, nosis!' (grandson) said he. After being seated, and
we had lit our pipes; I said to him, 'Ne-me-sho-miss, (my
grandfather,) you are now very old and feeble; you cannot expect to
live many days; now, tell me the truth, who was it that moved your
chees-a-kee lodge when you practiced your spiritual art?' A pause
ensued before he answered:--'Nosis, as you are in part of my nation, I
will tell you the truth: I know that I will die soon. I fasted ten
days when I was a young man, in compliance with the custom of my
tribe. While my body was feeble from long fasting, my soul increased
in its powers; it appeared to embrace a vast extent of space, and the
country within this space, was brought plainly before my vision, with
its misty forms and beings--I speak of my spiritual vision. It was,
while I was thus lying in a trance, my soul wandering in space, that
animals, some of frightful size and form, serpents of monstrous size,
and birds of different varieties and plumage, appeared to me and
addressed me in human language, proposing to act as my guardian
spirits. While my mind embraced these various moving forms, a superior
intelligence in the form of man, surrounded by a wild, brilliant
light, influenced my soul to select one of the bird-spirits,
resembling the kite in look and form, to be the emblem of my guardian
1558
spirit, upon whose aid I was to call in time of need, and that he
would be always prepared to render me assistance whenever my body and
soul should be prepared to receive manifestations. My grandmother
roused me to earth again, by inquiring if I needed food: I ate, and
with feeble steps, soon returned to our lodge.

"'The first time that I ever chees-a-keed, was on a war expedition

toward Chicago, or where it is now located--upon an urgent occasion.
We were afraid that our foes would attack us unawares, and as we were
also short of provisions, our chief urged me incessantly, until I
consented. After preparing my soul and body, by fasting on bitter
herbs, &c., I entered the Chees-a-kee lodge, which had been prepared
for me:--the presence of my guardian spirit was soon indicated by a
violent swaying of the lodge to and fro. "Tell us! tell us! where our
enemies are?" cried out the chief and warriors. Soon, the vision of my
soul embraced a large extent of country, which I had never before
seen--every object was plainly before me--our enemies were in their
villages, unsuspicious of danger; their movements and acts I could
plainly see; and mentally or spiritually, I could hear their
conversation. Game abounded in another direction. Next day we procured
provisions, and a few days afterward a dozen scalps graced our
triumphant return to the village of the Cross. I exerted my powers
again frequently among my tribe, and, to satisfy them, I permitted
them to tie my feet and hands, and lash me round with ropes, as they
thought proper. They would then place me in the Chees-a-kee lodge,
which would immediately commence shaking and swaying to and fro,
indicating the presence of my guardian spirit: frequently I saw a
bright, luminous light at the top of the lodge, and the words of the
spirit would be audible to the spectators outside, who could not
understand what was said; while mentally, I understood the words and
language spoken.

"'In the year 1815, the American garrison at this post expected a
vessel from Detroit, with supplies for the winter--a month had elapsed
beyond the time for her arrival, and apprehensions of starvation were
entertained; finally, a call was made to me by the commanding officer,
through the traders. After due preparation I consented; the
Chees-a-kee lodge was surrounded by Indians and whites; I had no
sooner commenced shaking my rattle and chanting, than the spirits
arrived; the rustling noise they made through the air, was heard, and
the sound of their voices was audible to all.

"'The spirits directed my mind toward the southern end of Lake

Huron--it lay before me with its bays and islands; the atmosphere
looked hazy, resembling our Indian Summer; my vision terminated a
little below the mouth of the St. Clair River--there lay the vessel,
disabled! the sailors were busy in repairing spars and sails. My soul
knew that they would be ready in two days, and that in seven days she
would reach this Island, (Mackinaw,) by the south channel, [at that
time an unusual route,] and I so revealed it to the inquirers. On the
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day I mentioned the schooner hove in sight, by the south channel. The
captain of the vessel corroborated all I had stated.

"'I am now a praying Indian (Christian). I expect soon to die, Nosis.

This is the truth: I possessed a power, or a power possessed me, which
I cannot explain or fully describe to you. I never attempted to move
the lodge by my own physical powers--I held communion with
supernatural beings or souls, who acted upon my soul or mind,
revealing to me the knowledge which I have related to you.'

"The foregoing merely gives a few acts of the power exhibited by this
remarkable, half-civilized Indian. I could enumerate many instances in
which this power has been exhibited among our Indians. These
Chees-a-kees had the power of influencing the mind of an Indian at a
distance for good or evil, even to the deprivation of life among them:
so also in cases of rivalship, as hunters or warriors. This influence
has even extended to things material, while in the hands of those
influenced. The soul or mind--perhaps nervous system of the
individual, being powerfully acted upon by a spiritual battery,
greater than the one possessed more or less by all human beings."

* * * * *

In Schoolcraft's "American Indians" an interesting account is given of

a woman-spiritualist, who bore the name of the "Prophetess of
Che-moi-che-goi-me-gou." Among the Indians she was called "The woman
of the blue-robed cloud." The account was given by herself after she
had become a member of the Methodist Church and renounced all
connection with spirits. The following is her narrative:--

* * * * *

"When I was a girl of about twelve or thirteen years of age, my mother

told me to look out for something that would happen to me.
Accordingly, one morning early, in the middle of winter, I found an
unusual sign, and ran off, as far from the lodge as I could, and
remained there until my mother came and found me out. She knew what
was the matter, and brought me nearer to the family lodge, and bade me
help her in making a small lodge of branches of the spruce tree. She
told me to remain there, and keep away from every one, and as a
diversion, to keep myself employed in chopping wood, and that she
would bring me plenty of prepared bass-wood bark to twist into twine.
She told me she would come to see me, in two days, and that in the
mean time I must not even taste snow.

"I did as directed; at the end of two days she came to see me. I
thought she would surely bring me something to eat, but to my
disappointment she brought nothing. I suffered more from _thirst_ than
hunger, though I felt my stomach gnawing. My mother sat quietly down
and said (after ascertaining that I had not tasted anything), 'My
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child, you are the youngest of your sisters, and none are now left me
of all my sons and children, but you _four_' (alluding to her two elder
sisters, herself and a little son, still a mere lad). 'Who,' she
continued, 'will take care of us poor women? Now, my daughter, listen
to me, and try to obey. Blacken your face and fast _really_, that the
Master of Life may have pity on you and me, and on us all. Do not, in
the least, deviate from my counsels, and in two days more, I will come
to you. He will help you, if you are determined to do what is right,
and tell me, whether you are favored or not, by the _true_ Great
Spirit; and if your visions are not good, reject them.' So saying, she
departed.

"I took my little hatchet and cut plenty of wood, and twisted the cord
that was to be used in sewing _ap-puk-way-oon-un_, or mats for the use
of the family. Gradually I began to feel less appetite, but my thirst
continued; still I was fearful of touching the snow to allay it, by
sucking it, as my mother had told me that if I did so, though
secretly, the Great Spirit would see me, and the lesser spirits also,
and that my fasting would be of no use. So I continued to fast till
the fourth day, when my mother came with a little tin dish, and
filling it with snow, she came to my lodge, and was well pleased to
find that I had followed her injunctions. She melted the snow, and
told me to drink it. I did so, and felt refreshed, but had a desire
for more, which she told me would not do, and I contented myself with
what she had given me. She again told me to get and follow a good
vision--a vision that might not only do us good, but also benefit
mankind, if I could. She then left me, and for two days she did not
come near me, nor any human being, and I was left to my own
reflections. The night of the sixth day, I fancied a voice called to
me, and said: 'Poor child! I pity your condition; come, you are
invited this way;' and I thought the voice proceeded from a certain
distance from my lodge. I obeyed the summons, and going to the spot
from which the voice came, found a thin, shining path, like a silver
cord, which I followed. It led straight forward, and, it seemed,
upward. After going a short distance I stood still and saw on my right
hand the new moon, with a flame rising from the top like a candle,
which threw around a broad light. On the left appeared the sun, near
the point of its setting. I went on, and I beheld on my right the face
of Kau-ge-gag-be-qua, or the everlasting woman, who told me her name,
and said to me, 'I give you my name, and you may give it to another. I
also give you that which I have, life everlasting. I give you long
life on the earth, and skill in saving life in others. Go, you are
called on high.'

"I went on, and saw a man standing with a large, circular body, and
rays from his head, like horns. He said, 'Fear not, my name is Monedo
Wininees, or the Little man Spirit. I give this name to your first
son. It is my life. Go to the place you are called to visit.' I
followed the path till I could see that it led up to an opening in the
sky, when I heard a voice, and standing still, saw the figure of a man
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standing near the path, whose head was surrounded with a brilliant
halo, and his breast was covered with squares. He said to me: 'Look at
me, my name is O-shau-wau-e-geeghick, or the Bright Blue Sky. I am the
veil that covers the opening into the sky. Stand and listen to me. Do
not be afraid. I am going to endow you with gifts of life, and put you
in array that you may withstand and endure.' Immediately I saw myself
encircled with bright points which rested against me like needles, but
gave me no pain, and they fell at my feet. This was repeated several
times, and at each time they fell to the ground. He said, 'wait and do
not fear, till I have said and done all I am about to do.' I then felt
different instruments, first like awls, and then like nails stuck into
my flesh, but neither did they give me pain, but, like the needles,
fell at my feet as often as they appeared. He then said, 'that is
good,' meaning my trial by these points. 'You will see length of days.
Advance a little further,' said he. I did so, and stood at the
commencement of the opening. 'You have arrived,' said he, 'at the
limit you cannot pass. I give you my name, you can give it to another.
Now, return! Look around you. There is a conveyance for you. Do not be
afraid to get on its back, and when you get to your lodge, you must
take that which sustains the human body.' I turned, and saw a kind of
fish swimming in the air, and getting upon it as directed, was carried
back with celerity, my hair floating behind me in the air. And as soon
as I got back, my vision ceased.

"In the morning, being the sixth day of my fast, my mother came with a
little bit of dried trout. But such was my sensitiveness to all
sounds, and my increased power of scent, produced by fasting, that
before she came in sight I heard her, while a great way off, and when
she came in, I could not bear the smell of the fish or herself either.
She said, 'I have brought something for you to eat, only a mouthful,
to prevent your dying.' She prepared to cook it, but I said, 'Mother,
forbear, I do not wish to eat it--the smell is offensive to me.' She
accordingly left off preparing to cook the fish, and again encouraged
me to persevere, and try to become a comfort to her in her old age,
and bereaved state, and left me.

"I attempted to cut wood, as usual, but in the effort I fell back on
the snow, from weariness, and lay some time; at last I made an effort
and rose, and went to my lodge and lay down. I again saw the vision,
and each person who had before spoken to me, and heard the promises of
different kinds made to me, and the songs. I went the same path which
I had pursued before, and met with the same reception. I also had
another vision, or celestial visit, which I shall presently relate. My
mother came again on the seventh day, and brought me some pounded corn
boiled in _snow-water_, for she said I must not drink water from lake
or river. After taking it, I related my vision to her. She said it
was good, and spoke to me to continue my fast three days longer. I
did so; at the end of which she took me home, and made a feast in
honor of my success, and invited a great many guests. I was told to
eat sparingly, and to take nothing too hearty or substantial; but this
1562
was unnecessary, for my abstinence had made my senses so acute, that
all animal food had a gross and disagreeable odor.

"After the seventh day of my fast (she continued), while I was lying
in my lodge, I saw a dark, round object descending from the sky like a
round stone, and enter my lodge. As it came near, I saw that it had
small feet and hands like a human body. It spoke to me and said, 'I
give you the gift of seeing into futurity, that you may use it for the
benefit of yourself and the Indians--your relations and
tribes-people.' It then departed, but as it went away, it assumed
wings, and looked to me like the red-headed woodpecker.

"In consequence of being thus favored, I assumed the arts of a

medicine-woman and a prophetess: but never those of a Wabeno. The
first time I exercised the prophetical art, was at the strong and
repeated solicitations of my friends. It was in the winter season, and
they were then encamped west of the Wisacoda, or Brule River, of Lake
Superior, and between it and the plains west. There were, beside my
mother's family and relatives, a considerable number of families. They
had been some time at the place, and were near starving, as they could
find no game. One evening the chief of the party came into my mother's
lodge. I had lain down, and was supposed to be asleep, and he
requested of my mother that she would allow me to try my skill to
relieve them. My mother spoke to me, and after some conversation, she
gave her consent. I told them to build the _Jee-suk-aun_, or prophet's
lodge _strong_, and gave particular directions for it. I directed that
it should consist of ten posts or saplings, each of a different kind
of wood, which I named. When it was finished, and tightly wound with
skins, the entire population of the encampment assembled around it,
and I went in, taking only a small drum. I immediately knelt down, and
holding my head near the ground, in a position as near as may be
prostrate, began beating my drum, and reciting my songs or
incantations. The lodge commenced shaking violently, by supernatural
means. I knew this by the compressed current of air above, and the
noise of motion. This being regarded by me, and by all without, as a
proof of the presence of the spirits I consulted, I ceased beating
and singing, and lay still, waiting for questions in the position I
at first assumed.

"The first question put to me was in relation to the game, and _where_
it was to be found. The response was given by the orbicular spirit,
who had appeared to me. He said, 'How short-sighted you are! If you
will go in a _west_ direction, you will find game in abundance.' Next
day the camp was broken up, and they all moved westward, the hunters,
as usual, going far ahead. They had not proceeded far beyond the
bounds of their former hunting circle, when they came upon tracks of
moose, and that day they killed a female and two young moose, nearly
full-grown. They pitched their encampment anew, and had abundance of
animal food in this new position.

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"My reputation was established by this success, and I was afterward
noted in the tribe, in the art of a medicine-woman, and sung the songs
which I have given to you."

11.7 July

(2012-07-06 02:59) - public

“How do you feel?”

I feel…full.
I am full, outstretched arms to the horizon.
I am full, and can see myself in my true fullness.
I can see the unhealthy habits that I have allowed to develop,
For the first time, I see them from a perspective outside of them.

pigshitpoet (2012-07-07 04:20:30)

have you been doing qigong again?... psp ; ’

turboswami (2012-07-07 20:39:08)

I took MDMA for the first time... There was just SO much, so much to say. I will leave it at MDMA is a
psychotherapeutic tool with AMAZING potential. ...it made me do spontaneous qi gong, yea. Trying
to get nervous energy flowing freely again.

pigshitpoet (2012-07-14 23:10:35)

LOL

Coming To Terms With The Idea of Childlessness - Rochelle, July 2012

(2012-07-07 13:36) - public

Coming to terms with the idea of childlessness.

Accepting the pains of aging, the degeneration of the body and the mind.
This is my time, concluding.
If I choose to begin fighting, as many my age continue to,
I will only benefit from the competition .
I will be competent, in the eyes of the audience.
I will fool them all with words of my choosing, if I so choose. If I so choose.
The love of a woman, holding the ear of my infant son against my heart.
If I so choose, if I am so chosen.
Why do I want all to see the money?
What is the business of men, con-vening, con-spiring.
Mortality is felt, the shadow of vitality,
Like a savored aftertaste, rolled behind vivaciousness on the tongue.
We become connoisseurs of youthfulness as we taste age.
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That taste of aging makes us appreciate what we had
Like the taste of aged wine makes us appreciate that long-ago season, its harvest.
Regrets, the bitterness of fruit plucked before it could fully mature, an irreversible choice.
Long exhale into a hug. Feel it, deep.
Open into it.
I am a real person, do you want to know?
Do you want to share?
“How do you feel?”
I feel…full.
I am full, outstretched arms to the horizon.
I am full, and can see myself in my true fullness.
I can see the unhealthy habits that I have allowed to develop,
For the first time, I see them from a perspective outside of them.
“Like what?”
Like the recently developed habit of looking away while someone talks to me, as if looking of
into the distance, thoughtfully, as I listen to them. Perhaps it began as something real, the dis-
tant gaze of true consideration, but it became a posture automaticed, a pose of thoughtfulness
used to avoid connecting, the obligations of connecting with eyes.
You have issues with touching, yes?
What is that? What is this? *runs palms empathically around her, crouched knees to chest in
a defensive ball.*

It’s me.
Feel me, feel my chest. Put your palm to my heart.
Feel the exhileration of my breath’s peak, and the slow depth of a long quivering exhale.
I am sick, my body withers up, spine curved into a ball around the location of the illness.
"He raped me every day.
What do you think of that?"
Yes, you told me about that.
"Oh did I?"
It is a story…
It is a horrible and sad story and…. I don’t know how much to believe.
"Oh really?"
Trauma makes people run away, unless there is content.
Unless there is something there.
"I felt trapped."
By what?
"I don’t know."
This week, this resistance, this has been more you than me I realize now…
"Oh?"
We have a unique set of issues, you and I.
We are polar-ly opposed. You’re afraid of men, and I am afraid of women.
1565
"You’re afraid of women, why?"
We talked about my mother. How she beat ever aspect of in de vag
In the vag
Individuality.
She beat every facet of individuality out of me, just whipped and tormented me for the sound
of my voice, for the way that I walked, until I simply transcended above the body she was
beating, so far down down.

That a black hole is an inverse sun,

A hole in a surface, draining like a whirlpool inwards to the radiance of a different layer, through
the boundary of a streaming inner ocean, feeding another dimension’s sun.
Chronic pain. It shoots down my legs, like the straining ache of a stretch in my hamstrings.
Ouch. Chronic pain. Do you have it?
It is the loss of circulation, in my arms and legs…. I cant feel my two fingers on each arm, the
spine is pinched, cutting the circulation of energy to my extremities.
I’d make a great husband…
But at the same time, I’d make a horrible husband.
I don’t have a livelihood.
“What else did the angel say to you?”
I had such a beautiful voice….
I had such….potential.
And now my voice is gone, cracked and dried up.
A supple voice comes with fasting.
A wounded healer shows some scars, but they shine with light from behind.
And if I could get my voice back, I think the cracks would be….endearing
Its not about HOW much to write, or how to bullshit verbose as needed,
Its about WHEN to write – when is a state-of-consciousness worthy of record? Its perspective
of height, and us a momentary glimpsing cartographer.
I cant…. I cant yawn.
I haven’t been able to for years.
I try, my mouth opens, the breath goes out,
But the conclusion is not accomplished.
Something left hanging, unreleased.
The exhaustion somehow left in the lungs
…………………..„„„,//////////////////////////////////.//././////././././/././.// //././/////////////////////„,///////„„„„„-
„„„„„„„„„„„„„„
Let the leg quiver in time, let the hands carry a percussive layer to that rhythmic motor
1566
There is this insatiable…pain
Where it just cannot be contained in this body
Sounds From The Sound: Music For Carrying In Bags

• tease tease *

• Snicker snicker

There is separation, a blockage somewhere where I wish to bring you affection.

It is a beautiful experience you
I
What do I seem like?
…you said I seem full of myself. What did you mean by that?
… Oh my god. That train of thought just completely drained me! It’s like soon as I started
thinking about how I SEEM, my energy completely ripped out from under me. Those are cyclical
thoughts that go nowhere, they steal energy that could be directed outwards here.
Tesla walked on his hands
24 years old, the weight of his perception became unbearable…

From "THE TRAGEDY OF THE COMMONS" by GARRETT HARDIN

(2012-07-08 02:55) - public

We can make little progress in working toward optimum population size until we explicitly ex-
orcize the spirit of Adam Smith in the field of practical demography. In economic affairs,
The Wealth of Nations
(1776) popularized the ‘invisible hand’, the idea that an individual who ‘intends only his own
gain’, is, as it were, ‘led by an invisible hand to promote . . . the public interest’. Adam Smith
did not assert that this was invariably true, and perhaps neither did any of his followers. But
he contributed to a dominant tendency of thought that has ever since in- terfered with positive
action based on rational analysis, namely, the tendency to assume that decisions reached
individually will, in fact, be the best decisions for an entire society. If this assumption is correct
it justifies the continuance of our present policy of laissez-faire in repro- duction. If it is correct
we can assume that men will control their indi- vidual fecundity so as to produce the optimum
population. If the assumption is not correct, we need to re-examine our individual freedoms to
see which ones are defensible.
Tragedy of Freedom in a Commons
The rebuttal to the invisible hand in population control is to be found in a scenario first sketched
in a little-known pamphlet in
1833
by a math- ematical amateur named William Forster Lloyd (1794–1852). We may well call it
‘the tragedy of the commons’, using the word ‘tragedy’ as the philosopher Whitehead used
it: ‘The essence of dramatic tragedy is not unhappiness. It resides in the solemnity of the
remorseless working of things.’ He then goes on to say, ‘This inevitableness of destiny can
1567
only be illustrated in terms of human life by incidents which in fact involve unhappiness. For it
is only by them that the futility of escape can be made evident in the drama.’
The tragedy of the commons develops in this way. Picture a pasture open to all. It is to be
expected that each herdsman will try to keep as many cattle as possible on the commons. Such
an arrangement may work reasonably satisfactorily for centuries because tribal wars, poaching,
and disease keep the numbers of both man and beast well below the carrying capacity of the
land. Finally, however, comes the day of reckoning, that is, the day when the long-desired
goal of social stability becomes a reality. At this point, the inherent logic of the commons
remorselessly generates tragedy.
As a rational being, each herdsman seeks to maximize his gain. Ex- plicitly or implicitly, more
or less consciously, he asks, ‘What is the util- ity to me of adding one more animal to my herd?’
This utility has one negative and one positive component.
1)
The positive component is a function of the increment of one ani- mal. Since the herdsman
receives all the proceeds from the sale of the additional animal, the positive utility is nearly +
1.
2)
The negative component is a function of the additional overgrazing created by one more animal.
Since, however, the effects of overgraz- ing are shared by all the herdsmen, the negative utility
for any par- ticular decision-making herdsman is only a fraction of
1.
Adding together the component partial utilities, the rational herdsman concludes that the only
sensible course for him to pursue is to add an- other animal to his herd. And another; and
another....But this is the conclusion reached by each and every rational herdsman sharing
a com- mons. Therein is the tragedy. Each man is locked into a system that compels him to
increase his herd without limit—in a world that is lim- ited. Ruin is the destination toward which
all men rush, each pursuing his own best interest in a society that believes in the freedom of
the commons. Freedom in a commons brings ruin to all.

Nü Gua Creates the First People (2012-07-08 16:38) - public

Like the origin myths of so many other cultures, China, too, credits a serpent from the sky with
the creation of mankind. While initially critical of many of the far-flung associations made by
Narby in "The Cosmic Serpent," between the otherworldly snakes of these many origin myths
(either two-headed or intertwined) and the snake-like coils of DNA, which are our literal origin,
I have to admit, the near-universal presence of the serpent god cross-culturally seems too
uncanny to be merely a coincidence.

Here, in the ancient Chinese myth of Nu Gua, we see some of the same common themes: a
serpent descending from a higher realm (feathered serpent,) shape-shifting ability (serpent
as all things,) and the solitary serpent god, creating mankind as an act of play.
When the earth was complete, Nü Gua came down from heaven to see the great creation. Nü
Gua was a remarkable goddess who could change her shape at will. In her favorite form, she
had the head of a woman and the body of a serpent.
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Nü Gua slithered across the quiet landscape on her long tail. She saw the mountains, forests,
and rivers. She saw the busy fish and animals. Everything was beautiful, but somehow the
world still seemed dull and empty.
All alone, the goddess lay down on the bank of a deep, calm river. She gazed at her own
reflection in the water. Suddenly she had an idea. She would use her divine powers to create
some companions.
Nü Gua scooped up a handful of sticky yellow earth. She molded the clay into a small figure.
Instead of a tail like her own, she gave her
creation two legs, so that it could walk around on
the face of the earth. When she was finished, she placed the first human being on the ground,
and it began to dance with happiness.
What a delightful creature! Nü Gua made another figure and another. The perfect little men
and women laughed and danced around their great mother, and the goddess was no longer
lonely.
All through the day and night, Nü Gua labored feverishly to fill the world with her children.
Finally she became too tired to finish the task.
She had to find a way to work more quickly and easily.
So the goddess plucked a length of vine from the riverbank. She dragged the vine through a
muddy ditch. She cracked it in the air like a whip, flinging drops of mud all around her. As
each clod touched the earth, it turned into a human being. That is why we have nobles and
commoners. The rich and fortunate nobles were each carefully shaped by the goddess. Those
who formed from the haphazardly flung drops of mud became the poor and humble people.
At last there were plenty of human beings. But people made from clay and mud could not live
forever. What would happen when they grew old and died? After much thought the goddess
came up with an answer to this dilemma. Calling the men and women together, she taught
them
how to marry and raise children. Now humans could create their own sons and daughters.
In time Nü Gua herself took a husband. She married her brother Fu Xi, and he became the first
emperor. The great god showered humankind with blessings. He showed the people how to
hunt and fish. He taught them the arts of writing, divination, and making music. Fu Xi also
gave humans the valuable gift of fire.
All the people honored Fu Xi and Nü Gua for their gifts. They built temples and sang the praises
of their god and goddess. And for many long years, the men and women of the earth lived in
peace and happiness.

(2012-07-24 14:54) - public

If the will is not exercised, it becomes ill.

11.8 August

The "Beyond-Within" and Symbiotic Evolution (2012-08-15 21:48) - public

The ascent to a higher bandwidth of consciousness is an inward motion – that is to say, a

non-physical motion. This inward expanse is traversed, in a very literal sense, via a change
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in subjective depth. Inward depth can be mapped and understood in terms of frequency, like
anything else; when arranged as a spectrum, specific and highly individualized ranges of con-
sciousness are bound into bandwidths, like the individual colors of a rainbow. Traversing these
boundaries, say to ranges of frequency above or below our visible spectrum (our narrow band-
width "home" on the larger Electromagnetic Spectrum) does not come without difficulty. Yet,
like tuning our radio dial from its regular station to a higher or lower channel, so, all at once,
we can hear whole different cultures, distant foreign music and languages, or whole previously-
unheard conversations about things occurring currently. This metaphor of a radio dial, and of
the existence of higher and lower "stations" of consciousness, which a person can tune into,
can be applied to get a real sense of where and when non-physical entities can "see" you –
they perceive you when you ascend, or "tune in" to their particular "station" of consciousness.
As this inward expanse, the locations of subjective depth, is not of a physical aspect of nature,
these "stations" could be considered locations beyond the 3rd dimension: the beyond-within.
It is only natural that we, like all species, gradually evolve to perceive higher and more subtle
aspects of our surroundings. If some aspect of science, technology, or a symbiotic relationship
with another living thing is shown to aid this upward development of our perceptual capac-
ity, so be it! That fact does not invalidate the legitimacy of that perception, or the range of
consciousness it reveals.
If the study of human evolution has taught us anything, it is that we have developed beyond
this isolate "bag of skin" and now evolve symbiotically, technologically, and socially – not
individually. Tools became our species’ key to dominating natural selection...

Yet, we’ve come to the limits of our physical tools efficaciousness. In order to progress,
our next advancement must be leaning to wield and control the non-physical tools; those of
the mind.

• [1]Rory Heikkila Please explain to me how we, as a collective species, are ’evolving’ to
perceive anything ’finer’ about our surroundings? Unless our lack of will in accepting these
perceptions are the cause of our overall current despondent state of affairs. Certain man,
special men(and women), will notice and adhere. Most will not. And it’s not actually a
growth because it’s always been this way. Since the dawn of consciousness itself.
[2]5 hours ago · (25362272) Like

• [3]
[4]Rory Heikkila *is the cause..sorry
[5]5 hours ago · (25362283) Like

• [6]
[7]Rory Heikkila You group yourself in too much with the herd with these types of thoughts
:)
[8]Kaleb Smith Rory, try barometric pressure and the patterns of meteorological systems,
as just the first example that comes to mind of the higher ranges of perception afforded
by the collective. You have no barometer hanging naturally from your face, and yet these
energetic systems of fine air and heat exist, unseen. Perhaps you deny their existence,
as you, with your own two eyes cannot see them.*
You use the word "collective" in your response, yet you still speak of individual evolution.
A barometer is as much a perceptual tool, measuring the subtleties of our surroundings,
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 as is our eyes or nose. The satellite camera’s "vision" is merely an extension of our own
natural vision – yet these "greater eyes" belong to the collective, the social identity whose
awareness extends far beyond our own.
I will agree with you that these higher ranges of experience, and energetic systems (like
our low-pressure weather formation) have always existed. But we have only recently
attained the level of organization ([9]James) and technological innovation to be able to
actually PERCEIVE these systems, to see them and accurately measure them. This is a
distinction between consciousness and perception I make. That is to say, the system
and "stream" of finer consciousness has always existed above us, but we were not always
able to see it. Our awareness, as a collective, gradually evolved to encompass that higher
range of phenomena.
And so, as that science progressed, we could finally disregard the myths and old wives’
tales which we’d once used to describe that higher range of Nature we could not see.
Poseidon wasn’t brewing up angry storms at sea, and Zeus wasn’t jealous over the details
of our sex life, God wasn’t flooding the river towns to punish us – but simply because these
Gods did not exist did not mean that the finer barometric systems at work were equally
false. They existed up there, all the while, as if waiting for us to LEARN to see them.
*You must have FAITH in the mystic shaman, [10]Karl Bohnak, who uses his shamanic tools
to access hidden knowledge about the sky and heavens, and foresee the future! ;P

1. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
2. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith/posts/10102440004608024?comment_id=25362272&offset=0&total_comments=1
4
3. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
4. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
5. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith/posts/10102440004608024?comment_id=25362283&offset=0&total_comments=1
4
6. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
7. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
8. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
9. https://www.facebook.com/james.harju.1
10. https://www.facebook.com/karl.bohnak.9

turbo_swami (2012-08-16 21:36:08)

I wonder if there is a highest form of consciousness or if there is an infinite spiral upward. I believe
that the individual colors of the rainbow are illusory and all that exists is the white light. The colors
are only visible in some form of interference, which is separation from the pure white light. The
separation is suffering because it is incomplete and distorted. The moments of perceived happiness is
the counterbalance of suffering because we only know how to experience by comparing something to
the "other," when there is no other; there is only the white light. We may be able to tune into higher
dimensions which alter the perception, but a higher dimension is an illusion because it requires "some-
thing else" to be there when there is only one- only white light. This sounds like I’m establishing the
Church of the Moth. "There is only white light. I must fly into it." I don’t mean to be disruptive on your LJ.

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(2012-08-29 14:21) - public

I collapsed with a guitar cord wrapped inside my chest, like a wire snake.
The breeze blew back man brotha and sista. (2x)
I bring my burbling stomach of yellow heat to protrude, sick with bile, alongside each of
my friends’ worthy accomplishments. Hot naked gut’s jealousy a viable and convincing heat
source.
"Pummelling Naughts" unseen decision made about look of living.
With every inhalation the dim red gouged walls of cavernous subterranean cathedral ceiling
are revealed, by the faint ambers of the height of my breath, I can explore this awe-inspiring
underworld expanse. Bikini Atold Island pig has 3 eyes (the only complicated part, I replied.)
Family Matters: eldest does ayahuasca – brought to the forefront of the black/white community.

To Be Held A Moment Longer (2012-08-29 14:22) - public

When the Winter winds rustle the branches of my fingers and death’s cold cause what little
remains huddled in my rib’s cage to shiver and ache in mournful longing, the slow ice fall door
stares toothy into my warm center, as if hungry to be opened with weakness. Stalling fortunes
slay to be held a moment longer, to force hands to grip and minds to plan.

Reading Notes - August 2012 (2012-08-29 14:23) - public

Greek historian Herodotus states that every Babylonian was an amateur physician, since it was
the custom to lay the sick in the street, so that anyone passing by might offer advice.
5 Rivers Of The Underworld

• Acheron (AK-ur-ahn) - "River of Woe"

• Stynx (sticks) - "River of Hatred"

• Cocytus (ko-SY-tus) - "River of Lamentation"

• Phlegethon (FLEG-uh-thon) - "River of Flaming"

Lethe (LEE-thee) - "River of Oblivion"

– It is claimed at the end of Plato’s Republic that the souls of the dead who are about
to be reincarnated drink of the Lethean waters to forget their previous life.

"Israel" Meaning:

Azrael (Izra ’il) - The Angel of Death.

– severs the cord connecting the soul to the body, writing the names of the born in a
book and erasing the names of the newly dead.
– Inhabits the 3rd Heaven in the Muslim faith, alongside Joseph (Jusuf). (Jesus (Iza)
inhabits the 2nd Heaven.)
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The Book of Ladders - Translation of a now-lost Muslim text describing Mohammed’s out-of-body
experience: his night journey to Hell and the 7 Heavens. (Believed to have been the basis for
Dante’s similar journey.)

pigshitpoet (2012-08-30 04:07:37)

you have one of those new spinning comments from hell that i am unable to view due to browser
incompatibility. the ever changing sea of cyberspace, and we are slowly drowning

Higher "Levels" of Conscious Experience (2012-08-29 14:25) - public

Often The Physical Is All That’s Seen

TALL WOMAN IN WHITE - Drifts regal towards a lesser woman in a blue frame box room. Her
lips move, but there is no sound.
Medium shot of TWIW speaking, silence.
Lesser woman responds – silence.
Sleeping woman moving actively in her bed, her words and actions similarly lost to us – as the
activity is taking place on a higher level of conscious experience.

11.9 October

The Baby-Steps of Science: Our Gradual Independence From Materialism

(2012-10-15 02:59) - public

A toast to the next dimension! As it approaches, closer and closer, to the thin surface which
divides us from the inner worlds and their perception. The number of words required to describe
a graph of higher dimensionality outweigh the ef
fort of simply drawing it, to be seen. The effort required to draw this graph outweighs the
simple act dropping within one’s self and experiencing the perception it represents, perhaps
with the aid of a guide of one sort or another.

On the hazy outline of the room, itself, revealed with eyes closed in the hypersensitive
consciousness of meditation or out-of-body experience, is where consciousness research
should focus first, as we will not want to stray far, initially, from physicality and its confirma-
tion and material measures. Yet, the technique of inducing and maintaining this hypersensitive
state of consciousness, if harnessed and mastered, could change, not just the medical model,
but our culture’s very understanding of human potential.

I like to think of athletes of a different type, extraordinary supermen who prove their
mastery, not in mere physical strength or by competing in a sport, but by diving within, deeply,
and retrieving information from a great inward distance, by directing intention with such pure
and steadfast focus as to change events, environments, or orchestrate coincidences in time,
heal the sick by perceiving and manipulating the energetic signature of disease, or receive
and transmit thought with others, like a radio. The return of the yogi! The reexploration of
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sainthood, made, in baby steps, by a scientific culture! Or perhaps leaps and bounds? Who
can define the future of a culture with our degree of technological growth, or with any certainty
predict the potential progress of the exponential development of these machines of ours? The
lonely singular observation which, to me, suggested the expansion of the perceptual limits
of this materialistic culture would be baby-stepped was the sheer distractibility of the typical
American; the poverty of attention span and focus which has spread through the generations
since the advent of television, for instance. This Western epidemic of attention deficit disorder,
that poverty of attention, seems mirrored in a poverty of spirit, as the subtle aspect of life
in which the spiritual is contained can not be sensed beneath the blaring of radios or the
screaming explosions of home theater systems. The spiritual side of our lives is very quiet,
revealing itself, if we are lucky, in rare moments of meditative focus, or in other exceptional
states of consciousness, induced via countless other methods or situations.

Our minds are not well, they are as flabby and undisciplined as we are. Knowing has
been overwhelmed in our culture by crude sensate gluttony and the celebration of Hedonism,
excessive indulgences in carnality. The sense of abandon and self-ignorance with which the
average American embraces and shamelessy satiates their fickle material desires is tied by
direct means to their feelings of unfulfillment, purposelessness, anxiety, depression, and
that peculiar feeling of having some very basic, deep life need which isn’t being met, some
hole in one’s centermost being which cannot be filled, even with all these credit card purchases.

I am sorry if I sound bitter. If it is any consolation, the bitterness is mostly self-directed,

as I have, in full knowledge of the fact, ignored my most basic spiritual needs for years, out
of simple undisciplined laziness and my gorging on distraction, the taste of which was made
a tinge bitter by the shame I added, like some fancy condiment I had no choice but to slather
on. With time, even a taste for this bitterness can be developed, and savored as some guilty
pleasure.

[1]
1. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10102621213928094&set=a.814902396924.2665531.2302530&type=1&releva
nt_count=1

Sync Into The Warmth (2012-10-15 18:08) - public

Egyptians worshiped this cat, this little lion,

Who remembers, as we should, to bask warm and proud in the sun.
And feel the warmth that is there when I need it.
And to appreciate it as it peaks in the glory of noon,
When I feel its presence in my life most intensely.
I must learn this cycle, and align my life with it, if I wish to thrive in this rhythm, and express
myself in this tempo. My dance is so slow, some deep-shifting twist that shimmies up through
like a snake. When this snake climbs up my spine, the whole room knows him like an old friend
and dances with him.
The division of a day into its smaller cycles, regular oscillations arranged to harmonize with
the greater frequencies: circadian, lunar, seasonal, etc., create purity, in the self and the
behavior it resonates, like the purity of tone transmitting from a tuning fork; regular sinoidal
tone, rippling out in concentric waves of pressure.
Slow, half phase, come in close and sync into the warmth.
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I need to let go of the world, these few dangling stringy attachments that keep me in their
service, straining for appreciation. My freedom has long been granted, I need only step up to
claim it. But what is true freedom from the restraints of society, from those judgments and
comparisons that pressure me to censor myself? I’d say it’s a powerful a dangerous thing, that
degree of liberation that only solitude can bring. Like a double-edged blade, it can easily be
used to do amazing work, to sculpt and transform the self. Yet, unfocused, that same solitude
can invade a life and fester in the slack, as one lets themselves go, loses their anchor to society,
becoming unhinged.

turboswami (2012-10-16 01:45:18)

Prequel: There’s a cat here, getting tangled in my synth cords... and singing. Haha. Yea. I am allergic,
but I love her. So I pet her with my feet. I got my neighbors cat high. Now we’re going to meditate.
Each breath is a lifetime, so fulfilling! Working so hard to be collect and to have... and then letting go
at the peak, and finally feeling and appreciating all you have. As it leaves you. She purrs so contently
at my feet... she’s never done this.

The Camera and Impressionism (2012-10-23 00:59) - public

The camera killed the painted portrait and the relevance of the painter as a reproducer of
transient moments in surface; persons and scenes. Transient moments of DEPTH, the emo-
tional and subjective unseen side of personal experience, inevitably filled that void in art’s
purpose. The laziness and lack of discipline of modern art could be justified as the represen-
tation of a subjective state; vague and open to interpretation. States-of-consciousness, and
the unique, fruitful, and emotionally pregnant impressions of mundane scenes and objects
could, all at once, be featured as art – as in the rare and extremely personalized perceptions of
the dadaist/surealist (Marcel Duchamp’s upturned urinal piece, for instance, was nothing but
perception of the mundane, as art.)

Acknowledging The Relationship Between The Orchestration of Coincidence

By Spirit and Life Path (2012-10-23 02:32) - public

In reading more of Rosemary’s thoughts in the "Intention, Quietude, and Slowing" chapter
(Anderson, 2011), I noticed I had underlined an interesting quote by her:
One can observe not only the object of inquiry, but also what happens in its vicinity or context.
Noticing various environmental events (curious things that just happen, relevant readings or
other useful resources that present themselves) can provide expanded understanding of what
is being studied. Environmental events (synchronicities, serendipitous occurrences) can even
provide forms of confirmation or affirmation that one is on the right track, and they may also
indicate negations or warnings that one is proceeding in a way that is not useful or wise. Such
observations and lessons are part of what has been called the ’context of discovery’; although
crucial in any form of research, these real-life influences are rarely mentioned in formal research
reports. (p. 189)
As best I can tell, in that underlined text, she is acknowledging the orchestration of coincidence
by spirit, and that orchestration’s alignment or misalignment with our intended life path – not
OUR intent, mind you, but theirs, as signified by the synchronicity being consciously created
(by something) as a “form of confirmation,” as she says.
1575
Interestingly, I had been writing about this very topic recently, when struggling with hurdle
after hurdle attempting to be accepted into Sofia U, and then the further cohort struggles after
my acceptance. Briefly transcribed:

Difficulty In Accomplishing Life Goals Interpreted As A Measure of Their

Alignment/Misalignment With Spiritual Purpose

·
The unambiguous ease of accomplishment and orchestration of coincidence experienced dur-
ing periods of high spiritual connectivity implies the possibility of several scenarios:
–
Choices and actions which misalign with spiritual intention are not similarly supported, or are
even actively inhibited from occurring.
–
Misfortune and the inhibited accomplishment of goals represents interaction with a distinctly
different class of entities, who work within the realm of coincidence, free of the temporal re-
straint which we are accustomed.
Admittedly, the moment you throw in that word “entities,” things get pretty far out, but I cannot
imagine any other interpretation for Rosemary’s describing something conscious of her life
choices, providing feedback (both warnings and affirmations) in order to confirm its presence
and awareness of her life, if NOT spirit.

Anderson, R., & Braud, W. (2011). Transforming self and others through research: Transper-
sonal research methods and skills for
 the human sciences and humanities. Albany, NY: Suny
Press.

Reflections on Maintaining Social Balance During A Period of Transition

(2012-10-23 02:54) - public

My return to ITP comes with many changes, both in myself and in her. She’s changed her
name, what some might call a superficial change, but one, I believe, was done with the hope
and intention for deeper core structural changes to follow the new exterior title. Likewise, my
changes are not complete, and many of them are perhaps only superficial. But to shed an
exterior is sometimes a risky move into a vulnerable state, like a cicada molting of a carapace
which it has long since outgrown, a soft, sensitive, and defenseless self emerges; the true self,
beneath those brittle defenses. So the shedding of a previous image of self is something I feel
me and Sofia share, as we come to see and work with each other again.
Yet, transformation is not always pretty, and rarely is it tidy. The town hall meeting brought
many of the tensions brewing beneath the transition phase to the fore – with many complaints
and anxieties being stressed which, I could tell, by this point, were well-worn territory for Paul
and Neil; territory, their faces betrayed, they were perhaps tired of defending. I mention these
memories of the seminar, not to mire in unpleasantness, but to be realistic about the work
and pain that transformation must entail, be it by a social institution or an individual, if it is
to represent a genuine and meaningful change. Likewise, if giving birth was without pain,
trauma, and sacrifice, I do not believe the bond would be so strong and meaningful, as we
would have so little invested. Emotion, sacrifice, and personal investment (of all sorts) form a
strong bond to our institution through this, what for some is a traumatic transformation. But,
1576
in my experience, its in moments of conflict, unrest, and dramatic change that the we get a
rare glimpse at the deeper mechanics of a system which, when at rest, cannot be seen. All
pretentions and postures are dropped by the mother giving birth – she is her true self, in true
pain; intimate and vulnerable as the life she is bringing into the world from within.

In thinking back to the strongest memories of the seminar, I think first of the drum circle of
the closing ceremony. As minor of a part of the week as that may seem, given the full breadth
of activities and classes, I felt spiritually, socially, physically, emotionally, and creatively a
deep, powerful, and wordless communal bond manifest during that simple drumming exercise;
as if, in closing my eyes and abandoning myself fully to the rhythm, I felt myself begin to
touch on some primal nerve, all at once sexy, contagious, and deeply fulfilling. A peak identity
experience I’ve had playing drums only a handful of other times. The potency of the rhythm’s
influence seemed to be tied to its simplicity, for one, but also to its reflecting our own biological
rhythm; matching the tempo of an excited heartbeat, for instance. Both these things, the
simplicity and the mirroring of our internal rhythm into our external rhythm, both seemed like
key factors in making the beat accessible to the greatest number of people, and to influence
their state-of-consciousness in that primal deep somatic way. In this way, I thought at that
moment, rhythm is like a carrier medium, radiating the modulation of the drummer’s state-
of-consciousness outwards, like ripples on the surface of a subtle “pond” which fills the social
space. I had never played a bongo (or whatever) before, but the things I learned playing a
drum set for 16 years, specifically playing for money on the sidewalk at Stanford, helped me
learn how to drop my ego, and the “jazzy drum solos” I could be doing, and surrender, instead,
to the communal cohesion – and to “aim for their hips.” Haha.

Overall, the seminar was both personally meaningful and challenging and led me to reflect a
lot on my relationship with others; with women, the Sofia community, and society in general.
These considerations and spiritual aspects of being a part of a social group was, I feel, a major
part of StarHawk’s presentation, which was very helpful to me – perhaps in some ways she
may not have intended. The balance between being authentic and genuine (vulnerable) in
the presence of others, and being superficial (and safe) in small talk and networking remains
an aspect of community membership which continues to surprise and challenge me. There
are no hard and fast rules, as the chemistry of individual personalities varies so dramatically,
yet in StarHawk’s talk we are given a set of informed strategies with which to navigate the
often ambiguous and emotional terrain of working and thriving within a group. But if I am truly
comfortable with myself, that love and comfort will be what I share with others.

all_this_beauty (2012-10-23 14:52:11)

"I felt myself begin to touch on some primal nerve, all at once sexy, contagious, and deeply fulfilling.
A peak identity experience I’ve had playing drums only a handful of other times. The potency of
the rhythm’s influence seemed to be tied to its simplicity, for one, but also to its reflecting our own
biological rhythm; matching the tempo of an excited heartbeat, for instance. Both these things,
the simplicity and the mirroring of our internal rhythm into our external rhythm, both seemed like
key factors in making the beat accessible to the greatest number of people, and to influence their
state-of-consciousness in that primal deep somatic way." I’ve felt that way too, especially when I’m
at Bonnaroo. There are all these people, music coming from every direction, and somehow we are
all able to gracefully walk past each other in a rhythm with the music. It’s a wonderful, beautiful
experience. I also see it in every day life. There is a rhythm to everything. I’m so happy that you were
able to have this experience and share it.

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Lightening Down The Line: Lineage and States-of-Consciousness
(2012-10-23 17:23) - public

In my original commentary on the assigned reading from week 1, I described aspects of specific
non-ordinary states of consciousness, like the hypnagogic state, and how we could potentially
utilize or “harvest” the fertile pre-sleep and sleep states, like those described by Heinburg, for
the inspiration which has been repeatedly shown to take root and grow there. I described artists,
like Dali, who would devise clever ways of capturing the phenomenal insights, associations,
and imagery of the non-ordinary pre-sleep state of consciousness, described those techniques
and commented on their potential applicability to other fields. I then cited some incredible
examples of extraordinary (almost supernatural) SoCs from from Tesla’s autobiography (1922)
which did not make it into the “Lightening Bolts and Illuminations,” and the fMRI research of
the “Aha!” moment performed by Drexel’s Dr. Jon Kounios (2009), who was able to show a
flash of high frequency Gamma brainwave activity in the right hemisphere at the moment of
the flash of insight.
All of this writing, including the additional references, was lost when I attempted to post, how-
ever. (Yes, I know: Word document first!) So…I begin again (again). * long sigh *
This time around I will focus on other aspects of the reading or, rather, attempt to associate
those phenomenal subjective and visionary experiences, like those of Kekule and Tesla, to what
Rosemary (Braud & Anderson, 1998) was talking about when she said we must not ignore, but
fully embrace, the distinct experience and influence of the individual investigator. To steal her
quote:
“In the world of spiritual realities, knowledge is always a function of being; the nature of what
we experience is determined by what we ourselves are.” –Aldous Huxley
So, when Huxley says that “…what we ourselves are” defines what we sense and know, what
does he mean? It is an idea I’ve, admittedly, grappled with for a long time – how to begin to
understand and find measures for the broad range of individualized baseline SoC’s we each
live our lives from. This is the “ordinary” state of our own daily consciousness – and it is safe
to say it is not ordinary for everyone else, but a personal “station” from which one perceives
and understands the world. And that, like any other aspect of an individual’s temperament or
intellect, it is, for the most part (over 70 %), genetically determined (Bouchard, 1995).

This personal baseline of consciousness responsible for, not just our perception of spiri-
tual realities, as Huxley so eloquently states, but also our perception of the mundane; our
ability or inability to parallel park, remember names, sing in key, or clearly express ourselves
in words. Our baseline state of consciousness, among other central factors, is key to our
abilities, functionality, and being in the world. And so, yes, to what degree can we begin to
know the origins of this “perceptual station” we live – as the answer to that question will be
key in our gradually learning how to control, or “tune,” that “station” of consciousness up or
down.
References:
Bouchard, T.J., Jr. (1995). Longitudinal studies of personality and intelligence: A be-
havior genetic and evolutionary psychology perspective. In D.H. Saklofske & M. Zeidner
(Eds.),International handbook of personality and intelligence. New York: Plenum. (p. 326)
Braud & Anderson, (Eds.), (1998). Transpersonal research methods for the social sciences:
Honoring human experience. Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, CA.
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Heinberg, R. (1998). Lightning Bolts and Illuminations, adapted from Harman, W. & Rhein-
gold, H. Higher Creativity: Liberating the Unconscious for Breakthrough Insights. In Palmer,
H. (Ed.)Inner Knowing: Consciousnes, Creativity, Insight, Intution (p.124-130).New York, NY:
Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam.
Kounios, J. & Beeman, M. (2009). The Aha! moment: The cognitive neuroscience of insight.
Current Directions in Psychological Science, 18(4), 210-216.
Tesla, N. (n.d.). My inventions: The autobiography of Nikola Tesla. Retrieved from
http://www.mcnabb.com/music/tesla/bio.pdf

Acquiring The Taste (2012-10-23 17:29) - public

Creative Spark – Gourmet Intellection

I enjoyed Root-Bernstein’s metaphor of expression as the “serving up” of dishes, to be con-
sumed by the listener; and the many creative ingredients available to us for use in forming
and preparing our thoughts to be shared.
For me, the reflection of this idea was that of the listener’s (or reader’s) side of gourmet intel-
lection; that, like the elaborate and often unusual dishes created by a master chef, so many of
the thoughts and ideas shared by a creative intellectual are, similarly, unusual or eccentric as
well. Like the first time a young boy tries caviar, or a young man tastes his first strong bitter
beer, the palate often immediately responds with shock and distaste to the strange texture
or extreme flavor. Likewise, we often respond strongly and negatively to the unusual manner
of expression developed by our species’ greatest minds; think, for instance, of the early and
consistent failings and withered criticisms of Joyce, Einstein, or Coltrane. For these uncommon
and masterful culinary, literary, or even musical creations, a “taste” for the novelty of the thing
must first be developed; something which, for the consumer, often takes years to develop and
refine before they can fully appreciate the subtle beauty of the artist’s creation.
“Conventional words or other signs have to be sought for laboriously only in a secondary stage,
when the associative play already referred to is sufficiently established and can be reproduced
at will.” – Albert Einstein
Here Al describes the delicate web of thought associations, as they form; those strands of se-
mantic connection which, though beginning as wisps of spider’s silk, in the wind of distraction,
are gradually strengthened with re-activation and re-priming, until they become strong as steel
and familiar as one’s own hand, so that they may undergird the intended mode of expression
(be it mathematical formulae, or carefully crafted sonnet.) Coincidentally, I spoke about this
topic of the strengthening and expanding of thought associations at the recent MAPS confer-
ence. I can post a video of those ideas, if anyone wants to know more about this “net” of
associations, and its relationship to creativity.
This division between thought and expression can also be integrated into the culinary metaphor
in that the master chef does the actual WORK of the preparation on the stove, refining and
strengthening what is in the pan before finally “framing” his art in the plate; sort of the final
"packaging” of the creation for its intended consumers, with elegant dashes of garnish or sauce
for aesthetics. Likewise, the physicist does his work in the kitchen on the mind, on the hot stove
of critical thinking – only when he is fully content with what he’s prepared does he present it
to his peers on the appropriate “plate,” served as simple elegant formula, with conceptual
garnish to aid his reader’s palate.
References
1579
Root-Bernstein, R. & M. (1999). Sparks of Genius: The Thirteen Thinking Tools of the World’s
Most Creative People. Boston: Houghton Mifflin

Strategies For Setting Intention (2012-10-23 17:39) - public

I have been trying to focus more on forming and maintaining a set of clear goals, and to return to
the powerful strategies of intention affirmation shared with my cohort by Jim Fadiman and Bob
Frager during the orientation to the residential PhD program, as these tricks align very closely
with the intention/attention reading we’ve done this last week. Among these strategies of Dr.
Fadiman is imbuing the clear written intention you have with a powerful emotion, by tying it to
a meaningful personal memory. For instance, when I think of my specific written intention, "I
am healthy, energetic, and productive", I imagine clearly the image of myself smiling fully as I
run through the deep pine woods near my home in Michigan – the emotion of that moment, as I
breath the fresh air in deeply, is one of radiant health, clarity, and freedom and, by channeling
the emotion of that powerful memory into my current intention, it fills it with a sort of vitality,
immediacy, and personal meaningfulness that simply reciting the goal does not do.
Among the other strategies shared by our founders about setting intentions is to speak of them
as if they have already come to pass. Rosemarie discusses this aspect of intention somewhat
as well. When our self-dialgoue is genuine, and speaks of something as if it has already come
to pass, with a resolute sort of certainty, it is as if the Universe quickly aligns to remedy the
minor discrepency of actuality. Haha. The Hindu saints, like Yogananda and Sri Yukteswar,
describe these mechanics of intention as well, and the peculiar attitude, that genuine honesty
with which they state, simply and directly, what is going to occur, which seems to orchestrate
the intention’s manifesetation beyond all odds. Granted, such miraculous stories of the influ-
ence of focused intention are anecdotal, I do believe they point towards the importance of the
individual’s state-of-consciousness as he/she begins to intend. Some methods of intention are
more effective than others, of course, and as we begin to discern the hows and whys of that, I
believe that deep meditative focus and emotional activation are two factors worth considering.

11.10 November

Receptivity To Body Movements: A Gender Difference? (2012-11-01 01:15) - pub-

lic

This week, I became more aware of the influence of the body and the way it silently but power-
fully can express one’s mood. While dancing at a packed Halloween party to some kinda "old
skool" booty rap, I found myself dancing with a circle of 3 other people: a man and two women.
I’ve noticed different types of music are "felt" in my body in different ways, and in different
parts. The low bass and low tempo of this music was very strong and I found it seemed to
find expression in my hips and legs (the low parts of my body) the most. I closed my eyes and
really tried to "release" all tension and focus just on the body, and how it wanted to move at
that moment. This led to a low bending of my knees to the bass drops, and a stomping of my
right heel to the kick drum. It was a very fulfilling sensation, very masculine and sexy feeling,
and when I opened my eyes, I noticed the cute blonde girl across from me in the circle was
suddenly paying a lot of attention to me, looking me in the eyes as she smiled and danced. It
seems this embodied dance didnt "feel" sexy only to me.
1580
The bald man in the circle also seemed to respond strongly to this movement, and pulled the
girl to my right aside and said "Don’t worry about him." I did not concern myself with this
much, but it was interesting the attention that releasing the body fully into the music seemed
to attract. I closed my eyes again, and let go of these concerns of the room, dropping down into
the bass of the music and letting it move my body as it may. The bent knee stomping of the
right heel returned, with a nodding of the head to the snare. As I really began to release to the
music even further, I noticed a "snake like" movement rise up my spine to the rhythm, a subtle
"slithering" that felt very sexual and was most pronounced in my head. It was an incredibly
fulfilling feeling, and I was smiling very big smile and feeling so good when I was bumped.
The bump came from the bald man, who was moving from my right, with his back to me,
actually cutting the whole dancing circle in half. The man gave me a backward glance out of
the corner of his eye, as he extended his arms out in either direction, in a wall-like way. It
was as if he was "blocking" me from the blonde girl directly across in the circle, who had been
smiling and paying such close attention to me while we all danced. He moved in closely to her,
and then turned around and ground up against her in a way women typically do to men. She
was very surprised and played along, but the container of the circle had been broken, and it
soon disolved.
The movement of the body can evoke very powerful forces, both in self and others. The whole
scene just felt very primal and somehow crude, like forceful Alpha supremacy/mate selection
sort of stuff was coming up. I began to think how those most primitive urges and sexual drives
exist there, in the movement of the hips, in some way. Certain movements seem to have
universal meaning and receptivity to that meaning may differ from one gender to another.

More Characters Needed (2012-11-16 23:53) - public

We decended from the high school parking lot through a secret driveway, that had been
obscured by a bush, into an old abandoned subterranean parking complex of many levels.
The driver was frantic, swearing he had seen a man down here, and hit him with his car
accidentally. None of us believed him.

A few abandoned cars and bits of garbage and dust, a couch, all strewn about the 3rd
floor down. There, a miniature mansion, perhaps 15 feet tall, stood grandly illuminated, like
an island of light amongst the otherwise grey pallor of the cold cement. Arriving at the top of
a darkened stairway, the hobo Jake had hit with his car shuffled towards, preoccupied with the
contents of some plastic bag, not seeming to even notice our presence. He wore a headband
and a grungy red beard, streaked with grey, and a splotchy hunter’s green rawhide jacket with
many pockets.

He shot two of the women, and told me he “Needs more characters.” Drugs were taken, special
seduction drugs that, by some delicate metabolic balance, allowed me to make a woman fall
in love with me simply by breathing on her. Deep breaths on the hitchhikers…mouth fully
open wide, breathing hot air on her neck.

Mitochondrial Integration (2012-11-17 00:14) - public

Its amazing people even manage, distrustful in our guises, with our individual crises and
dramas, connecting and disconnecting along arbitrary whims of distance and openness. It’s
1581
a wonder anybody manages to form meaning at all. My first inclination is always to go into
hiding, and get perspective from some vantage point outside the center. “Ec-centric,” you can
call me anything you’d like, but please listen when I share what few words I have and know I
don’t give them out lightly, or to just anyone. “Pretentious,” you may call me anything you’d
like, but please consider quietly and thoughtfully looking around yourself for a moment, to the
clothes, the tones, and the mirror, before accusing me, in my quiet solitude, of pretending.
When there is no one around to make an impression on, you’d be surprised by the aspects of
self that begin to gradually show themselves; some genuine and some, perhaps, which would
be the focus of shame in the polite company you may be accustomed.

Too many times have woken up late…?

Is there a limit to wasted days,
before the body begins to reflect the day?

I, so many times, see myself through fresh eyes,

Eyes brightened by the air of the higher altitudes,
And see the changes that should best occur, in an honest outwardly objective way, if I should
intend to achieve the goals I have set in my mind, and become the identity I imagine in
that future time. And, yet, I am 30, soon to be 31, and it seems the worlds become more
unforgiving, as if my fruit becomes past prime, and I begin to notice, and know this, about
those “prime” fruit now being picked. Such strange perceptions available to me now. I
perceive the impression of the 22 year old girl I danced with last night, and the way these
energies of the dance were directed, so strange the circle of three dancers, and the subtle di-
rection of attention from one girl to the other, and the men who watch from the tables, intently.

The spires of thought that come with a truly fresh weed high, cognitively alert and se-
mantically cohesive, that can be applied in any direction to in-spire, or spire inward along
that line of attention, in spired strands of association. I imagine these spires as being sinoidal
intertwining of dualities, like the twine splines of DNA curling upwards-inwards and through,
to the instrument of expression, be it voice, guitar, or pen. I wonder, I wonder, frequencies of
sound, I imagine the systems used by Aphex Twin, his software and technique and how I would
go about sequencing so tightly in an improvised way, using a keyboard. Then, out of nowhere,
an abusive slur “Lets hear sum of that Aphex acid, you cunt!” and I am reeling inwards in
layers of defense, as if somehow assaulted by the thought of Richard James hearing that at a
concert, most likely during one of his more ambient sets, from one of his audience members.
Of course he’d put it in the song, as it is a golden hurt, like some distant personality being set
fire to, like the chluffing off of falsehood, some snake being burnt up through its skin like an
old lie. Is chluffing even a word?

Oh, wow… geez, I suddenly feel so fat!

The girl of 22 who I danced with last night,
Who I addresses as Ms. Joe, I’ve let myself go.
Troubling truths I don’t want you to know
The aching sway as I forget my very sight.

Why did I say that she wasn’t good enough for The Voice?
I am so oh oh, to imagine how I look when I sing.
There are techniques that come with faces.
1582
I wish I could watch, I should have someone record me.

Strange, strange… I need to photograph everything right now.

The Sky Chariot, what a strange impression that must be,
When they see I’ve removed the back seats, and put In a mattress.
“That’s the bedroom. “ I told the one kid’s friend I was dropping off.
Whatever, thinking back, it just must have made a weird impression.

Strange, strange… I need to photograph everything in my life, just as it is, right now.
I’m mostly bedridden by this point. The rhythms of a household are lost to solitude’s sideways
slide into dayless rhythm. I am unhappy with where I’ve allowed this state of affairs to go. I
need to get my Psychedemia poster ono my website, goddamn it…

Produce subtle density book NOW!

Cover, in photoshop, of red porous coral spiraling up out of the black inky dark.
FIrey, rising. Raging as if boiling hardening lava up into form. Why did my poem get rejected?
It bugs me so much!!

It bugs me so much!!
It bugs me so much!!
It bugs me so much!!
It bugs me so much!!

Where does that come from? That voice that says that, is that me? It sounds so nasally, the
tone of those words that I just looked back that I actually just wrote, as if it were something I’d
say to someone. It’s all so different, the perspectives people choose to present to me. What
strange tolerance I allow to carry me, after I have been offensive by my very lifestyle, however
desolate it drifts now that I have been terminated. “Terminated.” I wonder what Jim is like?
These people I so distantly know, perhaps resentful now that they know what I have done….

I am reviewing this evidence, I am reviewing… email statements…

It is torturous to consider legal standpoints.
Dad is waiting for me to consult a lawyer?
What was I to do today? What was I to do this month?

I wonder what to do about my life?

I overthink of these slumped brooding troubles,
I think of behavior that does not serve me…

I hear a throbbing resonance in the room, as if two sine waves relating to each other in
phase in the white noise.

In many ways, high dialing is way worse than drunk dialing.

Mmm, yea. What was the fortunate misfortune that broke apart as it fell, revealing its
many layers?

I just need to cut up my life, for easy access and reuse.

I need to cut up and cut up, big cuts and little cuts, sever what is fat down to something that
1583
is hard won and of quality. Gradation

I am amazed by how powerful a change of diet can be. One week can alter your whole
outlook and sense of wellbeing. I feel the energy of a fruit fast, for instance, by that one week
mark .

Aphex Twin Sound

If I tap out the BPM of an one or two bar drum/synth jam session, and assign those
bars, to the keys, at a quarter bar per key. Arpeggiate the keys at a double time tempo, and
assign repetition length knob to the keyboard.

Reins are not needed if your intent is to calm the horse, they are ineffective.
Reigns are only needed if you wish to move forward, together, as a society.
When certain musculatures are meant to respond to direction of the man – in that way, his will
is extended through the horse, becoming an extension of himself. This is much like the power
of symbiotic relationships, the give and take of genetically different species that compose
an effective and efficient living system. The give and take of our cells and the massive
bacterial flora in our large intestine, or even the delicate relationship that evolved between
the mitochondria and the cell, which has now become such an evolutionarily ancient bond that
the mitochondria’s DNA discarded, and essentially inactive. Relationships develop between
diverse sets of cells, and so roles are formed between the increasingly specialized cell groups,
until localized and integrated as a tissue, and a composed organ organized within the larger
system.

Nuclear and mitochondrial DNA are thought to be of separate evolutionary origin, with
the mtDNA being derived from the circular genomes of the bacteria that were engulfed
by the early ancestors of today’s eukaryotic cells. This theory is called the endosymbiotic
theory. Each mitochondrion is estimated to contain 2-10 mtDNA copies.[4] In the cells of
extant organisms, the vast majority of the proteins present in the mitochondria (numbering
approximately 1500 different types in mammals) are coded for by nuclear DNA, but the genes
for some of them, if not most, are thought to have originally been of bacterial origin, having
since been transferred to the eukaryotic nucleus during evolution.

I thought the genome had been abosrbed by the nucleus . Haha. I wanna know!
12:18
You could say the mitochondria is the "slave" of the cell...
12:19
…out of all the organelles, mitochondria is the one really being "used"
12:19
putting it to work to make energy
12:19
Its like it does what it’s told.

12:23
rachel
12:23
1584
What do you mean by ’active’ exactly?

12:33
TurboSwami
12:33
Do they produce by fission?
12:33
and if they die out in the cell, do they regenerate like normal organelles?
12:33

One possible secondary endosymbiosis in process has been observed by Okamoto & Inouye
(2005). The heterotrophic protist Hatena behaves like a predator until it ingests a green alga,
which loses its flagella and cytoskeleton, while Hatena, now a host, switches to photosynthetic
nutrition, gains the ability to move towards light and loses its feeding apparatus.
▪ Neither mitochondria nor plastids can survive in carbon dioxide or outside the cell, having
lost many essential nutrients required for survival. The standard counterargument points to
the large timespan that the mitochondria/plastids have co-existed with their hosts. In this
view, genes and systems that were no longer necessary were simply deleted, or in many cases,
transferred into the host genome instead. (In fact these transfers constitute an important
way for the host cell to regulate plastid or mitochondrial activity.) For example, most plastids
are not able to produce respiratory proteins necessary for respiration. Like many living cells,
plastids would die if energy is not provided to them by respiration.

▪ A large cell, especially one equipped for pinocytosis, has vast energetic requirements,
which cannot be achieved without the internalisation of energy production (due to the de-
crease in the surface area to volume ratio as size increases). This implies that, for the cell
to gain mitochondria, it could not have been a eukaryote, and must have been a prokaryote.
This in turn implies that the emergence of the eukaryotes and the formation of mitochondria
were achieved simultaneously. This may be explained by possibly a very close symbiotic
relationship between two types of prokaryotes which eventually led to gene exchange and
engulfing of the mitochondria precursors through partial fusion or engulfing by the host
bacteria.

Genetic analysis of small eukaryotes that lack mitochondria shows that they all still re-
tain genes for mitochondrial proteins. This implies that all these eukaryotes once had
mitochondria. This objection can be answered if, as suggested above, the origin of the
eukaryotes coincided with the formation of mitochondria. Alternatively, we may postulate
extinction of all other descendants of a mitochondrion-free ancestral eukaryote, perhaps due
to competition from the symbiotic clade, or oxygen poisoning as levels continued to rise.

It translates to viable relationships between different nations.

12:39
Like certain production roles, taken up by a country, like China.
12:40
But integrated into the greater whole, that specific role being specialized to those people.
12:41
over time, many generations, epigenetic changes would begin to occur, carrying certain traits
related to the specialized role across generations
1585
Like father, like son…gradually a genetic predisposition develops towards the work of
that production task role. Reliance on the symbiotic relationship with the greater system,
certain genes needed for the cell to survive outside of the host cell.

Direct proof for Darwin’s hypothesis on competition between species

It was Darwin who first proposed that the struggle for existence would be more fierce
between closely related species as compared to comparatively distant ones. And although
this was generally accepted as a premise, the following study (Source 3) contains the strongest
direct experimental evidence yet to support its validity.

Lin Jiang (adjacent picture), School of Biology at Georgia Tech, Cyrille Violle, Georgia
Tech biology graduate student Zhichao Pu, and Diana Nemergut, from the Institute of Arctic
and Alpine Research and the Environmental Studies Program at the University of Colorado at
Boulder are responsible for the discovery.

For the study, the researchers selected bacterivorous ciliated protist microorganisms due to
their rapid rate of reproduction that allowed them to study the results over many generations.
The researchers set up 165 microcosms that contained either an individual protist species
or a pairing of two species, along with food for them to compete for. They collected weekly
samples from each microcosm, recording the presence or absence or density of species, and
they did this for 10 weeks.

At the end, the results showed that all species survived until the end of the experiment
when they were alone in a microcosm. However, in more than half of the experiments in which
protists were paired together with other species, one of the two species dominated, leading
to the extinction of the other species.
Also, the frequency and speed of this extinction process , called competitive exclusion, was
significantly greater between species that were more closely related.

The study also showed that the frequency of competitive exclusion was significantly greater
between species that had similar mouth sizes.

“This study is one step toward a better understanding of how phylogenetic relatedness
influences species interactions,” said Jiang. “We hope our experimental validation of the
phylogenetic limiting similarity hypothesis in microorganisms will encourage other ecologists
to conduct additional studies with other types of organisms to further validate Darwin’s
hypothesis.” (Source 1)

Source:
1) http://www.newswise.com/articles/view/577671/?sc=dwhr &xy=10000760
2) http://www.eurekalert.org/pub _releases/2011-06/giot-nss061011.php
3) Published: http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1461-0248.2011.01644.x/abstract
4) http://www.examiner.com/article/direct-proof-of-darwin-s-competition-theoryl

The goal should not be to eliminate diversity (which is, essentially, the end point of the
American "melting pot" experiment – that point at which all difference is finally "melted down"
1586
completely, and we are all left, I’d imagine, a sort of light tan color.)

Instead of this loss of
diversity, by looking to nature, we see the ideal relationship between diverse populations: the
abandonment of competition towards a system of symbiotic cooperation, and the assignment
of specialized roles. 
Think of those early protist cells INTEGRATING that individual organism,
the mitochondria; giving it space, nutrients, and protection. Where once, it had been a
competitor, it instead became a vital organ(elle) in a larger organized system. Energy coming
from WITHIN the cell, via a relationship of mutual dependence with a species of a differing
genetic makeup. 
Facing energy crises and mounting nationalism on our own scale, we can
find subtle guidance in considering the solutions utilized eons ago by our own bodies.

▪
▪ 
Matt Lampi Oh. U wanna inbreed to diversify!? Me either.. lol.. i think i will melt and hope
the best for my recessive genes..
34 minutes ago via mobile · Like


▪
▪ 
Kaleb Smith I’m saying we need to genetically engineer a species of cute little "mitochondria
pets," each equipped with convenient plug-ins for AC appliances and USB devices.
▪
▪ I want one that’s kinda fluffy, like a miniature collie, so he can jump up into bed and snuggle,
or fetch my shoes, while he’s charging my cellphone. Haha!
27 minutes ago · Edited · Like


▪

Kaleb Smith ...careful giving him doggie baths! BZZZZZT! ;P

It’s just interesting that, according to this research, it’s our very equality that causes
the tension between races. The greater the variance, the easier it is to co-habitate. It was
only when the two bacterial species were very similar that they began to go to "war," and kill
each other off. I think these rules of nature apply to most populations, even human social
populations.

Human Exceptionalism is the Hallmark of the Social Science

Humans are not exempt from biology.

Psychedelic Research - Yale Interview (2012-11-18 13:38) - public

Hi Kaleb,
Thanks for getting back to me from the woods! Answering the questions via email
actually IS easier for me. Please see the attached consent form and the questions
below. You may skip any questions you do not wish to answer or which do not seem
relevant.
Please also indicate in your response that you have seen the consent form and agree
to participate.
Thank you! Let me know if you have any questions.
How long have you been working in your field? What is your position?
1587
My first work in psychology began in 2005, working at a mental health facility coun-
seling schizophrenics, both one-on-one and in group.
Currently, I have left the NP lab for a time and am doing independent research.

What attracted you initially to research on psychedelics?

-Is that still what appeals to you about it?

Psychedelics initially seemed to reveal ranges of insight, into self and surroundings,
that had not previously been available to me. The term "consciousness expansion"
had been a meaningless 60s cliche, until that experience of the WHOLE of my con-
ception of the world, expanding outwards, developing new and exciting thought
associations, and seeing the hidden and subtle relationships between aspects of
my life and self.
Once I had had that experience, the term "consciousness expansion" was no longer a
meaningless catch phrase from my parent’s generation, but was a perfectly crafted
description of something I had personally experience – the experience filled the
cliche with meaning, and I learned and realized what it was meant to describe.
Yes, while I still believe that "consciousness expansion" is a powerful and poten-
tially therapeutic and even spiritual experience, I have narrowed the area of my fo-
cus considerably since that personally transformative introduction, in high school.
There are so many delicate challenges to the study of profound subjective experi-
ences, and by focusing on discrete, and even quantifiable, aspects of that variation
in one’s state-of-consciousness away from baseline help us to understand the many
temperamental perceptual systems being individually influenced.

Would you say that there are any personal beliefs or core values that guide your
work?

The value of genuineness, and a sort of transparency of ego, is something that I

believe can benefit the progression of society as a whole. With genuine vulnerability
comes an empathic sensitivity to those around you that is an invaluable part of any
deep, meaningful relationship. Lowering one’s defenses is, by no means, something
that comes easily or intuitively, but the therapeutic benefits of doing so, from a
clinical perspective, are immense and long lasting.

Are these values the same as or different than the values of colleagues and others
in your field?
-(if in conflict) What effect does this have, if any, on pursuit of your goals?

I’ll admit, I’ve run into conflict with others working in psychology, even fellow
Transpersonalists, who did not believe in the benefit of psychedelic therapies. It’s a
1588
very delicate and emotionally-charged topic, even today, some half a century after
the counter-culture movement.
The resistance I’ve faced has certainly made me more careful about how and to who
I discuss psychedelic research with. A general rule of thumb is to, of course, sepa-
rate my own lifestyle and experiences from the research. I do not discuss my own
psychedelic experiences when discussing the research. This is a personal choice
that I make to maintain a respectful boundary between the various contexts of the
psychedelic in my life, subculture, and culture.

Have you ever been torn between conflicting responsibilities in your work? (e.g.,
personal vs institutional, funder vs the public, funder vs scientific integrity)
-Please describe and how did you resolve this conflict?

I have not experienced formal conflicts directly attributed to psychedelic research,

despite the ongoing resistance to the work that I described.

What are some of the things that have helped you be able to pursue psychedelic
research?

The expansion of MAPS and the conferences has really opened up and shined light
on the research that was being done, and inspired me to more actively pursue the
subject in a more formal way. The MAPS conference helped me develop a network,
and form relationships, with people with a similar passion doing similar work. This
is invaluable, the resource of other people, who are more knowledgable than me.

Reasons that make it difficult for you to pursue psychedelic research?

-external difficulties coming from funders, government?
-any difficulties from colleagues, your institution?
-would these difficulties seem different to or be approached differently by people at
different stages in their career?
How do you go about dealing with these difficulties?
What is your work environment like, is it generally supportive or constraining?
Do you have ethical concerns about your area of work – things that you worry about?

As powerful and transformative as the psychedelic experience can be, I don’t feel
they are for everyone. Whether we like it or not, much of the new research echoes
the findings of LSD research from the 60s – that is, showing a "psychotomimetic"
effect (lowered latent inhibition, semantic hyper priming, loosened associations,
etc.)
It’s safe to assume that there is a population who, given their individual sensitivities
or genetic predispositions, should not use psychedelics – in much the same way that
certain personality traits or genes may predispose someone to alcoholism, alcohol
use proves to be problematic, or even dangerous, for these individuals.
The response to mind manifesting substances is so personalized, and nothing is
good for every person all the time. We need to be sensitive to this fact, and possibly
screen for "red flags" which suggest that psychedelic therapy may not be best for
that individual.
1589
 What direction do you see for the future of psychedelic research?

Not full legalization, but licensure was suggested as the best route for future
psychedelic use by Aldous Huxley, and I have to say, I agree with him that that
is probably the safest and most beneficial path for utilizing these powerful tools.
I think of something like LSD very much like any other specialized tool, like a scalpel
for instance. Right now, we essentially have millions of young children running
around with sharp scalpels – going to raves, dancing around in the dark with them.
Is it any surprised people are getting hurt?
Yet, this is not a reason to ban scalpels. That is absurd. While scalpels are dan-
gerous to children, in the hands of a licensed professional, like a surgeon, who has
years of knowledge, training, and respect for the tool, they can save lives. Maturity,
reverence, and education – I hope to see these things begin to be associated with
psychedelic use.

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A Psychophysiological Study of Out-of-the-Body Experiences in a Selected

Subject (2012-11-18 20:22) - public

Charles T. Tart
Originally published in the Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1968, vol.
62, no. 1, pp. 3-27.

Abstract: A young woman who frequently had spontaneous out body experiences was
studied in a sleep laboratory for four nights. She reported several partially out experiences
and two full ones. While the physiological data are limited by dependence on her retro-
spective report in correlating physiological pattern with the experience, it seems as if her
out experiences occurred in conjunction with a non-dreaming, non-awake brain wave stage
characterized by predominant slowed alpha activity from her brain and no activation of the
autonomic nervous system. Two incidents occurring in the laboratory provide suggestive
evidence that the out of-the-body experiences had parapsychological concomitants.

Introduction

Out-of-the-body (OOB) experiences have always been a peripheral problem in psychical

research in spite of the fact that their important implications for the question of survival,
as well as their inherent interest, have long been recognized. This neglect has been due
to the fact that an experimental approach to the study of OOB experiences is extremely
difficult. In the vast majority of reported cases, the experience occurred only once in the
lifetime of an otherwise "ungifted" person. The occasional persons who have claimed to
produce such experiences at will (26, 44, 64) have, by and large, not been investigated by
1590
psychical researchers, although the reason for this lack of investigation is not clear. The few
"experimental" attempts to produce such experiences have almost exclusively been older
attempts involving the use of hypnosis (8, pp. 146-154; 21).
Thus we have a phenomenon whose occurrence is quite rare, which we do not know how
to produce experimentally, and whose "spontaneous" occurrence cannot be predicted. We
cannot study a phenomenon very thoroughly which does not occur when we are prepared
to study it. Aside from Hornell Hart’s excellent beginning work (29; 30, pp. 91-93; 31) and
some recent work by Robert Crookall (10, 11, 12) on the experiential content of reported OOB
experiences and some of their reported antecedents, we know virtually nothing about the
nature of such experiences and their possible causes.

I have been interested in OOB experiences for several years and have often talked about
this phenomenon with acquaintances. During a conversation with a friend (whom we shall
call Miss Z) a couple of years ago, she reported that she had spontaneous OOB experiences
approximately two to four times a week and that she would be interested in being studied
in the laboratory. As this afforded an unusual opportunity for research, I studied her for four
nights in a sleep laboratory in order to determine what, if any, psychophysiological correlates
of her OOB experiences occurred. This paper will describe Miss Z and her spontaneous
experiences, and report on the psychophysiological studies which were carried out.

Description of Miss Z

Miss Z is a young, unmarried woman in her early twenties, with two years of college ed-
ucation. Her education was temporarily interrupted at the time of this study because of
her need to work in order to earn money to continue at college. She is a warm and highly
intelligent person, and had great interest in what the study would show.
Psychologically, it is extremely difficult to describe Miss Z. My informal observations of her
over a period of several months (undoubtedly distorted by the fact that one can never
describe one’s friends objectively) resulted in a picture of a person who in some ways was
quite mature and insightful, and in other ways so extremely disturbed psychologically that at
times, when she lost control, she could possibly be diagnosed as schizophrenic. Miss Z came
from a broken home. She recounted a number of instances of apparent parapsychological
interaction between her and her parents as well as between her and her foster parents. She
had been hospitalized for several weeks for psychiatric treatment about a year prior to the
present study. Despite numerous psychological difficulties in her personal life during the
several months over which the experiment was carried out, however, Miss Z did not interject
her personal difficulties into the experimentation.

Miss Z’s OOB experiences were almost all of one kind. She would wake once or twice
during a night’s sleep. Each time she would find herself floating near the ceiling, but otherwise
seemingly wide awake. This condition would last for a few seconds to half a minute. She
frequently observed her physical body lying on the bed. Then she would fall asleep again and
that was all there was to the experience. As far as she could recall, these experiences had
been occurring several times weekly all of her life. As a child, she had not realized that there
was anything unusual about them. She assumed that everyone had such experiences during
sleep, and never thought to mention them to anyone. After speaking about them to friends
several times as a teenager, however, she realized that they were looked upon as "queer"
experiences, and she stopped discussing them.

At the time of the experiment, she had never read anything about such experiences. Af-
1591
ter initially hearing about her experiences, I asked her to refrain from reading anything about
them until our experiments were completed, and she complied with this request.

Note that Miss Z had never made any attempts to control her OOB experiences, nor did
she attach any great significance to them. She definitely felt that they were not dreams, but
she was otherwise puzzled as to what they were.

On a few occasions Miss Z’s OOB experiences had seemed to transport her to distant lo-
cations, rather than just floating above her body. One experience she reported is particularly
relevant here. It is not certain whether it was a nightmare with elements of ESP in it, or a
genuine OOB experience. At about the age of fourteen, she had a vivid "nightmare" in which
she found herself walking down a dark street in a deserted part of her own home town. She
noticed the clothes she was wearing, including a checked skirt; she realized that she did
not own any clothes like this, and felt that she was in someone else’s body. Someone was
following her, and she was terrified. This person caught up with her, raped her, and then
stabbed her to death. Miss Z’s memory of what happened near the end of this sequence is
very poor, but she awoke quite disturbed and horrified because this "nightmare" had seemed
so terribly real. She reported that the next day there was a story in the newspaper about a girl
who had been wearing a checked shirt having been raped and stabbed to death the previous
evening in the part of town corresponding to her "nightmare" locale. This experience made a
considerable impression on Miss Z and will be relevant to one of the events which happened
in the laboratory, described below.

Preliminary Experiment

My interest in OOB experiences has two separate facets. On one level, I am interested
in such experiences as a unique, psychological experience, possibly related to nocturnal
dreaming. On another level, I am interested in the extrasensory aspects of the experience: in
some OOB experiences the person reports accurate information about the distant localities he
seemed to be at, and such information would apparently have to have been acquired by some
form of extrasensory perception. Thus we have a unique psychological experience worthy of
study in its own right, as well as an experience that often seems to have parapsychological
aspects.
In my initial talks with Miss Z, I explained to her that I was interested in her OOB experiences
from both of these points of view. I suggested that she carry out some observations on herself
at home, before we began all-night laboratory studies, in order that she might distinguish for
herself whether this was a vivid type of dream experience only, or whether it also possessed
parapsychological aspects. At my suggestion, then, Miss Z carried out the following procedure.

She prepared ten slips of paper with the numbers one to ten on them and placed them
in a large cardboard box. Each night, after getting into bed at home, she shook the cardboard
box to randomize the slips of paper, and then, without looking into the box, drew out one slip
of paper and put it on her bedside table. She could not see the number on the piece of paper
from her position in bed, but anyone with a vantage point of several feet above the bed would
be able to read the number clearly. If she awoke while experiencing floating near the ceiling
that evening, she was to memorize the number, and then check on awakening in the morning
to see whether she had perceived it correctly.

When I saw her two weeks later, she reported that she had tried this for seven nights
and found she had been correct each time on checking in the morning. While this cannot be
1592
cited as evidence for some form of extrasensory perception, as it depends entirely on the
subject’s word, it did suggest that the possible parapsychological aspects of Miss Z’s OOB
experiences could be studied as well as the psychological experience per se.

Laboratory Procedure

I was able to observe Miss Z in my sleep laboratory for four non-consecutive nights, over a
period of approximately two months. The procedure was essentially the same on all nights,
and will be described here.
Miss Z’s electroencephalogram (EEG) was recorded each night. Grass silver disk electrodes
were applied to the vertex, the right occipital area, and the right frontal area (high on the
forehead, just below the hairline). Recording of the EEG was bi-polar, frontal-to-vertex,
and vertex-to-occipital. Recording was continuous through the night on a Grass model VII
polygraph, running at a speed of ten millimeters per second.

Rapid eye movements (REMs) were recorded by means of a miniature strain gauge, taped over
the right eyelid. This technique for recording REMs is described in detail elsewhere (4, 58).
Movement of the eye under the closed eyelid distorts the strain gauge and a corresponding
electrical output is recorded on the Grass polygraph. This combination of two EEG channels
and a REM channel is typical in sleep studies and allows one to discriminate the various stages
of sleep, including dreaming sleep.

Basal skin resistance (BSR) was also recorded on the Grass polygraph. Silver-silver chlo-
ride electrodes were used, one on the thenar eminence of the palm of the right hand, the other
on the right forearm. These electrodes, described elsewhere (45), have negligible polarization
characteristics and provide an accurate record of BSR. Galvanic skin responses (GSRs) were
recorded from the same electrodes at a higher sensitivity than BSR by capacitively coupling
the output of the BSR channel into a high gain channel on a Sanborn polygraph. This latter
polygraph ran continuously through the night at a paper speed of one millimeter per second.

On two of the four nights, heart rate and digital blood volume were measured by means
of a Grass model PTT1 finger photoplethysmograph. This device transmits a beam of light
through a finger, and measures the amount of light transmitted by means of a photo cell (7).
The output of this photo cell reproduces the pulse wave, allowing heart rate to be measured,
and the amplitude of this tracing varies with variations in the blood volume in the finger.
Technical difficulties with this device prevented its use on two of the four nights.

The sleep laboratory consisted of two rooms, each lined with acoustic tile for sound at-
tenuation. A large window was between the rooms for viewing, but in this experiment it was
covered with a Venetian blind in order that the subject’s room could be reasonably dark for
sleeping. This blind allowed enough light to come through so that the subject’s room was
dimly illuminated, but not enough to disturb sleep. The polygraphs were located in the second
room, and the door was kept closed. An intercom system allowed hearing anything the subject
said. I monitored the recording equipment throughout the night while the subject slept and
kept notes of anything she said or did. Occasionally I dozed during the night, beside the
equipment, so possible instances of sleep talking might have been missed.

The subject slept on a comfortable bed just below the observation window. The leads
from all electrodes were bound into a common cable running off the top of her head, and
terminating in an electrode box on the head of the bed. This arrangement allowed her enough
1593
slack wire so that she could turn over in bed and otherwise be comfortable, but did not allow
her to sit up more than two feet without disconnecting the wires from the box, an event which
would show up on the recording equipment as a tremendous amount of sixty cycle artifact.
Thus her movements were well controlled. Immediately above the observation window (about
five and a half feet above the level of the subject’s head) was a small shelf (about ten inches
by five inches). Immediately above this shelf was a large clock, mounted on the wall. Each
laboratory night, after the subject was lying in bed, the physiological recordings were running
satisfactorily, and she was ready to go to sleep, I went into my office down the hall, opened a
table of random numbers at random, threw a coin onto the table as a means of random entry
into the page, and copied off the first five digits immediately above where the coin landed.
These were copied with a black marking pen, in figures approximately two inches high, onto
a small piece of paper. Thus they were quite discrete visually. This five-digit random number
constituted the parapsychological target for the evening. I then slipped it into an opaque
folder, entered the subject’s room, and slipped the piece of paper onto the shelf without at
any time exposing it to the subject. This now provided a target which would be clearly visible
to anyone whose eyes were located approximately six and a half feet off the floor or higher,
but was otherwise not visible to the subject.

The subject was instructed to sleep well, to try and have an OOB experience, and if she
did so to try to wake up immediately afterwards and tell me about it, so I could note on the
polygraph records when it had occurred. She was also told that if she floated high enough to
read the five-digit number she should memorize it and wake up immediately afterwards to tell
me what it was. My conversation with Miss Z after I had prepared the target was, of course,
minimal and could not have given her any clue as to the target number. In future experiments,
however, it would be preferable for a second experimenter, who had had no contact at all with
the subject, to prepare the targets.

The Nature of Sleep

As some readers may not be familiar with recent psychophysiological findings on the na-
ture of sleep, a brief review of these will be presented here. More detailed reviews and
evaluations of the more than one hundred studies of the past decade which have so changed
our view of sleep and dream activity may be found elsewhere (25, 37, 41, 47, 48, 56, 57).
Sleep may be defined in this paper as a stage of the organism indicated (in human subjects)
by one of four EEG stages (16, 17). The Stage 1 pattern consists of an irregular mixture of
theta waves (4-8 cps), random low voltage activity, occasional isolated alphoid activity (waves
of 1 to 2 cps slower than the subject’s waking alpha), and occasional alpha waves (8-13 cps).
Stage 2 contains spindle activity (14 cps) in addition to the above, and Stages 3 and 4 contain
an increasingly larger proportion (up to 100 per cent) of delta waves, 1-3 cps, high amplitude,
in addition to spindle activity. The exact divisions between Stages 2, 3, and 4 are arbitrary,
based on the percentages of delta waves in given epochs. The Stage 1 pattern is readily
distinguishable from the other stages by its total lack of spindles and delta waves.

Stages 1 through 4 were initially conceived of as comprising a continuum from "light" to

"deep" sleep (2, 3, 14), but as other measures of the "depth" of sleep contradict this concep-
tion (5, 32, 37, 56, 62), this paper will treat sleep as being of two qualitatively distinct types,
namely, Stage 1 as one type and Stages 2, 3, and 4 as the other type. Distinctions between
Stages 2, 3, and 4 will not be made, and they will be collectively referred to as Nonstage 1
sleep.

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If subjects are awakened from the two types of sleep and asked to report on what they
have been experiencing, the reports may be classified into two rather distinct types. One
type, awakenings from Stage 1 sleep or shortly (within, roughly, ten to fifteen minutes) after
Stage 1 sleep has changed to Nonstage 1 sleep, possesses the characteristics traditionally
associated with the experience of dreaming (24, 51). Reports from Nonstage 1 sleep seem
more like "thinking," and are generally called thinking by the subjects-these same subjects
generally refer to their Stage 1 experiences as dreams. The psychological differences reported
so far are quantitative rather than being completely dichotomous, but they generally give the
impression of being distinct types of experiences.

Stage 1 sleep is almost always accompanied by binocularly synchronous rapid eye movements
(REMs), and the evidence is very convincing that these are closely associated with the content
of the dream, if not actual scanning movements of the dream imagery (6, 19, 53). Such
REMs have not been reported in Nonstage 1 sleep, although there are some slow, rolling
movements (37). In view of these findings, the theoretical position taken in this paper is that
an experientially distinct type of phenomenon occurs concurrently with the presence of Stage
1 sleep, which phenomenon will be called Stage 1 dreaming, or just dreaming. The mental
phenomena of Nonstage 1 sleep will not be considered in this paper. Further, it is assumed
that the experience of Stage 1 dreaming is essentially continuous during the presence of
Stage 1 EEG, whether or not the subject can always recall this experience on waking. This
position is, in my opinion, supported by all the studies using the EEG and REM technique, and
directly refuted by none.

For normal subjects, Stage 1 dreaming and Nonstage 1 sleep alternate in a regular cyclic
fashion referred to as the sleep-dream cycle. As the subject falls asleep there is generally a
brief (a few seconds to a minute or two) period of Stage 1, without REMs, but subjects’ reports
indicate that this is apparently a period of hypnagogic imagery rather than typical dreaming
(17, 47). At approximately ninety-minute intervals through the night there are periods of
Stage I dreaming, each dream period generally being longer than the preceding one. The
first Stage 1 period may last for ten minutes; the fourth or fifth one may last as long as fifty
minutes. Altogether, Stage 1 dreaming occupies between twenty and thirty per cent of the
total sleep time of most young adults, spread over three to six Stage 1 periods. While the
exact percentage of dream time and the number of cycles varies from subject to subject, for
a given subject the sleep-dream cycle is generally quite stable from night to night (15,16, 40,
63).

Results

Night I

The first night in a dream laboratory is usually considered an adaptation night, with the
data from it not being used in physiological studies. This is because of the so-called "first
night effect" in which a subject is liable to skip his first Stage 1 dream period, and the content
of his dreams is often obviously concerned with the fact that he is being experimented upon
(1, 20, 50, 59, 61).
On her first night in the laboratory, Miss Z fell asleep rather rapidly, reached Stage 4 sleep
within the first half hour after falling asleep, and then showed three Stage 1 dream periods
during the course of the night. After the first dream period, there were scattered instances
of prominent alphoid activity, that is, a Stage 1 pattern mixed with slowed alpha waves, and
rather poorly developed sleep spindles. The only unusual feature of this [Note: Within a
1595
continuous period of Stage 1 EEG, the content of the experienced dream may be divided
into several distinct episodes so that, in a sense, there are several distinct "dreams" within a
continuous period of dreaming. Dement and Wolpert (19) present some evidence that such
change of topic may he accompanied by a gross body movement on the part of the subject.]
night was that the subject showed REMs during Stage I drowsiness at the beginning of sleep,
a very unusual finding. Rapid eye movements almost never occur if normal subjects during
drowsiness, although they have been found to occur frequently in narcoleptics (18, 36, 49, 52).
There is no evidence that. Miss Z suffers from narcolepsy, however, and these REMs during
drowsiness seem to be related to the unusually vivid hypnagogic imagery that she reportedly
experiences on falling asleep.

Miss Z did not feel that she had had any OOB experiences that night.

Night II

A number of interesting incidents occurred during Miss Z’s second night in the labora-
tory.
As Miss Z went to sleep, she showed a drowsy pattern alternating with a waking pattern for ap-
proximately the first ten minutes. Then there was a minute of a drowsy EEG pattern consisting
of occasional theta waves, some alphoid waves (alpha waves of one to one-and-a-half cycles
per second slower than her usual waking alpha), and a good deal of flattening of the record,
ending in thirteen seconds of waking alpha rhythm, nearly continuous, and then a large body
movement. With this body movement, Miss Z called out that she was awake and that she had
just had a sensation of starting to float up toward the ceiling immediately prior to her moving
and calling out. The finger photoplethysmograph was being used on this night, and her heart
rate during this time was a steady seventy-one beats per minute, not in the least unusual.
Her BSR was steady throughout this time, no GSRs were seen at all, nor was there any body
movement. Also, there were no REMs during this period.

Miss Z then went to sleep, quickly going into Stage 2 sleep, which lasted for about half
an hour, and then a half hour of Stage 3 and Stage 4 sleep. This was followed by a short
Stage 1 dream. Her Stage 1 dream period showed a classical Stage 1 pattern with REMs.
This dream was followed by about an hour and a half of Stage 2 sleep, then twenty minutes
of Stage 1 sleep, and then another period of unusual EEG. For approximately one minute
Miss Z showed a pattern of alphoid waves mixed with poorly developed, low voltage sleep
spindles. Then there was a two-minute period of alphoid waves superimposed on a generally
low voltage pattern with no spindles and no clearly developed theta waves. This was followed
by a minute of predominantly low voltage theta activity, with very poorly developed sleep
spindles present, This terminated in a large movement and Miss Z awoke, There were no REMs
during this four-minute period, heart rate was steady at seventy-four beats per minute, and
BSR steady, with no GSRs. There were two small body movement artifacts during the terminal
period of slowed alpha without spindles and one small body movement in the period of slowed
alpha and poor spindling which began this unusual EEG sequence. The sequence occurred at
approximately 3:15 A.M.

Upon awakening from this sequence, Miss Z called out, "Write down 3:13 A.M. I don’t
see the number, but I just remember that." Although she did not say anything more, the
implication, confirmed by conversation later on that morning, was that she had: floated
somewhat above her body, high enough to see the clock, but not high enough to see the
target number. Some further comments on this episode will now be made.
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When going back to sleep, Miss Z showed a Stage 2 pattern for an hour, had a dream
of twenty-five minutes’ duration following that, then showed some Stage 2 and Stage 3 for
the next hour. About fifteen minutes of record was then lost because of a paper jam. When
recording was resumed, she was showing Stage 1 dreaming. This lasted for about ten minutes,
and then the record became rather difficult to classify. For a period of approximately ten
minutes the EEG consisted of a great deal of slowed alpha rhythm, no theta rhythm, and a fair
amount of flattening. It could not be classified clearly as either a sleep or a waking pattern.
There were some occasional body movements, a fair amount of REM activity scattered through,
and some GSR activity. Miss Z then awakened by herself and reported that in the last five
minutes she thought she had floated in and out of her body four or five times. Nothing else of
interest occurred that night.

One day later, Miss Z told me that she had had a very frightening nightmare during her
previous night in the laboratory, which she had not reported at the time because of its
terrifying nature. She had wanted to forget it, but had not been successful. This nightmare
had apparently occurred just before she woke, called out the time, and reported that she had
not been able to see the target number. I cannot be sure of this, of course, as she did not
report it at the time. The stimulus for now reporting it was that she had seen a television news
program the night following her night in the laboratory which made her decide to write down
an account of her nightmare immediately because it seemed to coincide with an item in the
newscast.

Because Miss Z did not report this material to me before seeing the newscast, it cannot
be considered evidential of extrasensory perception. As it is quite interesting psychologically,
however, and fits in with the earlier traumatic incident of her childhood (described above)
in which she had a nightmare or OOB experience coinciding with the murder of a young girl,
the material will be reproduced here. Her account, written after she saw the newscast, is as
follows:

Sunday night - vague nightmare - recalled previous experience ? - blocking on much of

memory - young girl (13 to 16?) - outdoors? - stabbing, but not knife, more slender - head
hurt (slapped ?) - not stabbed, surely - expanse of white, car white ? - knew fellow (she knew,
not I!) who also youngish - horrible experience but no support in papers this morning - so far
so good.
Miss Z told me that the television newscast said that a young girl had been stabbed to death
in Marin County. Whether additional information was given in the newscast is not known.

I did not check the newspapers at the time; I wanted the incident to die down as Miss Z
was obviously rather disturbed about it. Several months later I checked the newspaper files in
the library. Nothing had appeared in the papers until April 20, 1965. Miss Z’s second night in
the laboratory had been the night of April 18th. Thus, as she had said, there had been nothing
in the morning paper after she had seen the TV newscast. I do not know if she saw anything
which appeared in the paper after that. The following material has been taken from the April
20, 1965, edition of the San Francisco Chronicle. (I have left out details such as names and
the like which are not relevant to Miss Z’s nightmare.) The headline is "Girl Found Murdered
in Marin." Marin is the county immediately above San Francisco, about forty miles north of the
laboratory.

A pretty Daly City high school girl was found murdered on a flower covered slope in
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Muir Woods in Marin County yesterday afternoon. She had been stabbed savagely in the
head at least six times and her skull was crushed, Coroner Frank Keaton said. There was
no indication that she had been raped.... The young victim was identified as Nonita _ _ _ _,
sixteen. Nonita’s boyfriend is also missing and is sought for questioning.... He was identified
as Virgilio _ _ _ _ _ _, nineteen, a resident of a San Francisco hotel. He is driving a white 1960
Thunderbird, police said.... The victim was fully clad - though her underclothing was in some
disarray - in a black sweater, red blouse, plaid skirt, tennis shoes, and white socks. Keaton
estimated that she had been dead three or four days. .
In the Chronicle for April 21st, the information is given that the police are still looking for the
boyfriend, and that the car has been found, ", . . the murder weapon-a sharp, thin instrument,
a little thicker than an ice pick-was not found. . . An autopsy showed that death came from
six stabs of this weapon into her head, one of them penetrating the brain.

The Chronicle of April 22nd reports that the girl was murdered in the car, according to
bloodstains and signs of a struggle found in the car. The Thunderbird was parked in a San
Francisco parking garage late Friday night, and the body was apparently in it for attendants
noticed a little pool of blood in the parking place after the car was checked out.

After a small notice on April 24th in the Chronicle that the FBI had entered the case, I
could find no more information about the murder, though I searched the paper for the next
several weeks.

With respect to the parallels between Miss Z’s nightmare and the murder case, we note
the following: (1) The victim was a young girl of sixteen, as estimated in the dream; (2) the
setting of the nightmare was outdoors and the body was apparently out-doors, where it was
found, at the time of the dream, although the murder took place in the car; (3) death was
caused by stabbing with an instrument like an ice pick, not a knife; (4) Miss Z said her head hurt,
that it was slapped, not stabbed; the girl was stabbed in the head and her skull was crushed;
(5) Miss Z saw an expanse of white in her dream and thought it was a white car; the sus-
pected murderer was driving a large white car; and (6) Miss Z said the murderer, a "youngish
man," knew the girl; the suspected murderer was a young man who was a boyfriend of the girl.

The parallels between this nightmare, the actual killing, and the incident Miss Z reported from
her early teens is striking. In the earlier nightmare incident, the girl Miss Z identified with
was also wearing a checked or plaid skirt. In one sense, this entire recent incident may be a
reactivation of the earlier trauma. (As mentioned above, the nightmare can only constitute
suggestive evidence for extrasensory perception because it was not reported to me before
Miss Z saw the television newscast.) An alternative hypothesis is that no nightmare took place
in the laboratory, but that the TV news bulletin triggered the earlier trauma in Miss Z’s mind
and she fabricated (unknowingly) the incidents of the nightmare.

Night III

On her third night in the laboratory, Miss Z went to sleep quickly and showed an ordi-
nary sleep pattern for the first half of the night, that is, Stages 2, 3, and 4 alternating with a
couple of Stage 1 dream periods at approximately ninety-minute intervals, At 3:35 A.M. an
unusual EEG pattern sequence started which will be described here. It began from Stage 3
sleep, which was clearly defined by frequent, well-developed sleep spindles and clear, high
voltage delta activity. Then there was a minute of large body movements, followed by five
minutes of alphoid activity with no spindles, some flattening of the record, and no REMs. Then
1598
there was another minute of massive body movements, followed by a half minute of rather
poorly developed Stage 1 EEG, that is, a flattened low voltage slow pattern, but with the theta
almost absent and no RE Ms. Again there was a half minute of body movements, and then
five minutes of alphoid activity as before. There were several bursts of twenty-four cycle per
second rhythmic activity in the frontal channel during this five-minute period, but it is not clear
whether these were actually EEG patterns or some sort of external electrical artifact which
happened to occur at this time. Then for two and a half minutes the alphoid activity was less
prominent, there was some theta activity, but still no spindle activity. Then there were five
minutes of record that could not be classified because body movements obscured almost all
of it except for occasional slowed alpha. Then there was a minute in which the EEG record was
clear and showed alphoid activity predominantly, but the strain gauge REM channel showed
all sorts of artifact, such as one might get from tremors of the eyelids. This was followed
by seven minutes of alphoid activity, with some flattening, and continual interference and
possibly tremor on the strain gauge REM channel. Then, after some more body movement,
there were three minutes of waking alpha rhythm with high amplitude REMs. The subject
may very well have been awake during this brief period. Then followed a minute and a half of
Stage 1 pattern with REMs (dreaming), although the theta was rather poorly developed. There
were some occasional bursts of twenty-four cycles per second activity in both EEG channels
again. This gave way to seventeen minutes of alphoid activity with no REMs and only a couple
of small movements of the body scattered through this period. There were occasional GSRs
during this long period of EEG disturbance. Then there were a couple of minutes of Stage
1 EEG pattern, with occasional REMs (dreaming), and Miss Z awoke. She reported on OOB
experience. After her final awakening later in the morning, she wrote a full account of this
experience, as follows:
I seemed to be flying, although too high and seemingly fast to recognize where I was; neither
did I have any sense of where I was going. The flying disturbed me as I knew I was supposed
to stand up in the room and read the number above my head, Therefore, I would rouse or
questionably awaken and realize that I was still lying on the bed. Every time I drifted off
to sleep I would resume flying, however. This was not preceded by any other activity-that
is, there seemed to be no intermediate experience between falling asleep on the cot and
flying. Finally, the third or fourth time I flew I decided to relax and let the experience come
to completion. Very shortly (that is, in far less time than was objectively possible- I would
say less than two minutes) I realized I was on my way home; that somehow my sister was
involved in the experience. Essentially simultaneously with this realization I found myself
in my home in Southern California, in the living room. Seated in the rocker was my sister,
dressed in her pajamas. She seemed upset, somewhat frightened; however, she recognized
me immediately and did not seem particularly surprised to see me. We did not talk, but we
seemed to communicate (i.e., I knew she had had a nightmare, she welcomed me, etc.). After
standing with her (she had arisen when I appeared) for a brief period of time, we walked back
to her bedroom where I observed her body asleep on the bed - she was lying on her right side
and seemingly tranquil. The sister with whom I had been communicating observed that it was
probably time for me to go and I agreed. Almost simultaneously with this understanding I
began to rouse and to realize I was back in the lab.
I was unable to contact the sister before Miss Z went home for a visit a few weeks later, so
this experience cannot be considered as to possible parapsychological aspects. On this visit
home, Miss Z discussed the incident with her sister, and reported that the latter vaguely
recalled having a dream about Miss Z visiting her at about the proper time, but unfortunately
no written records were made. As for the experience per se, this sort of OOB experience in
which she seemed to travel a great distance was unusual for Miss Z.

1599
After reporting the experience described above, Miss Z went back to sleep, had a cou-
ple more Stage 1 dreams during the night, and was awakened by me at 6.50 A.M. so that she
could get to work.

Night IV

On reporting to the laboratory on the fourth night, Miss Z seemed to be determined to

have the right kind of OOB experience. Although I had indicated complete satisfaction with
her performance so far, she was angry at herself because she had not been able to float up
and read the target number.
Miss Z went quickly to sleep, entering Stages 3 and 4 less than fifteen minutes after going to
bed. The night was uneventful for the most part - there were several Stage 1 dream periods in
the first two-thirds of the night, as would be expected for any normal subject. After four and a
half hours of sleep, she had a Stage 1 dream period with REMs which lasted for half an hour.
The EEG was technically rather poor on this night, being obscured with a great deal of sixty
cycle artifact and requiring rather heavy high frequency filtering to make it clear, so the EEG
findings should be taken with the realization that they are subject to more error than usual.
Miss Z’s Stage 1 dream terminated with several minutes of intermittent body movements and
EEG artifact. Then (at 5:50 A.M.) the occipital channel showed an enlarged, slow wave artifact,
the REM channel showed no REMs, and the record looked like a Stage I tracing; however, I
could not be sure due to the considerations mentioned above. At 5:57 A.M. the slow wave
artifact was lessened and the record looked somewhat like Stage 1 with REMs, but I could not
be sure whether this was a waking or a Stage I record. This lasted until 6:04 A.M., at which
time Miss Z awoke and called out that the target number was 25132. This was correct (with
the digits in correct order), but I did not say anything to her at this point; I merely indicated
that I had written the number down on the record. I then told her she could go back to sleep,
but twenty minutes later I awakened her so that she could get ready to go to work. At this
time, she described her experience as follows:

I woke up; it was stifling in the room. Awake for about five minutes. I kept waking up
and drifting off, having floating feelings over and over. I needed to go higher because the
number was lying down. Between 5:50 and 6:00 A.M. that did it. ... I wanted to go read the
number in the next room, but I couldn’t leave the room, open the door, or float through the
door. . .. I couldn’t turn off the air conditioner!
It should be mentioned that Miss Z had expected me to prop the target number up against
the wall on the shelf; actually, I had laid it flat on the shelf, which she correctly perceived.
Also, I had put a second number on a shelf in the equipment room, but she reported she
could not get into this room to see the number. -Neither could she turn off the air conditioner,
and she complained - that although it had been stifling, it was too cold in the room by that time.

Since Miss Z’s correctly calling a five-digit number (P = 10^-5 [i.e., odds of 1 in 100,000]) was
the first strong evidence that her OOB experiences contained a parapsychological element,
I inspected the laboratory carefully the next day to see if there was any way in which this
number [Note: I was assisted in this by Dr. Arthur Hastings, whom I wish to thank.] could
have been read by non parapsychological means. As a first alternative to an explanation
involving extrasensory perception, we decided that "sophisticated" cheating by Miss Z was
not impossible. She might have concealed mirrors and reaching rods in her pajamas and used
these during the period when the EEG was difficult to classify (due to movement artifacts)
to read the number. While this is possible, I personally doubt that it occurred. The second
alternative is that she might have seen the number reflected in the surface of the case of
1600
the clock which was mounted on the wall above it. This was the only reflecting surface in the
room placed in such a way that this might have been possible. Both Dr. Hastings and I spent
some time in the dimly lit room to dark-adapt our eyes, and tried to read a number from the
subject’s position on the bed, as reflected on the surface of the clock. As the room was dimly
lit and the surface of the clock was black plastic, we could not see anything of the number.
However, when we shone a flashlight directly on the number (increasing its brightness by a
factor somewhere between several hundred and several thousand) we could just make out
what the number was in the much brighter reflection. Thus, although it seems unlikely, one
could argue that the number constituted a "subliminal" stimulus in its reflection off the clock
surface. Therefore, Miss Z’s reading of the target number cannot be considered as providing
conclusive evidence for a parapsychological effect.

After calling out the number, Miss Z again returned to sleep and spent approximately twenty
minutes in a stage where the EEG was again quite difficult to classify. It was a generally low
voltage, flattened record which looked rather like a poorly developed Stage 1 record. How-
ever, there were no REMs to speak of, and there was only a small amount of alphoid activity.
Upon awaking, she reported that she had had a number of floating sensations during this time.

Discussion

In the course of four nights in the laboratory, Miss Z reported three clear-cut incidents
of "floating" and two instances of feeling completely out of her body. The floating incidents,
according to her accounts, were all characterized by the feeling that she was starting to rise
up above her body, but only slightly, and then [Note: The set-up of the room was changed
slightly in preparation for a fifth laboratory night, and the shelf was extended so that no
reflection could be seen off the clock from the subject’s position in bed. However, personal
difficulties forced Miss Z to return to her family’s home in Southern California before a fifth
laboratory night could be scheduled] being back in her body, usually waking in the process.
The "nightmare" during her second laboratory night is not clearly classifiable as an OOB
experience.
Only the final night in the laboratory produced a report of an OOB experience giving fair
evidence of parapsychological concomitants (her reading of the target number), but as this
evidence is not conclusive, the remainder of this discussion will focus on the subjective
experience of being out of the body, and on the concomitant psychophysiological states.

It is difficult to state conclusively what kind of EEG pattern accompanied the floating ex-
periences and full OOB experience because we must depend on Miss Z’s retrospective report
for the approximate times when they occurred. In connection with most of these experiences,
she reported waking up briefly several times during their course; thus, one would expect
whatever pattern accompanied them to be mixed with transitory waking patterns, as well as
with the body movement artifacts which generally accompany waking from sleep. My general
impression of the EEG correlates of Miss Z’s floating and OOB experiences is that they occurred
during a rather poorly developed Stage 1 pattern which was dominated by alphoid activity
and often mixed with transitory periods of wakefulness. This alphoid activity was always one
to one and a half cycles per second slower than her normal alpha rhythm. No REMs seemed
to accompany these experiences and, judging from the one night when the plethysmograph
was working satisfactorily and the two nights when the skin resistance channel was working
satisfactorily, there are no marked autonomic alterations concomitant with the experiences;
that is, heart rate stays at a normal, steady rate, and there is no pronounced change in either
BSR or spontaneous GSR activity.
1601
Further, it can be stated with some certainty that Miss Z’s OOBs experiences do not oc-
cur in a normal state of Stage 1 dreaming. She showed normal, well developed Stage 1 EEG
and REM patterns, but she did not report OOB experiences in conjunction with these patterns
unless they changed into the alphoid pattern, without accompanying REMs.

Figure 1 shows a typical example of Miss Z’s waking EEG pattern and an example of
Stage 1 dreaming with REMs. Figure 2 shows a sample of Stage 2 sleep with an example
of the prominent alphoid pattern she showed in conjunction with her OOB experiences; this
particular example is taken from her second laboratory night when she reported seeing the
time.

–sorry figures won’t transmit as an ASCII file- see original journal article in a library for
them–

Considering, then, that we have a fairly good correlation between Miss Z’s reported OOB
experiences and a relatively distinct neurophysiological pattern, how would we describe her
physiological state? Here we run into considerable difficulty. The mixture of Stage 1 and
pronounced alphoid activity, along with no REMs or cardiovascular or skin resistance changes,
has not been described before, to my knowledge, in the sleep literature.* The particular
[Note * Alphoid activity is usually mentioned as a component of Stage 1 sleep, but there are
no quantitative standards available as to how much alphoid activity is typical. Thus I am
depending upon personal experience with dozens of sleep records in forming my impression
that Miss Z’s alphoid activity was exceptionally prominent during her OOB experiences.]
pattern cannot be unequivocally classified as a waking pattern, nor can it be unequivocally
classified as any of the known stages of sleep. Nor is it a typical Stage 1 drowsy pattern by any
means, because of the pronounced alphoid activity. Dr. William Dement, one of the world’s
leading authorities on sleep research, kindly looked at these patterns, and agreed with me
that they could not very well be classified into any of the known sleep stages, nor could they
even be classified unambiguously as waking or drowsy patterns.

From some points of view, we could say that Miss Z was in a hypnagogic state at the
time of her OOB experiences, or in a transitional state between sleeping and waking; but
simply putting a familiar label on the state tells us nothing about its nature. Furthermore,
the presence of so much alphoid activity is not typical of hypnagogic states. However, some
interesting literature is starting to come out of Japanese laboratories on the slowing of the
alpha rhythm during Zen meditation (35, 38, 39).

The significance of alphoid activity is difficult to assess. In ordinary subjects, alpha fre-
quency tends to decrease with advancing age (34, 41), but this is a long-term decline rather
than a transient change. Acute alcoholic intoxication transiently lowers EEG alpha frequency
(13, 22, 54), as does acute anoxia and hypoglycemia (23). For normal subjects not subjected
to such drastic treatments, however, I can find no reports of such transient alpha slowing or
its possible significance.

One other unusual experimental treatment has been reported to result in slowed alpha
activity, viz., sensory isolation. Heron (33) presents graphs which show a shift from alpha
activity predominating at 10 cps for three normal subjects to 9 cps for two of them and
8 cps for one of them at the end of ninety-six hours of isolation. Even more drastic shifts
to alphoid activity are reported by Zubek, Welch, and Saunders (65) for a longer isolation
1602
period. Heron also mentions that some subjects felt as if another body were lying beside
them, sometimes overlapping with their physical body, although it is not clear from his
report whether these were the same subjects who showed alpha slowing. In any case, it
would be interesting to follow up on these findings. This is a transient alpha slowing iii
otherwise normal subjects, but further equating of the states of Zen meditation or sensory iso-
lation with Miss Z’s state during her OOB experiences would be quite speculative at this time.5

There is one sleep study (42) in which considerable alphoid activity was reported in the
sleep records as a result of chlorpromazine administration. Chlorpromazine is a fairly com-
monly used tranquilizer known under the trade name of Thorazine. A friend indicated that
Miss Z might have been taking trifluoperazine (Stelazine) at the time of the study. Neither
Miss Z herself, her roommate, nor her boyfriend recall that she was taking this at the time of
the study, but it remains a possibility. There have been no studies of the effect of this drug on
the sleep EEG, but the possibility should be borne in mind that Miss Z might have been taking
this medication, and that it might have contributed to the alphoid activity in her patterns. But
even if this were true, it would not account for the findings, as the fact remains that her OOB
experiences were associated with this unique pattern, which was quite distinguishable from
the normal sleep stage patterns. Indeed, one might speculate that drugs which tend to slow
alpha frequency might promote OOB experiences, and this could be a possibly fruitful line of
experimental inquiry.

It is important to note that Miss Z’s psychophysiological state during the OOB experi-
ences was not at all what one would predict from reading various occult works on OOB
experiences or "astral projections" (21, 26, 44, 46), or from accounts of OOB experiences
reported in conjunction with serious illnesses or accidents (10, 11, l2, 43). These works lead
one to expect that a "death-like trance" accompanies OOB experiences, in which respiration
and heart beat would be markedly slowed, temperature might fall considerably, and in which
one would probably see the sort of brain waves (high voltage slow waves) characteristic of
coma (55). Miss Z did not seem to be in a "death-like trance." When it was measured, her
heart rate was normal and steady, there was no unusual autonomic activity, and the Stage 1
and alphoid activity in the EEG was not what one associates with coma.

Closer reading of some of the techniques described in the occult literature for producing
OOB experiences (e.g., 9, 26, 27, 28, 44, 46), however, suggests that there may be several
distinct sorts of [Note: I hope to do some work in the near future with another woman who
claims that she can have O0B experiences at will. She has participated in a colleague’s
experiment on operant control of EEG alpha rhythm and is reported to he very good at
enhancing this rhythm.] experiences produced by the variety of techniques presented. Some
of these techniques are dream-control techniques, in which the dreamer must recognize that
he is dreaming and then convert the dream into an OOB experience. Others are what we
might call hypnagogic experiences, for they involve fixedly holding the idea of having an OOB
experience in mind while allowing oneself to drift into a hypnagogic or sleep state. Still other
techniques seem to involve the creation of a "trance" state, but nothing further will be said
about this third possibility here because writers use the term "trance" in very ambiguous
ways, as will be discussed elsewhere (60). Miss Z’s experiences may have been cases of
hypnagogic phenomena following brief awakenings during the night, or of a Stage 1 dream
being converted into an OOB experience. Which alternative is true is not clear from the
exploratory work of this study.

The tentativeness of the correlations reported here between OOB experiences and brain
1603
wave states should be noted. The EEG is a complex phenomenon that varies in terms of
frequency, regularity, waveshape, spatial distribution over the brain, and interareal phase
relationships. The analyses reported in this paper were confined to visual inspection: ad-
equate investigation of the possible EEG correlates of OOB experiences will have to use
the most sophisticated recording and electronic analysis techniques, as well as running the
selected subjects through control conditions to see which EEG correlates are unique to the
OOB experience and which appear under other circumstances as well.

In summary, this brief study found a fairly clear-cut correlation between several of Miss
Z’s reported OOB experiences and a physiological pattern characterized by a flattened
EEG with prominent alphoid activity, no REM or skin resistance activity, and normal heart
rate. Much more work remains to be done before we can begin to understand the psy-
chophysiological and parapsychological aspects of OOB experiences, and it is hoped that the
present study, insofar as it has shown that these experiences can be studied by the tech-
niques of modern science, will encourage other investigators to carry out further experiments.

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[pre-retirement address] Department of Psychology
University of California
Davis, California 95616

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12. 2013

12.1 January

Recalling Eyes (2013-01-25 01:28) - public

Struggling to get things established with a girl, with this girl. With A Person. I wonder about
treatments for loss of humor, and sense. Any sense! Touch, taste, or self; a sense of direction,
even. A sense of time that isn’t lost, or looking back. A sense of being appreciated, cherished,
loved, and vital to another person. Is there no treatment I can ask my doctor about today?
To the young man I wasted, I apologize. I am sure me cleaning the splattered toothpaste from
the mirror is hardly consolation. And yet, and yet…
For all this, to trace, to trouble the sky to see
And run my pen along her eyes so I can recall where her attention lives,
The two of us know better, despite our falling out,
Than to doubt the fickle weather can’t exist to help me out.
Trying too hard is a trying based on fear. Its an anxious and troubled trying, with insecurity as
its fuel. A healthy relationship cannot be built on this basis of fear, despite how much effort
and money the tryer spends in his frantic grabby rush to appease, control, and secure

12.2 February

MUTANT THIEF TRIP (8-2-12) (2013-02-08 23:26) - public

The bowling alley of Beaver was converted to a Baptist Church. I entered the redneck’s train-
ing shed, announced, and began snapping pictures. Gunshots echoed in the not-so-distant
distance. The man who trained in the art of hand-to-hand combat here labeled the door to his
knife sharpening room "Peace."

The shaved head of a young boy peeks through a window from the crooked shed-like
house.

–I NEED SOMEONE TO BLAME FOR MYSELF–

He came out onto the porch, yelling, half-naked, with hair halfway to his ones. A Rot-
tweiler was held, restrained from attacking, at the screen door. A doe-eyed boy watched with
anticipation.

URBAN PLANNING NOTES (Organic Basis of Social Organization)

(2013-02-08 23:31) - public

• Waste Removal Vacuole Model

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 • Bounds of Institution/Campus

• Bounds of City, Country, Earth

• Defense, Transportation

"It’s not a syrup, Mom. It is what it is!" *silence*

"Get a crappacino, mom. You like those!"
"Cappuccino, yes." the barista softly corrects.

Topple A Tower of Sand (1-14-13) (2013-02-08 23:34) - public

Topple a tower of sand and salt water. The remnants of stone spires, broken and broken again,
their strength and beauty forgotten, even while their form is emulated in the weakness of
shifting unreliable sand. Thought is such a tower, built either inwardly or outwardly, the highest
of in-spires are fragile, their height a demonstration of attention span. The ex-spire a brittle
shell, a defensive demonstration of phallic worth, raised proudly like a final act, with his final
breath. Knowledge of self reflects his defenses beneath, like a mirror, strengthening the ground
on which his ego is built.

Seen 3:38 AM (1-18-13) (2013-02-08 23:35) - public

Scho, like School, who gave me some phone number to a phone she intended to ignore. Scrub
my face with coffee grounds until the blood funds down my face – feel the high of caffeine in the
wound, avoid the world for one more night. My horny girl alone in the bar at bar close, feeling
rejected, ignoring my banal and suspicious texts, as one would if they were being accompanied.

The Camera And The Portrait (2013-02-08 23:39) - public

The camera killed the portrait painting and the relevance of the painter as a reproducer of
transient moments in surface: present scenes. Transient moments of depth, the emotional
and subjective unseen side of personal experienced inevitably filled that voice in purpose. The
laziness and lack of discipline of modern art could be justified as representing a subjective
state; vague and open to interpretation. States-of-consciousness, and the fruitful (pregnant)
perceptions of mundane scenes and objects could be featured through the rare and extremely
personalized perspectives of the artist – the dadaist, the surrealist, Marcel Duchamp and the
upturned urinal piece, for instance.

Things To Say To Beautiful Girls (2013-02-08 23:44) - public

• Your juices spurt all over, throbbing, etc

• I feel insecure about my body

• Where were you last night?

• When did you get home? Were you alone?

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 • Why aren’t you answering my texts?

• Fuck! you’re bored/scared of me, aren’t you?

• What did I do? I’m sorry! I can do better! It’s my illness, the medicine

• Be patient. I awesome, right?

• My cock! It’s hard and glistening

• Do you want to do drugs?

• Do you feel alright? I’m sorry

• I’ve been sick! I am usually better

• I’ve been better than this. I’ll show you! Just be patient. You’ll see

• I’m sorry

Naturalist Design (2013-02-08 23:46) - public

• What is the greatest impediment to psychedelic research? ...DEA laws

• How can we overcome this? (I began to ask myself.)

• Naturalistic POPULATION an important distinction (since straight observation aprox

schizophrenia

ANALYZE THE SELF-ANALYZING INDIVIDUAL

DIVIDE AND MERGE (INTELLECT) (2013-02-08 23:50) - public

+(OneTwo) 1/1

• Stress=>Cognitive Desolation. Cortisol burns focus/attention like a candle’s wick

• Power creates confidence and, in turn, inner calm. The weak and endangered must live
in fear, suffering the caustic degenerative effects of hyper vigilance

• Beauty through the cracks.

• The Golden Loss, The Gilded Imperfection.

• The Glitch That Reveals The Underlying System

(2013-02-08 23:51) - public

Teller her... but

Don’t reveal weakness
Nice Guy, ASSERT!
Slay her, Direct Her
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Research in Influence of Subjective State (2013-02-08 23:55) - public

Subjective State of Normal Healthy Participants VS Marijuana Users in response to Selective

Hypersensitive LSD User’s AScent In State of Perception (w/ Double Blind Sober Controls.

• Separate LSD User by wall (See Braud’s "Angry Man In Next Room" Design

• Measure overall activity of Family Group (Volume Intensity of Conversation, Heartbeat,

Galvanic Skin Response

• Movements/Minute (Video)

• SELF ADMINISTER! (Naturalistic Population of One)

Our Agreement (2013-02-28 18:36) - public

The frequent, the frequent, The Frequent…

They are what they carry, and they carry light.
Their chests shine open, like suns beneath their smile
Their words ring true as their eyes, bright and clear.

How could a man balance his opinions away?

To calm the positive and negative thoughts,
The crests and the troughs,
Until his mind’s surface is smooth and placid,
As a polished window.

Mine is a frantic weather,

windy with foggy mists
The faces of those I love cannot be held in my minds eye,
The people I love wish not to be held
by me
And this cliché, too, is a transparent joke,
That can only be told with the eyes.

Quiet personal tragedies arise from lunchmeat aisles and cat dreams,
I clauster-up closure, a cloister becomes my reclusive life.
This is how to deal with problems, right?
A solitary cabin in the woods.
There I will meet them, and we will define the terms
Of our agreement.

My chest aches with the intensity of emotion,

As if emotion grows heavy and solidifies, refusing to flow through .
This ache changes over years, ripening, darkening,
A fruit that grows bitter with age.
But one that can still be harvested, none the less.

What is the purpose of presence?

What was the reason I came here again?
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Selfish sleep, troubled self absorption
They are cycling fearful thoughts
That rob me of my meaning and direction

Self consciousness,
wasting time fretting over this minor self.
I forget my Self, I’m beside my self.
Rising above a body, he looks such a sad sack!

Here my spine weaves up like a winged snake

Here I hold my closed eyes back, like a lion in the sun
Such heavy pains and restraints, they seem foreign to me now.
Distant, like stepping out of a car,
And suddenly hearing the waterfall.
Feeling it, Breathing it, stepping behind it.
To where the spirits can be heard.

LOFTY GUTS INHIBIT

t. My major health issues concerning my guts, and the medicine I take for them Prednisone,
has been inhibiting me severely..despite my lofty goals and self image.

RATIONALIZE CORE OF EXCESSIVE UNREASONABLY 


t. I hyperrationalize over time, and it gets excessive to analyze things down to their core. It is
unreasonable to keep that up. It paralyzes.

ORDEAL SHOWING THESE

t. Its difficult to get these messages across to you.

LOTS OF AMONGST RICHER GIVE IN TO PEACEFUL

t. The class war is still present and alive in peoples minds, and is escalating. The peaceful
protests are not without effect.

UNPROFITABLE ENGORGE RAVING

t. I am unemployed and overeating, and raving useless undisciplined, instead of the formal
writing that as due yesterday, for the employment app.

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RIGHTEOUSLY SABOTEUR PROMPTLY ENCLOSED

p. self righteous = self sabotage

REHABILITATED AURA DEVIANT BRAIN

p. The two are distinct from one another, the brain retaining memories of trauma which no
longer affect the radiant present. Its hard to shine through these dark restraints and fears, yet
there are two sides to the deviant brain.

SUPERFICIAL RETREAT MANIPULATIVE FORESIGHT ANNOYING

.My retreat to the cabin in the woods, intended to be a meaningful reconnection with
spirit, ended up being a superficial Facebook/youtube gluttonsy ession. My girlfriends
break up letter this week referred to be as “manipulative” and called the psychic foresights,
dreams, and connections a bit much, and not something she really wanted going on in her life.

PROVIDER UNJUSTIFIABLE REPELLED

S I was playing the role of her provider and protector, a very serious long-term relationship sort
of role. She said the “soul mate” thing was a bit too much. She couldn’t justify going in that
deep, and my pushing for bonding and emotional depth ended up repelling her, something I
described as a “heart magnet.”

ALTHOUGH GLEE EXTERNAL DEVIL

Inward bliss, despite a ravaged body, since the possession.

CONSERVE PARTLY ACQUAINTED

The girl, or my old spiritual acquaintances?

SPLIT WEAKENED BY FRIENDLESS INDULGE

I That’s true, I have been in solitude for a long time, without a social circle. I have been
indulging out here, in laziness and overeating. It weakens me. But what is the split?

RACIST ROOTS DEFIANT INQUIRY ALERTNESS

My recent post about genetic difference between human populations was called racist, just
1612
this morning. He corrected himself after I criticized him and called it “crypto racist,” my
inquiry into difference. I said that an acknowledgement and appreciation of difference is NOT
racism. My response was sharp and alert.

There’s been some huge misunderstanding and I’d like to expain it to you if you’re will-
ing.
Expain expain expain AWAY!

The flossy forest floor fills feets toes fully, far far away.

Evening..

But how are you, girl? How can we talk, now that we don’t?
How can I clear away my mistakes, and keep you from dwelling on yours?
Can we talk as closely as we once did without looking down to the wound?
Were there moments of closeness? I forget…

12.3 March

Dream, Scripts (2013-03-06 01:50) - public

I like the sound of rain the most, the problems of my day calm into focus and I can grasp them
more easily with the constant white noise percolating. These many issues and stories.
I STOOPED LOW, LAYING WITH THE SEAT RECLINED IN MY CAR, HIDING FROM sight. The cars
continued to pile up, one after the other, into the accident I caused; and the motorists would
surely be angry, and soon stalking around looking for who caused it. It was dark. I felt I could
somehow just wait it out, this accident, and maybe even lay until it is over.

I had been dicking with the passenger mirror, trying to reboot the computer in the dash. As
old as the vehicle was, there was a videocamera in the mirrors which had stopped itsfeed. By
rebooting, I was sure this link to the camera could be reestablished to the dash. Yet, when
reset, the mirrors rotated along their axisautomatically displaying their range of motion. The
lights of passing cars and headlamps, etc, were reflected as this happened, blinding drivers
with the beam. And so they began plowing into my car.
I somehow didn’t get badly damaged and expected the whole thing to blow over. Yet, sure
enough, the tow truck began to pull me and the others away as I laid hiding. A long chain
tugged me far behind the actual truck. Rounding a corner, the slack in the chain was sufficient
for me to break away. At which point, I was riding a motorcycle whose tires were wide tow
1613
truck tires. It was clunky but fulfilling to ride, much like a big truck like that is. I nervously
drove through California gel in a nrich ranchlike sprawl of burnt grass, a huge house with a
high waterfall ibehind it, some Robin Leech narrating the whole neighborhood for me. Yet, it
was the wrong way, as I formed a mental map of the city In my mind, and swung a tight left in
the hog, along red canyons to two hippies leaning against carvedportions of the rock, singing.
One was Jeff Bridges again, who had written a song about the aliens and said I needed to
hear it, and learn. Yet, hesitated to sing it. The Dude…not Jeff Bridges. I don’t remember
the words, bthey involved things I must realize about the presence of aliens in my life, our lives.

I woke up, my thoughts immediately to Jillian again., and everything left unsaid. I realized, the
longer I keep from explaining the misunderstandings, instead holding them inside, the more
they become bitter. The longer I think of how to word the email, the more sharp and offensive
it becomes, as perhaps is best. The constriction of the cord between us, which was once arm
and carried love, has caused it to blacken and become cold, and all that flows through it only
clotted unpleasant remnants. Such is the slow severance, the rotting away course of breaking
ties by constriction.

Everything left unsaid grows bitter. I realized it this morning.

Like · · [1]Share · Promote · [2]8 minutes ago near [3]Olympia

[4]Lauri O. Maki III and [5]Aaron Vern Saari like this.

[6]Kaleb Smith ...better to flush it out and spill it when the emotion is hot, and risk hurt-
ing them in the moment, then to constrict the flow and let it slowly clot and blacken. Those
remnants can become quite poisonous.
The doctore had prescribed me a needle of LSD, to be used intraveinously to facilitate thera-
peutic reconciliation between the two high schools. Each school had, additionally, given me
several blotters of acid for the same task. I went to a party with it all and was proud, showing
it off in a fancy wooden cigar box. I offered the LSD—the blotters. Becky, from psychedemia,
insisted on jabbing the needle into her arm though. I begged her, please don’t! Don’t! But she
did it anyway, and there was blood all over and the clinician’s needle I had been so strangely
proud of was gross and its contents half gone.

I began to do impressions of James Fadiman, near the kitchen of my childhood home. I wore
a puffy winter jacket, and touched the shoulder of a partygoer, first sounding gruff, but then
said “No, he doesn’t sound like that.” And then I got all empathic and calm sounding and put
my hand on his shoulder again. “Ron, how are you, really?”
“I wouldn’t sound exactly iike that.”

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I looked over and realized Jim was sitting at the kitchen table, but I had doubts he could hear
any of what I’d said in all the party noise.

“You heard that?”

“I hear everything.”
He sat with Bob Frasier, the other founder of the school. I sat with them, they conversed about
other things. I ended up offering Jim some of the LSD, as I was so proud of it. He refused it,
but wanted to see what else I had. I felt shame and didn’t want him to look in the bottles, at
all the various drugs and pills, as pharmaceuticals look so ugly.

Jim got younger, and I was amazed by his appearance now. Since I’d last saw him, he’d lost
maybe 60 lbs and was thin and handsome, with a headful of hair. In my mind, I thought it
must be the LSD, purifying him, cleansing his life of unhealthy food and behavior. I told him
he looked so good, and had lost weight. Bob seemed perturbed, as he was still fat old Bob
and it was as if he had not wanted to acknowledge the change.

Jim refused the LSD – while the two hits I’d taken were starting to kick in quite noticeably. Yet,
he asked for some of the muscle relaxers I had, for his bad back which was hurting him. I gave
him many, and he took some LSD for the road.

The street people carve sentences into themselves as they die. Block lettering, with their cats
coming in to fill in the missing flesh letters with fur. We observed an old cat woman do this,
and said what a pity it was, but were also disgusted by them and spoke badly of the street
people. There was no place to eat in this smaller town, except the gay biker bar. So me and
my male friend went in, determined not to be intimidated. I put my drink down at the bar,
beside one of the gay’s drink…yet I put it to the left of his drink, despite me sitting to his
right. This was to show that I was not afraid. Soon the bikers began to gather around and
taunt us. “Nice jacket!” to my friend “Is that what the bi’s wear?” They all held weapons of
different types, and were dressed in denim and dirty ripped jeans and headbands and gang
gear, but provocatively as queens and dominating Alphas. When they began to threaten to
slit my friends throat, I began to moan in a sexual way and took out a long heavy handled
socket wrench and began to sarcastically say how their threatening to kill my friend turned me
on so much, and how I was getting hard, rubbing the handle of the heavy metal in front of me.
“Look, I’m so HARD!” while pounding the heavy end of the wrench down on the counter. “I’m
so HARD!” bam! “Look at how HARD!” Bam! I said, faster and faster, until I was slamming
the weapon against the counter with great force as I got more and more angry in my tone,
and they all watched. “So HARD!” I turned to the little wirey skinhead who had threatened my
friend and hit him in the head now instead of the counter, continuing to scream how hard my
cock was, beating him bloody. Nobody made a move to stop me.

A punk came across the street and took my glasses, laying one lens down against the cement
and threatening to grind it if I did not say what he wanted to, or take back what I had said. I
begged him not to.
–
My fears still shape me, despite my aging. I developed into them, they guide my very body’s
1615
growth into a certain posture and manner of carrying myself. I can go so far as to remember
the thoughts, the rationalizations of this fear of others in the 7 th grade. Being fat, and wearing
a tight shirt, it seemed by boobs would bulge out of the shirt when I stood up straight and
tall, in a normal posture. I wanted to hide this embarrassment, and purposefully adopted
a defensive hunched almost fetal position, to hide the fat of my torso as I walked across
the school yard. Fear of people shaped my body, curled my spine so that, at first glance, I
immediately appear afraid – like the cowering like a beaten dog.

My voice and personality are similarly shaped by fear. Just thinking of it drains me, and surely
it is equally draining to read. Yet, this is honesty about the nature of fear in my life.
But this script is wrong. It does not serve me.
I am bright light. I am healthy and competent, capable of doing phenomenal things, capable
of bringing meaningful new ideas up into my culture.
I am hard working and determined to achieve my goals.

(God, just writing that “I am hard working” brought up deep resistance in me, as if coming into
direct conflict with my previous script of thoughts. It was like trying to push the idea of myself
through thick sludge.)

I am hard working and determined to achieve the goals I set for myself.

But what goals are those? I have beaten on myself for so long, with the self-effacing humor
of my shame, my naps and laziness, that it is difficult to imagine myself as accomplishing,
leading and managing my life effectively in a proactive way.

I wish to form meaningful and nurturing bonds with people, based on dependability, humor,
and trust.

I want to be active, healthy, and energetic.

I want to write a book of my spiritual experiences, and have it published.

1. https://www.facebook.com/ajax/sharer/?s=22&appid=25554907596&p%5B0%5D=2302530&p%5B1%5D=10103141446772304
2. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith/posts/10103141446772304
3. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Olympia-Washington/108374975857409?ref=stream
4. ::profile:40600325
5. ::profile:1615996914
6. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

12.4 May

Death Of A Thousand Cuts (2013-05-01 00:26) - public

How many times can I be rejected and beat down, terminated and degraded, cut and cut
again, before I simply stop coming out of my hole? Is this what they want? For me to hide
1616
from them, to be afraid? Or simply to disappear from their sight, so as to be forgotten with all
that unpleasantness I had brought. Solitude brought no respite or healing, for the wound was
not clean, and over time the infection spread inwards, until my eyes were empty, distant from
the trauma.

Cut and cut again, the death of a thousand cuts, each inconsequential by itself, yet again and
again, slash after slash, drop after drop, I bleed out and I weaken slowly, slowly coming to
realize and accept what is to happen; that I will never heal. And perhaps there was a point,
some point where I still could have, and all of this could have been reversed. That point, if it
ever existed, is long passed. Recovery is not possible. The lucidity of this fact is, itself, another
cut – a clear sharp edge for me to surrender against. The thousandth cut, the single cut I have
longed for, waited for, counting pain after pain, losing feeling and mobility, losing ties and at-
tachments, losing, losing all I’d ever hoped to be, until my blood was calm and I had accepted.

Berlin or China?
Peru is lost to the tourist money, bastardized, their lineage on sale.

Yet a thousand beautiful women would see me as a prized suitor, and would many even
actively pursue me, as they did when I was twenty five. That was six years ago, sure, but I
still feel I could find a beautiful life there and begin making steps towards having a family.

But to suggest to these beautiful girls that I wish for us to flee, not to America, but to
Berlin, they may be resistant. The hope of someday being an American, for many of them,
may have been the only reason they spoke to me to bein with. Germany is cheapBridal Fishin

Just me and him, at that greasy square table, “Praiiins? Prainnns?” You goin bridal fishin@”

His hair was a tattered afro, wide curls in all directions. He wanted to rip my brains out,
out of jealousy? Out of the years of resentment for me that have grown I up from small slights
and shyness ? Shotgun mother, wearing her rawshide cowboy hat, double chin sweaty , as
she points the barrels out directly from between her two tits. Afraid, shivering slightly, but
ready to do what must be done, if the moment arises.

“Burt, have you seen Charlie of mine?”

…out walkin around. Gun Sherriff “Frank!” Do nothing but you’ll need a bigger coffin.
Travis before slamming court gavel, “Sweet pea. Daddy’s gunna…iron upside down was her
face. / head. A real hot head, that one. Her mother insisted on being present during these
dinner dates, and loomed suspiciously from the dinner table as they excused themselves to
discuss these romantic details, as she was told they were.

Father’s looking like oatmeal. Whatever happened to the Dragon? Cold chest exposed
pale and thin, the boy did not understand what was happening, these “Blue Doctors” coming
to study him. Or that this was his father’s doing, that he had attracted these “doctors” with
his mind, with his fucking mushroom trip that night.

Ambienless Sleep

1617
The Crystal Ball and the Unseen Energy

The young man with the glasses was smart, yet was offering to buy this crystal ball for
two million. We were all going along ith it, of course. It glowed and, when held, would levitate
an inch or so from the palm, the light rising above the crystal, which itself defied gravity. The
more I thought of it, the more I realized it may be worth that much. She was able to activate it
somehow, and project the light from it yet this was showy and illusional. I took the ball in my
hands and tried to focus through it. Closing my eyes with a deep breath, I began to shake, but
kept going. I felt energy beam out from my palms, and the crystal felt warm and left my palms,
as if the magnetism was hot. I opened my eyes, yet, and saw nothing. Everyone in the room
was right there with me though, and when I stopped, he said “Was god just here? Keep going!”

I can’t keep up with myself.

I can’t keep up with the world, and its standards and practices. We must eat pizza and
then we must drink whiskey. I must drunk coffree, and eat coffree, before this, in order to
be perky and attentive, and to say quick witty things for their silences, to fill them most
memorably, but all of this is a running deficit. By the third day, I cannot keep up. By the
third hour, I cannot keep up. By the third month, I lay bleeding in the street. And yet, these
are the requirements for socializing and being part of this circle, and they are mostly inflexible.

My running deficit, he called it Energy Vampire-ism. I don’t want to think that, or admit
to that, even if I know it to be true. Donny and Debbie Downer, the deep brooding thoughtful
wrestling, humorless and foggy, is as contagious as anything else; some mood that sweeps
through a room. Sleep from 4 to 7, and awaken with self-criticism about the past, irreversibly
activated by guilt and cycles of thinking that only feed back on themselves.

I’m very sensitive to the negativity or positivity of all I say. Negative thinking is indul-
gent, and unhealthy as most indulgent things are. When indulging in these negative thoughts,
it is very difficult if not impossible not to have them influence your words, if only the tone or
subtle content of them. Once I believe this split between thought and expression could be
kept clean and distinct, but I have learned the personality is a representation of the thoughts
we carry, while also representing the social self we express to the world. It is both the inner
and the outer, the medium between the two.

When Eric suggested I may be an energy vampire for those people who respond strongly to
my deep conversation topics, I I was a bit jarred and suspected he, himself may have felt this
at some time or another, perhaps when my moods unavoidably and unconcealably negative.
Yet, was I considered it more, the ideas I bring to conversation are often heavy, yes, but that,
in and of itself, is not negativity. Heavy topics are exhausting sometimes, sure, but it is a
healthy exhaustion, like heavy lifting. When done, you are drained, but you feel you have
something to show for it, like a long day of yard work or heavy lifting, building something.
The muscles are strained and tired, but it is a good feeling, and comes with a sense of having
accomplished something. Heavy conversations can be like this, where deep content is moved
between, from one person to another. It can be emotionally and intellectually exhausting to
truly bring some of those deep or personal issues up, but its a lot like unloading and cleaning,
all of these are implied by the metaphor “heavy.”

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Sleep is important. I wonder how many difficulties, subtle changes in personality and
cognition, can be reduced to insomnia? I rely on chemicals, expensive pills, to put me to sleep.
Now that I am out of those pills, my life begins to become very complicated; after 3 nights of
sleeping only 3 hours, my body responds with deep fatigue, my personality

Contentedness. I could have this anywhere. The sun still shines for me, gentle messen-
ger. I don’t know where I will be, and for a moment, I accept that. I realize I’ve spent a lot of
time not being where I’ve been.

Notebook Backup 2013 – Part 1 (2013-05-01 00:27) - public

The people I love forget who I am – they come to think of me as someone else.

Leering is ok if you’re beautiful—shyness gets less acceptable with every passing year.
I am vulnerable. I am defenseless to insults. I greet them with questions of self worth, genuine.

I need a girl strong in a way those strong girls aren’t.

I am one man, among billions. I think only of that one man, while billions remain lost to
me. Words scare me, and I use them sparingly. Yet such sparce words carry lonely and alien
worlds within them; lands I am obligated to both describe and defend. “Please forgive me. Let
me go…”

I am one man among billions, and I know not a single one, not even the one I am.

I suffer for my shyness (I suffer for my suffering) and the difference it defines between
me and those I try to love.

For those of you who know me from Facebook, meeting me for the first time at this con-
ference, please do not be alarmed. The difference you notice is merely due to my recent
decision to become a fat man.

Being alive is so expensive!

Tell me of the slow-moving fire of Goethe in Love; the flares that morphed lick the dark
of night.

I huddle desperate into her private place, to inhibit her secure sleeping home and make
it less secure.

Shown both sides of the WIN-WINDOW of two scream-dreamers, as I’d been promised.
………tight (plane.) Head-shaved freaky jaw chomper.

Jim,
They have caste, we have class – the social stratification occurs naturally, by its own accord,
in either case. The article points out that one strata is immensely more useful towards the
function of the social whole than the other.
1619
–

To: Sleeplessness
From: Victim

No, no, please!

Radiate
–

BZZT! Plane Speaker**

“US Federal Regulations Prohibit…”

Wwhatt?! Prohibit WHAT? I wanted to crawl inside the intercom to learn more about
what I can’t do. But then I realized the Zen afforded in accepting the statement, as–is.
Completed.
-They prohibit. (period)
-They regulate (they make you “Regular”) by stopping you from doing what you want to do,
potentially resorting to violence, if needed, until the different person finally fits in, REGULATED.

Soap, Vitamins,
Boop, Talk more, say less
Talk more, say less.
Say so little, nobody will feel anything but comfort in the monotonous drone of your words.

Penrose Diner:
“So, whaddya wanna drink??”
Heavy Italian waitress barges, loud. Elderly Italian man, remnants of hair still slicked back,
with gold chains over his Hanes blue tshirt, talks to sassy Jersey Girl. “I lost 60 lbs!”

“You’re my idol. I wanna be like you when I grow up.” Girl responds with tired mono-
tone, thick Jersey accent! I didn’t know these people really exist!

STATE OF CONSCIOUSNESS AS ART!

Expression of thought is inhibited by difference between the state of consciousness of

the viewer and the artist. The sharing of one’s state of consciousness is often facilitated by
art, but only as a secondary or unintended consequence.

–Western Esotericism—
Dan Merkur
Secular Historians didn’t exist until 1830s/40s, repopularization of witchcraft with Crowley’s
“The Drug.”

Occultists discouraged use of drugs in summoning rituals….

”You want to be sharp when interacting with a Demon”

Trouble, the exhaustion of social functioning a mere 9 hours later—fear of people is draining
and magnetic. Avoiding eye contact is an elaborate and strategic procedure.
1620
Trouble. Ignore this page and its bitter secrets. I am fine. I’ll be fine. How are you?
Tell me about you. Let’s talk about you. I am not in intolerable pain. This politeness is very
sincere. Thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you so much. I am so sorry.

Earthquake In A Box

Who knows?
The meaning of meat.
The purpose of falsehood
Who really knows?
The intent of the river.
The goals of Nature
Man, who knows?
These scales of consciousness.
These strange and worn out
Decorative prints that I am.
I am a dead phone.
I am not receiving the call.
We hear our voice messages at death
and all at once, remember.
And realize
The appointment we’ve missed.

Liberty 4 Sale
Horse drawn carriage stops in the middle of the street. Sideways, taking up 2 lanes of the one
way traffic. The horse stood stubbornly after a Prius speedily had cut him off, spooking him.
The 19 year old driver of the carriage pleaded with the horse as traffic began to line up behind
the cart. He then tried to lean forward and slap the horse’s ass, but, too, was ineffective. A
heavy black woman saw me watching and looked, exclaiming “The horse aint movin!”

I said “Yes, they get moody. But cars do too sometimes, don’t they.” ;P

The liberty bell is beautiful because it is broken.

Overweight Hispanic man in colonial outfit greeting visitors halfheartedly while sitting on
a window sill. A little taste of America’s colonial past, recreated.

Don’t sweat the small stuff—but do sweat!

What do people even talk about?? I came here to sing “Sunshine of Your Love,” but
karaoke doesn’t start for an hour. All I have is psychedelic research and ghost stories. My
humor replaced by creepy stories and strange, alien experiences of transcendence and
selflessness. Soo…it becomes not what PEOPLE talk about, but what do I talk about? Why be
in public to write alone and think of the depths of the alienation I’ve developed into?

Tired father friend claimed part prime long-passed clinging.

Backstage Party Legends, stories of self told and retold. The one that says “Dying.” The best
1621
thing he ever said. The best thing he ever did.

The Appointment With The Night

I made the appointment with the night, the appointment with the faceless dark, but I
did not keep it. I did not forget it—and neither did they. And still they wait, there at the lowest
and coldest hour, they wait for me, they wait for me to represent them and all that cannot be
seen in the dark. What would I want so desperately to say….after I can say nothing more?

There is so much more to life than sex (said the fox to everyone within earshot of the
grapes.)
…such bitter, bitter grapes!

What does a person do to “raise their vibrations?” Is it simply being thinner? Healthier?
The old men are sharks at night, slick and dangerous. Like sharks, they grow dangerous in old
age, not out of prowess, but out of desperation.

I become dizzy at the thought of millions of helpless people, all subject to an immense system
beyond their control: oil, food, media, money, each tweaked arbitrarily at the fickle whims of a
greedy childish few—our Controllers. It’s a complex system, yet crude in its exertion of power.

There IS a sense of fear to exercise – the runner runs from something, slowly encroach-
ing. The young man is free from the awareness (and obsession) of his capacity when in his
prime, as that personal capacity still develops and grows. Yet, with the first perception of
his life force, talents, and powers lessening with the natural decline of age, a self-conscious
fear is born in him, and an instinctual “fight or flight” response to the changes in his abilities
takes hold. Fighting the changes in himself, ironically, BY running, grasping desperately to
maintain his competence and place, the edge he once took for granted. Flight, in this case, is
the self-abandonment of the alcoholic, or literal flight of the perpetually restless traveller.

We stave off
We stare off
There are problems that can’t be solved with pills or credit cards. There are problems whose
roots are in attention span, itself. The subtle and gradual change in my attention span effects
all parts of my life, nearly every aspect of personality and cognition.

It’s not enough to eat until I’m full. I have to eat until I hate myself

GHOSTS OF ATTENTION

Drift beyond distant eyes.

They can move us still
(They never forget those they once loved.
They never forget what they’ve seen. )

Reasoning
INDUCTION – Examples => Conclusion
DEDUCTION – Generally accepted knowledge => conclusion (pos.)

GRINDING POLITENESS after such a jarring offense. Sleepless, I reel through defenses
1622
with intense and strongly-stated statements, sharpened with sucesssive silent repetitions.
Emotionally activated, irreversibly, day 4 without sleep.

SPACE GHOST
Coast to coast
Through times and foods
Past chances and vitality
Into ghosthood
The helpless inability of light and laughter
Light of youth
Spring from my abandon
Until we collapse in the joy
Until we remember awe
In a moment of open eyes.

Hectic times call for hectic measures

Haphazard Measure

Thanks Giving 2012

A thin quiet couple pause to bow their heads and say grace at the sticky table of the
casino buffet, amongst the neon lights and money machines, Cheap Trick pounding under the
Vegas ambience.

Drink Deep

Another toast to the lonely man.

Another glass raised, silently,
untouched by another.
Drink that in, your cold nothing.
Drink it in deep, like an empty bed
and all that’s been so slowly unmade.

Coming from isolation, I equate depth and genuineness in conversation with meaningful
personal connection, and falseness and politeness with superficial connection. Yet, I find my
honesty is punished in the real world, that falsehood is the norm and anything too “deep” is
to be attacked and considered a threat. In the realm of spiritual development, openness and
sensitivity are personal traits to be fostered, and an institution’s tolerance of such.

LSD? TnA! } Sweet design, to know it or to live it? The choice to know is irreversible.

Knowledge of the Theater removes you from the movie, and its passionate immersive
experience. This is the forbidden fruit of creation and the perfect ignorance of our far gone
innocence, to which we can never return. I miss the bright-eyed excitement of awe—I did by
my first suicide attempt, at 12.

Put bums in uniforms and call them “Downtown Ambassadors.” “Unmanly Sluggard”
will die with the same certainty as the laboring soldier, but his unmanly slowly-formed words
may remain, gentle and thoughtful, beyond him.
1623
Personality traits, like genuine openness and honesty, are a measure of one’s overall
alignment with human development in its multitude of phases, be them deep, awkward,
or eccentric. Acceptance and inclusion are key to the act of love and, on an institutional
level, that means hearing and encompassing a diverse range of human experiences, and
incorporating multiple perspectives, free of judgement.

Torturous Doubt CONFIRMED!

She fucked a douchebag, yet I am the one apologizing. She is the one asking for space.
She has the power.

Too many! Too few.

Tomb (Any Will Do.)

House and home,

My, my how I lie
Alone for years
(And other sad images
in a house which is not a home.)

When did Bukowski

Transform into that suave beast?
From that nervous little German boy drinking away his tension in unending painful rejection.

Disordered days disappear faster, they are easily lost in the mess. The same is true of
years.

Despite the stress, sleeplessness, and depression of my explusion, I must forge and maintain
a steady routine to my day.

Be slow, gradual, present, persistant. Health and confidence will win her back. Physical-
ity, but when? (The Weirdness! Kill it.)

“I’ve been wanting to hug you so BAD lately. I feel like we both could use one. A good
one.”

I am fearless, calm, decisive.

I am bright, funny, irreverent.
I am loving, genuine, trustworthy.

But not hand in hand (Here, on the verge of tears.)

DISSOCIATIVES
-NMDA Receptor Antagonist
-Therapeutic Potential : Distance between medical dose/lethal dose.
-MXE- Methoxetamine (MDMA-like)

Good Friday Experiment

W. PENKE, Unitive Experience, Uninduced.
1624
“Forgetfulness of self is remembrance of God.” -Quran

The pill doesn’t do the work for you, but it shows you the work you need to do..

“Ecstasy approaching annihilation” –Mohammed

Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, Moses => Solitude!

Dr. Benny Shannon – Israeli researcher who suggested the “burning bush” of Moses rep-
resented an amanita muscaria (fly agaric) experience.

How can self-improvement benefit society if it requires solitude? Jesus returned from his
40 days alone with spiritual powers and clarity of purpose; fearless and resolute, prepared to
die. Dizzy and alien, disoriented by visions, he had come to control the dream of his life, lucid
and awake to the unseen realities of spirit.

Goodness, grace, intellect, potential, youth, spirit. I am healthy and beautiful, radiant
and loving. I am here, in this body, to accomplish great things, and I will.

FOUNTAIN PRAYER

Grandfathers of the ancient North, Noble Spirits of the 6 directions, be here with us now.
Protect this beautiful child from the changes that are to come, keep her path clear and her
purpose focused. Fill her to overflowing with white light and inspiration, so that her heart may
shine bright, to guide her way.

This cold pure water of the deep spring is blessed with the eternal love of your guardian
spirit, and now cleanses your inner vision to shine. Fountain waters of the deep Earth, open
the fountain of her heart to flow free and pure, an open spring of Love and Light.

BLAME ME,
BLAME MY BEATING HEART

You’ll find, You’ll find

You seek and shall find.
So I was told all my life,
So spent.

Starving for Jillian.

Preparing every detail to cover. I only clean my house before company. And it seems the
same policy applies to my body, dirty and cluttered inside after long months of LALALA!

Blah? Oh, but wait! Let me try to remember myself for you, one sec. Oh! What was
it? How did it go again…? Ummmmmmmmmmm…. It was spectacular and beautiful. That’s
all I remember. Sorry.

SEX SEX SEX It’s the most important part. It’s the reason we’re here. If there is no
sex, why are we here? Fail to fulfill her L Toss a brief emotion into a vague cloud, impenetrable.
Work to heat the sky with torn muscles and metabolism. Clarity in the Summer of tempera-
1625
ment.

AGE
Fear replaces capacity
Fear spreads from trauma.
Complacency, STOP!

YOUTH
Health and vitality are psychosomatic!
Calm love is freedom
Receptivity is a Defenselessness,
And is a baring of genuine self.
Genuine does not always equate positive, however. Much of that content may be subconscious
tension surfacing to the light of day.

But do false intimacies become eventually real? Like a fake smile becomes genuine
without our knowing or trying?

Questions:

What do you feel you got going on that other girls don’t have going on?
What was it like growing up in Northern Indiana, Indiana? Small town?

What can I do to improve myself?

BE INTERESTING
Flash eyes bright with every breath
Don’t hate people/the world so much.
Sing everything you say
If you can’t be awake, pretend.
If you aren’t happy, pretend.
Remember you are what you pretend to be.

My mind is clear, beautiful, and open.

My soul ascends as an inner sunrise.

I am unfettered by the relations and obligations of society.

Multi-Instrument “A-List”

Be awake
Be aware
Be alive
Shine Open
Radiant

HEROES JOURNEY
Days tumble sleepless
Struggling to catch my breath
1626
My head beneath the Water
A frenzied glimpse of the sun.

There is nothing that cannot be reduced to the duality of crest and trough – unified within a
single wave.

I am light and healthy, calm, centered, and clear.

Rounded shoulders
The bones settle, the spine settles
Why won’t I settle? Or admit I’ve settled?
Settle for, settle with, settle down.

VAGINA: Vaginas are warm wet girl parts for breadmaking.

• Be comfortable wrapped tight in a vagina, warm and cozy like a moist pink Christmas
sweater.

• Slide inside like a neuron, writhing, transmitting potential in deep release, full-fill-ment,
surging genetic information – the information she saw as your body and mind, approved
of, allowed in, and came to Love. To Love, She Came, To Love.

Yes, that’s a candy cane in my pocket, and I’m always happy to see you.

Vaginal Penetration

Her lips are supple, her embrace tight to the edge of desperation. Her father, always
running and long dead. I must, similarly, remain beyond her reach, slightly.
There is a blockage in the bedroom bridge, keeping me (me ME) from making it across. There
is a vice tightened on my cock – so that, in her depths, she looks elsewhere for fulfillment.

Judgement cannot be isolated. It reflects back to the judge.

What is the one way street? The artery? The valve? The pump of negativity/positivity?
The subtle emotive radiance of breath, quiet carriage of the inner sea, its storms or calm.

//FIND ORDER\\

Ritual, rhythm, daily cycle biology

- Define the hours and the behavior
- Eat wake sleep work by the clock
- Allign w/ natural surfacing rhythm until body/mind enters state of resonance, efficient
energetic.
- My self, without her, still defined and independent. If she wishes only to be used for her body,
then I will do so without emotion or trust. She doesn’t think of me as much as I do her…but I
will starve both of us until she does.

100 WAYS TO SAY YOU VALUE ME

Yet you do not respect me enough to keep the cocks of bored strangers out of you. You are a
1627
bored stranger, perhaps, stringing an accommodating stranger along with a short story. You do
not value our relationship. “We could really do without you, and I hope to see you again soon.”

Father’s Package
That’s all I’d talk to her about. The medicines, the Candida Infestation. Manhood, for her, if
anyone. I’m fine, thanks. Help yourself. Honey, I’m sorry about that email. I feel stupid Can
we pretend I never sent it?

Respect is based on an imbalance. Mutual respect exists for the same ability only as a
front. Beneath it, competition drives to define supremacy and social status.

ACID CASUALTY
Symptoms:

• Loose associations (Space between words) “Umm…”

• Permanent Ego Loss (personality and previous social functioning void)

• Loss of passion (previously important things seem transparent)

• Hypersensitivity/Empathy

• Paranoia – Unnatural thoughts

• Anti-social, Motivation Loss

Not to be relied on forever.

“When you get the call, hang up the phone.” –Alan Watts

Eric Crypt
Social vacuum, social stamina
Contagion of Mood (heavy)
Volume of attention
Inflammation surfaces/ Radiates, Repelling The Wary

Graveyard hands Tire and Long to Sleep alongside the dead

Listen to their sobs, shape their goodbye, release the obligations of an aged body. Towards
a forgotten place to meet forgotten friends, light of being sever the sick from your life. Their
anxiety is a cloud of negativity and fear, swallowing red faced. We know the subtle truth of
red when we see it. Its warnings, its smell, its meaning. Avoidance is instinctual as the drive
to prey on the weak and injured. To the woman, the subtle discernment of illness in a potential
mate is fine tuned.

The overwhelming flood of desperate attention: frantic, fearful. I am sorry for suffocat-
ing the development of your love. Pushing you away with my wanting. The void in my life
was larger and more potent than the bond could fill. My insecurity drove my interrogation, the
racing fears were self-fulfilling.

I am a warm and open person, a good friend, reliable and trusthworthy

I am thankful for the people in my life. They care about me
I am thankful for my abilities and the opportunity to use them,
1628
and realize how precious and short-lived this gift is.
I am thankful to have a healthy functional body and the potential to change.
….

Genetic anxiety like a photo

An Italian as loud and obnoxious as his father, some moment stored away in his bedroom
drawer. Revisiting, relived, long after the day forgotten and the father has died. What was the
meaning? What was the lesson that must be learned and learned again? Tight leggings, tight
shoulders, and tight eyes, your unnatural gait is a short storytelling adventure cassette.

Beg she keeps blaming herself

The Power, The Work, The Distraction

She said she cannot trust me, that my geunuineness is manipulation. I had no response, no
defense, only silence, as always these days.
France, Player Piano, Shame about the face. Obsession Toast, lazy Morning, Afternoon,
Evening.

With every new woman in my life, I learn and forget.

I learn to hide and guard, as expected.
I forget the unrestrained vulnerable depth of first love.

Pine, sharp aromatic concave. Bless me.

Lamentation and Mourning for the short and painful life of every relationship. Micah
doesn’t want me at his birthday party Does he think of me as a braggart? (Naw, it’s ok!)

The modern individual is required to filter away so much information from their surroundings
– radios, televisions, animated billboards, sidebar ads flashing, constant background music
in every store; we are being literally bombarded with stimuli, constantly. It is an unnatural
sensory environment which would have put our ancestors in a state of shock, yet within
the span of a century of technological innovation, we have adapted…by desensitizing. But
the advertisements adapt to this heavier and heavier filter, becoming louder and more
manipulative, to grab and hold the precious remnants of our attention, until the deficit retards
the development of a generation.

Run to my arms...and his, and his.

Purpose for coming here: Learning? Resting? Teaching?

My Edgy genes get lost in my tired ones, like a knife rendered useless in a soft pillow.

–Group therapy: “Freudian Perception” –

I said “Networking is everything.” But the feisty black lady, Cindy, heard “I excel at ev-
erything.”

Popularity and judgment both are reflection of image – the social self is a construct of
surface. One image (our image) can be perceived 1000 different ways. Even within the same
person multiple conflicting perceptions can be felt gazing into the same mirror.
1629
Pretend until it’s real, until the act becomes unconscious. This is the wrok , the sculpt-
ing of self. This is the lie that becomes true.

Heard the fearful wish to be heard, and known in their solitude. What would I pretend
to be? If this were a dream and I was just a character being written?

Please, let me know my falseness deeply—and let that knowledge liberate me. The vil-
lain and the hero are both within me, and both are needed for play to continue. These two
teams are ancient and define one-another, in the same way there is no light without dark, or
inside without outside.

How can I keep my eyes afloat? They keep dipping beneath the surface, sinking below
uncontrollably, so much akin to drowning.

I want to be in public. I don’t want to see anyone I know. I only want to bask in the
lights and dance to their music and watch the people and feel the presence of the crowd.
Without politeness or conversation.

I park my car like a spaceship, like an observation chamber. My music is good, my beer
cold. Here in my car, I’m the safest of all.

My pains make me grimace. My withdrawals are heavy tonight.

Bitter intolerant intellect. One flavor of intelligence, culture, slay the inclination to close
“Power of Vulnerability.” Emotional depths, sensitivity, and trust are each dependant on the
lowering of defenses. The fact I was so deeply heart by the most recent break up is evidence of
vulnerability – where the untrusting defensive person emerged relatively unscathed. Falseness
of ego maintains a safe polite distance (laugh and embrace my wall!)

Lay by me, lonely girl.

And I will show you warmth.
And with your ear to my chest
and my arm around you,
the cold night will be quieted
For a time.

I have the voice of a ghost

Like whispers from another room.
As if I speak from someplace beneath
As if I’m dead and only you can hear me.

Cleansing the windows

Of the creeping growth of pride
That obscures my view
And obstructs my light
The harsh light.

Still I think of her—like some mistake I continue to pay for. My voice, my tone, my frame
through which I see the world, all effect people strongly, in ways I swear I could once control.
1630
The repelling seriousness, the distaste for my voice, leaves me quiet and alone, or some
mental clock ticking away, measuring their tolerance. Haha! A self-defeating fear you say?
How long can a singler pattern repeat before you learn it, know it, and come to expect it when
these cues present themselves? My place MY PLACE!

Quill, why don’t you answer?

you said such beautiful things. That I was the man you had always hoped for, a gift you
willed into your life. That you could write pages of ways you appreciate me and love me.
And it felt so good to hear those lies beautiful things and perhaps we both wanted them to
be true. Politeness strained in my silence, my fear, until finally breaking, releasing its contents

Forgiveness
I am all apologies, to find you fucking a douchebag, drunk and fucking spread eagle—bent
over, screaming. I’m so sorry to have embarrassed you by finding out. Can you ever forgive
me?

Children of a forgotten God,

Taught against their blood.
Yet in their dreams, a drum still beats
And in their eyes, their grandparents story
Is still told

Society – Divisions/Consciousness

Do some people feel more? (sensitivity.)

Like silt in a river delta gradually settles into distinct sedimentary layers – silt, sand, clay,
and the heavier stones beneath – so, over long periods, societies gradually settle into distinct
layers as well. The finer sensitivity of the Brahman, whose awareness supposedly extends
beyond base physicality to higher subtle spiritual phenomena, to the courser heavy grounded
consciousness of the carpenter or mechanic, who only works best with his hands. Only in a
civilization as ancient as India does this stirred muddy water have a chance to settle into its
composite densities.

YALOM – GROUP THERAPY

The Monopolist
Dreads silence.

Talks when self/others anxious

Group made tense with talking
(vicious cycle)

We don’t want to hear less from you, we want to hear MORE.

MORE meaningful self-reflection and genuineness.

“When you say and share those things from your life, what is the reaction you’d LIKE to
have – and how does it differ from the reaction you are actually receiving?

STATE DEPENDENT PERCEPTION

Certain extreme states of consciousness have specific information bound within them,
1631
as if by crossing over the boundary of a bandwidth, one becomes receptive to the perceptions
and perspectives of that frequency range, much like tuning a radio dial to a different station.
All at once, new information floods the radio – perhaps an entirely new culture, like the
Mexican station, with language and music very foreign from what we’re used to. The skill set
required to explore these higher and lower non-ordinary “stations” is not merely tuning, but
the meditative focus to maintain and hold that other station once you’ve found it.

DMT – Dose/Response Curve, (Patch VS IV)

Induced Non-Ordinary State of Consciousness (NOSC)

Manipulate, Overpower
The eyes of others wound

“I believe in the higher station.”

That’s a new religion, right there.

Tell me how you are

Tell me anything, old friend so new
So new, and I knew
You’d forget the good in the bad
No matter how I…
No matter how…
No matter…
No,
she will not respond
Her wellbeing is not for me to know.

Sexy. Drop me drunk.

Fight me, Jeff. This is not a hip hop sort of establishment
Watching her make out with some boy with an ugly trucker’s hat, right there on the sidewalk.
Run, skip with glee, my little girl, with your newfound love Redneck love. Black searching.

Take, although I know I give too much.

Take, despite the dangers of my thinking, my far flung self-impression, my silence.
Take from me, if only so I may feel there is still some worth in me.
Haha! Shameful melodrama!

DEEP WOODS FIRE CIRCLE

Do some people feel more?

“yes”
Why don’t we acknowledge it?
“How would you?”
Class.
“How would you measure it?”
Doesn’t that come back into class?
So…you liked that whole Hindu thing?

I think of it as silt in a river, dividing into sedimentary layers.

1632
Do you identify?

I lose my words when I smoke.

I can bring up things

Think of a dog, tilting his head at a strange sound.

That tilting of the head is a universal expression, of attempting to understand, to see a
different perspective when encountering something foreign. It’s the outward expression of an
inward shift, trying to see from a different angle…

We all have our stories, those things we repeat to ourselves and others, and my own
could be just as tragic or heartbreaking as anybody’s yet this can become a sort of one-
upmanship of tragedy, as the sad sacks begin to compete for the pity of the room. I’ve done
this and it serves no one. And so, for myself, the question and challenge becomes “How can I
see past my own story? And move beyond it?”

There is pride in both the peak and the struggle of my life, and it limits me from having
an authentic experience.

A cold river of doorways wave through a blue shell, modulating from teal and turquoise
to the edge of black. Mine could be a simple life, and only in the calm of that simplicity could
each of those doors be known and explored, in turn. My life’s purpose does not abandon me,
but instead fears I will abandon it, and arranges circumstance to remind me of my obligation
and the goals that have been set before me, before they become any more vague and distant.
The struggle is mine, I bring it where it did not exist and can loosen my grip of it whenever I
choose. My favorite memories can become so heavy, and weight me down, or block the flow
of things I need.

Beyond the drama of good and bad, there is a calm calm place I’ve always wanted to
return.

And the many slight annoyances and awkward moments finally consolidate and concretize
into a choice, and then I am no longer in your life.

We become accustomed to our damage, until we forget how we were before it. It is a slow
conditioning…

Someday, scientists will develop a cure for bad hats.

(2013-05-12 08:04:36)
x.

turboswami (2013-05-12 08:56:30)

Who goes there, Oaklander!

1633
Reading Notes - Spring 2013 (2013-05-11 17:46) - public

NARCISSIS AND GOLDMUND - HERMANN HESSE

"My dear brothers, neither of you thinks that I know as much of these matters as you do. I
commend Narcissus for having a keen enough interest in the school to want to improve the
teaching method. However, if his superior holds a different opinion, Narcissus must be silent
and obey, because no improvement of the school would make up for the slightest disturbance
of order and obedience in this house. I reprove Narcissus for not knowing how to give in. And I
hope that you two young scholars may never lack superiors who are less intelligent than you;
it is the best cure for pride."
He lived in this dream world more than in the real one. The real world: classroom, courtyard,
library, dormitory, and chapel were only the surface, a quivering film over the dream-filled
superreal world of images. The smallest incident could pierce a hole in this thin skin: a sudden
hint in the sound of a Greek word during a tedious lesson, a whiff of scent from Father Anselm’s
herb satchel, the sight of a garland of stone leaves protruding from the top of a column in a
window vault—these small stimulants were enough to puncture the skin of reality, to unleash
the raging abysses, streams, and milky ways of an image world of the soul that lay beneath
peacefully barren reality. A Latin initial changed to his mother’s perfumed face, a long note in
the Ave became the gate to Paradise, a Greek letter a galloping horse, a rearing serpent that
quickly slithered off through the flowers, leaving the rigid page of grammar in its place.
A PHD IS NOT ENOUGH
The academic freedom embodied in the grant- ing of tenure was originally supposed to pro-
tect the professoriat from political repercussions against ex- pressions of minority views of the
world.
EPIGENETICS
there are two known chemical instruments of epigenetic action. A process called DNA methy-
lation sets down "marks" on bits of DNA and is typically thought to squelch gene expression.
Another, known as histone modification, effectively loosens pieces of the nearly 6-foot-long
strand of DNA that is spooled and crammed into each cell, enabling portions of its genetic
instructions to play out.
ALDOUS HUXLEY – THE PERENNIAL PHILOSPHY
“…the achievement of ‘psychic’ powers. The ability to get petitionary prayer answered, the
power to heal and work other miracles, the knack of looking into the future or into other peo-
ple’s minds – these, it would seem, are often related to some kind of causal connection with
fasting, watching and the self-infliction of pain. Most of the great theocentric saints and spiri-
tual teachers have admitted the existence of supernatural powers, only, however, to deplore
them. To think that such Siddhis, as the Indians call them, have anything to do with liberation
is, they say, a dangerous illusion. “
–Aldous Huxley
"Ego is a social institution with no physical reality. The ego is simply your symbol of yourself.
Just as the word ’water’ is a noise that symbolizes a certain liquid without being it, so too the
idea of ego symbolizes the role you play, who you are, but it is not the same as your living
organism." Alan Watts
“Depression is when you have lots of love, but no one’s taking.”

1634
—

Douglas Coupland

“I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise
“Yet the enchantment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body.”

T. S. Eliot, from “Burnt Norton”

“Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us.”

Pablo Neruda

“You never knew exactly how much space you occupied in people’s lives.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald

“The cells in your body are completely loyal to you; they work for you in harmony. We can even
say they pray to you. You are their God. That is absolutely the truth. Now what are you going
to do with this knowledge?”
— Don Miguel Ruiz
1635
Thus. the shaman’s assistant spirits were of two kinds. guardian spirits in the strictest sense
(saiva olmal) that gave their client counsels when he so demanded. and helping spirits (saiva
animals) that executed the tasks he imposed upon them (Backman 1975:115). The former.
human-like beings living in certain sacred mountains. were also the spirits that antagonized
the shaman during his vocation period.
You are a rare thing, beautiful and bright.
I often think of ways I can make you smile – but there are so many, because your smile comes
so easily!
"I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal
approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess
tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument
of inspiration; I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that de-
cides whether a crisis is escalated or de-escalated, and a person humanized or de-humanized.
If we treat people as they are, we make them worse. If we treat people as they ought to be,
we help them become what they are capable of becoming."
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Really important meetings are planned by the Souls long before the bodies see each other.
Paulo Coelho
Who has not sat before his own heart’s curtain? It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.
—Rainer Maria Rilke
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
–Rumi
“It only takes two facing mirrors to construct a labyrinth.”

• [1]

• –Jorge Luis Borges

• I have my dead and I have let them go and was amazed to see them so contented, so at
home in being dead, so cheerful, so unlike their reputation. Only you return; brush past
me, loiter, try to knock against something, so that the sound reveals your presence. Oh
don’t take from me what I am slowly learning. I’m sure you have gone astray if you are
moved to homesickness for anything in this dimension. We transform these Things; they
aren’t real, they are only the reflections upon the polished surface of our being.

• - Rainer Maria Rilke (from "Requiem for a Friend")

• It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize
just how much you love them. –Agatha Christie

• it is much more easy to have sympathy with suffering than it is to have sympathy with
thought. –Oscar Wilde
1636
We will not find the inner strength to evolve to a higher level if we do not inwardly develop
this profound feeling that there is something higher than ourselves… Only a person who has
passed through the gate of humility can ascend to the heights of the spirit.
Create moments of inner peace for yourself, and in these moments learn to distinguish the es-
sential from the inessential
–Rudolf Steiner, "How To Know The Higher Worlds," 1904
One only sees what one looks for,
one only looks for what one knows.
–Goethe
“Let me show you the work of the humble. Listen.”

T. S. Eliot

"You beg for happiness in life, but security is more important to you, even if it costs you your
spine or your life. Your life will be good and secure when aliveness will mean more to you than
security; love more than money; your freedom more than party line or public opinion; when
your thinking will be in harmony with your feelings; when the teachers of your children will be
better paid than the politicians; when you will have more respect for the love between a man
and a woman than for a marriage license." –Wilhelm Reich
THE LOGOMACHY OF ZOS by AUSTIN OSMAN SPARE
Let us desire no better pantheon than the zoomorphic in which to find a
place: better to venerate our animal ancestry (until fully human), then the least attainable and
most unknowable will disclose our next step.
Reversion is often the road to perversion, and the disused or abused degenerates unless trans-
posed to another purpose.
Love shall cease when copulation is abjured.
There is more truth in our erotic zones, than in the whole of religions and mathematics.
Poetry is accomplished hyperbole.
The price of Identity is suffering.
The self-glory of our forgiveness of ourselves and others—these are our failures.
Our near relatives are the greatest insurance against belief in ourselves.
–Spare, "The Logomachy of Zos"
“Forgiveness,” we whisper, and hope for an echo;
but nothing returns from the silence above.”

1637
—

Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Accubitus: Lying together in the same bed without "venereal commerce."

"Through our eyes, the universe is perceiving itself. Through our ears, the universe is listening
to its harmonies. We are the witnesses through which the universe becomes conscious of its
glory, of its magnificence." - alan watts
The true self is an ironic consciousness, the cut of a native trickster. Stories of truistic selves
tease the originary. (Vizenor 1998, 20)
[2] "creativity is just connecting things,"
Steve Jobs
“As every poet knows, it is emotion under the force of limits, emotion pressed down
and held down to strict formal constraints, that makes for the purest expression.”

[3]Adam Gopnik

“Lack of originality, everywhere, all over the world, from time immemorial, has
always been considered the foremost quality and the recommendation of the active,
efficient and practical man.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky

"Learn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist." -Pablo Picasso
“It’s a most distressing affliction to have a sentimental heart and a skeptical mind.”

1638
—

Naguib Mahfouz
“Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and they will come
forth later in uglier ways.”

Sigmund Freud

why fall in love when you can just fall asleep

“Soon it will be a sin for parents to have a child which carries the heavy burden of a genetic
disease.”
–Robert Edwards, received 2010 Nobel Prize for pioneering In Vitro fertilization research.
"The only way to be happy is to love. Unless you love, your life will flash by. Do good to them."
–The Tree of Life
The work is the death mask of its conception. – Walter Benjamin
“If your fidelity to perfectionism is too high, you never do anything.”

[4]David Foster Wallace

“The fact that we live at the bottom of a deep gravity well, on the surface of a gas covered
planet going around a nuclear fireball 90 million miles away and think this to be normal is
obviously some indication of how skewed our perspective tends to be.”
― Douglas Adams,
If you lower the pitch of a chord far enough, it becomes a gorgeous convoluting polyrhythm
with the same emotional signature as the chord.
1. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
2. http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=3071d301c7&e=55af676e
29
3. http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/04/02/mapping-manhattan-becky-cooper/
4. http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/04/18/david-foster-wallace-on-ambition-animated/

1639
Reading Notes - Winter 2013 (2013-05-11 17:46) - public

corollary
|ˈkôrəˌlerē, ˈkärə-|
noun
a proposition that follows from (and is often appended to) one already proved.
adjective
forming a proposition that follows from one already proved.
puissant
|ˈpwisənt, ˈpwēsənt, ˈpyo͞oəsənt|
adjective
or
having great power or influence.
psychopomp
|ˈsīkōˌpämp |
noun
(in Greek mythology) a guide of souls to the place of the dead.
slugabed
|ˈsləgəˌbed|
noun
a lazy person who stays in bed late.
portent
|ˈpôrˌtent|
noun
1 a sign or warning that something, esp. something momentous or calamitous, is likely to
happen:
2 an exceptional or wonderful person or thing:
truculent
|ˈtrəkyələnt|
adjective
eager or quick to argue or fight; aggressively defiant:
autochthonous
|ôˈtäkTHənəs|
adjective
(of an inhabitant of a place) indigenous rather than descended from migrants or colonists.
vulpine
1640
|ˈvəlˌpīn|
adjective
of or relating to a fox or foxes.
mortification
|ˌmôrtəfəˈkāSHən|
noun
1 great embarrassment and shame:
2 the action of subduing one’s bodily desires
Carhart-Harris 2012:
the medial prefrontal cortex (mPFC) and the posterior cingulate cortex (PCC). (If you’re put off
by neuroscience please don’t quit reading just yet! I’ll try to keep the brain science as simple as
possible.) These two areas appear to play important roles in the regulation of self-awareness as
they are particularly activated when people are asked to think about themselves for example
(Wicker, Ruby, Royet, & Fonlupt, 2003).
EVOLUTION AND THE LEVELS OF SELECTION
LEWTONTIN (1970) – 3 Principles of Evolution by Natural Selection
1) Phenotypic Variation
2) Differential Fitness
3) Hereditability as Parent/Offspring Correlation.
MAYNARD SMITH (1987) – 3 Principles...
1) Multiplication
2) Variation
3) Heredity
Entities fulfilling all 3 criteria are called "units of evolution."
Griesemer (2000) argues that this is a significant lacuna, and offers an analysis of what repro-
duction amounts to, based on two key ideas. First, there should be ‘material overlap’ between
parent and offspring entities. This means that offspring must contain, as physical parts, objects
or structures that used to be physical parts of their parents. Organismic reproduction, cell divi-
sion, DNA replication, speciation, and ‘demic reproduction’ all satisfy this criterion, Griesemer
argues: in each case, a physical part of the parent becomes a physical part of its offspring.
Secondly, the capacity to reproduce is something that entities must acquire; they are not born
with it. In effect, this second requirement means that entities capable of reproduction must
develop, or have a life cycle.
diachronic
|ˌdīəˈkränik|
adjective
concerned with the way in which something, esp. language, has developed and evolved
through time. Often contrasted with [1] synchronic .
DEME:
1641
a subdivision of a population consisting of closely related plants, animals, or people, typically
breeding mainly within the group.
Michod (1999) has recently argued that groups of lower-level entities only count as new individ-
uals themselves, and thus generate a new level in the hierarchy, when they evolve a special
type of adaptation, namely policing mechanisms to regulate the selfish tendencies of their
members. Prior to this stage the groups are merely loose collections of lower-level entities, not
genuine evolutionary individuals.
it is routine in biology to talk of evolutionary change as the result of different causal fac-
tors, of which natural selection is one; it is also routine to talk about the relative strength
of selection versus other factors. If such talk is to be taken at face value, there must be an
objective fact about how much of the change, in any particular case, is due to selection and
how much due to other factors.
PRICE EQUATION
w z = Cov (wi, zi) + E(wi zi)

z = Cov (ω, z) + Ew( z)

The equation expresses the total change in z (the average phenotype characteristic) between
parent and offspring generations, as the sum of two other quantities. The first quantity Cov
(ω, z) measures the statistical association between phenotype character z and and fitness. If
entities with higher character value tend to be fitter than average, Cov (ω, z) will be positive,
less fit = negative. If fitness and character are unassociated, Cov (ω, z) = 0
Ew ( z) is a measure of overall transmission of character z from parent to offspring generation,
weighted by fitness. zi =0 means perfect transmission.
SELECTION DIFFERENTIAL: Measure of the extent to which a phenotypic character, z, is subject
to natural selection.
mereological supervenience - metaphysical thesis which says that properties of wholes are fully
determined by properties of their parts. In the case of multi-level selection, the collective’s
"parts" may be composed of more things than just lower level particles.
Emergent Characters - Characters which do not belong to the particles, but which emerge
as a character of the collective (e.g.: Morphological differentiation between castes of insect
colonies.)
Aggregate Characters - Salient group character is found in the average gene frequency of the
collective. In this way, collective characters are produced by "aggregating" the characters of
the particles composing the collective.
Synchronized Life Cycle - Particle and Collective Reproduce and Expire together (as in the
chromosomes and the cell, divide simultaneously)
Non-Synchronized Life Cycle - Particle and Collective Reproduce and Expire independently
(Cells divide many times within a single organismic generation)
ontogenesis
|ˌäntəˈjenəsis|
noun
Biology (Ontogeny)
1642
the development of an individual organism or anatomical or behavioral feature from the earliest
stage to maturity. Compare with [2] phylogenesis .
phylogenesis |ˌfīləˈjenəsis| (Phylogeny)
noun Biology
the evolutionary development and diversification of a species or group of organisms, or of a
particular feature of an organism. Compare with [3] ontogenesis .
Mitosis
Mitosis is the process by which a [4] eukaryotic cell separates the [5] chromosomes in its [6]
cell nucleus into two identical sets, in two separate nuclei. It is generally followed immediately
by [7] cytokinesis , which divides the nuclei, [8] cytoplasm , [9] organelles and [10] cell mem-
brane into two cells containing roughly equal shares of these cellular components. Mitosis and
cytokinesis together define the mitotic (M) phase of the [11] cell cycle —the [12] division of
the mother cell into two daughter cells, genetically identical to each other and to their parent
cell. This accounts for approximately 10 % of the cell cycle.
Gametes (germ cells) are mitotically inactive, never reproducing on the particulate level. So-
matic cells leave more descendants than germ cells within the lifespan of the organism, but
leave no descendants across organismic generations.
Collective Fitness is measured by either A) the number of offspring particles in the collective
or B) the number of offspring collectives in a generation.

WHY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE HAVE MORE DAUGHTERS

EVOLUTIONARY PSYCHOLOGY
1) People are animals.
2) Evolution does not stop at the neck.
3) Human nature is innate.
"The tabula of human nature was never rasa – and it is now being read."
Pleistocene Epic - Ice Age, 10,000 years ago.
Savannah Principle: The human brain has difficulty comprehending and adapting to entities
which did not exist in the ancestral environment. (entities like TV)
- For the last 10,000 years or so, our environment has been changing too rapidly for evolution
to catch up (Hunter/Gatherer=>Agrarian to Industrial to Post-Industrial)
-We have not been able to adapt and evolve against the constantly moving target of the envi-
ronment.
Maladaptive Psychological Mechanisms - craving for sweets and fats, or male jealousy, for
instance. "Neanderthink," remnants of behavior once adaptive to the ancestral environment,
but no longer so.
Cuckoldry:
the husband off an adulteress, often regarded as an object of derision.
verb
(of a man) make (another man) a cuckold by having a sexual relationship with his wife.
1643
Speed of evolution dependent on the speed sexual maturity for a species (fruit fly evolution
(fast) vs human evolution (slow))
CULTURAL DETERMINISM IS FALSE
Gender Socialization is the standard Social Science Model. Yet, the supposed socialization
and enculturation of gender difference remains the prevailing popular view, despite it being
unambiguously false according to the vast majority of available studies. Sex differences exist
on the first day of life, and are both physically and psychologically innate.
Enisagomy - female sex cell is larger in size and smaller in number than males.
Sperm is biologically less costly to produce than eggs.
Fitness variance - distance between the ceiling (best) and floor (worst) – winners and losers of
reproduction game. Much greater fitness variance in men than women.
Greater fitness variance is the reason for risk, violence, aggression, and competitiveness
amongst men.
1042 - thought to be the most children a man has had in his life.
–
SHAMANISM - AN INTRODUCTION
" Shamans have peculiar brilliant eyes which enable them to see spirits as well as being sensi-
tive to any change in the nearby psychic atmosphere. "
A-L. Siikala has pointed out that a person with normal nerves may achieve a state of trance,
but people of greater sensitivity do find it easier.
There is a hereditary rite to claim a shaman’s function, which
may be transmitted in a family equally to boys or girls. When not represented on Earth by a
shaman or shamaness it becomes dangerous to its owner; therefore such a lineage tries to
avoid not having a living shamanic representative.
Novice Manchurian and Inuit shamans, in common with Hindu ascetics and Tibetan Tantric
yogins, must prove their magical powers by resisting extreme cold: the ability to do so is
indicative of having reached a superhuman state. Sometimes the ecstatic state does not occur
until the shaman is ‘heated’. Narcotics are sometimes used to attain magical heat and the
burning of certain herbs which increases ‘power’. Narcotic intoxication represents ‘death’. In
other words, the individual has left his body and become temporarily a ghost or spirit.
According to the second-century Chinese dictionary, Shuo-wen, compiled by Xu Shen, ‘the
character wu [meaning shamaness] is a pictograph representing a woman who serves the
“formless” and can by dancing cause the deities to descend’.2
The literal Greek term ekstasis means to escape from one’s own rational and definite position,
so in this sense it has the same aim as mysticism, for both transcend the assumed limits of
personality. ekstasis (standing outside oneself) and enthousiasmos (possession by the god).
The shamanic performances usually take place in darkness or semi-darkness which removes
the distractions of ordinary reality. Thus the shaman can literally ‘see’ in darkness things and
future events imperceptible to ordinary people.
‘the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters’ (Genesis 1. 2).
–
the erotic nimbus of the sickbed
1644
”A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees
the dawn before the rest of the world.”
– Oscar Wilde
Losing an illusion makes you wiser than finding a truth. " Ludwig Börne
By means of the sacred frenzy Yahweh possesses the individual who then becomes his agent
for good or evil purposes.Ecstatic states are also experienced by Dervishes and formerly by
medieval mystics and by the Finnish trance-preachers.It has been shown that if drum rhythm
is synchronized with brainwave frequencies, an altered state of consciousness is more easily
achieved. Chinese shamanesses
It is known that there were large numbers of shamanesses in China during the second cen-
tury. The fourth-century work Chin Shu (History of the Chin Dynasty) relates that at one time
shamanesses performed the family ancestral sacrifices. In about 460 a Liu Sung emperor en-
gaged them to invoke the spirit of his dead consort. Similar necro- mantic rites had been
performed for the emperor Han Wu Ti of the second century BCE. A ninth-century story shows
that these women used ventriloquism and were expert exorcists, but later, during the Sung
dynasty, they were fiercely persecuted, whereupon many of the shamanic elements in Taoism
were driven underground to become yet another secret society among many that flourished in
Chinese society. Over the centuries shamanism gradually fused with the pseudo-sciences of
divination, astrology, geomancy, oneiromancy, written charms and the use of talismans.
According to the second-century Chinese dictionary, Shuo-wen, compiled by Xu Shen, ‘the
character wu [meaning shamaness] is a pictograph representing a woman who serves the
“formless” and can by dancing cause the deities to descend’.26 Wu means both ‘shamaness’
and ‘to dance’; male shamans are known as hsi. Chinese historical documents attest that
Mongolian shamans were the founders of the Liao dynasty (907–1125) and the Jin dynasty of
China (1125 –1222) and others.
Shamanism entered China at an early age and deeply influenced Taoism (and to a lesser extent
Confucianism) with its concept of an ideal society associated with matriarchal memories, the
Taoist
feminine symbol, magic and the emphasis on sex techniques said to have an integral connec-
tion with the whole universe – a similar view is held by Tantric Buddhists.
The shamanic cult of nature is found especially in the great poetry of Ch’u Yuan (about 340–278
BCE) who longed to escape from his exile in the south. His ‘symbolic escape from the earth by
means of ritual ecstasy, calling for the help of nature by chants of priests (and priest- esses)
rising high above the world of pains in heavenly “distant travels” ’.27
118 SELF-KNOWLEDGE AND THE SELF
Sartre calls the spirit of seriousness: viz., a desire to finalize inquiry, to close off potentially
destabilizing challenges, and to be
bound by a privileged set of descriptions.
THE ART OF FERMENTATION
In contrast with our eukaryotic cells, with fixed genetic material, prokaryotic bacteria have free-
floating genes, which they frequently exchange. For this reason, some microbiologists consider
it inappropriate to view bacteria as distinct species. “There are no species in prokaryotes,”
state
Sorin Sonea and Léo G. Mathieu.24 “Bacteria are much more of a continuum,” explains Lynn
Margulis. “They just pick up genes, they throw away genes, and they are very flexible about
1645
that.”25 Mathieu and Sonea describe a bacterial “genetic free market,” in which “each bac-
terium
can be compared to a two-way broadcasting station, using genes as information molecules.”
Genes “are carried by a bacterium only when needed . . . as a human may carry sophisticated
tools.” (p. 18)
Amazingly, bowel bacteria cells comprise approximately 95 percent of the total number of cells
in the human body.
Hesse, "Journey to the East"
"He who travels far will often see things
Far removed from what he believed was Truth. When he talks about it in the fields at home,
He is often accused of lying,
For the obdurate people will not believe
What they do not see and distinctly feel. Inexperience, I believe,
Will give little credence to my song."
Grace cannot be bought with repentance; it cannot be bought at all. A similar thing has already
happened to many other people; great and famous men have shared the same fate as this
young man. Once in their youth the light shone for them; they saw the light and followed the
star, but then came reason and the mockery of the world; then came faint-heartedness and
apparent failure; then came weariness and disillusionment, and so they lost their way again,
they became blind again.
It was themselves he gave back to them, blurred by the compromises of how many years.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A YOGI

"’Child,’ the master said, though apparently I was nearly twice his own age, ’for the faults of
the many, judge not the whole."
You did not see me, hidden behind the sunlight.
His heart was fathomlessly deep, long acquainted with humility, patience, sacrifice. His little
home amidst the roses was austerely simple; he knew the worthlessness of luxury, the joy of
few possessions. The modesty with which he wore his scientific fame repeatedly reminded me
of the trees that bend low with the burden of ripening fruits; it is the barren tree that lifts its
head high in an empty boast.
The origin of the caste system, formulated by the great legislator Manu, was admirable. He
saw clearly that men are distinguished by natural evolution into four great classes: those capa-
ble of offering service to society through their bodily labor (Sudras); those who serve through
mentality, skill, agriculture, trade, commerce, business life in general (Vaisyas); those whose
talents are administrative, executive, and protective-rulers and warriors (Kshatriyas); those of
contemplative nature, spiritually inspired and inspiring (Brahmins). "Neither birth nor sacra-
ments nor study nor ancestry can decide whether a person is twice-born (i.e., a Brahmin);" the
Mahabharata declares, "character and conduct only can decide." 41-9 Manu instructed soci-
ety to show respect to its members insofar as they possessed wisdom, virtue, age, kinship or,
lastly, wealth. Riches in Vedic India were always despised if they were hoarded or unavailable
for charitable purposes. Ungenerous men of great wealth were assigned a low rank in society.
41-8: Manu is the universal lawgiver; not alone for Hindu society, but for the world. All systems
of wise social regulations and even justice are patterned after Manu. Nietzsche has paid the
following tribute: "I know of no book in which so many delicate and kindly things are said to
1646
woman as in the Lawbook Of Manu; those old graybeards and saints have a manner of being
gallant to women which perhaps cannot be surpassed . . . an incomparably intellectual and
superior work . . . replete with noble values, it is filled with a feeling of perfection, with a
saying of yea to life, and a triumphant sense of well-being in regard to itself and to life; the sun
shines upon the whole book."
41-9: "Inclusion in one of these four castes originally depended not on a man’s birth but on
his natural capacities as demonstrated by the goal in life he elected to achieve," an article
in East-West for January, 1935, tells us. "This goal could be (1) kama, desire, activity of the
life of the senses (Sudra stage), (2) artha, gain, fulfilling but controlling the desires (Vaisya
stage), (3) dharma, self-discipline, the life of responsibility and right action (Kshatriya stage),
(4) moksha, liberation, the life of spirituality and religious teaching (Brahmin stage). These
four castes render service to humanity by (1) body, (2) mind, (3) will power, (4) Spirit.
"These four stages have their correspondence in the eternal gunas or qualities of nature, tamas,
rajas, and sattva: obstruction, activity, and expansion; or, mass, energy, and intelligence. The
four natural castes are marked by the gunas as (1) tamas (ignorance), (2) tamas- rajas (mix-
ture of ignorance and activity), (3) rajas-sattva (mixture of right activity and enlightenment),
(4) sattva (enlightenment). Thus has nature marked every man with his caste, by the predom-
inance in himself of one, or the mixture of two, of the gunas. Of course every human being
has all three gunas in varying proportions. The guru will be able rightly to determine a man’s
caste or evolutionary status.
"To a certain extent, all races and nations observe in practice, if not in theory, the features of
caste. Where there is great license or so-called liberty, particularly in intermarriage between
extremes in the natural castes, the race dwindles away and becomes extinct. The Purana
Samhita compares the offspring of such unions to barren hybrids, like the mule which is inca-
pable of propagation of its own species. Artificial species are eventually exterminated. History
offers abundant proof of numerous great races which no longer have any living representatives.
The caste system of India is credited by her most profound thinkers with being the check or
preventive against license which has preserved the purity of the race and brought it safely
through millenniums of vicissitudes, while other races have vanished in oblivion."
"Do not do what you want, and then you may do what you like."
Sadasiva
"The ordinary astral universe-not the subtler astral heaven of Hiranyaloka-is peopled with mil-
lions of astral beings who have come, more or less recently, from the earth, and also with myr-
iads of fairies, mermaids, fishes, animals, goblins, gnomes, demigods and spirits, all residing
on different astral planets in accordance with karmic qualifications. Various spheric mansions
or vibratory regions are provided for good and evil spirits. Good ones can travel freely, but
the evil spirits are confined to limited zones. In the same way that human beings live on the
surface of the earth, worms inside the soil, fish in water, and birds in air, so astral beings of
different grades are assigned to suitable vibratory quarters.
"We are so surrounded by falsehood, that sincerity is perceived as an offense"
TENDER IS THE NIGHT
"The strongest guard is placed at the gateway to nothing," he said. "Maybe because the con-
dition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged."
like a lovely person in an undignified position yet con- fident none the less of being lovely.
behaving as he did was a projection of some submerged reality
1647
DIVERSITY
pairs of monozygotic and dizygotic twins who have been separated at infancy
by adoption are particularly informative about the relative contributions of genetics and experi-
ence to differences in human psychological development. The most extensive of such adoption
studies is the Minnesota Study of Twins Reared Apart (see Bouchard & Pedersen,1998).
LIE: We are all equal
Simon Baron-Cohen, psychologist, Autism Research Center, Cambridge University
"When I was young I believed in equality as a guiding principle in life. My mind has been
changed. I still believe in some aspects of the idea of equality, but I can no longer accept the
whole package. Striving to give people equality of social opportunity is still a value system
worth defending, but we have to accept that equality has no place in the realm of biology."
LIE: Races do not exist
Mark Pagel, evolutionary biologist, Reading University
"There is an overbearing censorship to the way we are allowed to think and talk about the
diversity of people on Earth. Officially we are all the same: there are no races. Flawed as
the old ideas about race are, modern genomic studies reveal a surprising, compelling and
different picture of human genetic diversity. What this all means is that, like it or not, there
may be many genetic differences among human populationsâ  including differences that
may even correspond to old categories of ’race’â  that are real differences in the sense of
making one group better than another at responding to some particular environmental problem.
This in no way says one group is in general ’superior’ to another, or that one group should be
preferred over another. But it warns us that we must be prepared to discuss genetic differences
among human populations."
Nobel Laureate James D. Watson writes:
There is no firm reason to anticipate that the intellectual capacities of peoples geographically
separated in their evolution should prove to have evolved identically."
Charles Darwin wrote in Descent of Man :
"The races differ also in constitution, in acclimatisation and in liability to certain diseases. Their
mental characteristics are likewise very distinct; chiefly as it would appear in their emotional,
but partly in their intellectual faculties."
We civilised men do our utmost to check the process of elimination; we build asylums for
the imbecile, the maimed and the sick; we institute poor laws; and our medical men exert
their utmost skills to save the life of everyone to the last moment. Thus the weak members of
civilised societies propagate their kind. No-one . . . will doubt that this must be highly injurious
to the race of man.
–Charles Darwin, "The Descent of Man (1871), p. 501
"Both sexes ought to refrain from marriage if they are in any marked degree infirm in body or
in mind" (1871, p. 918).
Among the Incas of Peru polygamy was regulated by law according to rank. The
emperors had
as
many
1648
wives or concubines as they wanted. Military chiefs
were allowed 30 wives and middle-ranking officers
were permitted fifteen, eight or seven according to their rank (Betzig, 1986). In
China emperors had
many
hundreds of women
in their harems, whom they systemat- ically serviced on a rotating basis at appropriate times
in their menstrual cycles, carefully organized and regulated by female supervisors,
and through this
system they were able to father several
hundred offspring (Dickenman, 1979).
There are heights of the soul from which tragedy itself no longer appears to operate tragically…
" I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell but just coming to the end of his triumph."
Jack Gilbert
‘Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.’ Last words of Hassan Sabbah. The Old Man of the
Mountain.
"Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not
the loftiest intelligence- whether much that is glorious- whether all that is profound- does not
spring from disease of thought - from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general
intellect."
― Eleonora (1841), by Edgar Allan Poe

1. x-dictionary:r:m_en_us1296518:com.apple.dictionary.NOAD
2. x-dictionary:r:m_en_us1277810:com.apple.dictionary.NOAD
3. x-dictionary:r:m_en_us1273472:com.apple.dictionary.NOAD
4. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eukaryotic
5. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chromosome
6. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cell_nucleus
7. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cytokinesis
8. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cytoplasm
9. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Organelle
10. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cell_membrane
11. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cell_cycle
12. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cell_division

What Is Energy? (2013-05-11 21:19) - public

What is energy? (other than an overused New Age buzzword)

Energy is the radiance of frequency through a medium. Crest and trough define energy,
as they cycle in time. Yet, for instance, we can imagine a ripple from a perspective above that
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radiating concentric frequency and, in that way, it is possible to influence a medium without
being subject to its time. Even while we, the “living,” are inextricably bound to the physical
medium, and the convoluted systems in which our bodies come immersed, part and parcel,
it is not difficult to imagine the non-physical point of view on that dense material medium
from a location outside of it. Those who live and breath above the rippling pond, in the higher
finer medium of air, who can observe and even choose where and when to throw stones to
influence and make ripples on that lower denser medium, or even immerse themselves into
that water for a time.

Motivation and Emotional Immediacy In Storytelling (2013-05-11 21:19) - public

I have had an insight about the roots of my motivation problem. Every thing I do is done to
please other people. I do nothing for myself. The idea of having someone standing over me
waiting for something or saying “This needs to be done by Thursday” are my main motivating
factors, all external. When I am alone, I have no one to please, no obligations to fuel me to do
anything, and so I don’t. It’s a motivation rooted in fear.

I realized it while seeing someone say one of those lines about finding the right job, and
“Doing what you are passionate about.” I realized I did not have a passion, my only “passion”
had been to keep people from being disappointed or angry with me. It was a whole personality
undergirded by fear of others. If left to myself, I have no one to disappoint but myself – and
I’m pretty comfortable with doing that.

Even cleaning the house or making music. I will clean the house, top to bottom, the
moment I know someone is coming over. By myself, I am ok with a little clutter or some dirty
dishes. By myself, I rarely feel the need to set up musical equipment. That’s something for
collaboration – otherwise not at all.

The branch of the plant that has wilted must be cut. No matter how I water or care for
it, it will not recover. In the same way, these abilities and capacities I once had, these
branches of my personality, have wilted. Life no longer flows through them. My voice is lost, I
cannot sing those songs I used to sing, those amazing songs that defined who I was. They can
no longer be sung

“You should let those experiences go, you are attached to them. You can never get them back.”

But I must believe I can get better again, that I can recover.

“Yes, of course.”

And getting better, for me, means doing what I was once able to do.

Dead branches, curled leaves long wilted and falling. Crisp, there is beauty to the de-
cay of autumn…the reds and oranges, like a bonfire. Our abilities blaze as they die, only a
dry remnant remains – a crisp shell of what once bloomed. But the dormancy of Winter is not
final; in the same way, death is not the end, but just a dormant phase of a cycle.

When telling Eric the story of The Woman In White, I felt very little emotion. I have re-
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told the story so many times, it has lost its immediacy. I no longer become activated, it is
merely a schpeal, like any other now. Where once, even mentioning the idea of the experi-
ence would make my whole body quiver as I cried from the intensity, now it is empty and
scripted. I once had reverence, she gave me something to pray to. I had never had that before.

I was never meant to tell that story, her story. I remember, after she visited me and
my girlfriend that night, I wrote it all out – every detail, both hers and mine, until I’d described
the Woman In White to the best of my abilities. And, as I finally clicked “Post” on the journal,
to submit the many intense pages, something happened. The LiveJournal server, itself, shut
down and the writing was lost. In the past, some connection problem or computer issue on
my side had led to me losing a post, but never before or since has the entire website server
accept the post and then shut down and notify me it was lost. It was a clear message to me –
this was not a story she wanted plastered and advertised all over the internet. This was to be
kept on the down low.

Yet, I could not believe it had happened and I knew I could never write it in as clear and
inspired a way as I had. I contacted the livejournal webserver in desperation, begging for
them to somehow retrieve the post they had lost. Eventually, they were able to do this and
the writing was returned.

Eric did not believe me, or did not want to. Despite the physical evidence and multiple
accounts of the phenomenon – having been confirmed by both my girlfriend and the multiple
renters who moved in after us, who described the blue white lights in the room of the visitation
– to believe my story would require a change in his belief system. That is asking a lot of anyone,
even a close friend. The fast emotionless way I reeled through the story surely influenced
how he received it as well; we are inherently mistrustful of “fast talkers” or obvious scripts.
Genuineness is felt in the emotional tone of the storytelling. That’s where the honesty is felt,
and unquestionable.

Ritual VS Authentic Spiritual Experience (2013-05-11 21:20) - public

Ritual VS Authentic Spiritual Experience

The roots of ritual, however empty and dogmatic they went on to become, must have once
been based on some actual experience of a phenomenon, however rare or exceptional, for
which the practice was intended to reaccess, revere, or replicate.

The exceptional experience, itself, is universally human and beyond the bounds of culture,
custom, and religion that adorn it.

[1]
Duncan Riach
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Personal revelation is far from religion, the polar-opposite of religion. I wonder if religion bal-
ances revelation out in the non-dual whole. Scientism, which pervades our society, the polar-
opposite of scientific exploration, might also be its counterbalance.

[2]
Kaleb Smith
Yea, totally. I think of those old "standard brand" religions as sort of hardened shells that formed
around a once-authentic experience, limiting as it defends. This inflexible carapace maintains
the shape of the authentic, in the same way that the adherents of that practice go through the
hollow motions, no longer feeling the deeply genuine spiritual interaction it once induced.

That is not to say these old rituals can’t still be utilized to access exceptional states, but the orig-
inal purpose and meaning of all those hollow motions is often lost to the millennia of egotism.
My thought is that some of those rituals are surely more effective than others at facilitating spir-
itual experience. The scientific method could, theoretically, be used to measure the efficacy
of each practice, or the subjective components that lead to its peak efficacy.

Haha. That was wordy, but I think you got me. I think about this a lot.

[3]
Duncan Riach
Nice. I see religious dogmatism form quickly in people associated with others who have expe-
rienced revelation, no matter how little revelation the other has had. Better to be your own
master; better to seek your own truth.

Talking exhausts me.

1. https://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach
2. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
3. https://www.facebook.com/duncan.riach

Returning Home and Realistically Judging One’s Own Worth (2013-05-11 21:22)
- public

What is all of this material? It feels like heavy lifting, up from the basement, and tossed out.
Spring purging. I feel like 100 lbs has been lifted from my shoulders. I could live a healthy pro-
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ductive life yet. Yet. There is still time and, here I come, home to face my family and the source
of my fears, my deepest gnawing insecurities, the frightened boy I am in layers. What am I to
do in such an unhealthy place, but assert my health? Stand tall where I once cowered. Define
myself by contrast. Keep my boundaries clear and defined, being a new person in an old place.

If I were to devote myself fully to writing, even the writing of short essays describing
the different thoughts I’ve had over the years, I could publish. But, in their current fragmented
prose form, these ideas have little worth – while the freshness and immediacy of them fades
over the years that pass since the thought’s conception. This is a waste, a great shameful
waste. If I were to try to measure my worth as a man honestly, this writing would be the most
worthwhile thing I have within my capacity to contribute to society.

Acknowledging Our Perceptual Limits (2013-05-15 03:17) - public

“So you’d seriously expect me to believe that some invisible man was walking around, inter-
acting with people that night¿‘

So, you’d seriously expect me to believe that natural life is, somehow, bound to our
species’ meager perceptual limit ations? That nature cannot exist outside of the visible
spectrum? That the whole of life and consciousness begins and ends within your narrow sliver
of the electromagnetic spectrum?

Lets just make the distinction between our 2 perspectives clear to begin with: my posi-
tion remains based on personal experience and rational deduction, yours empty egocentrism
and crude materialism.

While it is generally acknowledged that man is egocentric, that is not an acceptable excuse to
disregard valid and universal human experiences simply because they are uncommon. As it
turns out, man is NOT the center of the universe, and the sun does NOT revolve around him.

Your assumption that the electromagnetic spectrum revolves around your limited range of per-
ception is merely an energetic version of Geocentrism, equally baseless and just as dangerous.
[1]Rory Heikkila
I do not like the argument that disbelief in spirits, gods, vibrations, ghosts, aliens, or any su-
perstitious way of life makes the disbeliever materialistic. Man IS the center of the universe.
Even if everything I just mentioned was proven to exist this would not negate the benefits of
man seeing himself as the center of the universe, benefits which he can’t even admit to him-
self presently. That isn’t to say man shouldn’t dream or use his imagination or converse with
the many facets of his own mind and project those thoughts outwardly to develop a deeper
understanding of his species, but I find spiritual/mystical thought to be too vacuous. It has a
tendency to prey on people and I can’t help but be weary of it all and I most definitely do not
want to consume and own everything nor do I place more value on owning things and staying
’with it’ over the life I’ve worked hard to create for myself on this planet. But, I’m sure this
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wasn’t directed at me because I wouldn’t expect you to believe anything other than what you
believe nor would I care if it wasn’t what I believed. Just wanted to chime in. :)

• [2]Kaleb Smith
Yes, doubt radio waves. All that invisible "vibration" nonsense! If I can’t see it, it don’t
exist!
I agree, the sun revolves around you, specifically – and we’re all very thankful to you for
it! ;P
The fads and fashions of human belief are fickle and change with the seasons. Atheism
is popular now, Christianity was popular last year – Nature could care less one way or the
other.
It is not superstitious to simply man up and admit that there are aspects of Nature we
don’t yet understand.
[3]17 hours ago · [4]Edited
· [5]Like · [6] 1

• [7]
[8]Rory Heikkila
Vibrations was used in the ’hippy’ sense of the word, not the scientific my friend. And with
a belief that we should cater to unseen forces you are doing nothing more than making
you the center of the universe. It’s always so hard for the spiritual minded to admit that
because it involves admitting that just as they COULD exist, it is very possible that they
don’t. But if you wish to live your life in exploration of such things, you’re an adult

• [9]
[10]Kaleb Smith
Sorry for the snark there. That guy got me all totally riled yesterday. But I think it’s healthy
to have to defend your point-of-view once in a while – keeps it sharp and solid.
But, just for the record, you introduced the word "spirit" into this conversation. I’d just
as soon not bring it in, honestly. Its a weighted word with a lot of vague and activating
associations I’d rather avoid.
We can speak strictly of the physical laws governing the electromagnetic spectrum, as
they apply to perception, and still encompass the whole of natural phenomena, seen or
unseen.
Radio waves are a perfect example of this, as they represent a discrete bandwidth of EM
radiation which has existed and modulated naturally alongside our visible spectrum since
before we could even perceive light.
*smokes bowl, to help explain* ;P
With the waveform, we have a set of laws that we know and can generalize to all energetic
phenomena – frequency, crest/trough, medium, carrier, and signal, etc. These are laws
of that apply to physicality, and ITS mediums and densities as meaningfully as it can be
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applied to sunlight, or finer non-physical phenomena, which are no less real than those
physical mediums, like air or copper, just because we cannot touch them or measure
them, in a traditional sense.
In this way, the radio wave became "real" to us only recently (1895,) where previously
it had been, briefly, a mathematical concept only – a mental conception of an energetic
phenomena. Before that, it simply was a range of energy we could not perceive; a vague
mystical sense of some subtle unknowable "sea" beyond what we can sense. My point
is that, while we have come to understand certain facets of this infinite "sea" of unseen
frequency, there are finer ranges and other facets beyond mere measurement.
For instance, like radio, any of these bandwidths can be used for reception/transmission.
That’s a big deal. That has implications. Think of the "transmission/reception" of the
medium of air, for instance – waves of pressure radiating in ripples outward from our
body, a resonating instrument. When we’re angry, this is very much akin to someone
thrashing around in a pond, "making waves," felt strongly by everything within earshot.
We wince when we hear a woman yell, and kinda tense up, like we’re bracing ourselves
for it. Yet, only PART of this response is due to the sound, right? The auditory layer of that
emotional outburst is only a small snippet of an overall expression of anger, which exists
in many layers. But, regardless of this, each of these layers of can be similarly deduced to
these simple energetic laws: of transmission/reception, of some medium, which "carries"
the expression, and of some modulator, which makes the expression, or "signal" to bring
this back to our radio metaphor. All of these bandwidths on the spectrum which is our
physical expression, once thought of as simple energy, reveal a powerfully meaningful
view of the world. Yet, this view of self and consciousness as reception and expression of
frequency, be it modulating in air or in light or…brainwave frequency, whatever, allows
us to encompass a larger set of possibilities.
Now, "possibility" does not mean spirit, again. Nor does it necessarily entail belief. Rather,
it is a scientific necessity, the basis of a hypothesis, and the groundwork for the extension
of existing theories. The realm of possibility (as cliched as it may sound) defines the limits
of how far our understanding of the world can even possibly go.
Consider how phenomenally alien and supernatural a smart phone would seem to a 14th
century Aztec, or a Spanish conquistador for that matter. How each would interpret the
device differently, using their culture as a reference (for something to which they have no
reference.) The Spanish, no doubt, distrustfully calling it some "Devil Window" would need
to burn it, and possibly burn the person who held it. The Aztec may respond in a totally
different way, considering the iPhone a tool of Tlaloc, the god of the sky, or something.
Yet, even if we wanted to, we could not translate a telecommunications textbook to Aztec
hieroglyph, as they don’t have enough context to even encapsulate those ideas into a
word. Even the Spanish version of that same textbook would seem a strange alien tome,
completely foreign and incomprehensible.
Despite all these untranslatably long words and elaborate schematics, take a stone and
throw it into a pond, and you have essentially explained the whole of the actual mechan-
ics of an iPhone’s function to anybody who wants to understand it. That is, frequency
radiating outwards along a medium, to be received as a waveform of a particular charac-
ter elsewhere on that surface. These waves can be drawn, and everybody will recognize
them as waves, and know what a wave is, having felt and seen water. But, do you think an
angry domineering Spanish conquistador would actually CARE to understand, or tolerate
you dragging him to some pond so you can throw a rock in it, and make various dramatic
hand motions while mumbling something about "waves?" No, he’d simply burn you and
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 be done with it! Why bother with the cognitive dissonance of even having a competing
explanation, however true.
For the most part, when it comes to things we don’t have a cultural context for, it’s easier
to simply stick to what you know, and what you’re comfortable with – and that includes
whatever label our culture slaps onto what is "unknown," or what it does not understand
(like lightning, or iPhones.) And when the batteries run out and the screen goes black, the
Aztecs will tell stories of the window, and the light that shone through it from Tlaloc, a
light in the dark of night, and the word that came through, from some being they couldn’t
see. Etc, etc. The myth would build, and many would doubt, as the ones who actually
saw the Youtube video of dogs wearing pantyhose on that smart phone started dying, and
then their children, and past the loss of the phone, itself, and the loss of the culture that
encountered it. Whew!
My point being that myth always has a source, and ritual once had an intention. We must
be careful not to throw out the baby with the bathwater, and not to lose that original in-
tention as we disregard the ritual, or lose that original phenomena, whatever it was, as
we come to ignore the remnants of the myth. Science is quite capable of encompassing
a wide range of phenomena outside of materialism and physicality. It really has nowhere
else to go, at this point – we have measured, cut, diced, dissected, and catalogued our way
through pretty much the whole of the physical world, leaving us "measure-stick happy"
and looking to quantify something (anything!) else. Our technology extends what we
can see and know outwards, beyond the limits of our naked eyes and ears, to perceive
microwave radiation from distant unseen galaxies, for instance, or the extremely minute
electrical cycles pulsing in neuronal networks under our scalp. Yet, there are still a multi-
tude (some would say infinite) number of energetic ranges too subtle for even our most
sensitive equipment to detect. The delicate ripples of a water spider’s legs as it scurts
across the surface of the water. Haha, that metaphor – whatever, you get the idea! We
have a long way to go yet – neither us nor our beautiful machines can sense everything
yet. And our cultural context, be it Christian or Atheist, limits even the possibility of our
understanding certain rare natural phenomena, even if we HAD the machine to record
and measure it, which just might be the case.
That is to say, we use the most extraordinarily sensitive devices yet developed to study
those massive galaxies thousands of light years out, or the faintest micro processes 10s of
nanometers in, yet, as of yet, no one has thought to simply point that microwave imaging
device or fMRI sensor at a wall, or study the subtle phenomena occurring simply in the
room we’re sitting in. This is a major blind spot in our culture, its the elephant in the room
in a lot of ways: THE room.

1. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
2. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
3. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10103371100045304&set=a.814902396924.2665531.2302530&type=1&commen
t_id=40202209&offset=0&total_comments=11
4. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith?ref=tn_tnmn
5. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith?ref=tn_tnmn
6. https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=10103372045251104
7. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
8. https://www.facebook.com/rory.heikkila
9. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith
10. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith

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12.5 June

Notes To Self: Ions (2013-06-11 17:58) - public

Learn more about IONS. Ionization of air near waterfalls/beaches/thunder storms, and the influ-
ence of that "charged air" on the different densities of matter (attaches/weighs down particles
and gasses?) The dynamic of lightening between upper strata ionosphere/ground, and mag-
netism. Can this ionic magnetism be stored/transferred?

Missoula Montana - Day 5 (2013-06-21 18:08) - public

Two women or no women. There is no contentedness with talking or sharing, only the quibbles
of give and take that inevitably wear down any relationship.
I was John Lennon, I was friend of John Lennon, smearing my face with rainbow psychedelic
putty and saying warm things about our friendship.
I say the warmest things, and they are not felt. And, perhaps, each time my love is rejected, I
have fewer warm things to say.
Tossss’d aver, laik an old piece ah frrrruit!
Oh, sure, the se was good, but who would truly come home with me? WHo would follow me,
and be my companion? Who can love an alien? In order to have a relationship, you must be
able to relate.
There are a lot of things people don’t notice – there are a lot of things people don’t want to
notice.
Locked myself out of my car in Messula, Montana. Right as I closed the door, and began to
check my pockets for the keys, the first few drops of rain started falling. FFFFUUUUUUU!!!!
I fled the downpour to some cafe that didn’t serve coffee. Bought double bison chili, with red
wine and chocolate, and it was the best I’d ever tasted.
Snuck into campground outside of town, and I keep rolling the scripted excuse over in my head,
for if they knock (pat?) on my tent. "Oh, hi! What? No, I stopped by the main office when
I came in, but there was no one there, so I guessed you guys must have closed at 10. So I
figured I’d settle the account in the morning."
I obsess about the word "account," and if "fee" would evoke a friendlier response, or if "So
I figured I’d just pay in the morning" sounds more down-to-earth, and easy to relate to. The
word "account," on the other hand, will trigger a more professional business-like response in the
owner – this being a privately owned campground with the host, most likely, having a vested
interest in the profits; where the rangers at the State owned outfits typically caring very little
about individual campers’ payments, the "Self Pay Station" being mostly optional.
Is this the Pen 15 club I’ve been hearing so much about? I really love writing and just wanted
to say how honored I was when you invited me to join. I’m really looking forward to getting the
club tattoo!!
" And remember, you shall suffer all things and again suffer: until you have sufficient sufferance
to accept all things. " –SPARE
As sharp and erudite as Spare’s writing is, I find myself disagreeing with him often, despite
how infinitely quotable and well-written it is. In the case of this quote, I immediately thought
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of the period of my life when I was most acceptant of things, as they are. I was about 17, and
can recall striving for simplicity at that time, and of seeing beauty in things most people do not
appreciate, or even dislike. This was a good mindset to be in, and I’ve often thought of how
good and beneficial it would be to be able to return to it.
It was the misfortune and trauma that hit hard in subsequent years which changed that mostly-
peaceful and acceptant state of mind into one less-trusting and quick to wince. Trauma has that
effect, as if some memory of the pain settles into the musculature, and the flinching becomes
something instinctual, or totally unconscious.
Now, the relationship between suffering and humility, i can say, is something Spare could
have explored, without these pesky instances of contradiction coming up for me. Humility
and acceptance are not directly relatable, though, perhaps, indirectly, the humiliated person
tends to surrender his ego and, thus, lower many of the defenses which once prevented him
from accepting many things, as they are. That is quite the run-around to connect the two
ideas though. And, perhaps, trauma does not induce a loss of ego either but, again, a fearful
hunched shivering mute – the very image of a dog who has been beaten by its master. These
sad creatures exist out there in society, just the same. They are hard and out, barely functional,
and don’t accept all things, but will accept free money, as a rule.
ATTENTIONAL DEGRADATION: RISK FACTORS FOR A PROGRESSIVE CONDITION
I went into the Louis and Clark Caverns, and then drove South towards Yellowstone. I turned
off, and off again, until I was on a two-rut gravel road through a field. I drove into the field,
careful not to drive into any of the huge prairie dog holes or whatever, and then got out. The
wind was so strong, it immediately whipped my door shut. I realized it was too windy to camp
in the field, but saw a big gorge. It was pretty steep, I watched a buck mosey up the opposite
ridge. There were deer turds everywhere…
I locked the car and edged my way down into the gorge with my tent. It was pretty steep, but
I soon found a deer trail that served nicely. The steel toed hiking boots I was still wearing from
the descent into the cave helped immensely! When I got to the bottom, the wind was less
severe, but still very strong. I looked for cover between some trees and saw a deer leg sticking
up at an angle where I’d thought to setup camp. Near it, a hide, some other bones, and bits of
fur. It seemed like a fairly fresh kill – perhaps a month ago. At first, I thought someone had shot
the deer, but then, near the hide, I saw huge bear turds. Whew! Well, it was already getting
dark and so I followed the deer trail away from the kill site and setup between 3 trees, on a
slight angle, in case it began to rain.
I feel itchy as soon as I get in the tent. I’m worried I may have picked up some fleas or something
at that abandoned grange. Even though I had my blankets between me and the foam on that
mattress, I then took those blankets with me and have used them in this tent since. Maybe its
psychosomatic, but I could swear something bit me on the back of my knee.
Tomorrow, Yellowstone and Old Faithful. Jesus! This tent is about to fucking take flight! I hope
this blows over, this little thing is flapping all over hell! Those 4 little stakes may not last, at
this rate, even in the cover of the gorge. I’d never be able to sleep with it flapping around like
this. Ahh, here comes the rain. I rush to put the nylon rain topper on.
I made an amazing melody today, and recorded it as I drove. It was one of 3 that came to me
while I was driving to and from those caves. The lyrics that came to me as I sang were some of
the best I’ve had – the perfect balance between meaningful and simple, that I feel would really
connect with a lot of people, especially with such a direct, high-register melody, sung loudly
like I did.
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"Time! Take your time.
Take it! Use it!
Take your time. Take your time.
When I’m dead, when I’m dead,
We will have no more time.
Cuz When I’m dead, when I’m dead,
I will have no more time with you.
Baby, I love you…"
The second half is much quieter, and I wept as I sang it. I think I will send it to Kent, and ask
him to put some acoustic guitar parts under it, and to add a change as well. I think he will like
it a lot.
Ooh, it is raining hard now. I’ve never been in a tent in the rain. I like the feeling – the pounding
drops against the nylon.
I’m in the woods, in the rain, in my underwear outside Yellowstone National Park. I am covered
with fleas and my tent is beside the remnants of a dead buck, killed by a bear.
I decided against smoking pot in the tent tonight – I really can’t handle shit getting weird on
me, its all pretty weird already.
Abandoned houses in the Historic District of downtown Butte, Montana today. The one was
really rough, and depressing…the water was pouring down into the kitchen, somehow, even
though it wasn’t raining. The wood panelling had all curled up from the years of moisture, the
puddles on the counter a thick black. The vinyl flooring was all puffy with an inch or two of water
and bloated wood underneath it. It felt like walking on a waterbed. As I was photographing the
kitchen, I heard a woman say "Heloooo?? …should we go get him?"
A man answered her in a lower voice that I couldn’t make out. I realized they could hear me
walking around, and were perhaps the "Deb and Tony" mentioned in the sign on the front door
saying "Do Not Enter Unless You Talk With Deb Or Tony.If You Havent Talked To Deb Or Tony, It
Is Considered Breaking and Entering!"
Fucking Deb and Tony. I took my pictures and left. I walked around the block–so many beautiful
old homes abandoned! Fucking Butte is a ghetto town. Two fat Tribal women stared me down
as I walked up the sidewalk. I nodded and smiled "Howdy." They just kept staring.
I saw an old building, what looked like it had perhaps been a post office or something similar 100
years ago or so. It’s windows were all missing and stapled with plastic, with No Tresspassing
signs on them. I was sure it was awesome inside and hopped up the steps and knocked on the
door, just to be sure and to not look suspicious to the Natives. To my surprise, a fat old woman
answered, and peered suspiciously through the partially-opened door. She was stumbley and
had a good shine on, that much was obvious. I said "Hi. I’m here about the house advertised
on cragslist. This is 801, right?"
"Yes, this is 801. But its not for sale."
"Oh, is this Dakota St?" I pretended to be lost.
"No, Dakota is one down that way."
I thanked her and walked off, hiding my disappointment. Fucking squatter. I bet it’s so awesome
in there, an abandoned post office. She’s just in there getting fucked up. I would have taken
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some good pictures. I imagined asking her if I could come in, and letting her know I knew she
was a squatter. In my mind, the scene played out like a weird loving grandma-cookie procedure,
but soon the image of her snorting meth, surrounded by whisky bottles, took precedence.
I returned to my car and realized I’d locked my keys in it…again. Two days in a row?
(Yea…speaking of not needing to smoke any more pot!) I knocked on the door of the house I’d
parked in front of. It was a really nice looking home, white picket fence, manicured yard, the
whole bit – a shining example for a shitty neighborhood. A neighborhood which had, appar-
ently, taken it’s toll. A young man of perhaps 22 edged out and quickly shut the door behind
himself, and asked curtly "How can I help you?"
"Hi. Sorry to bother you, but I’ve locked my keys in my car – right there." I pointed to the red
wine colored beast at the end of his walkway. He relaxed noticeably, realizing the situation.
"Do you maybe have a coat hanger or something I could borrow?"
He disappeared for about 10 minutes. I paced around the vehicle, trying to avoid line of sight
with Deb and Tony’s place. Fucking Deb and Tony. They didn’t want a confrontation. Like they
really give a shit about someone in that bloated black oily waterbed kitchen, or stepping over
their nasty old clothes and Little Caesar’s boxes. Deb, you slob! Leave me alone. I’m just
photographing your filth.
The Mexican guy next door had one wire coat hanger left. He told me not to bend it up, because
he needed it. He was very high and antsy and on the phone and also explosive and alternatively
angry and tender emotional. He got really upset about me owning a Ford Taurus, then he
explained he could get in easy. "Because I’m from New York." (and are a skinny meth’d out
Mexican, I thought to myself…that certainly must help with this sort of thing as well!)
He did get in easy. Less than 2 minutes. Truly a professional – faster than the locksmith I’d
called in Missoula the day before. I gotta get a spare key. Seriously.
Jesus! Just before I put my ear plugs in, I hear footsteps coming down the ridge…or paw steps,
or hoof steps. I don’t know. There are coyotes going crazy out there – way unlike the coyote
sounds I know from Michigan. Goddamn it, it’s getting closer. Fuck… whatever. I zip the bottom
of my door flap shut, just to be totally contained in zipper and thin waterproof nylon. Let them
sniff and paw, I’m in my bubble. I’m like an alien in a totally foreign vessel to them. Sure they
wanna see and sniff and explore it, but they’re scared too. They see lights at night and they
don’t understand, but they can’t look away. This laptop light is beyond their comprehension,
these symbols and liquid crystal magnetic fields. Fuck, liquid crystal displays and all, this alien
is totally jumpy though! Its closer now. Just a deer, I’m sure. I should cough or play him some
Bowie or yell something like "Hey Deer! Go home! You’re drunk! There’s no such thing as
aliens!"
My DRINKMORECOFFEE
Nothing is tidy. I am the residue of my past, the pumping flow of blood, through thick and
thin, the stain and sediment of some deep genetic deposit, surfacing through me. And what if
I choose to become pure now, and starve my blood clean? What is the remnant of mistakes I
will always carry with me, like a scar that extends beyond the body? The tree that has grown
crooked can never straighten, but holds its unnatural development like a history, a testament
of the harsh land or weather that it bent to endure, and survives to carry in its flesh.
I can’t stand people rushing me when I walk in the woods. I can’t stand people rushing me
when I drive in the woods. I smoked pot out of my tobacco pipe and now I’m sick. I am big fool.
Fat sunburned map toting touristy. "Howdy!"
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What is so depressing about going on a vacation alone? It is something about all of these
beautiful and awe inspiring things, that I wish there was someone here to share them with, to
say "Awe!" to. What are memories of being alone? They are like bitter fruit.
Would you rather I wasted my talent? Would that make you happy? To know that I could have
made something good, but didn’t? You fucking miserable sleaze, finding joy in the the pain of of
others, of those you have silently deemed "less than." The tangled self-justifications you must
maintain in order to hold fast that superiority in the face of giftedness. Justifications extending
so far as to orchestrate their failure, to ensure your jealousy is kept a secret. Your resentment
will eat you slowly from the inside, you lecherous cretin.
Possible selves drift like emotive mists obscuring light. "I am here to see sum fuckin geyser
shit! Get outta my way!"
"I’m here for sum alone time, and to look wistfully off into the distance. Get outta my way!"
Goddamn it. I’m all blood and guts. My personality enflamed, reflecting the inward inflamma-
tion. My face becomes red and hot, my body overwhelmed. People who see me can sense
illness, even if only subconsciously; the become wary, just the same. These long days of hard
driving and gas station food can’t be maintained. I’m going to need to start starving myself to
reachieve some balance. I weave down the road in a steroidal haze. I had such high hopes for
this Summer too, but now I see it will be spent in slow recovery.
Jiang Hui,
I am traveling across the country now – so many miles and so many days in my car. It is an old
car, but it is good and reliable, as it carries me and everything I own up the Rocky Mountains.
Today, when I reached the top, there was snow! So far up in the sky, the air gets very thin.
It is a little sad to vacation alone. As beautiful as the sights are to see, there is something
missing if there is no one there to see them with you. I wish you were with me, in my trusty
car. Sometimes you could drive, maybe, and sing songs with me. Sometimes I would pull over
just to kiss you, and we could be very quiet and listen to the rain on the roof, like I am now.
–
Everything is so simple with her, or so we pretend. It is a necessary pretending, the limitations
of translation that I’ve come to savor. I can speak to her as a child – in fact I must – and
perhaps she loves that simple relationship as much as I do, something like father and daughter.
My beautiful little girl, her long blue dress that day, in the Summer, when we went to the
greenhouse and it as all flowers, like I’ve never seen. You were all mine that day, and I loved
you. In the back of the rickshaw, I loved you too – with the flap closed tight, our own little red
room. Nobody like you, and I know you still wait for me, that you, too, have found no one who
can even compare. Innocent heart….
–
Wildlife Preserve:
So much of the great mysteries of our species can be most simply explained by observing
our own nature, and projecting it out onto the greater nature; the unseeable present or the
unknowable past. For example, we create "Wildlife Preserves" for species we cherish, in order
to protect them and their natural environment from our influence. There are strict regulations
about who and how we may encroach on these protected regions. Cars are sometimes allowed,
and there is a general rule that the species and ecosystems be made available for scientific
study, so that we may better understand them and, in theory, use that information to better
protect those species. This system of preservation of our fellow species, and our acknowl-
edgement of their general right to life, specifically their ecologically natural life, undisturbed
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by our own development (technologically, agriculturally, civilly, etc.) This acknowledgement
and respect for species’ rights, and their subsequent protection, developed and continues to
develop almost intuitively, as we realized the impact of our own species successes on the
lesser-developed. It was a quite natural response, honestly, based on a primary respect for
life that, to some degree, could be called universal. It is, therefore, safe to assume that, if a
species of equal or greater level of development were to encounter us, our right to life, more
or less undisturbed, would, likewise, be respected and protected.
Interestingly, the two most commonly reported instances of interaction with highly developed
species are sightings of some manner of vehicles or being subjected to scientific study, of
a seemingly diagnostic or reproductive purpose. Is it any wonder that, in our own wildlife
preserves, these are also the two most common instances of our interaction with the native
wildlife population? Deer, elk, bison, and bears of the Yellowstone National Park will, on rare
occasion, witness lights at night – two strange bright lights, moving at great speed, which often
stop and seem to observe them for some moments, before zipping off as mysteriously as they
appeared. In the day, these vehicles can be found, reliably, in certain locations – tracks of road.
And if bears could tell stories to one another, like we do, they would talk about the night such
a vehicle came, perhaps from the sky with a loud flapping sound (helicopter) and shined light
down onto him. Suddenly, a sharp pain, and then he could not move! They carried him back
onto their ship, and did things to his body with strange tools. When he woke up back near
where he had been, he’d lost quite a bit of time. He felt strange pains, and felt disoriented. He
had been tagged, and would be tracked and studied by the beings in the craft.
You have to admit, this all sounds like a "textbook" Budd Hopkins or Whitley Streiber abduction
story. Yet, this is the story of an everyday park ranger or biologist, gathering information
about the species we oversee and protect. It is not that we cannot all-at-once "announce" our
existence to the bears or the chimpanzees, it is simply that this communication would serve
neither us nor the other species, only disrupt what is, typically, a delicate ecological (and
psychological) balance. Whether he knows it or not, the bear’s realm is contained, and beyond
it are all manner of incredible worlds, systems, and technologies which he could not even
imagine, and which would only frighten him. The boundary of his realm is, again, something
only, perhaps, one of a thousand bears will ever even encounter, at Yellowstone, for instance.
Yet, it exists none-the-less, and it keeps him and his safe from us and ours.
In this meaningful comparison, it is fun to imagine what our OWN boundary might be – that
edge of our realm, beyond which we are not permitted to pass. It would, of course, not be a
physical boundary, but perhaps physicality–itself. When we begin exploring beyond the materi-
alism which is, arguably, our "natural habitat," it is safe to say, we will encounter "others" there
– others who know quite a bit about us, but of whom we are mostly ignorant, like children, or de-
lightfully oblivious bear cubs. In fact, historically, these "others" are fairly well-described, and,
traditionally, that boundary between our world and theirs was something certain individuals
would learn to cross, and exploit. The bear-shaman who learns the location of the campground,
and continually returns to that place, to take advantage of the attention of the "others" who
live there; the many benefits of their world and their affection (however "against the rules"
that affection is to give!) Likewise, the human-shaman would know learn where to go to find
his favorite "others," and would employ many techniques to warrant their attention to his sit-
uation; the strategy of evoking pity from the spirits, for instance, is a near universal shamanic
technique.
*Note to Self: Contact Jason Silva and ask who does his animations – needing some WOWSERS
animations for a youtube about dimensionality.
So, how can we, as cosmic bears, begin to imagine this boundary imposed upon us by phys-
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icality? The fence, beyond which is the highway, the campground, and the city? Again, by
looking to the wisdom of the past, of shamans, mystics, and prophets, we can find meaningful
parallels that can give us a glimpse of those developmental steps that lie beyond physicality.
Lets begin with a down-to-earth literal understanding of dimensionality. I will be light on the
math, and heavy on the imagery and geometric thought experiments. As everyone knows,
the point is the beginning, dimensionally. It sort of like zero-point, it has no real dimensions,
itself, but is instead defined by its location (in greater dimensionality.) Yet, lets focus on how
that single point made the "leap" into 1 dimension. It could not move, of course, as moving
would imply direction and, thus, dimension, so it was bound to its location. But, if we could
imagine the point has having some epiphany and realizing, all at once, that it could "descend"
down INTO itself, suddenly many selves are seen, in sequence, and a ray, or line, is formed. A
dimension, a direction, up/down. This was a big step for that little point!
Likewise, now, we have the line, which can extend endlessly either to the left or the right left,
straight as an arrow. It is bound to these two directions, left and right; which seems quite
simple to us, but as he knows of nothing beyond this boundary it is not simple at all to him. It
just is. Everything. But, again, if we can imagine an epiphany, this time with the line, where he
realizes, all at once, that he could "descend" down INTO himself, and suddenly he overcomes
the boundary and discovered a higher dimension! The plane! Forward/Backward, Left or Right!
And, of course, extending across throughout the infinity of those 2 dimensions, the plane is all.
Yet, again, the plane is bound, as were the line, and the point before him.
The Enemas Across America Tour
Letter To Tony,
Don’t you know how much I’d miss you? Don’t you know all the amazing things we’re going to
do?
"I’ll be with you to help you do them.
You were just such an incredible person. I didn’t know people with your kind of gifts could exist
– and, in a way, you couldn’t. You were too much for this world – this world was too much for
you, and your sensitive eyes. .
"Look at where you are. Appreciate life."
How many of the thoughts that compose our understanding of the world are merely assump-
tions; popular and unquestioned? On the same token, can we reliably detect when our perspec-
tive has drifted far from center, our way of thinking becoming eccentric? The development of
those rare and unusual thoughts can be a very slow process of gradual change in the thought
cycle, or, perhaps, can come about all at once, as a sudden epiphany that changes our view,
irreversibly. It is one thing to remember the epiphany – it is another to remember the point-of-
view held by the rest of the world, and to be able to not just integrate the epiphany, but draw
a reasoned line of association from that typical point-of-view (if you remember it) to your own.
The same sort of individualization can occur with vocabulary…
I smoked pot out of my tobacco pipe, and now I feel sick.
Look at me! I’m working! Don’t you see me writing? It must be something very important.
To be writing so intently at Izzy’s Pizza buffet alone on his birthday. Gettind rink, bleeding
internally, supporting his bloated moonfaced up with his hand, as if half asleep. Always.
What defines youthfulness more than enthusiasm? Who gets more excited about things than
retards? Intellect equates maturity, in mind and personality. But what is maturity but self-
restraint? "To Restrain" is synonymous with "To Retard." The mature intellectual is retarded, as
he binds himself from free unrestrained experience and openness.
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Self control is an act of sculpture, the highest art, whose medium is self.
Those who cannot control their intellect find themselves victims of insomnia, unable to shut the
mind off, closing their eyes only brings anxiety, bombarded by painful memories and regrets
instead of rest.
So fucking polite!!
Who knows what anyone is actually thinking about me? What a terrifying thought!
Jacob, your insecurities are flaring. Who would accuse others of contributing nothing to soci-
ety unless they, themselves, had, at some point, doubted their own contribution to society –
and, perhaps, become obsessed with the idea, and the fear that they had offered up nothing
worthwhile to humanity? These sorts of thoughts, of course, must come quite naturally when
you are 31 and living in your mom’s basement, and, perhaps, they are more a response to the
heavy judgement the world doles out to you, the beneficiary of that situation. And, perhaps,
we are both epic failures, in our own right. You have, at least, succeeded in passing on your
genes. A person could say that that is no great accomplishment, that any redneck with half
a brain (or less) could succeed in pumping his cock into a hole, of one sort of another, and
eventually he would impregnate something. But, for some of us, the process of becoming a
father is seemingly insurmountable, with the chances of success becoming more and more
remote with every passing year.
To Kent:
My first impression is that it’s pretty busy. That impression, when it’s there, usually goes away
with sufficient listens, but its always good to be aware of that initial impression, as that’s what
most people hear when they hear it the first time.
Unfortunately, a lot of my criticisms of my own work carry over to this one. I am reluctant
to share all this self-criticism with you (as there is no shortage!) but… I’m pissed I didn’t get
you the better versions of some of those, like the Buchla synthesizer recording. I had applied
one of these "brick wall limiting" loudness maximizing compressors to the original recording of
the machine, which basically digitalized away any/all of the warmth and moisture of the actual
ancient synthesizer’s sound. Yes, it still sounds kinda drippy and wet, but in a harsh digital
edged way that fills me with regret every time I hear it. So many times, I relearn "just leave it
the fuck alone!"
I have the original, anyways. And, again, I want to send you the straight isolated drum track
of Jesse’s. We sacrificed a lot to be able to isolate it totally for future editing (I hate playing in
headphones, it kills the energy somehow.) It would be great to be able to drop my stomping
loud synth out of there to let you enjoy Jesse’s drums to yourself, and make your own melody
parts. That would help break it up into distinct changes too.
When you had that dream of making music with me, I was somewhere in Wyoming, making
music – some of the strongest vocal melodies I’ve had. Something about driving in silence for
hours brings out singing ideas I wouldn’t otherwise have ever had – something about sort of
being held captive in a car that forces you into creativity. I had my field recorder and mic and
just sang as it came. I was thinking at the time, I’d love for you to have a listen and maybe
some acoustic melody would come to you for it.
–
Surreal
Nightmarish.
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The temporary fix. The pathetic and the defeated. Why do we need to hobble along, delirious
and broken like this? Is it still so difficult to stand up and do what you need to do? We are full
grown, and then some, like our sickness. We really cannot muster the attention span for the
opening and closing of a door, for the driving and arriving to a place at a prearranged time? I
told myself I could be a healthy person in an unhealthy place, yet even as I said it, some part of
me knew it wasn’t true. I am a knot of mistakes, and I feel this one tightening like the tension
around my mother’s eyes. I know I will slide backwards in this place, and undo any and all of
the positive work I’ve accomplished, yet I just want to close my eyes and surrender to the loss.
The belly of a great ship is torn open, the dark insides of the hull exposed and cavernous against
the sun. Soon, all will be submerged. We know only our lives, in this place without honori

Homecoming Trip – Day 2 (2013-06-21 18:09) - public

.
The smell of DEET and marijuana, both piney and sharp, fill the air of the tent. I don’t know
where I am, somewhere along the Columbia River. Sixty miles out of Portland. The Scoutmaster
newtoor is leering at me, I crack another beer and funble at rolling up some of this pot I bought
down by the water in Portland today. It’s weak and I paid too much. I get nervous and blurt
out a price, and all he has to do is agree. The black guy had better shit, i could tell by the way
he kept glancing over at the transaction. Black guys always have better pot.
After I got evicted, I claimed I was suicidal and got admitted into St. Peters for a week. Cushy!
Private bathroom, with shower, beautiful horny disturbed women everywhere. Old nervous
grandmother figures, meth addled rednecks, and 3 massive meals every day – cheesecake
drizzled in strawberry syrup, steak topped with caramelized onions and mushrooms, roasted
turkey with cranberry sauce, potatoes, and gravy, goddamn, my pants are still tight. The doctor
took a liking to me, said I was his most interesting case. The buxom 19 year old redhead took
a liking to me too, God, I couldn’t stop glancing at her, in that skimpy low cut pink strapped
thing, so tight! I can only imagine. She put her elbows on the table, pretending to look at the
far end of the jigsaw puzzle, nuzzling her cleavage into my face. Fuck!
When I sat down at breakfast yesterday, she asked "Where are you from again?"
"Michigan, the Upper part, Waaay North, up in the sticks."
"Is everyone up there so sexy looking?"
Mmm…she wants me. It feels so good to be wanted by the one I want.
19. "We can’t have sex here. I’m legal though!" she said proudly.
Mmm…busting out of that low cut tight pink strapped thing. She wore it again for me.
On the second day, she came to the door of my room. "Do you want to break some rules with
me?"
"Hi, what? Hi. " I said like a befuddled old man. Awkward, awkward.
"What rules?
"I need a cigarette. Right. Now. Do you know anybody who can bring a pack? Sneak it in during
visiting hours?" she was antsy, practically writhing there in her pink Hello Kitty sweatpants.
"…no. I’ve got nobody. I’m new to this area."
"Damn!"
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"Nice way to begin a conversation though! ’Do you want to break some rules with me?’ Very
sexy." That was the best I had: very bluntly pointing out that she’d flirted. Haha. In so many
ways, this 19 year old was seemingly more experienced than me, at 31. I feel as though I have
about as much dating experience as the typical 22 year old, and so I don’t feel guilt dating girls
of that age. I feel proud that a 19 year old girl is still attracted to this greying overweight shell of
a man. Haha. That is a window of opportunity that will gradually (or, perhaps, not-so-gradually)
close.
Later, after she’d left I put on my jacket and felt something in the breast pocket. When I
checked, nothing. The INSIDE pocket, however, contained a pack of cigarettes – they had
forgot to check for inside pockets! And, inside the plastic of the pack, 4 adderall and 3 hits of
LSD. Oh, Jesus.
"Hey!" I caught her as she shimmied her curves by me in the hall, pretending not to feel my
gaze. "I’ve made some progress on our little plan."
"What? You have somebody?"
"No. I have a full pack of Camel Wides…and a bunch of Adderall. And 3 hits of LSD."
20 minutes after she dropped the LSD, She entered my room and closed the door behind her.
I quickly moved behind her to assure the door was fully closed.
I can fuck up amazing opportunities. One by one… it’s my gift.
You will be used, until you are simply used up. Because that is all you want, and that is all
you’re good for.
In my life of steep fear and anxiety, separating me from the opposite sex, you are either IN or
OUT. Once in, you will experience deep emotional connection, bordering on the supernatural.
Once out, you will feel cold alienation and distance. These extremes exist along either side of
a strong defense, like a forcefield of fear filtering away potential mates. Only the strongest and
most outgoing seem to make it through this filter, unfortunately – outgoing, as if to compensate
for my in-going. I go inwards, my verses are all inside, and unspoken. Even while the outgoing
extroverts, loud and babbling bubbleheads, seem only to annoy me, the first move must be
hers. I have been beaten too savagely by woman to dare speak out to them again.
Dream:
Morgan Freeman violently vomiting up rainbows in a Home Depot parking lot.
Pamela Anderson in da sauna: my special going away gift.
I drove up the Columbia River from Portland. After Wyeth, I crossed over into desert. I took
the "Historic Highway" up the mountains, stopping at the highest point to smoke pot and look
down into the gorge. I then kept driving, hard through the desert. The thermometer in the car
finally burst not long after that. Red everywhere! My dash looked like the inside of OJ’s Bronco.
The left side of my face is cherry red, my left ear peeling. It’s not a good look.
Crossing back over into Washington, I drove through Walla Walla blasting "Heresy" Univers
Zero. It is evil spidery music, full of pounding dissonant shrieks, and as I rolled through some
random festival downtown, I felt like a lecher riding a strange throbbing nest. I stopped for
coffee and regretted getting high. Soon it would be dark. I needed to find a place to sleep.
I pulled over the car and asked a woman and her daughter if they knew of a place where I
could pitch a tent. The mom was leery and said "No, sorry. I’m not a camper." The daughter
suggested the fairgrounds, to which the mom frowned and shook her head.
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I hit the highway again, it was 7:30 and I did not have long to find a place to camp. Supposedly
there was a campground 30 miles North. I sped, with young cornfields rolling on both sides of
the road. A cop trailed me all the way to Dixie, as I fretted about all of the things he could find
wrong with my current situation. He turned off as I entered Willsburg, a little redneck farming
town. After driving past the two bars that constituted downtown, I saw an old grange with
boarded up windows on the outskirts and quickly turned in, hiding my car behind the building,
so it was not visible from the road.
I saw the basement was open, as it was an old barn, and I went in. There were turn of the
century stoves down there, from when it was a farm, apparently, a hundred years ago or so.
The dusty floor was covered with little paw prints; the raccoons that had made them could be
heard somewhere in the ceiling, screeching babies too. On the far end of the basement, the
steps ascended to the main floor – the particle board sheet that had been used to block it had
long been torn away. I think I found where I’ll be spending the night!
The deep fryer was at the top of the stairs, old 1950s refrigerators lined the hallway to the
left, leading to the boys bathroom. It was filled with holiday decorations, wooden reindeer
and wreaths. Inbetween was a kitchen area, with sink, the floor littered with beer cans and
cement powder. Across from that was the girls bathroom area; much larger. There someone
had recently placed a mattress. I gave it a slight sniff. It seemed fairly clean. It would do nicely.
Looming over the mattress, in the corner, were two life-sized santas. Creepy.
The sun was setting and the room was getting dark. I continued exploring. The other end
of the hallway, opposite the boys bathroom, opened up into a large dance hall. Broken glass
and wedding chairs were tossed across the floor. On a wide stage were bits of wooden theater
props and an old record player. About 20 empty tuna cans lined the small staircase up to the
stage. Goddamn cat lady hobos! Well, at least I can’t smell any cat piss…
I hide my backpack with laptop under the sink in the kitchen and haul up my blankets and
pillow. I then park my car at the gas station across the street. It will be safer there in the light,
nobody will fuck with it with the possibility of gas station cameras on the front door. I walk back
across with a quarter of a watermelon and some yogurt for later tonight. It is now dark, and
the gas station is closing. Other than the fat hunchbacked attendant, I don’t think anybody
saw me.
It is now dark. I take off my shoes and lay on the mattress. 10 PM. What the hell am I going
to do? I put my shoes back on and take the flashlight, exploring the dance hall again. There
is a huge 1950s horn speaker on the table, with a bunch of pamphlets and bingo cards. The
pamphlets explain the history of the grange, as an American institution. I will have to remember
to steal one of those as a mementoo of my first night sleeping in an abandoned building. That
vintage concentration camp-style horn speaker would make a good memento too!
Layingon the mattress, surrounded by fine grey dust, both on my shoes and saturating the
air, the room feels very hot and stuffy, yet I choose to close and bar both doors, keeping the
cold fresh air out, yes, but also those bats and whatever else I heard jivin’ around out there. If
they can move a chair with a push on the doorknob, then they will wake me up. I have a long
surgical scalpel by the bedside, just in case the owner of this mattress returns to it. tonight.
Its those damned life-sized santas, staring from the corner, standing in the dark. Gahh
I’m curious. If this place is haunted, I’ll definitely get some weird dreams tonight. I took an
ambien, a trazadone, and aativan, so I should be able to sleep through any anxiety about this
place and the people driving by and moving around outside.
How can we be expected to live healthy lives, at the peak of our human potential, if we are sur-
rounded by such unhealthy and damaging culture?Food, media, customs, powwer structures,
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genre roles, medication and the pharmaceutical industry, and our reliance on gasoline, just to
name a few. Well there she’s sitting on the beach
Sitting there on WELFARE
well she’s sitting there on the beach,
Siting there using WELFARE *different voice*
A man said "Both the bow and the arrow must become very still before they can shoot true
a hit where intended with calm precision. Likewise, you must become very still inside, even
while you build force of tension, like a taut bow string. Only then can you achieve your most
distant of aims with calm precision. The intentions of that still mindset will always be true, and
the force held in the bowstring is not yours, but comes down the string from points above and
below and could be called grace.

edensgray (2013-07-01 20:06:59)

:) its great to be back here reading your life...K

turboswami (2013-07-15 20:31:32)

Thanks Sweetheart. I can’t believe there’s still actually someone reading. ;P Miss you.

edensgray (2013-08-15 16:47:56)

I do from time to time...come back. :P

Red Notebook Backup – 6-22-13 (2013-06-30 13:54) - public

Yes, you’re plenty well-read and, yes, you have good retention, but what are your OWN
thoughts? I suspect you’ve been dreading the moment that question is finally asked – what
do you have of actual substance and genuine insight behind all those quotes? Do you SEE, or
just read? There is so much that can be learned from books! I am asking you to provide proof
for that remainder that can’t. This is how I alienate, with this barbed resentment for false au-
thority, and this damned egotism that hardens tight around my eyes. Is there no escape from
that reflected impression? The portrayal of opinion, even opinions formed genuinely in-and-of
myself, is no less false than the recitation of quotations, called education. Again, the teacher
asks "Who do you think you are?" and the question echoes in my head.
Self control is a form of sculpture, the highest art, whose medium is identity.
I am inspired by the vision of Malcolm X, and the idea of states as nation-states, each of dif-
fering laws and character, yet united and equal. This is forward-thinking, as evolution dictates
difference must be acknowledge and embraced in boundaries, or it will dissolve.
Money must, at least partially, define success; at bare minimum, as an acknowledgement of
socially-defined worth. Yet, many of the accomplishments of great transformative worth to
society are unrewarded financially. When it comes to ideas, we are all jealous thieves.
Just rolled into Duluth. 12 days later, finally hit the North Coast! Duluth is beautiful, clean, like
a bigger Marquette. I could see making a life here – maybe, someday. The climate matches
my blood, as do the people and their quiet polite temperament.
Strange catatonia in the old Masonic Temple, but how much is just the silent, motionless tol-
erance of pain? How much is the gradual progression those sudden inexplicable spells of
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childhood? Where, typically sitting, I would be all-at-once overwhelmed through my whole self
with the realization of how alien my body, and its place in the world, is to me. This was not just
a conscious realization, but also very tactile – like a bucket of cold water poured over my head,
leaving me paralyzed with shock, in a daze of foreign sensations for many long moments, only
to "return" to the loud frantic school bus scene or bedroom sock drawer, just the same. These
sudden "flights," while disorienting and a little frightening, initially inspired awe, as if they gave
me a momentary glimpse of some other side of things, which certainly changed my perception
of THIS side, and its supposed exclusivity. Yet, over time, I became more accustomed to these
sudden bouts of trance and would simply brace myself for them as I felt them coming and get
as much information from that "other side" as I could." Yet, through puberty, their frequency
seemed to increase, as well as their duration – and, again, in the mid 20s; finding me sitting,
staring transfixed, as if at some distant place beyond the wall.

It was Salvia Divinorum that, most clearly, revealed the underlying mechanics of dimensional-
ity, which were typically hidden from view. Salvia showed me the "Rainbow Road," the spec-
trum of the room extending above and below itself, as if descending through the varied band-
widths of the environment, existing within the physical environment. Salvia Divinorum can also
inform our understanding of precognition in the seemingly Cartesian way it allows an intense
moment to be watched as it approaches, is felt and experienced by self, and then recedes
away, in ugh the same way it had approached. The Cartesian line this moment followed, as it
approached and interscted with the experienced present, was composed of a seemingly-infinite
series of selves, like a single frame of film stacked onto itself a million times.

These urges that gradually grow as we feed them, until they define our life, can be starved
with self-restraint.

There is a genetic influence on state-of-consciousness, observable only with difficulty in the

subtle or indirect aspects of behavior. I look forward to a time when the problem of measuring
this baseline state-of-consciousness is solved using technology, which renders the unobserv-
able ranges of natural phenomena observable.

OUTLINE OF "BANDWIDTH MODEL OF CONSCIOUSNESS" (2013-06-30 13:58) - pub-

lic

Introduction

i. The Electromagnetic Spectrum as it exists in nature

ii. Frequency Equates Density

The Radio Metaphor

i. Universals (Carrier, Modulator, Medium)

ii. Consciousness as a system of Reception/Transmission ("Oceanic" Medium)

Dimensionality As Spectra

i. 1,2,3’s of Depth
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INTRATERRESTIRAL INTELLIGENCE: A Bandwidth Model of Consciousness –
Evergreen Slides (2013-06-30 14:33) - public

So, intra-terrestrial intelligence. A bandwidth model of consciousness. This was a presentation

I originally gave at the 2009 International Amazonian Shamanism Conference. Yesterday, I
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realized I couldn’t FIND the powerpoint from that talk…so this one was done yesterday. It’s not
as flashy, no animations…but I honestly feel like the ideas have had a chance to marinade and
are easier to explain now, 4 years later. So…

I have a story and a set of ideas drawn from that story. I will try to approach the ideas in steps,
so that no big conceptual jumps are made at once.

Lets just say that, in the winter of 2004, me and my family and girlfriend experienced
some very powerful spiritual interactions, some traumatic, some life changing. We were
completely sober during these, and there was physical evidence that remained. These
experiences have been adapted into a screenplay called The Visitor, and the SciFi channel has
expressed interest in releasing it as a made-for-tv movie.

I’ve learned the hard way, however, not to share these experiences in public settings, as they
are very powerful, rare, and unnerving. Yet, they are the reason I abandoned my previous
career in media and moved across the country to study Transpersonal psychology – in the
hopes of rationalizing what had occurred, seeking some guidance to help me make sense of
this spiritual facet of nature.

Today I will share what I have come up with, in a set of insights, ideas, models, and ex-
periments which have been very meaningful to me.

Intra-terrestrial (as opposed to extra-terrestrial) intelligence implies simply that there

are aspects of nature which we do not yet understand. I think it’s important that people
(especially people working in the field of science) admit this fact – that Nature is both subtle
and all-encompassing, and for mankind to pretend we know and understand all of her unseen
facets and ranges is not just ignorant, but egocentric.

But it’s one thing to know that we do not know. In many ways, that first step of admit-
ting how little we know is the easy part. How can be, from that position, begin to make known
the unknown? In my mind, even conceptualizing an explanation for what I experienced meant
going BACK TO BASICS…

SLIDE 2

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The most basic… the base of all things, frequency itself. I began to realize how all-
encompassing the form of the wave truly is. All we know, see, touch, feel, and express is
composed of this simple duality of crest and trough.

With the waveform, we have a set of laws that we know and can generalize to all ener-
getic phenomena – frequency, crest/trough, medium, carrier, and signal, etc. These are
laws of that apply to physicality, and ITS mediums and densities as meaningfully as it can
be applied to sunlight, or finer non-physical phenomena, which are no less real than those
physical mediums, like air or copper, just because we cannot touch them or measure them, in
a traditional sense.
SLIDE 3

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So all we know and observe of nature exists as that same waveform, as the traversal of modu-
lation out across a carrying medium. When we throw a rock in a pond, we can see the waves
radiating outwards from that central point of contact. But, just because we can see these
waves and not see others doesn’t make the waves we can’t see any less real!

SLIDE 4

For instance, we can’t see radio waves… yet they radiate, and “ripple” out from that central
point of “contact” in just the same way.

The radio wave became "real" to us only recently (1895,) where previously it had been,
briefly, a mathematical concept only – a mental conception of an energetic phenomena.
Before that, it was simply an unnamed range of energy we could not perceive; a vague
mystical sense of some subtle unknowable "sea" beyond what we can sense.

My point is that, while we have come to understand certain facets of this infinite "sea"
of unseen frequency, there are finer ranges and other facets beyond our current ability to
measure that we do not yet fully understand. Yet, we CAN know that these lesser known
ranges of frequency, and their more subtle mediums, work exactly like the radio, or like the
pond ripples that we can see and understand.

SLIDE 5

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The Visible Spectrum, we all remember this bar of color from our high school science textbooks,
right?

ROY G BIV. This particular picture is misleading, in that it doesn’t show exactly how nar-
row the spectrum is. About 380 to 740 nanometers, is just a sliver of the electromagnetic
spectrum…yet that represents sliver is everything we see and know of the world.

These are the perceptual limitations of our species. But isn’t it just like man to assume
that, just because his consciousness begins and ends within the visible spectrum, that all
consciousness begins and ends within the narrow sliver…and that all of the rest of that vast
expanse of energy is devoid of conscious life. How egocentric! And yet, how typical…

No, there is no reason to assume the electromagnetic spectrum revolves solely around
us and our meager perception. Nor was there any reason to believe that the Universe revolved
around us, or that the sun existed specifically for us to see. We laugh at the foolish narcissism
of Geocentrism today – yet what this belief in the centrality of the visible spectrum but an
energetic form of Geocentrism? A sort of Ergo-Centrism.
SLIDE 6
So, if we are to consider the possibility of ranges beyond the visible spectrum as acting as
mediums for consciousness, we need a framework to help us conceptualize how. I thought
long and hard over the idea for a long time before two very strong understandings hit me –
one is that frequency and density are two facets of the same phenomena. That may not make
sense, but bear with me.

The famous Double-Slit experiment, as you know, showed that light exhibits characteris-
tics of both a wave and a particle. As Alan Watts says, it’s a “wavicle.” Yet, how does this
realization translate to the rest of the EM spectrum, or the energetic aspect of all life?
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We remember densities of matter from high school, right? The idea of the very heavy
things, like metal or rock, settle to the bottom, water, being less dense, settles above that,
and that air is of very fine density, and settles above the water. Phases of matter: solid, liquid,
and gas, right?

Each particle of those three densities, be them compact or spaced out, can be inter-
preted as a crest of a wave, with the trough being the space between particles. This was a
major breakthrough for me, as I could then interpret all my surroundings as a bandwidth of
frequency. A real world understanding of matter as energy.

So, it helps me to think of a real world example of this, like a beach – where several dif-
ferent mediums of matter meet. Imagine a cross cut of a beach…a slice cutting down the
water and into the ground beneath. We have the lowest levels, beneath the sand, sedimentary
layers of clay, shale, and stone. Very dense heavy compressed layers. Above that we have
the sand…not so dense or compressed, you can put your feet into it because there is space
between the grains. Above the sand is the water, the ocean where we came from a long time
ago. It is a medium, like air, that can carry frequency, like sound, just the same. Then, of
course, we have our own medium, the air, which settles above the surface of the water, which
is much finer.

This is is simple, we all know the beach and have experienced the meeting of these two
mediums, the boundary of water and air. Yet, it is an infinitely important boundary, as in it we
can understand the relationship between all other boundaries and bandwidths.

Imagine we did not know anything about the ocean, or what it was. Looking at it from
the shore, it would just be an expanse of surface…with no reason for us to assume there is any
life in it whatsoever. We can enter the water…and dive down for a brief moment, and open
our eyes underwater, and see a whole world that had been hidden from us. Yet, we cannot
live in that density of matter, and so our time is limited there, and we must always return back
to our place above.

The fish doesn’t know that there is anything other than water – it was born immersed in
it, and has never been out of water to even know there is anything else, to compare. Likewise,
we are rarely if ever aware of our immersion in the visible spectrum, as we do not experience
other densities of medium. We begin to assume that that is everything, and, like the fish, the
idea of some “higher realm” of a finer medium is completely foreign to us.

Yet, incredible and vibrant forms of life exist both deep in the sea and far onto the land
– both completely ignorant of one another, for the most part, existing and evolving side by
side. The fact that the amazing blue whales or bioluminescent angler fish are unknown to the
chimpanzee of African jungles does not make them any less real.

Likewise, the rare hints we occasionally get that life exists beyond the bounds of our
discrete realm of awareness should not be disregarded as strange flukes or hallucinations…no
more than the rare but occasional washing up to shore of a giant squid should be disregarded
as fake or unreal. Exceptional human experiences, interactions with angels from some
ethereal realm above, or demons from some dense realm below, are rare, yes, but universal –
a defining aspect of our species, across all cultures, these interactions reveal that we should
assume that that “ocean” of energy is devoid of life.
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So, yes, that was the first idea of the two that struck me as meaningful. The second in-
volves the bar of color, itself. When I first encountered it in that science textbook, it felt so
unnatural and man-made – this stark rectangle. I couldn’t imagine how it existed in the real
world. Like, I’d be wandering and just stumble onto some gay pride monolith in space one
day…

No, an important realization for me was when I saw that it isnt a bar, but more of…
SLIDE 7

A circle… a sphere… that these frequencies are blaring out in all directions from a radiant
center, from a point of “contact,” like our stone in the pond. This is how it is in nature and this
helped me to understand consciousness…
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But, even this image does not do consciousness justice… as radiance spreads out in ALL
directions…we’d need something closer to…

SLIDE 8

This… that is, If imagined in three dimensions then, the electromagnetic spectrum does not
look like a square bar, or a simple set of concentric circles, but actually something akin to a
cross-section of a planet – with different densities of matter divided into layers, or bandwidths.
Instead of thinking of this as the Earth, with these hard physical layers, think of it as light
radiating outwards in all directions from a center. The light divides into a spectrum, and that
spectrum has distinct layers, or bandwidths, of gradually finer and finer density. And out
further, yet, into the atmosphere, the invisible divisions of ozone and ionosphere.

Imagine each of those layers there as a density, as a medium that can carry conscious-
ness. Then you will then have an image very close to what the electromagnetic spectrum
actually is, and the visible range of it as just a small and inconsequential layer.

SLIDE 9

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By thinking of consciousness as different bandwidths, or mediums of differing density, we
have a way of conceptualizing perception that allows for non-physical phenomena. So, back
to our beach, when we are standing on the beach, the water is just a surface – we can’t see
what’s going on under it. Yet, it’s only when we’re fully IMMERSED and cross the boundary
of the waters surface, and dive down into it, that we are able to perceive everything that is
happening there – all the textures and life, the crabs and fish that we could not see before.
Or, likewise, if you remember your friend screaming underwater to you when you were
swimming…you could only hear him when you, too, dove under.

Those perceptions are state-dependent… you need to be in that different state of mat-
ter before you can perceive them. Likewise, think of salvia – and how those sudden thoughts,
perceptions, sensations, and understandings are DEPENDENT on you “diving in” to that salvia
consciousness, and being fully immersed in it. This is true of any state-of-consciousness –
there are memories and perceptions which are bound to the state – it is only made blatantly
obvious in those EXTREME states, like salvia or ayahuasca, where we can have a dramatically
new set of perceptions from that state, which we are then able to compare to our normal
state.
SLIDE 10
If we think of these state-dependent perceptions in terms of radio, it makes even more sense…
this idea of “reception” and “transmission” make a lot of sense when applied to consciousness.
The idea that there are “stations” above and below our own, with music and culture very
different from our own. Whole languages totally foreign to us – like the Mexican station –
which exist right alongside us without our even being aware of them

When we can “tune” our consciousness upwards or downwards, to a different station,

all at once we are flooded with these new perceptions. Yes, something like DMT can allow
us to explore new bandwidths and frequencies…but we may just as easily stumble on one
naturally, while drifting off to sleep, for instance.. Regardless, the skill comes in being able to
steady our minds, learn to maintain attention and strengthen our focus, so that we can HOLD
1678
that new station once we find it… tuning is one function, maintaining that tuning is a whole
different ability.
SLIDE 11

In theory, any bandwidth can be used for reception/transmission. That’s a big deal. That has
implications. Think of the "transmission/reception" of the medium of air, for instance – waves
of pressure radiating in ripples outward from our body, which is a resonating instrument.
When we’re angry, this is very much akin to someone thrashing around in a pond, "making
waves," felt strongly by everything within earshot. We wince when we hear a woman yell, and
kinda tense up, like we’re bracing ourselves for a storm. Yet, only PART of this response is due
to the sound, right? The auditory layer of that emotional outburst is only a small snippet of an
overall expression of anger, which exists in many layers. But, regardless of this, each of these
layers of can be similarly deduced to these simple energetic laws: of transmission/reception,
of some medium, which "carries" the expression, and of some modulator, which makes the
expression, or "signal" to bring this back to our radio metaphor. All of these bandwidths on the
spectrum which is our physical expression, once thought of as simple energy, reveal a power-
fully meaningful view of the world. Yet, this view of self and consciousness as reception and
expression of frequency, be it modulating in air or in light or…brainwave frequency, whatever,
allows us to encompass a larger set of possibilities.
Stop?
SLIDE 12

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i. A breakthrough in understanding came for me when I realized the rippling frequency across
the surface of the pond was the same as the rippling frequency of neuronal activation, spread-
ing across the surface of our cortex.

ii. Brainwaves represent not just a single frequency, but a vibrant and noisy pool of many
interacting frequency states from different functioning areas of the brain – it is raining on the
pond.

iii. It is in the rare occurrence of when these many areas become harmonized, that is brainwave
synchrony occurs, that the truly profound felt shifts in consciousness, thought, and perception
occur.

iv. So, lets dive a bit into brainwave states, their meaning and their potential meaning...

SLIDE 13

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We see here the 5 major bandwidths of consciousness.
a) I am sure all of you have seen the brainwave states at some point, Gamma, beta, alpha,
theta, delta...
b) The divisions are crude and overly general, and most researchers I have found who devote
extended study into the EEG states ended up discovering many additional distinct stages –
some claiming 12 or more of these micro-states.
SLIDE 14
Gamma is the rarest of the brainwave states, not typically experienced in our day to day waking
consciousness. It represents some of the highest recorded frequencies of cortical activation
ii. A study by Lutz showed Long term Buddhist meditators experience powerful high amplitude
gamma synchrony – that is, they induce a high frequency state of consciousness across many
different areas of the brain.
iii. What is interesting is that the exact same states of consciousness achieved by Buddhist
monks by decades of intense daily meditative practice are also achieved by simply drinking
ayahuasca once.
a) Luna, Stuckey, and Lawson, studying ayahuasca ceremonies in Brazil, found Widely dis-
tributed cortical hyper-coherence, that is to say
b) Ayahuasca causes many areas of the brain fire at the same brainwave frequency
c) This makes sense given the profound synthestasia experienced during ayahuasca – seeing
the icaros, hearing the visions, feeling the lights and colors all occur while those different
sensory areas of the brain are resonating together, at the same wavelength.
1681
SLIDE 15
We see BETA with the beta-states with strong, excited emotions such as fear, rage, or anxiety,
as well as with alert attentiveness, selective attention, concentration, or anticipation.
B. The ALPHA state is linked to focus and imagery – that is it has a suppressive function which
allows us to selectively filter out extraneous stimulus.
i. When we smoke a joint, this is “zone out” state – staring off and focusing on a single object
or thought, a sort of “tunnel” cognition where all surrounding distractions are drowned out by
alpha.
ii. Alpha has been of special interest to me, especially with my EEG studies of supposed medi-
ums at the William James Center.
a) What is interesting is that, as they claimed the spirit entered their body to speak, we saw a
FLOOD of high amplitude energy surge in the alpha band. It was not continuous, but seemed
to serve as a sort of GATEWAY function, seen only during the entrance and exit of the entity
into the body.
SLIDE 16
SLIDE 17
Theta is amazing, it is where the ocean of subtle internal perceptions begin to intermingle with
the external: known as
hypnagogic or transitional perceptions.
B. Delta is slow wave sleep and, like the other extreme, can be reached by experienced
shamans or meditators.

Yet the most fascinating things occur along the lower range of alpha, extending into
theta – the MYOCLONIC JERK. This is the twitch of the leg and, in the case of the possession,
the gnarled claw taking control of the hand in place of the body paralysis.
B. The jerk occurs as we begin to lose awareness of our physical surroundings, the muscles of
the body begin to release from motor control – which often presents as a feeling of falling.
SLIDE 18
My belief is that the twitch represents the edge of a unique bandwidth of consciousness, a
discrete range in which our subtle or residual self may separate from the body.
i. With the body and residual self separate, I was paralyzed – the separation also served as a
gateway through which a different entity could enter my body and take control.
ii. At the myoclonic gate, the outer physical self and the inner spiritual self may separate,
experienced as a descent into a lower realm or a non-physical perception of the room and the
body, or an out-of-body experience.

This was supposed to be animated, but you can imagine a subtle form of this body, de-
scending into these lower bandwidths…

This can be interpreted as the 3 universal shamanic realms, the upper/middle/lower worlds.
The shaman lays, enters trance, and travels through the bandwidths of consciousness.
…tuning to new stations, diving “underwater” to the unseen realm of spirit.
SLIDE 19
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A. In the fall, I will begin a pilot study attempting to show the legitimacy of these non-physical
perceptions, perceptions of the room and of self made without the sensory organs.

B. Here is the experiment, as performed by my professor Dr. Charles Tart.

i. Ms. Z, the subject, claimed to leave her body several times a week, floating above bed.

ii. Dr. Tart placed 5 digit random number several feet above the bed, which she perceived from
a Delta sleep state, establishing the legitimacy of out-of-body perceptions.

SLIDE 20
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Many of the ideas I shared today are unusual, but realize they are only unusual in our culture.
The concept of the radio seemed very obvious when it was introduced to India – Hindu mystics
had been “transmitting” and “receiving” thoughts, and tuning their consciousness in the
calmness of meditation for millennia already.

As science gradually releases the burden of materialism and begins to catch up with
these masters of consciousness, these other “stations” of conscious life will gradually see the
light of day – and we may come to learn that our station never really was the most popular.
SLIDE 21
References
Buhlman, W. L. (1996). Beyond the body. San Francisco: HarperCollins
Bertini, M., Lewis, H. B., & Witkin, H. A. (1964). Some preliminary observations with an
experimental procedure for the study of hypnagogic and related phenomena, Archive of
Psychology, Neurology, and Psychiatry, 6, 493-534.
DeKorne, J. (1994). Psychedelic shamanism. Washington: Breakout Productions.
Devereux, G. (1961). Shamans as neurotics. American Anthropologist, 63, 1088-1090.
Eliade, M. (1964). Shamanism: Archaic techniques of ecstasy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univer-
sity
Press.
Epstein, C. M. (1983). Introduction to EEG and evoked potentials. J. B. Lippincot Co.
Freedheim, D. K., & Weiner, I. B., (2003). Handbook of psychology – Vol. 1. Princeton, NJ: Wiley.
Halifax, J. (1979). Shamanic voices: A survey of visionary narratives. New York: Penguin.
Harner, M. (1980). The way of the shaman. San Francisco: Harper.
Hartwell, J., Janis, J., & Harary, S. B. (1974). A study of the physiological variables associated
with
out-of-body experiences. Research in Parapsychology, 13, 127-129.
Jung, C.G. (1959). Aion. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
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Jung, C.G. (1975). Letters – Vol. 1. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press.
Swartz, B.E. (1998). Timeline of the history of EEG and associated fields.
Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 106, 173–176.
Tart, C.T. (1968). A psychophysiological study of out-of-the-body experiences in a selected
subject.
Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 62, 3-27.

12.6 July

Ocean of Flesh (2013-07-15 16:34) - public

Fleeting images, men with veins extending out from their temples, like webs of purple and blue
I see eyes and a thousand sexual positions melding fluid in waves of bodies, quivering bodies
and faces of ecstasy melding in currents, the deep throbs of an ocean of flesh.
Contorted makeup smiles forced into place. A gloved finger points towards her bare legs, as if
to probe accusingly between her knees. There is no face, a blue devil seated for interrogation,
behind her red hair dropping behind her like a light velvet curtain over a sailor’s tattoo. Naked,
as we all like her, naked and reclined in her bounty, willing supple on a tip surrendered.
The Kinsey Report, light shines down through an Art Deco window, towering stark, the year is
1954. And if the cement had eyes, they would be the sharp critical eyes of an old business
man. The wolf’s teeth snarl through his paper wrapping, clinging to his hairy body like paper
mache, hardened. It is a shell, and he is angry to be bound within it, a werewolf surrounded
with tall cold cement, and despite his howling, the clock tower continues turning, shining like
a moon. His teeth turn up his gum line in rows, like the whirring of a buzz saw cactus.
Voluminous
Grumble sweet Jesus, grumble low. Core restraint vs loud loud black men. Beef steak for Slow
Ron.
I’d rather conserve your ideal of me than meet, and besmirch it with these faded and broken
remnants of the person you once knew and loved. There is no reason to cover those good
memories with this shame.
Ideas fresh and new when young
You think they’ll be there forever.
There’s sometimes a moment as they fall
where you could almost choose them all.
Like a net across a sky of stars, you could lay claim, but they are still everyone’s
So it is with ideas, glimmering, shared. The best ones are not ours, but come from a place
above us.
Mankind: 2 Kinds, Mostly
Man and WombMan
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States-of-Consciousness as Bandwidths of Frequency (2013-07-17 20:12) - public

The content of my thoughts are related to my state-of-consciousness at the moment of thinking

them. State of consciousness can be thought of as bandwidths; frequency ranges extending
upwards and downwards along a spectrum. Depression is a distinct state of consciousness,
and can be thought of in this way, as a "low" bandwidth. Many factors can influence our
placement into this bandwidth: life situation, physical health, or genetic predispositions to that
particular range of frequency. These factors can be applied to understand, not just depression,
but countless other states-of-consciousness.

(2013-07-17 20:14) - public

Dad,

It was your choice not to forgive a dying man. Safe to say, it’s no longer on his conscience –
only yours.

All this "fat woman pride" business is wholly American, as if trying to justify our over indulgence,
sickness, and lack of self-control to ourselves. Obesity leads to illness and early death. Does
it really need to be glorified?

Commentary On How Best To Approach The Data (2013-07-17 20:14) - public

What are the soft sides of relating, beneath the superficiality of speech? What emotional me-
chanics facilitate the powerful subconscious connection between identical twins, for instance?
It is reaching the point where it is no longer reasonable, or is even childish in a way, to doubt
the legitimacy of this deep connection between two people. To pretend that the materialist
paradigm can be maintained forever, without room for any other aspect of self, is unrealistic
and, in many cases, requires purposeful ignorance of very common and well-established phe-
nomena. Materialism has reached and passed its peak, and must submit, like a pendulum, to a
pull in the opposite direction. Science must eventually submit to spirit – the modern physicist,
at his current rate of progression, will come to a point where he must acknowledge that he
possesses a soul, that there is an expansive ocean of subtle forces; currents in which we are
immersed, and that these forces not only influence us, but can influenced, or even controlled,
by us. It is easier if the other sciences begin working from and building upon this basis, that
the anthropologist work from the basis that nearly every culture has had individuals who have
sought to perceive, control, and benefit from this ocean of subtle frequency. Some cultures
have, perhaps, been more successful at this than others. For us to measure this success, we’ll
first need to define what "success" even is, in that context. Yet, even without this definition of
spiritual advancement, if I were a betting man, I’d be betting on the Hindus. That yogic med-
itation stuff of theirs surely led to more saints per capita than most of the other techniques
employed worldwide, yet even this success is defined by certain ends distinct to that culture –
karmic liberation, in this instance. Liberation is not healing, and if the goal is healing the sick,
the shamanic traditions could probably be thought of as more successful.
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Hard Work and Genes (2013-07-17 20:14) - public

Its just hard to have pity for you when you begin a relationship with someone you know is soon
going to die.
Its just difficult when you surround yourself with the sick and the dying. There is something
about choosing to surround yourself with sickness.
" I don’t feel like I feed of sickness, or that it rubs off."
Well, you feed on the medicine for sickness. That’s kind of like feeding on sickness.
"Yea..it is."
And I’ve sometimes wondered if sickness and negativity like that could rub off…
"Of course it can."
I just don’t know why we’ve all failed to launch. Why we all still rely on mom. Why we could
never become independent.
"I had my own life 18 to 30. "
But can we do it without speed? Those we’re during the khat years, weren’t they?
Yea.
"You’ve worked so hard…"
No, I haven’t. None of us are really what I’d call hard workers.
"Yes we are. We work very hard….inside."
Lassandra’s a very hard worker?
"…well, yes. Inside, she has a lot going on."
In that she thinks and talks a lot (and very loudly) yes. That is a lot of work and energy, its
true. But talking a lot very loudly isn’t really what I think of when I think of working hard.
"Well, she used to work very hard at the senior center. She did a lot of…"
During the khat years?
"….yes."
Yea, so when I say we aren’t hard workers, I mean in our natural state. Mom is a very hard
worker, but only after that 2nd pot of coffee…she, too, needs that accelerant just to get out of
bed.
"Its just not in our blood."
Yes, exactly why I want to have a child with Jiang Hui, to introduce some of those hard working
Chinese genes into our family tree. To have a child that’s like us…only hard working. Could
you imagine? A little Finn/China baby? Superbaby!
"Haha!"

Ambien Images: The Underside of The Glass Boat of The Dead

(2013-07-30 23:08) - public

A tower angles its roof of rusty tin metal, its narrow sides hammered wood, wet. The tower
is upside down. It is watching for activity on an underside horizon. It is a place we perhaps
1687
saw once running between yards as children, under the immenseness of an old fir tree, in that
feeling of protection when we closed our eyes there. But now that underside horizon is mostly
forgotten and unguarded. We played the roles, but those roles never became real careers, like
the other ones did when we grew up. Someemotions don’t have names and were therefore
forgotten.
A boat fills with sugar, dry in its desert. If I touch my salty sweat to that sweet overflow, there
will be no escape for me. The syrup will be hot and the oars will be forever adhered to my
hands, unable to row. Stay alive, dark cloud, you are a distant machine and I see sadness
expressed in so much frowning metal along your underside’s edge, your glass bottom into the
decay of something once brilliant. The shoulders of workers whose uniforms were once the
brightest white, now hunched and smeared grey with the oily smog of years. She ws beautiful
even as sh lay sick and dying, and the sunlight lit her face on their pillow. I know he loved her,
and that all that light was her shining through him. But this war, tattered cathedrals below,
it weakened her, even though she was so far above, she could not hear the screams or smell
the fires. The night extended its hand long and thin out to her and she saw through it to the
reality hidden in his cloak, until he finally let her in. And all he saw was her and the bed in the
morning, he could still only see the surface of things and what was left. She saw him picking
blueberries again and that is how she wanted to see him, young and loving freely, before fear
and routine darkened his heart.
I don’t want sharp knives crossing over my heart. It is too delicate an organ for shears or blades
of any sort. Take them away! A hawk will do, its eyes and its view will be sharp enough for me.

Blue Lobster Machines Extend Like Arms (2013-07-30 23:13) - public

Stories and so rest

no rest no rest, these days these lobster blue machines racing in engines beneath carapace
and ribbed tubes. Too many scales, lightening black across yellow glistening, tire drain slow
without
The memory of my potential clarity, of body resonant, a radiant nervous system, and the
opposite sugary disappointment and the urges it brings.
When thinking of how to further experimentally explore the Alpha "gate" phenomenon wit-
nessed in Jean Millay’s several mediumship EEG sessions in the William James Lab, we should
think of possible control conditions, "induced–marijuana," "induced-LSD," "uninduced – mari-
juana," "unindexed - LSD," with or without Alpha entrainment CD,
In which ways can I realign my life to accent my gifts, or what remains of my gifts.
-Fasting
-Daily Meditation
- Raw Food Vegan?
-
The doors were all open to our hotel room, chairs strewn about at si am, people wandering
inside. I watched an Asian man of stocky build take a chair and flip it lazily to its side and
confronted him. "Hey. Why did you do that to my chair?" He stuttered before saying it had
bothered him the way it was. I told him to go to his room and arrange his own chairs.
1688
Tom Ahola was there, a frenemy from Sunday school. I asked him what he’d been doing and
he stuck his ass out and said he’d been shaking it, I started to bump mine out too and said I’d
just returned from the ass bumping competition, and had placed very well. And so we playfully
bumped asses, while his friend watched in th, in the hallway. He then grabbed me around my
ribcage from behind and lifted me up, so me feet were in the air, and I did an "Ehh! Eyyy!" thing,
like I was walking Then he boosted my legs up into the air above my head into "a pirouette"
and then dip sideways into a slam graceful bounce. It was all hilarious. , I narrated the whole
thing.rtf

(2013-07-30 23:37) - public

A man should die once a year; be dismembered and buried in a dark tomb. He should leave his
body behind, and with it his personality, desires, and attachments to the world of surface. A
new self, grown beyond the restraints of the previous, like a circled molting its hard defensive
carapace, revealing the flexible soft vulnerable identity beneath. In this same way, ego keeps
us safe only as it holds us back, inhibiting our growth.

A Man Should Die Once A Year (2013-07-30 23:38) - public

A man should die once a year; be dismembered and buried in a dark tomb. He should leave his
body behind, and with it his personality, desires, and attachments to the world of surface. A
new self, grown beyond the restraints of the previous, like a cicada molting its hard defensive
carapace, revealing the flexible soft vulnerable identity beneath. In this same way, ego keeps
us safe only as it holds us back, inhibiting our growth.

(2013-07-30 23:43) - public

The de-ranged, the broken, the incompetent whose development was, at some point, mis-
aligned – the energy of their base urges still pumps upwards, attempting to flow through a
crumpled body or inhibited, knotted mind. These inhibitions change the natural flow of libido,
which MUST surface, one way or another. Perverse pathways branch to compensate for where
natural flow has been blocked.

12.7 August

Defending My Ground (2013-08-11 16:14) - public

To the end these differences will define themselves in me, dividing me from those I try to
love. These opinions become a sort of ground I must defend, as ego takes form from their
composition. Lesser and lesser a man I become in this web of differentiation I wrap myself,
like a cloak, standing so proud and self-reliant. What a joke this character is! Does he expect
me to take him seriously? This mysterious shadowy figure cloaked in his own self-obsession?
Haha! We are children. We play "make believe." We’ll believe just about anything...
1689
Deanna Goodbye (2013-08-27 20:01) - public

Hey, I’m sorry. Hey hey…

There are no more, troubles.
To these long remembered failings, we pay homage tonight.
To the lesser men and their dominance.
To the brave and the less respectful.
To the most bullish of the pack.
I bow out gracefully again tonight.
I bow my head, stepping backwards with both palms open.
I present myself, in an acceptance of submission.
And in my palm, open to the sky, is the true acceptance.
As I smile deep and accept the grace of surrender.
Lay two swords across my heart,
let two lions lap up the blood.
Mine, the crest of the layered lions.
What noble spirit guards this ancestry?
Too, my uneasy second thoughts
Strong memories return,
hammering with images.
Hammering with the dissonant empathy
of seeing your flaws through another’s eyes.
Do I swallow down all that grinding criticism again?
Is that what I am destined to do, mom?
To grind my guts in fearful tension?
Is the sight of myself…going to sicken all women, or just you?
What am I to do with these hours?
My time is not endless, yet I end things less and less;
if I never start, I never need to finish.
Soul forever restrained in a tired avoidance.
What does love mean to the dead?
That is what I have for you.
That is what forever means.
I will remember you beyond myself.
To the physically fortunate, this love is lesser known.
To those impoverished for attention, span tends to suffer.
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It’s exhausting to fill sensation at that speed,
and inhibits experiencing the breadth of that sensation.
To the timeless sojourn of lives, I feel a new beginning approaching.
A crossing over from the crudeness of physical incarnation.
I sometimes feel something pushing, straining, to escape my chest.
I place the meaning somewhere above me, towards where it pushes.

The Fork In The Path (2013-08-27 20:03) - public

On the first sentence, I need no further spirals other than the taste of the spilling wind, blowing
against my closed eyes before the deep rumble of a summer rain. These are my skies, let them
express my expanding sensitivity. I can call on the expectations, I can do wrong and ignore
spirit.
I should not go to China! I realize it just now…
I have made a mistake. I have wasted the time here.
I should have known and remembered the reason for my coming here.
I was distracted by the comforts and the easy money.
This is something I must overcome and will not place myself away from solitude and self-
restraint, even if I begin to teach…
Yet, here, again, I reach the fork in the path, deeper now along the way of temptation, fur-
ther now along another chances and wasted opportunities, further now along disappointing
decisions and unforgivable weakness; those reasons I’ve given for my guardians to abandon
me.
Strange hugs. I give strange hugs, and perhaps I put vibes into them.
I dance vibes up into hugs, with my breath slow and my long sound flowing on it.
The look of distinction is something that radiates, first, out from the eyes, then out through the
musculature of the face. A man of many facets, complex emotions surfacing in subtle tensions.
His nerves are firing, in-tense-ly, nearly always.
When I first saw the Writer’s Room episode of Breaking Bad, I saw just a room of 6 or so people
talking. I observed a medium shot of the room, seeing the eyes, faces, and body language
of the entire writing staff of the show. I could immediately pinpoint the genius of the room,
the man who created the show and makes it so good. It is hard to describe, in words, what
about his presence made it so obvious that he was the man behind it all, but it had something
definitely to do with his eyes – the brightness of his baseline state of consciousness, expressed
as his level of attention, to his general surroundings and the people he’s listening to.
I’ve also had instances of being able to tell I’m in a room "with a somebody" by hearing their
voice, alone. I entered a busy bookstore in Menlo Park at night – perhaps 50 or so people
in it. Its pretty crowded as I walk down the bookshelf aisles. Just then, in the next aisle, I
hear an unusual voice, deep and calm. It stands out so strongly, I realize it must belong to
"a somebody." I suddenly want to see the person whose thoughts and background create this
distinctive voice, but am blocked by a tall set of long bookshelves, back to back. I can’t see
through, only hear his voice. When I finally saw him, minutes later, it was because he was
getting onto the stage, to read from his famous new book. Out of 50 people, it was obvious
who the brilliant writer was…if only by the sound of his voice.
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12.8 September

The Tired Stream (2013-09-06 18:12) - public

Oh, no no no. I don’t actually want to do anything. Thanks, but no.

But there is work to be done! Important work, meaningful work, work that
will benefit others.

Yes, but I am not ready. I must be well-rested if I am to perform my best, and express
myself with vigor and gusto and vivaciousness and charisma and other things that I don’t
have right now.

If you do not do what you are capable of doing, you will soon be incapable of
doing it. Your body, mind, and spirit work according to the rule of “use it or lose
it.”

I’ve lost so much already, and lose more, faster, by the day. Please, just leave me to
my nap. My regrets are quieter when I nap.

What you call regrets are reminders of what you’re supposed to do. It’s not
too late to make use of this time you have in this body to improve yourself and
share what you have with those around you. True regret exists only to the dead.

Yes, yes. It’s not that I disagree. It’s merely that I’ve accepted myself as I am, and sur-
rendered to the path of least resistance. If the settling of flowing water into the lowest part of
the valley is weakness, then I am weak. I wish to settle into the valley of this soft bed now,
thank you.

And grow stagnant! Putrid, brackish, and infested with swarms of parasites.
You were once the blue-white crystals of the sky, born pure and delicate into
physicality and descended into the fresh clarity of a mountain stream. It is your
role to carry what you’ve touched down from those great heights. To flow is your
nature, as your form is now that of a fluid medium.

I’m very tired now, Spirits. Goodnight.

Thoughts of Pingxiang (2013-09-06 18:13) - public

To try to conceive how many people, how many individual bodies and minds, exist in this
country – each with their own contained consciousness, seeing and living their own world
of thoughts. My mind reels to even attempt to comprehend the whole of those millions of
those distinct individual worlds, each seeing and feeling, desiring and defending, needing
and scheming, from a state of being as rich and all-encompassing as my own. To just glance
at each of the thousands of faces, the waves upon waves of Asians, and see each one as
complex and unique; to sense the perspective with which they are perceiving the moment
we are sharing, and realize they see a completely different moment, no less meaningful than
my own. The shy girl, peeking from behind her umbrella with a bashful upturned glance, the
1692
brash slut, walking confidently downhill in her mini miniskirt, loudly making arrangements on
her cellphone, the fat dark skinned boy smiling fully, with his arm around his skinny bookish
friend, sharing a joke under a single umbrella. How can such beautiful and rich lives exist in
such volume? In the billions! To think that all of those individual consciousnesses can exist,
and continue to multiply exponentially, without any loss of the quality or depth of any one
consciousness. As if each ego drawing up the water of spirit from some deep well, is such
a universal aquifer truly inexhaustible? Or does the universal ocean of consciousness have
some limits, like those similarly seemingly-inexhaustable limits of the physical environment,
of which each of those individuals, likewise, uses their individual share. I suppose such a
question could be thought of as concerning the immaterial facet of sustainability – of thinking
beyond physical resources to the non-physical resources we each draw upon with our birth, or
pollute during our life.

Dreams of Pingxiang (2013-09-06 18:17) - friends

Towards death’s doorway, but not through. These windows are as familiar as the people behind
them. This is my family’s cabin and I will forever be welcome here. Walking through that
old doorway, I join my grandparents, watching over the young and their innocent mistakes,
smiling and frowning with them through their sunlit folly in the yard, outside the dim quiet of
the ancestral cabin.

With her crippled halfling child, industrial chemical mutant, slurping up puddles in the wet
heat. Will this girl do? How about this one? They give them away as gifts here – little 90
lb bargain chips. What is this sickness from which this beauty is born? Am I truly rescuing
her, bringing her to the sickness from which I was born? My pure stoic Jiang Hui, my wise
lonely Jiang Nan, my enticing scheming Lisa, my frantic horny Go-Go. For each of you, I had a
different love, and for each, I left different apologies. And left. 5 years does a lot to a life, to a
face, to a pair of eyes. My soul is 5 years older, perhaps feels 15 years dimmer, as whatever
took hold, as I let so much go. Myself, included. Easy now.

The comedians on the hill sang songs of my ugly nose, yet admitted some admiration, or
remnant of admiration. Remembrance, reminiscing a more beautiful nose and a braver, more
challenging mind. I hate that I was broken, that it took so few years before I conformed to
that school and that pecking order. God, I had spirit coming in! I remember how they feared
it, the way I bucked at weak ideas like some wild stallion, first caged. They beat that the fuck
out of me. And, still, wouldn’t let me in. …like coming back to China is any sort of "in." These
old expats are lone wolves, retiring to their wounds. They embraced a culture that will never
embrace them back – a relationship that makes a man grow bitter. Two eyes on may lot of
good has come from our relationship, and sitll can, if you tolerate my expensive sleep, while
the full moon is out, somewhere behind the beijing smog. This palce can be ours, it could be
a beautiful den for us to fight together, to play and sleep together. Its only when I apologize
that I feel you turn our back. I realize, no one wants to enter a sorry vessel, a weak and
apologetic shrugging drishitpants. Why would anyone who cares for the work give HIM a job?
neck, squinting cat eyes, squinting angry. I am sorry to you guys mod of all, outdent abandon
1693
me.

Two step, it’s a saturday. Let the white man welcome them in with feats of prestidigitation.
He’ll be behind glass for the rat of the workday, ready to entertain with funny fumbling noises
whenever you walk by. After I bought him dinner, the Egyptian said us white guys are clowns
here.

The Canadian pretended he didn’t know the lights had even went out. Flailing around with his
staffs and swords, he had the remnants of a delicate form. The children walking by the bars
of the gate went "wahh!" and walked more slowly.

I huddled in the dark, half hiding from the crowd of drunk friends. The hiding spot was a small
box, with a square wooden door. In it was a long squat-style toilet. I closed the door and
pooped, there in the dark. I wiped and continued kneeling there, in that little space; safe.
I overheard Derek outside, receiving the news that he would need to swing 6 overnighters:
an obscene amount of work. But he seemed mostly unphased, determined to make a lot of
money for his new family.

Just then, I heard him talking to another worker as he opened the door to the bathroom. He
was carting in a mentally handicapped patient. He knocked quickly at the stall door "Anyone
in there?" I moaned in a throaty retard way, realizing I did not belong where I was. He opened
the door and saw my back curved there, naked and pale. Suddenly I realized I was being
lifted and felt a mix of shock and concern for Derek. I am very heavy, but he simply lifted
me quickly, with a heaving sound, and placed me further forward, along 2 rows of tracks that
were on either side of the stall. There, he suspended me at the front of the squat hole, so that
this other ACTUAL retard could be corralled in behind me. It was hot and smelly. Derek looked
at my mess of shit and stopped, examining it, speaking to the patient he was carting, despite
the fact he was most likely not understood.

"Looks like someone is sick. Look at all the air bubbles in this. Is that a little blood also?? Are
you sick, guy?"

I moaned a belligerent wordless response, in a questioning tone, being sure to keep huddled
over with my back directly to him. If he finds out it’s me in this box, it’s all over!

1694
What is this dark place I hide, ashamed of my bowels? Is it from those by whom I am so
unavoidably and insurmountably resented? I have tried so many ways to please those whose
personal chemistry is, for whatever reason, so strongly reactive to my own. It was time for
a change and perhaps, for a desperate moment, hiding myself from their sight seemed the
most immediate and reasonable change I could make. That being no less so even if I admit,
honestly, that the fault is in them and the insecurities these particular reactive people all
seem to carry, the Hell is mine to bear as I remain the person on whom all the resentment
falls…and twists, and grinds, and blocks, and seemingly undermines my every goal in society.

Isochronic Entrainment – Reminiscing (2013-09-06 18:19) - public

I was kicked out of my PhD program the first time for several reasons, But the main reason was
my outspoken views on genetic variance, among other topics. The second was my performing
brainwave research without authorization from the Research Ethics Committee. This was, I
believe, a trumped up reason to get me out of the laboratory and the school. My key to the
Neurophenomenology lab was taken in the middle oof my pilot study, and it was clear they
had no intention of giving it back.

I was studying an interesting phenomena…

First, do you believe that sound can influence our state of mind? That soothing music can
relax us, or an angry loud noise put us on edge?

Well, do you think, then, that certain sounds can be designed for achieving a desired state of
mind?

To what degree of specificity can these different states of consciousness be induced using
auditory stimulus? There are, of course, a wide range of physiological and emotional states,
many very subtle and difficult to measure. Yet, as I saw it, brainwaves offered a reliable
reference of, at least, some aspect of subjective state, if only to begin with the crudely and
arbitrarily defined five states of or frequency ranges of consciousness, charting the levels of
relaxation approaching sleep. It was my intention to measure the efficacy of binaural and
iso chronic beat frequencies in influencing and, possibly, controlling these different ranges of
neuronal firing cycles.

Entrainment is a fascinating phenomena governing most, if not all, rhythmic p or oscillatory

interaction. If you are to place two grandfather clocks together in a room, the y will most
likely have pendulums swinging at different rhythms, and perhaps even slightly different
speeds. This is only natural, as though even though they are identical clocks, the probability
of them being pendulums being in sync with each other is astronomically low. Yet, give the
1695
two clocks ten minutes, and they will begin to influence each other in a subtle way, the rise
and fall of their pendulums somehow aligning the unseen ripples of air pressure between them
until, within less than half an our, the two pendulums will have "tugged" each other altering
measured time until the point that they both fall into perfect synchrony.

Brainwaves work much like clocks, in that discrete networks of neurons cycle rhythmically,
to fire at certain predictable frequencies, given the subjective, emotional, and physiological
state of the person at that given moment. By introducing an auditory rhythm sharing similar
rhythmic pattern and rate, the synchronous phenomena often begins to influence the neuronal
network’s electrochemical state, until some aspect of synchrony begins to occur. Some areas
of the brain responding almost immediately to this auditory stimulation, while others seem-
ing more resilient to influence. This resilience seemed tied to the chosen rate of iso chronic
rhythm, but also to the auditory connectivity of the given area. With many areas being, appar-
ently, quite isolated from auditory stimulation of any kind. Yet, over time, typically beginning
to synchronize in the occipital lobe, cross hemispheric synchrony had been achieved in my ex-
periments, and I was beginning to isolate the factors which led to the successful achievement
of that more rare global frequency state.

Isochronic Entrainment Research – Reminiscing (2013-09-06 18:21) - public

I was kicked out of my PhD program the first time for several reasons, But the main reason was
my outspoken views on genetic variance, among other topics. The second was my performing
brainwave research without authorization from the Research Ethics Committee. This was, I
believe, a trumped up reason to get me out of the laboratory and the school. My key to the
Neurophenomenology lab was taken in the middle oof my pilot study, and it was clear they
had no intention of giving it back.

I was studying an interesting phenomena…

First, do you believe that sound can influence our state of mind? That soothing music can
relax us, or an angry loud noise put us on edge?

Well, do you think, then, that certain sounds can be designed for achieving a desired state of
mind?

To what degree of specificity can these different states of consciousness be induced using
auditory stimulus? There are, of course, a wide range of physiological and emotional states,
many very subtle and difficult to measure. Yet, as I saw it, brainwaves offered a reliable
reference of, at least, some aspect of subjective state, if only to begin with the crudely and
arbitrarily defined five states of or frequency ranges of consciousness, charting the levels of
relaxation approaching sleep. It was my intention to measure the efficacy of binaural and
iso chronic beat frequencies in influencing and, possibly, controlling these different ranges of
1696
neuronal firing cycles.

Entrainment is a fascinating phenomena governing most, if not all, rhythmic p or oscillatory

interaction. If you are to place two grandfather clocks together in a room, the y will most
likely have pendulums swinging at different rhythms, and perhaps even slightly different
speeds. This is only natural, as though even though they are identical clocks, the probability
of them being pendulums being in sync with each other is astronomically low. Yet, give the
two clocks ten minutes, and they will begin to influence each other in a subtle way, the rise
and fall of their pendulums somehow aligning the unseen ripples of air pressure between them
until, within less than half an our, the two pendulums will have "tugged" each other altering
measured time until the point that they both fall into perfect synchrony.

Brainwaves work much like clocks, in that discrete networks of neurons cycle rhythmically,
to fire at certain predictable frequencies, given the subjective, emotional, and physiological
state of the person at that given moment. By introducing an auditory rhythm sharing similar
rhythmic pattern and rate, the synchronous phenomena often begins to influence the neuronal
network’s electrochemical state, until some aspect of synchrony begins to occur. Some areas
of the brain responding almost immediately to this auditory stimulation, while others seem-
ing more resilient to influence. This resilience seemed tied to the chosen rate of iso chronic
rhythm, but also to the auditory connectivity of the given area. With many areas being, appar-
ently, quite isolated from auditory stimulation of any kind. Yet, over time, typically beginning
to synchronize in the occipital lobe, cross hemispheric synchrony had been achieved in my ex-
periments, and I was beginning to isolate the factors which led to the successful achievement
of that more rare global frequency state.

The Purpose of Vanity (2013-09-10 19:15) - public

I think of aging, the expansive variety of my vanities, the many colors of a peacock’s feathers,
and the purpose they serve. If I had a woman, a smart, beautiful, devoted woman, what
would happen to my bizarre creative life? Pretending to be that wild edgy self, that boy, is
exhausting anyway. Perhaps it would be a small sacrifice, after all. In spite of the fact that she
(that theoretical future "she") may be quite tolerant of indulgent ill noises and strangeness,
my own hang up, my own fear of women, would keep me quiet and, to some degree or layer,
ingenuine.

The Beast of Kentucky (2013-09-10 19:19) - public

The employees of the Wanda Plaza Kentucky Fried Chicken of Nanchang, China each wear red
Devil’s horns, perhaps never knowing their Christian context or the deeper meaning of what
they represent. Yet, the more I watch them serve the hungry impatient droves, the more
appropriate their costume seems. For what is The Beast, the powerful horned tempter, but our
own ever-present bestial urge – the primal instinct to take, to fulfill desire, for meat or sex and
selfish want. Self-fulfillment is the core drive of Western Individualism and, perhaps, at their
core, the Chinese consumer knows this – that this addictive, salty, greasy meat is a temptation
to re-embrace a baser, more primitive self: the Beast. Selfish animal instinct howls from the
1697
Western Night. Here, they join the call.

see: Forgotten virtues of self-restraint*

(2013-09-10 19:21) - public

The deep fatigue returns, aching in my marrow, synthetic chemicals burning away my youth
from the inside. Heavy weakness, weighing down my arms. Fuck this! Fuck Prednisone! What
good is a life held under this degree of suffering, drained of its blood?

An oral contract? I have stolen something better and have been so politely and indi-
rectly caught. "We are like you – and you are like them, dishonest." SHe said it in such a low
tone, soft and breathy as a whisper. A softly spoken truth is so much harder to deny – it slips
beneath what I think of myself, sharp and quiet, so that it’s barely even felt. I’d rather she
screamed! So I could defend myself from such ugly truths.

(2013-09-10 19:25) - public

I packed my suitcases and secretly fled the school today – lugging the heavy studio electronics
noisily across the campus in the middle of lunch hour. Not so secret, I suppose. 5 hours in the
sweltering packed sweaty train to the capital city, Nanchang.

Note:

• The way old men loudly SLAP the circular stone pieces of their mysterious board game
down, in an attitude of derisive defiance! A quiet chuckle as the wise heavyset gentleman
with the hearing aids makes his move and sits back from the table, proudly.
• How quickly the business cards of prostitutes lie up under the door of the hotel. I consider
one for a time, but I’m too exhausted to act much like a man tonight.
• Andy sees I am gone. He is worried.

To Jiang Hui (2013-09-10 19:27) - public

Be mine, and rest your fears in me. I want to feel your trust, calm in my chest. I want to be
a father, be loved, and keep those I love safe. Yes, I realize this means surrendering much of
what has driven and defined me to this point. The gifts of solitude are sharp and dangerous,
requiring discipline and intention. I am ready to hang these tools up, let them grow dull, and
settle into a life devoted to someone outside myself.

Dinner For One (2013-09-10 19:29) - public

I miss my friends, China. I feel alone. There are no words that I can say that will let me be
known. Yet, I know, I am no less a silent curiosity in my own culture, it was in you I lost both the
choice and the obligation of speech, so that in the excuse of my foreignness, there is a lonely
comfort, a painful freedom.
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Chinese Taxi (2013-09-10 19:32) - public

Ahh...

The rush of adrenaline in laying on the horn and driving, full speed, into oncoming traf-
fic. A bus’ headlights oncoming. I grind my right foot into the floor, as if slamming some
imaginary brake pedal.

Exhaustion turns with in a confusion, deep, dull, and constant like an unrelenting headache
on a sweltering day. Inescapable, being pushed and herded through lines that don’t move in
a wet itchy waiting room. Old women staring at you as they pick their nose. Thick car exhaust
constraints my lungs, suffocating me where I stand, burning my eyes with oily cancerous
smoke.

The Unborn Traveller (2013-09-10 19:34) - public

Can all of this be a place, existing all this time alongside our own? What influence carries
along the boundary between our world and theirs? Who guides who? Who exploits who?
Who inspires beyond language, in a flash of understanding? The traveller crosses boundaries,
trading comfort and familiarity for learning and novelty.

(2013-09-10 19:36) - public

I carry my history in my cells, things that can no longer be hidden. The pains and pleasures,
indulgences and hardships, will surface, made visible for discerning eyes to see.

The king of fears does not rule himself.

My beliefs concerning evolution are politically incorrect. I must not so much as utter
them. That, as the species progresses into higher and more organized social collectivism,
sexual characteristics are de-accentuated.

The Desolate Markets, the expanse of affection-starved carpet. Strange patterns, strange
sounds. I miss her. I miss a stranger. I miss a person.

(2013-09-10 19:39) - friends

Oh, Geez! Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I forget "gene" is a four-letter word.

"I think of us and the many opportunities we had to be together – the opportunities I
could have taken...had I been more brave and less respectful.

My doubts grow so heavy, boarding the plane tomorrow. Where is my purpose best ac-
complished/ China, the language, the job, the search for a good wife – all these things are
distractions from the task spirit has presented me with. Did I truly think I could ignore my
purpose?
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Chan=>Zen (2013-09-23 12:33) - public

The ancient Chinese, with their harsh criticism, awaken my awareness of the day, reminding
me how easy it is to waste a life. Soon I will be old and useless – what will I have to show for
my time, for my numbered days that once felt so endless? I pine and repine for all that has
already been lost, even while knowing this is only a small portion of the loss my heart has yet
to bear. All of my family, still living – what will I regret never having told them? I have so much
love, I can barely stand it.

Eating Pig (2013-09-23 12:52) - public

I take great efforts to convince myself that the mound of boiled pig intestines I’m eating is no
different than the natural casing sausage I loved back home, and that the thick cubes of pure
pork fat I’m downing is really no different than bacon. It’s all the same dingy greasy color – the
color of smoke. I don’t feel good, China. Leave me alone.
Hey! I found half a kuai in my Spam stir-fry! Today’s my lucky day! Saturday the 14th!

12.9 October

(2013-10-01 13:31) - friends

I am being interviewed by a man, a French man, and his friend – two professors, of some
field of psychology, and soon I found myself being grilled. I talked about research, about
Transpersonal Psychology, and about my friend being picked up by...by... Hh! What’s his
name?? Fuck. The pressure had, again, killed my delicate memory and I couldnt remember
the name of the psychedelic researcher who had hired Albert...or even then name of the
school!

"Griffith! Yes... Roland Griffith."

By this time, the two had already made their decision not to hire me, but the French-
man continued with the grilling, seemingly for the fun of it. "So, this...church you attended in
California...I assume they versed you in *obscure research field*"

I was scrambling to compose myself through the thinly-veiled pompous insults and show
my worth, but failed, again and again, under the sharp criticism of this short little bald
Frenchman. His mind was of that detail-focused, obsessively organized type – totally anal. His
much more relaxed and approachable American friend commented to me that his collegue
was new and didnt have many friends (and implied he was quick, like this, to not make them!)

Yet, after being skinned and salted, this little man seemingly made an attempt to ease
my suffering and talked about poetry, some old French poet. He produced a book, ornate,
with wrappings and accessories in a fancy box, and, unwrapping it all, set the book in my lap.
He told me where to turn to, yet turned the pages himself – as if he didn’t want my greasy
American fingers besmirching the leafs of his tome. I read for a time, and he pointed out
particular lines – specifically a line written between the lines, a comment by the poet about
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his own poem, on the bottom of the first page. I didn’t see the line he was talking about, but
pretended to out of anxiety "Ahh! Yes. So good..."

He left me with the book, there, in a small room near the car park of this massive man-
sion. I assumed it belonged to the Frenchman. I lazily read some more lines and then found
the line, written in ornate cursive, on the bottom of the page.

"I do not like these poems, but I like and I like..."

To me, it was a self-criticism of the poet that I could relate to and I wanted to tell the
Frenchman "Oh, yes. This is so much like the lines I sometimes write in the margins of my
own poems. The harshness of our self-criticism...this is what sharpens a poem, seperating the
better from the best. And, even now, in this form, he wasn’t happy with his work..."

I realized it was some kind of stone ebook reader I was holding...smooth marble, with
beautiful cracks between the different shades of polished rock. I thought I could leave a
comment beside the text of the ebook, and began to type, word for word, my thought –
which would allow me to try to win his favor, by saying I was a poet and that I struggled with
self-criticism. Oh! He’d love that! Right?

It was very difficult to type in this way, using a marbled granite cursor, and I began to
doubt whether or not it was imposing to just leave a little sticky bragging comment in a
stranger’s book, even if just an ebook. I deleted it and went to return the book and leave.

I entered what was the entrance area of this very rustic cabin-like mansion. A lot of
massive and detailed woodworking around the entrance – this was, in retrospect, my Uncle
Alan’s old home. Perhaps someone I’ve always thought of as being slightly French (woodsy
manly Canadian) and who I’ve, unconsciously, always wanted to impress, as an early father
figure.

But here, walking in, this palace was a far cry from my aunt and uncle’s home. He was
ambitious and anal retentive, this guy – the kind to save and archive every little aspect of
his life, collecting and cataloging every subtle facet of his refined tastes. I found a labeled
collection of 6-pack cardboards, for some obscure beers I’d never heard of, but which looked
dark and fancy, some ornate hardcover books on brewing beer, or some strange bottles in
crushed velvet, tossed along the edge of the antique couch, in that way rich people do with
things like throw pillows, to make it seem like it’s casual, when it’s anything but. I began to
try to repack the book in its cardboard and layers of accessories in the box. There was an
accompanying book, a small bottle, a cardboard frame, and some second small box, all that
had to be placed back into the larger square box, somehow. I fussed with all this little shit
for nearly 15 minutes, suddenly realizing I was missing an accessory, or that I had to walk
around the couch, or repack the thing because it wasn’t fitting correctly. Every time I walked
or dropped something, I became very nervous that he was going to come out from wherever
he was. "You! You’re still here??"

After rearranging and fumbling for close to 20 minutes, I saw that the second book was
never going to fit in the box and so I decided that it never had fit in there, and had been some
extra book he just brought with him. Maybe I was just telling myself this as an excuse to be
done with the whole painful ordeal of this man and leave, but I finally left the damned book of
poetry in that entrance area and began to leave, when a woman came out from an adjacent
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room. As she left the dim rom, I saw another woman against the back wall, fully naked, pale
blonde, with equally pale breasts. She closed the door, obviously trying to conceal what was
happening there, and said "Oh! You must be with Jacques. He is so amazing, isn’t he?"

Anyway...I couldnt escape the packed garage of what turned out to be some kind of
swingers mountain resort in my pick up truck without brushing one of the flawless 2013 Lexus
cars there. I ended up driving up some kind of tracks, going the wrong way, up a conveyer
belt for the Frenchman’s cheesecake factory. I escape just before the cream flooded the
whole vehicle, only to see the pre-cream chocolate layers sprayed out, along the underside
of my body-like vehical. I dipped my latex gloved fingers in to taste the many rich flavors
Frenchy had kicking...layers of thick cream and brownie. Delicious....I came down the chute
in my junker truck, all the filthy rich swingers watching in disgust. Finally Frenchy awoke and
Freudian slipped from bed, hiding his reaction to the unpleasantness of that New Age redneck
still being near his resort home and high class friends.

Fuck people who save all their packaging.

swarms (2013-10-11 04:17:00)

Jesus fucking Christ, all these years and you still can’t produce tl;dr versions of this shit!

turboswami (2013-10-12 06:12:12)

Every word of this is important! Very important... I get on livejournal and I forget there are even other
people on the internet. Its a place I go when I want to be alone. Leave me alone!

Where I Live Now (2013-10-13 01:26) - public

[1]http://bm.pingxiang.gov.cn/px/en/index.html
1. http://bm.pingxiang.gov.cn/px/en/index.html

States-of-Consciousness and Perception – Letter to Dr. Charles Tart

(2013-10-13 13:58) - public

Hi Dr. Tart,

Have not talked for a while. Hope you are doing well! I saw you were on Glenn’s book,
writing with my old drinking buddy Albert! I look forward to reading it.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking more deeply about discrete states-of-consciousness, and how they
could be organized into a larger system. One of my favorite things which you introduced
me to is state-dependent memory – this idea that memories can be "bound" to a certain
state-of-consciousness really makes sense to me AND is something we can measure and test
in an empirical way.

My thoughts recently have been of how to extend this idea of certain aspects of cogni-
tion being "bound" to a certain state, or bandwidth, of consciousness. For instance, in my
personal experience of EXTREMELY non-ordinary SoCs, perception, itself, seems similarly
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dependent on the given state – with whole ranges of new perceptions sometimes becoming
apparent once I "crossed over" that boundary into the higher state, or bandwidth, of con-
sciousness.

In a given environment – often a room which I had known (or, rather, FELT I had known!)
and been quite accustomed to previously – will suddenly OPEN up, with whole new thoughts,
understandings, and perceptions of that space which I simply had never been aware of in
my previous normal waking SoC. These new perceptions, like in the psychedelic experience,
typically legitimate sensory experiences, seem to flood my sensory system the moment I cross
over into that hightened state-of-consciousness – that is, they seem bound to that discrete
state, in the same way memories become bound to, say, a caffeinated state and FLOOD back
into awareness when we reenter that distinct SoC.

I feel there are a lot of benefits to approaching, and parsing, perception up into ranges
like this. Like I said, it’s something I’ve been rolling over for quite a while, but originally
inspired, of course, by your important systemic work with SoCs.

I was hoping you might have some ideas, direction, or maybe something you’d recom-
mend I’d read to flesh this idea of state-dependent perception out a little bit. I’m in China and
need something to work on – as I find myself suddenly illiterate and mostly deaf and dumb
here, my social life has taken a definite hit! ;)

Thanks and look forward to hearing back.

Yours,

-Kaleb

Bad Letter to Dr. Jim Fadiman (2013-10-13 14:11) - friends

Hi Jim,
I hope you are well. I see your name from time to time and think of the Bay and ITP. Most
recently, I saw you on that new Handbook of Transpersonal Psych book. I read what I could
find of it online and it’s great – an important thing that should definitely exist. Glenn busted
his ass on it... for our benefit.
I’ve been in China now a bit over a month, since the end of August. The initial culture shock hit
my system hard, but I’m starting to recouperate and find a healthy routine in the alienation of
it all. Suddenly being illiterate and mostly deaf and dumb (instead of just dumb!) surrounded
by confusing sounds and signals I don’t understand, whew! I think it was needed though – I
was getting too comfortable at that beach house I was living at, mentally and physically. Being
transplanted (farrr) out of your comfort zone keeps you sharp, I think.
Anyway, I’ve been wanting to connect with you since getting kicked out of Sofia, but havent
been able to find the right words. I just hope that when you see my name, the feelings are not
negative ones. I know that you supported my giving it another shot, when Arthur and Glenn
were not so willing, and I want you to know how meaningful that gesture was to me. I just hate
to feel like I let you down, or anything. My intentions were good ones. And I still feel I have
something worthwhile to offer, if only, perhaps, it was meant to surface by some other route.
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I’m not sure what you heard about that retreat, and me being given the boot, but I will say
there was some misinformation and smearing going on and leave it at that. I feel you arent
much into soap operas and maybe try to distance yourself from them like me. But if you want,
I can describe what happened in more detail. Suffice it to say, it wasnt enough to say I had to
leave because my spiritual stories were making students uncomfortable – there needed to be
more of an offense than just that, and so more was found.
I don’t know what to do with those spiritual stories, if not share them with spiritual people. Are
they spiritual people, there? Oy... Nevermind that question. It’s a nice school and Transper-
sonal is a great idea, although I tend towards the roots, where you and Stan are – over at Big
Sur, that whole scene. You really had something there, Jim. It deserved its own school and I
wish I could have been there, and heard that, and maybe shared in the fertile vibe of those
many minds.
Anyway, I started writing today... I START writing a lot, sure, but this feels like where I need
to be: honest... Not to separate my academic ambitions from my spiritual experiences. Can
I talk about entities and then talk about consciousness research, in the same book? I once
feared one would discredit the other, but... if I were honest and genuine, everything I know of
consciousness comes from my trying to rationalize the woman of blue white light that came to
me and my girlfriend. Sharing that experience got me kicked out of Sofia, yet...I hate to feel
that the experience has no outlet or no purpose.
–
A Statement of Intent
Over time, a person comes to terms with miracles. Like any other thing, it is within our human
capacity to take them for granted and for their emotional potency to fade with retelling. I
am beyond justifications or proofs now. I wish only to tell my story before I leave this earth,
or before I lose the capacity to tell it well; to tell it in a way which conveys all the meaning
I have gathered from these isolated experiences. Despite their rarity, they are, in a longer
scale of time, not so isolated. In a longer scale, we see, in fact, the whole of cultures and the
basis of civilizations being founded on these handful of universal human experiences. However
extraordinary, these interactions with the far ends of a hierarchy of spirit are not bound to a
single culture, nation, or race of man, but span the whole of our species’ history, defining and
guiding our development, informing our medicine, laws, and morality, and forming the basis of
our understanding of our self, our soul, and our afterlife. I will do the best in my meager capacity
to share my experience in as genuine, honest, and transparent a way as possible, taking great
care to keep ego, opinion, or emotionality obscure the description of what occurred to me
and my loved ones. I agree to this degree of unfiltered honestly, not only as an assurance to
the reader, but also as an expression of deep reverence for a set of spiritual interactions that
have changed my development as a person and irreversibly expanded my understanding of
the world. Whatever meaning another person may be able to derive from these experiences,
no matter how large or small, will make my having written them worthwhile.

12.10 November

On Using The Laws Governing The Transmission of Energy To Understand

Conscious Experience (2013-11-05 17:16) - public

If we take the metaphor of carrier and modulator seriously, the same methods used to test
radio transmissions should just as readily apply to aspects of conscious experience. Indeed,
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we find the most basic aspects of perception, audition and vision, for instance, can, in fact,
only be fully understood when conceptualized as two distinct interacting forms: a medium and
a modulating entity, either with conscious intention or not, alters the frequency transmitted
along that medium. This most basic and universal laws governing energy is general enough to
allow us a key perspective in the dual-sided nature of consciousness.

Bouts of Existentialism (2013-11-11 18:48) - public

There are rats all over here. One touched my leg in bed last night...

I just finished up a big steaming hot bowl of MSG soup and weird grey-blue roots. Here’s what
I had on my phone today:

"Overcome by a particularly severe bout of existentialism, I consider the strange reality

of my physical form; its age and its purpose. Sleep deprivation and a new sexual relationship
can induce these dramatic shifts in perspective."

...maybe MY physical form is a stranger reality than most. ;P

Hope all is well. Drop me an email sometime.

-K

a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or ab-

surd world.a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or
absurd world.a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless
or absurd world.a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently mean-
ingless or absurd world.a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently
meaningless or absurd world.

Harmony vs Individualism (2013-11-11 23:33) - public

Resonant ideas are beautiful...even if we’ve heard them before. A room or a nation singing
together – harmonious – is a glorious thing to take part in. Yet, there is a singular beauty in
dissonance and, no matter how defiant or willfully independent the individual, none are so
deaf as to not be at least somewhat influenced by the power of the choir, if only it’s rhythm;
it’s unity, strength, and order will sway and guide the thoughts of the soloist troublemaker,
who has taken the initiative to stand apart. The mass will do this, perhaps, only by defining
the structure of the individualist’s defiance by posing the ideas he is to oppose. The bait of
the ordered, harmonious, and socially-accepted view is, itself, a guiding force. Yet, even stark
defiance is a type of relationship – the color, tone, and phase of a given collection of notes
is infinite. And perhaps more interesting are the tone deaf who, despite their intelligence,
remain misalligned from the choir of popular belief, in spite of even their best intentions to join
that choir. Nature gave them different ears, predestined to exile from the popular view, with
work they can bring a wholly unique angle or perspective to the monotonous harmony which
existedbefore their introduction; a new vantage point in frequency which others will surely
adopt and employ. Individualism, in this view, serves the greater good...the ears only need
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time to adjust and the sense of taste to expand to encompass this dissonant voice, to bring it
gradually into the fold, with all of the total territory its new scale has revealed.

That Clean Chinese Feeling (2013-11-16 23:10) - public

The air here oscillates between the smell of burning plastic and the smell of burning tires.

The black smoke of these unseen fires gradually cakes the walls and windows, then streaks
down after the rain, in long acrid smears. I assume the lungs of Chinese high school children
must look about the same color.

Just being outside 10 minutes or so, you begin to feel the polution burning your eyes
and, halfway into the 2nd day, I developed a serious and persistant cough, assumably as my
lungs adjusted to the carcinogens. The inflamation has since died down, or my alveoli have
simply hardened and died. Haha.

Do I sound bitter? Intolerant?

Attention: Inverse and Converse (2013-11-19 19:12) - public

When thinking of the faculty of attention, we must not forget that there are two sides – the
outer focusing of attention, which is what is typically thought of when the word is used,
but which is balanced against the resulting inflow of sensation, which is also referred to as
attention. That is, when people speak of attention, they do not tend to make a distinction
between this inversive and conversive form, perhaps because they are so closely associated
and tied within a single act of focus. Yet, when the pupil of the eye dialates to a WIDE angle
of focus, for instance, there is a resultant surge of light and sensate information flooding the
retina and perceptual systems with stimulus to be parsed. The parsing and organizing of
this sensory information employs the perceptual "buffer" of attention span or, in the lingo of
cognitive psychology, working memory.

I am working to begin research into the semantic priming of attention in lexical process-
ing tasks at the Psycholinguistics Lab at Pingxiang U. Only, there is no Psycholingustics Lab at
Pingxiang U... but...I DO have a spare laundry room!

Second High In (Reflections On The First High In) (2013-11-20 14:45) - public

The sweet rejuvinating inspiration of marijuana refreshes my whole personality. Over several
sober months, I unconsciously began to slide into a rut of anxious negativity – a bitter old
man character, with all of his thoughts, looks, and snarls. To think if I had allowed this regi-
mented grump to shadow my personality further, it may have developed into something more
permanent, as it surely does among so many in my age group, who are found but, somehow,
do not find themselves to be jaded and cynical beyond lifting, as if mired in something thick
and heavy. So much of it seems a simple reflection of one’s state of health. I think of those
studies of obesity and photographs of faces; the fat person always assumed to be negative,
lazy, or difficult to deal with. This has certainly been my experience in the real world and, as
I begin to gain weight and become lax in (or completely lose) my exercise routine, I begin to
1706
feel a weighing down, not just in my physical body, but in my personality as well – as if the
physical limitations also, to some extent, limit my energy level and, as a result, my mood,
temperament, and the tone of my thinking (with my groggy low energy thinking tending to be
slow, clouded, and negative.)

I’ve began a mild fasting and exercise routine since the high, which was spectacular in
its height and the immediate benefits it brought to my ability to focus for extended periods
during meditation. The meditation during the high could be called profound, in that the full
body sensations and awareness was accompanied by a feeling of spiritual connection that
I had not felt for many months, despite so many misguided and mostly failed attempts at
reaching a deep meditative state. The aid of a small amount of marijuana (a medium strength
indica purchased during my recent trip to Hong Kong) was unambiguous in that it was pow-
erful, immediate, and accompanied by long-lasting changes in behavior, temperament, and
personality. In this particular meditation, I transitioned into a trance state using a shamanic
techinque (one detailed in Harner, 1990) requested and subsequently felt the presence of an
entity which I recognized from previous experiences (see livejournal Winter 2004) and who
I’ve come to identify as my guardian. A set of overwhelmly powerful synchronicities and a BIG
dream (which I will post later) whose clear message implied an interaction with something
(insofar as having a message implies there’s some one who WANTED to give me a message!)
–please save your "unconscious experienced as other" arguments for someone more gullible!–

I also was immediately inspired to write a detailed grid, scheduling my every day into 2
hour blocks. I then color coded these into overarching life goals, work requirements, and
self-care. This writing is my adhering to the two hour block I’d like to devote and maintain for
writing every day, 2 to 4 PM. Granted, the overarching life goal this aims for is being published
in academic journals, this writing is also writing. Tightening it up into something publishable
can come after I can nail down the daily routine.

I went out to exercise last night as a result of the perspective granted by the height as
well. Unfortunately, I found that the running track is now being closed and locked at 7 PM.
(These Chinese sure do seem to love their locks and fences! They are the "people of the wall"
afterall, I suppose that comes with a certain disposition towards defensiveness or security.
But the absurdity of trying to stop people from running in circles hit me pretty hard!) So I
walked briskly around the campus instead. I found a whole other gate to the university that I
had not known about and went about to explore. Near this mostly unused gate, there was a
completely new stadium built, off away by itself, away from the main buildings of the school.
I entered the mostly finished building, smelling the chemical tang of fresh paint fumes, and
began to explore the many floors and rooms in the dark. Coming to the 3rd floor, overlooking
the basketball court, I saw the sillouette of a boy and a girl out the window, holding embracing
eachother on the roof, rocking back and forth in a way I thought only I did with my girl. I
watched quietly for a moment, until they began to kiss, and then I felt weird about it and kept
exploring. I felt more lonely afterwards though, and called my girlfriend over to make out in
the dark.

Thinking Beyond The Brain: The Nervous System and Psychedelics

(2013-11-20 17:06) - public

Can a computer be used to analyze the speech patterns and vocal range of a representa-
tive sample of the population? What is the average pitch of a male American? Given the
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differences in body size, it would be assumed to be of a lower pitch than the average of a
Chinese man. This, in addition, of course, the cultural aspects (like the intonation of pitch
characteristic of the Chinese language) would make for a broad variance in pitch range and
average experienced in everyday life between men in these two countries. A study of the
influence of these specific pitch averages on perception would, then, need to account for
these, and other, differences.

Meditation lends itself to an awareness to posture. You can’t breath fully when slumped
over. The first deep breath is sometimes akin to the feel of waking, that sort of stretching
open of the spine and rib cage as you yawn deep and outstretch your arms, doing that sort of
instinctual yoga routine of wakefulness.

Flutter eyed exhales pulse with light. I am returning to assume the pose of the crown
chakra, radiant. My tendency is to arch the lower back inwards, as if trying to push it upwards
from beneath, but I know this is unnatural.

That poor spoiled child downstairs wails, and 3 people wail appeasingly in response –
anything to hush the little tired tyrant. Likewise, they spend their days trying to appease the
3 tired tyrants, each to his own floor, in the apartments above. I send a list of complaints to
my poor overworked assistant, and a receipt requesting payment of 608 RMB to my politely
dubious boss, Bob. I see a tennis teacher shout something with his hand outstretched at the
20 or so students running laps around the small court below my bedroom window. Could a
man live this lonely life as a foreign curiosity forever? The endless staring and attention of the
crowds seems to do something to a man’s ego, as if being shoved into the Alpha’s limelight,
he begins to peacock in ways that would be ridiculous back home.

ON BEING HIGH

The marijuana experience – or the psychedelic experience, in general – is not simply an

experience of the brain, but an activation of the entire nervous system, of which the brain is
merely a part. Granted, this activation of the perceptual system of the brain is mostly what
we consider when we consider being high, the "buzz" sensation is, at its core, one of the
nervous system of the body; a resonant sensation of the in the cyclical electro-chemical state
expressed in the action potential of those circuits of nerve cells. Charged! Fully primed! And
ready to sense! ...everything!

This flood of the perceptual system is a rush, with subtle aspects of our surroundings,
those we do not usually notice, suddenly becoming apparent in all their vibrancy and intercon-
nectedness. It is in this flood of stimulation that the practice of meditation, and the capacity
of sustained focus, should be considered essential. Without focus, the flood of associated
concepts, inspiration, and ideas can be an overwhelming one, as in the low latent inhibition
scores of the psychotic (Spitzer, 1997). As if the whole perceptual system is overwhelmed,
leaving the victim scatterbrained with loose associations or even totally catatonic; essentially
the flood drowns them. As Carson (2011) suggests, a handful of cognitive faculties separate
these psychotics from creative geniuses, the measure of one of which is IQ. To have the
capacity to parse all of that incoming activating stimulus into an organized understanding of
the world (which can then be, more or less, clearly expressed by some medium) is no small
mental feat. Likewise, to calm yourself to the level of attention span needed to retain those
long delicate though associations could be thought of as high level mental gymnastics, with
the creative superstars who can maintain it being something like star athletes of meditation.
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Carson calls them the "eminent creative achievers" and is able to show, like psychotics, they
have a lower LI score – that is, they have no filter on their perceptual inflow. The flood is
coming, whether they can handle it or not; that is the test which separates rockstar professors
from neurotic welfare recipients.

At it’s core, that flood of nervous activation is what the mystics experienced as a sort of
inner radiance, for which words like enlightenment or bliss have been used. Labels aside,
this inward visionary experience allows a perspective on self, society, and spirit from which a
person can learn a lot.

SISU (2013-11-21 08:05) - public

SISU:
-Do what you do not want to do.
-Do it hard until it is done!

12.11 December

The Feng Shui of The Body (2013-12-09 19:17) - public

My nervous system is contained in my posture, and as the spine curves, pinches, or compresses
in its vertebrae, so the electro-chemical energy signature of the self becomes compressed,
limited, or opened in its nervous radiance, the oscillatory frequencies of its firing rates. As I
meditate, I become aware of these vibratory rates as they run up and down my straightened
spine, with the area of my lower lumbar being compressed, a degenerative disc disease which
was passed genetically from my father’s side, and which pinches the sciatic nerve, cutting off
sensation to the legs. I become aware of the nervous sensation of this compression more dis-
tinctly as a meditate, feeling the pain of my lower back as a throbbing radiance there near the
base of my spine, and could visualize it as redness, and then the darker color of my detached
legs, tingling dark bluish at the toes, where the posture cuts sensation from first. As I lay flat
and press my lower back hard into the mattress, I feel fiery sensations surge down my spine,
causing my legs to shiver slightly, as if being revived, like the feeling when your leg falls asleep
,and then is refilled with a surge of circulating blood again, the tingling, almost-electric pins
and needles feeling.
I straighten out my spine fully and breath deep into it, relaxing the muscles and letting the
column of vertebrae rest straight. As I feel my chest open, my shoulders back, I feel an opening
sensation spread with my arms falling to each side, assuming the Jesus pose, there in the bed.
I feel like a carpet, so flat, no pillow, sprawled out on the floor to be walked on. I breath deep
in this pose, my eyes directed upwards as the exhale fills my spine with charge.

Self-Awareness Beyond The Limits of The Body (2013-12-09 19:20) - public

I wonder what I must become, inevitably?

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Crumpled up and withered, baggy and strange even to myself. When my faculties are so far
gone, doddering and confused, who will I even be? Will I be, somehow, aware of myself as
limited by that body? Trapped in that slow forgetful mind, as if impatient to get out of it and let
that old heap go, for once! As if, somehow, I can similarly remember some conscious choice to
adopt the limits of infancy, to take them on like a game, knowing what that entrance into that
whole out-of-vag world would mean when we chose to dive in, and out into physicality. I can
certainly remember my thoughts, my needs and my articulated thoughts being completely lost
on the adults around me, as I spoke them as clearly as I could, with emphasis and emotional
clarity. "Nothing! They totally don’t understand what I said. ’No! I’m talking about the dog!’"
I assume that was my babbling stage. I can also remember the joy of being a small infant, of
being held on my mother’s chest, rocked with her gentle song, and how I never wanted her to
stop, I knew it inevitably would. Over time, I came to learn how she interacted with me during
this rocking, as she tried to get me to sleep. If I moved, she would stop. I must not move!
I remember being overwhelmed by the mood of the room, sensations that would just flood me
with emotion that I did not understand, but which I expressed immediately with cries if they
were negative pro frightening. How could I control all this emotion! My mother said I cried for
months straight, mercilessly. As if I did not sleep. I would learn words, say them once or twice,
but then never repeat them again… totally silent. I developed a system of tones, like hums of
different intonation, which I would use to express myself through the day. In concert with hand
motions and facial cues, I could get pretty much anything I needed.
But, all the while, it was as if I was trapped in the body, being flooded by its emotions and
sensations, but somehow conscious apart from them – adapting to them, as if learning to drive.
I was infuriated by the communication restraints, as if I was quite accustomed to communicat-
ing my thoughts previously, and frustrated by the sudden loss of that ability. I would like to
believe that, perhaps, the elderly (if only in rare case) are similarly aware of the limitations
imposed by their bodies, even though that transition into disability was not nearly as sudden.

Ancestral Blogs (2013-12-09 19:22) - public

Two times less, she visited half a man.

Two times more, we would be old now.
So many dead men, names.
Forgotten names.
Forgotten even by their family.
Would I remember my ancestors if they had blogs?
Would I worship them then?
The Finnish believe that giving the ancestors your attention,
attracts their attention.
Brings them into your life.

Isochronic Research Disc: Rationalizations For Using Vocal Samples in Brain-

wave Entrainment (2013-12-09 19:24) - public

Robbie,
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Isochronic entrainment audio. Can we make a disc of it?
Multiples of 10 (5 Hz half phase lock patterns) of voices, sine enveloped in low pass baritone,
with square waves interspersed like fluttering seagulls falsettos. Barber shop Dubstep.
Beginning on the beach ambience of Low Beta, enter the waves and slowly descend, past the
drop off point, until you must finally just dip your head under the water, and descend further
towards the depths of Low Alpha, into Theta. Entrainment phenomena will begin to drop off
at that point for most listeners, but for those who stay with it, and focus deeply on the bass
whoabs meditatively, the throbbing will become an intense physical sensation, felt emanating
from their chest, as if the sound was their own voice, felt rising up through and out from their
own lungs, through their voice box, resonating their own rib cage as the sound emanates from
the exhale.
Cues from "Black Record" by LaMonte Young will be taken, lifted techniques on how to medi-
tatively interact with a monotonic oscillator tone. Cues from Steve Reich will be taken, from
"It’s Gonna Rain" on the looped arrangement of phrases – though I would like for all phase
relationships to be precise and locked. Karlheinz Stockhausen’s "Stimmung" will be ripped off,
specifically how he modulates a tone in a periodic way using actual phonemes. This could be
done, but arranged as a loop for regularity, to create a trance-inducing isochronic entrainment
beat of regular frequency, which can then be rhythmically controlled using the pitch wheel, de-
scending from the 12Hz gradually down to the 7 Hz range over the course about 20 minutes.
White noise will be used throughout, but occupying a notched higher register, spectral drawn
in something like Iris or Spear. I would like to use actual surf sounds; crashing waves BPM
controlled to be sped to the desired rate.
PHOTIC ENTRAINMENT STIMULI - MEASURING THE EFFICACY OF A LUMINAL RANGE
When the stroboscopic lamp was introduced to the entrainment procedure, and phase locked
to switch ON with every transient of the isochronic rhythm, it soon became apparent the bright-
ness of the lamp influenced the closed-eye visual experience as much, if not more, than the
photic frequency. So, this closed-eye visual experience is, perhaps, a phenomena distinct
from bran wave entrainment, my guess is that, since Alpha activity has been linked to inward
visualization, these visuals are, similarly, linked to Alpha – and that the subjective experience
of these visuals can be used as a guide to direct the researcher towards the most effective
frequency and brightness of visual stimulus for a given person.
By asking the participant to not the ceiling and floor of the photic lamp stimulus – that is,
gradually moving the lamp away from them and having them note when the visualizations
become most powerful and then when they begin to lose their influence, a luminal range for
that individual can be established within which the efficacy of the lamp (at least as far as
visualization is concerned) can be assured for that subject. Using a light meter, a reading in
lumens should be taken both at the ceiling and floor of this luminal range. Frequency can,
likewise, be measured for this closed-eye visual component.

Hong Kong, I’m Sorry (2013-12-09 19:28) - public

Hong Kong. I am sorry.

You must be used to white guys apologizing by now – it’s what British gentle men do, after
all. It’s what I do, after you’ve kicked my ass and jerked me off. After you’ve ripped me off
and taught me to bind my emotion into layers. The Canadian called you all heartless, but I
don’t think he understands; there is the tenderest sensitivity in your delicate falsehood. It is
1711
a boundary I can never breach, even as I touch you and share my heart openly, I am only
touching this boundary – and it is the boundary you hold, not me. I see you love, the precious
few for whom you save that love: your beautiful children who are your life, the strong dedicated
bonds of family that
I don’t know the meaning of your words, or mine. I don’t know what age means, or the wisdom
of practicality; simple, grounded, and opportunistic. What real and lasting benefit can I expect
from my American decadence? What can a few weeks of rice and hot water really do for a
person’s soul? I’ve only gotten glimpses of that self-restraint and its inner growth, the purity
of your chi and its uninhibited flow. Yet, this is your science, not ours, and it is your life and I
can see the benefits of your self-directed austerity in your eyes, the gentle perfection of your
bodies, in the radiance of your very being
Erudite
A Hong Kong Orgy With Municipal Poem
"….Why do men go crazy in the night.
Why do women go crazy all other times
And also at night.

PSYCHEDELIC SCIENCE – ENVISIONING A SCHOOL (2013-12-09 19:30) - public

1) List All Countries Where Drug Laws Are Relaxed/Non-Existent

2) List All Countries Where Cost of Living Is Extremely Low
a) Venn Diagram Of List 1 and List 2
3) Potential Courses
a) Therapeutic Skills
b) Visionary States
c) Phenethylamines, Tryptamines, DMT, Salvia.
d) Deep study
e) Solitary Reflection

Attentional Modulation Key Factor In Efficacy of Isochronic Entrainment Stim-

uli (2013-12-09 19:45) - public

ABSTRACT:

The entrainment of biological rhythms is a complex subject.

Menaker reports that cyanobacteria, simple organisms that originated at least 3 billion
years ago, "have fully functional circadian clocks", which may give support to the suggestion
that biological rhythms and their entrainment are fundamental to life in any form (2002:2).
Some have gone so far as to characterize any organism "as a (loosely coupled) ’population of
oscillators’." (Pittendrigh 1975, quoted by Warner 1988:68-9).

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Chronobiologists are turning their attention increasingly to ultradian rhythms, i.e. those
with periods of less than a day. The term ’ultradian’ covers a wide range of possible periods,
from milliseconds up to 12 hours, although it tends to refer particularly to the range from
a few minutes up to a few hours: faster rhythms are sometimes referred to as supra-ultradian.

The electrical activity that is recorded in electroencephalograms (EEGs) is largely attributable

to postsynaptic potentials (PSPs; i.e. graded potentials produced by synaptic activities that
eventually lead to firing of neurons) in cell bodies and dendrites of cortical neurons (Lopes da
Silva and Storm van Leeuwan 1978). Neurons of the human brain, the ‘gray matter’, come in
two principal arrangements: layered they form a cortex and in non-layered agglomerations
they form a nucleus. Two cortices, the cerebral and the cerebellar cortex form the surface layer
of the human brain; nuclei are located beneath the cortex and in the brain stem. The columnar
arrangement of neurons in the cerebral cortex facilitates summation of these potentials and
their registration at the scalp. However, other geometric arrangements of neuronal assemblies
can lead to extracellular attenuation or even cancellation and therefore not all activities of
brain cells can be recorded in the EEG. The regular spontaneous EEG components are thought
to be due to PSPs synchronized by discharges from deep nuclei (thalamus) and the degree
of synchronicity is reflected in the amplitude and form of the EEG (Lopes da Silva 1991). If
cortical activity is synchronous over a larger area it produces larger potentials (e.g. Cooper et
al. 1965). Desynchronisation of the EEG and reduction of its amplitudes presumably reflects
increased interaction of several neuronal sub-populations engaging in cooperative activities.

As Bluedorn puts it, then:

Entrainment is the process in which the rhythms displayed by two or more phenomena
become synchronized, with one of the rhythms often being more powerful or dominant and
capturing the rhythm of the other. This does not mean, however, that the rhythmic patterns
will coincide or overlap exactly; instead, it means the patterns will maintain a consistent
relationship with each other. (2002:149)
(Condon 1976:305), which he interpreted as evidence of "entrainment or stimulus tracking"
(309). Although in some respects Condon’s methodology raised suspicions of researcher bias
(his method for dealing with the key problem of the segmentation of behaviour "constituted
re-viewing a sound film of human communication over and over for many hours until forms of
order began to be seen" [1976:288]), his findings that this synchrony could not be observed
in subjects "with severe psychopathology or communication disorders" such as autism,
dyslexia and schizophrenia (1982:61), and that the detailed features of the interactional
synchrony varied with the ethnic origin of his subjects, do suggest that his work should not be
casually dismissed. At one point, Condon even suggested that the periodicities he observed
in behaviour were uncannily close to the frequency ranges of the different types of brain
waves, and in light of this he coined the term "behavioural waves" (1986: 63-66).

ATTENTION

In terms of the mechanics of entrainment in human cognition, Jones theorizes that there
are three primary stages: (1) perception, which primes the listener to form expectations; if
expectations are met, (2) synchronization; and if expectations are not met, (3) adjustment or
assimilation. Perception and the priming of expectations are nearly instantaneous occurrences.
Cues from events unfolding around the attender are taken as indicators of where to focus
attentional energies in order to ‘catch’ upcoming events. Anticipation of future events is
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facilitated by the presence of highly coherent (i.e., regularly patterned) temporal events,
such as a steady beat (see Jones and Boltz 1989:466). Synchronization follows priming
and occurs as our expectations are met. As such, synchronization is itself a verification of
the correctness of our expectations. If our expectations do not match what happens next,
then synchronization has not occurred. It should be noted, however, that the discrepancies
between our expectations and the actual unfolding of events can cause arousal that in turn
heightens attention and results in learning.

Life Purpose Checklist (2013-12-24 23:09) - public

My Core Ideals

- Purpose should drive my daily activity, always with eyes directed beyond the immedi-
ate, to the overarching goals of my life: clarity in thinking and expression, the honest measure
of my worth being in my handful of unique perspectives and the ability to put them concisely
into words.

- A distinct and honest perspective defines who I am. It is my strength (and my vice.) I
do not imitate and I will not emulate. But this perspective serves no one if it is never
expressed. Being exiled is not the same as being tamed!

- Sisu!

Elements of a Meaningful Life

1) Health
- Fast for 3+ days, to cleanse the digestive and immune systems.
- Pre-fast prebiotic "ramp up" of bananas, garlic, and onions (oligosacharides)
to ferment healthy bifido-strain bacteria over course of fast
- Eliminate meat, sugar, and processed foods from daily routine.
- Drink green tea often, with ginger and honey (and vinegar, as needed.)
-
2) Productivity
- Establish (and maintain!) regular daily work schedule
- Integrate regular eating, exercise, and sleeping times into schedule.
- Daily goals list (a fragmented Monthly Goals list)
- Perfectionism is paralysis! Let it go and let it flow!
-
3) Purpose
- Reconnect with the spiritual guides who I’ve lost touch with.
- Meditate on their presence and intention, until synchronicity is achieved.
- Find formal outlet for writing (and then write formally!)
- Imagine the rich and fulfilling life of the future – break it down into steps.
-

TO DO

Finland in Summer
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Cali Connect => Financial Help
CIIS

edensgray (2013-12-31 17:16:27)

<3 and thoughts are with you

turboswami (2014-01-07 03:39:43)

Thanks hun. Hope your new year is shaping up just how you want it to. Thought about you yesterday. ;)

The Surface of The Night (2013-12-24 23:10) - public

Weaving frantic intricacies into the long quiet night, insomnia keeps me connected to an un-
speakable deep, until I begin to forget the sunlit realm of words. Slow is the change, slow
as the lingering sunlight receding from a cold window. I know a thousand faces and I’d have
myself believe not one of them mattered, their names long ago discarded behind a burning
bridge. But in these intricate nights, their true impressions on me surface to the dark surface
of my ceiling, glances and tones of voice, scenes in hallways and at bus stops. I could have
loved her; she would have let me. I should have forgiven him; now he is dead. Why did she
hurt me so mercilessly? Why did I kick that girl? That dog? How unthinkable that I was once
that person? …or that one?
I find these forgotten secrets I’d hid and open them in the night, en lieu of sleep. I realize
they have remained alive and unforgiven all this time, like knots guarded so closely, brood-
ingly, suspiciously, some cartoonish thief in a trench coat, eyes shifting, drenched in shadows,
distrust, and guilt. These knots ache, as everything vital which once tried to course through
them has long since become blocked up and hardened. But even as I fight the flow within, the
greater flow takes me – it sweeps up stone and straw, alike. In this way, its useless to fight it,
or believe I can control it, as it is something so much greater and older than me, a mysterious
beautiful current whose swirling scales spire into the infinite. In the night, I sometimes look up
for a moment from my navel and feel awe, and am humbled by quiet grace.
A warm loving presence shares its perspective and the empathy and pity it feels for me. And
here I was, just relaxing after work, oblivious to my actual situation. I know so much block-
age, and the limiting uncomfortable dis-ease it causes, can be reversed. Just the same, I am
aware many mistakes do permanent damage, or will never heal fully. These are the scars that
compose my character and the experiences that form the basis of my caution and fear, alike.

pigshitpoet (2013-12-27 08:23:50)

source of light: christo redentor it is the light of the world! ; )

Frequency and Density (2013-12-24 23:11) - public

When frequency is equated to density, and the particle and the wave are thought of as a single
entity, the known and observable physical nature of both forms can be utilized to understand
the unobservable and non-physical phenomena which we have yet to clearly conceptualize.
That is, despite it’s non-physical nature, we can understand the movement of radio waves by
1715
observing the physical phenomena of ripples across the surface of a pond. The phenomenon
can be adequately generalized, as energy traversing the surface of a medium, as to be applied
to both physical and non-physical ranges of nature. That is to say, nature tends to follow these
same basic patterns, regardless of the limits of our perception of her (and how egocentric of
us to ever have assumed otherwise!)

1716
13. 2014

13.1 January

The Flowing of The Shore (2014-01-04 14:56) - public

Glancing at my pillow of squalor,

between gorging entertainments
I see myself for a moment,
scrunched up and numb
and think of waiting
and think of time
and think of changes
And of a place beyond this current
from where this all can be observed.
The times are bound
the rushing time of the stream
and the slow time of the shore

Jesus’ Traumatic Childhood (2014-01-04 15:00) - public

Music: Steve Reich - It’s Gonna Rain (Part I) | Powered by Last.fm

Jesus, don’t look in the mirror!!
Jesus, the cruel scars, lacerated foveas of a sensitive child, can you discard these memories
fully,
without a single wincing trace, even in the darkest midnight hours?
Jesus, sweet Jesus! Your name makes me wretch. Those Red sweaters and talk show
microphones, Tammy Faye’s streaks of mascara. Simple minded people, afraid of death
and father’s punishment, millennia of farmyard beatings and close-minded judgement. But,
beyond God and all these heavy, shackled words, your name included, what is the basis
of your existence, the steps of your own transformation, that allowed you to transcend
societal structure and ascend beyond your body? To go beyond the experience of super-
natural interactions, into the performance of supernatural feats – super natural man, the
super man rising into his higher nature, his intended potential fully grasped and implemented.

To consider that many of the miracles Jesus is said to have performed are quite com-
monplace occurrences in the accounts of Hindu saints – walking on water, transcending the
body, appearing from beyond death, healing major wounds and incurable diseases by the
laying of hands, etc. etc… This implies that these are not abilities or revelations limited to
1717
the meditative, physiological, and spiritual developments of Jesus, alone, but are more to
be considered something of genetic potentials inherent in our very species. In this way, to
truly be a good Christian would mean to live a life to the ascetic extremes of Jesus himself, if
needed, in order to fully access the states-of consciousness which gave rise to his personal
revelations. It has been said that modern Christianity has been "watered down" to simply
imitating Jesus – but, in actuality, if any of the Bible Belt were to truly do this (attempting a
40 day fast in the sand lot behind their suburban street loop!) we might find ourselves with
a society being forced to make room for spiritually-ascended individuals walking amongst
them in a physical form. This is, of course, something Indian society had to do a long time
ago, at the peak of its ancient advancement into states of higher consciousness. Western
man has yet to devote his scientific attention to the individual efficacies of these many Indian
schools of thought, but is beginning to, at least, scratch the surface of an immense area of
powerful knowledge; the young studies showing the benefits of meditation on the whole range
of individual health: from nervous to muscular, chemical to cognitive systems. (cite) (cite)

pigshitpoet (2014-01-06 02:31:06)

i thought jesus was an undertaker, but some say he was a carpenter, either way he seemed to have
pine box syndrome

turboswami (2014-01-07 03:34:05)

Hehe. Gotta make a living somehow. I say he spent a lot of his life laying around.

pigshitpoet (2014-01-07 07:54:19)

LOL

"Just Give My Sugar To Another Girl" (2014-01-04 15:01) - friends

I feel inward heat, like the flames of a deep inflammation are felt to lick the back of my throat,
churned by my long exhale’s focused release.
My Chinese girlfriend Zeng Hong is worried about my health. I was sick earlier today and called
off our date at the cafe, before our coffee even came. "I feel much better already. I tried a
special medicine…herb. From an American doctor."
Thats is great! lucky to have some good medicine when in need. : )
"I’d love for you to try the herb sometime. Its good for so many health problems … even stress
and cleaning out the body and mind."
…maybe a hard sell. I could tell her it was used in China 4000 years ago, by shamans, to
access higher states of consciousness, spiritual states, for healing self and others.
"I am trying to give up the unhealthy hobbies.
like snakes.
sugar and meat maybe."
"hehe. Snacks.
Yea? It’s hard at first. "
keep training yea. its a long way.
1718
just give my sugar to another girl
I freeze after reading this. Is she accusing me of having another girl to give sugar to? I choose
to ignore it...
She continues
like rush to give away, my desire was trying to control my mind.
need to make emotion to action.
I think deeply about this comment. Her jealousy is making her paranoid, so that she lashes out
in this passive-aggressive way. Give the candy you were GOING to give to me to one of those
other girls you date. As if, the longer I let the accusation just float there, the more time she
has to anxiously wait for my denial, and to reflect on the meaning she is painting, and where
it comes from.
She feels I am rushing to give her away? How else would her desire control her mind, if not
her desire for our relationship to continue? That is the source of all jealousy, and perhaps she
is acknowledging that that jealousy is like a shackle, controlling her mind with these racing
obsessive thoughts and fears.
She needs to make emotion to act, she needs to act on her emotion? No – the opposite of that.
She needs to muster the emotion to do what she knows must be done. …!?
What must be done?! …oh.
She gave her candy bar to her roommate. It was making her hungry, so she gave it away.
Dammit! Swirling damnation storms!
She is only a girl. She peeked in the bathroom today, curious. She had never seen a man
pee before and wanted to watch. So innocent. What a lovely girl, eager to please and to love
deeply. How can I not feel a longing need to protect her in return for such trust and straining
desire for my acceptance.
I love to press random Chinese characters into my phone and have it auto-spell common
phrases for me. Yesterday, in bed with her, I mashed buttons randomly:
"Girl whose remains untouched in mind."
"It means in her mind, she’s still a virgin." she says.
Huh!
Or, at the sports rally for the students, I tried it a second time.
"If you try hard enough, you can be as good as the American team."
It really says that?
"Yes. American team."
Serendipity, or synchronicity if you prefer, like so many other aspects of our current situation,
seemingly falls into alignment with thought, mood, and attention, as all of those things have
their own subtle force; both physiologically, in the musculature and active electromagnetic
state of the nervous system, but also in the physical space of the room, which, to a subtle
degree, is subject to our influence and presence (Braud, 1996., etc).
1719
73% of Personality Is Genetically-Determined (2014-01-07 11:43) - public

Music: Luc Ferrari - Presque Rien Avec Filles | Powered by Last.fm

In times of great cultural transition, like these seen in China, it’s important to acknowledge the
genetic influence on temperment, behavior and overall state-of-consciousness. These are like
the unseen engine beneath the shifting facade of culture, driving China’s unique progress on
the world stage.

Beneath Social Restraint (2014-01-07 11:47) - public

Music: Luc Ferrari - Presque Rien Avec Filles | Powered by Last.fm

Calm breath stretches long beneath the storms and oil fires. The savagery of social standing,
the beastial screams as they cut the legs out from under one another – and who is left standing?

Their brittle ego a sharp crutch. Can I ignore so much sickness and attend fully to the
slower message? The oldest sound that never ends, but flows deep and forgotten I

Stay Hungry! (2014-01-07 11:58) - public

Music: Luc Ferrari – Presque Rien Avec Filles

We are humbled by the disability of age; as we realize we can no longer do the things we
were once so proud of doing. Is a flower not, in the height of its bloom, also proud in a way –
fully radiant and unabashed of its own beauty. We see the wilt of age most obviously when it
stands alongside young and healthy flowers. The contrast is most obvious when you can see
both the old and the new and, with the comparison there before your eyes, see the full extent
of the degradation in detail. In the same way, the infirmity of age is not so apparent in solitude.

Stay hungry!

I still strain to find that relationship between hunger, fitness, and youth. Remaining un-
fulfilled, unsatiated, unsettled, keeps you sharp, keeps you wanting more. On one level it’s
self-restraint or impoverishment – but on another, it’s the exploitation of a biological drive. The
overwhelming vital force of an 18 year old boy’s need to procreate, for instance, as it remains
unfulfilled, is a building pressure, a potent fuel, a driving engine of identity and self-definition.

A Particularly Severe Bout of Existentialism (2014-01-07 12:02) - public

Music: Luc Ferrari - Presque Rien Avec Filles | Powered by Last.fm

Overcome by a particularly severe bout of existentialism, I consider teh strange reality of my

physical form; its age and its purpose. Sleep deprivation and a new sexual relationship can
induce such dramatic shifts in self-perspective.
1720
Conversation About Marijuana Research and Coincidence (2014-01-12 18:51) -
friends

KALEB

Marijuana helps my meditation A LOT

Sometimes almost overwhelmingly so.

I notice my thinking is changing over years...not necessarily the content of thoughts, but their
quality.

My attention span not as robust as it was when I was 20

PAUL

does pot help though?

KALEB

These are of course subtle changes in attention span, but would you say you notice changes
in cognition over decades?

Well, pot certainly gives the attention span a work out!

In that a flood of thoughts and inspirations come...all of which require a supple attention span
to be able to capture and hold long enough for expression
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PAUL

what do you do afterwards? do you meditate or go out somewhere?

KALEB

The most effective use was described by McKenna...in one of those radio talks he gave. I heard
it this week...

He said the most effective use is alone, in a dark bedroom

laying down

...smoking the most potent sticky high powered pot you can get your hands on

Not diddling around, just going at it deep as you can, with gusto!

Once a week.

PAUL

i always end up going somewhere

i haven’t tried meditation or anything restful, really

1722
KALEB

Any more than twice a week, and you begin to lose the cohesiveness of the expression. The
creativity is still there, but the faculties of memory begin to become overextended...

The short-term memory loss that everyone talks about,

jokes about... this only seems to come with chronic use.

Now that its legal in 2 states, legitimate research of these cognitive changes is totally accept-
able. With human participants even!

PAUL

for some reason, i’ve felt less of an interest in it than i did before

KALEB

I’ve thought to go at it, researching the most medically efficacious frequency of use

PAUL

it’ll be interesting to see what comes out of washington and colorado

1723
KALEB

"The Psycholinguistics Lab." I’m trying to commandeer the empty room adjacent to my apart-
ment and hang that sign on the door.

I have a spare computer here – that’s about all that’s needed for cognitive research into se-
mantics

Its just a matter of ambition, always...

PAUL

with chinese people?

KALEB

the inspiration comes, I can see the potential future laid about before me...

and then it’s morning. and then it’s afternoon. And I’m tired...

PAUL

think like you’re 22 again

KALEB
1724
The thinking is like 22...vivacious.

but it’s the body remaining...the next day.

Its the organization needed to accomplish legitimate research

Self-directed study and routines of writing

PAUL

you can still do it now

but not much later, i think

KALEB

Do you agree that that’s really everything? Self-restraint and the development of routines?

Doing what you don’t want to do, often, and by your own volition?

PAUL

no, not everything

1725
KALEB

What else is there?

PAUL

i’ve lost that self discipline...it declines with age

i guess it’s confidence and real inspiration, i guess

KALEB

Clear and concise messages.

The ability to formulate them, and to string long assocations together as threads constructed
in delicate attention span; packaged for outlet in how many words.

Its a sort of gymanstics, right? A muscle to be strengthened or lost, like any other we exercised
in youth.

PAUL

but your 30’s aren’t too late!

it’s only being back here that i’ve noticed the pressure of the biological clock in full force
1726
it really weighs on you

but 30s...not to late for great things

KALEB

Does it weigh on some more than others, you think?

LIke some people are just heavy, pulled down by their body and its genetics.

Some people age faster?

PAUL

it’s weighed on me since i’ve come back

i realize i’ve aged pretty well after being back here

KALEB

The doctor here laughed out loud when I told him my age here...

PAUL
1727
none of my city friends have kids

KALEB

Others have flatly refused to believe it.

PAUL

only here is like a goddamn nursery

KALEB

I interpreted that in a few ways...

haha.

PAUL

how so?

KALEB

1728
That the people of Ishpeming, the adults, are like children.

...not mature.

PAUL

well, they’re more mature than i am

KALEB

I think a lot about the different types of maturation.

PAUL

i never felt pressure to be settled and have kids in new york or dc

KALEB

When I was a child, I refused to believe that...that was it. That the adults around me were just
"done."

PAUL

those sorts of pressures don’t exist

1729
only here, in ishpeming, is it contstant

KALEB

because they seemed so crude and infantile....

The sex jokes, the screaming drinking idiocy

I wanted to believe some had developed beyond that...

that that was, of course, a possibility.

When I saw the label "adult" I felt it meant something beyond the capacity of my understanding,
something that only a higher state of mature consciousness could comprehend.

...when I learned it just meant sex, I remember how disappointed I was.

That it was just crude bodily pleasure

PAUL

ha, i guess i’ve been insulated here. i stay inside all day, since it’s cold. but. i’ve been scoping
out all the babies people are making on facebook.

1730
KALEB

I think about this more and more, my childhood mind, even pre-verbal, and how it may have
been unique, although I didnt know it then.

Not to sound full of myself, but just acknowledging I was strange.

Unusual...that perception of a higher school of development

the assumption that it existed here.

PAUL

you were unique, of course

KALEB

and the sadness of learning my culture had not yet ascended to that form of self-development,
to afford that school.

I saw it in ayahuasca

The "school" is such a prominant part of my journeys and spiritual interactions... The Finns and
the school, always.

I told you about that, right?

1731
PAUL

no, what school?

KALEB

It was going into the 3rd week living with the Shipibo

when I had fasted my way into clarity.

Been cleaned out, the window could be seen through.

They say the first week of ceremonies is just devoted to being cleaned out, purged – then the
visions start.

But I "climbed her song to school"

PAUL

a finn’s?

KALEB

1732
That was the main phrase that I recall, as I ascended.

No, the Shipibo shaman woman...the old grandmother who sang me icaros during the ceremony

That song was what guided the ascent. I "climbed it" upwards, an unambigious feeling of
ascent, until I came to a higher place.

A window was perceived, in the shape of an eye, and on the other side was a canopied forest
region, and two entities

Radiant. Their eyes were phenomenal. Pale blonde, the eyes were larger...in them you could
see the whole spectrum of visible light.

They said "We are the Finns. We’re here to teach you..."

they repeated it many times...so that I would know they were the Finns, they were my ances-
tors.

THey continued "We’re here to teach you to SEE and HEAR more."

PAUL

and what did you find from the finns?

maybe it was a message to dig deeper into your UP roots

and not necessarily finland

1733
KALEB

They explained how they existed there, in the higher frequencies

Where sound and thought existed as light.

PAUL

but does it though?

KALEB

It made perfect sense when they described it there.

LIke "of course!" hehe.

PAUL

in finland?

KALEB

1734
But this is the nature of state-dependent learning...

PAUL

but what part of finland?

KALEB

It is a higher range of frequency, Paul... not physical.

PAUL

what frequency then?

KALEB

Beyond the narrow visible range of the electromagnetic, consciousness can exist. Of course...

how narcisistic and egotistical for us ever to say otherwise!

Sorry, a tangent...

anyway...a school was arranged there.

1735
I saw teachers and students... and then the unambiguous feeling of descent.

I came down and thought "Huh. Ok, that was something."

a few hours later, I was on the sidewalk of Iquitos. Morning.

PAUL

ha, when i met this finnish woman and we were discussing the finnish sense of humor and she
said that they have a saying..."the burden of speech is on the listener" and i thought that was
so great

KALEB

I was eating breakfast and I heard two people speaking...in Finnish

PAUL

are there finns in iquitos?

ok then

KALEB

I was just blown away...and interrupted the two blondes I realized were sitting at the table right
next to mine.
1736
"Are you Finnish?"

"Yah! How did you know??"

...I spoke with them about the strange circumstances of their being right there, and started to
talk about being Finnish myself...

my grandmas’ grandma being a shaman in finland, and how I always wanted to know more
about what she did, and the techniques she actually employed in healing others.

PAUL

sami?

KALEB

They said "Oh...yea, you should speak with Janna. She is our friend, professor of Shamanism
at University of Helsinki...

...here is her name, phone number, and email address. Talk to her."

So the Finns in the vision said they would teach me...and it wasnt until a few hours later

...I got directions to the school."

1737
PAUL

a coincidence?

or not?

ha

KALEB

At this point, I’ve had too many unambiguously orchestrated life situations open up at key
moments in my life to truly be able to believe in randomness or chance.

Those are not adequate explanatory concepts at this point.

They’re cop outs... the label "random" is a cop out

PAUL

like seeing jason marcotte and watching catfish on the day i was scheduled to leave nyc

or not

but, maybe ishpeming is my destiny

1738
KALEB

for explaning systems of overarching complexity existing beyond the capacity of our perception

Sorry so wordy, but does that make sense?

PAUL

sure, but i always thing that people seek or struggle to make their own meaning or even seek
out experiences that will help them make meaning out of random events. so, that could be a
constant, and these coincidences could truly be fortuitous or you’re picking out discrete events
that you want to be meaningful

KALEB

So, the vision was a hallucination and the Finns I met hours after it, sitting next to me, were
integrated into my self-created delusion?

PAUL

perhaps

weren’t there other messages from that vision?

there were probably a ton

1739
KALEB

Over the 2 months I spent in the Amazon, there were many visions and powerful spiritual
experiences.

But I wont begin to defend them. They are of great personal meaning to me.

anyway, storytelling is a waste.

Romanticizing the past...getting obsessed about it

Its like walking backwards

Not looking forward.

PAUL

but regardless, i think they were valid

whatever the context

me too

KALEB

What is the forward vision, rising like the cusp of a sunrise over a subtle horizon.
1740
haha. Ut oh. Getting poetic. haha

PAUL

so what was the main message of that

KALEB

I smoked again. ;P

PAUL

the vision and then seeing the finnish people?

KALEB

A route was being arranged in circumstance for me to access my genetic potential.

...perhaps be a healer, like my grandmother was.

1741
PAUL

ah so even on a physical level

everything was lined up

KALEB

I have learned that life circumstances can be orchestrated by conscious but non-physical influ-
ences.

I dont want to get into storytelling to justify that statement

but, suffice it to say, the ocean is filled with life. Some very great, and some very deep.

and from the shore, we see nothing but a surface.

PAUL

i need to delve deeper

again

KALEB

1742
Does that metaphor make sense?

PAUL

sure

Thoughts on Attention (2014-01-12 18:54) - friends

Clear and concise messages.

The ability to formulate them, and to string long assocations together as threads constructed
in delicate attention span; packaged for outlet in how many words.

Closed no more. Opening within a set of limits, those constraints of language and the
body, the faculties of cognition,

What is the forward vision, rising like the cusp of a sunrise over a subtle horizon.

-Email stan grof, about arranging a conversation via IM.

-Organize sidebar of website with major content points, and then have a youtube video
describing each one, with worthwhile explanatory aids in the media.
1)"The True Meaning of Christmas
2) "Pineal: The Sensory Neurotransmitter DMT
3) Higher Order Evolutionary Systems; Levels of Selection as They Apply To Our Species
4) Latent Inhibition As An Attention-Mediating System in Semantic Priming
5) Personal Experiences

I should be more open about my spiritual experiences, as they are the basis of so much
of my understanding of the world and constitute areas of knowledge where belief need
no longer be applied as an explanatory contingency. Personal experience renders belief
unecessary, and the strength of that evidence radiates outward in the degrees of personal
separation from the occurance’s experiencer. The honesty of an individual standing before
you is much more reliable than some ancient myth or religious storytelling but, of course, still
constitutes a level of belief and trust. Physical evidence is of prime importance when giving an
account of a personal experience. But even in the face of physical evidence or robust research
from legitimate scientific study, the listener, reader, or viewer is still making a decision on
whether or not to believe; even if that requires they flatly ignore unambiguous facts in order
to facilitate that decsion. Some topics or areas of study are simply deemed "unscientific,"
so that any research can be disregarded easily and without consideration. The interpersonal
influence of attention, for example.

The Lost Purpose of Education - Yuelu Academy (2014-01-19 23:56) - public

Feeling the history of Changsha’s Yuelu Academy, specifically the pictures and ideas of its
millenia-old lecturers, I was swept up into thoughts of learning, education, and purpose. What
1743
is the purpose of working hard to harness and master the subtle tools of mind if not to create a
great work of expression with those tools?A fine sculpture of ideas and culture that will move
others to think or feel something deeply. The appreciation of such works is an act of empathy,
as the artist, himself, must genuinely feel before he can wrestle that subject up into form. But
what a master learns, too, is the proper maintenance of his tools – keeping his chisel sharp and
taking care to preserve it from the elements he knows will rust or degrade it. The level of his
ability is kept masterful only with daily disciplined practice, exercise, and continued learning.

The faces of those renowned teachers, posing stoic and refined, were arranged chrono-
logically and spanned over 1,000 years. This reminded me of the short insignificance of me
and my century, which stirred my biological drive to father a child of the highest possible
character, while I still can. The ease of finding a mate here in china should not distract me
from clearly discerning my goals and the qualities I most wish my child to possess. I can love
easily – the challenge is to not love; to love selectively. Despite kindness and affection, to
exercise rejection, hurting those who wish to share their lives with me My health and vitality
are changing – those tool sand gifts I was given have been neglected, becoming dull and
rusted over years. I have assured myself that this degradation is reversible, but this assurance
may not have been based on honest self-awareness.

Yuelu Academy, Yuelu Mountain

Changsha, Hunan Province, PRC

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yuelu _Academy

Limp (2014-01-20 00:04) - public

Walk hard, fucker.

I watched you break
under your own heavy manners,
And I felt contentment
for it was well worth the wait.
I only wish you had broken earlier,
before hurting so many
of the people I loved.

And, reflecting through the eyes

of enemies so kind,
I realize my contentment
is the same they felt,
watching me break under the weight
of my own self-criticism.
Relieved that a contender had fallen,
pitifully surrendering
to the infirmity of age.

A little girl with thick glasses waits impatiently,

squatting suddenly to the floor with a huff
she rolls her eyes with all her might.

1744
Two black-denimed young lovers
enjoy their young love,
there in the lobby,
self-conscious for all to see.
And I close my eyes...

(2014-01-21 23:35) - public

"Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. The
sadness passes: the new presence inside us, the presence that has been added, has entered
our heart, has gone into its innermost chamber and is no longer even there, - is already in
our bloodstream. And we don’t know what it was. We could easily be made to believe that
nothing happened, and yet we have changed, as a house that a guest has entered changes.
We can’t say who has come, perhaps we will never know, but many signs indicate that the
future enters us in this way in order to be transformed in us, long before it happens. And
that is why it is so important to be solitary and attentive when one is sad: because the seem-
ingly uneventful and motionless moment when our future steps into us is so much closer to
life than that other loud and accidental point of time when it happens to us as if from outside. "

-Rilke

I love Rilke more and more. I sometimes feel like he’s talking about something akin to medi-
umship – something entering your body, and expressing itself through you. The idea that
solitude makes one more sensitive to this subtle influence makes sense to me.

To What Do I Owe The Pleasure? (Train to Changsha, 1-15-14)

(2014-01-23 00:17) - public

To what do I owe the pleasure? How much do I owe? How long must I pay and pay, never being
allowed to forget; or receive a moment’s respite from this debt I never intended? To what do
I owe, in these never ending cycles of social obligation, internalized; looming ominous over
my every attempt to escape, like a debt collector so well-acquainted with my most intimate
regrets and misfortunes. Does that malignant score exist within me? Do I carry it in my tired
posture like an unseen but relentless weight? Does it disappear when I close my eyes just
right, or when I finally surrender to death? Or will that hated burden, for which I owen this
fleeting polite pleasure, be passed on for my loved ones to bear, and resent me for? Their last
memory of me, my parting gift: a life of bitter restraint and servitude to debt. The pleasure
of your company was not worth this debt, but left me scarred and misguided, cheated and
unsure of the path I once knew was right and true. And, yes, I loved you. Deeply. How could I
not? But was it not also indulgent, that impulse of desire, the greed with which we possessed
each other so fully, only to hunger for more in that base cycle.

Cynicism aside, why haven’t I started to build my life? is there nothing or no one I can
blame? I have certainly imagined the life plenty enough, at least certain aspects of it, but all
that reliance on tomorrow seems to weight heavy on today, till it can’t seem to move it all
(in spite of my moving again, and again!) Have I given up? On networking, on transpersonal
1745
psychology, on the book? Just uttering the words makes my eyes heavy now, so negative
some of the associations now etched in and around those once promising potential futures...

13.2 February

Thoughts on Ego (2014-02-08 13:02) - public

Ego is born the moment an infant looks up and sees its mother and realizes he, too, is being
seen by her. In that moment, he becomes self-conscious for the first time and, realizing that
he and she are two distinct identities, the social self is born. Ego.

Ego is a rabbit hole that goes much deeper than just being "cocky" or having self-esteem.
The elimination of ego, and its desires, is the root of Buddhism, and Hinduism before it. It
has layers within layers – the social self being a sort of "image" of yourself, which you portray
to society. "The act." But, even if we eliminate this false image of ourself, the actor, we find
ourself trapped by ego once again, as even the image of having no image is, itself, an image
– acting like there is no act is just a more refined form of acting.

Yet, at its heart, ego is a measure of social health. If you imagine a truly egoless person, what
is he like?

For one, he would have nothing to prove to anyone outside himself. That is, he would make
no impression whatsoever, as he would be without personality.

Additionally, a man without ego is without differentiated categories and, therefore, has no
opinions.

Does this make sense?

Thoughts on Science VS Religion (2014-02-10 01:33) - public

Science is a belief system, like any other. It has dogma and it has "preachers." Einstein is
considered very much like one would consider a saint centuries ago – with a sort of hushed
reverence for his life and work.

Hinduism, Science, Christianity, Materialism: these are all merely cultural fads, drifting
in and out of fashion from one millenia to the other. The old age or early death of a given
cultural trend is decided, much like evolution, by that idea’s adaptability to its environment.

You’ll notice, over the past few centuries for instance, Christianity has become inflexible
1746
to change. Brittle and refusing to adapt to a changing world, Christianity, while not officially
declared "dead," has lost the great majority of its influence over world culture. It’s fallen out
of fashion.

Yet, a religion like Hinduism – one of the oldest and most rich layered belief systems be-
longing to one of the great ancient civilizations of our species – still continues to thrive, and
has even expanded and adapted into new countries and cultures within our own century.
This is because, unlike Christianity, whose book has been written, closed and is unchangable,
Hinduism’s great text, after some 5 millennia, remains open, editable, and, therefore, adaptive.
A new chapter can be written and added to the Vedas tomorrow, and in that way, inspire
people in the time and cultural environment where it was written; written by and resonating
with living people in the moment! Christianity can’t offer that.

Is science as adaptive? It could be argued that scientific writing is "closed," in that only
the academics, in their ivory tower, can access and make additions to that "holy text," the
peer-reviewed journal. The jargon and pompous pretensions certainly don’t resonate with the
common man, yet that is the belief system, in a way – the fact that we TRUST that science
(whatever lab equipment or jargon it consists of) is good and has our best interests in mind –
sort of like a loving fatherly God.

Her Expression (2014-02-15 01:59) - public

What one says to the wind is honest,

in the same way conversations with the night ocean
are the most deep and reflective.
In that calm greatness we can lower our falsehood
knowing She knows us better than that,
knowing She sees through to our childhood
the child everyone else has forgotten.

We have no one to impress when home – finally home.

And so, if I could only be such a companion,
with eyes to see further than these,
and mind to remember you beyond even your self.
Only then would I deserve your genuineness
and your surrender.

If my love could be like the ocean,

like the wind and all it carries,
I could let you be.

13.3 March

The Storm: Inner and Outer (2014-03-18 14:35) - public

I awake with a flood of emotions and painful memories, and for long minutes they stir around
in a hot stew, activating me. There is no sleeping now, its four something. Wow, actually four
1747
twenty exactly.

There is a quiet storm outside, the remnants of the thunderstorm earlier today. Yet, lying in
bed, eyes closed, with eyeshades on, I see a bright white flash in my minds eye…seconds
later, the distant boom. Yet my bedroom’s curtains are drawn tight, the room is without
natural light. How can this be? In similar experiments, I’ve laid in a totally darkened room,
without windows, and similarly saw the bright blue-white flash clearly, moments before the
thunder….again, with eyes closed and eyeshades on.

It is said the blind can similarly "see" an atomic blast, the light of the reaction so strong
as to transcend beyond the limits of the visible spectrum, into ranges of the individual’s vision
not effected by their condition. While we could call it the "mind’s eye," that term typically
denotes imagination, or the ability to clearly visualize. This, however, is an instance of actual
perception; of perceiving an actual external event by sensory systems not yet fully understood.
My handful of such experiences opened my understanding of consciousness as not being
limited by the physical body or its senses, nor vision, in its fullest sense, being bound to the
visible spectrum of light. These experiences, the most powerful of which being the encounter
with the woman in white, have perhaps primed my sensate capacity in some way, allowing
these subtle glimpses, like the lightening, into the higher ranges of nature within which these
phenomena additionally exist.

Or, perhaps, everyone sees lightening in this way, and just doesn’t talk about it…??

Lying awake, I thought of my time at Stanford, and how I squandered the opportunity
there. I thought of my PhD track at ITP and how I squandered that opportunity there. I
thought of Javier de Silva and the Amazon and how I squandered that rare opportunity there;
the opportunity afforded me by synchronicity, with its higher intention, which I ignored and
discarded. Rebuffed the highest and most benevolent of guidance, my one chance at healing.
In that long string of unambiguous synchronicities, it was clearly intended that I learn to heal
myself and, in that personal struggle, learn to heal others. I should not say this was my one
and only chance, as perhaps many were given, but no other arrangement of coincidence was
so blatantly obvious and direct as the invitation to the shamans conference.

The Illness

The inflammation is progressive and unrelenting – my body attacking itself. To this end,
my body will never give up, until the day it finally gives up. But the inflammation of my
physical body is systemic; I can sense the fire in my personality, in my mood, in my mental
state which degrades alongside my physical condition. The two, body and mind, are so
intimately tied to one another. Of course they are – this cliche is the a sort of New Age
slogan, chanted from quartz crystal-hanging bookstores to Whole Foods counters alike. Yet,
this more subtle aspect of the illness, the changes in my personality, my vitality and levels
of energy, my overall level of functioning in society, are never mentioned in autoimmune
diagnostics literature, as if their etiology is so indirect as to be ignored. All the systems of the
body and mind, muscular, skeletal, digestive, immune, dermatological, memory, cognitive,
semantic, emotional….they are each dynamic and subject to the overall state of being and
health in a very fluid way. A nudge of one system can bring three others into misalignment,
as overall homeostatic harmony is lost, dissonant rhythms can develop further out of sync,
sometimes gradually over months or years, becoming irreversible conditions in the physical
for or cognitive complex. I can feel these changes, especially after months of inflammation
1748
and hardcore prednisone therapy, ravaging my guts with scars, pus, blood, and mucus. Red,
fire, pain, it puts the whole body into a state of trauma, an indistinct feeling of stress that
surfaces onto the skin and up into my social interactions. Red, fire, pain.

And, after such damage has occurred, I convince myself I’ll just "bounce back" like be-
fore. Just give it a few days, I’ll sleep it off and be back to normal soon. But, I learn, there is
no "back to before" in nature. Nature carries a memory, like a deposit of red rust in a riverbed,
it can be worn down, but it will always be carried from that point forward, staining all the silt
downstream like a bleeding wound in the Earth, a scar. I carry that inflammation and it sinks
into my every system, staining or misaligning, aging me well before my time .

The Descended Voice (2014-03-25 16:56) - public

The wordless space at the lonely night heart of a wolf, howling out to be felt. The distance
between us is nothing, a curtain through which this deeper voice may pass. The outline of
our warm shape red transparency , the glimpse that carries all I’ve ever touched in you, and
you in me, as we descended down on the breath of that caress. Can I talk to you there? Of
course, any time, but lies are not possible that far beneath, where everything I’ve ever used
to hide or conceal myself floats far above, on the surface. If I could recall fully the feeling of
our most genuine moment together, like searching through all the stations until I find your
song, then, in a moment of recognition, all of the joys and bittersweet emotion of that voice
and its melody fill my ribcage and I am yours again, and I feel that moment with you, and,
like a silvery strand taught across the surface of a web, I feel the tug of my heart strings at
the moment you recall our shared experience. And so, when I descend to that cavernous
aquifer beneath, and oversee my whole web of connections there, I learn new things, and
develop techniques, each time. When I reach out and connect with someone there, and they
unambiguously perceive that intention and immediately respond, what was it that I did in
that instance which was most effective? What, in the less effective attempt, was missing and
was it the same or a different element as that of the successful attempt. How many of these
elements, which determine the success or failure of the communication of this subconscious
facet of emotion, can be controlled, and, if so, which more easily than others?

I could write about my understanding of that deeper place where we and our loved ones
are always connected, the things I have done and felt in my journeys down there, but these
descriptions are so easily disregarded as anecdotes by my more scientifically-minded peers.
While its interesting and seemingly meaningful when, coincidentally, my thought, emotion,
or intention of that other person "co-inside" with an appropriate response in that person’s
behavior, they cannot accept that my emotional state was somehow transmitted to that other
person, from a physical distance, influencing their subjective state in that moment.

"Old Wives and sketchy old hippies will prattle on about the twins who knew when one-
another were in danger, or the dogs that somehow knew when their owner was about to get
home, but this is not science and isn’t something we can consider seriously. It is outside the
purview of scientific investigation. Go ahead, try to repeat it. Do it, now. I’m waiting..."

As real and as meaningful as it is, i cannot repeat my out-of body experience on com-
mand. It’s something rare, something I don’t know how to reliably induce. Some human
experiences are rarer yet – powerful exceptions to the normal range of experience which
occur maybe once in a thousand lifetimes – yet, does the rarity of these most phenomenal
1749
and influential of human capacities truly exclude it from dedicated and careful study? From
measurement? From our range own influence, control, and eventual mastery?

Health

Fasting is good for the brain, like a hungry purge of the amyloid-beta crust of years.
One of so many ways of purging the different systems of our body, although not one of the
easier ones. The concept of the calibration, balance, and homeostasis of systemic processes
is awe-inspiring to me, especially the more subtle unseen systems, those composed of
relationships we are scarcely , if at all, aware of. We catch a faint glimpse in phenomena like
entrainment, or the occasional vague hint of something conscious stirring beneath the surface
of what we call intuition. Making these systems regular and periodic, whether their frequency
is hourly, daily, or occurring every 3rd solstice,

Ascended Man (2014-03-25 17:04) - public

Purity and self-control are the long term investments of the ascended man into his own
evolution. We know purity, instinctually, as it is nearly defined as the denial of instinct; the
denial of our hunter-gatherer self – to fight or flee, kill and eat the meat he has killed, fuck
everything in sight. While once upon a time, these individualistic urges and the ego they serve
to strengthen, had definite evolutionary purpose, our survival is no longer defined by fighting,
fleeing, or natural selection in the individualistic sense. So the ascended man, in the midst of
his difficult transition into a harmonic cooperative relationship with his brethren, must often
consciously choose to deny his natural selfish impulses as they occur, seeking to be expressed.
The antisocial urge to compete can be thought of as an outdated remnant of our evolutionary
past, like the reptile brain, which is not eliminated so much as suppressed and developed over.

The food chain, by this logic, is similarly a ladder which has a beginning and end and,
too, must eventually be abandoned if we wish to progress beyond he topmost rung. Killing
and eating bears and lions, while fully within the scope of our power, serves neither us nor
our environment, which is now self-created and does not contain these animals (at least
not in a wild contet.) The man made environment is not to be thought of as something
OPPOSED to nature, but rather the natural outgrowth of our own nature, like the climbing
foliage of our ever-developing mind and its influence. Civilization and the increased perceptual
capacities afforded by science, then, can be thought of merely as the blossoming expansion
of consciousness beyond the narrow limitations of our physical body; ever onward and upward
to include magnetic resonance imaging or radio wave satellite photography, meteorological
video streams and predictive algorithms with which to see and understand the ranges of
nature which were simply not visible to our hunter gatherer individualist selves. These are the
bountiful gifts of cooperation and social development, the harvests of civilized man and his
culture, as it reaches further and further into natu out, using technology to expand this sphere
of influence and knowledge of nature.

Personality and Gene Expression

My mothers genetics are an unstable gift and I feel them beginning to give way into her
later personality, with its raging telomere burnout and antisocial driven daily cycles. By the
end of the hard day, she would say "I hate the world and everyone in it." This was her grueling
lower-middle class mantra, as she made fried chicken for 8 hours on the local IGA deli floor,
1750
or wiped the asses of the senile elderly loners of the town, who had been abandoned by their
family or were never able to make one. So spectacular was her burning rage, her hatred for my
every feature, from the tone of my voice to the way I walked, that all of these imperfections
came to be painfully burned away in the heat of her critical gaze. Until, eventually, the
bodily self she beat and berated was simply abandoned, transcended. As if to just jump ship,
because this one’s taking on such heavy damage.

Her semantic network was fried, causing her to blurt out "momisms," where some loosely
associated word would find its way in the place of the intended word in her sentences. I
just woke up with a similar sentence "Would you like it over a bed of taxis?" resounding in
my head from dreams. Yet, my intended message was "Would you like it (the meat) over a
bed of vegetables?" this was short-circuited, somehow, in my semantic network and came
out as taxi, not broccoli. Albeit in dream, and easily disregard able for that fact, catching
these little momisms start to develop in myself is really disconcerting. It implies the semantic
network undergirding my cognition is beginning to change or weaken in some fundamental
way. Perhaps a normal part of aging, yet my father never had any such semantic weirdness
in his speech. He has his own set of idiosyncrasies , the trailing unfinished sentence which I,
similarly, notice more and more in my own conversations. God, we are our parents – the good
and the bad of them is in us, always waiting to express itself.

Snappers and Toes (2014-03-25 17:08) - public

Waiting for dark, hiding from the girl, Derek had been down to the reservoir with his family
all day and had caught three fair sized snapping turtles. He played with them proudly, two of
them larger around than a basketball, the largest having a shell circumference of a pot roast
pan . I was nervous watching him tap on the shell, he removed some secondary shell, like
a large snail shell, and played around waiting for the monster to stick its head out. His bare
toes , fresh from swimming, were my greatest concern, twiddling there near the where the
snappers tead was supposed to, and potentially could, be at any moment…but derek seemed
free of such concerns.

He left or I left into the next room. The girl would be there, i had to hide her from the
other and have a story ready, a cover.

I was left with a turtle, there on the kitchen floor. She had not poked her head out, but
I expected her to once she relaxed enough. Her shell had a smooth purple texture, again like
a snail, and I tapped and prodded on it, half admiringly. Then I thought perhaps a rocking
rhythm would gradually relax her into coming out. I tapped my foot on the wood beneath her
gently, so that her whole body sort of rocked to the music that was playing. This was either
freaking her out immensely or lulling her into a state of calm complacency, I’d surely learn
which, soon enough, when those jaws came gaping out from under that shell. I kept obsessing
with my feet, making sure they were far and away from the animal, but still my heart beat fast
as anticipation mounted. What was that little lady going to do to me?

I woke up with my heart beating quite fast, my adrenaline pumping there in bed. I then
realized I have a phobia of snapping turtles and easily rationalized it back to my fathers
exploits with the nasty fuckers when I was a boy, around six. years old.

Driving our Geo Metro down to the reservoir for a swim, mom and dad huddled in the
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front seat, and me in the back, the details of that balmy summer day’s dip are mostly
forgotten, spare the trauma that occurred on the way home. The three cylinder motor whined
away, pulling out and down the hill from our family’s favorite swimming spot (different ,
always, from Derek’s families spot, further down the bluff)The image of my fathers bald head
leaving a brown greasy patch on the ceiling of the compact japanese car, while never formally
acknowledged, will never leave my mental photograph album.

Halfway down the hill, my father slows down and begins to pull into the opposite lane
of the road. He is in awe. Nearly halfway across the center line is the largest snapping turtle
he has ever seen, that any of us have ever seen, in our lives. The shell is slightly larger at its
longest part than an aluminum trash can lid. Big. Heavy angry dinosaur of a fucker making
his way across that hot blacktop. Slow, claws, beak, I’d never seen a snapping turtle before
that day.

Parking along the railing, where there is really no room to park, my dad puts on his
chazard light nd jumps out, obviously into something hazardous of a situation, a confrontation.
I Looked through the hatchback window at him, as he begins to grapple with this massive
reptile. I hear it hiss and see its jaws clamp as it attacks him. yea, my dad is kind of a mythic
hero battling some subterranean horror, recently surfaced from its slumber, at this point. I
have no idea what this thing is, but it is making some nasty attacks. My dad faces it head on,
his long arms curving slightly above the shell, avoiding the long neck of the thing as it tries to
bite him. It has so many sharp spikes I can’t see the details well, but I want to get out. I’m not
allowed to get out, but I want to.

Finally , while distracting the turtle from the front, my dad simultaneously reaches around to
grab it by its short little spike of a tail, and lifts it up in front of himself, extending his arms and
visibly straining with the weight of the massive thing.

The seats of this little Japanese car are very thin little functional arrangements. A few inches
of chincy foam was all that seemingly separated my spine from those gaping jaws….and I
could feel those jaws snapping and biting and tearing away at that foam through the seat.
How could I sit calmly, dad, its chewing through the fucking seat. I heard the claws scrape,
as it thrashed with rage, trying to escape, trying to tear through the seat and me, to rip out
chucks of its captors flesh, claw at their face, bite their nose, snap my little spine in its beak.

I now have an irrational fear of snapping turtles…but any fear of such a creature, ancient and
horrifying as it is, is, at its core, a rational decision, right?

Spectrum of Inspiration (2014-03-25 17:11) - public

Connection with spirit, and the development of a working relationship with a muse, is a
classic and universally recognized cultural catalyst. All great artists, regardless of their craft,
describe the feeling of the work not being from themselves, but of it simply coming through
them, during moments of almost transcendent inspiration. It is something new and Western
to disregard that distinct subjective experience described by the rare masters, like Mozart or
Michelangelo, as the poetic waxing of a dreamy artist, as in something not credible. Yet, this
Western mistrust of the described experience of some of mankind’s greatest minds, when
extended back through culture and history, is actually a novel perspective, remote from the
dominant social consensus of those other cultures and times.
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Most other cultures describe moments of deep inspiration, typically along a spectrum of
spiritual influence over their behavior. On one extreme could be thought simple and almost
universal experiences, of feeling "in high spirits;" in-spired: the feeling of a deep breath
in, calm, relaxed, meditative, often with an enhanced appreciation for nature, art, or other
aspects of your environment. This mildest and most universal form of inspiration is, like any of
the higher forms, an experienced of heightened sensitivity, as appreciating something is de-
pendent on feeling something more deeply, with attention to those finer aspects often ignored.

A higher range in this spectrum of inspiration could be thought to have been experienced by
the masters, those Mozarts and William Blakes, who have skill and technique which they’ve
developed, yes, but whose "mastery" is one of submission – that is, those who learned to
surrender fully to the work, and to lose themselves in it. That is when art is said to be "tran-
scendent," as it become a selfless act, created in that moment which could best be described
as egoless. While, of course, not all great artists necessarily entered these transcendent
states of selflessness consciously, they certainly all learn to distinguish between inspired and
uninspired moments in their creative life, and, by necessity, learned to balance those inspired
moments with demands and tedium of their working day. The creative spark, whether it
comes easily or with great coaxing, dies quickly if not fueled and worked, developed and
breathed life into. This is the practice, the routine of building an isolated moment of inspired
thought, that ignition, into something greater – a brighter, hotter, and self-sustaining bonfire
of expression.

In this range of inspiration could be thought to exist spiritual practice as well, whose moments
of transcendent selflessness develop from isolate spark to longer sustained stretches of
streaming, blissful consciousness, coursing through them like a waterfall of light from a
higher place. The visionaries exist here, philosophers and saints who were able to not only
induce that selfless and transcendent state of consciousness, but also to calm it, capture
it, and express it, in all its expansive subtlety and higher implications. Recent centuries
have had rare gifted thinkers who were able to capture and express that transpersonal
inspiration using mathematics or science; physicists like, of course, Einstein, Max Plank,
or inventors like Nikola Tesla come to mind as these almost supernaturally-gifted visionar-
ies. Yet, given their culture, their gifts were not revered as those presented from a muse
or spirit, that does not make the influence of their expression any less profound or meaningful.

From beyond this mid-range level of influence on this spectrum of inspiration, we could
begin to consider direct influence, where behaviors suggest not simply subtle guidance
from a muse figure, but actual direct and unambiguous control of the physical body. In
ecstatic states, shamanic or transpersonal experiences, or the more rare high order states of
consciousness, it is not uncommon for the inspired individual to become so deeply selfless as
to surrender all conscious control of their body over to the muse figure. Most cultures describe
this mediumship experience, some positively and some negatively. In China, for instance, a
skilled Taoist priest would invite the muse figure or daemon into the body, so that it could
share its insights and perspectives, many of which were of future events; crops, healing, lost
objects, etc..

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Community Teams He Means Intimite= (2014-03-25 17:19) - friends

Rave it in for whose sex again? The meat nasal car hangs up by its builder. Brush through the
rocks in the trees and I’m home in the country again, opening. Two of dem dates, two of dem
dates, took em to prom later and it made em feel bad…short angry man emerging from a hole
angrily, but at no one in particular…his frustration was over these small typewriters. And now
I want grandma to free me a summer air.

bowser cries tensing his wrists as the small princess cannot fit in the queens seat……Grandma’s
ancient queen chair at the table. SHe barely could get her legs past the seat, itself.

Joseph and the Crypt

I need to find it, extending my reddish head out into his face and twirling his thin hair
playfully Space ships

Bwamp bwammmambience mixed "I lack spider man mumbles " Ill be black to debaucher, his
mouth filled with blackberry jam. WHere’s your ex wife happy to be? Ninety bucks to know
something, anything? A full service hotel…service…we’ll get right on the dial! I don’t believe
it. I dialyze it. Lay with Lakes little lady to enjoy the room, or dance to the roger knife and
bettersetchcwass eye. I didly burned. Every sentence in presents, preparing the meat capes,
over the top, fellahs, don’t you think? Don’t YOU think?? This place is ours. You’re never here,
add a new finality, ad and ew, another name calling you.

The Beatles find confusion in a stray field, asking the meaning of them all being there,
tension reaching a point of violence. Well we’re going to dance, work. Where, where are
we going to dance..work? The two secretaries each have pillows with them taking notes
from my bedside, from my side, in bed, and his, the swapper, GOT TO GET YOU OUT THE
WORLD THOSE MAIDS…. THOSE MAIDS DID ALL THIS TO YOU. DREW YOU IN, BUT LED YOU IN
AFTER THAT…INTO YOUR OWN HOME. HAD TO BEACH TO OBLIVION BACKFOOT COMING, ALL
MAILBOXES TO BE REPLACED BY GOVERNMENT MODELS, SOFT PLUSH AROUND THEIR EDES,
BUT I WILL ADMIT I TOOK ONE OR TWO DOWN IN MY DAY, WITH A BAT IN DONNY’S BROTHERS
CAR, BUT one two punch you LETS SEE WHATWILL FALL LOSE..RIGHT ABOUT NOW

STRUCTURES OUT OF AFRICA

Self-Sacrifice and Resentment (2014-03-25 17:23) - public

Self restraint is a private means to a supra personal end.

Ascent to higher self can’t be maintained naturally without ascent to higher health, those
boring raw and tasteless foods, lacking oils, fats, and meats, with intermittent fasting.

Personal health and well being cannot compete with my natural and self sacrificial need
to please others. Whatever intentions I had for myself are weak in comparison to the wants,
will, or whim of a loved one. This sort of servitude is the cause of great personal pain, weeks
of suffering, painstaking preparations and sometimes months or even years of recovery. Yet,
above all other spineless futility, and the lack of respect servitude garners, is the fact that I
slowly come to resent the person for my straining and pain, as it is painful and cannot possibly
be maintained. passive aggression begins to sharpen the edges of my endless gifts. Barbed
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comments come after I accept to the invitation to hurt myself.

A good example of this is sleep . When sharing a bed with a significant other, I typically
devote myself to their comfort, spooning her and making her feel . Yet I myself cannot sleep
while being touched, for the most part, and so I wait, long periods of discomfort and pins
and needle arms, for her to finally drift off, waiting for the tell tale signs of unconscious\ness:
a twitching arm, heavy breathing, a little snore, before finally beginning to slowly extricate
myself from the situation, so I may curl up into my c\solitary corner and findlly rest. This
whole procedure may take up to two hours, although with heavy sleepers, I can accomplish it
in under an hour.

Kickers are the worst. Or, often, after slowly and painstakingly ;art way the y awaken,
and turn over to wrap me up tight and begin the whole slow process again. I I tho\\\\sh\ It is
a difficult space to share, as I am so sensitive to even the slightest move ments or sounds. I
typically am awoken by a single cough…by a neighbor in the next house. Or a car horn on
the street three blocks away. . Therefore, as I prepare to spoon the girl, I casually p\gather
my gear: a \n eye mask and ear plugs, palming them as I wrap her up in that affectionate
spoon. These I can quietly don after the meticulous slow motion extrication procedure. If the
drugs take effect at which point, I’ll be awake to start the whole procedure again, pills and a lll.

l\Leaners are bad, the girls who , from a position on their side, lean back into me, plac-
ing the majority of their weight on me. Flailers, flapping their arms in the air as the

Write a description of my dismissal from ITP: fast, seminar, cat picture

Write a description of my traveling to Peru: lyla, finns, curse
Write and gather isochronic entrainment essays for website
on schedule, I can be asleep within three hours after laying down. As long as she doesn’t
touch me.

IQ difference between races (2014-03-25 19:45) - friends

ADDRESSING “APPRECIATING DIFFERENCES” CLASS

ITP – Winter Semester 2008

If you cannot yet tell, this presentation was a challenge…

A sort of test, a put on. While the article, itself, is real, my opinions of it are fake. Can
you see through me? Can you see through yourself, your own reaction, or are your emotions
too overwhelming in this moment? Where are those emotions coming from? What are their
roots? That’s the transpersonal, there, behind that cloud of opinion and emotion. Sometimes
a shock to the social system is all that is needed to make that distinction clear within yourself.

The transpersonal community is insular – sometimes shamefully so. Do you think the
rest of the academic world cares about “creating containers?” Do you think they make
common use of the word “chakra” at Harvard? No, I’m sorry, those are laughable and quickly
disregardable topics for the majority of the Western world. So this is what I had hoped to bring
today: a perspective of US from a location outside US, from outside our small, safe, and polite
little circle. Not to get too far along on the insular tangent, but the post-doctoral real world
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is approaching fast and clutching to a subculture not yet accepted by the majority will most
likely send you sinking like an unemployed stone in that “real world” academic field.

So, if we are to take this field of study, “Appreciating Differences,” seriously, we must
engage with the literature outside our little transpersonal circle. This academic literature is
often unpleasant, and sometimes challenges our insular norms, not to mention the social
norms of our popular culture. What proofs or evidence do we truly have at our disposal to
defend our position on race, once we begin to take that position seriously (and have it seriously
challenged!) This is what I hoped to awaken in you with this single peer-reviewed article – the
clear definition of your position and the realization that what is commonly-accepted in our
circle is not to be assumed to be commonly-accepted in every other circle.

So, what are your thoughts?

13.4 April

Listen To The Warmth (2014-04-09 12:30) - public

I’m in the warm, and I remember the Summer night out camp, when mom pulled me out into
the dark drunk, me groggy in my pajamas, and dad was somewhere there in the dark, and
she told me "Listen to the warmth. Listen. To the warmth." And dad stayed silent, and mom,
for a moment, was silent too. And through my young annoyance, I could sense something
meaningful there, the three of us. It was a beautiful night, warm but not totally quiet, the big
lake moved softly in its sleep, . "Listen to the warmth." she said it again, like she always did
when she was drunk and I thought sharply to myself that she could not listen if she didn’t stop
talking. But dads presence was there and it calmed me and kept me safe from her, as if it was
partly his warmth I was hearing in that moment, and this was all, actually, his lesson for me.

Yolanda In Her Shell (2014-04-09 20:38) - public

"Get Down, Make Love" by Queen sang at twangy Hillbilly Hoedown tempo.

Get very formal-looking medical labels for 1 and 2 liter water bottles, labeling them "Health,"
"Energy," "Love," and "Healing." Tell children to drink from certain bottles when they are
feeling tired or sick. (See Placebo Effect, see Dr. Emoto’s intention-based water labeling
experiments.)

"She’s So Selfish" by The Knack

She’s So…Shellfish

Images of giant pink white sea shells lined up, ten feet tall, at an amusement park are
angled against a strong black woman, Yolanda, shouting "Shellfish, shhhhellfishh…" playfully
into their clammy concaves, as if they capture the wind of her voice and, suddenly, threaten
to collapse over like massive dominos. Rules are made at the park, not to shout "Shellfish!"
into the shellfish …at least not at certain angles in relation to the sculptures’ aerodynamics.
These key locations in the park parking lot are denoted by red "Shhh! No shellfish shouting.
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Shhh!" signs and red squared areas of pavement., lined with yellow borders. and X-patterns
within those borders, also in yellow.

Yet, some part of us all knew, the real danger existed only in the mighty huff and puff
of strong black women, like Yolanda, who could so easily topple such man-made white
structures as to do so on accident, not knowing her own strength in this play place. Yet, in
truth, is it not a strength dependent on the park, itself, and those structures we have put
in place? In nature, sea shells and clams do not grow ten feet long and, if even if they do,
they definitely do not stand on tippy toes in long lines, like dominos, to greet us and tell us
where our handicapped may park. Physically disabled people would be the first to be crushed
if the black people were really to shout any windy identifiers at those key accursed angles,
keystones of balance which, lost by the first, and then the chain reaction of crushed and
broken shells and blood and guts to follow.

I imagine McDonald’s processing plant, full of conveyors, for the efficient transportation
and management of the elderly. The American Family, drive through drop offs for mom and
dad from the convenience of your lunch break; a quick polite goodbye and maybe a promise
to call soon. The rotating arm picks them up and shuffles them along, like a mechanical crab
ticking away, gouging out lines of decrepit meat. Grey and feeble. I imagine the lines of
suspenders and canes, the sound like a cartoon SPLATTT! and the layers of thousands become
congealed into a sort of bifocals cane and denture paste, with bits of grandma and grandpa
being submerged into a kind of filler, with additives spun in for color, the meat paste begins
to lose even those last fragments of recognition.

Rows and rows of holes… this is what they asked me to count…

The rows of a pinning medium, inside of a small jar designed for displaying fragmentary
artifacts of the first world war. Simple, but ornately designed in leather, tanned, and in a
script, like the rest of the vessel, so beautifully Victorian, florid and expressive. I was asked
by the old girl how many artifacts could be displayed…more than seventy? I told her, yes,
more than seventy but less than five hundred. A curt way of letting her know, politely, that
I had no intention of counting, simple to entertain her idle question. Although, a quick scan
showed each row had six holes, three on each side of the central area’s division, I did not care
to count how many rows there were. Laziness, maybe…the kind of laziness that would forever
keep me from enjoying a past time so laboriously detailed as pinning small fragments of war
memorabilia down for microscopic analysis under cut lenses.

Sure, I had war memorabilia and liked to dissect things, but people mostly. Over dinner
the topics flowed with eddies of full whirling stories and whorls of detail quickly eaten up in
the pace, rapid and engaging. They all wanted to have some aspect of their lineage traced
back to Vikings, to Erik the Red or some Nordic conquest. Yet, all I could think about was his
thin whisps of hair , so lonely and long-receded, and her gingivitis-ridden gums, so inflamed
and long-receded. All the different defeated parts of their body going into hiding, leaving the
bare white behind to shine, glaringly, like some unpleasant truth in the conversation. I note to
self mid-conversation with her that I I must look up if gingivitis is spread by kissing. That’s all
I need...

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The Crash of a Single Wave (2014-04-19 23:58) - public

The works, the energy, the focus.

Great writers write about death and regret, mostly.
This is the deepest work, so it seems, and resonates most with people, at their most base fear
level. Yet, is there not some thing more core, deeper yet within, that is beyond death and
beyond the concerns of this life and its limited past, a memory greater which allows us to view
such minutia as individual relationships and regrets as the minutia of a single turn, as the
details of one cycle amongst countless others, as the attention to the crash of a single wave
against the shore.

And, even with this theoretical Self, the greater self whose breadth has filled me only a
few precious times, letting me see so briefly across the inward horizon of which I am composed

My posturing is unhealthy, it changes the default expression of my face, making me

take on some vaguely regal air, most noticeable around my jowl area. I go to the back of
the classroom sometimes and meditate during breaks. There are changes in my semantic
network I notice, they surface in surprising seemingly thoughtless misspellings, like the
spelling of "break" as "brake" in the sentence above, as if I am writing from sound instead of
semantic meaning. My mother expressed this same change subtly as we were growing up, as
an occasional mishmash of different words, and later using completely unrelated or vaguely
associated words in place of one another, which would make everyone in the room laugh and
tease her the moment she blurted the sentence.

While these sorts of structural mistakes may be common in everyday conversation for
most people, maybe being considered nothing more than extreme Freudian slips, those
verging on the nonsensical, when their frequency is more and more common, or their being
expressed in more than one modality (writing, AND speech AND memory) then this can
be thought of as a deeper overall shift in cognition, systemic and effecting change in many
different areas at once. There are several behavioral components to shifts like these, observed
in patterns which may develop into mannerisms, perhaps the distant gaze of someone who is
under slept becoming a more permanent feature of the person "not present," engrossed in a
"flights of fancy."

Find possible Latin root of "fancy" in "fantasy" (and "phantasy.")

Not to pathologize daydreaming, but becoming lost in thought can be disruptive, even
dangerous, if not controlled, utilized only with willful intention. Zoning out while driving, for
instance, is not advisable. Attention span, the ability to focus intently on one idea for extended
periods, the semantic memory and ability to access certain lesser-used vocabulary, short term
(working) memory – all of these things suffer with marijuana use, but are these negatives
potentially permanent?

one way to find out would be to put up a sign, recruiting participants in a study of mari-
juana, with special attention to those who had never been to the dispensary before, and
had never smoked marijuana previously. This control would allow us to isolate pre-marijuana
cognition, and any gradual change, measured longitudinally in cognitive testing across
months/years. The distinction would be between marijuana-effected cognition and baseline
everyday cognition, with the question of whether everyday baseline cognition may begin,
gradually, to resemble the hyper priming state of the high, itself.
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Between-use variables would need to be controlled, like frequency of use between testing,
the strains of marijuana used (ideally one,) the amount smoked in a sitting, any psychological
variables present in one’s family history (like predisposition to schizophrenia, psychosis, etc.)

CIIS with voluntary position at the Neurophenomenology Lab.

Marijuana Use and Isochronic Brainwave Entrainment Efficacy

Grant writing and Beckley Foundation, NIMH?

I consider health-in-spite-of, the idea that a person can still be healthy, in spite of the
fact, whatever the fact, be it old age or chronic disease or genetic predisposition, what have
you. That some people must work very hard just to appear normal, and achieve what is, for
most people, simply normal functioning. Consider them limping around, born with a club foot,
only inwardly. Some psychological deformity that, presenting these limitations, also provides
some special insight or rare perspective on the world, perhaps the view from beneath which
only the underdog can provide.

Strange regrets, mostly forgotten, return through the cracks of dreams in the night, emerging
at 2:30 to make my heart race, activating my whole nervous system with some charged
inaction at the reexperienced memory. To this moment, what can I give but attention? Its like
some guilty pleasure, itching at a wound before it has fully healed. So I am kept awake by
possible lives, those select moments, key decisions, which, although you didn’t know it then,
developed to eventually define the direction of your life. If I had been braver, and said "Yes"
in that moment, there at the door of the car where I said "No thanks," I might be married with
children now, having never left my hometown and never gotten an education in California.
So deeply and extensively would that girl I met in that car would have altered my life path,
limiting it in some ways while furthering it in others. All of the developments in self which
would have followed that dramatically altered path at that particular developmental stage, of
the early 20s. Social circles and family life would have changed my personality and my career,
altering my daily life schedule in equally dramatic ways (nights at home studying vs nights at
out at the bar vs nights being a single parent with 2 daughters.)

What will be the use of faded memories, no matter how brilliant and incredible they
once seemed? Put off a life, described, unit it can no longer be clearly put into words. Until
the chains of association sever that branch of experience from activation and that potential
memory is dried up. Alzheimer’s disease follows this pattern of slow cognitive decline.

CDEx for Mac, convert all session files mixdowns to MP3,

- Find out if Ableton BPM syncs across long track files.
-live mixing and looping in Ableton

Children, again. Children in a rental, unemployed?

I think of the many scenarios my life could potentially take
Benefits and limitations, deadlines and possibilities.
Closing and opening windows of opportunity.

Lovely girls, interest and sex and futures.

How would daily life with this person develop?
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I can’t stand her already, its only been a few hours.
Can this be allowed to work, given my need for solitude?

The clothes and the man, deceit in a clean cut suit.

A toast to *pours drink on the ground*
I wonder about inflexibility of ego, the concreteness of convention,
and the Chinese unquestioningly clinging to the image of Mao,
a powerful tyrant, bent on supremacy and power.

"Anyway, I totally screamed and threw it on the ground. Haha."

Relaxation sets in, between the great work of a man’s life and the less clear, the later
lazier works, or those where the emotion seemed false or desperate, the rage and angst of
later Iggy Pop or Ozzy Osbourne that no longer seems convincing. The nervous insistence of
a young man’s expression naturally relaxes into a more acceptant, less cocky older man, no
longer so eager to fight and compete or prove himself in the world. These are the lazier works,
those without the attention to detail or dominant sexual energy of earlier works.

I think of the possibility of fatherhood – things that were meant to have taken place by
now – and I become anxious. It’s the time, but, like anything else, never feeling ready. The
time is not right, for anything, ever. I wonder about strategy, and accountability. Genetic
lineage is a thing with ever shifting rules of play. We, traditionally, are not a monogamous
species, and the Christian insistence of monogamy has changed the composition of our
species in a significant way. I think of Grandpa Ludwig, who fled his children to ride the
boxcars as a hobo. I wonder if his children ever forgave him, or simply admired his brilliance
from afar. The stories of Lud are legendary, never to be forgotten by those who witnessed
them.

The stories of _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ are legendary, always. Nothing is ever as good as it once

was and, across generations, this must multiply, feeding back into epic myths of legendary
men, the Wizards of Old Finland who would fly and battle in the skies.

Appetites develop from habit, and taste from repeated exposure. I think of thinking and
the paralysis of over thinking, as if there were two types of living: living in the body and
living in the mind. But I have access to my body, and can dance and play when I want
to, but it seems access to the higher ranges of consciousness, unbound, transcending the
limits of physicality, is the intended direction of evolution. Onwards and upwards from crude
materialism and the belligerent gorging of the senses that is media.

What is media’s highest potential, the expression of information across a culture, and
across the globe. We have the base, instinctual, and animalistic drives; sex and violence and
the excitation of our fight or flight responses. But is this the highest ideal for what can be
expressed, and directed to influence mass culture? No, it is only what attracts attention the
most easily, not which is healthiest or most beneficial to our state of mind. Here, I suppose,
on this point, we are being made to question the utility of the arts, and of the highest human
ideals that can be encouraged or accessed by utilizing artistic expression. Or, as if to mirror
the art, itself, here we consider the receptivity of the viewer or reader in the deeper, or even
profound, appreciation of art. How can this sort of sensitivity to art be induced? (Psychedelics,
obviously. ;) But, on the same token of that mirror, we have the opposite – the insensitivity
to art, the desensitization that results from the overwhelming noise of modern media, blaring
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in ever medium from all sides, all day, every day. We, essentially, must become desensitized
and ADHD just to survive in this manmade media environment. 2

Foundations of Fatherhood (2014-04-22 17:39) - public

A. How to start things.

I notice an amazing powerful trait in productive and ambitious people, how to quickly
and effectively start projects. It’s right after inspiration, a quick process of breaking the
plan into smaller steps, and then prioritizing and sequencing those smaller steps into an
outline form and to do list. While I’m convince this is, for the most part, a trait tied to certain
particulars of the individuals cognitive hardwiring and, so to a great degree, genetically
determined, the cognitive style also relies on certain tools and a skill set utilized to make use
of them. Where there are tools, either physical or mental, there is the potential for mastery. I
want to provide those tools and, as best I can, some instruction in their proper use.

B. How to finish things.

Some people are great at starting things, and organizing an idea into steps towards
completion, but never get far past that ambitious beginning and groundwork. The more rare
skill, it seems, is the follow through to complete a project, and bring an idea fully into fruition
Tesla’s autobiography is rushed in the final third, and this sort of tangential and rushed ending,
in itself, provides a window into the cognitive stylings of this brilliant and highly productive
mind. No matter what Nikola Tesla started, he was determined to finish it. Be it the collected
writings of VOltaire, or his own autobiography, that energy of initial spurred inspiration became
gradually replaced by willful unyielding determination to see that imagined possibility through
to completion. This is a very powerful ability, which is strong as it is stubborn and may be
represented in other less-productive unyielding behaviors (walking on every third square,
dividing the volume of all consumed liquids into cubic centimeters, and keeping track of this
figure each day, for longitudinal study, etc.) But, yea…everything in moderation?

C. How to network

I was going to say "How to be likable, " which is certainly part of networking, but being
liked, for the most part, is rarely an end, in itself. Success in the social sphere, we must
admit, is a game of favors. Certain people are able to make us feel valued and appreciated,
but both of these feelings come from our utility to that person. We want to help them,
and doing so , we feel appreciated and important to that person. Charming and charismatic,
they are a joy to be around and their gratitude and appreciation also bring a sort of prideful joy.

D. How to be alone

This, early on in my life, was a guiding principle to individual self development. How
can we know ourselves and, more importantly, find a voice distinct from those cultural cliches
and shallow imitators that flood our senses, wave after relentless generational wave? In
solitude, the self grows without the restraints of judgements, customs, or expectations. But
this freedom, alone, is not enough for meaningful solitary work. Within there must also be a
critical and discerning eye for quality – a sharp scalpel and a certain fearlessness in the idea
of cutting deep.
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E. Organization

…ok, that might be asking too much. ;P

Add Quotes and Current Writing to Website

Thinking of all my favorite burnouts and their singular great works, constructed towers
of overwhelming height built before some catastrophic crash, irreversible. Kerouac or Hunter
S. Thompson, yea Ken Kesey too. The psychedelics build you up while they knock you down,
in a way, in that they give you connections, lets you see how all ideas are associated, while si-
multaneously giving more associations than we have the capacity to organize or manage. This
is hyper priming state – sort of the flooding of the river delta, where all the different networked
branches, rivers of semantic association, become filled at once, pushing many to branch out
farther, or to connect with one-another. It’s a flood of association that reveals many powerfully
meaningful connections while, at the same time, making the clear distinctions expressed
with previous discrete branching less distinct, more messy. Word salad, loose associations,
and tangential thinking are all associated with this hyper priming state, and also with LSD use.

I sometimes need space. Stress, if left unmanaged, starts to curl up and hide in all dif-
ferent parts of my body and behavior. I am least stressful when exercising regularly; working,
eating, and sleeping in a daily schedule. Fatherhood will destroy that aspect of my life, in that
regular sleeping will become nonexistent. I’ll handle this hard, especially if the baby cries half
as much as I do…err…did. (Well, I still complain quite a lot, actually.)

What Would Be The Modern Buddha’s Wardrobe Choices? (2014-04-29 22:13) -

public

or: The Grace of Detached Acceptance.

The modern Buddhas Wardrobe Choices... would serve the accomplishment of a set of
social goals, right?

His hermit phase behind him, he must consider how he is perceived by others if he wants his
message to be well-received and effective.

How is the most effective message expressed, now that he is ready to teach? And from
which social role is it best taught? (which "hat," which voice from those many afforded by his
modern materialistic culture?)

Calm, honest, empathic sensitivity to the listener wins hearts, sure, but there he strays
from his center of detached acceptance; empathy, a double-edged sword, stirring the emo-
tions he worked so hard to extinguish within himself.

Perhaps his work, his burden, is to extinguish those emotions once more, in himself and
in others, as he teaches this subtle inward art of oceanic calm in the process. Yet, Can one
without desire wish to change another person’s mind? Or to alter their perception of him,
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one way or the other? Is desire not inherent in opinion, itself – grounded in preference and
ego? Socialization is the asserting of will and intention to influence another (aka: dis-course.)
Persuasive and expressive, if his DESIRE is to share his insights, Buddha should do it in the
most effective way possible. If he has no desire, why teach?

pigshitpoet (2014-04-30 06:13:54)

probably printed t-shirts... http://www.zazzle.com/frog _fountain _buddha _t _shirts-
235744754346601557 ; P

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13.5 May

If Only I Should Want It (2014-05-07 21:10) - public

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Sensitive little man, did that bit of sad truth hurt your little feelings? Big alligator tears for
being past the peak of your life? Headlong into the sickness of old age and its incompetence?
(Incontinence!) Oh, just forget I even said anything – forget everything I’ve ever said, and who
I am, followed by the names of your youngest children, followed by the name of your wife,
and sudden confusion as she enters the room to change your bedpan. Did that bit of sad truth
hurt your little feelings, big fellah? Have a rest, you need it. Take a little breather on the bed,
there. Rest up!

< long shot of a garbage-strewn bed, close up of stain, pan left across nut cans and
bags of pot, bottles of obscure health pills and supplements, a DVD set of Stan Brakhage, a
large hardcover book about possession rituals of Tibet.>

"You’re right, I should fast."

"What a strange body I have." he says, looking under his lifted stomach at the marks,
tears in his skin from the rapid bulge, then shrunk back in micro flaps of irreversibly thinned
skin.

How can one not be curious about it, when they see it, or first touch it. Most people don’t
have this, or this, or any of this here (grabs different flabs, of varying textures, front and back.)

My body has a long and violent history, flames and boiling explosions of red heat, my
thick inflamed dermis like a slow viscous heavy fluid. (close up of rolling remnants of obesity)

What sharpness this light has nowadays, if you forget the importance of distracting away
those areas of painfully critical inward areas of self-development, those tight little cycles
of mini-obsession, where I once whiled away hours, fully immersed in the details of the
degradations taking place.

• "He was listening in the dusk when she came, listening so intently that he did not hear her
enter. From the door she spoke to him, and he winced at the regularity of her clear, steady
speech. It was the usual story, vulgarly told: admiration for his genius, sympathy with his
suffering, only a woman could understand.… He clenched his hands in a fury against the
enormous impertinence of women, their noisy intrusive curious enthusiasm, like the spon-
taneous expression of admiration bursting from American hearts before Michelangelo’s
tomb in Santa Croce. The voice droned on, wavered, stopped. He sketched a tired gesture
of acceptation, and prepared to withdraw once more within that terrifying silent immobil-
ity. She turned on the light and advanced carelessly into the room. An irruption of demons
would not have scattered his intentness so utterly. She sat down before him at the table,
and leaned forward with her jaws in the cups of her hands. He looked at her venomously,
and was struck in spite of himself by the extraordinary pallor of her lips, of which the lower
protruded slightly and curled upwards contemptuously to compress the upper, resulting
in a faintly undershot local sensuality which went strangely with the extreme cold purity
stretching sadly from the low broad brow to the closed nostrils." -Beckett, "Assumption"

As if I could forget myself in women, who do I try to convince myself I could forget myself in
them? In a family, like some retreat from regret into a warm home’s loving life. All of the mem-
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ory could, perhaps, be buried in the frantic flood of memory bursting up into the life of a parent.

"Mmm… I want you to Come inside me." she looks back at him with an excited leer, her
head buried in the pillow as if playfully being chased and slowing down, allowing herself to be
caught in a moment of ecstatic exhausted abandon. Trusting innocence, the kind that is lost
so soon, there for me to take up, if only I should want it. "

I’m tired, half naked man says from the bed. I want to rest my bones after my long day
of having put on clothes and also washing other clothes, and also hanging them up. She said
he looked tired and sad coming back from the cafeteria, but perhaps only alongside all of that
radiant youth was my state so clearly defined, by comparison. Tired and sad, "Are you still
sick?"

To be cared for so much by a woman so young and beautiful must be a phenomenal

gift, and yet I am unhappy with it. Yet I am ready to let her go, and to break her trust-
ing innocent heart, the one I so assured could trust me. Is it her lack of attention span that
annoys me so, or the way her curious fingers linger and test over my most self-conscious parts.

My annoyance feeds back on itself, becoming a smoldering anger. "So, you’re bored
with the movie??"

The Ascended Man (Cont’d) (2014-05-17 10:40) - public

I believe evolution is a concept which we cannot limit – but, rather, its limits are defined by the
limits of our capacity to comprehend it, in all its greater dynamic scales and systems, beyond
those most basic facets we’ve come to measure and understand.
The crux of my argument is that we are seeing, or have already seen, a shift in natural selection,
whereby it is no longer simply the strong who survive while the weak perish, but (as in our
species) the strong and the weak are both allowed to live and have children. But what are the
mechanics of this fundamental change? Have we abandoned evolution?
If we look to the most simple of organized multicellular life, slime molds or, later, perhaps sea
sponges, etc., we can see the basis of this process. Not the ABANDONING of natural selection,
but, rather, a changing of its scale. Where once-independent individual cells, fighting and
defending for their survival, are suddenly brought into a larger system of like cells, the sum
total of whom have greater selective advantage of any individual cell predator. Cooperation
as an evolutionary strategy, a collective identity is born, so, evolution ascends one step to a
higher scale of organization – that of the multicellular.
My point is that this ascending towards higher and higher levels of collective organization is not
limited to the evolution of our body, and the gloriously-organized and complex systems those
individual cells have come to form there, but that evolution follows a similar upward pattern of
systematization through into ever and ever greater scales of organization.
That is, like the cell abandoned its individual existence for the multi-cellular body existence,
where a degree of freedom is sacrificed for safety and the greater good of the collective, so
we, ourselves, unconsciously align to fulfill this very same pattern on our scale of life.
Abandoning the hard hunter/gatherer life, where fighting and fleeing kept us alive, we formed
first clans, the villages, then cities, civilizations, and whole cultures, all of which (like a greater
body) protect and provide evolutionary advantage at the price of individual freedom. This is
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the "leap" to a literal higher stage of evolution – no longer fighting wolves with rocks, but
nation-states of billions fighting for resources, multi-national corporations battling for market
share. This is survival and, in this view, these ORGANized systems of individuals are ORGANIC,
living things, conscious and sensitive to their environment.
This is what I meant by the progression from Individualistic cultures towards a Collectivist cul-
ture. What is ego but self-defense, a remnant of the fight or flight "programming" which kept
us alive during those millenia of hard hunter-gatherer life. Yet, that same defensiveness that
kept us alive does not serve us anymore, but has actually become an anti-social liability – the
Neanderthal high school jock, quick to snap and start fighting the weakling geeks, fighting the
school and The System. Likewise, the hellish existence, the white-knuckle social anxiety of that
geek, ready to bolt at a moments notice. Both of these are the remnants of ego, the instinct
to defend ourselves, surfacing into our behavior in this social collective we now compose.
While it once served us so well, ego is now an outdated evolutionary model.
Fuck macho bullshit, forever.

13.6 June

(2014-06-01 14:26) - public

No matter what the problem, I ask myself:

Can I see above it?
Can I see past it?
Can I see through it?
Until the problem is seen as a part or layer of a larger system I didn’t previously understand.

(2014-06-01 14:31) - public

I do my best to stave off Practicality,

but it gradually settles in
around the eyes, like wrinkles.
This is a dryness, a sign of a turning point,
the descending half of a cycle.
Yet, despite its dryness, practicality is not bad.

• Even though I loved the moist messiness of creativity, inspiration, and theory, the practi-
cal side is inevitable, if something redeemable is to be claimed from all that liberal explo-
ration. On the other hand, if defined extremely, it is not practical to trust others, or to be
emotionally open or vulnerable. These are the side effects of "drying up," and can lead to
the bitter old man cliche. While perhaps not the most practical risk, it is important to con-
tinually remain somewhat vulnerable to the whims of love, and to place trust in those you
love, despite having been burned for that mistake (perhaps several times now) in the past.
This practice of vulnerability, so we are told, keeps us empathic, flexible, and open to new
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 experiences and ideas. The closed heart is stubborn and hard to lift, we want someone we
can share emotions with, the visible signs of radiant empathy. This empathy is the coin
with two sides, sensitivity / vulnerability. While you feel more of a person, sharing and
developing with them, you are simultaneously baring the most sensitive parts of yourself
to the elements – parts, perhaps, not yet fully healed from the last asshole you made the
mistake of trusting. This dangerous game of relating leaves you open to manipulation
and, in my naive youth, I assumed honesty was the best policy. That if I could give my
most genuine self to another, as a gift of my most personal self plumbed

(2014-06-04 20:01) - public

If you look closely enough, around us are the blueprints for utopian civilizations.

Personality and Atrophy (2014-06-24 17:10) - public

Our personality is a defined by branches of growth and their eventual decay. Our voice, our
behavior, our stories, our vocabulary, our abilities, our collected experience of the world and
the ability to express it, all face periods of growth and, inevitably, degradation and death. While
personality is subtle and less easy to define than the physical body, its parts and systems can
be thought to atrophy with inactivity, just like any other living part or system of our body. The
branches of veins, splitting and splitting again into the infinitesimal minutia of capillaries, the
branches of nerves, splitting and splitting again to compose our electrochemical network of
sensation; the branch is the form nature takes to express flow and, as the flow of semantic
concepts associates one thought to another, so "priming," too, is expressed as a system of
branches (the word "priming," itself, implying the flow of water through a pipe or channel.)

So What?? (2014-06-24 17:25) - public

Spirituality, and interactions with entities of planes ethereal, is all well and good, but what do
I do with it? After the fact, after the experience, how does it change my stocking shelves at
Walmart? Or the drink machine at Taco Bell the next morning? How does it change the hunger
of my children or the culture I’m still immersed in, with all it’s doubt and boredom, it’s surround
sound sickness? If I have been changed, made better, been shown some greater potential, is it
not inevitable that my place in this society, immersed in this culture, will change me back? The
requirements of my position at Taco Bell, the obligations of my relationships with friends and
family, the expectations of being a husband and father – all of these things pull us back into
our place, unavoidably. So what do I do with it? With the experiences of these higher ranges
of life, what changes?
Dharma, originally, was intended to address this very conflict. From Hindu scripture, the word
translates loosely to mean "social obligation," to the need to continue to fulfill the obligations
and requirements of your role in society, even after you have come to see through those roles
as falsities of ego, as characters in the theater of maya. But isn’t knowledge of this kind,
awareness of the great falsehood of society, a temptation most akin to the forbidden fruit, and
the true loss of innocence brought on by seeing what we were not intended to see? Learning
that maya is all we have known and built and fought to defend in the world, well, it certainly
can take the wind out of your sails! It’s hard to fulfill your role with the same passion and gusto
once you’ve seen through it, and realized it’s fake.
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 Do not spill the peace and the understanding that you receive during mediation,
when you leave meditation. Carry with you as long as you can, throughout the day,
the thought of God and the peace that you gather in the pail of your consciousness
during mediation. This is the way that one learns to hold on to God in the midst of
all one’s activities. In the words of Master, “We must learn to be calmly active,
actively calm; a prince of peace sitting on the throne of poise, directing our
kingdom of activity.”

—Sri Daya Mataji (Only Love, 139)

I Feel The Carnival Calling Me Home (2014-06-26 13:46) - public

Which to run away to join?

qUOTES (2014-06-26 13:47) - public

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell
cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn’t understand
growth, it would look like complete destruction.”
—
Cynthia Occelli
“Let the waters settle and you will see the moon and the stars mirrored in your own being.”
—
Lao Tzu
“Anti-social behavior is a trait of intelligence in a world full of conformists.”
—
Nikola Tesla
“Let the world say you are crazy, then you are free to do what you want.”
—
Janesh Vaidya
“The quieter you become, the more you can hear.”
—
Ram Dass
“The behavior of a human being in sexual matters is often a prototype for the whole of his other
modes of reaction in life.”
― Sigmund Freud
“Wear your ego like a loose fitting garment.”
—
Gautama Buddha
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“We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but
it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.”
—
Charles Bukowski
“The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original dimensions.”
—
Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”
—
Albert Camus
“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.”
—
André Malraux
“I overcame myself, the sufferer; I carried my own ashes to the mountains; I invented a brighter
flame for myself. And behold, then this ghost fled from me.”
—
Nietzsche (via imoth)
“The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering.”
—
Tom Waits
“We have not the reverent feeling for the rainbow that the savage has, because we know how
it is made. We have lost as much as we gained by prying into that matter.”
—
Mark Twain
“You are what you do, not what you say you’ll do.”
—
C.G. Jung

13.7 July

Situations Vacant (2014-07-11 21:10) - public

Soul Slow, Low Flow,

Surface Vacant Long Ago.
What of this underworld river can be brought back, reliably,
without degradation of ego and its personality;
the broadcast outlet of social self,
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the impression and expression of thought,
that crest and trough,
each deepened by the personal inward journey.
Lo and behold, a moment of peace.
The silence stops blaring, our boredom and fear of self clears like a storm cloud from a blocked
sun.
If I were to give that radiant side of selfhood more attention to grow, what what fruit would I
bear, and what aspects of my life would wither, also? Health and wellness has no upper limit,
only stepped plateaus – easier stepping backwards than forwards. Can personality develop
beyond the limits of words, as if evolving into a purely empathic range of communication?
Can the higher range of empathic connection be made less vague, quantifiably measured and
controlled in a replicable situation? William Braud (1997).
In the deepest calm of meditation, Hindu saints were witnessed to, not only perceive the
thoughts of others, but to transmit thoughts to others, beneath or within their conscious aware-
ness, like a radio can transmit or receive discrete frequency ranges, stations, which are chosen
to modulate in a focused way with consciousness (carry information.) It’s the ability to focus
the message into a particular chosen frequency that makes transmission possible, and makes
radio a viable means of communication. What does meditation allow us to do, if not strengthen
our ability to focus our attention? Eyes closed allows us to focus this attention inwardly, yet
dharma could be called the more advanced art of bringing that clear and focused state of mind
back to the external, and the obligations of the physical life. Yes, years of meditation alone in
a cave can bring great insights and powers of attention, such progress is useless if it cannot
be brought back and shared with society, towards one’s purpose.
Empathogenic Focus, the ability to transmit emotion wordlessly from one person to another,
has facets of both expression and impression; transmission and reception. Being receptive to
those close to us is tied, also, to an awareness of what type of unconscious signals we transmit
throughout our day; via our body language, mood, or the contents of our internal dialogue, to
name a few. So many processes of self definition cascade downwards and inwards from that
inner dialogue, as if the subvocal becomes sub-sub-vocal, and so on down through layers of
meaning, beneath words and consciousness, through the layers of subconscious perception
that lie beneath the filters of our our waking state, which can be thought of as the sunlight
surface realm of consciousness, physicality.
Waking consciousness is concerned with the physical, of course, and of the body’s place, inter-
acting and controlling a material world. We can think of this world of all we see as the sunlit
beach of consciousness, the surface of the ocean and the dynamic rhythm of its waves, calm
or stormy, subject to unseen systems and forces, meteorological and lunar patterns expressed
in its periodic waves and tides. Yet, all we see on the sunlit beach of our material world and its
waking consciousness of 5 physical senses, essentially ends where the water begins. We do not
know what is beneath that surface until we control our breath and dive below and learn to open
our eyes beneath the water, and see a whole undersea world that was invisible from up there.
The life and reality of that watery medium, which existed, all the time, along our own (and
was, in fact, the older of the two!) cannot simply be deemed invalid or unscientific by the chil-
dren, measuring sand and building empirical sandcastles, each subdivided into faculties. More
often than not, these children are simply afraid of the water, even after being told that Jaws
and the monster stories of the Kraken were all fake. The myths of the supernatural sea, the
grandmother’s stories, have all been disproven, but we cannot disprove the sea, itself, or claim
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ourselves somehow, distinct and superior to it. How can we have the obscene egocentrism to
claim the ocean of night, the sea of everlasting consciousness, is not our source?
What is ego death? It is the dissolving of the social self, the lowering of defenses that layer
seemingly-infinitely. aa"ff
The image of ma Too many failures after underground hand, her her of her, her hamj

Old Friend, Death (2014-07-12 15:45) - public

Old friends see old selves, before them, with any difference dismissed as pretension. The slut
with the big gut and the tits hanging out leans over to him and says "You want me to save you
from him?"
I assure him, if he wants to let her save him, he should indulge in that, freely and without guilt.
I understand.
She hears what I said, but pretends not to "What did he say?"
"He says I should INDULGE in you…" says Eric with a sly smile.
I feel my the warmth of my welcome waning and drink the remnants of my Keystone that I’d
been milking. "Welp, I have to go anyway"
The police prowl, the violent meth head in the stained white shirt has calmed considerably.
The police prowl again.
I know the back way home – jesus, get on the freeway as quickly as possible. They’ll never
fuck with you there.
In the dark, I turn the stereo off and just let my thoughts wander down the road.Tense thoughts
cycle
themselves with fear to speed them, until they reach racing intensity. Fear is the emotion best
suited for such races, and it is, at its core, a selfish defensive anxiety, one of self-preservation.
The greatest of most all pervading of fears, of course, being the fear of death; looming overhead
like an ominous edge, a scythe, whose cut divides one side from the other.
All those fallen heroes, like the first leaves to surrender to the Fall wind, are nothing to look
up to or strive to emulate unless we, too wish to die defeated. That is to say, the fallen are
not heroes, unless their death is triumphant and their last gasp is one of victory. Do we have
any modern hero epics? Do we have any mythic men to celebrate, and sing stories about?
Bill Gates? George Bush? God, no! Not to say they aren’t "characters," I’d sooner call them
villains than heroes. Of course, the leaders, the kings or the emperors, never were the heroes
in those old epic myths. Even in the story of Jesus, his heroism and victory was defined by his
opposition to the powers that be, the Roman emperor and the Pontius Pilate who was employed
under him.
TO DO
–Integrate Latent Inhibition research and Semantic Hyperpriming into a clinical model, "Em-
pathogenic Therapy."
–Find PhD program in/near Seattle.
–Publish several articles about semantic hyper priming and psychedelics.
–Propose future research (marijuana hyper priming? / psilocybin latent inhibition?)
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Inducing Hyperprimed Cognition : Risks and Benefits to Semantic Processing Ability
Loose associations, tangential thinking, word salad, all of these symptoms can be explained
using the semantic network model and the hyper priming phenomenon. The branched hier-
archies of the semantic network represent all we can know and represent of the world, every
concept represented as a point on the web, with some concepts, called "nodes," having many
associative branches spreading outwards from them.
BRAINSTORM:

Associational Therapy
Hyperpriming Therapy
Induced Semantic Hyperpriming Therapy (I.S.H.)
Lowered Latent Inhibitional Therapy (LLI)
Latent Inhibition ReductionTherapy (LIR)

What’s The Meaning of Genes? (2014-07-17 21:55) - public

Bwip, slow time falls through...

Layers of taste, remembrance of forgotten sides of your personality.

Perhaps there are ways to gain or lose yourself to sleep, to the disconnect of sleep as it
settles into your muscles, that slow descent into paralysis. What if you go for days without
sleep? What if you get 3 hours of sleep a night, for 10 months straight? How does that
change your, change your actual neurobiology, your brain chemistry? That distant gaze of
the insomniac, floating, stumbly and absent, through his day. At what point does that distant
zoned-out look simply become part of his life; the REM deficit no longer recoverable. Perhaps
this is the catatonic, the vegetable, or, rather, one way to reach that symptomology.

"Out of My Dreams...and into my car!" plays over the desolate McDonald’s speaker sys-
tem. Piss is splattered across the tiles, alongside the urinal.

What is the meaning of air? Genes? Sleep?

Trouble’s coming....

13.8 August

High School Journal Backup – Part 1 (2014-08-06 14:57) - public

William Braud - "Distant Mental Influence: It’s Contributions To Science, Healing, and Human
Interaction (Studies In Consciousness)"
Certain people can walk into a room and change the mood of every there, without saying a
word. What interests me is that this subtle influence is not limited to the room, but extends
beyond walls. It relate to my submitted writing, the conscious mass of a person’s attention –
its varying degrees and their almost gravitational influence.
1773
I have devoted a lot of thought to the problem of capturing the subtle aspects of consciousness
in an experimental setting. In just beginning to read his experiments, Dr. Braud seems seems
stern and methodical in his approach; an approach I’d like to emulate.
It seems the traditional methodology of observational science must be either updated or dis-
regarded within confronting the UNOBSERVABLE influence, like the subtle aspects of attention
which Dr. Braud is measuring.
MODIFIED CASE STUDY FORM:
The problem of replicability of extraordinary human experiences may be approached by repli-
cating experiments on a subject-specific basis. This is simply acknowledging that some people
commonly have certain experiences which others, perhaps, will never have in their life. To
insist otherwise is like saying a study of menses is unscientific if it cannot be replicated for
males.
Principle of Parsimony disregarded by empirical scientists, hoping to "explain away" the long
spiritual history of our species with an elaborate physical explanation.
–
Profoundly spiritual, or the "Peak Religious," experience has thus been so easily disregarded
by observational science as anecdotal – a single person’s report of an isolated event. Even
when faced with the shared experiences of several observers, observational scientists propose
elaborate physical explanations, disregarding the principle of parsimony to explain away the
existence of spirit.
Popular in these academic circles is to drop "the possibility of mere coincidence" onto any
evidence extending into the unobservable or subtle energetic realms, claiming any resultant
data could have surfaced by pure chance.
I wish to devote study to these vague concepts by which "formal" science so easily disregards
the evidence of the subtle force of attention and its influence.
Pure chance can not be shown to exist in an experimental setting and, so, should not be used
in such a context. Coincidence is dynamic phenomenon and subject to influence.
The unreplicable nature of the profound peak religious experience troubles, not only scientists,
but the individuals experiencing it! The key to replicating the extraordinary in an experimental
setting is to make the study, and its methods, subject-specific. This creates an experiment
replicable only within a specific time frame (perhaps, that subject’s life.)
Replication of the study should be done immediately following the first study; different lab,
different experimenters, same results with that specific subject. Any related studies should
focus on the difference between the "gifted" subject and the typical subject.
–
In the film, an adolescent boy monkey is central, his father a bearded ape of some stature
who has become concerned over his son’s microphallic condition. The narrator, among many
other things, describes the importance of dealing with the condition for the Chahoos (sp?) at
an early age, as to avoid later complications related to their culture. Father and son leave the
village, all watching as their canoe departs down the river towards helps.
A suburban family of the sons and an older daughter has it’s problems, like any other family.
The young brother rides his bike alongside his older brother of 20 years and their conversation
becomes painfully sincere…
1774
"Ever since that one day, you have changed. all you talk about isn your sickness and how you
used to be. You used to be great, but now you only piss me off. I can’t stand to be around you,
you fucking suck. You smell like piss to me…" this tone continued for some time.
Arriving home, they see their father is out on the lawn, spraying their third story apartment
with a garden hose. The monkeys have set it on fire. "You fuckers! Get that, you goddamned
fuckers! Fuckers!!" he screams.
Early pre party involved special pins that I c***** keep it. I left the sports arena. A moist
cement tunnel I traversed bare foot and being chased by a friend with a hose. A control center
of space age cushions which housed a sled Odeline and the beautiful high class night woman
who seemed to belong there.
–
On the lookout for failed outburst from a blue green fog. A realization of obscurity grown dull
– forgotten gold buried (deep.) Fare the course pause of memory’s weak endurance.
–
First Day Back 7-17-08
Flashing forms of the mind’s eye’s thunder side report from beside my beds edge beyond.
"Kaleb…"
As if some great alignment shift manifests in rumbling energy, a powerful dialogue of thought
and response.
–
(UN)IMPORTANT THINGS (MADNESS JOURNAL)
SU 7-7-00
JUNE 10TH - The DXM Night of Infamy
Bodily Fluid Blanket of Jacob
I got the fucking breast
–
Sea Sex Surprise
Come with me, beautiful one, to the kingdom in the sea.
There we will make love, make love, you and me.
Laughing with the octopus, climbing the sea trees.
There we will make love, make love, you and me.
Titan with his mighty fork rides by quite proudly…
Dr Rage
Peasant woman follow me to an island far away.
There, under watchful son, beach sand we will lay
I am a doctor! Dr. Rage
They call me Doctor! Dr. Rage
Worry not, innocent child, of the details of this plan.
1775
I can buy and sell your ass. I’m a very wealthy man.
–
Sky Diamond Based Induction
TRUE bond can be wife, or of close friend. The fulfilling section of each is the same – details
like sx separate them – sex being unfulfilling carnality, like money.
THE IGNORANCE OF THE COMFORTABLE MIND.
I am only comfortable when I have everyone in my life categorized. On TRUE bond can never
be found in a life of directories. We will search for the TRUE bond, (one which is like MOTHER -
SON, Without the complications of world, religious, family, race views to fuck everything up.)
Categorized apart and away from yourself "He is nothing like me – look at him, a
prep/redneck/etc…
–
12-26-02
Dry-minded callous on paper, I have worn so many dry-wrinkled shirts, their colors, once vibrant
in patterns for every face, now worn as I am worn from wearing.
I am world, sometimes, by others – they flash me before me, emulating some past impression;
some touching whose ripple they still carry. I have become worn, however, and in some distant,
far-flung expedition, my paint became smeared across a canvas whose texture was potential
self–and, having been smeared over such an extent of the canvas, was spread thin and, so,
quickly dried; its moist vibrant color dulled in evaporation.
–
2-15-01 3:39 am
There is nothing that is expressing. My emptiness is empty. The paint is that way, it will always
be that way. Each to their cubical. Lets talk loudly about sex and then have it quietly. These
ghosts keep haunting me. Wont leave me in "Peace." (to my ignorance.) Gotta kill em or build
em. Which ones to build? I think you know the ones mom would suggest, eh? You know the
one that would get the most chicks, ha! You like the one that isn’t quite as ambiguous – easier
to get along with. Not as pushy or important. "Shit Dad! Pass the ketchup! "
Slacker haunt is ghost good. Men of action need a buzz. Keep em goin for stop in time. TTrailer
needles four years later. Sick and sad and no longer haunted. By ghost muses with their
blueprints. Dead for trying, love you always.
Pass it cuz I love you. Don’t bother – will talk later. I am sure of it. Let me tell you bout my fryer.
Got some smoked ham spinach dip. Eat it, love me…let me watch you. Your gorging comforts
my worried mind. Don’t look at me, I won’t eat with you. Don’t look from your plate! All roles
are defined!
Burp up cotton ball hours later. Thought you’d drowned it the first run through the aisles.
– Non-Induced
ESC Key – To Learn To Begin What You Have Already Started (arrow dissolves down into tree)
To solve your problem, you must know your problem.
-Where do you find yourself?
-Why do you find yourself there?
1776
-What would you rather be doing?
-Why aren’t you doing it?
Indeed, these questions may not seem to be your problem, but they are! The culture you have
been injected with is seedy and poisonous. It has, after generations of time, become rotten,
stale, and infected with the drug, materialism. You are the product of one of those addicts
and have been raised with its intoxicating and habit-forming spoons constantly feeding you.
Your true happiness, what you would rather be doing, likes in pleasantly refraining from the
addiction orgy and, rather, doing those things which are truly and purely fulfilling.
– Loose Writing: Writing Careless of Convention or Accessibility
3-4-03
While under the influence of "chemical association"
"The Chemical-Associative State,"
I became aware of minute social cues, the observable mannerisms or gestures, often uncon-
sciously done, which give indication of the person’s inward thoughts and observations – the
physical/bodily movement or expression of a thought.
When in the presence of a woman…..
…I become conscious of the placement of my eyes, as if to ensure my gaze does not fall on
her. While looking, or even talking to a person, I am fighting the creation of an urge to look in
her direction, implied by my consciousness of…
10-29-01
Immediately: THe Bucket of Water High (2 months => 3rd "In")
Activity slowly encircled the room and stances become better accented. Like whirlwinds of
competitive defense, conversation intensified in all directions. All gather around eachother to
attack from a defensive position. The yelling (yelling to maintain that needed attention…to
themselves (by themselves.))carried in rushing waves the projects of mutual contention that
seemed to gush from mom’s face, and, suddenly flailing body. I closed my eyes and the inten-
sity rocked my calm serene/sleeping enbayment of my lesser-used senses. The sudden erosion
of trubte-like axons – the bulging of mylien sheath Ha! As if:
The calm flowing waters bring new surface sand and clears away the ego-silt of 2 months of
indirect, industrialized goal-setting. How many basics lost awareness in that silt?
Who could ever see these things while recording yourself acting on tape set at such an incred-
ibly high recording speed??
– slow the tape down…slow me. Allows one to catch those fissures of meaning usually not
seen.
Symbols…
I finally relate symbols to a section of the path passed over last year. Classification ignorance
that comes with inflexible role definition. all convenient ego-tool: ignorance.
–
Oh, oh, Oh!!
"Thus" I scream
scheme
1777
-ing (letter trails into tail of sperm, touching egg, in a frying pan)
I sample, <3 hel P
(FRYING PAN)
*singe*
*sizzle*
*pop*
*FRYYY*
CRAMBLE IN WITH THE OTHER PASSENGERS, CRAMP GRAMPS
URINALS
URINALS
Wont Shut Off (fust jeeb flowing)
I dreamed awake last night– the night after psilocybin. I was conscious, but meta-conscious of
a subconscious train of thought…as if opening one’s eyes and observing a current of thought
flowing far below, deep beneath surface consciousness.
BRAIN SOUND WAVE NOISE
Waking consciousness close to dreaming consciousness (dream while awake (awake in dream))
Three Layers Are Drawn,
each deeper than the one before it,
the bottom edge of the last is labeled "Flat Line"
Top edge labeled "Calm, unintense consciousness"
Each layer labeled "Least dif =>dream/awake more equal"
–
meditative contemplation is equivalent to death: leaving the conscious world. Pot is an inducer
of such contemplation.
Pot is death ( Is death bad?)
…pot is ambition less sleep,
the rejuvenating ring to an active creator-child pole, yang. Thus is all time.
PAST (((( (DEATH/MOM <=> CHILD/LIFE) )))) FUTURE
(upon medium of uselessly perfect conscious flesh)
All time is that traveling sound
= out from the here and now =
There is a lot a person could say about sex and doesn’t.
We are each tornadoes conscious of our wake. …what do we want left for THEM to see? Sex is
always that swept under the carpet ( where we sleep) for later; after company dies down to a
truthfully relaxed uncaring level. The level of sleep or sleeping with.
–
NOTICE
1778
On Sunday, September 11th at 5:00 AM (Late Saturday Night) an experiment in voice recording
will take place in this room. This invitation is extended to positive, good-natured friends ONLY,
who are welcomed to speak through my equipment during this time. Please prevent negative
or angry individuals from access.
Possible Questions To Consider:
1) What is your name? Social security number?
2) What can be changed to improve this experiment?
3) What can be changed to improve my life?
–UNINDUCED 12-25-01
The men and woa! mans of my jury talk and talk and talk even though their verdict was reached
long ago. Each drinking their own drink – throwing them back to medicate some nighttime juror
fear of scenes in which the play defendant.
A comfortable position, that of the judge. His separation most simplistic: judge and judged. Is
there no social law which prevents judges from being judged?
The Redneck Shouts:
"They don’t know me like I know me."
Thus justifies the him they DO know.
LIttle does he know that he knows so little.
In fact, has hardly met that man beneath the shaking of hands, but hides from the world the
unknowing men merely a more refined socialite.
His mind is always screaming to hid his silence – talking louder and faster to itself in a pitch
rising; implying fear
...of silence, implying death.
–
THE DEEP SHADES ARE TEH STRONGEST YET TO FEEL.
A DISTANT CO-OLD
BECKONS THE PLAYERS IN TO SELVES LONG LOST
–Non-induced
The Sunshine …is on your side…
*AMBIENT*
…heavy breathing…louder…slight snoring…
*faint whispers*
Slowly audible:
"Do you have the eggs?"
"Yes, there,"
*muffled laughter… "Shhh!!"
*slapping/spanking/popping*
"Turn it on…now!"
1779
ALL LOUDER WITH ADDED RUMBLING
Am I sorry for the fact that my love angers you?
SHould I be?
Spare your quarter
Give me the satisfaction of rejection.
It is my absolute respect which creates my fear.
(Background to Above)
Lets just get it done. Follow through. Lets do it. Don’t question it.
–Non-Induced
How can reality SHIFT SO FAST?
The lines I was so sure I could read between this morning…
HAVE LOADED RIFLES NOW!
(have they began their assault?)
I talk to the walls merely because they feel
NO OBLIGATION TO TALK BACK
(Wall: "We will not judge you.")
And how do you expect me to be a happy dog…
WITH SO MANY LEASHES?
UNLEASH! UNLEASH! SIMPLIFY! SIMPLIFY!
–Non-Induced
Close your eyes, my grown-up children, and picture with me
The Trees of Belize
Think of them as they sway calmly in the
Ocean Breeze
You see now the village natives running up
TO GREET YOU…TO LOVE YOU
You are away…you are so far away…
YET FINALLY HOME
Walk with me along the beach, collecting driftwood
for the evening fire…
Whare you and the loved will eat
Where you and the loved will share
Where you and the loved will tell stories
Where you and the loved
will love.
1780
Detach and leave
don’t wait and see
Detach and leave
to hom, Belize
To feel the breeze
To climb the trees
No parking fees
or loss of keys
Only the full fill ment of finally living as you were meant to
–
FAUX PAS - CONSPIRACY CORNER
Corporal Korea - The Underdog of Shock Risk
Persuasive Input Division (Inclusive)
To Whom It May Concern:
That graven foe, "opportunity," has risen once more – hark! For entrance knocking is heard
softly (at first) and responsive action must soon be taken. News boys nation wide cry out
contemptuously "Look skyward! For the reign of the Canadian Menace is soon to be at hand!
Take arms (in arms) for their fleets do now form strategic assault patterns, with your children’s
blood in mind!"
Heed the words these paper youth spew – or don’t. Change may not be the child of intervention.
"What does this mean to me?" Says young Billy, a progressive advertisement of wholesome
Americana.
"Why, it is nothing more than reasoning added to the present pile." says the Omnipotent Uncle
(called "Samuel" by strangers and "Sir" by all others)
"Reason? Reasons for what?!" says young BIlly from the closet.
"The ever-present Canadian Menace does little more than unify the not-ever-present American
National Identity. To be frank, my homosexual friend, Canada takes attention from the "true
menace." That which is the "intra." bubbles Uncle, eyes gleaming.
"…Uhh…But ….I’m not gay…" *gulp*
The killer bees heading Northward are little more than diabolical nano-programmed robots
laboriously spawned by mad Canadian scientists hidden miles within the Earths crust. Their
sickeningly advanced molecular-based technology has been passed down to generation af-
ter generation of extraterrestrial/human hybrids. This watchful sub-race does not inject such
chaos-producing devices into our lives blindly, but, rather, has a plan. I don’t want to tell you
about it, however. I must "hunt for bullets and fish for lures" if you fear intellectuals receive
my coast *nudge nudge, wink wink*
With The Bizarre Sincerity of the Red Handed,
Corporal Korea,
The Underdog of Shock Risk
1781
–
"CHEERS!" -klink your glass in the clink-clink. 1 picture some one tapping a glass
Video: Close Up hand clinking glass with a spoon.
Audio: Refined dinner party music background.
(slow dream sequence fades and "Those were the days." memory music)
…later begins smashing glasses with a large novelty spoon.
…later begins to assault guests with a large novelty spoon.
An interactive medium, one where we "become" a character. The video game melds with
simply deserving that character. The movie – the video game movies never being successful.
In return, the video game adopts aspects of action movies – and later, probably dramas – with
long drawn-out programmed plot scenes.
–
Public television syncs an interpretation of The Blue Danube with the spinning paddlewheel
of a steamboat. Synced with a violin change was a zoom onto an actual paddle. A multime-
dia presentation, almost appearing sloppy in comparison to the primal sync of the conductor,
waving his arms in assigned directions.
We were hypnotized by the fast precipice changes, stops and starts, after our stumbled jam
minutes before.
"Innocence and physicality of childhood…innocent or sexual – Never both!"
-New Orleans
Ron read from an in issue of Psychology Today about an epidemic of social anxiety amongst
the Japanese, and how the Japanese wish to deem the mental condition something specific to
only Japanese society, implying a defined difference between the Japanese mentality and the
rest of the world.
I said they are more intelligent and their evolutionary advancement out of Africa implies a
devotion to society and authority. Life for Government.
–Faux Pas - Non-Induced
Come, explore and expand with me, the short sighted minds of the pot head, as well as the
anti pot head.
The modern adolescent has been, sadly, placed in a binding situation, this situation revolving
around the use of drugs. Are drugs bad? OUr blessed DARE officers would, indeed, have us
believe it so. Does that make all those who use them bad? It is this question that blurs the
boundaries of the issue. The fact is that the user of drugs is rarely the pale and sicly pusher so
often fed to us by our drug education officer, but, rather, is likely to be a close friend since 2nd
grade who we have grown to know and love. Can we so easily write these close friends off as
"Bad," "evil," "ignorant," or "stupid?" Is the relationship with this, possibly your best friend, so
meaningful and important that you would adopt these apparently harmful pastimes? Indeed, a
horridly difficult and supposedly weighty question which, beyond a doubt, has been the source
of immeasurable stress and pressure for many young people.
The Straight-Edged Mentality:
The anti-head accepts the DARE dogma without question – having blind faith in its preachers,
often taking verbal stances against their "poor, misguided" classmates. Their speedily dealt
1782
and black & white stereotypes often spawn blatantly offensive and hurtful attacks with no
actual reason to serve as a base. They scream of illegal drugs being crutches which do no
more than disable, yet they, themselves, often partake in weekly scheduled orgies of booze
and other legal drugs. They see life through a tunnel of ignorance where all that at the end of
the tunnel is either good or bad – they themselves embracing the image of the former (hiding
behind it so that they may pass judgement upon all, with they, themselves, having the unique
convenience of never being judged.)
The Curve-Edged Mentality
The "heads" have no common reason for beginning to do what they do so well, however do
tend to continue for the same basic reasons. Often, the insecure individual, searching for
acceptance during that awkward and chaotic adolescence period, will proudly light his doobie
for the world to see ( and, Oh! The wondrously rebellious impressions he creates!) These
heads tend to be completely legitimate idiots in ever sense of the word, in that they begin
doing drugs with a need to do drugs; and that need never leaves them. Their entire social life
and image is built on being the druggie, and bucking authority at ever opportunity (provided
he has an ample audience!) What is hilarious is when these types get alone, they have no idea
who they are outside that brittle drug-loving exterior. They, for this reason, adopt beautifully
productive habits of sleeping, eating, and watching TV – habits which characterize these losers
for the rest of their lives.
*sad is the fact that they pull so many down with them*
Often, the problem of habitual use is created during that period of disillusionment in "child-
like" activities which most teens feel at one point in their development. It is at this point where
the voi is often packed full of pot, with little understanding of the dire consequences of this
packing. The person, then, tricks himself into believing that he or she need drugs to have
fun! Sometimes this illusion goes so far that the person cannot relax and "be himself" around
others without the aid of substances. It is these vicious mental cycles which do the damage
to a person’s life, the physical effects, which are similar to the damages of legal drugs, fade in
comparison to these lifestyle effects.
Realistic Approach
blind faith is not the answer – as neither is blind rebellion. Question the dogma of the DARE
officers, yet realize what it is that you are questioning. Learn for yourself and apply what
you learn. NEVER get tangled in the web of social roles, however. I will not lie, drugs can
be an enjoyable and incredibly fulfilling experience to those who have an open mind and are
RESPONSIBLE enough to weigh the good to the bad. A safety net of sorts is to have an eclectic
mix of friends, all of whom have different pastimes and hobbies. This gives the choice of…
With Increment Allotted Sincerity,
Corporal Korea
Persuasive Input Division (Inclusive)
Above all, question EVERYTHING you are told and make judgements based on PERSONAL expe-
riences, as opposed to the supposed experience of the "button pushers, far above." You will find,
often, that there is a blatantly contrasting truth, well-hidden just beneath the media-spawned
candy coating.
–Non Induced
I LEARNED TO BLEED QUIETLY
*to the melody of "Golden Hours" by Brian Eno*
1783
Mellow and fine
Is what all the people see
Yet just down inside
Dances child, uncertainty.
Perhaps they all will leave me lonely…
Outside
I try to follow in a different way
Sleep away time
In the hopes it will go away
Perhaps they all will stop their telling
WIth pride.
All the egos compete and sneer
They group and collide
They mellow target tries to hide his fear
Perhaps they all will leave me lonely…
All the love I wasted on delusions of you
Oh, the urge to taste what real love can do.
–
Once upon a time there was a tortoise named PETER GABRIEL. He was very slow and always
tired.
I, alone, am the bridge linking
ALONE to LONELY
But you must never acknowledge that fact!
*continue to assure yourself that image is opaque and tangible*
–FRI 7-7-00
Jake’s Car Notes (Induced)
Can I look at something and not have an opinion of it? Can I then accept my ego?
Ram Dass:
The key is to use a person’s social fears to induce a lack of social self.
Greed Of The Grieving Other:
"I wish he was HERE again to comfort ME."
–
And whose net is this that I cast out onto the world and is its bounty truly caught? Are these
categories I separate each catch into merely figments of my mind, like a dream of silent love?
I have crumbled and softened to clay in warm rain, my essence carried off in colored water. I
am no longer a sculpture, hollow, but a shape of my surroundings, viscous.
1784
And in light currents I lay, receptive. The soft senses open to a flow, unseen. Listen far close
to a hum that connects, a flat line is the extreme-less end.
Effervescent surges of gasses buoyant in water, emotion, charged, reacting. This is life to
the living, love to the loving; not simply an actor, but a REactor to compliment. It is their
interACTIONwhich creates the peak moment, this organic surging of chemicals to the depths:
the static soul, garaged.
The instructions of dead doctors lie burnt, faded, and smeared with unknown blood. The num-
bers and barcodes still fully intact, my name drawn out in so many black lines, limes – black
and rotten, sour soured, now putrid, a sign of upgrade.
–Non-Induced
…The soothing sounds of a mountain stream… *birds chirping*
In the distance, the enlightening sound of a pan flute is heard to call.
Indeed…it is more audible now.
My papa is not a friend, but a feared model.
Pals dare not respect or emulate, but rather compete and test.
–Two Years Later – 12-20-02
And who will? And why will they? Willing to, only by my will, will they? My body weighs so
much – I sometimes feel it pulling me to the ground, to my knees; prostration is the position
one naturally takes when releasing the body, typically in submission, but not necessarily.
Living amongst society has changed me, made me less sane, no longer detached. I feel as
though attachment is vital, however, if I am to live this life to the fullest.
We are social animals and our communication is our nature, be it embraced or rejected, or
withheld from maturation. Our game is a loud one, with roles and dialogue. Ego is our guide
to game play, an instinctual rule book. It is a necessary evil, both subtle and opaque.
–Non-Induced
Musical Theory Notebook (scrawled over in red ink: "Wordy Fun Bullshit.")
To "reinvent" music from, at least an aural perspective, emulation of technique and nature
using an instrument whose technique and nature are traditionally dissimilar in a unique way
to fight that attraction to that which is traditional.
For example, the nature of the fully traditional snare drum role is far and away from the realm
of conventional instruments and, yet, could easily be emulated by any one…let’s say an oboe
for sake of imagery. Granted, simplistic, the sharp and distinct stabs of the snare serve as a
base for most of the popular music of this century.
To take an established music form, say Jazz, and sift the role of each instrument one to the
right, you would, essentially, be creating an instrumental inverse to the form!
–Assumed Induced
My Introversion
A flight reaction (as opposed to a fight) from the stresses of social interaction? (Instinctual?)
Stresses surface from my inability to produce that entertaining, joy-inducing substance ejacu-
lated by modern Americanized social self (or a fear of the apparently unavoidable presence of
that inability.)
1785
The dissolving of this instinctual fear/stress – As prescribed by our Eastern forefathers, medita-
tion: the Enlightening process of Ego Flushing
The organization of a social net which is anti-social. Cult, Zen Monastery.
*CONSTANT SILENCE??*
Does this imply the abandonment of those such seedy social elements? OR
Congregation of antisocials necessary?
Does isolation/contemplation breed insanity?
Or simply unconventional thought, labeled as such?

China Journal Backup – Part 1 (2014-08-07 13:37) - public

Refine (Fine and Fine Again)

"I’m fine, really. I’ll be fine."

Please, I only need a moment to myself, to recover.

Please, just give me a moment’s peace.

It seems impossible to be social and escape the obligation of garbage food and diseased culture,
as these are the things social people share with one-another. Once health is achieved, how does
a social person maintain it, when confronted with the shared indulgence; the celebration at the
heart of community? …A new community? (Mormons indulge in sugar instead of alcohol.)

Thank you

- For the gifts I’ve been given.

- For my many opportunities, even those I’ve wasted.

1786
- For a circle of people who love and support me, faults and all.

- For the time I have remaining.

Imperfections settle into cavities of mistrust, fear in the emptiness.

Salad space in a tooth’s enamel, open too long.

Series of clear meaning, lost and broken, confused, pieces dissolving out of focus.

Baby beef, empty chest.

Fill it again, in-spire (am I expired?)

Deeply breath in life, Prana.

Slow consistant focused rhythm,

this is how energy builds, regular periodic cycles, resonant, controlled feedback through the
system.

The clock, the schedule, health through routine. (REGULARITY)

Do what you don’t want to do, on time, every day.

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The clock, I jump it and lay, hoping it will roll over me again.

Self portrait, I jump it once more, straining this time,

as its grown so high, weathered around the edges.

***Relay the Truth***

…but how do you live a truth that society cannot contain?

(alone)

"Hey man! Stay positive!"

I’m afraid my positive years are behind me. All bare-nerved reality from here on out.

QUESTIONS FOR CHINESE MEDIUM/HEALER:

-At what age did your ability first become apparent?

- Can you tell a story of an early experience?

- Tell me what you have learned of the spirit world in your work. Are there divisions?
1788
- Teacher? Family history?

SCOTT

- Atonal Chord Progression

- Percussive transient Choir w/ South Pacific Vocal Rhythms

120 BPM LP Saw LFO

- Re-amp’d w/ snare on amp

How does one regain attention span, short term and working memory reserves, after they have,
for whatever reason, been weakened or degraded? As these faculties are central to the ability
to plan and organized towards the accomplishment of goals, this is a vitally important question
to one’s career and life, if one intends for that life to be a successful one! And, I suspect, the
answer is in the question – specifically in "for whatever reason." Some reasons, like major
cerebral hemorrhage or brain death, having a very different prognosis than alcohol abuse or
marijuana use, and those being very different on a biological level from the degradation of
extended insomnia, even if all are more or less symptomatically identical. So cognitive testing,
in this respect, is still a very superficial probing of the etiology of these conditions, perhaps
doing little more than signifying that A disorder is present.

My love,

There are sensations far and high above those we would ever feel in a lifetime. These are
the spiritual heights and to experience them we must explore beyond the limits of our natural
chemistry, as spiritual men have done since the beginning of society. The use of chemistry
in this way is not a weakness or a crutch, but a tool, like any other. I would never see China
1789
without the help of an airplane or boat – likewise, these sensations would never be explored
without the assistance of these tools or "vehicles" of consciousness.

What is the flying serpent, the universality of the dragon in consciousness and cultural wis-
dom. He lives in the depths but ascends to great heights. Caduceus, Ketzakuatle, the fall of
Lucifer, the serpent, with his knowledge, forbidden. Who is to say he cannot, in God’s infinite
forgiveness, Ascend again? Leaving the world without a left hand….

Drifting through varying states and stages of sickness, little busy-minded Asians staring and
reciting all the while. How long must I endure this body? I cannot bear the weight of this mind,
those inexplicable fatigues and pains. Some fresh hell! Beer!

The Blossoming of Consciousness:

Sensitivity and Evolution

The scent to a higher level of selection necessitates a developmental shift in organization and,
with the

EZ LISTENING TUNE - "GATES OF STEEL/COME BACK JONEE"

"I resent myself,

that is why it’s good."

Macro-Evolution Catchphrase:

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"The Organization is Organic"

(Too Vague??)

Hold a vibrant line, bend it until its angle narrows around your grip, muting the resonance.
Mouth breather, unresponsive to words or subtle beauty, how can I share a life with you when
7/8ths of that life would be lost to you? Would I not, myself, eventually lose those most ascen-
dent ranges of my life as I bent and contorted myself to conform to the obligations of that thick
filter of all you ignore? Yes, those branches of my inward past would atrophy without use, after
years of neglect.

I am in favor of strong government, the regulation of big business and, to some degree,
the regulation of personal liberties. Every individual should have the same wage/yearly
salary/benefits–from Government officials to Taco Bell toilet cleaners. This negates personal
game from the policy equaltion, so serving the greater good can take its place.

To understand my intentions in marriage fully, you must try to adopt a perspective of people,
not as individual personalities, so much as collections of characteristics – some desirable, some
undesirable – while these do, to a great degree, define personality. I put the cart before the
horse; ENDS > MEANS.

Great achievements are forgotten in time, even by those who achieved them. Submerged
neath the rushing current of years, generations spilling over one-another. What can I hold on
to and make mine? In the end, this shall be the thing that sends me sinking to the bottom by
my fist, clutching to a past down the through the depths, unseen, beneath relevance.

What are your best qualities? Worst?

How would you describe your mom? Dad? Self?

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Does your mom have any annoying habits?

22 million people starved to death in 1960 alone, by Mao’s choice to take their food from them,
so that he could satisfy his lust for power and build an atomic bomb as soon as possible. By
the Party’s own figures, over 30 million died slowly and painfully of starvation unnecessarily
due solely to Mao’s cruel insistence. 38 million is closer to the reality. Death, fear, slow painful
torture; total control of media and culture.

She was a retest. Her eyes rolled back, just like Janet’s had. The slow groan, rising in intensity
and pitch as her body shook in my arms, her mouth tightened sideways into a painful grimace.
My baby…. I watched her fall, hit her head hard on the floor – identical. How could I let this
happen again? trusting girl, I’m so sorry. I want to share my world with you, but I cannot shield
you from the risks.

IN TICKET LINE TO CHANGSHA – 5/24/14

Challenge is an asset, in the same way exercise makes us strong, improving us. Adversity
defines our edge, sharpening it, testing it. Without this adversary or his competition, we are
incompetent, unfit from a selective standpoint. SENSITIVITY defines how much of the world
we sense, the depth of our feeling. And so within the states-of-consciousness of society are
divisions, unseen, though evident in behavior or, perhaps, a certain brightness of one’s eyes,
the inward radiance of receptivity.

Yet, these divisions we know as existing in all our relations, between the sensitive and the
"unfeeling," or insensitive, do not relate directly to the social status or success. The hyper-
sensitive are often victimized for their difference by those less-sensitive who sense of the world
is, perhaps, less complex or expansive (they IGNORE so much of their surroundings–and could
be called "ignore-ant.") The hyper-sensitive feels every pain and pleasure with greater intensity,
learning early on to cope with being overwhelmed. Strong, crude, powerful men bull their way
to the top of the social ladder, sensitivity of those around them viewed as simple weakness;
loud and ignorant, unencumbered by such "limitations" as empathy or vulnerability.

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Ambiguity or self-doubt. These reflective trains of thought are typical of the feeling man.

RADIANT OPEN EYE!

Place me where I can thrive out of my covers and their recovery, the limits of tightened ban-
dages, cutting the circulation of my lifeblood, limiting my movement. Air me out, show my
unsightly wounds acceptance and care. In-security inside my shell.

Recognition hardens into Pride, a veneer of vanity gouging its way through politeness and
difference until his egotism is fulfilled to his satisfaction; an impossible task as all the authentic
worth his pride once represented sinks beneath its hard surface, like flesh rotting beneath a
shell. DARK! Sorry…got to keep ego death cheery! Look on the bright side of death!

I will always be most comfortable alone, my Love. But comfort is not always what’s best for
our well-being. Exhaustion is tied to comfort, and comfort leads to exhaustion…and weakness.

13.9 September

The Communal Faith In The Unexamined (2014-09-06 15:42) - public

Lost child, lost and found, holding his teddy bear desolately, to fulfill the cliche in his footy
pajamas. But, even when found, the lost part of him remains, like a fear without a reason,
like a dark place in his chest. He found out it was the finder, this estranged woman, who was
realy lost, lost to herself, a distraction from the world she aims so desperately to please. She
found him a place in her repertoire, like an accessory bag, like a pet chihuahua to show off in
public, as needed. Speak of him admiringly, but don’t speak to him, please. Thank you for
your understanding, we just don’t want to encourage him.
Is all this bitterness still real? Still fresh? The wounds have, long since, scarred over and
hardened, why must my range of motion still be so severely limited, expression wise? That is
what wounds do, I suppose. They smart, the deep ones, those that cut down to the bone, will
smart forever, weever you bend or turn just right, that reminder of what happened is there, in
a sharp flash, and you stop what you wanted to do, to pause in that pain once more.
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Like what I say goes, like it ever went. I, who haven’t said much, except in thinking of what
I wished to say, in those long scenarios of the night, the replays and criticisms of my every
failed interaction or confrontation. These are my dreams, perhaps, as an insomniac. As they
constitute my desires, just the same; my desire to demolish that aggressor, to impress that
buxom smiling beauty, so that she just surrenders, to , to win the point to score the game for
school cheer to happen then for me, smile big I number one. Look. You’re not looking.
As if there were ever words I could have said that would have fit, that would have adhered
to that empty frameTransparent frame, the heroes and winners, the power and the glory, the
pomp and the circumstance, how is it that my words could fill those roles? Like empty balloons,
the comic book character who has no text yet, only a white hanging speech balloon, waiting
for the appropriate statements. How could I be responsible for such a character, their cliched
expression and the appearances to be maintained. I’d undermine the whole project, nobody
wants that sort of liability on their hands.
I hear someone inflating an air mattress with their little car lighter pump and I think about my
life.
Is this disoslutionment still insight? Out of sight! Insights, but are all insights healthy? Can
some bring the whole show tumbling down? To see the flimsy roap that holds the whole circus
tent up, to see it as it is, the fragility of it, the fact its not tied down to anything at all, except
the collective faith in the unexamined.
Faith in that unexamined tie that binds, in that dark corner that we must be taught to simply
trust. Why is some learning still taboo? Because science was made to respect the corner, the
unknowable corner of spirit, for the scientists were to respect the religion, at least enough not
to go trampling through with their microscopes and rulers. Religion had its corner, and dare
science ofrget whose tent this is, after all! Give em an inch and they take all of materialism,
but they dare not take an inch more than that! To measurable physicality, science has fenced
itself, out of respect for religion and spirit, resentful respect.
I see Scott Arford as a snooty cop, making a "La Dee Da!" motion with his chin pressed down
into a gyrating double chin. Nahal wrote "Hey Gorgeous! with little kiss lips in chalk on the
sidewalk in front of her house, so I would see it when I left in the morning….except I lingered in
her bedroom for hours after she left for work, just indulging in internet lazily, and admiring her
little knick backs, writing strange post cards in her bed, considering her gypsy fashion choicees
and Middle Eastern decorum. All these things, in this person who took me in and showed me
love. Awkward, motherly love, but everything I needed at that moment; eager to please and
to be possessed. She dreamt of being a mother to my child that night, and I was so touched,
especially when she described how deeply she loved our baby, our Chinese baby. The layers
of meaning and memory blurred across layers.
The air mattress couple smoked pot and are now fucking. She’s a polite moaner, expressive
but quiet. I think of so many women, in little obsessive cycles, and the empty roles return,
white blank expressionless heroes they want to save them, they wait to save them, or to at
least say something relevant.
She’s reaching climax. Its such a turn on. I can hear her petite size and ae in her voice.
Late twenties, passionate, affectionate, she feels things fully and is adventurous. I intuit all
of these things from her voice, slightly hoarse and ascending in pitch. I think again of the girl
who served me my pizza tonight, and how she smiled so easily at me, with those slightly shy
upturned glances as she worked. I recited what I should have told her at least twelve times. "I
hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are the cutest girl I’ve seen in a long time… I just
had to say hello, or I knew I’d be kicking myself about it later. "
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And so I went to the register, and she came over smiling bashfully, waiting, and I, instead, told
her I had never gotten my receipt, and then looked at the menu to contest a price. Because
that’s how I roll… Goodbye!

Obligations and Deadlines for Friendship (2014-09-06 16:01) - public

People form agendas out of thin air

and present them as gifts, wrapped in ornate greetings.

Rethinking Individualism and Collectivism (2014-09-14 18:37) - friends

In “Rethinking Individualism and Collectivism,” Daphna Oyserman and others analyze how
the two societal structures, individualism and collectivism (IND-COL), effect personality,
self-concept, cognition, and overall well-being, all of which have clinical implications to be con-
sidered by the therapist if they intend to establish an effective psychotherapeutic relationship.

Traditionally, individualism is not merely something Americans value, it is considered

something quintessentially American; creative thinking, self-distinction and self-expression all
being central facets of our social development, our personality, and our identity as Americans.
Yet, as long as this definition of American values has been established, an awareness, however
misinformed or romantic, of Eastern culture has developed in contrast to it. This awareness
of the East, and the foreignness of its collectivism, has not always been a positive one; our
fear of the power of the communal, of Communism and of the loss of individual rights and
freedoms to the greater good, however calmed since the 1950s, still inhabit an tense space
in the subconsciousness of many Americans. The sinister tone of the Japanese Exclusion Act,
or the Red Scare that fueled our relentless bombing of Vietnam, could all be said to be tied
to the inherent mistrust which shades these most basic differences between individualist and
collectivist cultures.

Hofstede (1980) defined individualism as “a focus on rights above duties, a concern for
oneself and immediate family, an emphasis on personal autonomy and self-fulfillment, and
the bas- ing of one’s identity on one’s personal accomplishments.”

According to Schwartz (1990), “collectivist societies are communal societies character-

ized by diffuse and mutual obligations and expectations based on ascribed statuses. In these
societies, social units with common fate, common goals, and common values are centralized;
the personal is simply a component of the social, making the in-group the key unit of analysis.”

A therapist attempting to help a client from a collectivist upbringing should realize that
their self-concept, attribution style, and relationality are all tied to group membership and the
goals of the collective. For instance, the concept of establishing and maintaining “harmony,” is
a central facet of Chinese culture and consciousness, still defining familial and societal roles in
that area of the world, as it has for many millennia. For us, a culture with only a few centuries
under our belt, to judge or disregard the value of self-sacrifice for the benefit of the greater
good of society seems dangerously short-sighted. Cultural sensitivity dictates a respectful and
open-minded attitude towards these collectivist ideals, which can be a great challenge when
the differences lies in the individualist therapist’s most basic and unquestioned assumptions,
those of self definition, personal freedoms, and the value placed on an individual life.
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In reviewing the implications of individualism and collectivism in therapy, Oyserman con-
cludes that each approach has its limitations, no one approach dominates the field of
psychotherapy, and the method of framing a country of comparison differed by the domain of
content, potentially reducing the scope of one’s therapeutic approach.
–
References
Hofstede, G. (1980). Culture’s consequences. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage.

Oyserman, D., Coon, H.M., & Kemmelmeier, M. (2002). Rethinking individualism and col-
lectivism: Evaluation of theoretical assumptions and meta-analyses. Psychological Bulletin,
121, 3-72.

Schwartz, S. H. (1990). Individualism– collectivism: Critique and proposed refinements.

Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 21, 139–157.

Modified Two-Channel Auditory Perception Experiment (2014-09-14 18:38) - pub-

lic

The two-channel experiment, described by Baars (1997), is a fascinating exploration of

comparative phenomenology, allowing us to tease apart the subtle threads of conscious
attention, to identify specific layers and functions within the sensate experience, as a whole.
All of this week, I have been, unintentionally, performing this two-channel experiment on
myself, and finding strange pleasure in the sensations, those subjective experiences induced,
by being barraged by multiple streams of conscious expression. You see, I was traveling
all of these two weeks, and for several days before that, as I drove my 1993 Ford Taurus
across the country, to the Saybrook Conference in San Francisco, and then up the coast to
my new home, in Seattle, Washington. During these long hours, and exhausting days of hard
driving, I would sometimes experiment with the radio, making recordings of various strange
phenomena from the receiver using my trusty stereo field recorder. AM radio yields the most
fascinating sounds, and when driving across the flat lands, like Montana, near a major city,
certain AM frequencies would have many different radio stations competing over the given
channel. While FM is designed to block out competing stations (which creates a modulating
gate phenomena) AM stations, instead of isolating, actually all play at full volume at once,
which can be overwhelming, to the point of dizzying, to listen to. Yet, I did listen to it, closely,
with attention to the various languages, cultures, and moods of the varied simultaneous
content. Often, this rapid-fire torrent of culture would actually cause a tingling sensation
in my frontal lobe, as my attention was forced to spread and fork to interpret what it was
hearing. I notice this tingling sensation is tied to any experience of “hyperstimulation,” like
this; although I have also felt the same brainy tingle during moments of distinct meditative
states, during which it may often be accompanied by flashes of light.
In this particular incarnation of the two-channel experiment (which I suppose could be a 2+
channel version, depending on which city I was driving through at the time) I used earbud
headphones, so that the subtle details of the various broadcasts could be amplified and
isolated to each ear. Additionally, I altered the filter settings of the car’s receiver, so that
lower register ranges of the signals would be directed to the left speakers, and mid-range
(vocal) register data would be heard in the right speakers/ear bud. While this does not allow
total control of the content, it does allow for, as Baars described, a “primary” and “secondary”
consciousness stream, for some comparison to take place. I felt this was sufficient to, at least,
1796
get a good grasp of the phenomena, if not test the priming capacity of individual words and
phrases, as he described with his cited experiments.
First, what becomes immediately clear, is that attention seems to be a serial process, not at
all parallel. That is to say, I could only truly attend to one stream of messages at a time, even
if I tried to “soften” my perception, to listen to everything at once, in the way a person can
sometimes do with the focus of their gaze, I could not hear it all without, eventually, listening
to one or the other message. When we hear a word, we tend to perceive it automatically.
Where, on the other hand, it seems we can sometimes let our eyes “glaze over” and stare
off at many distinct things without focusing on a single one of them, distinctly. Yet, even this
claim may shaky to make, since when presented with a word, I’d venture to say we have a
tendency to read it, glaze-eyed or not.
What made my modified 2-channel experiment interesting, I think, was the control I had over
the multiple streams coming in off the antenna. With my electret microphone held up, at
approximately ear height, I could hear much more than I could have with the “naked ear.”
Subtle ranges of the incoming sound could be picked out, a strange scrunchy sound down
there, or a sort of whirring white noise storm back behind my head, somewhere. In all of
these rich energetic phenomena, voices, messages surfacing or attempting to surface, up
into expression. And, I slowly learned, once I located the area of a particular sound within
the car, I could then “dive in” with the microphone and explore that particular source more
fully, dipping the microphone into that corner of the cab where, say, a scraping vocal sound
was heard, I would then be fully enveloped by that screaping, as if it was a realm of amplitude
modulation which I was able to enter and inhabit. This was all very exciting to me, the ability
to selectively decide which were to be the “primary” and “secondary” streams, and to truly
focus on that primary source in a way I’d never experienced radio before.
Interestingly, by turning the axis of my stereo microphone, the pickup patterns of the cars
antenna were, similarly, altered so that perception was, literally, changing the channels that
were being received. By turning my hand a few degrees, I could have a Mexican mariachi
band or, awash in phase, a gruff man talking about UFO abductions. Haha! …and now I have
hours of radio static recordings as well for, you know, some day when I’ll really need that, for
some reason!
References

Baars, B. (1997). In the Theater of Consciousness: The Workspace of the Mind (1st ed., p. 25).
Oxford University Press.

The Compass and The Ocean (2014-09-16 22:29) - public

The chair is uncomfortable, what sounds do the roommates hear and in which ways can I
suppose each individual would judge me, based on those sounds? The sound of laying in a
creaky bed, the sound of coughing up pot smoke?

Marijuana helps meditation, among other things. The breath, the exhale slow of medi-
atation, especially, can fill your chest with vibrant energy, a buzzing sensation that pot is
known for, at least in reference if not in practice. The buzz represents a very particular
kind of high, the more rare full body energetic sensation a meditative high, of transplendent
hypersensitive states which change in in relation with the use of other psychedelics. The
1797
stronger experience, of LSD or psilocybin, introduce a new associative branch, a new range
of experience, which is learned in a moment of high volume attention, a sudden influx of
attention, which can be directed into long spans of thought, branching through categories of
semantic meaning into far off ranges of conception. It is these branches, like the map of a
flooded river, seen from its tributaries down to its most capillary streams. If we could watch the
flood, in its entirety, from that initial bursting torrent of attention, to its gradually diminishing
end, you could watch the riverbed stretch out, branching in all directions to compensate for
the flooding. Yet this branching, too, is also subject to the land and its shapes, its inclinations
and their materials, all of these decide the flow of rivers, to a degree, when given a torrential
downpour from the mountains. The speed of these rapids, in the spring, carve out the land,
sometimes flooding through forests where rivers had not been before. Yet, more often than
not, an older branch from a flood, long previous, still remains as a cut path beneath the brush.
This is, in cognition, known as priming, yet the mechanics of priming rarely account for these
long unaccessed semantic branches which, while perhaps not activated for years, or decades,
or perhaps never in your lifetime, are given attention once more, the lay of that land reveals
itself in spreading branches, and aspects of our instinct and our ancestral learning can be
drawn through an emerging consciousness, those heightened states of consciousness which
opens to us with those heightened ranges of perception. Our perception, in that state, is the
compass and consciousness the ocean. And we can only encompass so much, before we see
the limits of remaining merely on the waters surface. And then we need a new compass, for a
new direction. Inward.

To Do

-Get clean, feel energy

-Fast 5 days
-Meditate, Not Masturbate!
-Haha, whatever.
-Self-Restraint on Social Media/Internet
-Daily schedule, drawn across a week.
-I wiggle in annoyance and irreverence when confronted with actual work and organization,
wiggling my way out of it. What a lazy slugabed I be!

-Once the whole frame of organization, and logical ordering, is broken, I can let the whole
intention that was contained in that frame spill out all over myself, indulgent irreverence for
culture and disregard for tradition. What a waste!
-Shameful business.

The slow mistake, never close to its conclusion, like tumbling down a ski jump – God,
what a FInnish metaphor!

TO DO

-Contact the loan company

-Stay organized
-Stay determined
-Stay clean

Can I use this place to propel me into a purposeful daily routine?

This cell, with its many distractions. How can I come to write many pages, every day?
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Motivated, to advertise and raise money, publish, and see clients.

Ahh

Ahh

-hows it going man?


where you venturing off to now

Oh hey. Yea, I turned off facebook to smoke pot for the first time in this new place. I
hate smoking around roommates I dont know, having to hide it. Trying not to cough!

I was recording with some of your Reaktor stuff, actually, when you messaged.

A lot of the good shit doesnt work on my version of Reaktor 5...

so I guess I gotta look into that, but what did open was great. AND the old Reaktor 4
shit that I knew so well in my old studio. Banaan Electronique is one of the greatest distortion
boutiques I’ve ever found...

I used to reamp that shit, to these big oak speaker towers my dad built when he was in
Germany.

Crazy sounds, I used one of those old Marantz amplifiers, with a line 6 amp head, to
create these insane high wattage direct line feedback loops. I remember that amp head
actually sparked when I ran it through the patchbay. I had no idea what I was doing! haha

But, what was crazy, I was able to control all that direct line feedback using Reaktor....
so it was this howling analogue 70s sound, overwhelming the digital software – which became
more of an abrasive processing layer within the pure feedback.

Fuck, anyway, you caught me high there. Haha, you can probably tell.

I would like to speak about my personal experience with dimethyltryptamine, a sensory

neurotransmitter present in many plants and used as a medicine by the Shipibo people of
Peru’s Upper Amazon Basin. While present naturally in the blood stream, and measured in
slightly elevated levels in the bloodstreams of TD schizophrenics, it is theorized by that DMT is
released during birth, death, and childbirth, essentially governing the transition into and out
of life (Strassman, 1997).

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13.10 November

Learning To Follow (2014-11-05 01:03) - public

Mark the time, supplant the rhythm, let the beat open its path, like an engine, driving beneath
the direction you give it, so the possible futures are yours to oversee. Choose one and look
far down it, look at its immediate destination, and the further destinations beyond that and
weight these against the blockages and complications that you foresee on this path, this
roadway, extending across your inward landscape.

Steps in the waves, an ascent beyond the surface we know to the higher boundaries for-
eign to us. If this moonlit stairway were remembered, if we could find it again in the morning,
then someone would try to sell tickets. Onwards and upwards! But in solitude, but with
humble reverence; have a clear sense of the relationship you are forming and rely upon it. It’s
a sort of dance, and you are not the one leading it.

I become excited by ideas, that is inspiration. Less and less do I follow these ideas through to
their fruitful conclusion, as following that trail requires focus and attention span that seems
do disappear, or perhaps degrade, with lost sleep. I must pay close attention to my attention,
and care for it like one would their own body, keeping it clean and open, free from bunching,
like a long red carpet, it must be opened and stretched out often, or moisture and mildew may
form in the depressions. Regularity in sleep, exercise, and diet are more than just positive to
health, they are also preventative, a sort of defense against the insults of a stressful life. When
one of the three suffers, the others respond to compensate and a delicate balance is lost. For
instance, a bout of insomnia tends to lead to a gain in weight, as the body, sleep deprived,
seeks to satiate that “hunger” for sleep in some other way, in calories. A dip in one of the
three leads to a rise in the other, like the crest and trough of a single wave, a single impact of
a stone to the surface of a quiet pond, so is the impact of tension and insomnia meeting our life.

Impacts. I need to capture every impact, to know it, to be able catalogue and recognize
it, and apply my knowledge of it to other impacts, lesser known; the more we can generalize
these impacts that are known, the more we can apply those generalizations to all impacts, to
include those we cannot observe or study yet. This is my backyard pond, the iron ore mine
shaft so long abandoned, it has since filled with water. Throwing the tailings, the great red
stones, into the water, hearing the deep vacuum and the plosive sound as the surface finally
burst open from the weight, and the great explosion of water out from that punctured surface
sometimes splashing me in the face as I struggled to regain myself from the heaving throw.

The two minutes of peace in confusion, of clarity and perspective from above the bram-
bles and trees. Phenomenal view… far above. If the tour of people dwindles and I forget its
purpose, perhaps I’ll have little reason to return. Surely, the most selfish thought, that of the
ascetic hermit.

Emotion and Memory (2014-11-07 21:09) - public

Emotion is a complex and powerful subjective experience which, while distinct from cognition,
often charges our thoughts and expression with meaning and potency. We have all certainly
had the experience of talking with a "flatliner" at a party (or maybe a college lecture hall or
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two!), whose dry, emotionless, monotonous way of talking slowly lulled us into a complacent
smiling/nodding maneuver, perhaps as we fought to keep our eyes from glazing over. On the
same token, think of what a joy it is to converse with a dynamic and passionate person, who is
genuinely interested and excited about the idea they’re sharing. The charisma and dynamism
is, really, a function of passion and imbuing the voice with an upbeat excited emotionality.
It’s the emotion that gives our ideas spark, and, like a actual flash of light, passionate people
draw our attention.

In LeDoux’s Scientific American article (2002), we see, too, how intimately emotion is
tied to memory, something we implicitly know, although perhaps never consciously consider.
For instance, how the smell of vanilla and grandma’s cookies and hugs are all cues that ground
our memory of childhood Christmases spent in her kitchen. Likewise, how the emotional
tone that remains after a bitter argument with someone immediately sours our memory of
them (regardless of who actually won the argument!) With this neurological actuality in mind,
there’s a quote that, more and more, rings through my mind every time I sense an argument
escalating with someone I care about:

"I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but
people will never forget how you made them feel."

–Maya Angelou

Of course, the most powerful example of LeDoux’s link of memory and emotion remains
in the experience of trauma. The common phrasing used by people describing traumatic
experiences, like "The scene is etched into my mind, forever." or "The accident just keeps
playing, over and over again in my mind." These common statements really help to describe
the effect extreme anxiety and physiological activation – measured as heightened activity in
the amygdala and limbic systems (Greenberg & Goldberg, 2008) – has on long term memory
stores, and is an important area of focus, as therapists, especially with clientele experiencing
the persistent "shell shock" of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, who may be struggling to
reintegrate into a normal and socially functional life after experiencing an extreme traumatic
event.

References

Greenberg, L. S., & Goldman, R. N. (2008). Chapter 2: Emotion. In Emotion-focused

couples therapy: The dynamics of emotion, love, and power (pp. 19-40).Washington, DC:
American Psychological Association. doi: 10.1037/11750-002. (Retrieve from PsycBOOKS
database)

LeDoux, J. E. (2002, August). Emotion, memory, and the brain. Scientific American Spe-
cial Edition, 12(1), 62-71.

Mental Illness In China (2014-11-07 21:57) - public

Having spent over 2 years in China, and only recently returning to the United States, I can say
that culture plays a major role in both the use of psychotropic medications and the opinion
of the field of psychiatry, in general. In China, mental illness, like sex, is still considered an
unmentionable taboo; the mentally ill are hidden and stigmatized, especially in the more rural
1801
parts of the country. I was lucky enough to be given a tour of a mental health facility in the
city of Wuxi, in the Jiangsu province, up North. This is considered a new and progressive city,
by Chinese standards, and it may be why they were inviting foreign university teachers to tour
their mental health facility. Yet, what was immediately apparent, and quite unnerving, was
that in preparation for our arrival to the hospital, they had hidden all of the patients! I saw 2
patients as I toured the large facility, outside in the basketball court. All of the hallways and
social areas had been wiped clean, as if the clients who typically inhabited these areas were
a point of shame, and had to be "swept under the rug" when guests were arriving.

During my time in the country, I’d spoken with many Chnese people about psychology,
in general, and was told that, while they know the word and are aware it is something that
exists in Western countries, the field has not yet come to China. Psychiatric medications are
simply not produced in the country, for the most part. Yet, when I followed the question with
"Have you ever met anyone that was ’crazy?’" (exploring the topic using the most simple and
understandable English I could muster), many people responded yes, and even told stories of
immediate family who were debilitated by a mental illness. The shame is a powerful aspect in
these cases, which are typically handled (and hidden) from within the family.

My girlfriend told me about her uncle, who "gets suddenly very angry" and "cannot get
out of bed." He lives with her mother and father and is unable to work. When I asked her
more about his symptoms, she became angry about the situation, saying that she believed
he was not really sick, but faking it and was actually just lazy. This response, too, I feel is a
reflection of an aspect of Chinese culture; the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" mentality,
related closely to the quintessentially Chinese hard work ethic, which is reinforced so strongly
throughout the culture. Seemingly insurmountable difficulties and hardships will be endured
for a family member in need, or to save face. Mental illness falls between both of those pillars
of Chinese social structure, and so it is managed in a way very different from our own.

turboswami (2014-11-08 05:59:19)

Good point about psychotropics and pregnancy risks. With such obvious defects like cleft palate
now known as side effects, it makes me wonder how many other, more subtle, side effects exist
which, perhaps, slip under the radar, as less observable defects in the functioning of the child.
For instance, environmental toxins or OTC medicines, hair sprays or preservatives, paint fumes or
pesticide chemicals which, perhaps, only steal away 10 or 12 IQ points from our child, or his or her
capacity for impulse control – no where near as blatantly debilitating as a cleft lip, of course, but still
an impediment to normal cognitive or social functioning which mothers unknowingly inflict on their
child, simply by living in an industrialized society.

Returning To The Family Cabin (2014-11-13 15:30) - public

Like the forest of a higher place , where forms are lighter and thoughts less hidden, so the
dreams of my ancestral cabin feel real, as if merely existing above what little we know and
sense.

How did I reach this place, this old lodge filled with people somehow familiar to me, though
we’ve never met? Perhaps my arriving, even this once, is breaking some rule, as I sense,
despite all the love they show me, that I do not belong here – not yet. We watch the family still
1802
outside, in the sun. There is so much love and caring in the eyes of my grandparents, hope,
forgiveness, and empathy radiating unconditionally. I still belong out there – there is work to
be done.

pigshitpoet (2014-11-14 02:48:41) !!

you have a family cabin? cool ! ; ’

Surrender To Win (2014-11-14 04:47) - public

Plans of attack, forgotten amongst obsessions, distractions, and pride. Perhaps there is
nothing that distracts us from our self like pride. And, perhaps all of this is weakness, until
the moment I accept that I am weak. Some part of me fights the idea, that surrender could
win the game, But I am nothing if not weighed down by a self-restraint so personally mine
as to be personified; some old heavy criticism, internalized. I need and blame and excuse
myself across the years, discarding years like wasted days, and yet does simply accepting this
weakness truly help matters? Or simply allow respite from the shame?

On days, for weeks, another month,

Spent preparing for a time.
Perhaps I had best abandon,
All that I have left behind.

Health takes practice, few people get it on the first try.

Meditation practice, exercise routine, diet.

Goals, written, and day divided and engaged.

(2014-11-14 23:13) - public

How do I express the meaning of a sight?

The forgetting of a self?

pigshitpoet (2014-12-02 07:33:44) life should not become a conundrum..

use your cellphone and take a selfie and then post it on LJ.. ; )

pigshitpoet (2014-12-02 07:34:27) ??

and of course, happy birthday! ; )

turboswami (2014-12-02 08:12:39) Re: ??

Haha. Yea, take a picture then jus FO GET ABADDIT! Thanks... 33! Whew. Getting old. This whole
blog is basically just for you nowadays, so hope you feel special. ;P

pigshitpoet (2014-12-03 07:00:50) Re: ??

avatar, you look like a gentle giant. do you like their music?

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13.11 December

A Bandwidth Model of Consciousness: Integrating the Carrier Medium Into

Our Conception of Modulatory (2014-12-02 00:31) - public

*Abstract submitted to the 2015 Towards a Science of Consciousness conference, in Helsinki,

Finland*

Consciousness research has reached a standstill, according to eminent theoretician, Bernard

Baars, during a recent Stanford University symposium. While I am in agreement with Baars
that there have been few major advances in the field for some time, part of the problem
seems to be that we’ve exhausted the utility of our current metaphors. For this reason, I’d like
to propose a new metaphor: a model which conceptualizes consciousness as a spectrum of
frequencies whose natural division into discrete bandwidths defines the boundaries of state-
specific content and perception. By defining consciousness in terms of radiant spectra, many
of the known laws governing the electromagnetic spectrum can be applied to comprehend
the subtle mechanics of subjectivity, objectivity, states of consciousness, dimensionality, and
sensate awareness. In thinking of consciousness as information traversing a medium, we
are granted a new set of analogies with which we can apply the well-defined principles of
telecommunication to understand facets of awareness previously outside the limits of our
purview. By modeling consciousness in this way, and utilizing the known processes governing
modulatory phenomenon, a valuable set of insights can be inferred; generalizable properties
of transmission which can be applied to understand the non-observable ranges of periodic
phenomena. Among these generalizable characteristics are the properties of carrier medium
and the mechanics of its density in nature, from which we may apply the model of carrier
modulation to better understand the transmission of consciousness across unobservable or
yet-immeasurable mediums in nature. By applying these established spectral models to
conscious experience, we are afforded a set of useful new parameters with which to represent
the ranges of human awareness and the discrete states which divide our consciousness
systemically, as distinct ranges of frequency, or bandwidths.

Adrenal Fatigue Induced By Extended Use of the Corticosteroid Prednisone

(2014-12-02 00:35) - public

Several years ago, I was prescribed a potent corticosteroid named Predisone for some stomach
problem, as much as 80 mg a day for nearly a month. I did not know anything about this drug,
or its debilitating side effects, before I took it. Corticosteroids are a synthetic form of cortisol,
the "stress hormone," released naturally by our adrenal glands during periods of high anxiety
or stress. Think "fight or flight" hormone. This synthetic form is nearly 10 times as potent as
our natural stress hormone, and puts the body and mind, immediately, into a trauma state –
fight or flight mode, activated! The benefit of inducing a trauma state in the body is that, in
high stress situations, the immune system shuts down, ceasing all inflammatory responses.
(For this reason, Prednisone is often what is injected for severe allergic or autoimmune
reactions, as it quickly blocks the histamine response.) Yet, when prescribed and taken long
term (over 2 weeks) and at the high dose I was taking, the adrenal glands essentially shut
down, and stop producing the natural cortisol essential to our daily functioning – the synthetic
form makes natural production unnecessary.

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Among the vicious side effects of putting your body into an extended state of high stress
is the thinning of the skin, the inability to heal wounds (leading to major scarring), whole
body acne, scoliosis, or the curving of the spine, uncontrollable rages, insomnia, anxiety,
severe memory loss, confusion, and, often, full-blown, chemically-induced psychosis (Bollet,
1955). My hair literally turned grey over the course of a month. Yet, as much as I feared
these debilitating side effects (many of them permanent) and the havoc they’d wreak on my
personal relationships, little did I know that the MORE debilitating effects come only after the
Prednisone use is stopped!

Hours after my last dose, I found could not move from my bed. Deep pain and weak-
ness were coupled with severe and overwhelming depression. Walking across the room left
me exhausted and unable to breath. Something called "pseudo-rheumatism" is induced, when
your body suddenly has no cortisol, and is unable to produce its own. It seems we need
SOME stress in our life, if only to get us out of bed and get our blood pumping. I was unable
to function for a solid week, as I scrambled to try to learn more about what was happening,
and where this weakness and pain was coming from. I learned these are typical side effects
of Prednisone withdrawal and I was relieved, thinking it may be a few weeks, at most a
month, as the adrenal glands kick back into functionality. Yet, the more I read, the more I
learned that the memory loss was permanent, as was the scarring and scoliosis – and that
the withdrawal symptoms take, not a month, but upwards to 14 months to resolve themselves!

I began to scour the internet and peer-review literature for any and all treatments for
hypoadrenal syndrome. Beginning with a regimen of high dose vitamin B complex, coupled
with the ground up bovine adrenal glands, in a capsule form. I then moved into extracted
hormonal precursors, DHEA (still legal in the United States) (Libe, 2004). From there, I
attempted high dose ginseng, fish oil, and St. John’s wort, for the adrenal fatigue. Activated
bleach, royal jelly, and vitamin D therapies were attempted in the months that followed,
each treatment, admittedly, becoming more desperate and "New Age" than the one before it.
Vegan diet, raw food diet, alcohol and gluten free diets all did nothing to clear my system of
this caustic synthetic stress chemical. Exercise of any sort left me debilitated for days, but I
pushed myself through the pain, trying to get back to a normal state of functioning. Finally, in
a last ditch effort, I stopped all herbs, drugs, and calories of any kind – a total fast, drinking
only water – for 13 days. I was determined to overcome what this medicine had done to me,
and clear it from my system, completely. As powerful and difficult as the fast was, the pain
and fatigue returned soon after I began eating solid food again, on the 16th day.

The lesson I have learned from this is that doctors often prescribe medicine as if it were
candy, without any mention of the debilitating or dangerous side effects. In all honesty, I
would have preferred the original illness to the side effects that followed. It has been 21
months since I stopped taking the steroid, and still, somehow, I am in chronic pain with
weakness keeping me from doing the many things I wish to do.

References

Bollet, A. J., Black, R., & Bunim, J. J. (1955). Major undesirable side-effects resulting from
prednisolone and prednisone. Journal of the American Medical Association, 158(6), 459-463.
Libe, R., Barbetta, L., Dall’Asta, C., Salvaggio, F., Gala, C., Beck-Peccoz, P., & Ambrosi, B.
(2004). Effects of dehydroepiandrosterone (DHEA) supplementation on hormonal, metabolic
1805
and behavioral status in patients with hypoadrenalism. Journal of endocrinological investiga-
tion, 27(8), 736-741.

Maddy "No Hugs" McGee (2014-12-02 00:49) - public

The following is a real case, from my time at Pine Rest Mental Health Facilities, a large campus
in Grand Rapids, MI:

Patient is a 17 year old white female, 118 lbs, named Maddy who was admitted Satur-
day night for self-harm and a supposed suicide attempt, using a razor blade to cut her right
wrist and forearm. Cuts were superficial in depth, with minimal bleeding. Patient tested
negative for controlled substances in urinalysis, although self-reports to occasional marijuana
use and alcohol use socially (approximately once a month.)

Pt. contracts for safety, and has no current suicidal ideation.

Given the patient’s description of confusion and auditory hallucinations leading up to

the suicide attempt, preliminary diagnosis of Psychosis NOS is given, with a prescription of
Chlorpromazine, 100 mg 2x/day (every 6-12 hr) with close monitoring of her response to the
medication during this first week.

2 days after beginning the antipsychotic regimen, Maddy began to experience restless-
ness, insomnia, shuffling gait, and listlessness, waking up and leaving room at 3 and 4 AM.
Her mouth and tongue became swollen, and she had trouble eating (breakfast cereal fell from
her mouth onto her chest and lap.) She was unresponsive or inattentive when addressed by
name, and maintained a distant gaze when attempting to engage her in conversation. Early
morning confusion, wailing, crying in the hallway, screaming “Please, help me! Where am I?”

Afraid, confused, and crying, she put out her arms wanting a hug. Ethically, I could not
legally give her a hug, and was forced to push her away. This was very painful for me.

Given the presented symptoms, resident psychiatrist doubles dosage of Thorazine to

400mg/day (200 mg 2x/day).

Symptoms do not respond to change in dosage.

I found myself resenting the doctor for doubling little Maddy’s Thorazine prescription,
when it was obvious to everyone working with her that the dosage she had was already
completely incapacitating her. The prescribing doctor did consider it worthwhile to see her
before making this change in medication, which is a major part of the problem of high volume
psychiatric facilities (essentially pill dispensaries, without the resources needed to provide the
individual care required for meaningful recovery.)
Maddy’s parents cried and cried to see their little girl, their only child, drooling on herself,
distant and unresponsive to their affection.
The most powerful thing I learned from this experience is that sometimes someone just needs
a good hug, when they are afraid and sad. And that I cannot give that to them.

References

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Pollack, B. (1955). Preliminary report on 500 patients treated with thorazine at Rochester
State Hospital. Psychiatric Quarterly, 29(1), 439-456.

The Voice In The Well (2014-12-16 12:11) - public

A puff of smoke rises from the bowl and falls, gently, to the ground as goose down, grey and
fuzzy.

Is this what I’m to be doing? Anything. An organized direction, a track with daily stops,
the superficial opportunities that compose a relationship, the choices that weren’t made. I
appear to the world as a sad or sick man, perhaps, as these are the collections of excuses
which compose my interactions with the people in my life; each of these a clever ruse to
escape, perhaps less and less clever the less I care to hide my true sentiments, my preference
towards solitude. If I consider the sum total of these escapes, and realize the picture each
of these interactions comes to paint, my mark on the world and its networks of people, I see
desolation spread across a map, burnt bridges and elaborate desperation, alienated loved
ones, and, perhaps, brightness, too, in patches of truth in peak identity and performance.
Must I end every thought of self worth and talent with that self-effacing wilted humor? It is
safe, always, to criticize myself, to make myself the butt of the sarcastic joke. “Nice!” It is
satisfying and safe to make myself a joke, but it can take on a darker more sinister face, an
attitude of exaggerated failure becoming an accepted truth, a place I live in.

Toward myself I should work to become, not toward anyone else, nor for them.

If I can release the grip of my distraction, and of illness and its living, I could step into
the bright burning of what remains of my potential, the unburned fuel that has waited all my
life to catch fire. Like nothing, like everything, that turning discontent, churning up to be
created, so the need to move and make is , at the same time, an act of defining ones defenses.
The root of those two words is no coincidence. Both are an act of defiance against difference, a
segregation, a distinction to be made, a natural and all encompassing tendency towards polar-
ity and gravity, and the layers those two inevitably create; the sedimentation of consciousness.
All worth and pleasure of life are, at their core, a result of finding where we belong. Nature and
evolution is designed to help us find that and forge that niche, and to help it grow and develop
through us, in the long landscape of echoed selves which composes our genetics. In it, I see
my family, like the surface of a long stretching ocean, and all the forever-unseen influences
inhabiting the infinity of beneath. I must stay with that, I must hold that perspective as long
as I can, make it become the setting, guiding the moor of my life. Where do I wish to go, in
this rich ecology of ancestry, the future of my lineage, a path across the future of our species,
cutting through the surface of physical culture. This is how people change, for real. This is the
engine driving self-improvement, and we are ignorant children at its helm. Our genetics are the
keys to this vehicle, and the greater system of highways and centers it could bring us towards.

I must reel in my days, cast my nets out into them. Calm, directed intention applied
daily towards a goal. My shame and fear are hard to keep at bay, sometimes, but I know they
do not serve me, only inhibit the accomplishment of what I must do, potentially paralyzing.
Strange impressions return from the negative chasms between myself and the world, a voice
in the well.
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Psychedelic Psychotherapy Using Cannabis: Marijuana Use and Mental Orga-
nization (2014-12-16 12:12) - public

The tenuous relationship between ego (self-definition) and mental order (definition, itself)
requires a hypothetical theory of the subtle inner mechanics taking place during ego loss
states, like marijuana’s – giving consideration to both the creativity and the inspiration as
well as the working memory and attentional deficits common to the high. Throughout this
paper, I would like to make a convincing and supported argument that the cognitive changes
of marijuana intoxication can be expressed using models culled from semantic priming and
latent inhibition research.

To what degree is the floor of indirect semantic priming permanent? Once those unusual and
far flung thought associations are made, to what degree are they then simply an aspect of our
daily thinking, behavior, and personality? What is the similarities and differences between this
hyperassociative state of marijuana and the loose-association symptomatic of schizophrenia.

Therapeutic utilization of ego loss or, in the case of milder psychedelics like marijuana,
“ego softening,” can be interpreted using the attentional filter model of latent inhibition as well
as the priming model of the semantic network. While research into these attentional models
is primarily theoretical, having a well-defined conception of the mechanics of the marijuana
state helps to inform treatment decisions by the clinician as well as help reduce the probability
of harm from the substance, while maximizing the potential therapeutic benefits.

Semantic Hyperpriming

Marijuana naïve participants have latent inhibition and semantic processing tested previ-
ous to use. After a month of habituation, users are then assessed using the same measures
immediately following use

Participants were marijuana naïve or had not used for more than 6 months (frequency
of previous use noted).

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14. 2015

14.1 January

Courses In Courses – Vancouver Car Park, New Years Eve 2014

(2015-01-06 17:49) - public

It was enough to bear mention, 3 instances of me causing the client to cry in mock therapy.
3 different clients, all bawling within 15 minutes. What to think? The professor said that
waterworks were therapeutic gold, the motherland of subconscious content, the release of
fears and anxieties from where they had been pressurized down below. Yet, how much of this
behavior becomes habituated?Release after release, does a pattern form, a new reaction to
stressors? Are there instances where keeping a fear under wraps is good?

Maneuvers…elaborate stories… shame and avoidance… there are movers and there are
shakers, yet then there are dancers who simply solo in place, vying for attention or repelling
away from it, their oscillations influence us, all the same. In subtle ways, relationships tug
and expel, buoy or drown us. I consider my own many maneuvers in the world, my own
delicate dance in the place I’ve staked on the floor. I tend to move towards center when
dancing, yet this is always easy or intuitive. The center of attention is the realm of the Alpha,
the competitive battle grounds of the main arena. Assertion of self in that central space is
something balanced deep in the lower body, in some bass line held in the pelvis. The hips hold
the sexuality of a man, and it is where strength is wielded on the confident throbbing beat of
the kick. The outer males, instead, bring the dance up to their arms, sometimes flailing them
about limply. This is unattractive and weak looking and does not attract a woman the same
way hip or heel movement does, sometimes just tapping one’s heel to the beat is an adequate
expression of this masculine pelvic energy.

“Energy.” God, I hate that word, and yet I am aware that to say that is to say that I
hate everything. I don’t want use the word to describe this subconscious sexual force,
coursing wordless beneath the behavior of a virile man and a nubile woman, yet what else
describes the behavior of waveforms and currents?

Courses In Courses should be offered, coursing and coursing again, along the course
we’ve chosen, currents within currents, waxing and waning with waves. It is so beautiful, I
cannot stand it sometimes, and I grip my chest as if my rib cage cannot contain the coursing
flood of quivering sensation. Of energy, of nervous energy, electric. All we contain and
constrain in our body’s flowing charge, either free and open or blocked and closed. I stretch
my neck and shoulders, assuming the position of straightened spine, vertebrae settled in
their natural straight line posture, and with this posture, our consciousness is said to change.
It is hard to muddle in lesser details of things when eyes are closed in f all lotus position,
their gaze, itself, upwardly directed to the concerns of a higher self. Here, a perspective of
height is gained of one’s life, the view from above is the view of a map, the one once only
imagined by cartographers — the bird’s eye view of the land that only flight can truly grant.
I have difficulty assuming this posture, my body has grown into a forward and downward
gaze, the musculature of the neck has settled into that posture, and has difficulty reverting
1809
back to straight. But, like some body postures and back problems are transferred genetically
from parent to offspring, so the states of consciousness and temperaments tied to those
postures can also be passed on, contained within one-another in the mutually-dependent
cyclical relationship of body and mind. The refined understanding of this subtle relationship
was reached in the Indian science of mudras and yogic postures, learning the way some
sounds or positions made us feel, the Hindu saints explored the higher ranges of self-control
and personal development, peaks of human potential long since abandoned and essentially
forgotten by modern civilization. The accounts of mental and spiritual feats become retold
stories, transitioning over generations as the miracle becomes a myth. Until, eras and
cultures later, we doubt such experiences were even possible, as the powerful techniques and
milestones of our species, themselves, slip into the vacuous realm of belief, to be tolerated
and diluted with all other discarded belief systems, many layers neath the fore, a wave buried
many waves ago, everything it carried now deposited, settled and settling into sedimentary
depths. Beneath the relentless waves of today are the bones of eras long past, of life long
extinct. And, while India is no longer the sophisticated superpower of cultural refinement it
was many millennia ago, it is one of the great civilization of mankind and it survives where all
those others had fallen. Are we so arrogant in our mere 200 years of infancy to say their way
was backwards? That our militarism, materialism, and individualism are somehow superior
or will stand the test of time as India has. Each of those defining traits is unsustainable in
its own way, as we thoughtlessly consume resources we don’t even acknowledge, let alone
acknowledge as limited. Non-physical resources, genetic resources, ancestral resources.
Ancestry can be thought of as the meta-resource of genetics, the evolution of the lineage
across time, the things that line carry down to us, like a fiber optic line carrying the light down
to our eyes, our ancestry is within us, shines through us, and influences us and our life in
many subtle and less-subtle ways.

I imagine a new music, one imagining the emotive and cognitive fields of our conscious-
ness. Like radio stations, we traverse an inward landscape of frequencies, passing through
like the many convoluted layers of radiation we immerse ourselves in when driving through a
city. Such, also, is the influence of our memory on our state of mind, as we, perhaps, return to
a place very familiar to us — the flood of sensations we get when returning to our childhood
hometown after many years, this too can be expressed in a way which approximates the flow
and tempo of our subjective experience of the “current.”

Harsh shards of light ping in high frequency squelch, a transition into your space and
then a fading transition out of warbling presence. A warmer tone makes itself apparent in
the floatsom of awareness, a familiar sensation, an female voice you remember immediately
saying “I love you…I love you…You are my baby and I love you, hold me. Keep me safe.
Forever.”

And, as quickly as she was heard, she disappears again. The white noise takes on a
modulating quality, rhythmic and almost percussive.

(2015-01-06 17:50) - public

My rent’s late.
My period’s late.
I’m late.
I’m so late,
1810
I never happened.

The Bed Spread (2015-01-16 11:25) - public

Innuendo, black tea, and remnants of civility, worn thin. If the visions of pre-sleep can be
captured, aspects of my waking life will show their legs, their footing, the unseen under of
my self. And some part of us both acknowledges, then and there, that there is no need to
run and try to sell me games. Yet, here in this school, the scribbled drawings of children
have so much to teach me I don’t want to fit into the ecosystem, I want Pizza Hut and some
new movie to watch, I want a blow job and a cuddle. I didn’t want to tell you this, but you
can’t speak to your family anymore. Mutants with straws in their mouths, chewing, monocled.

Flashes of light behind closed eye lids. This is a sign of inspiration and of presence.
The muse has graced and embraced me with her company, and her location in the room is
signified by the location in the periphery of my vision where the flash of blue white occurs.
Often, a more complete figure takes shape in the periphery of a single blink, but tonight,
simply a flash to my left, along my bedside.

The Bed Spread, the landscape of unseen ranges of nature extends out before my in-
ward vision. Can I contain my excitement, the quivering of my chest in this surging rush of
flight? Barely, as it sometimes is too much at once, and I must remember to not even try to
contain this sensation, but merely let it flow through me, a current to inform my alignment,
and the greater flow within which I am immersed. I become aware of the the beautiful layers
of sound which compose what I typically disregard as "silence." The refrigerator can, instead of
occupying the background, be brought to the forefront of my attention, in the oscillating phase
pattern of it’s motor’s pneumatic pumping. Yet, too, my imagination contributes layers, the
sounds of melodies and synthesizer timbres throb away amongst the tapestry of an actively
inspired mental state, fertile for composition. By directing my attention from one layer to
the other, I actually disorient myself, the melody becoming far secondary beneath the actual
acoustics of the throbbing refrigerator in the room. This is what Stockhausen was talking
about, the layers of silence. John Cage’s gimmicky Zen platitudes.

Dirty school desk chairs, metal hinges, welded together in a heap of odd angles. This is
like a growth and its geometry, while not understood, is assuredly naturally-derived and
somehow sacred, as hallowed as the Fibonocci.

Dark purple bucket, plastic grape concord vehicle occupies a silhouette in some neglected
child’s basement cleaning supply exploration lab. The experiments need real chemicals, none
of that safe stuff that you can actually touch or breath. We need bleach for these games. We
need Officer Ugg for this pretending. The science lab is a dangerous place, we’ve learned, and
explosions are destined to occur at some point. This is the brave risk taking of the scientist,
after all. The sacrifice of self to knowledge in service of the greater good.

Is that greater good always luxury? Freedom from work, is that our highest ideal? Scrubbing
clothes in a wash basin with a washboard and cake of soap down by the river was certainly
a waste of time, by most measures of evaluating time’s worth. Yet, I still consider it a better,
healthier, and more respectable use of one’s time than spending those same three hours
looking at Facebook, with some unsightly posture, mouth breathing stooped in front of a
glowing screen. That is a shameful state of being! Where washing or making your own clothes
1811
was simple self reliance and necessity, intensely hard work by the very different standards of
work we hold today, but not unhealthy. The Facebook spud, all bulbous and inept, on the other
hand is not representative of the way we should ideally look or act as mature human beings;
not healthy. So, in the grander scheme of technological advancement and the time saving
devices it has given us, the illness is evident in the degradation that occurs and continues to
occur over a single century of material progress.

Activation and Atrophy: Personality and the Semantic Network

(2015-01-16 20:37) - public

To the primed word, and through it, courses the personality, itself composed of portions either
primed or, after long periods of disuse, atrophy. This is the other side of priming and activation,
the loss of ways of thinking, acting, or speaking that occurs when not activated for a long time.
"Use it or lose it." What is it that is so terrifying about pruning these wilted branches of memory
back? As if, suddenly, a once-treasured part of myself might simply fall away someday, if not
continually exercised and kept fresh and coursing with neuronal activation. Or, early neuronal
pruning, which is not, so much, the fear of losing a known ability, but rather of losing the
potential for an ability, as if whole worlds of decisions are available for us to develop into as a
child, but soon windows of time begin closing on these possible directions, being chiseled down
into a handful of available paths, and then narrower still, the trail of our many daily decisions,
extending behind us and projected before us across regions of personal development, past
points of no return, through hubs of cultural expectation and commonality, or into the woods
of thought, where few people have tread. In these thickly forested and unexplored regions of
our potential, there is history and life, and often old paths long overgrown and forgotten by our
culture. These, in some cases, are the accepted and utilized paths of other cultures, perhaps
long dead, who once developed this land and defined and mapped these regions and routes
of passage between cities lost and rebuilt and lost again, across generations; the currents and
tributaries of ancestry. In finding these ruins, we can explore abandoned ways of being, and
know the long forgotten secrets of personal development, ways of maturing practiced in the
East, for instance, and powers of focus utilizing abilities seemingly foreign to us – muscles we
have never used before, and didn’t know we had. I think of the strange aerobics my tongue
felt like it was doing when trying to learn Chinese – it had never made those shapes before, or
curled into those exact sounds. For me, learning Chinese at 32, there was a lot of difficulty in
this; much moreso than if I were 5, that flexible and fast developing brain of my childhood self
not yet pruned back, those branches still green and thick.

The Cupped Hand, Fulfilled Holding (2015-01-16 20:38) - public

Music: Univers Zero - Jack the Ripper | Powered by Last.fm

Three, seven, burn, sleigh, forced, glide, suit, breast, glance, hair, eyes, shy, turn, smile,
chase, mine, please, touch, pull, hold, mine, mine, mine, gone. This is trying to hold water in
an embrace, trying desperately to grip it in your fist, so it cannot be mine the harder I try and
only when I open myself, like an empty cup, am I both filled and hold her.

Distractions stick and tangle like a thousand tiny barbs in hair that flows. The sound of
velcro slowed down 10x, like a roar of pops, is the analysis speed needed to understand the
influence of Facebook, and the way it captures our attention.
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The Homeless Wank Board of Mirroring (2015-01-18 23:59) - public

Deep in the night’s curling cargo, something long-buried surfaces again. Perhaps just a
memory of a glance she was known to me by, perhaps a way of knowing that was ours and
ours alone. These treasures were buried purposefully, some with rage, with bitterness on top,
some with the tenderest of care, like tucking her image into bed, my little girl. I still love you,
of course you know that.

But who am I, homeless in all these rooms? Who can be a man without a family. That
is no man, not as my father was a man. There is something immature about perpetual
bachelorhood, extending long past a certain ripening point of selfhood. Unfulfilled and
ever-selfish Peter Pan syndrome-ees, indulging in individualism well past its sell by date. Stale
30-somethings still spinning their wheels, wanking at pretentious art and posturing. Is this
work? The new work? If so, must they be so indifferent about it??

Wanking at pretentious degrees and academic accolades, how about that? There you
go, lets cut this tirade in a little closer to the mark! The long days spent sheltered beneath
excuses like "I’m a full time student." Wallowing in the time spent hidden there, enclosed in
that lazy track towards grave indebtedness. At least her new wanker boyfriend has something
to show for his masturbation, some splooge on a canvas. I have no such splooge and, even if
he came out of it without a cent to his name, he remains a richer man than me, by (my) default.

Insecurity is in everyone who lashes out, defending against some threat, perhaps real,
perhaps imagined. How can I become non-threatening to even the most defensive, hypervigi-
lant person I meet? Silence is as threatening as bragging, sometimes. Words put us at ease,
but which words? Softly speaking my words, alone, does not curb their offensiveness if they
are challenging ideas, for instance, or carry what will become cognitive dissonance for the
listener. No, some of the most truly terrifying things are said with a whisper, in that intimacy
and closeness. Yet, that terror is OF that intimacy, of the closeness of danger to our bare neck.
What words can use that intimate tone effectively, to calm and create empathy and deeper
connection?

Reflection, Carl Rogers would say, is the most reassuring thing to hear – simple confir-
mation of being heard, like a mirror of one’s thoughts, allowing a useful perspective on self. It
would behoove me to learn this skill, this sounding board function, and how to use it to build
rapport with the people I meet.

14.2 February

Correspondence About Shamanism and Synchronicities (2015-02-03 01:08) - pub-

lic

Hello All,

I am a clinical PhD student with a MA in Transpersonal psychology. I have been actively

interested in shamanism for over a decade now, after some intense spiritual experiences that
occurred to me and my family in 2004. My grandmother’s grandmother was a Sami shaman
in Northern Finland and the many unique sensitivities of that lineage have been carried down
1813
through the genetics of my mother’s side. The question has always been what to do with them!

After speaking about the subtle ranges of human experience at the 2009 Amazonian
Shamanism conference in Iquitos, Peru, I traveled upriver to live with a Shipibo tribe many
hours into the jungle. I lived and worked with them for over 4 months, and learned a LOT
about myself and the spiritual aspect of coincidence and entity interactions over that time of
intense fasting and near nightly ayahuasca ceremonies. Perhaps there will be an opportunity
to share more and explore those experiences in future discussions.

I have a certificate in spiritual guidance which I am currently trying to integrate into a

private practice in Seattle. I am hoping to learn real world techniques for helping and healing
others using shamanism – drumming, ancestor worship, collecting and using spiritual allies,
and how to clearly discern and heal "initiatory" illnesses before they progress too far along. I
have many questions about the importance of diet, sensitivity, energetic boundaries and the
genuinely real dangers of uninformed journeying.

Thanks and looking forward to "diving in" with you all! ;)

-Kaleb

Hi Kaleb,

I am so happy to have you in this class with us. How wonderful that you have a family
connection through the Sami tradition of Finland. I wonder, do you feel a particular
connection to the lands of Finland? Have you ever had a chance to visit there? There reason I
ask is that many of the Tibetan and Nepali shamanic teachers that I know often feel very
attached to particular places and can communicate with the spirits there.

How amazing that that you lived with the Shipibo people! I have never met anyone that
engaged in long term ayahuasca experiences on a daily basis. May I ask if this experiences
intensify over time or does one tend to habituate to them to some extent. The reason I ask is
that I have known many people to try daily long term LSD usage only to find that the effect is
greatly diminished if usage is attempted within 24 hours of a previous trip.

Over the years I have been privileged to have several clients who have had amazing
experiences with their journeys with guides and ayahuasca in the jungle. Often the best work
I did with them was simply to be present while they told me what the guides were urging
them to do and to encourage them to test the fruit of their wisdom. In some cases, the
guides asked the person to consider things that sounded a bit un-wise to me personally but I
always told the person to go with their guides and to test the fruit of their wisdom.

Well please let us know your thoughts on the assignments you might choose in the class
when you’ve had a chance to read the syllabus. Also, I’d love to hear much more about your
experiences. Thank you so much for sharing your wisdom!

By the way, one of my favorite shamanic teachers, Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche will soon be
giving free internet teachings on soul retrieval in mid February if you or anyone else is
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 interested. I will post the link to them here or you can find me on Facebook (I’m the only Ian
Wickramasekera) and I’ll get you an event invite.

Happy Regards,

Ian

Hi Ian,

Thank you for your kind words. While I have never been to Finland, the cold clean lakes
and forests of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where I was born, are a close match. I’ve read that
over 70 % of America’s Finns moved to the Lake Superior region, assumably for that reason.

Interestingly, the genetic aspect (specifically my Finnish half, not my Swedish half) seemed
to resonate very deeply to the ayahuasca experience. I suppose I can share some of this
experience, as it relates to your questions about both my homeland, shamanic lineage, and
ayahuasca experiences:

The first two weeks of ceremonies were said to be for "cleaning out," purging and cleansing
the body of all impurities and sickness. After becoming clean, the Shipibo said the visions
would begin. I imagined this part as my body being a sort of window – the glass all dirty and
thick with hamburger grease smoke and other such caked nastiness. After weeks of cleaning
this glass, however, light could begin to shine through it again, and I could finally begin to
"see." And, yes, after 2 weeks, I felt quite scoured and sensitive, through and through. I was
breathing so full, uninhibited, my heart felt fully radiant and quivered with empathy.

It was at this time that I sat with a beautiful little Shipibo shaman, an elderly grand-
mother figure, who sang to me in the dark her old icaros songs. In my chest, there was an
unambiguous feeling of ascent, as I rose gently upwards to some higher ranges of perception.
I saw a landscape there very much like my home, a coniferous forest, and waiting for me there
were two entities of beautiful blue-white light, my ancestors. They told me "We are the Finns."
They emphasized this point several times. Their eyes were phenomenal – big and bright and
beautiful, and I could see the entire spectrum of light in them. As I connected with these
radiant Finnish ancestors, they explained that they exist there in the "higher frequencies of
nature" where they said they would teach me to "see and hear more."

I was not alone with them, but there were others intended to learn as well from these
blue-white radiant ancestors. When I returned to my body, I felt my entire spine resonating
with current, my limbs feeling as if they were buzzing with frequency. I thought of what a
strange and wholly real (even "realer than real") experience I had just had, but was not going
to tell anyone about it, as it was so unusual.

A few hours later, I was back in Iquitos, downtown, having breakfast on the sidewalk,
another wet hot morning in the Amazon. Ordering something light, I sat looking out onto
the street and heard "…meidän tytär kasvaa niin nopeasti. Rakastan häntä ja kaipaan häntä…"

I turned to see two bright blue-eyed blondes sitting at the table immediately to my right. I
1815
had to ask them "Excuse me…are you Finnish?"

"Yah! How did you know??" they seemed quite surprised by the question.

"I’m Finnish! I’d recognize Finnish a mile away! …what are two Finns doing in the mid-
dle of the Amazon jungle on a Tuesday morning?"

They explained that they were there for their daughter, who was going to school in Lima
and so on. I explained that I was there speaking about shamanism and that my grandma’s
grandma was a shaman in Finland and that I’d always wondered how she did what she did. I
explained that, after we immigrated to America, all of that spiritual heritage was lost, but that
I know that she helped people, healed them, and communed with spirits to tell the future. I
always wanted to know how...

"Oh! You need to speak with Jahna. She’s the professor of Finnish shamanism at the
University of Helsinki…HERE IS HER PHONE NUMBER AND HERE IS HER EMAIL ADDRESS!"

Such seemingly astronomical odds that I would have the vision, then meet two Finns a
few hours later, after waking up AND that they would not only know the worlds foremost
expert on the work my ancestors did, but KNOW THE PHONE NUMBER by heart, and be able
to provide it to me, right there.

The Finns in the vision said "We will teach you to see and hear more." It wasn’t until a
few hours later that I got directions to the school! ;)

Willett, CA, 101 N Through The Redwoods (2015-02-07 10:43) - public

Music: This American Life - #546: Burroughs 101 | Powered by Last.fm

Haunted by glass fractals, songs sung in visionary blossoms, unfolding infinities of focus.
The people I miss become more and more foreign to me,
as I become more and more foreign to myself.
Clear water was my mind, and clean cold and refreshing was its knowing.
The first seasons of youth, before doubt or the neuroses of inhibition had settled into those icy
fresh streams, which descended from some purer place above. The mountains of conscious-
ness, in their crystalline clarity and immense perspective, are isolate homes full of higher ideas
which seem foreign to us, despite their truth.
If those places could be normalized, what would take their place? If the ice on top of the
mountain were controlled by us, would it be as clean? Wouldn’t we surely fuck it up, dump oil
or some caustic battery acid somewhere where we could once see not a footprint, not a trace,
as we had never been there? The higher place kept virgin by its very inaccessibility; if it could
suddenly be the new downtown, in some utopian future of higher consciousness, normalized,
would not another step onwards and upwards present itself to us? The next higher plateau of
the mountain, the new path, the trail trodden by new outliers and saints, in their solitary search.
And, further still, step by step, with higher and higher base camps, and trails established by
more and more people, making new homes and taming the extremes. Until the top of the
mountain is reached and staked with our identity, and again and again, until its rarest vantage
1816
point is photographed and shared and known by all. What then? When the limit of the sky is
reached, as if pierced by the highest and harshest point in our ever refined search for what lies
beyond. The sky is a medium, and air, albeit finer than water or earth, contains life designed
to traverse and live within it, just the same. Life collects along the boundaries of mediums,
as we walk on earth and breath air, we naturally gravitate to the water, and some deep part
of us being drawn to the shore, its sound and its alien bounty. Does not the higher ranges of
carrier medium also tend towards the their boundary with us, sending out across and reaping
foreign returns? Like us on the docks, we are not necessarily bound wholly from immersing
ourselves in the lower denser medium, the water, as we can, at nearly any time, dive down into
the surface of that boundary and, holding our air, see a whole undersea world that had been
hidden from us, but has existed right alongside our lives, all along, progressing and developing,
unseen, with us; benefiting from the same weather, even suffering our ignorance, our garbage,
and our mistakes.
Time to drive…This is a beautiful place...

On The Universality of Exceptional Human Experiences (2015-02-10 01:00) - pub-

lic

Winkelman (2010) opens his text by referring to shamanism as a virtual universal of human
culture, saying that it is institutionalized ritual which represents the basic human drive to alter
consciousness. Yet, this definition of shamanism is not universally accepted. Harner (1990),
for instance, would contend that one is not a shaman until they have come to practice the
healing arts – that, yes, altering one’s state-of-consciousness is powerful and all well and good
but, until you focus that ability towards the goal of healing illness or helping "the tribe" in
some way, you are not a practicing shaman.

Yet, I agree with Winkelman that the universality of key beliefs, and the experiences that
gave rise to them, should be considered of central importance to the study of human history,
culture, and religion. The fact that the wisest and most powerful minds of every culture – from
the Egyptian priests to the Alaskan Inuits, from the ancient Chinese Han tribes to the Aztecs of
the ancient Americas – each came to the same conclusion, without any influence or knowledge
of one another is a phenomenally meaningful observation that, perhaps, Western man has
yet to fully acknowledge or really fathom. We are infants, culturally and spiritually, alongside
these most ancient of human civilizations and for us to simply disregard the whole of their
reign and its deep insights with the pompous wave of a measuring stick seems dangerously
egocentric of us. Granted, materialism has yielded great advances, we are reaching the limits
of observational science, the inevitable edge of material we can measure. At which point
science will be faced with a dilemma, that of whether to adapt to transcend the boundary of
physicality, or fall beneath the subsequent methods of understanding which can. Shamanism
represent one such method, and it is no surprise to see its surge in popularity, as intelligent
people begin to revolt against materialism, creating a backlash of society who refuse to simply
disregard the concept of their own soul, or raise their children in a culture where the human
spirit is considered something laughable.

The fact that every other culture of our species’ history has accepted the existence of a
subtle inner aspect of self which leaves the physical body, for instance, should be interpreted
not as the magical thinking of primitives, but as a consensus theory of truth. That is, there is a
philosophical tenet which claims that truth is decided, not by individuals, but by the whole of
mankind, to which scientific thinking remains an isolate and only recently-fashionable pocket.
1817
We would do well to respect our ancestors, and the spiritual experiences they described and
revered.

References
Harner, M. J., Mishlove, J., & Bloch, A. (1990). The way of the shaman. San Francisco, CA:
Harper & Row.

Winkelman, M. (2010). Shamanism: A biopsychosocial paradigm of consciousness and

healing. ABC-CLIO.

(2015-02-13 23:38) - public

Closed circuit. All the death and aging, the strange looming anxieties and depressions of this
basement. I think of procrastination, let it cycle and fester, until the guilt of it is resigned to the
end of the day. Procrastinating even doing enjoyable things, recreational things, friendships
and romance, pot smoking and music. All of these things are better done tomorrow, or maybe
next week when I feel better. Even feeling better, and getting healthier, are better done some
other time.

Meditation, with just a breath or two, is accented by the amount of stress and tension
gathered thick below the surface consciousness – it cuts through it deeply, fully immersed in
oceanic red heat. If all of this were to be addressed and managed more regularly, in a daily
routine, I suspect I’d be a very different person.

Sculpture of Self (2015-02-15 12:50) - public

I catch myself ready to talk before I think, to write without first focusing, and in an unward di-
rected breath, a wave of assurance courses through my heart, expanding it to encompass and
outward oceanic expanse. Once it is seen, and felt in a receptive quivering chest, it can never
be unseen, or the signature of its memory unfelt. It is then part of you, a memory of a greater
state of selfhood. If this experience of Freud’s oceanic self can be induced in a person who
has never perceived it, the self may more easily change or transform towards a given ideal,
as this state of consciousness responsible for the perception also leads to a similarly “flexible”
or more fluid state of ego, one suddenly heated by attention and made malleable, as if stone
transformed to a molten state, brliefly. These states of selfhood, interpreted metaphorically
as states of matter of differing viscosity helps me to conceptualize the many forms of ego, its
limitations and sculpture. By becoming aware of these states of identity and its defense, one
may gradually learn to direct these states of malleability, perhaps even masterfully, towards
achieving some highest spiritual art, the self actualized ideal, like portrayed in the refined art
of Michelangelo’s David, as it was also sculpted with an eye always above, to that highest
ideal, where the current state of Western man could be thought of as in a crude or primitive
state of this art of identity sculpture, without even a training program or apprenticeship in
place by which one could learn and train to be a Master of such arts. Psychology, perhaps
the closest in thing to such a path of self refinement in our culture is mostly concerned with
the negative, the pathologies, and just to maintain a state of normal functioning (when what
constitutes “normal functioning” in our culture could, in any way, be considered normal or
healthy!)

1818
Call myself “Baby Bird,” sarcastically, as I touch my face in an adoreable posture stretch.
What is the meaning of a stretch? The inpulse of awakening, the muscles firing up alive
with activation, coursing up the spine. To truly awaken, and feel the eyes brighten alive with
vibrancy, the sensation of in the chest as arms are outstretched with a smile of youth and
vivaciousness. Nervous system, primed and ready! This sensation of the body has its inward
half also, in the mental priming and readiness, expressed in a hyper alert set of lucid clear
headed associations. Awakedness expressed as a quickedness in thinking and connecting
ideas. This is called latent inhibition and the hyperpriming state of semantic association,
modeled across the network of our cognitive “net” of the conception, tossed out across the
world, as if to catch it in the lines of latitude and longitude we’ve woven, and pull it in.

The focusing of attention should be acknowledged as a sort of mental muscle, which

can be strengthened like any other. This sort of spiritual gym would feature meditation classes
and individual workout areas, with personal trainers on hand to make specified program
recommendations. This is how fitness centers of the physical kind work, so should they model
the mental and spiritual fitness of meditative practice, the calming and directing of focus,
in all its forms, excercising the limits of it range and the flexibility of its yogic postures and
positioning. The mental half of yoga, the quiet breathing and inward self mastery, are lost to
the Weesterner, as if foreign to our lifestyle. The gym yoga classes are almost crude in this
way, some beefy pony tailed man barking postures in sequence, almost militaristically, with
his ego and authority driving the motions (and motions, only.) This is healthy, of coure, for
the body, in a way not unlike aerobics, but the inner intentionality of attaining that posture
– the original intentionality of whichever ancient Hindu saint first taught it – is totally lost on
us, as a refined and ancient heritage fully dilutes into our materialistic culture. That original
source intentionality must be revived from within our culture, now, if yoga is to develop further
here, and retain the heights once reached along the trails of its old paths, as it existed before
the time of Christ. I should learn and practice these meditative poses, and adopt the dietary
restraints originally intended to take full advantage of them.

1) Find a yoga teacher in Seattle who teaches meditative yoga, pranic breathing and
contemplation.

Single Men get so busy on Valentines Day, toiling away focused on their distracting projects.
Peacock feathers bloom up through my chest in torrents of blurred blue-grey plumage. Flir-
tation with some mythic flirtatious trickster, smiling like a cherub, eyes closed and upwardly
gazing, in heart pouring bliss. The vulnerability of that moment is that it represents a bursting
out of a previous shell, sometimes with such pressure as to make real waves in their social
surroundings. I love the deep symbolism of the primate tribe’s response to one of their
members digesting LSD. The entire community reacting strongly, often violently, to exclude
the individual, as they are, suddenly, not limiting himself to the social conventions and rules
of order which he had previously obeyed without question. Now he was seeing beyond social
convention, having perceived things in a new way, from a new height.

How does David Lynch convey the interaction with a spirit in Twin Peaks? These tech-
niques, like the mirror or the hallway of curtains, are artistic devices designed to express
something shamanic, something I consider distinctly Finnish in its perceptual inclination.

The clothes worn are a warning, a hunter in black and white flannel and orange vest
and hat, what is father trying to prove with this getup?Deer hunter, content to do the work
himself with the carcass, in the bathtub. Is this normal, I think so. Normal ish.
1819
Where is the stamina to hold an idea long enough to describe it in all of its depth, with
the near infinity of meanings existing beneath its surface, if only you have the capacity to
hold your breath long enough to explore them. There is a whole world down there, alive with
life whose conscious influence we sometimes perceive. The minds eye is a powerful force, as
the inward direction of attention carries a sort of perceptual current that can be felt, despite
existing in the subtle ranges of our surroundings, it still traverses the medium.

Express this oceanic medium of the room as a dotted line extending across the heart,
oscillated by the mind in its rhythmic modulations and their reflected conscious expression,
impression, exression – the crest and trough of one’s waking state of consciousness. Yet, if
waking consciousness can be though of as the surface of this oceanic medium in the room, the
depths beneath and beyond the shore could be thought of as the immensity of nature we do
not yet know of, or know of only in myth or legendary stories of rare and phenomenal human
experiences, of the paranormal explorations of saints and all they were able to bring back
from those depths they traversed in those solitary night flights, journeys above and journeys
below, and the foreign things seen and felt there. The darkness beyond that beach’s drop off
point contains unseen multitudes, all existing below the surface of waking consciousness.

One fascet of this concept of depth can be easily expressed using EEG, or the most di-
rectly measurable aspect of consciousness. With the ranges of frequency, divided into
bandwidths, Gamma through Delta, we have a horizontal spectrum of potential states of
consciousness, those we traverse every day, as well as a mapping of those which we do
not; the more rarified regions of human experience which, just the same, have an electroen-
cephalographic signature that can be discerned and identified.

Marijuana Therapy

Meeting for a session once each week, the client may choose to use marijuana to aid
meditation in solitude once in a week, as long as it does not occure within two days before
or after the cannabis-assisted session with me. Marijuana use more frequent than twice a
week changes influences the attentional faculties of the brain, spreading thought associations
out and making creativity gradually less cohesive. Once to twice a week keeps this negative
aspect of the session within a manageable range, keeping the high consistently profound and
meaningful by keeping tolerance from developing from more frequent use. Daily use creates
an unhealthy cycle where the insightful creative aspect of the high is lost to the regularity,
and smoking is, eventually, needed just to achieve a mood that’s halfway normal everyday.
From this chronic use, you can sometimes see the more negative aspects of use develop into
personality traits, shaping behavior and cognition in characteristic ways; the stereotypical
short term memory loss and “chronic” cough of a pothead.

Once a week is ideal, but with a guided session once a week, the client does not get a
chance to explore that heightened state of attention alone, or to utilize it meditatively.
While we can certainly meditate in session together, there is a subtle cultural stigma there,
where because of our valuation of extroversion and talking, we devalue silence and, with
it, meditative contemplation in a “social” setting. “If I’m not talking and the therapist isn’t
talking, where’s my money going?? What a waste!”

Given the inevitability of this more-or-less reasonable perception of meditating in ther-

apy as a gyp, a day on the opposite side of the week can be devoted to smoking alone, with
1820
clear intentionality and a reverential attitude towards the essential sacredness of the expe-
rience. By utilizing a set of recommended guidelines established beforehand, the client has
personal tools needed to access the greater potential of marijuana that social or recreational
use typically cannot provide.

Ohhh my.

Riding Through The Fields (2015-02-17 01:38) - public

So, my new thing: Field recording weird electromagnetic phenomena. God, some of these
sounds!

I find an AM frequency inbetween 3 or 4 stations, and then just drive around, with the
electret mic nearby and ready…

You pass through different EM fields. Some are like harsh shards, some are these low
warbles, others are these phenomenal convoluted rhythms drifting between phases.

Rich tones and textures … Unlike anything I could ever get from a synth. I go out with
this mindset of kinda like harvesting them.

When I don’t have the mic driving around and I hear an amazing rhythm, I’ll remember
that spot. A mental note like "Metal wind chime sound by the brown house with the blue
deck."

So, yesterday night, I made it a point to return to this one Tuxedo shop parking lot. And, sure
enough, under the neon sign, there it was… this amazing chunky throbbing rhythm, about
160 BPM, that would traverse different frequency ranges and timbres as I slowly inched my
car across the parking spaces, and up onto the sidewalk...

I was able to tweak the 3 band EQ on my receiver to cut some of the artifacts out, and
just isolate the harsh bass chunks, but, half of the fun of discovering these fields is trying to
figure out where they’re radiating out from...

That was a bizarre neon sign phenomena, I think…but driving downtown earlier in the
week, I was hit with these piercing shards of high intensity frequencies. They would come
in pairs of slightly different pitches, and competitively oscillate through beat frequencies
slowly… just these wild phase relationships that would suddenly click on and off with abrasive
transients.

Phenomenal tones, sharp. But where the fuck were they coming from? I looked around….

I had been driving under those pairs of electrical wires the buses use on their routes!
Each of those electrical wires radiated a slightly different frequency – but they were all super
overwhelmingly powerful. Whats interesting is that other signals would modulate them, so
you’d get the subtle squelch of a woman’s voice scraping neath these monolithic glass shard
tones.

Anyway, interesting samples… AM band only tho!

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Laura High 1 (2015-02-23 14:39) - public

"What? What??" the slight snarl, grinding the word out on the lower jaw, while snapping the
wrist in a handful of hair to accent the sharp word. That image is my mother’s dark side, that
some deep part of myself reacts so strongly and instinctually to, the fear of that young child
who dares not open his mouth, just wince and take the hate, all of it.

Ancestors

Where once, it existed as both tied physically and mentally, as both a genetic lineage
entwined with the ideas of a culture, now those clean lines are lost in the tangle of the melting
pot, the great experiment of the world. Eagerly awaiting the results, unless, in the generations
of meanwhile, we lose context on history and the nations of the past, their abilities and beliefs,
their consciousness. Unbridled immigration is the model America gave us, but we should see,
first, the results of that model before the world adopts it, unquestioningly. Immigration should
reflect the society doing the immigrating, their specific social structure and its needs, before
introducing difference into that structure. This is not racist, but an acknowledgement and
appreciation of difference.

As I prepare to begin work with marijuana in therapy, I realize my highs are distinctly
different than those many other people experience. I need to acknowledge that my high
may not be the best reference when designing sessions for others. For one, the changes
in my marijuana experience over years, and decades, are dependent on many factors, one
of which being the neuronal and perceptual changes that have occurred after using more
powerful psychedelics. That transformational LSD experience, for instance, altered my priming
structure and, in doing so, laid the branched groundwork for every marijuana high to follow.
That is, a potent pot experience now activates areas on the semantic network which were first
developed in an LSD state of attention.

I am more animated when high, only admitted first.

"But is there therapeutic utility, from your side, as the therapist?"

Yes.

"There is more and deeper subconscious content made accessible?"

Yes. Also better eye contact, better connection.

The story of my "experiment" with Jesse DeCaire and the 4 jams – the "Cinderella Ef-
fect."

I was playing with his judgement, forcing him to confront it with a different judgement
(that the jam was better) and having him contend with their incongruity, but yes, it was also
an experiment. I know it makes me better in therapy, I know it opens me up, I feel electric,
the quivering of the chest, the full charge of my breath in that state. I tell better stories! I
play better drums – right in the pocket! I write better, I express better, more concise and
juicy, I can form these tight directed wallops of expression. And I wanted to show that this
self-perception I have is true, I wanted unbiased verification that, yes, this is truly as good
and meaningful as it feels. Because the first thing people will do when you tell them you had
a profound psychedelic experience, and that the expression, whatever form it was, felt so
expansive and powerful and deeply meaning, they will disregard it as hallucinatory and say
1822
things like "Yea, then you looked at it the next day! And it was shit, wasnt it?"

I want to be able to say "No! The next day it was brilliant, and the problem I’d been
having was solved! I got the account, I received the insight I needed, and it was true and good
and powerful."

Rather, I want THEM to say that, and then I tell them the reason perceive that content
as so much better

pigshitpoet (2015-02-24 06:31:27) dear turboswami

i had a grump on today, taking it out on my love and my lady, i growled back at her, well maybe more
like snarled back at sideways bullshit. i am dislodged from my reason when i have made a plan to get
through the day and something comes at me from nowhere in middle of doing something that takes
focus, i get startled, then i get agitated at being interrupted, then i get reactive, then i catch myself,
then i calm down, but then it’s too late, the damage is done and she no longer wants to speak to me.
time wounds all heels... that’s me! do i need therapy? ; ’

Useful Metaphors For Self and Ego (2015-02-23 16:55) - public

Music: The Hafler Trio - Extracts from Exercises in Conjunction with the Emotional Responses Incurred
during a Performance of "BURST" | Powered by Last.fm
Clinton,

You picked out an interesting point, about the definition of the self, here. And, while it’s
perhaps such a simple topic (on the surface) and seemingly easy to gloss over, you are right
to give us an opportunity to dive into the concept a bit more here. In that, I agree with you
AND Greenberg, both. When I think of the self, I think neither of merely the surfaces of social
interaction, personality, and personality, but of something akin to the rabbit hole, with all of
its many shelves and layers of meaning that Alice was able to fall through, as she drifted off
to sleep that day.

That is to say, we have many layers and "shelves," holding content at every level of
selfhood. For myself, I consider ego to be the "social self," of personality and its concerns of
appearances and defense, but beneath the ego is a ego, and ego beneath that, in concentric
formations like spiral shells of self defensiveness. And this descent down through defenses
can get so subtle, especially for those who explore the self-reflective meditative practices of
ego loss – as even the image of having no image is still an image, so ego can develop into and
"harden" into merely the portrayal of egolessness. Haha! I hope I didn’t lose you there!

For the deeper, perhaps more unitive self you are speaking of, I use the term "identity,"
which to me, implies something deeper and more grounded and basic than the shifting fads
and fashions of our ego, way up on the surface. Our identity, at a certain depth, is said to be
other people, or all people and things, denoted with a capital "I," Identity. For this, I prefer
to think of the metaphor of a tree. While the leaves of the tree all rustle loudly against one
another, seemingly distinct individuals blowing thinly in the wind, so is the superficiality of
surfaces, words, and personal ego; the all pervading myth of individualism. Yet, within any one
of those leaves, we may descend, down into the branching networks of connection beneath,
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the immediate family and deep friendships to whom we are bound and developed alongside
and have a subconscious connection to. And then, to the deep explorer of self, further down
to the wider older branches of ancestry and humanity, lineage and species, down deep until,
at our core self, the wide and immense trunk of self, the Identity. Here, I think ego dissolves
and we are unitive with all humanity, as, in that moment of identify with the trunk of the tree,
the core connection to the ground of being, we are, all at once, identifying with every leaf of
the tree, that is or has been.

Whew! So yea, can you see how both definitions could be encompassed in that metaphor?

Reply - Clinton Pickett

9:26am

I recently asked a friend to share his concept of self. He replied, self is someone we
lose at an early age and do not meet again until death. He elaborated by stating that we
become so engrossed in our environment (expectations of others, social influences, etc) that
we live our lives superficially, ever-changing according to external stimuli. This sounded much
like Greenberg’s (2011) definition of self, or at the very least, an extension of it.

If I understood your second paragraph, we, as in self, are made up of layers upon lay-
ers of ego arranged in self-defensive spiraling shelves. Can you elaborate on why you view
these shelves as self defenses? Later in your response, your mention of the tree the trunk and
the ground remind me of Jung’s collective unconscious. Would you elaborate on that as well?
Edited by Clinton Pickett on Feb 23 at 9:28am

Reply - Kaleb Smith

6:12pm

Ego can be equated to defensiveness, in my experience. Personality, that social self

that Greenberg describes using the term "surface," can be used metaphorically to contrast
"depth," the opposite of surface. The superficiality of posturing and posing that, by and large,
require that we, essentially, "harden" the personality to keep it upright and to keep all that
is vulnerable and authentic beneath that superficiality safe. Yet, like shedding a carapace,
this hardened defensive layer we confront the social world with can be constricting and must,
occasionally, be shed – like a egoic version of molting – letting the soft and vulnerable self
beneath out into the open air, where it, too, gradually hardens into the shape that best serves
us at that time. These layers of selfs, reaching the surface, in waves gradually become
outdated and restrictive in this way, and so techniques of letting the empathic sensitive self
out, with all its subconscious content suddenly exposed to the elements, can certainly be
used in therapy with especially defensive or "closed" personalities. Vulnerability is a source
of great fear for many, obviously, and yet the authenticity of it is sometimes key to helping a
person break through self-limiting behavior.

pigshitpoet (2015-02-24 06:24:26)

i can’t be bothered with ego.. maybe that’s why i get so hung up on my self. ; ’

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Empathogenic Therapy (2015-02-25 13:00) - public

Music: Holosync - 02 CD #2 Immersion 1.5 | Powered by Last.fm

I consider empathy to be a powerful interpersonal force. I’ve seen it cause people to blossom
open, where previously they had been cold and defensive. I believe this has real therapeutic
worth, if it can be tapped into and used with intention. Over many years, I have sought meth-
ods of effectively and reliably inducing authentic states of empathy, both within myself and in
others. In both therapy and in my day-to-day life, I’ve found that true open-hearted empathy
is, in a way, contagious and that by lowering my own defenses, the people I’m speaking with,
likewise, tend to lower their defenses as well, becoming more open and emotionally recep-
tive. This is therapeutic gold! There are many techniques to achieve this state of heightened
sensitivity, some more intense than others, but the therapeutic benefits are often profoundly
transformative and deeply meaningful.

14.3 March

Spectral Consciousness as Integration of Neurognosis and The Collective Un-

conscious (2015-03-01 00:10) - public

In Krippner & Combs review essay of Winkelman’s "The Neurophenomenology of Shamanism,"

Winkelman’s term "neurognostic structure" is equated to Jung’s archetype. Yet, I feel this
comparison of these "innate knowledge modules" and the content drawn from Jung’s collective
unconscious do not overlap tidily, as they are conceptualized as drawing from two very distinct
sources. Winkelman painted the shamanic experience of spiritual interaction as a "hardwired"
or neurologically-derived hallucinatory experience and, likewise, his neurognostic information,
as we break his term down, is conceptualized as "knowledge from neurons," or, more generally,
information derived from the physical structures of the brain. This is a source of information
very different from that of the symbols and archetypes of our species’ collective unconscious
which, as I understand it, exists beyond the brain and beyond the individual ego, churning
like a deep well beneath even the distinctions, beliefs, and symbolism of culture. I think it’s
important to discern the source of shamanic information, be it from "within" or "without,"
as that source location forms the basis of the systems of belief, techniques of ecstasy, and
cultural perspectives that are to follow.

If we imagine consciousness as a reflection of the neuronal oscillatory networks of the

brain, are we irreversibly bound to that materialist view of shamanic experience? Likewise, t
imagine that great collective unconscious of mankind as something existing both beyond and
within us, its content surfacing through dreams and visions, must we, then, exclude the cortex
from our conversation?

When I think of Winkelman’s concept of neurognosis, I see a universal experience which

he was trying to express using psychophysiology; the experience of a sudden flood of infor-
mation coming, seemingly, from a place other-than-self – what the Burner’s call a "download."
While this phenomenal state of almost mediumship-like inspiration is, perhaps, rare, it is
also universally human, existing in every culture of the world and sometimes forming the
basis of their religions. The Hindu "sruti," or divinely inspired texts could be interpreted as a
"transmission" from a higher place. Yet, to denigrate this higher place as a certain location or
pocket of neurons in the frontal cortex seems shameful and reductionist. What other model
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can account for this flood of higher information the shaman experiences though?

If we consider the spectrum of consciousness once more, with its bound ranges of frequency,
each with their distinct subjective character and perceptual "tone," we can conceptualize
a set of bandwidths existing far and away from the baseline state-of-consciousness we are
born in and tend to inhabit in our everyday waking state. Electroencephalographically, this
baseline SoC is typically reflected in the low Beta range. Yet, as we utilize and refine tools and
techniques for explore beyond this baseline SoC, we sometimes cross over a boundary into
an entirely new discrete range of frequency – a different band on the spectrum – and, all at
once with crossing over, we are flooded with new perceptions and information, sometimes
very foreign to us. This is a range of consciousness external to us, but which modulates
our perceptual faculties in resonant electrochemical receptivity. With this spectral model of
consciousness, we have both the internal "gnosis" of Winkelman and the external "collective"
of Jung, explained and integrated using neurologically sound principles. This is the basis of
the presentation I’ll be giving at the Science of Consciousness conference in Helsinki in June! :D

References

Krippner, S., & Combs, A. (2002). Review essay: The neurophenomenology of shaman-
ism. ReVision, 24(3), 46-49. Retrieved September 15, 2008, from ProQuest General Reference
database.

Residual Priming - Laura High 2, Recording 1 (2015-03-02 18:07) - public

Residual Priming: Branches of semantic association remaining extended after psychedelic

use, potentially primed by the use of milder psychedelics like marijuana or similar state-of-
consciousness induced by other means, like meditation or extreme emotional states. This can
be what someone refers to when they claim to have a "Flashback."

EmpathoGenesis - Generating a Path For Flow

Like the flow of water, emotion bubbles up through our chest cavity, extending out through
the periphery of our body, and flooding our nervous system with electrochemical charge.
This is the heightened physiological response of emotional intensity, yet it is not a singular
state, but a range of distinct physical responses corresponding to a given emotion. Sadness
and anger, if we could measure their electromagnetic signature, produce two very different
physiological responses, one very up and one very down – yet we use the word "heightened"
for both of them, as they are extremely different than our typical baseline state. I’d say its
not only the affective or cognitive aspect of emoting that is conducive to therapy, but also a
sort of receptivity or vulnerability right in the body, in the characteristic hyperventilation of
rage, the whole limbic system opening up, pupils dialating, hypervigilance, in a heightened
state of physiological arousal, fully activated! Whatever content comes from that state of
being is going to be equally intense, as deep as the breathing that induced it, a powerful and
direct connection to a deeper emotional pocket, perhaps building pressure, finally rising up
to the surface and being expressed without inhibition. That release can shift many systems,
cognitively and within the personality, yes, but also within the body, itself. The muscles,
themselves, feel relieved after a good cry, a heavy weight lifted from the chest some people
describe.

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I feel so clean and clear eyed during a fast. I can feel the inflammation dying out in my
body, like a flame without any air to feed it. This is powerful medicine, and hard to take! But
by the 2nd day, hunger is dissipated, as it too dies out in the vacuum of a suddenly closed
system. The digestive track enters a resting state, and begins to heal any areas that may
have been inflamed or torn; as is the rationale for the "leaky gut" syndrome, and the circulated
inflammation supposedly induced by that state of intestinal disrepair.

Emotional Signature of Spiritual Relationship (2015-03-06 01:20) - public

Or oral traditions, yes – some way of sharing an experience with those close to you. I
consider this oral tradition, stories and evocation through song, to be something distinct from
book knowledge. While, yes, if we consider the Finnish Kalevala runolaulu or "rune singing"
tradition, it is myth expressed in words, yet the trance state entered by the rune singers, or
the communal way two will clasp and rock to the rhythm of the song, these are where the
experience of the stories comes up through the body, and where the magick of the words is
said to exist (Any Finnish boy or girl knows that if you sing a rune backwards, it will destroy
the spell!)

Icaros, too, are songs which have a message, much like a book, yet it is only when this
message is expressed with the voice, in the melody that the spirits have given you, that the
evocation occurs. You are using that gifted song to call back the gift giver, that ancestor or
guardian spirit whose emotional signature is held in that sacred melody. Any way to recall the
emotional signature of that relationship, between medium and spiritual entity, will suffice to
call him, supposedly, but, regardless of the means, it is a very distinct state-of-consciousness
the shaman must enter in order to send out that call. He must cross over into that non-ordinary
range, cross that boundary, as if his call cannot travel to where it must be heard until he is
in that very specific trance state. I assume, as one collects power animals and helpers, the
"fine tuning" of consciousness required to recall each of those distinct entities must involve
monumental feats of focus and subjective discernment! Star athletes of spirit!

Transitory Perception and Invoked Geography (2015-03-16 00:54) - public

A term that stood out in reading Krippner’s interpretation of shamanic journeying as a

"hypnotic-like procedure" was "invoked geography." While he gives little explanation of this
term, outside of listing it as one of several sacred geographies in which healing rituals may
occur, my interpretation is of a non-physical geography, or a specific area of the "invisible
landscape." Krippner, by listing the alternative geographies, tells us what invoked geography
is not; it is not a place literally traveled to, or a place physically replicated in the ceremony
space. So, being it is not a literally (or physically) traveled to, it is to be considered a territory,
non-physical, existing in the finer energetic ranges of nature, which the shaman may access
by means of invocation, or a subjective shift in his state-of-consciousness whereby a sensitivity
to this subtle range of natural life may be induced.*

Shamanic roots of the Finnish sauna implied, but no references for this history given, other
than it’s comparison to the Native American sweat lodge. I would like to learn more about this.

In his description of Stage One, comparisons are made between what Clottes and Lewis-
Williams (1998) call "shamanic consciousness" and what are the "en-trance" stages of
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hypnosis. Visualizations typical of this stage of altered consciousness are geometric forms,
meandering lines, and what Krippner terms "phosphenes" or "form constants" (Krippner, n.d.,
p. 5). I have encountered this terminology before, in literature describing the hypnagogic state
(Mavromatis, 1987). As one descends down through the ranges of consciousness between
waking and sleep, many phenomenal thought associations, visual and auditory phenomena
may occur. Much like hypnosis and shamanic journeying, the alteration of consciousness
begin with some shapes or colors in the visual field, but gradually form more complex patterns,
eventually faces or landscapes, figures, and interactions – all the while, the individual is
still conscious of his body in the bed and his place in the room; awake, but not fully. This
"inbetween" state is ripe with perceptions not typically available to the fully awake "bright
eyed and bushy tailed" individual, in the sunlit theater of Beta consciousness. Yet, those limits
of waking consciousness to not invalidate the legitimacy of these non-ordinary perceptions
of the hypnagogic state; these transitory perceptions are often spiritual in nature and can
involve legitimate interactions or sensory experiences, the content of which can often be
verified as true and not otherwise knowable by the perceiver. It is my belief that shamanic
trance could be called an induced hypnagogic state, and the information gathered by entering
that state is bound to that discrete non-ordinary range of consciousness. OBE occurs during
hypnagogia, for instance, and Tart (1998) with his 5 digit random number experiment, was
able to show that the perceptions of the out-of-body state are of a legitimate and verifiable
sensory experience, despite the participant, Ms. Z, being fully asleep and in a room where she
could not physically perceive the number she correctly read. Spiritual interaction during this
rare and controllable hypnagogic state may also carry information, traditionally about plant
medicines, lost objects, or the location of game, which can, similarly, be verified – although,
admittedly, without the phenomenal improbability of correctly identifying a 5 digit random
number correctly on the first attempt! This area of what may more correctly be called sleep
research can be more studied using more elegant and replicable designs, if only to find those
gifted individuals who can easily transition to the specific state of hypnagogic consciousness
and back in a deliberate and controlled way.

Sansonese (1994) suggests there is a "degree of genetic predisposition for falling into
trance." This is something I’ve given considerable thought to, although it is a somewhat
politically incorrect notion, that does not make it necessarily incorrect! To return, again, to the
Finns, there is some research concerning the greater degree of time spent in the hypnagogic
or "in between" range of consciousness during their nightly attempts to fall asleep. While
some people descend down to a Delta state of consciousness quickly, falling like a stone to
deep sleep, others (apparently the Finns) drift lightly down towards that state over the course
of an hour or two. (I can certainly attest to the mix of jealousy and resentment in finding my
friends asleep and snoring 8 minutes after laying down, while I knew I had a good hour or two
before I could expect to fall asleep, if I slept at all that night.) This is, in many ways, a major
inconvenience and led one sleep researcher to remark "No wonder the Finns are so miserable –
they don’t sleep!" Yet, it also affords the individual with this slight hypnagogic rate-of-descent
a chance to more fully experience each of the discrete ranges of consciousness, and the
potential transitory perceptions contained, in that slow descent down through the spectrum
of frequencies reflected in those EEG measurements.

Note: Reference made to the Sami "lavvu" ceremony. I don’t know what this is.

References

Clottes, J., Lewis-Williams, J. D., & Lewis-Williams, D. (1998). Shamans of Prehistory. Harry N
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Abrams.

Mavromatis, A. (1987). Hypnagogia: The unique state of consciousness between wake-

fulness and sleep (p. 97). London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

Sansonese, J. N. (1994). The body of myth: Mythology, shamanic trance, and the sa-
cred geography of the body. Inner Traditions/Bear & Co.

Tart, C. T. (1998). Six studies of out-of-body experiences. Journal of Near-Death Studies,

17(2), 73-99.

Woman In White (2015-03-16 01:30) - public

Music: Cate le Bon - I Think I Knew | Powered by Last.fm

The body I wore changed in the palace,
my image became something less distinct
yet, behind the veil, my youth shined from within
And, with smiling eyes, I took her hand.

Here, finally, I recognized her in this light

Here, finally, I arrived to rejoin my beloved
Where she waited beyond the limit of my dreams
Where she, with patience and love, guided me.

Am I her lover, playing these body lessons down below?

In this finer place, our greater memory returns,
our thousand forms of loving bodies, merging.
And I can reach out with my own light to know her heart,
and revel in its comforts, cascading through me.

The Buoyant Illness (2015-03-22 23:00) - public

Music: Brian Eno - Another Green World

Meditate Daily,
My body no longer sleeps, the sun greets my descent into meditation, bright across my closed
lids.

The path is clear, yet I lay across it, unwilling to move. The days recede like the edges
of a frontal cortex, and with it all the capacities once taken for granted. I can control my
conscious state and the focus of my attention, strengthening this muscle with daily training
and routine practice, extending the limits of my capacity, until I can do work more easily. I
am constrained by socialization, and the desperate need for approval and its fear. Yet, what
is there to do if not create something which is well-received? Approved of. The work done
for ones self has no need for expression, with that social purpose let go, abandoned, or
transcended.

Why sing if not for the love of those who hear? Why speak if not to be understood by
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another? These are the characters and posturings of maya, up on the surface of self, where
culture shapes and images impress. When the seriousness of this surface play of expression
and impression is lost, and we see through the falseness of our personality and its goals, we
lose all that that personality once supported, as well as the passion for worldly success and
the need to prove one’s self and make a mark in the world. That need was a driving force and,
without it, a lot of social roles and goals collapse in on themselves, with nothing to support or
maintain them.

If I am without desire, why get out of bed? Why eat delicious things? Why eat at all,
unless one desires to survive, as if that is some need to which we are contractually bound. I
am acceptant of death at that most desireless depth of self and, when identity has dissolved
to encompass more than this body or its short life, death is seen as something as natural
and cyclic as night; the sleep of lifetimes into which we must inevitably drift, and eventually
reawaken. I, who am annihilated by opening, cannot resist being swept up into myself and the
relationships of my day, as if being seated before an engaging film in a theater, how can I not
watch? Yet, this loss of innocence, the transparency that comes with an awareness of Maya,
is like always being conscious of the movie theater, itself, the seating and the audience and
my place in the room – an awareness which robs me of the full immersion into the film which I
once enjoyed.

My guts should guide me, towards a higher, finer way of existing, like a buoyant illness,
the stone which pulls us up. It will either kill me or make me stronger – either way, this
illness will not allow me to stay as I am. Functional changes and cleansing seem natural
in the marijuana state of consciousness, as if, once that consciousness is attained, the self
and behavior simply fall into alignment without effort, and all which does not serve the goal
of heightened clarity falls away. I must hold this higher state and make a life within it – an
ascendency.

The spirits know us from before our birth, they know us better than we know ourselves,
because they remember the Greater memories, beyond the short single cycles of life and
death. They can see the greater stream, and watch from behind it the crests and troughs
of lifetimes, the physical and non-physical manifestations of this greater self they know, the
blossoming and wilting that they’ve observed in us, like 100 seasons; sometimes joining us,
diving into the physical existence with us, other times watching from above, like a cheering
fan in the stands, wishing us success this time around.

Autoimmune Condition (2015-03-23 16:36) - public

Hi Don,

Thank you for taking the time to email although, I admit, I’m having trouble making
sense of the message. It seems a bit cryptic. As best I can tell, you are encouraging me to
frame the possession experience as a manifestation of some inner subconscious aspect of
self or deep archetype which surfaced – which, by believing in the spiritual reality of demonic
entities is, somehow, only causing the physical condition to worsen.

My first instinct in response to this "all in your head" explanation of this, admittedly,
rare but universal human experience is to defend myself, and the reality of the encounter.
The bloody scratches on both my and my girlfriend’s body, in areas like the center of the
1830
back where we could not have reached, ourselves, which I photographed. The fact that this
interaction was not isolated, but first affected my loved ones – my girlfriend being suddenly
and overwhelmingly possessed the night before my own experience. And, of course, the
physical evidence provided by the paranormal investigation team, unambiguous EM signatures
recorded from the location of the attack. In addition to the audio recordings I was able to
capture during this time, I can safely assert that this is a legitimate physical phenomena,
witnessed by multiple people, and tied to that location of the home.

Belief is a weak word which, by its very definition, implies inherent doubt with which
one grapples. Concrete physical experience is not a matter of belief, belief only comes into
play when that concrete experience is shared with others – the doubt is theirs to contend with,
as they have no actual experience with which to base their knowledge of the world. This is
the choice, to believe the story being told or not. When the attack is being experienced, first
hand, and the blood is coming from your own skin, the word "belief" no longer applies and the
individual is freed from any gnawing doubts about the actuality of such phenomena.

While the reality of spiritual entities of a malevolent nature is not something many peo-
ple will experience in their lifetime, the rarity of such experiences should not, in and of
itself, illegitimize those experiences. They are reality, albeit a range of reality of with which
people rarely come to interact with. Possession is a culturally universal – an aspect of the
human experience existing and acknowledged as truth in every era and area of our species’
development. Not to go off on platitudes, but this greater scale this experience, in addition to
the physical evidence, is just something to keep in mind before we disregard it as something
I "entirely created" in my head. The biases, fads, and fashions of belief in our own culture
should not limit our understanding of the natural world.

Now, to acknowledge that the illness is, somehow, intimately tied to that rare spiritual
interaction is not to say I’m giving up or resigning to the role of victim, although I and my
girlfriend were attacked. I am actively trying to engage with the many levels of the illness,
not just the physical, or the mental (as you suggested is the source) but the subtle spiritual
aspect of the pain and internal bleeding which weakens me, more and more severely. By
acknowledging these deeper levels, and not disregarding them as inventions of some skewed
belief system, I can more fully engage with the systems affected to expel whatever "residue"
seems to have been left behind to develop as it has. The demon did not leave cleanly,
intuitively, I know the path to cleansing and clarity – as well as I know that path is not an easy
one to undertake.

Thank you for your concern, Don, but I have made a steadfast decision never to doubt
my own experience. While I can empathize with your perspective and the suggestion that
came from it, doubting yourself is a slippery slope and I’d rather not waste any energy straining
to appease the doubts of others, or undermining the areas of my life where I currently have
assurance, direction, and guidance.

Your friend,

-Kaleb

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Surrendering To The Greater Good (2015-03-28 04:07) - public

What is happening to me?

I feel the worst is behind me, yet I am changed. I am aged beyond my years, some de-
crepit, bed-ridden, grey-haired creep, seemingly overnight; over many sleepless nights. I
enter the realm of sidewalk circles, my small talk is nonexistent, a formality once mastered,
now spent and forgotten. The circle closes before me, the backs of the beautiful people look
cold, a spine like a vine climbing a wall, tramp stamp graffiti beneath. She’s been tagged a
hundred times before, and yet even the last slut lingering desperate at last call rejects me,
running anxious.

Organization, work ethic, small talk… Can these skills be developed after 30? The con-
cretization of neuroplasticity is only one of the many cognitive changes that occur after 24.
The physical changes – these pains – new aches, learning to live with them and live around
them. I inherit so much from my father and mother, I inherit this chronic pain and this cogni-
tive decline, this insight and sensitivity… and the semantic degradation it inevitably produces.

My body, my mind, my soul. All of these, I must remember and appreciate each day. I
see my reflection in the dark glass and realize I am this body – such an alien sensation, to
think of my body as a vehicle I am blessed to inhabit for this short time. A tool with which I
may alter my surroundings, and develop my self through.

What is in other people that I even desire? What is that neediness at the core of my
searching for words, searching for lovers and confidants? I know what is said about the impor-
tance of social contact, and the value of a supportive network of loved ones, yet all of these
seem superficially important, as if I have always known some deeper and more genuine defi-
nition of what is truly important; a definition of success which does not involve children or sex,
money or even companionship. Success in the deeper self-actualized sense, in self-regulation
and disciplined practice, strengthening the capacity of focused attention, developing a
working relationship with the divine to accomplish meaningful work for greater benefit of hu-
manity. Whatever that work may be, it’s success is defined by the serving of the greater good.

The Greater Good, may I surrender my life to this ideal, to this living organism.

Winter Light by Ingmar Bergman (2015-03-29 21:12) - public

The passion of Christ, his suffering.

Woudnt you say the focus on his suffering is all wrong?
What do you mean?
This emphasis on physical pain.
It couldnt have been all that bad.
It may sound presumptuous of me, but in my humble way, I’ve suffered as much physical pain
as Jesus. And his torments were rather brief. Lasting some four hours, I gather? I feel he was
tormented far worse on another level.

Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. But just think of Gethsemane, Pastor. Christ’s disciples fell
asleep. They hadn’t understood the meaning of the last supper or anything. And when the
servents of the law appeared, they ran away, and Peter denied him. Christ had known his
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disciples for three years. They’d lived together, day in and day out, but they never grasped
what he meant. They abandoned him, down to the last man. He was left all alone. That must
have been painful. To realize that no one understands. To be abandoned when you need
someone to rely on. That must be excruciatingly painful. But the worst was yet to come.
When Jesus was tailed to the cross, and hung there in torment, he cried out, "God, my God!
Why hast thou forsaken me?"

He cried out as loud as he could. He thought that his heavenly father had abandoned
him. He believed everything he’d ever preached was a lie. In the moments before he died,
Christ was seized by doubt. Surely that must have been his greatest hardship? God’s silence.

"If only we could feel safe and dare show each other tenderness. If only we had some
truth to believe in. If only we could believe. "

(2015-03-30 03:06) - public

The Lord, our Father,

Our angry, wine-loving father, gushing his alcoholic blood into our mouthes. Getting us drunk
so we’ll eat him. Jesus! Making it clear he forgives our sins, yet we can’t help but remember
his violent rages, when he killed off all of humanity for our weird sex and our cooking bacon.
Christ! How can we ever trust someone like that again?

Whats all this about holy ghosts, holy shits.

14.4 April

(2015-04-21 21:36) - public

Too many arguments remain, like the bad taste of a wince, long after the tempers flared in
disagreement. And the content of the debate long ago eroded away from memory, as those
cognitive things tend first to do; only the deeper emotion of the confrontation remains, arising
as that same bitter taste the moment the person returns to our thoughts. Too many of these
bitter moments, some of them so civil and seemingly well-meaning, compose my impression
on the world. Yet, how much of this negativity is, itself, shaped by the world and the limits of its
culture? Was debate not once a respectable and refined form of social discourse? The basis of
our Western philosophy and the means of approaching a higher truth, to question deeper-set
assumptions?

pigshitpoet (2015-04-22 05:35:09)

when gravity fails and negativity won’t pull you through - bob dylan tell you what i’m pissed off at, a
workaholic father who bought in to religion and worked himself to death. and a fucked up step son
who can’t get his shit together after 30 years of age.. we think we are alone, but we are all connected.
i suffer the sins of my father, i am a workaholic. and i feel empathy for the son in law, who has a
fucked up egotistical perfection and idealism and can pull his ass out of a hole in the ground. they
both reached for higher truth. i look for compassion, forgiveness and understanding, with them and
with myself. i wish i could heal this, but i jest get angry and want to kill something or have negative

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self-thoughts and depressive apathy.. western humans are fucked. ; ’ too many arguments remain...

turboswami (2015-04-22 15:39:19)

Yea, sounds like somebody I know… Me. ;)

pigshitpoet (2015-04-25 21:41:26)

well, then you just need to "change your tune!" key of c ; )))

Top Of His Game (2015-04-24 00:02) - public

As if. As if I were a person, calm and collected, forgetting all the passion and power I once
carried in my voice, the confrontational defiance with which I would stand by my principles.
Any of these things can be lost, when the softening edges burst some vital boundary and
whatever was contained is lost (I imagine this like a Gusher fruit chew made of concrete, about
the size of a human head.)

A Gushers© fruit chew, made of concrete, about the size of a human head – being worn
away, until its vital gooey insides simply spill out, leaving an empty shell behind.

"Top of his game."

What does that even entail?
Driven to succeed, neither mellowing or settling for a quiet life.
Taking the game seriously, for one, and keeping that seriousness in your very person; wearing
it like a suit, in which you attack the day. The identity of a Winner, at the top of the game
he has mastered, looking down at the defeated, far above the lame and the sickly, the lost
and the broken. To be at the top of ones game implies fitness – mental, physical, sharpness,
clarity. Energy and focus, planning and achieving.

Blah blah blah, just talking about it makes me tired. I need to nap.

Tunnels and Guardian Spirits (2015-04-28 05:31) - public

Hi,

This email got lost in the shuffle. Just checking in.

Harner describes guardian spirits, yes, but this isn’t just his thing, it’s a culturally-universal
aspect of shamanism. I consider the guardian spirit to be present from birth – a friendship
lasting across lifetimes – where "Spirit Allies" can be considered newer relationships that the
masterful healer collects, over years of traveling in the subtle ranges of nature.

Steve, your concerns about the mediumship aspect make sense. The idea of giving up
control of your body, even for a second, is a frightening idea. Yet, many of these great spirits
hunger for the best experiences the physical realm has to offer – and, like any good host,
we must offer the best we have to them, our treasured friends, in an inviting and welcoming
way. This is why Native Americans don the head and skin of a bear and dance around the
fire; they are calling their guardian spirit up to "in-carn-ate" (enter the meat). Dancing to that
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monotonous drumming is where we may "lose ourselves" and enter a trance state.

Reopen the Black Book,

Revisit old friends.
Call on them to connect, commune,
Convene in your home.
A gracious Host
Knows how to both give
And accept gifts
with grace
in an exchange that strengthens the bond
of an old and valued friendship.
…accepting gifts is sometimes harder than giving them.

The tunnel is neither good nor bad, it is merely a means of transportation. It can take
you to good or bad places, sure. I’ve had phenomenal tunnel experiences, all of them
life-changing and educational. It is true that NDE victims tend to traverse tunnels, but it would
be a jump to say all tunnels are associated with death, or "prison." I dont know much about
these prison realms.

After over 3 hours of deep meditative prayer at 4 in the morning, I experienced sober
open-eyed traversal of spiritual tunnels, the feeling of ascent was clear and unambiguous –
felt in the chest. My guardian animal (who I’d been calling out to in this intense meditative
prayer) was facilitating this travel, and waiting in this higher realm for me to arrive. My body
was far below so, yes, there was a degree of paralysis – I could not close my eyes, they were
transfixed. Not ideal! I eventually had to try to close my eyes, to blink, and when I did, there
was a jarring flash of blue-white light and I was back, the ceiling having returned to normal.
Yet, the experience and influence of that noble spirit in my life was far from over…

The key take home message that Harner brings up is facilitating and nurturing a mean-
ingful relationship with spirit, something felt as empowerment in your day to day life. I feel
it in the chest, as a sort of uplifting or "spirited" inspiration sensation – enlivened and full of
energy! Yet, the real sign that you’ve formed a working relationship with your guide spirits is
the phenomenal synchronicities, or meaningful coincidences, that will begin to fall into your
lap with regularity. Amazing and improbable thing, in some cases, mean you’re getting close
to something greater than yourself, and that "something" is orchestrating the coincidences of
your life, with a greater purpose in mind.

Last time we talked, I was heading to Seattle to start a private practice. I took the exam and
got state licensure, sold my house for starter funds. So...My plant medicine therapy business
is started anyway – have an office right up from Pike Place Market, near the first Starbucks.
But its an everyday hustle to find clients!

Going to Helsinki to speak at the Science of Consciousness conference in June! Had no

idea it’d be in Finland (the first an only time in 35 years of the conference! Hows THAT for
synchronicity!? ;)

Hope this email finds you well…

All the best!

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-Kaleb

PS

This Winkelman text is more rigorous than the Harner one – more grounded in actual bi-
ological processes, the neurological signature of trance states. Its what Stanley Krippner
assigns as required reading in his shamanism course. Dense, but none of that woo-woo
new age bullshit you run into when sifting through shamanism and spirituality texts. He has
references and research, I like that!

14.5 May

Kaleb Smith - Spiritual Autobiography, Part 1 (2015-05-11 15:58) - public

Shamanic Experiences - A Letter to Dr. Stanley Krippner, Parapsychologist

Thank you for agreeing to read my story, and it is my hope that you have some insight
as to how best to understand and proceed.
I suppose I should begin with some family history background. My grandmother’s grandmother
was a shaman of the Sami tradition of Lappland, in the town of Suomussalmi in Northeastern
Finland. I don’t know much about how she healed people, as so much of that heritage was
lost when the family immigrated here, but I do know that she interacted with spirits in her
ceremonies, in which she’d supposedly heal illness and foretell the future. Even though the
techniques of that heritage are lost, whatever sensitivity tied to grandma’s abilities was passed
on. My mother and grandmother both described shamanic-type experiences throughout their
life, which they did not always understand and often frightened them. I decided, very early
on in my life, that I would not ignore these experiences (although, I cannot say I, too, was not
often terrified by them.) I share a hypersensitivity to subtle phenomena with these members
of my maternal line – some genetic predisposition which seems tied to the spiritual interactions
we all experienced .
Possession and Illness

Anyway, the experiences began with an unsettling trauma...

My girlfriend was raped in her sleep. It was at a party. The husband of a friend, a Puerto
Rican man named Julio, gave her sleeping pills and then had his way with her while she was
unconscious. Somehow, this trauma seemed to trigger the spiritual experiences that were to
follow.

The following night, she experienced a possession. She was unable to move, paralyzed
but fully awake, and able to describe the sensations as they occurred. The entity was on top
of her and she described pins and needle sensations as it entered her – a spiritual version of
the rape that had occurred the night before. I simply had no idea what to do, and did not even
believe in spirit possession at the time, but began to try to cast this spirit away by saying "You
are not welcome here! Go! You are not welcome here and you are leaving!" and finally, with
forceful volume "You are not welcome here and you are GONE!"

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When I said "Gone!" her back arched into the air and she screamed loudly and, a mo-
ment later, there was a loud thud on the stairs beneath the bed and what sounded like an
audible tug on the door handle. She could move again. What seems distinct about this
experience, as opposed to typical sleep paralysis, is that she was fully awake, conscious, and
speaking while the entity overwhelmed and paralyzed her – which, in retrospect, to me implies
this perpetrator was especially powerful, as to not need the prerequisite hypnogogic state of
consciousness in order to paralyze his victim. He took control while she was in full waking
consciousness.

This experience shook us both deeply. In retrospect, came to consider her being raped
in her sleep as a particularly important trigger of what was to follow. It is a different aspect of
self which is violated when one is raped in their sleep, as they are not consciously aware of
the trauma and those waking defenses are lowered, it seems the trauma was experienced by
her on a deeper subconscious level. She began to wail mournfully from her sleep, in a high
pitched unnerving tone.

As I later tried to rationalize what occurred, I came to think of consciousness as an ocean.

She was deep beneath this ocean when she was hurt and, as we all know, being hurt in deep
water is particularly dangerous! Thrashing and bleeding at those depths attracts predators
from far and wide, sharks who can smell the blood and come on fast to the injured prey.
Likewise, in the oceanic depths of consciousness, I came to learn there are, similarly, whole
ranges of natural and conscious life, some of which are very dangerous and predatory. But, at
the time, I did not realize that hers was only the first of what would be many such interactions…

The following night, I was possessed. I had heard footsteps and a scraping sound near
the bed and tried to turn to wake up my girlfriend, so she could listen to it as well. I realized
I could not move, and desperately tried to scream to wake her up for help. A weight on my
chest, a typical Old Hag type phenomenon, only this very quickly escalated. There was what
felt like a myoclonic twitch, at my elbow, yet with that twitch, I was forcefully expelled from
my body, and experienced autoscopy from a location above and to the left of the bed. I
watched helplessly from this location as the arm which had experienced the twitch sensation
repeatedly hit my girlfriend in the head in her sleep. A few moments later, I reentered my
body and was able to move. My girlfriend awoke and complained of a headache… Completely
terrified by what had occurred, I had to gently tell her what had just occurred, and why her
head was hurting.

I had been an Atheist and had not believed in the idea of malevolent entities, yet with
one powerful experience, I had that skepticism torn open, quite violently.

After that first possession experience, I became very sick. Mysterious internal bleeding
worsened over the month that followed. Nightly torments continued. She would wake me
to hear loud footsteps and angry voices from the staircase, I would wake her to listen to the
sound of claws pounding the keys of the computer keyboard, or scraping along the leather of
my studio’s mixer board. We would both listen, as what sounded like the chatter of a crowded
room downstairs, and she would say we must have left the TV on. Only later would we realize
the TV wasn’t on, the house was simply vibrant with supernatural activity. White noise, from
the room’s fan, seemed to facilitate this chatter, as if acting like a neutral carrier medium
which they were able to modulate.

We began to awaken with bloody scratches on our bodies, often in areas where we, ourselves,
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could not have reached, like the center of the back. We photographed these claw marks,
to maintain a record of this phenomenon as it progressed into new forms of physical evidence.

As I drifted off to sleep, the hypnagogic state became alive with interactions and tele-
pathic conversations with entities in the room, many of whom were not at all negative, and
wished to impart information for me or for their family. Often, as I drifted, I would have a
myoclonic twitch – only instead of my leg kicking out, it would be my right hand, twitching up
into a gnarled claw. I would look at this hand and realize, quite terrified, that it was not mine.
Whatever had been inside and taken control of my body had not left cleanly – there was some
residual aspect, tied to that hand I’d lost control of, specifically.

The illness progressed until I finally lost so much blood, I began to faint…going uncon-
scious in the shower. The water had began to fill up, over my mouth, and my nostrils when I
came to. I realized my life was in danger and I was hospitalized. The doctors said it was a rare
autoimmune condition – my immune system, for some reason, was sensing something foreign
in my body, even though there was nothing physically there, and was attacking my own
cells trying to rid the system of this nonexistent "invader." They said they have no idea what
would cause the immune system to suddenly react in this way. But, to me, the sensation of a
"non-physical foreign invader" made perfect sense to me. It had occurred after the possession.

We would leave the house to return to school, 8 hours away. Everything would be calm
when we were away – whatever those nightly torments were seemed tied to that house.

Out-Of-Body Experience

Returning to the home for Winter break, both me and my girlfriend were quite nervous!
We were attacked the same night. Horrifying hypnogogic images and the sensation of
being choked, angry footsteps and vocalizations, sliding chairs in the upstairs room. Such tor-
ment! A “welcoming committee” after the essentially uneventful months at school in Lansing.

On the 2nd night, we abandoned the bedroom of the possession experiences completely, and
were using a downstairs bedroom. Before going to bed, I placed a log in the woodstove. It had
a glass front, so you could watch the fire through the door. We went to sleep. A few minutes
later, I got up and stood beside the bed. Looking down, I saw my body there, in the dark.
Autoscopy, I was out of my body. I walked out into the living room and saw that the log that I’d
put in the stove before bed was now crackling and burning quite well – it had been about 15
minutes. I was in the living room, there was no doubt in my mind about that fact. It was dark,
outside of the flickering light of the fire dancing across the walls – I paid close attention to the
details of the experience, confirming the legitimacy of the perception. I approached the TV
and watched the flickering of the light in the black reflection of the screen. I reached my hand
out to touch the screen, but found that my fingers entered it, and then my hand, and gradually
up my arm; the arm as it entered was filled with a vibratory buzzing sensation, not unpleasant.
When I had extended my arm into the television up past my elbow, an angry voice from my
upper right barked “GET BACK!” and I was immediately thrust back into my body, in the bed.
My whole body was buzzing, as if radiant with energy, and my heart was beating fast. Shaken
and afraid by what had just happened – despite my curiosity and awe about the out-of-body
experience – I realized this was not a safe place. Whatever angry entity had been stomping
around up and down the stairs at us the nights previous was seemingly very resentful at me
for exploring out of body, and testing the phenomena of that state, as I had been doing.

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The remainder of that night was filled with continual activity, tormenting both me and
my girlfriend, although there were no actual possession experiences. Suffice it to say, we
were both underslept and cranky the next day, and we had a fight. After some strong words,
we decided we’d sleep in different rooms that night, me in the downstairs bedroom, and her
in the living room, on the couch. As bedtime approached, an unspoken fear mounted inside
me that, again, we would be attacked and tormented as we had been the night before.

The Woman in White

I went into the bedroom and laid down. After a few short minutes of laying awake in bed, the
room was, all at once, filled with the most phenomenal otherworldly light. The light emanated
from a figure, a female form of brilliant blue-white, who appeared at the doorway of the room
and approached the foot of the bed. What was incredible was that the light was “bright” in
a manner I’d never encountered before in my natural life, in that it existed within the visible
spectrum, but also radiated in ranges above it, as if she were descending from those higher
frequencies into physicality, immersing herself in this lower visible range so that I may see
her. This higher range in which she simultaneously existed was perceivable in the mind’s eye
as well. I could see the beautific splendor with either my eyes closed or open, although when
open, it was almost too much to bear, so overwhelmingly radiant was this light. Being how I
am, I immediately had to test the phenomenon, turning my head left to right and back to en-
sure the light’s position changed in relation to its actual physical location in the room, as it did.

No words were spoken by this female entity of white light, yet her message was some-
how transmitted in the light, itself. Her light filled my whole body with comfort, into my chest
poured deep emotion, feelings of warmth, smiling joy, and love. It was her transplendent state
of being, radiated out in all directions, shared with me by her very presence. I knew I would
be ok after that meeting, and that I was protected.

After a few intense minutes, she drifted back, as if behind a veil, and the room was
dark again. I slept soundly and deeply with pleasant dreams, with a beautiful white woman in
them. None of the predatory poltergeist activities of the months previous occurred that night.

I was never going to mention the experience of that woman of white light to anyone, as
it was so extremely unusual and seemingly crazy. Yet, the next morning, I sat on the couch
in the living room with my girlfriend. Out of nowhere, she said “You know, I saw the most
incredible light last night…”

I just about broke down. She had seen her too! I was very careful, in this instance, to
have her explain everything she could remember about her individual experience with the
entity before I told her anything of my own interaction. I did not want any bias from my
description influencing her account. With this precaution in place, she described a woman in
white, who approached her from the doorway of the bathroom. She said the whole room was
absolutely awash with bright blue-white light, and that opening her eyes was overwhelming.
Essentially, these were aspects identical to my own interaction with the woman, who visited
us individually, one at a time, in different rooms of the house.

That night, my girlfriend had dreamt of a woman in a dazzling white dress approaching
her in a field on a beautiful white horse. Teasha was a lover of horses, all of her life and in this
“big” dream she, too, rode a horse, riding alongside the woman in white. There were other
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individuals present along this path, other spirits. She said they all revered the woman in white,
as if bowing to her; looking up to her “as if she were royalty.”

There was interesting physical evidence in the room following the encounter. The fol-
lowing night I woke up and stumbled to the bathroom to pee. It was around 4 am. I did not
turn on any lights, merely felt along the walls. Returning from the bathroom, I was completely
overwhelmed and blinded by an intense and all encompassing ruby red light, filling the whole
of my visual field. It was strongest near the doorway to the bedroom, where the woman
in white had first appeared. I stopped and stood in a daze, trying to make sense of what
was happening to my vision in this spot. I later came to rationalize that that overwhelming
energetic phenomena of the previous night had been so intense as to, essentially, “heat
up” the whole room, leaving it red hot – that bright radiance she emanated being absorbed
right into the walls, which still held that energy as they gradually “cooled,” over days.
It makes sense, in retrospect, that there would be some residual energetic phenomena fol-
lowing such an intense and overpowering light, and it helped me to think of it in terms of heat.

Other residual phenomena were experienced in the room. Dazzling blue white geome-
tries were seen across the ceiling. Again, she would wake me up to view them, and vice versa
– occurring in the living room as well. I regret not trying to record or draw these intricate
snowflake-like shapes, as I cannot recall how many points they had, etc., but have since
learned that “sacred geometry” is an area of dedicated spiritual study.

Leaving the house, and all the experiences, to live in China, I eventually began to rent
it to strangers. Of course, I did not mention any of this background when showing the home
to these people – but, within months, they would start telling me. On the phone, 2 renters
described the same dazzling blue-white geometries shimmering across the ceiling. There had
been no mention of these lights to these renters beforehand, and they had never known or
spoken to one another. The most recent renter said, with a defensive sort of bravado, that he
loved the house – but that his girlfriend was freaked out by the sound of children running up
and down the stairs, and the kitchen plates suddenly smashing against the wall by themselves!

Flashes of bright white light appearing in the periphery of the visual field also became
common, something I came to interpret as “presence” and associate with a peculiar sensation
in my chest, a sort of guidance or empowerment. Overall, the Woman in White provided me
with something to pray to – something I had never really felt I had before, and which led to my
many years identified as an atheist.

Electronic Voice Phenomenon

During the peak of paranormal activity in the studio, audio equipment in the room be-
gan to record strange artifacts – vocalizations. Often these recordings were of the same
specific individual voices, those which she had woken me up to listen to in the room the night
before – a particular male entity, and two females often in conversation. On more than once
occasion, my girlfriend confirmed that, yes, my name was heard distinctly in these active
night “discussions.” In one recording, my name could also be faintly discerned, spoken by a
female.

The most clear and unsettling of these audio recordings occurred while I was working on
a recorded drum track. On playback, a man was clearly heard to say “Please! Help me!” with
much emotion and anguish in his voice. I brought this, and several other of these electronic
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voice phenomena samples, to the head of the audio production department at Michigan State
University. He listened and confirmed it was a recording of a male speaking in English. He
had no other explanation, outside of that.

I brought this same CD of the recordings to Dr. Robert McKinley, the professor of shamanism
at MSU. I was expecting him to be surprised by these, what I believed to be the recordings of
spirits. He heard the “Please! Help me!” track and explained, nonchalantly “Yea, they always
say that. Requests for help are the most common message to be received from spirits. Don’t
listen to them…”

Guidance Behind Guidance

Me and Dr. McKinley began to work to make sense of the experiences. I did an inde-
pendent study on the incubus attack and the out-of-body experiences with him through the
religious studies department. I was meeting with him several times a week, describing the
experiences I’d had, to which he would often have some particularly insightful anthropological
background or article to share. He said most Eastern Asian cultures describe these entities of
white light visiting at night, but it seemed to me that both the darker malevolent entity that first
attacked us and the bright benevolent entity that visited us afterwards both represent some-
thing of a cultural universal, tied to the axis mundi and the 3 worlds; upper, middle, and lower.

I began to see the 3 worlds as a set of ranges, or a hierarchy of spirit, and that an in-
teraction with that one lower extreme necessitated a “policing” action from the other, to clean
up the mess and cleanse the space* (no “attacks” or nightly torments occurred after the
visitation from woman in white.) I’ve since learned that so-called angelic encounters are often
described in close proximity to possession experiences – while these accounts were merely
anecdotal, it was comforting to hear these stories and get some feeling of assurance that our
experience was not an isolated one.

Dr. McKinley was a phenomenal resource during this time, and had an article entitled some-
thing like “Shaman and Demon,” about the common interaction between spirit possession
and shamanic initiation, which I have since lost and have been unable to find again. Are you
familiar with any articles on this topic?

While working with Dr. McKinley, I first became aware of Dr. Tart and his Ms. Z experi-
ment.

I had been having such a difficult time accepting the doubt that even my close friends
expressed in response to hearing about my out of body experience. I wanted very much to
find some way to fully legitimize the experience, so that there could be no doubt in anyone’s
mind that the perceptions of that non-physical state were as valid and verifiable as physical
perception. The 5 digit random number in Tart’s experiment seemed the most elegant method
of doing this. If I could replicate this study, I would have more that simply my experienced
truth and a colorful story, I would have strong evidence to undergird my experience and a
means to eliminate the issue of belief from its rational discussion.

Dr. McKinley had never had an out of body experience, himself, but was knowledgeable
and able to refer me to many texts, including the Tart studies. Yet, while we were meeting
several times a week and discussing the interpretation of these spiritual interactions, he had
his first OBE! He described sitting in a chair in his den, reading a book, and drifting off to sleep
1841
with the book on his chest. He stood up, looked down at his body, and then ascended up
above the room along a vine growing along the wall. He passed through several “offices” in his
ascent, but eventually came to a higher place, clouded, with a single entity there, seemingly
waiting for him. It was a male entity who McKinley described as “somehow familiar,” even
though he had never met him in his life. The familiar spirit spoke to him, saying “You must
guide the boy you see often.”

When Dr. McKinley told me this in his office, neither of us acknowledged the fact that,
well… That would be me! Yet, he did give me a certain smile and a sort of twinkle in his eye
that expressed that, yes, this is something beyond either of us now. As if there is guidance
behind this guidance he’s providing me.

Sruti

Concurrent with my independent study in OBE and possession, I was taking a Hinduism
course. It was taught by an India-born Brahmin. I knew next to nothing about the Hindu
religion or Sanskrit and chose it almost on a whim, simply liking the sound of the word.

While returning to my dormitory from an audio class, I decided I’d pass through the eco-
nomics building, just leisurely exploring. I sat on a bench near the center of the main hall
to rest and people watch for a bit. I noticed that, beside me, on the opposite side of the
bench were a set of books, which I assumed belonged to someone nearby. Yet, as I sat longer
and longer, waiting through the class rush until the hall was completely empty, I began to
realize that these books were not going to be claimed and so I scooted over and opened
one. They were brand new, with taut, seemingly-unopened bindings. They were books about
Hinduism, specifically the belief in reincarnation. This book I read was a dialogue between a
Hindu Brahmin or guru figure and a scientists in which they tried to reconcile the differences
between the two “sciences,” East and West. As I read, I could see that the scientist was
genuinely trying to make a connection between these two philosophies, straining to meet
the guru halfway, yet this Hindu mystic was giving nothing but dogma in return; empty and
unyielding. I became actually angry reading this, the Hindu man’s attitude stirred annoyance
in me, as I was thinking “Come on! You can do better than that!”

And so, I left that hall with my head brimming with these new and fertile thoughts of
death and how, with a scientific mindset, we can approach it and safely ascertain its nature.
I felt passionate, a kind of energy that was driving me to return home and write all of these
ideas out, and I did. I wrote for many long hours about death, writing by hand so that the
diagrams that were coming to me could be included alongside the words. I was restless to get
these ideas out and, what was very interesting about this writing experience for me was the
way that the words simply flowed, torrentially, to the page without me even really thinking
about them. This is not how I write. I am the type of person that must meticulously think a
sentence out, arranging the words and best structure first before laying the words to the page.
This was a distinct and strange feeling, as if the words were simply flowing out through me.
By 4 AM, I had written many pages in this way – all of the writing concerning death, and the
natural dualistic relationship it shares with life and what we can safely ascertain about the
unseen half of this oscillatory phenomenon by studying and applying the known patterns of
all oscillatory phenomena, in nature.

I finally slept, writing a single word on the top of all of those pages as a title: Death.
The next morning, I attended my Hinduism course, as usual, and as I entered the classroom,
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I saw the professor had written a single word on the blackboard: Death. He then proceeded
to talk about the duality of life and death, opposites which cycle up through physical forms
and out again in reincarnation – essentially everything I’d been writing about all night! This
particular professor was very “by the book,” in that each week of class would be devoted
to the subsequent chapter; 8, 9, 10, with regularity. Yet this sudden lecture on death was
nowhere to be found in the book, the syllabus-prescribed chapter he was intended to speak
about involved bhakti yoga. All of this came to him, spur of the moment, in a way very out
of character for him. I could not get over how meaningful it seemed, given my intense and
peculiar writing after being inspired by those Hindu texts…

I left the class, still thinking of the strange coincidence: DEATH, in big letters on the
board. I was walking down the sidewalk and, near the telecommunications building, saw a
square piece of lined paper face down in the grass. I passed the litter and continued walking
for many yards and came to a crosswalk and stopped. Something was happening inside me,
at that moment however, a peculiar stirring force in my chest. I had to go back! I had to pick
up that piece of paper!

I walked all the way back to the telecommunications building, walked out onto their lawn, and
picked up that small square of paper. On it was written a single word: DEATH.

I became weak in the knees, there standing on the grass. My mind was reeling in to
make sense of this, now, obviously significant word. I began to think of the astronomical
probability of the situation, and WHY someone would write a single word on a small square of
lined paper and place it right there? Especially after all of the immensely meaningful-feeling
writing of just a few hours before, the same word appearing, alone, on the black board an hour
previous. These meaningful coincidences seemed to be falling hard, one by one, into place,
but what was that meaning – it had something to do with the writing about death, but what
was it about that writing??

I racked my brain for the rest of that day, continually holding and looking at that piece of paper.
I came to realize that there was a conscious intentionality behind coincidences of this sort, an
orchestration of the milieu which extended so far as to even influence the behavior of other
people; whatever “inspired” that Hinduism professor to suddenly give such a spirited lecture
on the nature of death. I didn’t sleep, I kept rolling certain questions over in my mind “What
is it about the writing? Why did it feel so different, so peculiar? What is it about that writing??”

The next day, these questions still cycled through my head, unabated and relentless as
I was determined to rationalize the continual coincidences surrounding this strange Hinduism
writing. I sat on a bench near the bus stop in front of the university hospital, these exhausting
questions at the forefront of my mind at that moment. After a few minutes of these thoughts,
I looked down. Between my toes was a single word, written in blue magic marker on white
masking tape. It was a Hindu word: SRUTI.

Sruti is a word in the Hindu tradition used to describe writing which is divinely inspired.
The significance of that single word, at that particular moment, being, for some reason, right
between my toes, didn’t sink in immediately. Yet, as I considered the word and my current
dilemma of cyclical doubts and questions, I was suddenly overwhelmed. Simply overwhelmed.

There is only one Hinduism course in all of that county, and we were not studying that
concept, and had not. This was someone, unrelated those course offerings, deciding to write
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that single word and tape it to the sidewalk that day. But why? What were they thinking when
they did such a random thing? They could not have known about the writing, or the continual
Hinduism-related coincidences that had been, one after another, falling into place every few
hours.

I felt, all at once, that I was not alone on that bench. That I had attracted attention,
somehow, from the unseen, and that the orchestration of such clear, powerful, and unambigu-
ous synchronicities were, each, a meaningful answer to the questions I had been carrying so
intensely. Each simply astronomically improbably that it would, at that point, be irrational to
call them simply random.

The Seizures

The day me and my girlfriend Teasha were set to drive the 8 hours from Lansing back
to my home in the Upper Peninsula, I had an unusual and persistent pain in my chest. Before
we had even left campus, I was clutching my chest, having difficulty driving. I gave her the
wheel and we started the day-long trek North. Yet, this strange sensation in my chest did not
resolve itself, even as I took asprin and tried to lay back and relax, it was getting worse. It
was a muscle spasm on the right side of the chest – much like the typical muscle spasm that
sometimes occur in a glute or hamstring muscle, only this one was right in the musculature
surrounding my rib cage. So very uncomfortable!

I lifted my shirt to watch the muscles quiver and placed my girlfriend’s hand on the
area, so she could feel this strange restless spasm as we drove to return to the location of the
possession. It was not a sensation limited to the muscles of that area, but also an energetic
sensation within the ribs, as if there were something inside my ribcage, quivering and afraid.
After 5 hours of this, the muscles actually began to hurt, aching from the taut unabated
activity. Quite a workout! I couldn’t handle it, and began to heave forward, clutching my
chest. I had never experienced anything so uncomfortable and had no idea why this quivering
chest sensation would arise, so suddenly, on the day of my homecoming.

8 hours later, I checked into the ER in my hometown. EKGs were ordered and the elec-
trodes applied to the troubled area. The reading was unusable, I was told, because there were
“too many artifacts.” A second measurement produced the same unacceptable result. And a
third, until finally the technician said “Good enough!” as he could make out a heartbeat from
behind the wall of convulsive electrochemical artifacts my chest was creating. There were no
conclusive diagnoses or medicines and I was sent home, more or less in the same state I’d
entered the hospital.

That night, as I laid in the bed where the possession had first taken hold of me, the
quivering worsened more, becoming something more of a quaking of my whole chest. It
began to spread down my arms, up into my neck, until I was shivering violently. When it
began to reach down through my hips and legs, the whole bed began to shake with this
uncontrollable energy, coursing through my body. I had no control, but was fully awake
and conscious as these convulsions took hold, my whole nervous system seeming to be
overwhelmed, bombarded by thousands of strong twitches and deep quivering through my
core.

I began to realize there were some spiritual roots to these convulsions, and they were
tied to that location and the intense spiritual interaction I’d had there. I felt I was being
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opened up, and that some powerful waterfall of unseen energy was flooding through my
nervous system, overwhelming seemingly torrential electrochemical activation in response to
something related to that room, or how it was somehow tied to my natural hypersensitivity.

All night, these convulsions continued, the bed seeming, sometimes, to quake beneath
me by its own accord. Strong charges shot up my spine as I cried, confused and afraid. This
was some kind of “homecoming,” a reminder of everything that had happened and, as I
learned, continues to happen in this place.

Since that ordeal, I sometimes sense a quivering sensation in my chest during periods
of, I suppose you could say, spiritual empowerment or heightened sensitivity. Fasting and
meditation seem to set these states off, as well as psychedelics, so I’ve learned. While
disconcerting, I take it as a sign or cue that I am not alone at that moment, and that a
mediumship experience is occurring.

The Tunnel, and The Lion

I abandoned the house, boarded up the windows, and moved to China, to escape all
that had happened there. I lived in China for over a year and made a great life for myself
there; a good job and a great girl. There were no paranormal experiences during that year I
was away.

When I returned to the states, however, it seems I had a “welcoming committee” wait-
ing. That first night back in the house, I was possessed. A dark, raging entity entered my
body and took control, yet again. In a semi-conscious state, I heard an inhuman sound coming
from my throat, deep and guttural, rising up to a fevered howling bestial scream. I tried, as
best I could, to regain myself, although I had no physical control of my body, inwardly, I tried
to push downwards and outwards through my core, expelling whatever unwelcome influence
was expressing itself through me. On the second attempt, I successfully pushed this dark
malevolent entity out of my body and saw a flash of light in the room, along the wall to the
left of the bed. Only then, in that light, could I finally see the silhouette of what had just been
inside of me – a huge lumbering shadow, hunched over, plodding away from the bedside. I
was dealing with something very negative, hateful, and not human, and it had just screamed
rage up through my body. Down in my guts, where I’d last pushed that spirit and its influence
out, there was an intense buzzing/throbbing sensation. I do not know how to interpret this
energetic sensation, but I became very sick in that area of my body almost immediately, the
internal bleeding recurring overnight. Pain and weakness...

The next day, I was quite a mess. I looked sick and felt sick, yet I had all of the home-
coming obligations and visits and a big dinner at my mother’s. I still had not had the water
turned on in the house, so was walking several blocks down to mom’s to shower.

That night, I returned to the solitary house and was afraid of what was surely going to
happen there, in the bedroom, again tonight. It was a genuine fear for my wellbeing, as
whatever had occurred the night previous, I felt, had done serious damage to me, in some
subtle way. My health was failing, literally overnight!

I entered the bedroom and laid in the bed and, even though I was afraid of the posses-
sion experience occurring again, I focused on my breathing, alone in the dark, slowing it
over long minutes until it approach a state of nearly stopped. When I could finally sense
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an upward shift in my state of consciousness, I began to pray adamantly, to inwardly call
out to my guardian spirit with as much genuine need as I could muster. I did this for many
hours, continuing to request presence, guidance, and protection, tirelessly calling for that
great entity and ally, the woman in white, to return and protect me once more. With every
deep meditative breath, I sought her deeper “White light, come to me…white light, enter me.”

After 3 hours of this intense meditative prayer, at around 4 am, the ceiling above me
opened up. Fully awake, with eyes open, I felt an unambiguous sensation of ascent in my
chest, as I entered the tunnel that stretched before me. It was almost ribbed, in a way, along
the edges , providing a reference for my movement as I rose up through it. At the end of this
tunnel, yes, there was a light and it grew in circumference as I approached, until a location
was revealed. My eyes open and transfixed, through this opening in the ceiling, I saw a field;
an African savanna. In it stood a proud lion, in full mane, looking down onto me with a strong
noble stance. When I saw this animal, some part of me immediately responded “Of course!
Of course it’s a cat…” as if I’d somehow known that all my life.

I paid close attention to the incredible detail of the scene before me, even the tufts of
dry yellowed grass, which swayed in the wind of that plain. Long moments of simply connect-
ing with this great noble creature, him gracing me with his gaze; calm direct eye contact that
expressed a kind of protective love. I knew I was safe in that moment, and that this was an
answer to my hours of intense prayer. Even though there were no words, and neither he or
I moved during this interaction, the message was made clear just by his presence and, so it
would seem, his “guiding” my ascent up to that higher range of nature where he existed.

I was not paralyzed, as in the other experiences. I could move my body during this vi-
sionary state – everything except my eyes, which were still long opened and transfixed onto
this distant higher place. Yet, I could also feel them drying out and I began to try to close
them, but could not! I continued to try, until a sort of inward panic began to mount, distracting
me from the scene and the connection with the big cat spirit. Once focus was lost, some vital
part of the connection was broken and, in a bright flash of white light, I could blink again and
was fully back in the room, looking at a darkened ceiling. This was the first, of what would be
many, varied interactions with a big cat guardian spirit.

The next morning, I awoke very refreshed. There were no further incidents with what-
ever that hunched possessive entity from the night previous had been, and I slept very well,
despite having been amazed and excited about the strange phenomenon that had occurred
during the night. I didn’t know how to interpret what had happened, or how to even explain
or integrate it in my life, if at all.

I left the house and walked to my mother’s for a shower. I arrived and sat on the couch
and was approached by my 8 year old nephew. He was holding a young kitten with white and
tan stripes and excitedly said “Uncle boy! Look what I found! It’s a kitten…I named it Angel.”

The significance of this struck me, only moments later. A sudden mysteriously-appearing cat.
“Why did you name it Angel?” I had to know!

“I don’t know. It’s just the name that came to me.” He said, in a matter-of-fact way.

What struck me was how that cat would not leave me alone! Even though there were
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many people in the house, it continually came only to me – despite my nephew continually
grabbing it and taking it to other rooms, it would return to my lap, stepping on the keyboard of
my laptop, purring and rubbing itself on me contentedly. What was unique about this cat was
that it would look me directly in the eyes, gazing for long moments, staring into them. I’ve
never, before or since, had a cat do such a thing, as this mysterious Angel cat did. I couldn’t
help but think the appearance of this animal, Angel, was somehow tied to the powerful angelic
animal who had graced me with his presence only a few hours before.

My nephew had found the cat that morning, stuck in the barbed wire surrounding an old
mining pit alongside mom’s yard. Apparently, someone had thrown a burlap bag full of kittens
into the water of the pit, there, and this one kitten had escaped and made its way out of the
iron ore pit, up out of the tailings piles, and had managed to climb up the fence, partially.
Quite a phenomenal cat! My nephew claimed Angel for his own and took the cat home, but
it disappeared as mysteriously as it had appeared only a few days later. I regret not taking
the cat, which was so obviously enamored with me, home myself. I felt Angel was somehow
meant for me to have.

Transpersonal Psychology and Ayahuasca’s Call

I abandoned my life in media production and my house in Michigan to devote my life to

understanding these spiritual experiences. I felt I might find some answers and guidance in
the field of transpersonal psychology and applied and was accepted to the PhD program at
the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, in Palo Alto, California. I began my cross-country
trip in my beat up Oldsmobile, praying all the way for my safe arrival to the West coast. It
was a “spiritually charged” period of my life, filled with many meaningful coincidences. Upon
arriving to the coast, I went to the beach, where someone snapped a picture of me – one
showing a blue-white light beaming down from above me; a curious artifact, I’d like to believe
was related to the felt sense of spiritual presence I had at that moment.

Still struggling with the unusual illness that followed my possession experience, I sought
some form of treatment other than the chemotherapy drugs the doctors had put me on. I
read about ayahuasca, a natural medicine from South America, and it was not long before I
attempted to purchase the plant ingredients from Peru on the internet, determined to combine
them into the medicinal tea myself.

Hours after I made this purchase, someone gave me a book. It was called The Cosmic
Serpent, by Jeremy Narby. It was a book about ayahuasca. I was awe-struck, since I had not
told anyone about my purchase, and asked “Why are you giving me this? I just ordered this
stuff! How did you know?”

The person said they didn’t know, they just saw the book and thought of me that day.
A meaningful coincidence! I began reading the book that same day, and was even more
surprised to learn that it was about someone from my town, Palo Alto, from Stanford University
(where I was working at the time) who went down to Peru to study the shamanic ceremonies
there. As I read, I was struck deeply by this particular idea I encountered in the book: that
plants are fully aware sentient beings, with consciousness and souls. This was a wholly new
idea for me, something I’d never before really considered, yet the more I thought about it, the
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more it, of course, made sense that all living things must, by definition, must be conscious
and have a spiritual side to them. I felt like something opened up in me and I began to write
about the idea.

I wrote for many long hours and, like with the Hinduism-inspired writing about death,
this writing eventually came to take on that peculiar quality of thoughtless flow, as if these
were not my ideas, somehow. I wrote about the key active constituent of the brew, dimethyl-
tryptamine, the endogenous sensory neurotransmitter, and how it induces non-ordinary
ranges perception which should not be assumed to be invalid or hallucinatory simple due to
the rarity of our experience of them, or that these less common synaptic messengers are
derived from plants. When, at 4 am, I finished writing, I felt like I’d given birth! And had
something titled “On The Legitimacy of the Plant Neurotransmitter.”

I finally slept.

When I awoke, it was January 1st, the first day of the new year and, groggily opening
my laptop, I saw a single new email in my inbox. It was from Peru…from a shamanic prac-
titioner working in the Amazon. I simply couldn’t believe my eyes – what was going on??
Nobody had seen my writing from the night before, how was this possible?

The long message from this practicing shaman of Iquitos, Peru was inviting me to come
to the Amazon to speak about ayahuasca at the International Amazonian Shamanism Con-
ference in June. Apparently, this organizer had found something I’d written years before on
some back alley of the internet; something unrelated to ayahuasca which had, nonetheless,
resonated with him. He told me that “people need to hear what you have to say.”

With this completely random invitation to live in Peru and speak about ayahuasca, I felt,
again, as if coincidence was somehow being orchestrated – almost like a red carpet being
spread out, direct to the Amazon. A gift placed on the doorstep of the new year. Within
a few hours of attempting to order ayahuasca on the internet, massive and inexplicable
coincidences had been falling heavy into place, on after another – the book, the writing, and
now this invitation email, all within a span of 48 hours. I simply couldn’t disregard all of this
as random, even if I’d wanted to.

I accepted the invitation to present in Iquitos that year, though I was immediately ap-
prehensive about the idea. I had never taken this medicine! As much as I could read and
research the experience and its effects, if I – some chubby white kid – got up on stage in
front of those dozens of old native shamans to expound knowledge about something I’d
never even done, my God! They were going to see right through me! A mounting anxiety
began to build – I had to find some way to experience this medicine before giving a talk about it.

I received notice that the plant materials addressed to me from Peru had been seized at
the border. Yikes! So that was a no go. Yet, later that week, while participating in my friend’s
dissertation study of the Mazatec mint, salvia divinorum, at ITP’s William James Center,
he mentioned his first experience with ayahuasca the night previous, at a strange church
group he’d joined called the Santo Daime, who use the psychoactive brew as a sacrament
in a syncretic Christian and traditional Brazillian shamanic context. I probed him for more
information about this church and its meetings and soon found myself dressed, head to toe,
in white in a very clean residential home in Novato, California, standing in line, awaiting
to receive my sacrament for the church service. The thick psychoactive mud was poured
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delicately into tiny shot glasses, with the same quiet, sterile reverence that I recalled from my
childhood church services, all those Sundays in Michigan. Yet, this tasted nothing like those
holy saltines! This was a putrid-smelling brown sludge. I slugged it down and my face recoiled
with instinctual repulsion, tightening my eyes and shaking my head as I felt the thick phlegmy
stuff work its way down the back of my throat. I had done it! Despite my trying to keep it at
bay, my anticipation was strong.

Returning to the all white living room area, the congregation of about 20 sat in a circle
of stiff-backed chairs, divided down the middle by sex – women on one side, men on the other,
but all wearing pure bright white, like myself. We sat in silence, there in the brightly lit room,
which seemed a bit disconcerting to me, as shared silence combined with waiting tends to be.
I sat up straight and closed my eyes and, over long minutes, gradually began to feel an inward
shift in the quality of my consciousness. My inward visual field began to reveal the hints of
phosphenes, and faint colors, reds and greens. I slowly felt an energy, rising up my spine, like
a restlessness coming up and settling in my chest – the quiver of my rib cage I’d felt so many
times before. With this, the most subtle aspects of my typical baseline state of awareness
began to present themselves. I became aware of the emotional state of the man sitting to my
right and, in the visual field of my closed eyes, could see the outline of his form there, as if
an energetic silhouette of this man I could not physically see. He was feeling anxiety and, as
this heightened state of sensitivity continued to increase in strength, my empathic capacities
seemed to follow suit, allowing me to sense subtle emotional “currents” in the room, his being
the most directly perceivable, assumedly because of his proximity to me. Yet, this empathic
perception could also be directed, as attempted to focus my attention to the person sitting to
my left instead and, as before, an outline of this individual arose in my inward vision, although,
in his case, appearing less red and more blueish in color. The emotional signature of his
presence had tinges of sadness which I felt fully in myself and which, as the effect of the brew
continued to strengthen, began to flit with momentary images or flashes of light.

It was around that time that the leader of the group prompted the circle to stand and
take out their hymnals. And so, just as the “daime” was beginning to take hold and I’d began
to sense that unseen realm of subtle emotive, I found myself surrounded on all sides by
people half-shouting in Portuguese! It was a confusing and, as I saw it, meaningless exercise,
distracting the people from the real inward work by forcing them to sing in a language they
didn’t know. What a waste! Yet, sure enough, I was handed one of these little hymn books
and had certain words pointed out for me, as if reading the foreign word helped with its
complete incomprehensibility. I sang the Portuguese songs for many minutes, struggling to
read and stand, struggling more with my resistance to this whole churchy Christian process,
until, finally, I simply said “Fuck this!” and laid on the floor. It was only then that the fully
breadth of the ayahuasca experience revealed itself to me.

I was able to see the potential of the ayahuasca circle in our culture, and even saw my-
self leading circles which utilized scientific instrumentation and electronics which were not
available to the native shamans centuries ago. Yes, music was still an integral part of the
experience in these vivid scenes, albeit music which utilized pure tone – the kind of extended
or endless meditative tone which traditional acoustic instruments cannot produce. And, yes,
these sessions were held in English! The intended message made sense to everyone present.
I became very excited and moved by these beautiful potential futures I saw, so much so that I
began to weep.

From that point, the visual experience expanded, as if the perspective of what I was
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seeing ascended to a higher scale. I was shown the whole of human consciousness as a set of
concentric circles, radiating one beyond the other in a spectrum of wide rings, like the rippling
of the surface of a pond outwards from a single point of contact. It was made clear that each of
these rings was a bandwidth, a discrete range of frequency, containing the particular baseline
states of consciousness of a given population; culture and genetic predisposition expressed
as radiant light! It was such a beautiful and deeply meaningful perspective on our species
that, again, silent tears of joy streamed down my face. Yet, despite the profound and joyous
feelings this revealed cosmology opened in me, this image of a spectrum of consciousness,
radiating outwards in all directions from a single point, was something intrinsically familiar to
me, somehow, and which seemed, all at once, so unitive, beautiful, and, at the same time,
so obvious and natural. I left my first ayahuasca service at the Santo Daime church feeling
confident about going to the Amazon and deeply inspired by what I had seen.

Kaleb Smith - Spiritual Autobiography, Part 2 (2015-05-11 15:59) - public

The Amazon Jungle

I flew into Lima, Peru and checked into a beautiful antique Spanish colonial building downtown,
a mansion which had been converted into a hotel. I was given a cheap cubby room under the
staircase – less than ideal, but I was just happy to crash heavily with my bags and relax after
my long trip South.

That night, I had a powerful BIG dream. In it, I was approached by a male spirit who let
me know that he had been orchestrating my life, and the coincidences which led me to Peru.
He was a leader, and phenomenally powerful and spoke in images, scenes which he would
present me within. He expressed that, while it may seem on the surface that I will be talking
up on stage at this upcoming conference on shamanism, to be clear, it is actually HE who will
be doing the talking. This was expressed by revealing the layers of the presentation, as it
occurred; a sort of cross-cut of the reality of his influence over me. “Pay no attention to the
man behind the curtain.”

While he would allow me to appear to be performing, his massive presence was behind
me the whole time, guiding and informing the real message up through me, to be expressed
to the audience. It was a deeply powerful presence, as if being near the president or some
other influential leader, and I awoke in awe of this figure and the breadth of his power, having
seen his ability to control and orchestration circumstance in time from his side, to serve his
ends. I was such a small and minor individual, in comparison, yet the attention would be on
me at this important event; a sort of front which I would represent.

I awoke with my heart racing, buzzing across my body, and quickly wrote down as much of
the experience as I could at a fevered pace, the excitement and awe of it all still fresh in my
mind. This was big! Much bigger than me. The inexplicable synchronicities that had fallen
so stepwise into place, and led me to the conference, suddenly made more sense after this
interaction with this powerful “no nonsense” entity, and the message he conveyed.

Within a few days, I was arranging my travel to Iquitos. It is a unique city, as there are
no roads in or out – it is nestled so deep in the Upper Amazon Basin that it can only be reached
by small airplane or extended boat trips up the Amazon river. I had setup living arrangements
and a flight into their little airfield, there, and was set to meet the head of the conference the
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following day.

Culture shock struck as I exited the plane into that sweltering unrelenting wet jungle
heat. My Scandinavian blood is very thick for that kind of equatorial climate! I was sunburnt
within the hour. I noticed the desperation and poverty rampant in that city, cut off from the
commerce and culture of the capital. Very few cars, but for a few soles, I could get a ride
on a motorcycle driven cart, a homemade woven seat with a metal roof to block the blaring
sun. Soon, I was at the residence of Alan Shoemaker, the man who organized the shamanism
conference I’d be presenting at in a few days.

Now, I’d been working in Stanford’s Psychophysiology lab for months, in Palo Alto, studying
the EEG signature of emotional regulation. Yet, all the while I’d been there, I’d been trying
to integrate into Stanford’s culture – specifically the subculture of creative writing and
psychedelics, which I knew existed in within the walls of that institution somewhere. I wanted
to meet the hippie Stanfordites, reciting poetry and having existential adventures together.
But actually finding these students or professors, who I knew existed somewhere in there, was
proving much harder than I’d anticipated. I’d sit on a bench and strike up a conversation with
someone who seemed receptive to that sort of creative lifestyle, yet came up short again and
again. It was frustrating and I had been just close to giving up on the hope of finding “my
people” at Stanford.

Within an hour of arriving to this interesting walled compound of Alan Shoemaker’s, I

was introduced to one of the other presenters who had arrived: a tallish Native American
looking girl named Lyla. She offered me a bottle of beer and I thanked her, taking out the
bottle opener on my keychain to open it. This opener was a simple black piece of plastic with
the worn logo, “Fatty Zone,” on it; a local head shop near my house where I’d gotten it for free.
Seeing this, she said “Wait…you know Fatty Zone?”

“Yea! Its 3 blocks from my house…”

“Fatty Zone is 3 blocks from my house…!” she said, checking the address on the key-
chain.

Sure enough, it turns out that Lyla was a student at Stanford. And, sure enough, she
proceeded to explain that she was the president of Stanford’s creative writing society…and
that she was Stanford’s main source for psychoactive substances, which she considered it her
mission to share and distribute. She was the person I’d been trying to meet for months, but I
had to go to the other side of the world to find her!

Certain relationships feel as though they were “meant” to happen, and ours was one
such relationship. Over time, she would introduce me to countless powerfully meaningful
things, everything I needed to find on Stanford’s campus and a network of people who would
prove to change my life irreversibly. Becoming active in Stanford’s poetry circle, and reading
on stage in their competitions (one of which I won) was a pivotal moment for me and the
development of my voice as a writer.

That first night in Iquitos, I was bombarded by a second overwhelmingly powerful vision-
ary dream, in which I interacted with some individual or spirit. It began by my introduction
to a short native man with black hair to his shoulders and a paunch and a very distinct face.
He held a bottle of ayahuasca in one hand, in the other hand he held out a large seed. He
1851
explained that the ayahuasca, by itself, does not teach. Pouring the brew over the seed,
he said the ayahuasca only allows the teacher plant to open and be heard. With this, the
seed sprouted into a beautiful flowered vine and, with its blossoming, there was a message it
conveyed, one I could not otherwise have heard.

This stocky native man then led me down through a hole into the Earth, down beneath
the trees of the forest, a tunnel through the soil, into the root systems of the trees. There he
explained that, in order to hear the plants, you must get beneath, down into the roots, in the
subconscious of the plants – that that is where they talk to one another, in those spreading
systems of intertwined roots. That is where you can hear them. Sure enough, I could hear
many quiet conversations of the forest, there, the many voices and personalities of the plants
I’d only seen and known the “surface half” of. This is where their they express themselves, in
the medium of the Earth.

I awoke from this dream, again, half hyperventilating. There was so much information
being conveyed to me, I tried as best I could to write it all down, but it was overwhelming. I
know many of the details were lost in translation, to writing, but the main “take home” of this
big dream was recorded. Later, I learned that this idea of a “teacher plant,” separate from the
ayahuasca, is actually an established facet of shamanic work in the Amazon – that shamans
even categorize different types of teaching or healing into different strains and species of
plants, which they can call on as needed. A botanical toolbox of healing knowledge, which
the shaman utilizes in a systematic way, based on the needs of his patients and his chosen
specialty. The fact that all of this fairly-specific belief system came to me, first, in a visionary
dream seemed a powerful testament to the legitimacy of that “interaction” I experienced.
That was no dream!

The next day was the first official day of the conference, a casual meet and greet ramp-
ing up to the actual presentations. The courtyard, near the pool, was filled with people –
about 45 different presenters and people selling trinkets and so on. Sitting by the pool, I was
approached by an elderly bald man named Freddy, who was quite an interesting decidedly-
shifty sort of character who tried, and succeeded, to sell me a tarot card reading using regular
playing cards. In this reading, he claims to have been able to tell that I was dealing with an
illness – a safe bet, perhaps cold reading. I proceeded to tell him briefly about the illness and
the possession experience that had immediately preceded it.

Freddy nodded, listening to my story, seemingly concerned. When I finished, he said

“Yes! It is a spirit illness. For what you need, you need to talk to Javier de Silva.”

He pointed across the yard of 45 people to a man standing near the far doorway. He
was a short native man, with black hair down to his shoulders, and a paunch. It was the him!
The man from the night previous, exactly him, down to the distinctive mole on his face. This
shaman, Javier, looked at me from across the room with a mischievous knowing smile, nodding
in acknowledgement of me and, apparently, laughing at my astonishment. He recognized me
as well!

The Shipibo Ceremonies

Despite the strong synchronicities and dream interactions with Javier de Silva, I ended
up avoiding him. Many had said he was a “Brujo” who was once a very powerful and good-
hearted healer, but had lost his way and fallen from the path. Other foreigners told me he
1852
had threatened them and tried to manipulate them, saying they would be bitten by snakes or
have family members die if they did not give him money. All of these rumors frightened me,
as he seemed like a dark or mischievous figure, so I sought out more traditional and isolated
shamans, further away from the touristy Iquitos.

I was able to find someone to guide me to a remote area deep in the jungle, up river,
where some native Shipibo tribespeople lived. Getting to them involved riding a homemade
boat up river for 3 hours, and then, from there, hiking into the jungle for 2 and a half hours.
There I met with them and lived for about 3 months.

The shamans were women; radiant, smiling grandmother figures who sang such beauti-
ful breathy icaros, harmonizing in high-pitched steps during ceremony. We drank almost every
night, in intensive sessions, trying to clean out the body for further work. Understanding what
these shamans said after the session was very difficult, as no one who spoke Shipibo knew
any English.

The lead shaman would speak about what she saw during her ceremony with me, seem-
ingly explaining with great detail the specifics of her journey and the diagnosis, talking for
many minutes. Yet, this message first had to be fully translated from Shipibo to Spanish after
she was done speaking, and then a second translator would have to break down the gist of
the message and translate it from Spanish to English. By the time it finally got across to me,
all that was left of those many minutes of explanation would be “She says the medicine is
good for you.” She said more than that!!

One thing that did come across was that the ayahuasca would, first, clean the body out
and that this process would take about a week, when coupled with the dieta. As I understood
it, the body in this case could be compared to a window. When I arrived, it was very crudy, I
imagined it like the window above a greasy burger grill, caked with many years of thick smoke,
so that it could hardly be seen through. Ayahuasca’s deep intensive purges felt like a scouring
of this greasy window, it often felt like I was expelling some black oily sickness from down
deep. Yet, this purging also had a psychological aspect, as with every heaving release, I would
see painful memories or dark traumas being brought up and out from where they had been, in
those thick sedimentary layers down below.

It was only after this window has been scoured clean that light can shine through it again.
This radiant light is something visible in the clean bright eyes of the old Shipibo women, their
open arms and their open sensitive hearts. Its only when that window is completely clean that
you can begin to see through it, to see the visions of the other side, those subtle energetic
phenomena which are obscured by the residue of unclean living.

At a point around a week in, I can recall standing outside the maloka near this lagoon,
with my hand against a strange Amazonian tree, just leaning in as I scream heaved at 1 in the
morning. I was truly working hard, bringing up something from deep in my core, something
that had needed to be expelled for many years. And, finally…it was out! That first breath
afterwards, that long inhale, was simply the fullest cleanest breath I can recall having in my
life; as if some weight had finally been lifted from my chest, and, all at once, I could breath
freely again, open and unrestrained. That was when I knew I was clean.

The visions began in full force after that. There were many spiritual phenomena that
occurred in those months which were powerful and unexplainable, suggesting there are
1853
untapped potentials available in the higher ranges of human sensitivity. I will described a
handful of the most meaningful.

Meditation

Meditation on ayahuasca changed some aspect of the room, as if my presence came to

expand to fill the space and influence those within it in distinct ways; no doubt reliant, too,
on their hypersensitive state of attention. I sat Indian-style about 10 feet from the shamans,
allowing my breath to be as full and slow as my capacity allowed. These long exhales became
longer and calmer, until I reached nearly a breathless state, my chest throbbing and vibrant
with the same nervous energy I had experienced previously, during the EKG incidents, yet
calmed and flowing.

Silently breathing in this way, somehow the shamans began to respond to these medita-
tive breaths. At the peak of a silent inhale, and then the slow calm release, two of the
shamans would “sighhhh” right alongside my exhale, which was silent and not audible to
them. Somehow, their breathing rhythms had fallen into perfect sync with my own, and
the full almost overwhelming charge in my rib cage, being released, was influencing their
subjective state as well; a kind of entrainment. Although, of course, I could not make any
real assumptions about the nature of their subjective state in that moment, the long trancey
sigh that we shared could be felt as a deeply fulfilling and almost orgasmic-sounding state of
ecstasy. They were riding my deep meditative breaths with me, as if I was doing the “work”
and they were enjoying the long pregnant cycles of charged breath, which they were able to
perceive in some subtle energetic way in the room. Their singing of the icaros was distinctly
different after this meditative connection we shared, especially beautiful and transcendent. I
became, in that moment of shared ecstatic exhalation, aware of the profound power of breath.

In other instances, my breathing would seem to induce powerful energetic phenomena

in my nervous system, similar to the convulsive states I’d experienced years previous, tied
to my quivering chest. This ayahuasca meditation, lying on the floor, would come as great
quaking pulses, up through my core, causing my whole body to move dramatically at a rhythm
distinct from my heartbeat. Chairs and beds would creak and pulse, moving under me during
these mysterious and overwhelming energetic states.

Disease Extraction

Early in the 3 months of sessions, I let the shamans know that I had an illness. Yet, I
was careful not to tell them anything about the nature of the illness, or its location in the body.
I admit, I was skeptical, and wanted to test this supposed ability to see and extract disease
during these ceremonies. I said nothing more, other than that I was sick, so there would be no
bias or hints for her to “cold read.”

The shaman drank aya with me and looked at my body, scanning me, and placing her
open hands over me. She said she saw the illness in my gut – which was correct. She then
began an extraction, using tobacco juice, which she spit onto my stomach as she sucked the
sickness out, and dramatically spit it into a bucket with gusto, almost as if vomiting. Then
again, she would go in and pull the energetic signature of my illness out, and expel it into the
bucket. Finally, this bucket was brought way out into the forest and its contents disposed of
in a certain way.

1854
What is interesting is, 2 days later, after my presentation at the shamanism conference,
I had a ceremony with an Ecuadorian shaman. I, again, was careful not to tell him anything
about my illness or its location in the body, only to say that I was sick and needed healing.
He drank a strong brew and scanned my body as I laid on the floor of the hut. He finally
said he could see the illness in my lower gut – which was correct. He then said that he could
see that someone had recently tried to extract it, but that they didn’t get it all out! I was in
awe. He could perceive the extraction that had taken place 2 days before, somehow! He had
not known of my visiting that distant Shipibo shaman, and had not spoken with them. My
skepticism of the legitimacy of the extraction procedure dissolved away…

The Finns

In terms of my limited previous knowledge of the plant medicine ayahuasca, I can say I
was aware of the native belief system surrounding it, specifically that it was the “vine of
souls” and would facilitate communication with spirits and ancestors. I had heard that, in the
Amazon, the ayahuasca experience was referred to as the “little death” – just a tiny death!
Real quick, dying, talking to grandma and grampa, and then coming back. Suffice it to say,
I was skeptical going into the jungle of this native belief system, or that the nature of one’s
ethnicity or ancestry played any major role in the circumstances of one’s daily life, outside
the obvious role of genetic predispositions, carried down the lines of lineage. Yet, again, in
this case, when I left Peru, I was no longer skeptical…

I laid in the dark of the maloka, meditating on the gentle icaros, the old spiritual songs
being sang to guide my inward journey. With my eyes closed there was a gradual but
unambiguous sensation of ascent, felt in my chest, much like the tunnel experience with the
lion entity in Michigan. This ascent continued for some time, until I reached a higher place
which was separated by the edges of a tunnel I was stepping out of. This higher place was
forested, coniferous, and I was high in the treetops. There were two entities of blue-white light
who saw and greeted me, and seemed very aware of my coming here.

The female spoke “We are the Finns… we are the Finns…”

She continually emphasized this fact, as if she was not sure her message was coming
across to me, it was repeated several times.

Finally, “We are the Finns. We are here to teach you…to see and hear more.”

This bright and benevolent being then explained “We live in the higher frequencies, where
sound becomes light.”

When she said that, somehow, it made perfect sense – at least while I was there, in
that place and that state-of-consciousness. It seems certain statements only make sense
within the state-of-consciousness which produced them.

I was shown the facilities in this Finnish realm, and the many students who were there,
learning to “see and hear more.”

Returning down to my body, and reimmersing myself into physicality, I was quite amazed, but
at the same time thinking “Wow! Whatever THAT just was…” as if to disregard the incredible
encounter as something unreal, just by its sheer exceptionality.
1855
Yet, just a few hours later, I was having breakfast on the sidewalk at the Yellow Rose of
Texas, a popular restaurant in downtown Iquitos. Enjoying my food there, with a table to
myself, I heard “Suomalainen tyttö, hän tulee olemaan hienoa...”

I looked up and, directly to my right sat two tall blondes. I had to ask them “Excuse
me, are you Finnish?”
“Yah! We are Finnish. How did you know?”

“I’m Finnish. I’d recognize Finnish a mile away…”

The odds of this occurrence! Of them sitting directly next to me, given all of the places
they could sit, and times they could have sat there. I had to ask them,

“What are two Finns doing in the middle of the Amazon rainforest on a Thursday morn-
ing?”

They explained that their daughter was going to school in Peru, and so on. I explained
to them that my grandma’s grandma was a shaman, or noaide, in Finland and that I’d always
wanted to know more about what she did, and how she healed people – that all of that heritage
was lost with the immigration to America.

Immediately, they responded “Oh, yes! You must speak with Anna-Leena. She is the
head of the Finnish spirituality department at the University of Helsinki. Here is her number,
and here is her email address.”

They had all of that information immediately on hand, knew her number by heart, and
wrote this Finnish shamanism expert’s contact down for me. So, in the vision the night before,
the Finns told me they would teach me. It wasn’t until a few hours later that I got directions
to the school.

I was absolutely overwhelmed by the implications of this meeting. The sheer astronomi-
cal improbability of those two Finns choosing to sit next to me, at that exact moment AND
happening to be very close friends with a foremost world-renowned expert on Finnish shaman-
ism, Dr. Anna-Leena Siikala. I was simply awestruck.

I realized that this medicine, ayahuasca, was powerful in ways that I did not understand,
in the manner that it orchestrated and arranged these meaningful and even life-altering
coincidences with such perfect synchrony. The ancestry seemed central to this synchrony,
somehow – not my Swedish side, but this Finnish side of my DNA seemed to be resonating
very strongly in response to this medicine.

Yet, I’ve learned that these phenomenally meaningful coincidences can be arranged for
one’s benefit, seemingly by ancestral spirits presenting important opportunities, like gifts
containing new life directions, having an opportunity does not, necessarily, mean I accept
those opportunities. That is to say, they won’t do the work for you! They’ll reveal a path, but
it is still my choice to walk it. I never called Anna-Leena Siikala and, eventually, lost the slip
of paper with her number. I feel guilt when I think of what that connection to the University
of Helsinki could have opened in my life and my progress in understanding some of these
experiences I’ve had.
1856
Current Condition

The unusual illness with followed that first possession experience, shared with my girl-
friend in Michigan, has continued to progress and worsen with time, despite the increased
dosages of cortical steroids and chemotherapy drugs, intended to keep the inflammation at
bay. I am overwhelmed with weakness and whole body pain, often unable to walk or climb
stairs. I feel as though a heavy weight has been shackled to me, preventing me from doing all
of the things I love and need to do, or expressing myself in the free and joyous way I once did,
before the possession.

Yet, as strange as it sounds, I have come to see the illness as a strict and unrelenting
guide, to keep me on the path of clarity. The only way I have found to be healthy is by
fasting, or near fasting, keeping a clean and active lifestyle in place, free of alcohol, oils, sugar,
meat, and caffeine – all things which I love and would definitely indulge in were it not for the
immediate and stern “punishment” I receive from my body as a result. With these limitations
in place, the only way to survive and live without pain seems to be in adopting a lifestyle of
dietary restraint and solitude, one which I cannot help but notice parallels the lifestyle of the
shamanic initiate in many cultures.

Harner writes about this illness resulting from a spiritual interaction, calling it the “initia-
tory illness,” in which the afflicted individual must confront his sickness by following a calling
to shamanic work, one laid out by powerful coincidences and dreams. The closer you are to
the path, the more these meaningful coincidences will occur – that that is a sign you are close
and have the attention of the spirit guides on you. On the other hand, if this initiate chooses
to ignore this call to healing work, and step away from the path laid out before him, the illness
will progress until it overtakes him, until he essentially goes crazy and dies.

I don’t want to go crazy and die! Yet, the degradative changes that continue to occur
as I try to live a “normal” life, and ignore those spiritual experiences that have defined a
decade of my development, are getting harder and harder to manage. Our culture has no place
for these phenomena, and there is no track for young men who show signs of hypersensitivity
like that early on to follow, towards a purposeful role in society. Transpersonal psychology
seems the closest thing to shamanism Western culture has to offer, yet I was expelled from
the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology for sharing my possession experience with my class,
being denied access to higher education based on my spiritual beliefs because, so they told
me, it “made some of the other students feel uncomfortable.”

I have written an abstract, describing that perception of the ranges of consciousness as

discrete bandwidths which one may traverse; descending down through the spectra of distinct
frequency ranges as one falls asleep, for instance, from Beta, thru Alpha, into Theta towards
Delta, these measurable frequencies represent:

Consciousness research has reached a standstill, according to eminent theoretician, Bernard

Baars, during a recent Stanford University symposium. While I am in agreement with Baars
that there have been few major advances in the field for some time, part of the problem
seems to be that we’ve exhausted the utility of our current metaphors. For this reason, I’d like
to propose a new metaphor: a model which conceptualizes consciousness as a spectrum of
frequencies whose natural division into discrete bandwidths defines the boundaries of state-
specific content and perception. By defining consciousness in terms of radiant spectra, many
1857
of the known laws governing the electromagnetic spectrum can be applied to comprehend
the subtle mechanics of subjectivity, objectivity, states of consciousness, dimensionality, and
sensate awareness. In thinking of consciousness as information traversing a medium, we
are granted a new set of analogies with which we can apply the well-defined principles of
telecommunication to understand facets of awareness previously outside the limits of our
purview. By modeling consciousness in this way, and utilizing the known processes governing
modulatory phenomenon, a valuable set of insights can be inferred; generalizable properties
of transmission which can be applied to understand the non-observable ranges of periodic
phenomena. Among these generalizable characteristics are the properties of carrier medium
and the mechanics of its density in nature, from which we may apply the model of carrier
modulation to better understand the transmission of consciousness across unobservable or
yet-immeasurable mediums in nature. By applying these established spectral models to
conscious experience, we are afforded a set of useful new parameters with which to represent
the ranges of human awareness and the discrete states which divide our consciousness
systemically, as distinct ranges of frequency, or bandwidths.

I submitted this abstract to the Science of Consciousness conference, which is typically

held in Arizona. Yet, to my surprise as I went to submit it, I found that, for the first time in
over 20 years, this year’s conference will be held at the University of Helsinki! Somehow,
it feels as though I am being called to Finland, whether I like it or not. Yet, I don’t know for
what purpose or what I am to learn there. I have arranged to live in and explore the country
for one month, all of June. I am hoping that there will be some answer there for me, but
have no leads other than that it seems, once again, a meaningful coincidence that the first
time I submit an application to this conference is the first time it has ever been held in Finland.

Is there any guidance available for someone in my condition? Any references or tech-
niques that might help me to understand or overcome this challenging illness? The mysterious
convulsive states, mediumship, and possession experiences have mostly subsided since
abandoning my house in Michigan, yet I am well aware that I can reenter that spiritual aspect
of my life, with meditation and with psychedelics. I am intimidated by the idea of doing so,
however, especially given the chronic illness that followed my previous immersion into those
spiritual ranges of nature. Yet, I am aware that these are exceptional and rare experiences and
represent, in effect, the greatest potential of my life. I simply don’t know what to do with them.

How does a shaman heal himself? So that he may go on to heal others. Should I be fol-
lowing that typical pattern of initiation, and isolating from society and women? Or is solitude
sometimes a dangerous thing, if left unfocused?

Thank you reading some of my stories. There are many others, but these were the big
ones.

Review of "The Horse Boy" (2009) (2015-05-16 00:37) - public

Took me a while to find this movie – it seems like its a bit rare. Rowan’s father, in desperation
with his son Rowan’s autistic condition, looked to the East and the shamanic practices of
Mongolia as a potential cure. Mongolia, in his eyes, is viewed as a mystical place of spiritual
healing, as opposed to the reality of a dark Soviet slum, the first thing seen upon arrival to
the country. This is, perhaps, a common expectation by Westerners, who often romanticize
countries like Tibet, Mongolia or the Peruvian Amazon without realizing the degree of Western-
1858
ization that has taken place there.

The guide arranged a collection of 8 shamans to meet with them initially, who worked
on the boy together, utilizing traditional drumming, bells, singing, and, in one case, a whip.
The whip was new to me, but assumably was used to help exorcise the malevolent spirit
responsible for the illness – and whip the parents too, for good measure! This particular
whipping shaman had Rowan’s mother jump up into the air at the conclusion of the ritual, so
that he could whip her ankles and feet as they were off the ground. I suspect this painful
experience was, much like the Taoist shamanic tradition, to apply pain to push the intolerant
spirit out of the body through the feet.

The consensus (apparently) amongst those initial shamans was that Rowan’s maternal
grandmother was clinging to the boy, tormenting him. I say "apparently" because it was not
made clear if this was the impression of a single shaman, who the others all jumped on the
boat with, or if each came to that conclusion by their individual perception of the boy, without
bias. These would be important distinctions for me if I were attempting to approach these
shamanic diagnoses as rationally as I could.

Eventually, it is the "reindeer shaman," Ghoste, of the far Northern steppes of Mongolia
who was able to enter a proper ceremony, first spending a night in meditative communion
with his helper spirits to see if the boy’s condition could even be healed. Only after Ghoste
received a clear answer from these spirits did he arrange a night ritual to clear the troubling
and negative influences which were attached to Rowan.

Some interesting aspects of the reindeer shaman’s ceremony. He did not seem to uti-
lize the drum as a tool to enter trance, and did not (at least not in an obvious manner) enter a
deep trance state. Fully standing and speaking, bending and moving about the room, Ghoste
seemed to be in a state of full waking consciousness. Yet, with all this foreignness, surrounded
by strangers, Rowan was drawn to the shaman and felt very comfortable in his tent. This was
peculiar and perhaps meaningful.

With unambiguous clarity and confidence, this shaman Ghoste was able to predict spe-
cific outcomes following the drumming/extraction ceremony. The incontinence and screaming
tantrums would end that day, followed by gradual improvement in overall functioning over
the subsequent 3 years. Phenomenally, all of these outcomes came true, as he had said.

Part of me wants to doubt, and I dont know why. Lingering thoughts, like the powerful
influence of video editing to make a less than tidy story seem more miraculous than it really
was. The tantrums, for instance, were never seen again, honestly? And, practically in the next
scene, Rowan is shown riding a horse by himself – which is quite convenient, but obviously
chronologically inaccurate, as this scene was shot in America. All of these doubts about
sneaky editing tricks do not take away from my strong belief in the shaman’s ability and the
potency of his work.

turboswami (2015-05-16 07:52:04)

I would not be so quick to assume Rowan is not cognizant of what’s going on around him, or that the
meaning of the word "shaman" and the purpose of that role was lost to him due to his condition. I am
not disregarding the potency of the shaman’s ability, merely defending Rowan’s capacity to understand
his surroundings and the intentions his father had for this trip. I am careful not to assign 100 % of the

1859
effects of shamanic healing to the subtle energetic or the the placebo effects, alone. I’d like to say
there is a middle ground of combined influence there. The shaman is, to a degree, a performer, after
all, and often utilizes the patient’s expectation of healing in a masterful way. The deceptive production
of some physical object, supposedly from the illness extract, to show the patient is an example of this
important role of hope and healing expectation, fulfilled. Yet, I do not feel that this necessarily implies
charlatanism, as some would claim, only an advanced awareness and utilization of the placebo effect,
in addition to the, possibly, the utilization of other methods or influences. Part of me had wished
Rowan’s parents, too, would have utilized the potency of this suggestive effect, by making it clear
that he was seeing a "Mongolian Doctor" and explaining that he would make him better in his ceremony.

Notes On "Spectral Model of Consciousness" Presentation (2015-05-19 15:54) -

public

State-Dependent Perception (SPD) – distinct perceptual experience and phenomenal proper-

ties (qualia) bound to a given discrete state-of-consciousness, characterizing what it is like to
enter that state.

Consciousness as modulated medium

The theory presented here claims that consciousness is transmitted by means of both
carrier and modulator waveforms. This claim creates a distinction between the informational
content of consciousness and the medium by which that content is conveyed.

What we typically refer to as “consciousness,” is actually a narrow and discrete range

on a much larger spectrum – to be “unconscious” is to have ascended or descended to a
frequency range devoid of content or for which we have not the receptive capacity to perceive.

The fundamentals of consciousness are governed by the same laws underlying the ob-
servable and measurable aspects of the electromagnetism.

Attempts to understand and quantify consciousness have focused primarily on reducing

the experience to its neurobiological components; to functional networks within the biological
system. This materialist physical study of the cortical substrates of conscious processes
devotes little consideration to the informational content of consciousness, itself, originating
external to the sensoriperceptual system. Information integration theory (IIT) (Tononi, 2008),
for instance, is dependent on the integration side of conscious perception and does little to
define the greater field of information, of which only a portion is integrated into our system.
Yet, in the greater field of information lies the ranges of perception beyond the our body’s
sensory capacity, the higher and lower known ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum, of
radio and microwave bandwidths which we can “perceive” only with the aid of technology. By
making steps to define the fundamental aspects of this greater field of modulated information,
we may better understand the phenomena of sensation, which is oscillatory in nature. These
fundamentals, once established, may be applied to generalize and map our known modes
of perception within a greater scaled framework. By isolating the sensation of naked eye in
this way, for instance, we are afforded a set of boundaries, the limits of the visible spectrum,
and can define the laws which govern the transmission of oscillatory information across the
medium of the visible spectrum. These physical laws, of crest and trough, transmission and
reception, govern all perception by acting as a carrier medium for conscious experience. The
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sound and light modulations which reach our sensory organs, to be mirrored in electrochem-
ical activation up through our nervous system, to be integrated. Yet, this information field,
itself, can be reduced to two fundamental waveforms, the medium and the modulation it
carries. Both of these can be thought to exist “pre-integration, ” independent of the biological
system immersed in them. This greater carrier waveform, upon which the information of
consciousness modulates, could be called a Medium of Consciousness (MC), a portion of the
greater spectrum within which our sensory systems have developed receptivity to distinct
ranges. These MCs can be further divided into Ordinary Mediums of Consciousness (OMCs)
and Non-ordinary Mediums of Consciousness (NMCs).

Nature and Physics of Consciousness

On the most common conception of nature, the natural world is the physical world. But
on the most common conception of consciousness, it is not easy to see how it could be part of
the physical world. So it seems that to find a place for consciousness within the natural order,
we must either revise our conception of consciousness, or revise our conception of nature.
By addressing these most fundamental aspects of conscious experience, the modulation of
information along a medium, we can define the known aspect of nature, those which are ob-
servable utilizing our limited sensory capacity, from the ranges of the greater spectrum which
we cannot perceive. By utilizing frequency as a marker of modes and states of consciousness,
we are afforded a cartography along this greater spectrum which has major utility to the
understanding subjective experience and the nature of perception. The varied baseline states
of consciousness of human variance can be drawn along a range of frequency, with intense
racing hyperverbal states (perhaps high Beta) along one edge, and the hypnagogic states, on
the edge of sleep in mid-Theta), along the other end of the waking range. The phenomenal
character with phenomenal properties (or qualia) characterizing what it is like to be in that
given state of consciousness, or live along that given baseline. This is a nonreductive solution
to Chalmer’s hard problem, as the principles underlying consciousness are admitted as a basic
part of the explanation.

…three essential points of agreement that tend to show up again and again across a va-
riety of investigations on consciousness: These three points are: conscious experience is
primary; it is a field; and it is a stream in continuous flux. (Battista, 1978, in Pekala, 1995, p.
35).

OUTLINE:

Volume of Attention / Latent Inhibition / Semantic Meaning

- Attention has force – quantum influence of observation.

- LI is filter placed on modulated attentive medium
- Semantic Meaning and the Residual Consciousness of Memory

All Telecommunication / The Radio Metaphor

State-Dependent Perception

The Receptivity To Modulated Sound Pressure In The Cochlea

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“The Rocks Themselves Will Begin To Sing” Thought Experiment
-Physicalist Perspective/Materialism?

Future Research: SQUIDS

-Focal Range of Magnetic Resonance Imaging

Tesla Quote

Evolutionary refinement is stepped, defined by the qualities of sensory capacity and the
progressive development of higher and higher organic sensory systems and greater and
greater processing faculties to interpret and integrate the information they receive. Yet, at the
far low end of living systems, the slime molds and sponges, we have the most basic example
of this sensory exchange, the influx of information, modulated along a medium.

the environmental phenomena of which our conscious experience is composed remain

distinct from it and is reducible to a fundamental set of modulatory relationships.

Spectral Model of Consciousness – Notes

Tart’s systemic approach to states of consciousness remains one of the most rigorous
theoretical frameworks of the phenomenon yet conceived. Like Fishkin, Jones, and Silverman,
Tart proposes attention/awareness to be the most basic groundwork upon which conscious
experience is constructed (Tart, 1975). Consciousness, in this case, is the modulation and
filtering of attentional awareness by the various structural components of perception, be they
“hard” biological systems or “soft,” less-permanent mental systems, like latent inhibition. A
discrete state of consciousness (d-SoC), according to Tart, represents a specific and distinctly
bound range of functional patterns of consciousness. While there is some degree of variance
within that defined range, the overall pattern of conscious experience remains consistent
(Tart, 1977). A discrete altered state of consciousness (d-ASC), in Tart’s model, represents a
qualitative change in the underlying patterns of functioning between structural components
of consciousness – perceived subjectively as a radically different state. Tart emphasizes
this change in the pattern of activity between subsystems as an essential defining element,
crucial to differentiating d-SoCs from d-ASCs, as “pattern differences are the essential defining
element of different d-SoC’s. Particular psychological functions may be identical for several
d-SoC’s, but the overall system functioning is quite different” (1975, p. 57).

By utilizing a metaphor based on a spectrum of discrete frequency bands, the pattern

differences between d-ASCs can be drawn as cartography, with the subjective characteristics
of individual states being bound within distinctly defined ranges of consciousness. The physical
phenomena governing spectra and modulatory mediums can be introduced to the systemic
model as a further definition of Tart’s “subsystem pattern” component of the d-ASC. When
this is done, we are afforded a meaningful set of new metaphors for conscious experience and
a biological system, graphically represented in a way mirroring the observable ranges of the
electromagnetic spectrum. But these ranges of our conscious experience are, all at once, no
longer isolated or exclusive, but, like our own visible spectrum, suddenly seen as merely a
sliver in an expansive, all-encompassing continuum of frequencies, many of which beyond our
“naked” perception, but made available and controllable using the aid of technology, like radio.
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It is so egocentric –so typically human – of us to assume that all the whole of living con-
scious experience begins and ends within the narrow bandwidth of our physical perception.
This is an energetic version of narcissistic assumptions of Geocentrism – this sort of Ergocen-
trism, assumes the immense continuum of the electromagnetic spectrum revolves around us
and our small sliver of the visible spectrum, and that the whole of the remaining spectrum,
that radiant ocean of yet-unknown scale, is devoid of ranges facilitative of modulative con-
sciousness outside our own.

In addition to providing a solid model of conscious experience, both d-SoCs and d-ASCs,
the spectrum is a model which integrates both brainwave, meditative science with the older
“sciences” of shamanic journeying and Hindu yogic traditions, like the jhanas, by giving us a
map of various states and regions of conscious attention, a map which stretches, first, from
“higher” to “lower;” a vertical cartography. This overlap of traditions is, surely, mutually
beneficial to all parties, as new perspectives may inform our current methods and, in ancient
traditions like Hinduism, revive the original purpose and intention of the rituals; only, today,
the success of such intentions is quantitatively, in so far as the refined sensitivity of our
most current technology allows; a capacity of measurement which is ever-expanding. The
subtle electromagnetic signatures of various d-SoCs are reflected, to differing degrees, in the
recorded data of EEG, fMRI, and CT studies.

Krippner (1972) lists 20 distinct states of consciousness that have yet to be adequately
mapped. Sleeping/dreaming, the hypnagogic and hypnopompic states, as well as hyper-
alertnessa and lethargy, rapture, hysteria, fragmentary and regressive states, meditative
and trance states, reverie, daydreaming, internal scanning, stupor, coma, stored memory,
“expanded” consciousness are all discrete experiences of distinct states of consciousness
which Krippner distinguishes from the normal waking state.
Abstract submitted to the 2015 Towards a Science of Consciousness conference, in Helsinki,
Finland*

Consciousness research has reached a standstill, according to eminent theoretician, Bernard

Baars, during a recent Stanford University symposium. While I am in agreement with Baars
that there have been few major advances in the field for some time, part of the problem
seems to be that we’ve exhausted the utility of our current metaphors. For this reason, I’d like
to propose a new metaphor: a model which conceptualizes consciousness as a spectrum of
frequencies whose natural division into discrete bandwidths defines the boundaries of state-
specific content and perception. By defining consciousness in terms of radiant spectra, many
of the known laws governing the electromagnetic spectrum can be applied to comprehend
the subtle mechanics of subjectivity, objectivity, states of consciousness, dimensionality, and
sensate awareness. In thinking of consciousness as information traversing a medium, we
are granted a new set of analogies with which we can apply the well-defined principles of
telecommunication to understand facets of awareness previously outside the limits of our
purview. By modeling consciousness in this way, and utilizing the known processes governing
modulatory phenomenon, a valuable set of insights can be inferred; generalizable properties
of transmission which can be applied to understand the non-observable ranges of periodic
phenomena. Among these generalizable characteristics are the properties of carrier medium
and the mechanics of its density in nature, from which we may apply the model of carrier
modulation to better understand the transmission of consciousness across unobservable or
yet-immeasurable mediums in nature. By applying these established spectral models to
conscious experience, we are afforded a set of useful new parameters with which to represent
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the ranges of human awareness and the discrete states which divide our consciousness
systemically, as distinct ranges of frequency, or bandwidths.

I’d like to propose a conceptual model of consciousness as a range of frequency; a spec-

trum whose natural division into discrete bandwidths defines the boundaries of state-specific
perceptions. By defining consciousness as radiance, many of the same known laws governing
the electromagnetic spectrum can be applied to comprehend the mechanics of subjectivity,
objectivity, identity, and awareness.

Current Assumptions About The Nature of Consciousness

The currently fashionable Western view of consciousness as an internal biological function of

the brain is both materialist and reductionist. Furthermore, it is a view built fundamentally
upon 3 baseless assumptions, each of which I believe are flawed and will continue to limit the
progression of consciousness research until the point they are re-examined:

1) Consciousness does not exist without a perceiver.


2) Consciousness begins and ends within the narrow bounds of human awareness.


3) The physical body is a prerequisite for physical perception.

I will address each of these related fundamental assumptions individually and as explic-
itly as possible, in such a way that the description may reveal the errors which underlie them.

1) Consciousness does not exist without a perceiver.

The assumed inseparability of consciousness and the experience of consciousness is without

basis and limits our analysis of any individual component, either self or consciousness, as
isolated from the other. One way to conceptualize a unified field of consciousness independent
from a perceiver is to use our current understanding of the electromagnetic spectrum. Radio
waves existed before the invention of the radio, and continue to exist as radiant frequency
regardless of whether or not they happen to be picked up by a radio receiver. In the same
way, consciousness can be thought to exist with or without our perception (or reception) of
it. Additionally, our capacity of conscious awareness, like that of a radio, is of a limited range,
which brings us to our second assumption…

2) The whole of consciousness begins and ends within the narrow bounds of human
awareness.
The distinction of human awareness from the unified spectrum of consciousness it is immersed
within, as afforded by identifying the first assumption as erroneous, inversely allows us to con-
sider the broad range of frequencies extending both above and below the narrow bandwidth
of the visible spectrum, for instance. By conceptualizing consciousness as carrier medium in
this way, distinct from individual “modulators” and “receivers,” to return to our radio wave
analogy, we reveal an irrational and egocentric assumption – that we, as humans, somehow
define the range and center of consciousness. This Ergocentric view of ourselves as exclusive
or special, with all consciousness “revolving” around our perceptual capacity, is not unlike the
Geocentric view which dominated our understanding of the universe before the insights of
those like Copernicus. No, it turns out, the universe does not revolve around us – and, likewise,
there is no reason to assume all of consciousness and the electromagnetic spectrum revolves
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around us either!

To return again to our radio receiver analogy, simply because a radio cannot pick up
very high microwave frequencies, for instance, does not mean that the microwave band does
not exist — or that it could not, in theory, act as a carrier medium for intelligible modulations
or communication. In this same way, there is no basis to assume that the ranges of frequency
above and below our meager capacity of awareness are without conscious experience.

3) The physical body is a prerequisite for physical perception.

The assumption that our perception of objective externality requires a living body, with
sensory organs and brain, or is a product of the brain, is without basis in either the full range
of human experience or empirical research. The near cultural universality of accounts of
out-of-body perceptions, extending from modern times back to the dawn of socialization and
the skill set of the shaman, undermine this distinctly Western notion of a material necessity to
physical perception

If the argument of consensus was not enough to call this assumption in to question, we
may additionally look to the sleep research of Dr. Charles Tart, who tested and verified the
legitimacy of out-of-body perceptions. However scant the number of researchers exploring this
area of consciousness, we must acknowledge that the findings of the available studies suggest
a non-physical or residual aspect of self which possesses verifiable physical perception.

Here I was trying to describe the division of the spectrum into bound ranges of frequency,
or bandwidths, each with its own set of perceptions and communications — a lot like radio
stations.
By thinking of consciousness in this unified energetic form, we are afforded a means
of mapping the various states of consciousness within a defined scale.
These thoughts have
little outside influence, I admit. In the rare and extraordinary range of human experience, we
can get a glimpse at some actuality normally hidden from our limited view — a momentary
perspective of our place; a perspective of height.
I detest the materialistic paradigm domi-
nating psychology today — if there is one place it does not belong, it is in the research of
consciousness. Crude, narrow-minded, and childish, we need to outgrow our reliance on base
physicality and embrace the higher realms of human potential.



Individual consciousness can be generalized broadly as response to a stimulus, as response

is implicative of awareness.
From that basis, we need only define the ranges of awareness,
that is, the differing sensate capacities, and the individual abilities to hold and reflect a
stimulus (memory, perceptual processing, and expression.)
The benefit of defining individual
consciousness as broadly as response to stimulus is that it extends the unified spectrum to
include living and non-living things. That is to say, resonance is a response to stimulus and,
so, this radiant energy is evidence of consciousness, albeit in its lowest form or “bandwidth”
of awareness.
So when you knock or scream into a stone, it rings out a response specific to
itself and to the expression it received from you. Its shape at that moment in time, and the
intensity of your “message,” define the resonant frequency of its response. This personalized
holding and reflecting of stimulus is evidence that consciousness exists or, as I prefer to say,
that something is a “carriage” of consciousness.



. Evelyn
Oct 4th 2012



. When a person or other species depart the allusions of entrapment, is there a awareness
of self and connections to family and places people and locations ? Who do we allow age to
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progress unmanaged ?



Mills Evelyn, is that you?? 
Well, there is one way to transcend those illusions of ego:
the natural way, death, right? 
Transcending the limited conception of selfhood earlier than
that — by way of decades of deep grueling meditation or by some psychoactive concoction
— is, arguably, unnatural. In that way, some ancient cultures refer to the transcendent or
spiritual knowledge attained by solitude and meditation as the wisdom of death. 
Regardless,
I’ll cite the Hindus. They seem, more than anybody, to have experienced higher states of
consciousness and self transcendence. Yet, it is not that they lose all memory of self with
attainment, but rather can see their previous state, their whole social life, and the constructs
of their ego, as transparent; seeing through them a lot like you’d see through the costumes
and acts of a theater play. Maya is the great theater of social self…
I feel like you’re talking
more about the natural route, though. Death…and if we still maintain an awareness of self,
and family after death. Right?

David Chalmers has said he wanted a scientific theory of consciousness that works…. A
theory of consciousness in purely physical terms that works.

Subjective experience, from the inside, something fundamentally new. We are at an im-
passe. Consciousness is an anomaly, one we don’t know how to integrate. Faced with an
anomaly like this, we may need radical ideas.

Consciousness is fundamental. Laws governing. Maxwell postulated electromagnetic

charge as a fundamental, distinct from the other fundamentals: space, mass, and time, etc.
Fundamental laws so simple, you can write it on the front of a tshirt.

Pan-psychic.

Like all fundaments, consciousness is universal. Complex and simple consciousness, based on
information integration. High phi.

An information integration theory of consciousness

Giulio Tononi

Two Main Problems:

- What are the conditions that determine if a system is conscious?
- What are the conditions that determine what kind of consciousness a system has?
Theory:
- Consciousness corresponds to the capacity of a system to integrate information.
-
ergotropic
[ur′gōtrop′ik]
1 pertaining to an activity or work state involving somatic muscle, sympathetic nervous
system, and cortical alpha rhythm activity.
2 pertaining to the administration of medications or other therapies to energize the power of
the body’s blood and other tissues to resist infections.
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–

Fishkin, S. M., & Jones, B. M. (1978). Drugs and consciousness: An attentional model of
consciousness with application to drug-related altered states. Expanding dimensions of
consciousness, New York: Springer, 273-298.

Fishkin and Jones (1978) present a model for the understanding of consciousness and al-
tered states that also has attention in a very promi- nent position. In their approach, the
contents of consciousness at any moment are determined by what is being attended to and
how it is being attended to. Certain phenomena are potentially available to consciousness
(PAC) and attention toward the PAC determines what will gain access to consciousness.
According to their model, attention is represented as a movable "window" between the po-
tentially conscious and what gets into consciousness. The size of the window deterrnines the
breadth of attention, the rate of window movement determines the rate of shifts in attention,
and the pattern of window movement determines the temporal sequence of attentional shifts.

REFERENCES

Goleman, D. (1988). The meditative mind: The varieties of meditative experience. GP

Putnam’s Sons.

Fischer, R (1971). A cartography of the ecstatic and meditative states. Science, 174,
897- 904.
Fischer, R (1978). Cartography of conscious states: Integration of East and West. In A A.
Sugerman & R E. Tarter (Eds.), Expanding dimensions of consciousness (pp. 24-57). New York:
Springer.
Krippner, S. (1972). Altered states of consciousness. In J. White (Ed.), The highest state of
consciousness (pp. 1-5). New York: John Wiley.

Silverman, J. L. (1968). A paradigm for the study of altered states of consciousness.

British Journal of Psychology, 114, 1201-1218.

Itchy Nerve Eye Gouge (2015-05-28 19:26) - public

There are going to be so many people there.

Big people.
In big suits.
Looking at me, with eyebrows all over.

I know what I’ve lost, but they dont. They don’t even know what I’ve found. Yet. If I
can just find where I put it! Something from the attic, something from the basement, some-
thing from the bedroom closet to bring out and show to these rare guests. Bring out the best
China, the Sunday best, the best whisky from dad’s trip to that place that isnt here. Bring out
the projector, the slides of everything we’ve seen and everything we’ve been.

God, I can’t seem to get going anymore. None of the old tricks are working, none of
the old tricks: the deceits and excuses that had held me up so well for so long. There is no
1867
hiding what I’ve been up to anymore – its there, as plain to see as a double chin, as dark
bags under tired eyes, as a wince of pain and a strain to stand. Sweat, sweat for the small
stuff, sweat for the thought of sweating, sweat for fear of thoughts of being seen thinking
of sweating while sweating at a first date dinner, gurgling intestines, explosive diarrhea, the
degradation and shame of a body, unhealthy, the bloody shadows, hide hideous, decrepit
crypt crawlers hunched in corners, fingernail caskets clutch at the last of the beautiful things
receding from his life.

Nosferatu’s Earthy Charm, your root cellar or mine?

14.6 June

Aya In Suommusalmi Cabin (2015-06-27 17:31) - public

Dalva,

Not Dalva. Not anyone, there were trailer homes with windows underwater where I grew up,
the octopi would look through with their bloated eyes to see the bloated people on the inside,
and relate, perhaps, despite their alienness. If I think of ex girlfriends long and hard enough,
maybe they’ll think back, at night when our hearts still acknowledge each other, wither we
like it or not. I feel the steps of a pyramid of porous rye bread, each cascading down and
disappearing like thin escalators concentrically radiating down. If this fountain were to lead
somewhere, I’d fight to stand at the apex, only to watch it recede like youth, like the descent
of generations, wave upon wave, disappearing beneath themselves. Yet, I’ve given up on
apexes or summits or planting flags at the tops of icy mountains. My knees hurt, my body
feels heavier now that I’m heavier, my escalator step is halfway down, and I grip the rubber
hand rail like it were my life’s purpose. And, perhaps, even this is a crusty layer I can slough
off, and all my memories and abilities are still fully formed and vibrant beneath, waiting to
see the sun again. But how does illness get sloughed off, when it has burrowed so deep into
your bones, over years of stagnant sleep.? I can decorate my windows with blazing suns,
but everyone who looks closely enough can see it’s dark inside nowadays. These are just
decoration now, these are Christmas lights dry rotting in the July sun; a light to which they
cannot compare, no matter how well orchestrated their flashy patterns once had been. See, all
these decorations draw in a certain type of watcher, a spectator looking for something quick
and flashy to “OOoh! Ahh!” over, while, already, looking towards the door or some squirrel or
a Facebook’s insistent ding. The quality of simple, ungarnished personality is lost to us, where
once they had a place and were even cherished company. Quiet thoughtful measured words,
a stepwise pattern which was built slowly over a coffee’s heat. I know there are candies and
huge popcorn balls dripping with sticky caramel for me in Heaven – that’s the whole point is
to get a taste of it on His birthday – but does that make it any less unhealthy? Does it not get
us to Death’s door that much faster? All maligned and hunched over with stomach pains and
colon cancer, blind and missing toes to the sugar, eyes bulging down their faces like blue and
green Christmas bulbs. Fuck, what kind of Heaven is that? Save your butter dolloped dairy
dolloped bacon covered baked potatoes, I want only to walk without pain, I want only to sing
without handicap or ugly hoarse developments. The dragon cat is white and is still beautiful,
as a park centerpiece, but his face is a grimace, still, after all these years and when children
see it, they tense up and cry, as adults become guarded, as if preparing to fight this thing.
The circles of eyes, the thousands of faces that meld in lines and surfacing layers, Mr Miyagi
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suddenly is realized, found out to be Einstein, smiling, mischievous. The beautiful flawless
face of that twenty four year old chic Parisian girl wouldn’t survive the night in Scandinavia,
where we dress to impress in a more direct way, appealing to the absence of game.

How about a date, how about we just lay together and I hold you and we sleep? Satur-
day nights at the Geriatric Care Facility. Yet, it’s all I want…tube feeding, I want that too, but
also I just want to wrap my arms around you and pull you close. Forget my pain for a moment.

The dark yellow stone doorway extends to allow a second, then a third, to further ex-
tend across the bridge, to greet the Emperor’s 3 daughters. Victorian splendor, pomp and
circumstance for what are, essentially, the ET government Hazmat hallways.

Bim bim bimmm. Freedom to wear clown make up on bloated double chins and sit fat
and lazy in windowsills. A core American freedom, to not have to work, as long as I keep
pumping out fucking worthless versions of myself, all slack jawed mouth breathers like papa,
wearing those tight slutty short shorts on stretched over thighs that cant not touch. , rub,
chafe, red and irritated flab hiding what god aweful stench forest of pubic shame enclosed
neath all those rolls.

Like all my abilities, this one too is lost to sleep, like a rotting imperial ship, with all of
its ornate woodwork and plush card playing rooms, the upholstery is soaked and filled with
worms, the vermin have ravaged the green bannisters and imported red carpet which, once,
so regally ushered people up the grand staircase. Torn and overgrown with sea, the sick
book describes it all, every stage of the fine ship’s slow descent into decrepitude and shame.
Yet, there he stands before it, some portion of that man who once wore those shiny captains
buttons, smooth as his nose, ivory in the whites of his eyes, clean and eager...no more. You
still see where I am?

14.7 July

The Divided (2015-07-01 15:35) - public

I had a setting, turned out to be the worst. The lineage magnets, to keep life from tangling
in plans within fears within defenses so old, you forget that they’re even there. Like forming
an opinion is the adoption of a social role, all we see defines us as we divide it. To the place
where we belong, we gravitate along the tracks on some course of self-definition, so the ruts
of habit run like cycles, memorized like races, teaching our children as they run alongside us
– running, always, to catch up. My dad was working in the distance, always, walking in stride
far ahead. If nothing was to be learned, he could be my friend, but role models work best on
a pedestal, above.

Not the dry blue outline surrounding the faded clouds which decorate the boards of the
cellar entrance. The anxiety of attention, too full to control – the breadth of attention, its
volume overwhelming to my perceptual capacity, I am unable to focus it all. The attention
span I once had has become fragmented and weak, with continued abuse with Facebook and
sensory bombardment, streams of images and youtubes of screaming cats farting uncontrol-
lably. To actually be confronted with the need for “heavy lifting,” and realize my meditations
1869
have become sparse, like some distantly unused and mostly forgotten gym membership.

To the lovely girl, I would love to be with you and I thank you for responding to my in-
terest, inviting my introduction so coyly, with those playful glances and hair twirls. I never did,
and never have, and this is my unfortunate gnawing situation.

Lay my soul down, like a jacket in a puddle, for her high heels to grind. No store bought will do,
only the most novel and interesting of selves to offer up. And I am only left with her beautiful
invitation, and her disappointment, seeing me afraid and leaving, once again. Anxiety and
shyness keep me from forming a family.

The Golden Boys of the Lake of Memory (2015-07-23 03:07) - public

Of all the nerve…

Of all of the nerves, at once, pulsing and buzzing, electrochemical reflections of exoge-
nous stimulus; wave upon wave, lapping against the doors of my perception. So much for all
the nerves – too much, for them to bear, for those doors, which once stood so strong and tall,
now eroded and broken by storms, unable to protect the raw sensitive core from the harsh and
overwhelming temper of the nature world, and the full blaring intensity of its highs and lows.

Unfortunate things,
They eat away at me.
Changing me further.

Reminders of things long suppressed

From people I love, who merely affirm,
Not all hideous things can be hidden.

It is wrong
The shaking continues, quivering up my back in this high energy state in bed, but I sometimes
catch a perspective of my actual inner state, beneath conscious attention, and am awe struck
by the complexity of these musical movements, soaring vocalizations, expressed as surging
currents of oversized hair, perfectly aligned and wetted. Each wave rolls and extends and
layers with all the others, while , eventually, a drop punctures the swelling reverie, a snare
again fires a shot and again “We’ve finally met” a nasally statue lord retreats up dark stairs,
not interested in such a call and response duet. Afraid of being shot himself.

Long towering hats of glowing amber neath miniature antlers stacked five or more feet
above the linguists heads, touching these soft light frames together, delicate sensitivity is
expressed, in words that don’t yet exist. The emotion is clear, however, and felt by everyone
present…and they explore it again, with lovey-dovey coos, the Eskimo kiss words advance
and are repeated, another distinct state of relation defined as a semantic form. These golden
boys, with their hats of shimmering light towering, must be seen as a special class of linguist,
so young and yet defining entirely new things, right there in the moment, without as much as
a question from anyone in authority.

If you find the place, sometimes its not fair

I blew my chance, the lake of memory….the thing we both wanted.
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Goddamn AbSonic Belt (2015-07-28 00:32) - public

Ohh, but how about I cover you with exotic furs in some tree hugger’s root cellar off AirBnB?
Yes, that would certainly be memorable... We’d need some appropriate soundtrack music, to
set the tone. Are those Bluetooth speakers and are they charged? Where’s my copy of Wiccan
Spellcraft For Dummies? We’ll probably need that, after we get naked and the essential oils
start to kick in.

Howsabout I cover you with exotic other things. It doesn’t even matter what, just know
I spent a lot of money on it and it got 5 star reviews...somewhere. Smells like oiled leather,
smells like an earthy root cellar.

I am fed up with mosquitos and it’s always hot and my AbSonic Belt isnt working. I
need rock hard abs for the beach! 3 goddamned easy payments later, and I still look like a
big fucking pear. Sonsabitches didn’t say I had to not eat pizza. There aughta be some kinda
warning on the box, some kind of Italian food warning. I’m in this dark cellar naked with this
weird magnetic electrode belt across my big well-oiled stomach, and I am not at all ready for
the beach like they said I’d be. I’m hideous! The dirt is getting in with the essential oils and
caking between the rolls of flesh around my midsection and under my breasts. I just want to
nap until my abs are fully formed and rock hard.

Beatrice spilled the potato salad in the dark. Nice going, B! Right in the dirt! You know,
that was German style – with vinegar and easily $15 worth of bacon? No, you can’t salvage it,
no, I don’t want to chew on clumps of dirt. Give it to your dog! I hope he chokes on it.

Bats In The Foot Bath (2015-07-28 02:31) - public

Placed 5th. Placed 9th. My place is where I belong and 1st place was born 1st place, and
2nd with a silver spoon for eating. Competent to compete, and competitive from birth, the
upper classes fought for their place, so that their grandchildren could coast above the rabble
of lesser tournaments, fighting to survive. There is a box for the emperor to watch from and,
in the end, he is always the true winner, born and bred.

Does he give a thumbs up or a thumbs down? Am I to lose my head today or tomor-

row? Have I pleased his highness with my bleeding? If only I could bleed more, his majesty
may be entertained.

I had nothing better going on, honestly. If left to our own, we cut ourselves out of bore-
dom anyway. Might as well do it for a cause – the cause of bloodsport. We are enthralled by
the sight of blood, it makes us faint and grit our teeth or shriek and howl for more. We know
that it means pain, and our complex relationship with pain, with the raw screaming dilemma
of those nerve endings, is a source of endless money and drama. We compete with pain, we
one-up each other with our gripes: "My kidney stones hurt more than your rectal abscess.
Way more!" "No anesthetic when I had my baby! Because I’m better than you. "

Eating and competing, eating and competing. Strange skylines course beneathmy cry-
ing eyesThe mantle piece mask is a fake, the Russian stranger said, as he was an expert in art
from this supposed period. The old couple refused to believe his assessment and could not ,
on their honor, take it to be true.
1871
The tower of the sleeping man
Where grey guards with pointy hats mumble in a peculiere and bright-eyed way, some ancient
spells, perhapse, but they sound like sputtering nonsense. Like a finaly judgement can be
unearthed from these piles of dry greyed bags of skin, here. They simply

My mother always went unconscious during her mediumship sessions, and I do not re-
call having been to this place before, although I’m sure I would have, as it’s very scary. The
first two sons of teh king were tree children, feeble and green. He cursed whatever hex had
caused these malignancies, but continued two more times, finding a functional baby boy in
me, his son. Yet, it was acknowledged that, despite their inabilities in standard fighting and
sports, these two eldest brothers had phenomenal inborn skills all their own. Jewels would
form around his eyes as he slept. Mother would come in, feining shame over his pilow in
the morning, and mbagged up all the weakling child had produced that night, as if she were
tending to some shameful bedwetting. No mention was made of it after that. It was simply
made to disappear...yet this represents the only instance of the Queen Regent tending to
soiled laundry, herself. In all other bedrooms and instances, the servants would be called in
to take care of the linens, with a hasty tone. Such a strange affliction, indeed...

kkIf the tiny legs make a thousand doors at their toes, I should know which are the traps we
designed and which are the routes for our best soldiers to memorize, lock and key. Lock and
key the toes which would have prisoners running, I’m sorry, I meant guests. Beloved and
beast like guests, dirty and crude, humping eachother in my toes, and in the jam between
them, under the shade of my long toe nail, and stabbing genitals atop an inflamed blood
blister. I am unhappy with their placement, but the ship can only hold so many within her, and
the greatwage must act as a salve for such headaches, soft paper bills to console an acheing
mind. Yes? Captain?

To my dear wife, Beatrice, I leave my screechin \g bats. You know how to feed them
and, I do hope, you’ve come to feel more comfortable about such sacrifices, to b \e made
for the family, if we are all to survive this witer, now that I am gone. You know, the bat lives
between worlds, in the dark, it sees more, in the day, it sees little. We must learn to use these
physiological differences to better understand our limits and how best to overcome them, to
develop beyond them. Do you see, my love, that by sacrificing your precious vigor to these
night masters, they return with gifts of higher knowledge and sights beyond sight, where the
edge of sensation is made clean by necessity.

14.8 October

The Slow Crushing Safety (2015-10-31 01:19) - public

The rich man’s country club had a back door, I drove up through the front gate of the palace.
Somehow the standing guards allowed this, as it was visiting hour or something. Inside a
smaller but cushy room, me and Teasha drank wine from crystal wine glasses and I was able
to find the combination to a safe in the next room. I had written something in my notebook
and went into the next room to put \\\. I turned the dial and, soon realized, that engaging
the dial also engaged an irreversible process. I had to continue. I could not find the numbers
or the page I had written, so the dial stopped at a random number as I flipped through the book.
1872
The wine on the tv in front of me was suddenly tipped over by an abrupt mechanical
movement. The room was shifting. I was able to watch as Teasha got startled. I could not find
the numbers I’d written, so the second number also fell onto a random number on the heavy
piece of metal, this solid dial again caused the room to shift, this time causing other things to
move….the room was getting smaller….the window I was at was pushing up against the table
and things in the room… She began to scream, the laptop was getting crushed in the slow
process, as I got one number after another incorrect in a vicious s cycle I couldn’t seem to stop.

A gambling life began, trying to get the room back to how it was….With each correct
number, or win, the room shifted in reverse, presenting more stuff and letting her live.

Beautiful new age mirror room, with Osiris Egyptian theme through the space. When I
entered, I saw a buxom girl above the spacey floor, up some stairs, lying on a bed. She was
startled and hid herself, but I approached, asking if they were still open. She opened the
bedroom door again and said yes, and that she offered massages. Her face was rubber and
so were her tits. She said her name was Balloons. I laid on the bed. She said for me to keep
my pants on. She didn’t do stuff like that. Yet, she began to massage my erection and, soon,
I touched and felt her pussy wasn’t rubber, and was very wet. I licked my finger and dipped in.

I did not cum and was wanting to have sex or get a bj, she was asking for four hundred
dollars. I returned to find that some man had rifled through my things and taken a lot. I had
had a few set aside as gifts for her, but they were gone and so was my laptop. He was heavily
balding, skinny, with no shirt. A redneck.

He saw me peeing in the yard and came up to the window screen and creamed cum all
over. I stopped to try to catch him, but he said “Ohp. I’m done now. Goodbye” Or I’m finishing,
see ya.” And just evaded my grasp, as I dove through the screen of wet semen grasping at his
long rat tail hair. He kept ejaculating on screens and running away, just before I could grab
him and beat the piss out of him and get my money and stuff back.

He said “We’re dads against staying” and explained his position in an infomercial type
way. Trying to gain support. His informative and conversational tone won me over, somehow.

The Law of Diminishing Returns (2015-10-31 01:20) - public

Eric drifts into enemy territory, as I think and overthink the range of his offenses against me.
Haha. Absurd, to find myself becoming so closed and small as this, to fret over $28 and the
tone of his saying “I work.” Yet, they still replay, grinding away at something that was quite
polite and idealized. I can not be around people my age, because they are all becoming so
closed and small and intolerant as myself. The amount of patience it requires to contend with
all the personality quirks, or full-on personality disorders, of people seems, nowadays, an
incredible expense of energy and subject to the law of diminishing returns. I put a lot into this
studio session – lugging that fucking amp up 3 sets of stairs, testing, repairing, and tearing
down all this gear, purchasing new parts and cables, and hauling it all 4 hours through traffic
to his doorstep to setup a studio at his convenience and record him for free. All of this to be
told “That’s it! I can’t stand to listen to you. We’re done recording for today. …now haul this
dresser up these stairs.”

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Hours of moving truckloads of heavy furniture up stairs and arranging and squeezing
through doorways. Yea, he could have swung for lunch, instead of picking up the check and
looking at me.

Because I have money, am “rich,” I am to do this. Yet, I am honestly the poorest per-
son he knows, in that any money I have comes from hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt.
And because of this debt, he feels I am indebted to him and owe him our every meal together.

Whew! Yea, all that just cycles and grinds for days. Every minor gripe is worded and re-
worded for potency, solidifying my position against him. Yet, this is my best friend. Scary!

How do people become this way? 15 year olds are not this way. They are acceptant
and impressionable, their personalities flexible and malleable to new influences.

What is this? Some desert? Some forest?

Some slick sonofabitch bleeding on my razor.

As best I can tell, if you find yourself being offended or embarrassed by things with any
degree of regularity, it’s a sign that you’re wasting a great deal of energy on your own image
and probably could use to do away with it and start fresh

Out-of-Body States and Shamanic Journeying (2015-10-31 01:22) - public

Harner describes a common shamanic practice of using “charms,” or small stones, crystals,
etc., which have had a special meaning or memory associated with them. These memories are
typically of an interaction with a spiritual entity, a helper or guardian spirit. After the estab-
lishment of a relationship with the helper spirit, the shaman scratches around for a meaningful
stone with which to use to recall that moment of connection with that entity – the unique emo-
tional signature of that relationship, reactivated – as a means of calling that particular helper
into the room, in order to assist him. Like with Buhlman and Monroe, the emotional signature
of the location or entity acts like a “calling card,” in order to meet, communicate, and travel in
the subtle realms of spirit.

14.9 November

Stan Krippner Emails (2015-11-02 01:13) - public

Hi Stan,

I have no formal training in meditation. In high school, I simply started laying flat on
the floor and breathing very deeply, letting the exhale lengthen until I could clearly imagine
a pure subvocal tone on it. I would slow my breathing until it had essentially stopped, letting
this long tone flood out all thoughts and fill my whole body, until I feel a sense of ascent.
Once I have that distinct subjective sensation of ascent to a higher state of consciousness,
then I can begin to interact with the guides there. It is as if I must first cross over to their
higher range of consciousness, which I conceptualize as crossing the boundary of a bandwidth,
1874
before they are able to hear and interact with me. Simply calling out or praying while in our
waking baseline state of consciousness does not good! Ascent to their level is needed first
– and it is not always easy. I am sure there are techniques for ascending to this higher SoC
more efficient than what I’ve taught myself, but I am not especially good at mental imagery,
which seems to be an important to those techniques, like Harner’s.

I have never attempted mindfulness, or "in the body" meditation. I have always simply
used inward tone to ascend upwards, until it’s simply automatic when I focus on breath. I
always thought the practice was healthy.

Interestingly, when living with the shaman in Lapland this Summer, she claimed she saw me
ascending upwards during her ceremony and she tried to restrain me, and bring me back to my
body. She called on a plant helper, a tree that she used to root me to the Earth. I told her I did
not understand, that I thought the shamanic journeyer was supposed to leave the room on the
sound of the drum, using the drum like a motor to facilitate the travel upwards (or downwards.)

What is more interesting is that, almost as soon as I arrived to Finland – to that old land
of my ancestors that had been arranging itself like a red carpet, again and again, through
inexplicable coincidence, to meet me – my illness suddenly resolved. I tried to make sense
of the total reversal, as I was NOT taking good care of myself at that time, at all – yet I was
getting better! Never saw anything like it... Felt very meaningful, like I was on the right track,
somehow.

Harner says the meaningful or orchestrated coincidences, the synchronicities, mean you’re
getting closer to the path – it means they’re making arrangements for you. The ayahuasca is
powerful in ways I don’t fully understand – in that it seems to alter coincidence around you,
yet I am intimidated by it, exactly because it is both so powerful and I don’t understand what
it’s opening. I do not know a shamanic practitioner in the Seattle area, but have attempted to
work alone with the medicine in the past, with overwhelmingly significant results. But, again,
dietary restraint seemed key to that progress, working with the brew.

I have purchased a small effigy, to pray to the Woman In White. This is very new to
me, but it seems it helps to have something physical to focus the emotion onto while calling
her, requesting her presence. I feel like I’m stumbling in the dark, experimenting, trying to
find the way, the technique that works to reliably invoke presence and power. So much of this
writing about the cultures, neurology, and beliefs of shamans, and so little in the way of actual
functional techniques, applicable in a mid-range suburban Seattle apartment.

Thanks for listening, Stan. You are very kind and I genuinely appreciate your attention.

-Kaleb

On Fri, Oct 23, 2015 at 5:09 PM, Stanley Krippner wrote:

I wish I could help more.

Have you consulted a shaman? I am very concerned with the bleeding. I am glad it di-
minished.

You need some POWER on your side. How are you trying to connect with it.
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Be sure to send this through Compass for course credit.

From: Kaleb Smith

Sent: Thursday, October 22, 2015 4:31 AM
To: Stanley Krippner
Subject: Shamanic Experiences and Their Rationalization

Hi Stan,

I attached a rework of that experience essay you mentioned. I tried my best to rational-
ize them, and create some solid grounding in science and the electromagnetic spectrum, and
attempted to suggest some potential avenues for researching the phenomena, with certain
novel conditions and subjective measures.

It’s long! Sorry about that. I even cut out all of the shaman stuff from the Amazon, and
it still came out very long. Better than leaving something particularly meaningful out, as
sometimes those subtle experiences are key to understanding a larger subtle system in place,
or a different facet of the phenomenon.

Any advice you have for how to proceed with this spiritual experience. I mention how
terrifying it was, and how I got hurt by the possession – yet, it seems, if I try to ignore the
spiritual interactions, and the direction they were leading me in, I think the internal bleeding
will continue to progress... Any thoughts on how to proceed into this healing work, without
getting hurt by those predatory entities that attacked my girl and me again?

Thanks Stan. You’ve really helped me so much.

-Kaleb

turboswami (2015-11-02 09:17:10)

Hey Stan, Hope you’re having a good trip. I was reading over that paper I sent you and realized
the ending got pretty messy! (I started writing it after taking 10 mg of Ambien, for sleep, and that
seemed to "make my thoughts long." hehe. ) But, hopefully you can make out some semblance of my
intentions for the "Discussion" portion. I am coming out of that bout with the internal bleeding and
am feeling much better. It’s a very delicate thing and requires I maintain such a strict daily practice
and close self-restraint over diet and behavior. I’m noticing personality changes tied to the illness,
cognitive changes related to thought association. There is the weakness and pain, but fogginess tied
to that – fasting clears all of those aspects, keeps them in line and induces clarity. But a secondary,
perhaps deeper cortico-networking change, in the semantic priming, that is leading to these long,
empty-eyed dissociative states; the “thousand yard stare.” It is becoming more and more difficult
to stave off these dissociative states, staring off with a distant disconnected gaze at the floor or a
corner of the room. This is disconcerting, but, I believe, a genetic predisposition tied to mothers
side, to a tendency to “dive beneath” into the subjective, introspective realm, the “inwards-upwards”
and the “inwards-downwards.” I drop in with great ease, and meditation came naturally to me and
quickly began to induce powerful experiences without much practice; flashes of light and mediumship
experiences, wild energetic sensations coursing through my body. Yet, this “diving down” is becoming
less and less a conscious act and more something happening, whether I like it or not! Staring off at

1876
the back of the car in front of me while driving, feeling myself enter a daze and lose focus on where
I’m going. This development seems dangerous and something I’m not sure how to get under control,
as it is something right deep in the associative structure of the brain, these long strings of thought
associations that send me reeling. While I do not want to call these long thoughts tangential, I am
often associating ideas that are very “distant” from one another on the semantic network (I made a
youtube about it here that came out pretty good – although my voice sounds so dorky! haha. ) The
hope is that meditation could “strengthen that muscle” of focus and attention span, to keep it from
growing lax or drifting. Yet, the fear is that there is an inevitable “point of no return,” where such
cortical changes become concretized, and the structures of the brain are no longer so malleable or
plastic as they once were, when I was 18 or 24. I’ll try to meditate more... how often do you meditate?
I remember you were taking a moment at the conference and I was struck by how wonderful, and
even a little brave, it is to be able to just drop into that state in the middle of public. Ok Stan, just
checking in. The next paper will have more references, and address the texts more. I just wanted
to get the stories out there, since they’re the root of all of this, after all. All the best, -Kaleb Stanley
Krippner Oct 23 (10 days ago) to me Hi Kaleb I cannot do much downloading from Mexico and even
less from China. So I do not mind getting emails like this one. Yes, I meditate daily even if just for a few
minutes. But what kind of meditation do you do? I would advise against doing a type of meditation
that is dissociative. Mindfulness meditation might be more helpful. Stan

Call For Papers! Special Edition of NeuroQuantology (2015-11-02 01:24) - public

Dear Colleagues,

Call for papers! Stanley Krippner, Cheryl Fracasso, and Kaleb Smith are currently ac-
cepting proposals for a special edition on multidisciplinary perspectives of health, healing,
and exceptional human experience. The special edition is scheduled to publish June 2016 with
the NeuroQuantology journal. If you are interested in submitting a proposal, please provide a
one to two paragraph overview of the title and scope of your article by November 15, 2015 to
Cheryl Fracasso at: cherylfracasso@hotmail.com.

A broad array of proposals have been received so far and we are specifically looking for
topics that will cover: shamanic healing modalities (e.g., shamanic diet/fasting, auditory
driving, plant medicines, hypnagogic journeying, initiatory illness, enthusiasm, genetic and
social influences, spiritual cosmologies, and the utilization of psychoactive sacraments); quan-
titative and qualitative research methods; non-Western perspectives; psychedelic therapies;
neurological correlates of non-ordinary states-of-consciousness; and the mental, physical, and
transpersonal dimensions of health and wellness.

Further details about publishing criteria will be provided once your proposal is accepted.
More information about the journal may be obtained at http://www.neuroquantology.com.

Sincerest Regards,

Editors: Cheryl Fracasso, Kaleb Smith, and Stanley Krippner

–
Kaleb Smith, MATP

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http://www.empathogenesis.com

Shamanism: Genetic, Psychophysical, and Social Dimensions

(2015-11-02 01:25) - public

A proposed series of Seattle University talks to be given by doctoral candidate Kaleb Smith,
discussing his dissertation and other fascinating research into the science of shamanism: its
social, psychological, neurological, and genetic components. By exploring cross-cultural per-
spectives on non-ordinary states-of-consciousness and the mechanisms underlying shamanic
healing, a strong argument will be made for an evolutionary basis to these first of our species’
spiritual traditions, with universal ritual structures providing a means of enhancing group
fitness and social functioning.

The material shared during these monthly talks will draw heavily from the work and con-
tinued guidance of Dr. Stanley Krippner, Kaleb’s dissertation chair and professor of shamanic
studies at Saybrook University, who has tentatively agreed to speak to the Seattle University
group, via Skype. Dr. Krippner has received three awards from the American Psychological
Association, including the coveted Distinguished Contributions to the International Advance-
ment of Psychology award and is a leading authority on the topic of culturally-based healing
traditions and practices.

Proposed Topics of Focus:

1) Introduction To Shamanism
2) Cross-Cultural and Biological Roots
3) Neo-Shamanism and the Americanization
4) NDE, OBE, EVP, OMG!
5) Shaman As Psychotic: The Shifting Anthropological Perspective
6) Tart’s States-of-Consciousness Model
7) Harner’s Jivaro: People of the Sacred Waterfall
8) EEG Correlates to Auditory Driving: Isochronic Entrainment Research
9) Dimethyltriptamine: Sensory Neurotransmitter of The Amazon Rainforest
10) The Initiatory Illness and Other Cultural Universals
11) Grof’s Spiritual Emergency and the DSM
12) The Future of Materialistic Science

pamur777 (2015-11-08 14:37:56)

стильно...

BLUE NOTEBOOK BACKUP #1 (2015-11-13 02:21) - public

Isnt it just like life to give me such beautiful gifts I cannot accept.

Fat people and the unemployed tend to be moody and impatient. I am allowed to make
this observation, as I am fat, unemployed, moody, and impatient.

Libido long abandoned to the weakness of extended fasting, along with conversation
1878
and movement, in general. It’s a dull ache, a numbness in the limbs that I tell myself is the
body digging deep to clean itself.

Sauna, hot! And then another. Running out to jump in the pool inbetween. Looking for
something suitable to write with in this 3rd grader’s backpack. Colored Pencils it is!

Day 5 of the fast – the body goes into light trauma mode, ketogenesis begins. The 200
degree sauna induces a trauma state of a different system, struggling to maintain homeosta-
sis, without fuel.

Too many, not enough. Sufficient for subsistence long forgotten or never known in its
content simplicity. My appetites are so slow to die, their embers so quick to flare up within me
at the slightest inkling of wind, a photograph, a smile, a few passionate words. Have I ever
felt contented? I feel so read for more, for new, for better than this – until this is gone, and I
learn, in painful memory, what a beautiful thing I had, but took for granted. I will tell my child
“Just because we see it doesn’t mean its normal or healthy.“

When he questions why we must abstain from the rich indulgences of our culture, the
Snickers bars and McDonalds that he surely will be drawn to. Addiction and the muscle of
self-restraint will be known to him. I saw a 5 year old Hispanic child today with a cellphone, so
fat he could barely walk. This is unacceptable to me.

FAST – DAY 10 9-24-14

What’s wrong with me, baby?

What’s wrong with me?
All our night times lay unforgiven.
But I am a good man. My heart is true.
I was so sure we knew honestly
When we felt it.

Crying alone in a Starbucks, quiet.

Watching the business meetings,
The business ladies in their business suits
And perpetual smiles.
I cry.

To see how people paint themselves,

How I paint myself to appear.
Every choice a time or a culture
Which we wear to keep us warm
And safe outside, to frame our proud shape
The personal myth we’ve concocted.
Until even the nakedness is not naked,
And vulnerability is so hidden
that you could be screaming
and I would never hear you.

Into the wild

With all this dishonesty still to bare.
1879
I can’t even hold the card
I can’t even look at her face
Much less her eyes
So much less, her eyes, now.
And who am I to talk?
Or take or expect anything
From her ever again?

And yet, I do all of those things

And more, and who am I?

A familiar smell,
A heartbeat you know,
A feeling of safety.

Something you lost and never found again.

An innocent glance
Up into a warm dangerous place,
And all its irreversible learning,
Took from you, beautiful girl.
My beautiful girl.
I am a ruiner.

My chemistry, the potent reactions I can only watch unfold, interactions that cannot be
suppressed, no matter how I try. I surrender, more and more, to the elements at my core,
seeking reactions that transform me in new ways. This selective transformation – through
others.

10-07-14
Close the door and the window blinds, tight. This is the coffin, self-imposed, that will carry
me to the land of spirits, where I will learn something of the wisdom of death. No woman or
whoppers in this boat-like coffin, no such distractions as I navigate my inward see, outwards,
so quiet that I can hear the lower world’s subtle song. Finally.

Rosa ( No Bread For) 10-11-14

Ambient rubs to stave off the verbal abuses of the sun. A nodding massage, an old
friend, long ignored, still waits. AS I wait, too, for a recovering that never comes, for a
better time to begin, for that inspiration I once took for granted. And, perhaps, his waiting
and watching, itself, should be its own inspiration, to remind me I am never alone; to make
even my solitary time a sort of performance, to keep me fit and sharp, knowing his expecta-
tions. The Sidelines, those boundaries I may not yet cross. And yet, I wonder what guards this
oldest boundarly. What is its nature, its alignment. “God only knows what I’d be without you.”

The sound is the hearing

The light is the seeing

What seems external is a state of self, defined ( and limited) by our nervous system.
But my limits are not shared by nature, only define what I may know of her; her shape is not
hers, but that of my eyes! The container filled with ocean water does not show us the shape
1880
or expansiveness of the ocean, only the limits of what we can carry.

Natural systems provide a blueprint for refined and adaptive social systems; defined not
by dogma or decree, but by selective pressures whose continual churning of competition and
elimination create an ever-evolving dynamic system in service of the greatest good

Cellular Order => Social Order (evolution)

10-25-14

New forms of rage announce themselves in florid color from a fertile bed of grating sound
and circumstance – a tone of voice to match the pompous posture, a jackhammering traffic
jam at the end of a wrong turn, the strut of a cocky black thug as he spits at my toes.
How can I love these people? Turning cheek after cheek, until I’m spinning in abuse, used
up and reeling in disrespect. How could I love it, if not simply relishing victimhood? That
sly smirk of a martyr’s superiority in “Forgive them Father. They know not what they do!” Ego.

Job interview – do not offend the insecurities of these territorial apes. They’ve forgotten
what they are, but their instincts remember and act for them ( ape auto pilot)

Shame makes the world stop if ego makes it go around. The humiliated leader is po-
laraized without a thing to say or an order to give from his loud mouth in that vacuum. In
that silence is the power of propaganda in times of war, to undermine the people’s confi-
dence in their direction, and turn them against themselves. A question, if true and clear, can
top a government, can undermine a ruler’s authority, the bedrock of his power turned to sand.

I come into my own in the Fall (I’m at my best with everything around me is dying.)

Marijuana – “Demotivational Syndrome”

- Popular or clinical term?
- New studies to support?

Study therapy, before and after

- Begin session immediately after use
- 3 session swithout use (randomize)
- Established scale of therapeutic efficacy (other instruments/ dimensions?)

Taste expands in a process of dissolution – Meaning is a function of self-definition, and

dilutes into ambiguity alongside identity. As negative as this sounds, ambiguity is closer
to the true representation of nature, where multiple and contradictory perspectives can be
simultaneously true. It is the limits of our perspective that give the illusion of clearly defined
truth.

10-31-14

Maybe I can grow younger, to a degree – maybe some facet of this damage is reversible. It’s
for the best that memories of my beset traits fade, as being reminded of their loss, and the
ever present comparison to those new found deficits, was a kind of deep agony.

1881
Key, Door, and Guardian
How may their purpose be known
Or overcome?

The last of the great bulls oversees the expanse of his territory with a lazy swagger.

Through the glass, a passing cable car sounds lik e the muffled wailing of ghosts, lost in
their starving search.

DEPTH =>

.
_______

BOX

Box => {Spectrum (Rainbow Road)

14.10 December

(2015-12-12 00:07) - public

Transitory Perception and the Out-of-Body Experience:

Interpreting Shamanic Journeying as a Hypnagogic State
Kaleb Smith
Saybrook University

Course: EHTP3110
Dr. Stanley Krippner
December 11th, 2015

A systematic empirical conception of the perceptual anomalies experienced in the hypnagogic

state, and the distinction of these anomalies into discrete classes of experience, cannot be
1882
realized until an equally-systematic conceptual framework of consciousness, and its many
levels, is first proposed. That is to say, in order to study the anomaly, we must first understand
the medium which carries it. This prerequisite theoretical framework, serving as the base for
further organized study towards an understanding of transitional perception, while undoubt-
edly based partially on aspects of that recorded perception, presents a far greater challenge
to the researcher, requiring the analytical reach of observational science to extend beyond
and within that of physical observation, itself, into the subtle energetic realms for which our
naked eye serves little purpose. The first step towards this goal, however, is in unambiguously
defining the various states (or bandwidths) of consciousness.

To establish a strong association between perceptions of the hypnagogic or hypnopom-

pic class and the perceptions of the shamanic journey, I will use the term “transitory,” as
it implies both the transitional state of the edge of sleep and the trance state of inward
“transportation” commonly described by the journeying shaman as he or she transitions into
realms of awareness purported to exist above or below our baseline waking state (Harner,
Mishlove, & Bloch, 1990). I will attempt to interpret both experiences as discrete non-ordinary
states-of-consciousness, distinguishable, in the most basic sense, by whether the experi-
encer’s perceptions occur spontaneously or with the focused intention of one’s subjective
state.

Is Awareness A One-Way Street?

By their common dictionary definitions, the words “awareness,” “sentience,” and “conscious-
ness” are essentially synonymous with one-another, contributing to a problem of vagueness
as one attempts to simply express one’s experience of self and world. This problem ex-
tends, unabated, into academia, arguably representing the centermost issue in our current
understanding of mind (Van Gulick, 2014). A multitude indistinct definitions and philosoph-
ical stances for the most basic of our mental states – sometimes overlapping, sometimes
conflicting – force the serious researcher to adopt dead-end philosophical ruts of unresolved
contentions on one hand and dense heaps of semantic generalities on the other, simply to
establish the terms of discourse, To be clear, from the outset, it is not my belief that awareness
and consciousness, as mental states, are one and the same.

This problem, in many ways, can be considered cultural – made obvious, for example,
when the defined vocabulary of Western psychology is compared, side by side, with that of
the ancient inner-science of Hinduism. Twelve Hindu concepts can be found representing
twelve distinct states of consciousness (Tart, 1969). Yet, when translated to English, these
twelve Sanskrit words are crudely reduced to a single English word: “consciousness.” In a
sense, whole millennia of refined subjective differentiation is lost to us before we even begin
reading the Vedas. It can be read that awareness cannot exist unless an individual is fully
conscious and awake (Freedheim & Weiner, 2003). And, yet, psychology is confronted with
unexplained instances of experiences which suggest a connection between subconscious or
unconscious states and aspects of physical awareness (Levitan & LaBerge, 1991; Tart, 1968,
1998). Lucid dreams, night paralysis, and the out-of-body experience, while controversial, are
now recognized as legitimate and universally-occurring human occurrences which, at least
in some fields of psychology, worthy of serious academic attention. And while the realm of
mental activity just below the threshold of waking consciousness does not lend itself easily
to observation or recording, brave and forward-thinking theories and experiments (Kahan,
LaBerge, Levitan & Zimbardo, 1991)* continue to expand the acceptance of the subconscious
experience as one relevant and deserving of dedicated study.

1883
Consciousness: Above and Below
The conception of consciousness as a spectrum of distinct ranges or bandwidths of frequency,
which we slowly travel down through towards sleep and back up through towards waking,
is one of the most meaningful implications of EEG research. The detection of brainwaves
revealed that our conscious state exists as a dynamic and measurable frequency, as a set
of distinct and definable fields of oscillation, carried within the dense resonant branches of
the neuronal networks of our cerebral cortex. By measuring this measured electrochemical
frequency, as distinct from the cellular network that conducts it, conscious experience may
be expressed a modulatory energetic phenomenon; a measured waveform traveling across a
carrier medium. The changes which occur to these neuronal firing rhythms during hypnagogia
may be monitored electroencephalographically and compared

*For an overview of transpersonal experiences of this and other types, see Friedman, &
Hartelius (2013) and Scotton, Chinen, & Battista,(2008).

with those changes occurring during shamanic visionary trance. One of the few things
we can say with any certainty about the hypnagogic period is that it is highly variable,
both physiologically and psychologically, among individuals. “For some people this is an
experientially nonexistent period, with no conscious recollection of any experience at all. For
others this may be a period of enchantment, with beautiful visions, sweet music, and insights
into themselves” (Tart, 1969, p. 73).

As we drift downward into the subconscious towards sleep, the range of our awareness
changes accordingly. Closing our eyes and allowing our attention to recede inward, our
thoughts become “long,” our semantic associations extending outward in branches, as we
approach the lower state of Delta consciousness, where our dreamstate awaits. This change
in the range of our awareness slowly limits the upper register of perception, that physical
“surface” awareness of sound and bodily sensation, while, at the same time, opening our
perception to awareness of a lower register, of those ranges typically unperceived in our
everyday open-eyed waking (Beta) state. That is to say, as we travel downward through
these frequency states, our awareness of self and environment does not simply disappear,
but changes accordingly with our descending state of consciousness (SoC). For many, this
transition from waking to sleeping takes place so quickly, there is little notice of the change
occurring in awareness during that time. However, there are those individuals, as we know,
who drift more slowly into sleep (if they enter sleep at all!) For these people, the uncom-
mon thought associations and perceptual anomalies of the hypnagogic transition are more
prominent, as the length of that transitory period of pre-sleep is extended. That is to say,
while some individuals drop immediately into deep sleep within a few minutes of closing their
eyes, like a stone dropping to the bottom of a pond, other individuals are predisposed to drift
gradually down through the discrete ranges of consciousness towards sleep, whereby they
are able to more closely perceive the distinct perceptual states of those non-ordinary ranges.

While the majority of these hypnagogic and hypnopompic perceptions are obvious hallu-
cinatory manifestations of residual thought associations made during the onset of pre-sleep,
or the alpha REM period (Mavromatis, 1987), still others suggest a legitimate state of sen-
sory experience of the physical environment, able to be validated by subsequent waking
observation in an experimental setting (Tart, 1968 ,1998). The unique hypnagogic sensory
experiences of these “gifted” individuals suggest an framework of consciousness which
include non-ordinary state-dependent perceptions, or perceptions which are dependent on the
perceiver crossing over into a discrete SoC, whereby perceptual experiences like autoscopy
1884
or shamanic imagery may be made available. The fact that both of these examples can be
considered culturally-universal human experiences, accepted by the consensus of nearly every
culture of the world, extending back into prehistory, suggest these perceptions represent
less a belief system and more an aspect of our species’ biology; a universal, albeit perhaps
exceptional, range of human experience which, in the case of the out-of-body experience and
its autoscopic perceptions may occur spontaneously, but in the case of shamanic journeying
imagery, may be, with practice, be induced at will.

The out-of-body experience has been shown to produce consistently verifiable sensory
information from the environment of the perceiver from a location outside that perceiver’s
physical body. It is safe to assume that this OBE state can and has been reliably induced by
traditional consciousness-altering practices like meditation or the use of psychedelic sacra-
ments and has been traditionally been recorded as the “night flight” experience, representing
the core of Judeo-Christian, Abrahamic, and Muhhammadian religions, and that this practice
of controlled out-of-body journeying can be generalized as shamanism. These disciplined
attentional practices have fallen out of practice and, despite representing the roots and
ritual of major religions of the world, are not typically part of modern religious practice (lets
remember, if the modern Christian were to truly be aiming to emulate Jesus, he would be
spending 40 days fasting in the sandlot behind his suburban home!)
A model of consciousness which relies upon our understanding of the frequency measurement
of discrete SoCs would provide us with a unique spectral mapping scheme, whereby these
distinct states of consciousness, and any perceptions or ranges of information unique to them,
could be located within a cartography of multiple bandwidths and “channels,” much like a how
we’ve come to understand the bandwidths of the electromagnetic spectrum, and the many
channels available to us via our radio receiver. As we watch an individual descend into the
hypnagogic state, towards sleep, and monitor the electromagnetic signature of this descent
with EEG equipment, we can note the bandwidths, Gamma through Delta, which represent
the entire known frequency range of human consciousness. It is meaningful to measure
and study the rarer experiences known to take place during the hypnagogic state, as well
as the rarer experiences known to take place by the intentional induction of state-specific
perceptions within the hypnagogic state, as in the practice of OBE or shamanic journeying or
mystical experiences occasioned by the meditative use of psychedelic sacraments. Despite
longitudinal EEG studies are labor intensive and the results notoriously difficult to interpret,
hybridized studies which, for instance, focus on the event-related potentials recorded at the
moment of purported out-of-body experiences may yield a set of signature cortical responses,
most likely within specific cerebral areas, which could help us more reliably identify that
state of consciousness electrochemically. As they say, this is an area ripe for future research
and what is most exciting, at least to my mind, is the focus of these technologies, like EEG
and MRI, which allow us to measure, image, and study the activity of our cerebral cortex,
is the potentiality to focus them on exceptional human experiences, like those at the core
of organized religions, which adherents cite as night flights and the interaction with divine
entities; with gods or beings of white light. What would that EEG look like? What, if any,
influence does divinity have on the nervous system of the person experiencing it? While
it’s a far flung and unrealistic goal to ever perform that particular sleep study, I’d venture
to say there are people alive today – be them shamans of the deep Upper Amazon Basin,
or a hermit nestled deep in the mountains of rural India – who can reliably control their
state-of-consciousness in ways which could be considered “exceptional,” and that this ability
may be reliably verified in a multitude of ways, if there were a sleep lab in the mountains of ru-
ral India, or a mobile EEG computer system on a raft in the mosquito-ridden rainforests of Peru!

1885
The systematic empirical conception of the perceptual anomalies of the hypnagogic state
will depend, first, on the reliable measurement of those anomalies. But, even now, with the
limited handful of studies we’ve discussed which seem to have captured those anomalies, a
faint outline of a larger system underlying our conscious experience can be glimpsed and a
possible cartography of our species’ greater subjective potential can be drawn.

References

Freedheim, D. K., & Weiner, I. B. (2003). Handbook of psychology: History of psychol-

ogy (Vol. 1). Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons.

Friedman, H. L., & Hartelius, G. (Eds.). (2013). The Wiley-Blackwell handbook of transpersonal
psychology. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons.

Levitan, L., & LaBerge, S. (1991). Other worlds: Out-of-body experiences and lucid dreams.
Nightlight, 3(2), 1-5.

Harner, M. J., Mishlove, J., & Bloch, A. (1990). The way of the shaman. San Francisco,
CA: Harper & Row.

Mavromatis, A. (Ed.). (1987). Hypnagogia: The unique state of consciousness between

wakefulness and sleep. London: Routledge.

Scotton, B. W., Scotton, B. W., Chinen, A. B., & Battista, J. R. (2008).Textbook of transpersonal
psychiatry and psychology. New York, NY: Basic Books.

Tart, C. T. (1968). A psychophysiological study of out-of-the-body experiences in a se-

lected subject. Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 62(3).

Tart, C. T. (1969). Altered States of Consciousness: A Book of Readings (1st Ed.). Hobo-
ken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons.

Tart, C. T. (1998). Six studies of out-of-body experiences. Journal of Near-Death Studies,

17(2), 73-99.

Van Gulick, R. (Eds.). (2014). Consciousness, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy.

1886
Retrieved from http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr20 14/entries/consciousness/

pigshitpoet (2015-12-12 22:09:49) ; )

i like the white space... it is very transcendental! ; )

The Presence Beneath The Words: (2015-12-14 18:58) - public

The Presence Beneath The Words:

Considering The Depths and Dangers of Empathy
Kaleb Smith
Saybrook University

Clinical Intervention II
Dr. Bonnie Settlage
December 13th, 2015

When considering myself in the role of therapist, there are a lot of subtle personal responses
and mixed emotions that arise; insecurities and hopes concerning my intended future career
in mental health. While I can explore these and attempt to isolate them for the purposes of
this paper, this is only a single introductory step towards understanding and taking control
of these many thoughts and intentions and, at least in the case of the problematic personal
blockages that prevent me from achieving my full potential as a therapist, rooting them out
so they can inhibit me no longer.
While I have not yet begun my practicum, and continue to have difficulties in finding a site
to accept me, in the handful of therapy sessions I’ve had with clients, I have learned quite
a bit about my strengths and weaknesses in that role. These, as I suppose should be no
surprise, are also the strengths and weaknesses which bless and torment me in my day-to-day
interactions with people, in phone calls with relatives or in schmoozy small talk at holiday
parties. And, as I continue to learn more about myself and uncover insights about the nature
and sources of my behavior, I have come to acknowledge that these quirky and characteristic
strengths and weaknesses are, to a great degree, biological; in that, whether I like it or not, I
have the mind of my father, the sensitivity of my mother, and so on, and that many of these
peculiar and subtle traits, temperaments and ways of thinking, are genetically-determined
and will, undoubtedly, come to influence and define difference facets of the therapeutic
relationship. I would like to discuss these traits in greater detail later in the paper.
1887
Therapist Self-Care
While working with clients who have experienced trauma could be considered some of the
most emotionally taxing psychotherapeutic work a therapist can undertake, even without this
extreme PTSD-type content, the danger of burnout or “compassion fatigue” is still real and
ever-present for the mental health profession, especially when work loads begin to mount
and the limits of one’s capacity for empathy become apparent. While empathy is a precious
and powerful resource in the therapeutic relationship, the thought of being bombarded, hour
after hour, with client after client, each dumping huge grief, sadness, insecurities, and fears
onto their open-hearted receptive counselor, it is easy to imagine how quickly this precious
resource could be spent, as one instinctively adopts a defensive mental posture in the face of
such pain and suffering, to protect themselves from such pain, themselves.
Vulnerability and empathy are intimately related, and it is that open-hearted type of listening
that is felt in the presence of the therapist, as opposed to those cues of active listening which
are merely heard or seen. Rather, when someone is feeling with you, it is those subtle body
language cues which are imbued with an emotional quality or warmth that only vulnerability,
the lowering of defenses, can truly and authentically provide. The eye contact which becomes
so-slightly hazy, as the pain of the client’s loss wells up in the chest, or the ache in one’s
voice when they fully feel for someone the care for. These are precious and beautiful things,
these are gifts of authentic and vulnerable presence we typically save only for our loved ones,
as we know and feel how expensive and potentially dangerous it is to feel so deeply and
fully for another person, that you may cry for them. To achieve such a meaningful and, in
some cultures, considered sacred state of empathic sensitivity 8 times a day, 5 days a week,
feels, in some way, like a sin; as if we were to cheapen and commodity the most precious and
authentic depths of our heart, on cue, when we “clock in” and those “customers” start lining
up for their share of what remains of our heart.
Haha! So melodramatic, I know! But this is, in one way, how the faculty of empathy in the psy-
chotherapeutic relationship can be seen and, on the same coin, how the established dangers
of burnout, “secondary traumatic stress,” or compassion fatigue, can be conceptualized.
The Extremes of Empathy
While traveling through Lapland in Northern Finland earlier this year, I lived with a practicing
shaman who introduced me to the ancient healing traditions of her area of Northeastern
Scandinavia. She showed me the songs of the old shamans, and the way they used them to
guide and heal the “dis-spirited,” who had been abandoned by their guardian spirits, or who
had been a victim of some physical, mental, or spiritual illness. These unique illnesses, so I
came to learn, tend to follow a traumatic event, or are the traumatic event. It is the shaman’s
duty to become very sensitive with the person, so that they may become aware of the subtle
energetic signature of the illness or blockage within the nervous system of the client, and
then to allow flow and release of that dark or negative content, out of the system.
This may seem tangential, or unrelated to my intended profession as a therapist, but I’m
merely trying to set a background for the comparison I wish to draw. What was perhaps most
moving for me, personally, about this “medical cosmology” of my ancestors is the use of the
crying song. This shaman I was living with played me one of these old songs, in which the
healer convenes with the community or a single individual and accepts all of their trauma and
pain into themselves, reciting all of the losses, one by one, allowing the depths of the suffering
to well up within them, until their voice begins to crack, and tears begin to flow, and a kind
of deep sobbing occurs as she closes her eyes and sings for the client with all of her heart.
Hearing these old songs was deeply moving and, despite trying to resist, I too soon welled
up and started to cry with her, for the loss and the hurt, though I could not understand what
she was saying in Finnish, I could, at the same time, very deeply tell what she was saying and
1888
there was so much pain following that trauma that I could not even attempt to hold it all in,
and so the tears flowed, there in the car, and I sobbed until I could not even drive and had to
pull over.
This ancient shamanic technique, of reflecting the trauma of a person or a community back to
them, but filling it with the emotional content that the traumatized had yet to fully express,
the grief or wailing of mourning, is a means of utilizing empathic connection in a particularly
powerful way, to allow the movement and shifting of emotion for the client, as they are able
to process and metabolize the traumatic event fully, after the act of communal crying is
encouraged and normalized. Yet, empathy of that extreme degree is, obviously, exhausting
and after 20 minutes, you could hear the fatigue but also the deep relief in the shaman’s
voice as her voice stopped quivering and her breath became calm once more. To imagine
performing such a powerful and authentic act, on the hour, 8 times a day is simply not feasible,
although may be appropriate for a group therapy intensive.
As I learn more about how to connect meaningfully with clients, my shyness and insecurity
becomes a limitation to authentic rapport. Yet, this quiet thoughtful aspect of my personality
is, so I’ve come to learn, a trademark of my people, the stoic Finn being even a caricature
or stereotype, well known outside the region. So how can I, who does not talk, come to talk
for a living? I feel active listening and a “heart forward” approach will supplement the need
for constant chatter we Americans seem to have, even in therapy. When that moment of
silence comes, I’m learning not to nervously scramble to fill it but, instead, let it be, and
hold it for some moments with the client. This, more often then not, seems to allow the
client to dive a bit deeper into their problem, and, all at once, break the silence with an
insight or some subconscious content from beneath the surface of their problem. And so my
self-perceived weakness, my awkward silence gradually reveals itself to be a strength, at
least in some respects. It is my personality, my own nature and nurture, which inform my
therapeutic technique, moreso than any theory or clinical framework. It is with each failure
and breakthrough that I develop as a person, and learn how to better myself.

1889
1890
15. 2016

15.1 January

Entities of White Light (2016-01-04 18:02) - public

Entities of White Light

Inbox

Kaleb Smith
< turboswami@gmail.com >

Jan 2 (2 days ago)

1891
to Stanley

Hi Stan,
As always, my entity interactions took place while I was completely sober although, unfor-
tunately, I did not have the benefit of a girlfriend present this time to share the interaction
experience with.
It occurred during my recent trip into the forest. If you recall, I had planned a week in the
woods not long ago, to connect with spirit and try to create some good music. I brought my
music studio and set it up in the remote cabin. I had been apprehensive about re-entering
this spiritual side of my life, as my girlfriend and I had been attacked previously, as you know,
and part of me was afraid of this more dangerous aspect of journeying. Yet, I knew it was not
something I could run and hide from forever – I needed to face my fear and be confident that
those guides from before – the woman in white and the lion entity – were still with me.
So, the first night in the cabin, after loading and setting up all my things, I laid flat in the dark
and began to ask for help. As genuinely as I could, I pleaded for my guardian spirits to return to
me, to help and guide me through the journey ahead of me and protect me from dangers as I
enter that realm. "White light, come to me. White light, enter me" is a common one, although I
sometimes will call, specifically, to that female entity, the woman of white light, who I’ve come
to call my Divine Mother.
First, I meditated until I could sense an inward ascent had occurred, and only then does it seem
that my prayer is effective. I meditated and prayed for protection for 3 and a half hours there,
in the dark, until my breath became very slow and I felt an ascent to a higher place. When I was
in this place, I saw a pair of female eyes, cutting through the dark, gazing at me directly. They
were smiling eyes and I was immediately relieved to see – knowing that I’d FINALLY connected
with her, after nearly 4 hours of trying. I could finally go to sleep, as I’d received a sign that I
was not alone.
I did not sleep well, however. Not long after attempting to sleep, the door to the cabin was
opened and three blonde women appeared there. They were beautiful, young, and Finnish and
were awash in white light. They could not have been older than 19, and wore white, standing
in a line in front of the doorway to the cabin. I realized then that they were protecting the
doorway, allowing nothing harmful to come through. The girl on left side turned her head and
1892
smiled down at me in bed and it was absolutely radiant – behind her was such a bright light,
as if it were a beautiful sunny Summer day, and this light shone in onto the bed.
Being stupid as I am, I immediately sat up and removed my eyeshades to see them better...
only to find myself sitting in the dark. But the purpose of their visit was clear – I had begged
for hours for protection from my white light ancestors, and they were protecting the doorway.
They made their Finnish lineage known and I had the sense that they were young, as if being
sent on this guardian errand by someone older.
At any rate, I knew I was, then, protected and had nothing to worry about going into the jour-
ney. But, this is the more incredible aspect of the ayahuasca experience is that the spiritual
interactions begin BEFORE you drink it; at least this has been my personal experience, time
and time again. It is as if they begin to prepare you for the journey, days, or even weeks, before
the actual sensory neurotransmitter is ingested. I do not understand this aspect of the brew,
but in this case, the preparation interaction was MORE powerful than the actual ayahuasca
experience.
The next day, I began to set up the drums for the recording I intended to do that night and
realized I’d forgotten drum sticks. I drove half an hour to Ellensburg, the closest city, to find a
music store. I purchased the sticks and several other items and then thought to check out the
rest of this quaint little downtown area. Next door was a record store and I browsed casually
through about 26 cardboard boxes of vinyl records before noticing something unusual. Out of
all of these 26 boxes, the owner of the store had adhered a single record to the front of a single
box, with clear packing tape. All of the other boxes were blank, except for this one box and
one record. The record she wanted, for whatever reason, to put on display was "Finlandia."
I thought it was strange, and with that small surge of Sibelius pride that all Finns feel when
they see Finlandia, I took a picture of the box and continued on my way through downtown.
Yet, as I walked, I began to think of WHY had she wanted just that one record to be shown
to everyone who entered her store – the one record not for sale. I began to relate it to the
beautiful Finnish angels from the night before, who smiled with such warm grace onto me, to
let me know I was not alone. And, at that moment, I felt such a surge of warmth that I began
to cry silently, smiling so fully, just knowing that those beautiful guardians who had graced
me with their kind loving presence so long ago were still with me, helping and guiding me, if I
asked for their help genuinely, from my heart.

I crossed the street and entered a bookstore, where a heavyset balding 30 year old was
flirting with an attractive brunette, nervously. I was looking over the Hinduism books when
the two approached the aisle adjacent to mine, continuing their conversation.

"...he was attacked by a demon when he was young, and it hurt him bad. But when he
learns how to control the demon, it transforms into an invisible armor and shield which he
uses to enter the spirit world and battle and help people."
What in THE HELL were they talking about??? Apparently some fantasy book? But... it was me.
He was describing my life to this girl, essentially, as I WAS attacked by a demon when I was
younger and it did hurt me bad. And I HAD been begging for protection, all night long, so that
I would have some way to be safe as I entered the spirit world once more. And, yet, here he
was, describing all of this a few feet from me, indirectly, as if the path of the hero in the book
he was describing needed to by my own – if I wanted protection, I needed to learn to control
this spiritual sensitivity that was so dangerous to me, and my loved ones, a decade ago.
So, perhaps the message is clearer than I let on, now that I write it out.
1893
While I was in a mild hypnagogic state when the door to the cabin was opened and they
appeared, I was not asleep. I was aware of the room and of my location, laying in the bed –
which, in the past, has implied an out-of-body experience for me, but this was distinctly IN the
body, looking towards the doorway from my physical location.

Since these three angelic entities, powerful spiritual networking opportunities have started to
open up in my life, and some very unusual physical phenomena, in my body... I really don’t
know how to interpret it, as it is different than the seizure states of the previous "emergency."
I dont want to overwhelm you with text, though, Stan! Maybe the physical symptoms another
time...

I just don’t know what to make of it all. What do you recommend, or how best to interpret all
of this?
Yours,
-Kaleb

On Sat, Jan 2, 2016 at 10:12 PM, Stanley Krippner <[1]skrippner@saybrook.edu> wrote:

If their messages make no sense, then they are not actual entities. This is the dif-
ference between dreams (which almost always make sense) and drug-induced hal-
lucinations (which rarely make sense, unless they are the result of psychedelics like
ayahuasca).
Stan

1. mailto:skrippner@saybrook.edu

Entities of White Light (2016-01-04 18:04) - public

Kaleb Smith
Jan 2 (2 days ago)

to Stanley
Hi Stan,

As always, my entity interactions took place while I was completely sober although, un-
fortunately, I did not have the benefit of a girlfriend present this time to share the interaction
experience with.

It occurred during my recent trip into the forest. If you recall, I had planned a week in
1894
the woods not long ago, to connect with spirit and try to create some good music. I brought
my music studio and set it up in the remote cabin. I had been apprehensive about re-entering
this spiritual side of my life, as my girlfriend and I had been attacked previously, as you know,
and part of me was afraid of this more dangerous aspect of journeying. Yet, I knew it was
not something I could run and hide from forever – I needed to face my fear and be confi-
dent that those guides from before – the woman in white and the lion entity – were still with me.

So, the first night in the cabin, after loading and setting up all my things, I laid flat in
the dark and began to ask for help. As genuinely as I could, I pleaded for my guardian spirits
to return to me, to help and guide me through the journey ahead of me and protect me from
dangers as I enter that realm. "White light, come to me. White light, enter me" is a common
one, although I sometimes will call, specifically, to that female entity, the woman of white
light, who I’ve come to call my Divine Mother.

First, I meditated until I could sense an inward ascent had occurred, and only then does
it seem that my prayer is effective. I meditated and prayed for protection for 3 and a half
hours there, in the dark, until my breath became very slow and I felt an ascent to a higher
place. When I was in this place, I saw a pair of female eyes, cutting through the dark, gazing
at me directly. They were smiling eyes and I was immediately relieved to see – knowing that
I’d FINALLY connected with her, after nearly 4 hours of trying. I could finally go to sleep, as I’d
received a sign that I was not alone.

I did not sleep well, however. Not long after attempting to sleep, the door to the cabin
was opened and three blonde women appeared there. They were beautiful, young, and Finnish
and were awash in white light. They could not have been older than 19, and wore white,
standing in a line in front of the doorway to the cabin. I realized then that they were protecting
the doorway, allowing nothing harmful to come through. The girl on left side turned her head
and smiled down at me in bed and it was absolutely radiant – behind her was such a bright
light, as if it were a beautiful sunny Summer day, and this light shone in onto the bed.

Being stupid as I am, I immediately sat up and removed my eyeshades to see them bet-
ter... only to find myself sitting in the dark. But the purpose of their visit was clear – I had
begged for hours for protection from my white light ancestors, and they were protecting the
doorway. They made their Finnish lineage known and I had the sense that they were young,
as if being sent on this guardian errand by someone older.

At any rate, I knew I was, then, protected and had nothing to worry about going into
the journey. But, this is the more incredible aspect of the ayahuasca experience is that the
spiritual interactions begin BEFORE you drink it; at least this has been my personal experience,
time and time again. It is as if they begin to prepare you for the journey, days, or even weeks,
before the actual sensory neurotransmitter is ingested. I do not understand this aspect of
the brew, but in this case, the preparation interaction was MORE powerful than the actual
ayahuasca experience.

The next day, I began to set up the drums for the recording I intended to do that night
and realized I’d forgotten drum sticks. I drove half an hour to Ellensburg, the closest city, to
find a music store. I purchased the sticks and several other items and then thought to check
out the rest of this quaint little downtown area. Next door was a record store and I browsed
casually through about 26 cardboard boxes of vinyl records before noticing something unusual.
Out of all of these 26 boxes, the owner of the store had adhered a single record to the front of
1895
a single box, with clear packing tape. All of the other boxes were blank, except for this one box
and one record. The record she wanted, for whatever reason, to put on display was "Finlandia."

I thought it was strange, and with that small surge of Sibelius pride that all Finns feel
when they see Finlandia, I took a picture of the box and continued on my way through
downtown. Yet, as I walked, I began to think of WHY had she wanted just that one record to
be shown to everyone who entered her store – the one record not for sale. I began to relate it
to the beautiful Finnish angels from the night before, who smiled with such warm grace onto
me, to let me know I was not alone. And, at that moment, I felt such a surge of warmth that
I began to cry silently, smiling so fully, just knowing that those beautiful guardians who had
graced me with their kind loving presence so long ago were still with me, helping and guiding
me, if I asked for their help genuinely, from my heart.

I crossed the street and entered a bookstore, where a heavyset balding 30 year old was
flirting with an attractive brunette, nervously. I was looking over the Hinduism books when
the two approached the aisle adjacent to mine, continuing their conversation.

"...he was attacked by a demon when he was young, and it hurt him bad. But when he
learns how to control the demon, it transforms into an invisible armor and shield which he
uses to enter the spirit world and battle and help people."

What in THE HELL were they talking about??? Apparently some fantasy book? But... it
was me. He was describing my life to this girl, essentially, as I WAS attacked by a demon when
I was younger and it did hurt me bad. And I HAD been begging for protection, all night long,
so that I would have some way to be safe as I entered the spirit world once more. And, yet,
here he was, describing all of this a few feet from me, indirectly, as if the path of the hero in
the book he was describing needed to by my own – if I wanted protection, I needed to learn to
control this spiritual sensitivity that was so dangerous to me, and my loved ones, a decade ago.

So, perhaps the message is clearer than I let on, now that I write it out.

While I was in a mild hypnagogic state when the door to the cabin was opened and
they appeared, I was not asleep. I was aware of the room and of my location, laying in the
bed – which, in the past, has implied an out-of-body experience for me, but this was distinctly
IN the body, looking towards the doorway from my physical location.

Since these three angelic entities, powerful spiritual networking opportunities have started to
open up in my life, and some very unusual physical phenomena, in my body... I really don’t
know how to interpret it, as it is different than the seizure states of the previous "emergency."
I dont want to overwhelm you with text, though, Stan! Maybe the physical symptoms another
time...

I just don’t know what to make of it all. What do you recommend, or how best to inter-
pret all of this?

Yours,

-Kaleb

1896
On Sat, Jan 2, 2016 at 10:12 PM, Stanley Krippner wrote:
If their messages make no sense, then they are not actual entities. This is the difference
between dreams (which almost always make sense) and drug-induced hallucinations (which
rarely make sense, unless they are the result of psychedelics like ayahuasca).

Stan

Breathless States (2016-01-04 18:05) - public

Breathless States
Inbox
x

Kaleb Smith
4:08 PM (1 hour ago)

to Stanley, bcc: Cheryl

The internal bleeding and weakness seem to be the "ordeal," right? I’ve been contending with
those for a while – the illness seems associated more with the possession experience than the
interaction with these Finnish ancestors of white light. If anything, they seem very healing and,
since that interaction with them, powerful opportunities have started to open up in my life;
synchronicities, openings, and meaningful coincidences that seem to be leading me towards
a certain spiritual direction, involving both psychedelics and a community of people also
interested in accessing their greatest potential. Harner says when these synchronicities start,
you know you are on the right path, as you have earned their attention and their influence
and grace in your life is evidence of that relationship, which was first established with that
night flight interaction experience.

Something happened recently that really shook me up. I was invited to an unusual cir-
cle, through one of these synchronous "opportunities" I was talking about, which was using a
sensory neurotransmitter, dimethyltryptamine, in a pure crystalline form. I almost sent you an
email detailing the circle, but didn’t want to bother you with too much reading of idle stories.
But, anyway, during the experience, something very powerful happened in that I stopped
breathing.

There was, all this time, a space at the end of a long, long exhale where you can rest,
and just sit, and no longer need to breath. That peculiar charge, that vibratory sensation in
the chest, simply became still and resonant and calm, seemed to maintain me, and what had
been a very very low frequency of slow breath simply isolated, and flat lined. I felt no need
to breath, for long minutes, and, when I did inhale, it was almost out of force of habit than
need. When I had finally reached the end of that long charged exhale and simply stayed there,
breathless, there was a powerful shift in the sensation of presence in the room and everyone
became hushed, both musicians stopped playing, and everyone felt that I had touched on
something.

The next person to inhale the neurotransmitter was a heavyset Hispanic man named Is-
rael. He crawled across the floor to me and took up my face in his hands, gazing into my
eyes and petting my head while the other 7 people in the room watched. He said he saw light
shining from my eyes that made my whole head seem to radiate and that it felt as if there
1897
were a familiar presence coming through.

I am becoming more attentive to the peculiar vibratory sensation we’d talked about, the
oscillatory electrochemical aspect of the nervous system which apparently changes dramati-
cally during that state of ecstatic enthusiasm. During the breathless state, there was a charge
felt, as if a high amplitude electrical current, resonating through the nerve networks of the
body; seemingly originating from the bottom of the spine, but is sometimes first evident in the
legs or chest. This quivering can lead to the convulsive state we’d talked about, with those
full body shakes.

While with EEG, we have measured and studied these electrochemical oscillatory signa-
tures in the brain, the oscillatory phenomena of the rest of the nervous system, as far as
I know, remain largely unstudied. I want to measure these anomalous electromagnetic
phenomena and map them to the particular spiritual and shamanic states of consciousness
and enthusiasm within which they tend to occur most frequently and, with any hope, the
methods of reliably inducing those particular states.

So, as best I can surmise, the same electrodes used to measure those neuronal firing
rates of the brain can be applied to any other part of the body to, similarly, measure the firing
rates of those nerve cells just the same. In this way, I think I could potentially capture this
unusual oscillatory "resonance" phenomenon when it occurs and perhaps isolate it to key
areas of the body or muscle groups. Breathing rate would also be worthwhile to measure
alongside this vibratory electrochemical signature of ecstasy. I remember there was a breath
measuring "girdle" at Stanford’s Psychophysiology lab, although we never used it, I remember
wanting to see it used.

In the William James Center, with Arthur Hastings at ITP, we used low resolution EEG
caps during meditation. What was an interesting finding was that, when meditating with this
slow exhale alongside another person in the EEG cap, there would be a wide surge in Alpha
that crested alongside my exhale.

So, even though my friends and the shamans in the Amazon were unaware of the sound or
rate of my breathing consciously, they would go "Ahhhh...." right alongside my exhale during
this slow meditation. It was as if they were aware of the more subtle energetic "wave" of that
slow breath’s frequency. What was interesting was that this "Ahhh...." moment, where they
feel the release of that slow crest, was measurable electrochemically with the EEG as Alpha
range activity in (what I seem to recall) was the occipital lobe.

Anyway, I realize I am writing a long email again. I hope you do not mind, but all of
this is coming to a head lately and I was wondering if you knew anything about these states
of breathlessness? Is it a cultural thing somewhere? I just have no concept at all of what
had happened, other than that it felt like I was touching on some very deep aspect of my
potential that had been wanting to come out. It seems to have opened something mean-
ingful in my life, but I have no reference or direction as to how to understand it. Any thoughts?

Thanks for listening, Stan.

-Kaleb

1898
–
Kaleb Smith, MATP

http://www.empathogenesis.com

http://www.subtledensity.com

On Sun, Jan 3, 2016 at 1:28 PM, Stanley Krippner wrote:

Hi Kaleb

As I was trying my response, your email disappeared from my screen. But I recall the
points I wanted to make.

First of all, do not remove eyeshades again. The spirits had accustomed themselves to
hypnopompia, and to shift into anther consciousness makes it hard for them to continue.

Second, it is too early to determine just what they want from you. But you have been
doing a find job in writing down the experiences. The direction will come later. I have other
friends and students undergoing similar experiences. My hunch is that these people are being
"groomed" to play a leading role in planetary change. But if this an actually shamanic or
shamanic-like "call," you must be prepared for the "ordeal." This is a common part of shamanic
training, and some do not survive it. Other drop out of the training as it is overwhelming for
them.

Is there some way you could get Saybrook credit for these accounts? You do a fine job
of writing them down and describing them.

Cheers

Stan

Stanley Krippner
4:14 PM (1 hour ago)

to me
Kaleb
Yes all of this is part of the ordeal. This is heavy stuff and not everyone survives. So I would
urge you to take extra care, and keep caring people around you (as in the circle you described).
Harner is right about the synchronicities. These are suggestions you are on the right path. But
where is this to lead? That is your question and that is my question.
Of course you are not the only person I am working with regarding these "calls." For one of
them, the direction has been answered, and this person has found a job working with children
where these capacities can be put to practical use, and it a facility that has not idea that they
have employed a proto-shaman.
Stan

1899
D-Answer’s Psychedelic Sex Dungeon (2016-01-04 18:08) - public

Hi Stan,

There was a unique situation I found myself in this week and my therapist recommended
I ask you about it. Through the ecstatic singing group I’ve been attending here in Seattle,
I’ve met a young man who is active in the "burning man" culture here in the city. While I’ve
never attended the Burning Man festival and much of it is very foreign to me, it seems there
is some overlap between this more recreational side of psychedelic culture and those MAPS
conferences I was involved in.

This young 20-something, who calls himself Joy, introduced me to a cute girl also named Joy,
and we had a particularly profound ecstatic singing session which made a strong impression
on him, apparently, and prompted him to call on me later to introduce me to a whole network
of spiritually-minded shamanism-tinged "contact dancers" and musicians, from the places
called things like Soulshine and Bliss Jungle. Most recently, Joy invited me to a very exclusive
circle, of 5 people, which became very intense very quickly!

The shamanic session was held in the woods North of Seattle, in a colorful house at the
end of a road. When I walked in, a tall, thin, bald man of about 50, fit, looking very much
like Ken Wilber, approached and gave me a long hearty hug. He called himself Dancer
(D-Answer, Dance-Her.) The room was like a psychedelic dungeon, a large den with strobe and
colored lights spinning, and sound-sensitive projectors lighting the walls. A little cheesy, but
interesting. On the floor, all along the walls, were many round beds, each one with a beautiful
young 20-something blonde, dressed exotically. Near the entrance to the room was a stripper
pole he’d installed. My God! What had I gotten myself into??

The 4 others showed up eventually – one couple flying all the way up from San Fran-
cisco that day, just to be there, in that circle. It was after some bonding exercises and holding
of hands that he produced "the lamp:" some kind of clear plastic device filled with some
circuits and LED lights. He filled it with Argon gas, and then the sensory neurotransmitter,
dimethyltriptaimine, in a refined crystalline form. He chose me to go first.

I silently meditated for a breath or two, inviting my ancestors to be present with us, then
inhaled the argon/DMT mixture. Putting on my eyeshades and laying flat, I began to speak, but
then realized none of the experience was being recorded and became immediately upset for
forgetting to have pressed Record on the microphone I’d brought (and bring everywhere with
me, for serendipitous field recordings.) I stood up and realized how complicated it would be
to find my backpack and start digging through it right then and there, and said, exasperated,
"Why didn’t I record it??"

Someone in the circle assured me not to worry, that it was being recorded, and that I
should just relax, as they got their iPhone fired up. I laid down for a bit, but realized I had not
"broken through," as Dancer had described it. I sat up and asked for more...

The 2nd lamp was filled with a bit more of the neurotransmitter crystal, and after inhal-
ing, laid flat and straightened my spine, closing my eyes behind the eyeshades. There was
a grid of energy which became apparent, and a sense of remembrance, as if returning to a
place I’d known and forgotten; a state-dependent memory. I called out to my woman in white
"Divine mother, be with me. White light, come to me. White light, enter me."
1900
I became very sad, realizing how I had neglected this cherished relationship with my
guardian spirit, for years, letting the beautiful opportunities I’d been given go unused, wasted.
I’d let her down. "I’m so sorry!" I said, tears rolling down my face.

But, still, I did not "break through." I sat up once more, and said it wasn’t enough, that I
still wasn’t there. Dancer’s eyes widened and he prepared a massive rounded scoop of the
endogenous compound. Our cortex literally hungers for DMT, with specialized cells which
scour and quickly utilize the substance, their only function to bring it across the blood-brain
barrier. I was preparing to flood that sensory system with information...

The cute blonde held the argon lamp in front of me, this time it was filled to the brim
with thick creamy smoke. "THIS one will definitely do it!" Dancer said, confidently.

I found my eyeshades and put them on. "OK! TIme to get serious!"

I exhaled deeply and took the argon mixture in, for the 3rd time. It was a lot! I laid
back onto the floor and began to focus on my deep breathing, adopting a meditative pose as
the flood of sensory information overtook me.

–
Kaleb Smith, MATP

http://www.empathogenesis.com

http://www.subtledensity.com

Synchronistic Opportunities Following White Light Entities’ Visit

(2016-01-17 22:47) - public

Hi Stan,

To answer your question, I’m not sure, specifically, what all of the meaningful opportuni-
ties that have followed the visit from the 3 Finnish white light girls are leading towards. The
opportunities seem to be leading me towards accessing my greater spiritual potential, and to
learn to control/direct this unusual quivering energetic sensation of the chest. But, secondly,
many of the synchronicities arising since I returned from the forest involve community – a
circle of like-minded and receptive people, holding ceremonies, who have welcomed me with
open arms and hearts. There has been a recognition among these people of my unusual
sensitivity, yet their recreational psychedelic use is not at all in line with what I’m attempting
to achieve, my meeting them has led to an influx of powerful and pure psychedelics, for me
to use in any way or context I choose.

As tools, the psychedelics seem to be reopening those spiritual aspects of my self – those
facets that had scared me in the past. While I have not had full-body convulsions, the night
before last I had someone put their hand on my chest to feel the intense quivering that came
with meditation there, as I nearly stopped breathing again; like a high amplitude current that
they were, too, able to close their eyes and allow to spread to their body as they dropped
1901
down into a non-ordinary state with me.

The question of how best to proceed, given all of these new opportunities that the 3 an-
cestral spirit women seem to have arranged, has been in my mind nearly every day. As I
learned in the past, they will set you up with amazing and beautiful synchronistic opportunities,
but it remains my choice to accept them, and utilize them. They will not carry me! These
bizarrely synchronous meetings that have fallen into my lap seem to point to the disciplined
use of psychedelics within a community of spiritually-minded people.

I had two profound experiences in a circle of people this week, and one the week be-
fore. All of them were new, in that some intense vibratory sensation extended down my arms
and into my hands. I began to hyperventilate uncontrollably and could no longer feel my
fingers, this energy in my hands became so strong. Two people stood up and left the room, this
uncontrollably energetic phenomena became so intense. I tried to stop the breath, but it was
so much energy coming up through me, I could not – the momentum of it was overwhelming
and a bit scary.

I recorded the whole ordeal with a microphone, and am trying to keep record as best I
can, but I know that the real next step would be to record the oscillatory aspect of whatever
is happening to my nervous system during these bouts of quivering energy.

Now that I suddenly have access to any and every entheogen, in pure clean form, my
question is which would help me to access this my greater spiritual potential in a safe and
reliable way? What entheogen, and what technique or ceremony surrounding it, is most
effective at a accomplishing those shamanic goals of "learning to see and hear more," and
form a working relationship with spirit in healing, with the least side effects?

That sensory neurotransmitter, DMT, seems to carry the least residual or hangover ef-
fect. Minimal long term ego death, the personality remains mostly intact – assumably,
because it is endogenous, and we have specialized cells designed to carry it across the
blood/brain barrier; neurons which literally hunger for the chemical messenger, and quickly
consume it. Yet, the best way to administer and ritualize the compound are beyond me.

The presence of those 3 young Finnish women of white light is meaningful... Today, this
video randomly appeared and I cried as I watched it:

https://vimeo.com/107562915

Ayahuasca Dogmatism VS Researching Healing Efficacy of Non-Southern

Methods (2016-01-29 20:14) - public

Roan,

I will try to address your email’s points, in turn, as your tone and the points, themselves, seem
to imply you misunderstood or misread my intended message.

I did not intend to minimize the relevance of all indigenous healing, nor to place it toe-to-toe
VS science, as if the two must by diametrically opposed to one-another in an overly-simplistic
black/white fashion. I’m glad your misreading my emails led you to laugh, anyway! For future
1902
reference, pointing and laughing at people’s opinions at academic conferences doesn’t tend
to win you a lot of friends thought. ;)

To say all indigenous healing methods are wholly correct and could not be made more
effective because they are "time tested in nature" is a broad and misleading statement. While
we do have modern anecdotes to rely on, to suggest that the Southern traditions cannot be
improved upon simply because they have been shown to exist for a time is to close off a
whole range of potentialities which an open-minded and curious practitioner may utilize to
improve the quality of his treatment. If we are being honest, the supposed-antiquity of the
ayahuasca ritual in South America has yet to be established definitively; while many claim it
to be thousands of years old, these claims have yet find anthropological support. The dieta,
itself, is post-colonialism – relying on rice brought by the Spanish conquistadors, not native to
the Upper Amazon basin. Regardless, to argue that the old ways will forever be the best ways,
and fight to conserve them from improvement with such vigor, is dogmatic and, like any form
of dogma, only as dangerous as it is inflexible.

In suggesting that the potential of ayahuasca to heal should be studied, and that such
studies may reveal reliable methods of improving the efficacy of that healing, was offensive
to you. Yet, at no point did I imply that the techniques to be tested, compared, and con-
trasted with the Southern traditions were exclusively Western. Specifically, when making
the statement, I was considering the considerably more ancient consciousness modulating
techniques of India, Tibet, or the far East. While there has been precious little research in that
area, anecdotal reports of the phenomenal benefits and extraordinary states-of-consciousness
attained while practicing traditional Hindu or transcendental meditation techniques during
the ayahuasca experience suggest that these advanced methods (originally formed around
the utilization of a far older entheogen, Soma, around 3,100 BC) could, at least in certain
instances or conditions, prove more beneficial than the typical tribal context of the brew.

To create some anti-scientific dogmatic adherence to the hocking of phlem onto bald
spots shows little critical discernment or open-mindedness, or genuine interest in finding the
most effective way of helping people possible. While I am not outright disregarding hocking
lung cookies as a healing modality, my natural skeptic requires I compare the results with
those of a non-goober dripping client.

At any rate, no claims can be made, from any side, about efficacy until more research
has been done. So, to answer your final question, yes, I believe ayahuasca has a long and
meaningful future ahead of it – and that this future is not necessarily bound to the limits of
a single set of tribal cultural customs but, instead, has to potential to extend its climbing
vines outwards into other ranges and manifestations of human civilization and integrate in
potentially meaningful and powerful ways. Is it your intention to restrain this advancement?
If so, why?

-Kaleb

Roan Kaufman
Jan 27 (2 days ago)

to me
Mr. Smith
Your email made me smile. My research has been Indigenous aya
1903
ceremonies as a counter to Western hegemony and your automatic
minimization of the power of Indigenous healing methodologies (time
tested in nature) was laughable. That you would focus on one healing
technique such as using saliva onto a patient’s head as one element of
folk religions and being incompatible within a Western context-versus
including a myriad of other techniques which seem effective and would
be compatible, points to Western hegemony playing out with in
academia, again and again. The bottom line assumption being that as an
academic researcher you could deduct the most effective healing
methods, as opposed to learning from someone expert in such a field.
Perhaps the ayahuasca ceremony in particular is not meant to be
measured within a Western context? Perhaps a different approach to
this tool would work better.

Do you really think that taking the ayahuasca work and conducting it
in a clinical setting will somehow be more effective than within an
Indigenous context–devoid of the ceremony songs, healing techniques,
setting at night, etc?

Sincerely,
Roan Kaufman

________________________________________
Feel free to contact Roan if you are interested in the book or the project.
Stan
________________________________________
From: Roan Kaufman
Sent: Tuesday, January 26, 2016 7:16 AM
To: Stanley Krippner
Subject: Re: to Mr. Krippner from Roan Kaufman re: aya issues

Dear Mr. Krippner

I was really happy when I received the email from you regarding my
book Ayagogy. I had looked into your history when choosing a doctoral
program and have been interested in your career for a long time. I
would love to be in touch with you about my book and other issues
related to academia and plant medicine ceremonies.

As part of my post doctoral research I am looking at how people can

best integrate the experiences of plant medicine ceremonies, and
that’s the focus of my next book. I am also concerned that some
psychotherapists are being trained to be psychedelic "guides" without
proper Indigenous context and having minimal experience themselves.
Partly this points to the "subject-object" orientation of academia. I
have a passing interest in trying to partner with someone to create
more of a holistic certification program for psychedelic guides, more
grounded within an Indigenous framework. I myself have been leading
ayahuasca ceremonies for over a decade, am a musician, also trained
with a shamanic healer for many years etc., and have more of an
experiential learning reference point versus strictly Western academic
1904
research orientation.

I wanted to just open up a dialogue in case you were interested. I

realize you must be very busy, but if this strikes a chord, please let
me know.

Best,
Roan Kaufman

________________________________________
Kaleb Smith
Jan 27 (2 days ago)

to Stanley, bcc: rkaufman, bcc: Joseph, bcc: Richard

Hi Stan,

Thanks for forwarding this. This area of shamanic work with ayahuasca is REALLY taking
off in the past few years – and I agree with him that the "aya tourism" and "shaman for hire"
aspects are real dicey.

I’m not sure if the indigenous framework will prove to be the most effective for inducing
lasting clinical change. This is where research will serve to discern which aspects of the
traditional folk healing aspects are relevant and which are simply extraneous belief system
(hocking loogies onto people’s heads may not be necessary in a hospital setting, for instance.
;)

The genetic/lineage component of the ayahuasca experience seems especially interest-

ing to me – although, while it has been present in every one of my personal experiences,
in talking to others, it seems not everyone has that ancestry aspect come up. Such a wide
range of personalized experiences, its hard to nail down specifics – although, I’ve read some
great articles by Benny Shanon in which he tries to break the aya ritual down into classes of
universal or near-universal subjective experiences.

It was great connecting at the conference, Stan. Some extra-ordinary conversational

territory, as always. ;)

-Kaleb

PS

Someone mentioned an adjunct faculty member from Saybrook who specializes in Nordic
(specifically Sami!) shamanism?? Jurgen Kremer, an older German gentleman? Do you think
he may know more about what sort of things my grandma was up to in Finland?

1905
15.2 March

CLE ELUM LAKE JOURNAL (2016-03-10 14:21) - public

LAKE CLE ELUM – CABIN JOURNAL

02-29-16

Yesterday felt like my goodbye to civilization and, today too, I felt an urge, like some
last-ditch effort to greedily indulge in all those things I will soon no longer be able to enjoy. A
beautiful 24 year old girl came to my room and I devoured her, savored her, as if she were a
last meal, of a sort. It was her birthday, although I was so swept up in the sex and drugs she
brought, I completely forgot to give her her present – a necklace of a black sun (left on my
nightstand by some other girl, from 2 weeks prior.)

03-02-16

The day became a long stretch of doubt and sleep – no communication in or out, only
the thought of it. Finally, I found reason enough to go to town; I needed to call in a refill. Once
I was there, I thought to buy some bananas, as it is important to begin the fast with a healthy
non-inflammatory prebiotic in the stomach, as that is the food that will be sitting, unmoved, in
the gut throughout the extent of the fast.

So I bought bananas. Then I bought a pizza. I drove by the pizza place twice, fighting
the idea, then drove most of the way home and two towns away, in Ronald, WA, called mom.
After that typical stressful call, I drove all the way back, realizing the urge would stay with
me into the next day if I did not satiate it. Shameful business, but THAT was the last ditch
goodbye to food, definitely. Probably.

There’s something bumping and scraping against the house outside. My heart races in
bed as I listen closely. Something heavy sinking into the snow.

“It is as if there were in human consciousness a sense of reality, a feeling of objective presence,
a perception of what we call ‘something there, ‘ more deep and more general than any of the
special and particular ‘senses’ by which the current psychology supposes existent realities to
be originally revealed.”

-William James,

“The Varieties of Religious Experience”– 2nd Ed.,

The Reality of the Unseen (p. 58).

Our evolution through species has been one of continual and stepwise development into
higher and more refined sensory capacities. From our origins of the most rudimentary of
1906
nervous systems, sensing vibrations in the air, as, gradually, the crudest forms of olfaction
and visual organs introduced new dimensions of our surrounding stimulus, to which we had
previously been unable to sense. Seeing this universal and natural pattern, present and active
in all conscious life, the rational biologist is left with the question, “What will be our next
sense?”

The healthy body and mind wait beneath layers of illness and indulgence, the sediment
of years of neglect and poor habits. My brain is genetically susceptible to degradation, and
so the neuronal resiliency attained by fasting is of special importance to me. BDNFs, released
during ketogenesis, not only protect the neurons, while scouring out dangerous amyloid-beta
plaques, but also spur neuronal growth, increasing plasticity.

In other words, stay hungry and sharp! Keep the eyes clear and bright.

03-03-16

In the pines
In the pines
They watch down from the pines
Though you no longer remember

If the stomach is full and busy, then the mind doesn’t like to think.

– German Proverb

“All the vitality and energy I have comes to me because my body is purified by fast-
ing.”

“The light of the world will illuminate within you, when you fast and purify yourself.”

– Gandhi

Ate only bananas and raw spinach/kale today, although I found the spring mix foliage went
down a lot better with a bit of plain yogurt on it, topped with Tabasco, salt, and ground pepper.

Went to Seattle to get drums and refills. I wanted to get as much of the traveling and
busy-ness done as I could, before the weakness of the fast kicks in. Even on this light prebiotic
food, I am noticing some mental clarity and a reduction in pain in the legs, although my back
and legs did hurt all day today.
1907
BIG FAT JOHN HARDLY NOTICED ANYTHING
BIG BAD JOHN HARDLY NOTICED ANYTHING
SWUNG DOWN THAT STONE ON HIS HEAD, AND NOW I SING
BIG BAD JOHN HARDLY NOTICED ANYTHING

THIN METAL RAYS THEY ALL TURN IN LAYERS,

LIKE THE INTRICATE CLOCKWORK OF THE SUN
IF ALL THINGS ARE CONSIDERED, GOD IS LAZY,
JUST RESTING SINCE THAT DAY THAT HE WAS DONE.

AND IF I WERE TO ONE NIGHT CLIMB UP INSIDE IT,

AND HIDE AWAY IN THE GEARS, ALL UNSEEN,
THE CLOSEST ONES TO ME STILL WOULDN’T BUY IT,
BE SEEN, BUT NEVER TELL EM WHERE YOU’VE BEEN.

A grid of living wood stretches into the sky,

Like the wound net of latitude and longitude,
Twisting, branching, and alive with gnarly growth.
Hungry leaves burst from nodes in the network
Reaching out to collect and encode information.
Wavelength specific channels of sunlight,
They rotate and open their satellite fronds for better reception.

Everything is very strange...

I just saw a grown man on a dirt bike, on top of a high hill in a historic cemetery, putting
on his sunglasses dramatically, as he was getting ready to jump the bike – assumably off a
gravestone?

Godspeed to you, Rocketman! You deserve your own episode on one of these surreal
backwoods TV shows about your home.

“Unless you take things to extremes, nobody will believe or pay attention to you.”
–David Bowie

I walked in the national forest today, seeing that, even there, the rich people have their
log cabin getaways lined up along the mountaintops; massive, freshly-built, and mostly
empty. I know this only because I peeked in the windows of several of them, smiling for the
cameras they had mounted in the eaves. And, perhaps, some part of me is simply jealous of
their wastefulness, for the freedoms of seclusion they’ve bought with all that money and its
influence. Yet, the fact that nearly every one of these rustic mansions was abandoned, and
had been for months, led me to suspect they were too busy working to earn that freedom of
seclusion to be able to enjoy it; he probably wouldn’t know what to do with absolute seclusion,
if he truly had it. I sure’s the hell don’t!
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Part of my reasoning for fasting in a mountain cabin was, yes, to overcome the pain
and weakness that has gradually worsened since my meeting Jillian – just over 3 years ago,
now. And, yes, part of me acknowledges a spiritual aspect to my immune condition; the slow
degradation of my state since that first possession experience in 2004. Yet, in truth, some part
of me devised this plan of isolation from society as a device to overcome my own slothfulness;
the logic being that, if I had no Facebook or social interaction to distract me, I would have no
choice but to dive into the obligations, projects, and life goals that have, for years – decades –
taken the backseat to the immediate fulfillment of scrolling through my friends feed, indulging
in that online persona, its vain attention-seeking and petty frienemy bullshit. By cutting the
cord (even the 4G wireless “cord,” that is so difficult to find a place where it doesn’t permeate)
I hoped I might rise from my shameful bedridden condition and, in a state of health, clarity,
vitality, and sensitivity renewed by the deep fasting, would be both standing and in rare form,
as if the fast would allow me to dig down beneath the illness to access the peak self that has
come to be obscured by the affliction.
While all good on paper, putting this scheme into actual practice has proven to be a real
challenge. Fasting remains one of the most difficult feats of self-control I’ve attempted and,
as I fail, again and again, to maintain the empty-bellied resolve through the morning untilI
lay down to sleep at night, I slip up when underslept, stressed, and in town, with all its
down-homey and accommodating restaurants.
Saw a herd of 20 or so elk today, as they crossed the newly paved road and climbed the steep
hill alongside one of the log mansions. Those rich sonsabitches don’t deserve such natural
splendor! From their massive glass fronted living rooms, you can see the whole valley, down
to the mountain lake, glimmering with sunshine, etc., etc….

Tangle your life in with my tangles,

Tangle and tangle, twisting together.
There are no memories forgotten, only hidden,
Beneath layers of change and tangles of language.

It is hard to argue with an hourglass,

Or the hidden life of sand, long dead.
The undersea stories of aeons, forgotten.
Ignored in our boredom, waiting for death.

And what time will our own remnants mark?

Bleached bones of an era, our time in the sun,
Spent indoors playing Nintendo,
Chasing magic mushrooms to make us seem bigger
than we actually are.

3-9-16

Hiked to Lake CleElum yesterday.

Pure Resonance Enacts Change Without Conscious Intention

Last night, I had a dream of utilizing resonance, in the body, to enact powerful change.
It was already a well-established system that I merely modulated electrochemically, by
1909
applying this pure tone to the back of the neck of two women. The modulated information
then manifested in behavior – in this case, an instinctual fight/flight response – of which they
were unconscious and had no memory of later. This resonance-based system was abbreviated
MOTH, although what that stood for is a mystery to me.

This dream, following many sleepless hours in bed, well past 3 AM, trying to meditate,
but coming up against my own fears; the intense residual anxiety that remains after those
traumatic spiritual experiences. Instead of calm deep breathing and focus, I found myself,
again and again, hyperventilating with terror, afraid of letting myself go and surrendering,
completely and fully, to the divine in this cold and isolate place. I have doubts about what
that fully-vulnerable type of meditation may open, especially if I begin to integrate fasting and
ayahuasca!

And night comes again and the day is wasted again, and no amount of isolation can
give me back all the time and youth I’ve lost to my own selfish comforts. Although there’s
something like waiting I once did, believing the time would soon enough be right to say what
needed to be said, and be what I needed to be, this pretention soon fell away, eroded by the
torrent of lost days, until the shameful truth beneath it finally had nothing but my idle hands
to hide it. It is a new kind of waiting that replaced this waiting for the right moment, the
acceptance that the moment will not come, or perhaps was there, but is no longer; the kind
of waiting familiar to the man who stares blankly at the cracks on the ceiling from his hospital
bed, only vaguely aware of the identity of the woman who cleans the shit from his ass, the
woman who kisses him and sits by his bedside. And, yet, this new waiting, for a new right
moment, is filled with fear, just the same. Toiling at chewing, gnawing away at my own brain
through the roof of my mouth, tongue swelled, drooling, incoherent and useless, there is only
one possible moment that could be called “right,” at this point, and I wait for it…

prof_it_e (2016-07-15 18:56:10) Know the Feeling...

"...indulging in that online persona, its vain attention-seeking and petty frienemy bullshit." Damned if
you do... Damned if you don’t?

1910
16. 2017

16.1 July

The Riverbeds of Ancestry (2017-07-10 05:20) - public

Cynicism, Narcissism, Criticism, Realism…

What slow branching inroads of neuronal development, of the thinking patterns which
compose or destroy our personality, can be directed successfully? Especially when the
constant influence of genetic predisposition acts as a track, like an old ancestral riverbed,
long dried over generations, will always carry water most easily during a flood. Those rivers
flowed from this source years ago, before our lifetime, and to the untrained eye, their grown
in form, that fertile riverbed soil made alive with plantlife, can seem as if it never existed. But
the rocks and silt that cut through the forest, beneath the superficiality of underbrush, remain
from a different era, a distant season, where strength from this source defined a branching
path across this landscape. In this way, we can think of ancestral “lands” of the mind, of
territories of human development which are stored in our genetics, by the environment cut
and wielded by the ancient leaders of our lineage. Genetic predisposition can be seen and
felt in our family, as a sort of resonance of conscious experience, a shared set of physical and
subjective traits – cognition, temperament, and sensitivity – which define, to a large degree,
our behavior in and experience of the world.

Genetics and Baseline State of Consciousness

Insofar as temperament and the “cognitive signature” of one’s intelligence are geneti-
cally determined – and we think like our father did, or have a hot temper like our mother – so
our perception of the world can be mapped graphically across 3 dimensions of represented
consciousness, essentially as a landscape of multiple levels, a spectrum of horizons within
which a frequency represents a 4th inward axis, across which the plane in 3 dimensions may
recede or extend outwards across a range of discrete bandwidths. Its this “inward-up” and
“inward-down” axis that defines higher dimensionality in this unseen subtle landscape. The
measure of this subtle energetic range of physical perception can be thought of as the residual
of that physical space – electromagnetically, for instance, our heart and mind radiate in a way
invisible, but which is as much an intimate and distinct physical expression of selfhood as the
signature of our heartbeat, as it follows our mood, or neuronal firing frequencies, enveloping
fields of physical space as we descend through levels of consciousness towards sleep.
So what other metaphors can be used to represent this subtle electromagnetic “residual” self,
and to what degree can this self – this collection of frequencies carried across fields – be mea-
sured to exist distinct from those media? It is safe to say the neuronal oscillations of sense are
a reflection of an external space and that the systems of frequency which are reflected by those
nerve cells continue to exist and radiate within a form even when those cells cease to receive
them. These systems of external space, which exist beyond the physical body as a residual, or
inverse, of it, can be thought to have physical and non-physical facets. That is, the 5 senses
of our body can be thought of as 5 narrow ranges of perception; 5 different perspectives on
the same external field of radiant frequency which cannot limit, but may be immerse within,
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along these 5 receptive channels, to exert control. Yet the infinite multifaceted splendor of the
greater unseen radiance exists beyond us as a single transplendent continua, ever expanding
across greater and greater scales, layers, and media of consciousness.
Enthusiasm: 1) En-theo-siasm, or the state of inspired mediumship experienced as a god en-
tering one’s body. 2) The state which the entheogen induces. What am I to do? The forces that
direct me, the ties that bind me, in what way can I help others? No rest should come during
moments of enthusiasm, instead the potential of the body should be surrendered to the work
fully. And part of that full openness to inspiration is the maintenance and peak fitness of that
body, with an awareness of how appealing one is to the muse in the back of one’s mind each
day. This is the health of devotion, the surrendering of self to the higher power that religious
types talk about. A tired fat body isn’t appealing to anyone and cannot carry enthusiasm as
fully (as it is already so full!) A spiritual practice which utilizes routines of meditation, dietary
restraint, and exercise ensures one is living as a “gracious host” for inspiration. It is lonely
at first, those first two weeks or so in the forest. It is frightening too, the absolute silence at
night in the cold winter, and the various spiritual realms which may be allowed to slowly reveal
themselves from beneath that quiet, as if the fish swimming around near your feet are not
visible until the surface of their water becomes calm and quieted. The unseen realm beneath
the water, in that case, cannot be perceive until we calm ourselves and our surroundings and,
once stilled, peer into the boundary of their world. At that point, the loneliness evaporates in
the light and companionship of this realm of spirit alongside our own – the fish that had been
swimming alongside our trudging feet the whole time! The ability to see and even capture
these lifeforms of the lower world is how our species came to evolve and gravitate along the
boundary of the ocean from which we once crawled, ourselves. In imagining these ancient
selves as they extend back, and being an identity within those forms, as we once were, the
many environments we have evolved through can be related along a single unifying theme:
GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT!

16.2 August

Practicum at Western State Hospital - Check In 1 (2017-08-10 13:44) - public

Hello All,
Good to see some familiar faces in here. I am currently doing a (paid!) practicum at Western
State Hospital – the oldest and largest mental health facility West of the Mississippi. I do
group and 1:1 engagements with about 40 long term stay patients, divided between two
wards. Ward E8 is considered geriatric (aged 50+) with severe cognitive deficits. Ward E2 is a
maximum security "lockdown" ward, for the criminally insane – some murderers, rapists, and
other violent offenders, many of whom have traumatic brain injuries.

Ward E8 is especially challenging, as many of these folks are severely limited, non-verbal, or
vegetative. This is referred to as "The Screamers" ward, because these clients tend to wail
and howl for hours – once one starts, two others often join in. 10 hours of screaming does
something to a person’s nerves!

My role is to get resistent clients participating in active treatment, yet as many are in
severe pain or not able to walk, while others are not able to speak, I am not sure how to
engage with them therapeutically. I have discovered MUSIC is incredibly powerful for these
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older folks. I aim for classic songs from when they were high school age, their prom songs.
Roy Orbison, The Everly Brothers, Elvis, The Platters, etc. One Roy Orbison song struck
such a chord with these vegetative clients I’d been trying to get through to that 4 of them
started crying, all at once. I got a bit afraid, that I was making the entire ward cry! But...it
was something. It was emoting, perhaps triggering memories of when they were young and
beautiful, functional and in love.

I’ve started trying other ways to get through to these patients, including rhythm, read-
ing, and art, but I’m really in the dark about how to make any difference at all. With the high
functioning violent criminals, I’ve started group psychotherapy, two hours every morning, but
Yalom explicitly states that the paranoid schizophrenic, developmentally disabled/TBI, and
violent are NOT suitable for psychotherapy groups. So, I’m not sure where to move forward
with them, either – looking for some generic goals-based program or workbook, perhaps. The
WRAP(c) system of Copeland was recently recommended.

I’d felt there was something kind of romantic about the idea of working at the old 1800s
state asylum, but I quickly realized that the state institution is really the end of the line – no
other facility will take these violent patients, or, in many cases, they are so difficult, their
personalities so toxic, that no one in their life, including their families, want anything to
do with them. It is very challenging and sometimes, when 3 or 4 are screaming and fever-
ishly "in your face" attention seeking from all sides, I just need to go into the bathroom and
hide, close my eyes, and try to find a moment’s respite, because it’s absolutely overwhelming.

Haha. Was that TMI? Any advice/direction would be appreciated!

Shamanic Journeying: Reliable Techniques and Genetic Predispositions

(2017-08-21 14:33) - public

Masking audio can become much more than canceling out the sounds from your environment,
hiding from distraction. Instead, a constant tone can become the object of one’s focus, cancel-
ing out all distracting thoughts like it does the surrounding distracting sounds. When the pure
tone is allowed to resonate through the mind’s inner voice and, in doing so, begin to resonate
through the body as a felt electromagnetic resonance existing as a vibrant field which can
be focused and spread throughout one’s nervous system as a measurable oscillatory pattern
of action potential firing rates spreading throughout the network of nerve cells, a significant
meditative state is attainable, whereby global coherence, a rarified brainwave signature
existing as synchrony between the right and left hemispheres, is possible. This entrainment of
various parts of the cortex has been measured in Alpha, Theta, and even Gamma bandwidths
during either psychedelic or exceptional meditative states. The expert meditator monks whose
eeg rhythms were measured revealed that, even within the same sect and daily environment
and meditative routine, dramatic differences can still exist between individuals. Although
outwardly appearing to submit to the same practice, identically, the inward subjective state
of experiencing that practice varies significantly, shown in the measured EEG. That is to
say, some monks achieve the rarified global coherence state, while others simply are “going
through the motions” for decades, not achieving the state of unitive consciousness, or at least
not reliably. It may seem an oversimplification of that profound unitive state of consciousness
but when the auditory perceptual areas of the brain fall into direct resonant synchrony with
the language and visual perceptive areas and, further still, with the motor and physiocentral
nerve net of the body, with breath calmed and extended along the long meditative exhale
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of a tone, it makes sense that those discrete areas of the brain are existing in measurable
harmony with one another. Finding the distinction between these two meditators, the outward
and inward practitioner, if you will, would help to fine tune the given practice, in their case
Buddhist contemplative meditation, new or more specifically-directed meditative practices
or aids could be utilized to help the outward meditator “going through the motions” without
subjective result, to get the gist of “dropping in” and begin to see significant and measurable
results, the signature of the unitive state of consciousness.

Ayahuasca is reported to induce global coherence in measured full-array EEGs. Gamma

was shown to spread across the cortex for long periods of time, an anomalous recording of
this rarified high frequency electrochemical phenomena. Finding a reliably replicable means
of inducing such an exceptional state of consciousness may involve utilizing ayahuasca in a
specifically prescribed way, or under distinctly defined subjective or environmental conditions.
The most probable of these will be the given “set” of a single gifted subject – that is a
within-subject design focusing on the specific exceptional response of an expert meditator or
shaman. The tendency towards a specific and potentially rare discrete state of consciousness
is most likely highly genetically determined, at least insofar as temperament, schizophrenia,
mathematical ability, and Alzheimer’s disease are approximately ¾ genetically determined,
so one’s tendency towards extended hypnagogic visionary states or hypersensitive lowered
Latent Inhibition (LI) baselines. It’s likely that the exceptional states of consciousness are
so numerous and distinct among the countless points along the greater spectrum of con-
sciousness, mapping them will likely involve mapping certain individuals’ response to the
practice or entheogen and eventually, over longitudinally extended data collection periods,
the mapping of certain lineages of will form across the graphical representation of measured
frequency, in swells of expression rising from the bandwidths. Temperament and IQ could
easily be mapped alongside these genetically signature brainwave states and characteristic
responses shared between father and son. I think, largely, in a way similar to my father and
have the same distinct way of organizing and expressing information, shown in our similar
mathematical ability, conservative tendencies, and somewhat “spacey” latency in speech. I
would be predisposed to these characteristics of speech and mathematic ability even if I’d
never met the man, in the same way I was genetically predetermined to share his high IQ
and highly restrained emotionality. And, while perhaps a controversial topic politically, these
genetic traits I share with my father he also shared with his, back down the Nordqvist line, to
represent what is the typical “Icy Analytical Nervous Swede” stereotype.

What could be said of my mother’s side, and the ancient Viking myths concerning the
Finlander? Their ancestry is distinct from the Scandinavian, my grandfather always claiming
we were the descendants of Genghis Kahn. Spiritual, the “forest Finns” were reclusive and
lived in silent solitude. “Finngerd” is the Old Norse term for sorcery or magic. It translates
to “the Finn’s work,” giving some hint for their genetic tendency towards hypersensitivity
and spirituality. It was the land of wizards, the Kalevala accounting ancient shamans or
“noaides” who could induce out of body experiences, or “night flights” at will, having massive
battles in the sky. The young buck challenges Gandalf in one of the most famous stories of
the Kalevala. He is put to task by the old man, as it should be! Gandalf is, of course, the
Anglicized name for Väinämöinen , the greatest Finnish shaman of them all. To think of how
those oral traditions of his powers changed over those centuries. It is hard to imagine the
fluid and ever-changing nature of an oral tradition, which morphs and evolves with the culture
and time that carry it, over rise and fall of within the lifetimes of countless storytellers. The
oldest Bibles, on the other hand, written in Aramaic, have not changed in their wording or
meaning, only physically degraded its medium over centuries. The Apocryphal stories of Jesus
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Christ are largely unchanged in their message, with only slight interpretive accents or shifts
added with each subsequent translation. On the other hand, we can assume whole legacies
were lost with the end of certain lines of storytellers, or the death of key figures who had no
capable or willing successor. The omissions and the mystery of that unwritten Finnish heritage
add to the mystery of the Northern peoples and cultures. The Sami were known to have the
most potent of shamanic techniques and abilities, but existed distinct and isolated from the
Suomi. Yet, along the borders where these two tribes met, there was the adoption of Sami
shamanic knowledge and culture by the Suomi healers. One such border town, where the
Suomi met the Sami, was Suommusami, the birthplace and lifelong home of my grandmother,
who practiced these shamanic techniques and shared these spiritual predispositions of the
forest Finns. This is an aspect of my cognitive signature as well as my baseline state of
consciousness which is genetically determined. In what way can this shamanic or spiritual
aspect of my ancestry be measured psychophysiologically? It is difficult to determine without
measuring the response of my grandmother, I suppose, yet if grandma had it, and I have it,
then it was transmitted through my mother, who logically would also carry the characteristic
trait, be it perceptual, cognitive, or electroencephalographic. I have her eyes and her voice,
her sense of rhythm, this shamanic tendency towards hypersensitive states could just as well
be as genetic, or even intimately tied, to her genetic predisposition towards schizophrenia.
The markers or this genetic type are clearly established, and with greater specificity each
day, as further understandings of the methylation of genes and the epigenetic switches
which dictate their expression come to light. I don’t pretend to understand the multitudinous
environmental influences that dictate that activation of a given gene’s potential, I have
experienced ayahuasca to activate potentials within my makeup that are clearly genetic in
origin. These are phenomenal experiences that, in some cases, altered my understanding
of nature irreversibly and in a revelatory way. I came to understand the profound extent to
which genetic code permeates the natural world, both its visible and invisible ranges. The
extent and outlying straining I undertook to rationalize these exceptional experiences I invite
any other person to explain in another way, although my analysis and stepwise deduction
of these observed phenomena has been as rigorous and conservatively skeptical as I could
rationally allow without doubting the legitimacy of my own perceptions. The whole of visual
awareness, I came to understand, was not bound to the limits of the visible spectrum. Rather,
there are ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum which, similarly, can carry the modulatory
information of conscious experience, to which we become receptive upon entering a discrete
state of consciousness. These are State-Dependent Perceptions.

Psychophysiology of Mediumship (2017-08-21 14:48) - public

Music: Cluster & Brian Eno - Schone Hande | Powered by Last.fm

Waterfall Recording – Roaring White Noise As Medium For Mediumistic / EVP Type Phenomena

I really regret not being present for your Ganzfeld experiment, Robbie. That whole area
of audio/consciousness research is really ripe for solid research, the EEG stuff I was doing at
Stanford is just the beginning of audiovisual psychophysical modulation. I guess that’s what
you’d call it – working in a visual component to the audio to induce specific emotions, states
of consciousness, with a handful of those states being measurable as a specific brainwave
signature. For a long time, I focused only on the frequency of the brainwaves measured, but
I’ve realized certain states, like exceptional meditative states, are also about a temporal com-
ponent: how long can a given frequency, of a given cortical field, be held and maintained. The
expert Buddhist meditator study I read mentioned global coherence of Alpha, which suggests
1915
the powerful transcendental state of consciousness described by those most effective of the
monk meditators were experiencing a rarified “full brain” state of oscillatory entrainment, with
multiple functional areas of the cortex acting in tonal unison within that 10 to 12 Hz frequency
range.

I think back to my own most powerful meditative experiences, when I was practicing of-
ten all night and having profound spiritual interactions, white light, and the unambiguous
sensation of ascension preceding full open-eyed visions. I would feel as if the tone of my
exhale was filling my entire body and visual field, resonating through my chest as a pure
quivering vibrant nervous energy.

The Psychophysiology of Shamanic Enthusiasm

–Quivering chest (which may lead to full-body convulsions)

–Tautness of musculature
–Shivering, Leading to Mediumistic Seizure
–Hyperventilation
–Exceptional Galvanic Skin Conductance ?
–Empathic Breathing Between Those In Immediate Presence
–

Chemical Analysis of Ayahuasca Brew – MAOI/DMT Composition

UDV Information, Documentation, Gospels – Printed and On Hand

–For reasons of confidentiality, the names, dates, and locations of the ceremonies held
by this branch made anonymous or kept private.

–Exceptional psychophysiological responses are likely during the ceremony. These may
be unique to certain “gifted” individuals, whose specific biological, genetic, or electrochemical
makeup predispose them to a specific state, represented in various measures during the
ceremony.

–“Gifted” Meditators May Warrant Further Investigation, for the possibility of replication
across multiple trials of a within-subject design.

Independent Study with Richard Sherman, for direction on which equipment is best (and
which equipment would be adequate!)

Will,

Budget For Turning Barn Into Pacific Research Institute.

–Each Room Dedicated to Different Facet of Consciousness Research

(Float Tank Downstairs, Sleep Study Downstairs, Meditation/Ayahuasca EEG Lab Upstairs.)

–Mobile EEG, EKG, GSR, Breath Rate, EMG

–Transcribe Jean Millay Mediumship Session 1 and 2 (2008) from William James Center
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–Reach out to Dr. Charles Grob of UCLA and Dr. Garcia (mystical experiences lab) of
Johns-Hopkins.

The UDV

The coursing of divinity can be experienced as activation of the nervous system, mea-
surable as action potential oscillation frequencies sof a signature spreading throughout
regions of not only the cortex but of the body. Of special interest in these signature states
should be points extending along the central axis of the CNS, the spinal cord. These points of
oscillatory activation to focus on may coordinate with the chakras, or may at least be informed
by that detailed Indian system of energetic centers of the body until formal measurement can
draft a more accurate map.

Healthful living is a facet of spiritual practice and once a certain daily routine is devel-
oped with reliable consistency, things like diet, exercise, levels of energy, focus, libido, and
stress, temperament, social behaviors – all these things simply fall into a alignment without
much conscious effort on the part of the practitioner.

Identity

The Radiant Map of Human Consciousness exists as a spectrum of bandwidths extend-

ing outwards in every direction from a centermost point of radiance. We consciously exist
within distinct electromagnetic regions and subregions of this sphere of many concentric
layers, best conceptualized as discrete densities, akin to the measurable densities of matter
surrounding the centermost point of our own Earth (i.e., ionosphere, air, water, sand, stone,
iron), each subsequent band denser and heavier than the medium above it.

Confessionals, Inspired Hymns, Sami Yoiking/Finnish Laments

The capturing of enthusiastic and mediumistic states, as audio and or video, to be later
transcribed and studied for anomalies or for direction and potential repetition, as hymnal.

A Collective Acknowledgement and Utilization of Individual Strengths, with natural tal-

ents and aptitudes being discovered and encouraged to flourish, provides a meaningful
purpose and identity to a life. It is never fully honest to tell a child “You can be anything you
want when you grow up,” was it? That is to say our culture supports an unrealistic and skewed
conception of human nature, where natural predispositions and affinities are deemphasized or
suppressed from social acknowledgement, despite the fact that some people (like their mother
or father before them) are naturally good at running or think, much like their father did, in a
way which lends itself to expression by mathematics or have the “gift of gab” like their mother
did, or are “hot blooded” like their dad was, or etc., etc. These natural tendencies, in many
cases, are largely genetic and are not always beneficent, as in the genes which predispose an
individual to schizophrenia or Alzheimer’s disease.

Imperfections can no longer be smoothed away from the memory of a person by time,
or the retelling of their story. To imagine the acne of Jesus Christ, the awkwardness of his
1917
first sexual experience, the regrets he brought to bed with him at night. Over generations of
storytelling, men become myths and scirty becomes sruti.

In what way can the modern shaman serve humanity?

We have found the game and fenced them in. We no longer rely on the weather to wa-
ter our crops. Illness is understood and controlled biologically, using advanced surgery
and medicine. These niches of need once filled by the role of the shaman no longer have
vacancies. But is there not some non-ordinary range of information we could derive benefit
from as a society? In its current form, civilization presents as inflamed and out of balance,
having seemingly lost access to some centermost self-truths, becoming engaged instead in a
gluttony of the senses, gorging ourselves on media until our attention span cannot carry even
simple face-to-face conversations without tangents of loose association and pings of impulse
to check one’s phone every few minutes.

The yoga widely known in the West is based on hatha yoga, which forms one aspect of the
ancient Hindu system of religious and ascetic observance and meditation, the highest form of
which is raja yoga and the ultimate aim of which is spiritual purification and self-understanding
leading to samadhi or union with the divine.

Yoga means Union. It was once much more than stretching and body postures for attaining
rock hard abs. It was even much more than the daily practice of meditation and breath control
for health and relaxation. It was a method of attaining union with the divine and cleansing
one’s self of all that does not serve this highest of goals. The scale of this ascent, in yoga’s
raja branch, extended beyond the limits of the physical body to encompass the soul and its
countless lifetimes.

The Death Note and The Scruti Note

Series of Storytelling Sessions, Interviewed on Video

Insofar as we can know that thoughts associate to one another, we can assert that semantic
priming is a literal branching network, a distinctly individualized electromagnetic terrain inher-
ent in our biology. A map is simply a photograph from a perspective of height. To say the map
is not the territory when that degree of resolution and accuracy has been attained, is a lie. The
territory is seen to exist as such from anyone observing and experiencing it physically from
that great height. Suddenly our home, our yard, the few square miles we tend to inhabit in
1918
a day, our town, our state, our hemisphere, the weather patterns we see spiraling in systems
of scales we could not previously perceive – all of this is seen as it truly is, continuing more
or less the same despite our being, all at once, outside of it looking in. The map is the terri-
tory in this case of hypothetically riding a satellite, looking down from behind powerful sets of
lenses. This is the appeal of the drone camera, to be able to simply ascend above that limited
grounded view and see the world one seems to know so well from an entirely new and literally
transcendent perspective, that birds-eye view which the shaman is said to have enjoyed in
his ecstatic night flights, ascending up and out of his body to fly through the sky, searching
for game. These ancient beliefs are, of course, to be greeted with healthy skepticism, but the
fact that the accounts of these and other exceptional human experiences exist at the roots
of nearly every culture of the world suggest these experiences, whatever they may be, repre-
sent something existing beyond culture, or rather something centrally human beneath cultural
differentiation. Universals.

“The great wisdom traditions (such as Christian mysticism, Vedanta Hinduism, Vajrayana Bud-
dhism, and Jewish Kabbalah) maintain that the 3
natural states
of consciousness—waking, dreaming, and deep formless sleep—actually contain a treasure
trove of spiritual wisdom and spiritual awakening . . . if we know how to use them correctly”
(Wilber, 2009, p. 8).

The treasure trove of spiritual wisdom and “awakening” exist inbetween sleeping and waking,
in the ranges of consciousness known as hypnagogia. We think of dreaming as less “real”
than sleep, but the reality of certain non-ordinary perceptual states can be confirmed, in
some cases, and the states of consciousness they are bound to can be induced reliably, in a
controlled way, by a masterful meditator.

The strengths of the masterful meditator are much like the strengths of a masterful weight
lifter, whose dedicated daily practice has allowed him or her to carry immense and heavy
things without tiring. Likewise, the dedicated daily practice of the expert meditator allows him
or her to carry and hold immense states of consciousness. The thoughts from those states can
certainly be heavy! But he is able to hold them, in all their extended expanse of associations,
like carrying a whole tree, branches and all, in state of meditative focus. He may ascend or
descend that tree, but the delivery of its immense systems of roots and branches via words
and behavior is his duty and his artistry.

(2017-08-28 20:58) - public

Interesting Happening:

Right after I finished drafting that UDV/aya research design, I rented a car and just started
tooling around Big Sur. I discovered a dirt road and had nothing going on, so I decided to go
1919
to the end of it. It was in the middle of the San Padres national forest. The map mentioned
hot springs, so I was hoping there would be a state park back there somewhere with access.

This dirt road got insane! It went up and then down an actual mountain, with huge rocks that
my little Nissan economy rental car really should never have been navigating over. But after
an hour and a half of this, I reached the end of the road – it was a goddamned monastery!
Right there, in the middle of the deep woods... I got out and saw all these bald monks decked
out in black, ringing a big iron bell. Very surreal.

I walked through the gate, it was a Zen Buddhist monastery. I was trying to pretend like I
belonged there, but it was hard in dusty cargo shorts to pass as anything other than what I
was. But it was getting dark and there was no way I was tackling that 15 mile ascent up the
mountain again... So I went to the head monk and asked (begged) for a bed. They had one,
luckily....

But here’s where it gets interesting... at the end of this long dirt road in the middle of nowhere,
I met a man named Cody Swift, who knew you and Alicia. This was very interesting to me, he
knew all about MAPS too. Like some missing link to our little circle. And the more I told him
about my new ayhauasca UDV study, the more interested he became. ...only in our talking
the following day did I realize Cody Swift is the current manager of the Heffter Institute! What
the fuck???

Ayahuasca orchestrates these astronomically improbably coincidences, I swear! I don’t

remember if I’ve told you some of the other similar synchronicities its manifested, but I can’t
help but think my meeting him and this big UDV psychophysiology study JUST being initiated
were simply random. He said he was actually a member of the UDV, in Seattle! Just wild...

Do you know him very well? He seems real sharp and together and said our meeting in the
middle of the woods was "fortuitous."

Mannn...When things around us are being orchestrated, we can’t get lost in the awe – we just
need to take a breath and trust the conductor! ;)

UDV Case Study – Gifted Subject EMG (2017-08-30 01:41) - public

Hello. My name is Kaleb Smith. I have a background in Transpersonal psychology through ITP
in Palo Alto, CA. I am hoping to study cult members of the UDV who participate in a ceremony
utilizing the potent psychoactive brew ayahuasca in a syncretic Catholic/Amazonian shamanic
context. This ancient medicine of the Amazon induces unique and measurable electrochemical
phenomena within the nervous system of the practicing member of the church during the
1920
ceremony, which I hope to measure using an EMG machine.

I expect that, given the highly personalized response to this unique medicine, that some partic-
ipants will have an exceptional spiritual experience, manifesting as extreme semi-convulsive
meditative states, believed by the members of the church to represent mediumship-type
phenomena. These "gifted" participants will be the focus of my study, as their response to the
drug is so much rarer and more profound. There may only be one such "gifted" participant,
who I would be appropriate for a more in-depth case study, perhaps delving into the personal
history as well as family history of such exceptional human experiences, the latter suggesting
a possible genetic predisposition related to his/her lineage – a common belief in the Brazillian
shamanic culture from which the UDV cult derives much of its practice.

The brew, itself, contains a unique sensory neurotransmitter called dimethyltryptamine, which
is endogenous. Produced naturally within the human body, this neurotransmitter is believed
to be released from the light sensitive pineal gland, although some research has found it to
be produced and released in significant concentrations by the lungs, during deep breathing
meditative exercises. It has been measured in higher concentrations in the blood streams of
schizophrenics. Strassman (1996) has hypothesized that this endogenous compound, which
he terms the "spirit molecule," is released naturally during birth, death, and childbirth –
essentially governing the transition into and out of life. When drinking the compound in the
middle of life, it makes sense that the Amazonian shamans have traditionally referred to the
ayahuasca experience as the "small" or "mini death."

Dissertation tangents aside, I work as a therapist at Western State Hospital, a mental hospital
in Tacoma, WA. Having completed my practicum requirements for licensure, I look forward to
being able to devote my full attention to research and a worthwhile proposal that explores this
largely untouched area of consciousness science. "New territory," if one views this greater
range of human potential as an ancient cartographer might have.

I am available most evenings, after 7 PM (Pacific Time).

16.3 October

Moleskin Backup - Europe 2017 (2017-10-23 22:55) - public

Music: Holosync - 01 CD #1 The Dive | Powered by Last.fm

No Escape!
-ism, ism, schism
within yourself, outside yourself.

From yourself, no matter what it is, sit with yourself and the quiet truthes He’s present-
ing. Surface and depth create oscillating forms of escape – the need to stand, the need to…
1921
The discontent of the moment driving you away from yourself, from the long resonant
exale.

There’s a space at the end of the exhale where you can just sit, enclosed and protected
as if under a tree. There the quivering resonance can be felt, sometimes with the hand over
the heart.

You were wanting me to be enthusiastic

…I just was.

Engage in playful self-deflation, making fun of your self and the inflexibility your find de-
veloping inevitably with socialization. Ego.

Quivering Heart

Meditating a long charged exhale into a hug, Will says “I could feel you lifting me up –
maybe that’s what it means to be high.”

“Yea, that’s kinda what it’s all about – ascending.”

opens intentioned tea bag
It reads “Lift People Up To Their Potential And Higher Self.”

When people tell me they dreamt of their own death, I tell them how jealous I am!

It means such a deep and all encompassing change is about to take place, it can only
be represented by the death of your self.

That was two hits – most people don’t get THAT high. Its not the dose or the strain that
gets us there. How high do we ALLOW ourselves to be? Exhales the pot further out and further
up.

Divinity’s Return — Big Sur 082017

A noose of a man regards his knots.

The dangerous instrument his contradictions make him

INTERVIEW SERIES

"Get High and Tell Me The Most Powerful Story of Your Life"
-Cross-Country Strangers, Hippie Bus, Conferences, Homeless.

"I do not consent to unwarranted searches or seizures."

-Saved My Life

IM Lewis Text should be required reading in Shamanism course (Krippner)

"I have a loaded gun. Step away from the tent slowly."
(Repeat Louder)
1922
* Scream Deeply *

Fasting down the remnants of my bananas, spinach, sunflower seeds and walnuts over
several days, I ready the system for a fast. Already I can feel the clarity in my chest and
thinking. I see it in my eyes, which are visibly clearer.

UDV – North American Branch

· Hymns to Native Language (Nobody knows Portuguese!)

· Hymns of a Universal language, one conveying pure tonality as an internal light

· “Sound becomes light…in ‘The Higher Frequencies”’

· Wears White, Gender Separation

· (Similarities / Differences from Santo Daime)

o Bia Labate Contact

o Meditations over Hymns

o Find Cali Chapter and Join

The truth must be experienced, it cannot be conceptualized from the baseline state of
consciousness. It is a State-Dependent Perception.

What is RE-SPECT but to give a 2nd look?

…and is every person deserving of a 2nd look?

Standing outside my bedroom window sucking on a scissor blade

MILLER’S LODGE 8-22-17

Grandfather curled up into a tote case to be brought onto the boat and surprise our
friends, the students. The rolling waves rose and fell, easily 80 foot swells. When I finally
opened the Tupperware tote, Grandpa was dead – or was he?? Slumped over, not moving,
crumpled into a ball, I heard breathing!

Two Chinese students, Zeng Hong and Helen, are jealous for my attention.

Talking points prick and smart, leaving an impression and a wariness. That feeling out-
lasts the words and their meaning, the uneasiness of encountering dis-ese; the warmth and
acceptance of ease, in its effortless rapport. Socialites in their natural habitat, warbling wit
and good humour, pleasant anecdotes and thoughtful quotations. And we will desire their
1923
company, these conversationalists and think fondly of them and what they said after parting.
What remains of the Western Mind? What else matters beyond society? The identity beneath
words strains for air, for breath between the words.

ITC CONFERENCE – PRAGUE 9-30-17

Con-Front, face to face

Defensiveness. Say “I’m sorry.” But don’t mean it. Say “thank You” but don’t mean it. Be
dishonest to people. (Notes from Hawaiian Spirituality Lecture)

Luna Readings:
Rafael Karsten (1874-1956) - Swedish/Finnish scholar in Yage

Shaman and The Jaguar – 2600 BC Cat/Man Art

Drums and Singing Illegal in Scandinavia till the 1960s.

Aya, in a native context, is not for visions, but to clarify the mind and strengthen the
body.

Saint Olaf chopped down the Sacred Trees of the Old Gods.

Brilliant Green, Language of Plants, Intelligence In Nature (3 books)

Whitney Streiber and Jeffrey Pripal – Super Natural

Reijo Pentikainen – Kalevala

CHARLES BRIDGE – PRAGUE 10-02-17

In all the world’s words’ worling worlds, the only true scarcity is time. In its scales, the
day’s light refined and lost, and the forms of perverse beauty that may be composed of
doubt, girdered by a frame of narcissism, an empty pride remaining without substance,
colored by aged and obscured delusions. In our nature, the architect of such shadows are
bred and, in their decadence, the pain of our final days is quietly caged. In such a magni-
tude, a man cannot speak. He can only stare, vacant, as if reeling inwards, head over heels, in.

NO one feels they belong here, truly. Belonging where you could close your eyes and
trust everyone around you, in full vulnerability.

What can be felt in the air? An emotional shift? A meditative ascent?

Chocolate, Beer, Fried Cheese and Pork – “Fucking Up My Liiife” (To the melody of “Satellite of
Love”

BUDDAPEST -> VIENNA

SO much QUALITY, rich and emotive sculptures of stone, faces – angels, cherubs, and
1924
demons – emerging from the ornate facades of nearly every building. Overwhelming to
imagine the lifetimes spent carving such beautiful sculptures. The European is desensitized
to such quality craftsmanship, the life work of long dead masters is commonplace to them.

Promises, Stewing Resentment “All you care about is money!”

“How much money do you need me to give you? When will you be content?”

[What is so disgusting about the filthy rich? Taking in so much more than they need,
like the morbidly obsese, who continues to consume and consume, insatiably, taking all and
greedily taking more, despite the disease and pain he feels and the hunger of those around
him he sees. Is this “Hungry Man” hungry out of habit, boredom, or greed?]

10-10-17

To where? A thousand faces emerge to distract me from my angels. My messages faces the
longer it goes unspoken, unwritten, unlived. My spiritual life suffers in a traditional relationship
– I can only imagine how difficult solitary meditative prayer would become in a family home.

Dharma: Social Obligation.

What is the benefit of a spiritual life? It keeps me healthy, but can I be a healer? In this
lifetime, I have wasted so much time and talent. Gifts thrown away! To obsess about their loss
is an endless rabbit hole to hell.

To think of alcoholism and shame and rage – Genetic! Genetic Path, genes pull and
guide. The thoughts I have are genes expressing themselves through me.

A small man, dark, bald, and hairy, with beady eyes and fat sausage fingers, forcing himself
through the crowd, impatient with a proud domineering sort of greed to his gait. He is so small.

Vienna – 10-14-17

There are few things as detrimental to the soul as comfort. The sedentary lifestyle ages
the body and mind prematurely.

Surrounded by empty chairs I want to close my eyes to the world. What is the atten-
tiveness of a fire? The brightness of one’s eyes that draws us in? There is a gravity there, in
that concentrated volume of attention. The density of that state of consciousness tugs our
own attention towards, with the current of that vacuum.

Surrounded by empty chairs, obsessed with ignoring myself, with avoiding this moment.
By hook or by crook, I will!

Eurorack Sampling Modules

- Granular
- Other Manipulations
- Sequencing Easy/Patterns

Other pains, the pressure of being alive compressing me like a decrepit frame into a dia-
mond.
1925
Reverberating drips in Subterranean cave cathedrals condensation, mineral rich waters
flowing in hidden deep Earth currents. I descend in the quiet night to inhabit this foreign place,
listen to its warm geothermal currents, the energy from within finding steady release.

Fears of capable intelligent people, tired of hiding, the degradation of years gives more
and more to hide.

Cutting ties to the material excess and individuation of my culture is, of course, the
most individualistic thing I could set out to do, rugged and determined to stake my claim over
these ancient territories, the abandoned churches of forgotten gods. Primal rhythmic trance
states are a door, one which we may go through and one which others may COME through.
My body feels so heavy, so much body to come out through!

Play the Lesser Trickster for a dog to know his place. When domesticated, the hyena stopped
laughing. Alpha Master and the strength of the Fatherland. Dominant, where the Motherland
was simply Loved. Place me away, leave me to my ghosts. In their mastery, their taming, I
have purpose and power. If I continue to ignore them, I know this illness will overtake me,
leaving me disabled and broken. The semblance of an organized and productive career trajec-
tory crosses dangerous and unexplored regions of natural subtle ecosystems of conscious life.

Take the frame, expansive net of bullshit, faded memories, fragments of drems. What
changes the mind of collage, of last dance scraps collected with intention? The composition of
self image, too, is a patchwork of moments, impressions retained. The jacket makes the man,
the face which can no longer hide its secret indulgences. By 30, everyone has the face they
deserve! The face that defeats itself, pained with that distinct shameful wince of self-imposed
suffering.

Taste Test the Dreamer’s Best in Tamer Times and Drabber Dress

Vienna Art Museum – Rubens – 10-18-17

The Perils of indulgence are an ancient and universal theme, a story of warning. A painting
of sickness and ingornace, the fat drunken king is the ultimate fool. Self restraint, the slaying
of carnal animalistic instinct, is a solitary fight, a triumph achieved without fanfare. These
most significant of battles are not done for fame or pride, but to acces one’s greatest potential.

All the beauty spent on vanity and the extravagance of competition. What great monu-
ments of culture and human achievement would not exist if the powerful were content?
Beauty as a display of power, dominance expressed in the artistry of one’s dominion. Pride is
a force which elevates civilization in these instances. The Emperor of Austria wished to show
the extent of his wealth and power to his rivals, in that same way all men tend to do.

10-23-17

Stave off the results, inevitable and unsurprising. Exacerbate, Medicate, Repeat. This is
how we socialize. This is how we survive our suicide. Is there contentment in solitude? And,
if so, how long can it last before feelings of worth and questions of purpose come to mind?
How can you counsel and listen to the thoughts of others if you cannot meditate in pease with
YOUR OWN thoughts?
1926
Ache the illness of a culture, disguised as a medicine, disjointed history converging, de-
stroying one-another in the frantic sale. Some kind of slick smooth jazz bullshit as the prim
blonde mothers climb out of their skin, tearing at each other’s eyes, shrieking in German 10
kinds of bacon, pouring mugs of beer into naked faces. Please, just let me watch.

In a word, in a call, in a face I cannot forget. In a pain that still resonates, the deep cut-
ting insult that remains long after the relationship has ended.

From the other side of the world, you are making me miserable. Pushing me away when I’m
already so far!

My body rejects this world, hastening my leaving it. I’m the silent talk of an invisible
town. 15 minutes of fame in the afterworld has only our aging for reference. Celebrity lasts
many lifetimes, but rises and falls across them just the same. The celebrity of that side is
generally reflected in solitary anonymity on this side

I ache enough for everyone.

Forget it.

“You don’t have time in your life…For false advertising.”

His wife turns around in her chair completely to look at me. Where can I hide? For al
lifetime or two? Nestled deep into a tired lineage where I can rest for a time.

1927
1928
17. 2018

State Specific Perceptions? - Dr. Charles Tart (2018-10-30 03:18) - public

Music: Holosync - 01 CD #1 The Dive | Powered by Last.fm

State Specific Perceptions?

Inbox

Kaleb Smith
< turboswami@gmail.com >

Nov 16, 2012, 2:06 PM

1929
to Charles

Hi Charlie,
I’ve been thinking more of states of consciousness lately. Do you feel certain perceptions may
depend on a certain SoC before they can take place?
Say someone in a Hypervigilant state of consciousness may see and perceive things that
the the typical
person does not?

Just thinking, and would love to hear your thoughts,

-Kaleb
–
Prove it with a wink.

[1] http://www.subtledensity.com
...

[Message clipped] [2] View entire message

1930
Charles T. Tart
< cttart@ucdavis.edu >

Nov 16, 2012, 3:31 PM

to me

> Do you feel certain perceptions may depend on a certain SoC before they can take place? <
Yes, but there’s little evidence to back this up yet, except for some state-specific learning stuff
in animals, where you put them in some drug level, have them learn some task, then find they
recall it better when in that drug level state again. I haven’t followed this literature in a long
time, so don’t know what the latest is.
Mostly
people’s feelings that their perception is altered/enhanced in various ways. But then people’s
judgment get altered and they imagine things too, so it would be nice to have back up evidence.

1931
Kaleb Smith
< turboswami@gmail.com >

Nov 16, 2012, 6:32 PM

to
cttart

Yes, exactly!
You predicted where I was going – I was thinking of those dramatically different states of con-
sciousness, like those induced by psychedelics, which can range so far from baseline SoC.
Those extreme alterations seem to afford
special
perspective on
baseline
, if only by their distance FROM it.
1932
It’s a touchy area to consider, in more ways than one, and I agree that an alteration in
judgement
could be easily misinterpreted as a legitimate perception. Yet, I do feel that, in certain con-
ditions, a psychedelic can induce a state of hypersensitivity to one’s surroundings that could
potentially be verified.
One instance of this really stands out for me – those "mutually experienced hallucinations,"
shared by 2 or more people in the room at the same time, seem to suggest that that word
"hallucination" may be
inappropriate,
and that we are more likely dealing with something closer to an actual perception.
When partaking in an ayahuasca ceremony in the Amazon, someone told me that, after their
SoC had
being
"heightened," they went outside and, in that highly sensitized state, saw a woman of
blueish-white
light standing near the stream.
Completely separate, and without hearing the previous individual’s account, a different person
approached the head of the group and described seeing a mysterious woman outside, standing
by the stream. When I heard this, I began to ask him very specific questions. First, confirming
that he hadn’t spoken to the previous individual, I asked if she had appeared as a particular
color. Without bias or any knowledge of the other perceiver, the individual confirmed that she
was
blueish
in color, and was standing near the right side of the stream. Only then did I introduce him to
the first attendant, who shared his very specific and identical perception.
Later a 3rd individual claimed to have seen the same woman, in the same location (but this
was shared only after hearing the previous accounts, and so is not as strong or conclusive
as
the unbiased separate accounts, of course.)
The ayahuasca, in this case, seemed to "open" access to subtle perceptions typically not
available to the 3 people, and it seems these perceptions were tied to the non-ordinary SoC
ayahuasca induced. The perceptions required that
SoC,
as if to perceive that aspect of their surroundings, they first needed to ’cross over" to the higher
range of consciousness, the "channel" for that sensory data.
It is just an example, but perhaps in cases like that, multiple simultaneous perceivers could be
considered a type of replication of the exceptional human experience, within a specific time
and setting. Of course, ensuring no interaction, bias, or suggestion takes place between the
participants or the researcher would be important.
I know you’ve mentioned you don’t like the terms "higher" or "lower" applied to states of
consciousness, but do you feel my applying terms denoting frequency to discrete states of
consciousness is safe or useful? "Range," "bandwidth," "spectrum," "channel" and so on?
1933
I’ve started rereading your States of Consciousness book, and its inspiring all these kinds of
thoughts! Thank you
Dr. Tart
for indulging my curiosity in your work! I miss those juicy discussions of your class so much!
-Kaleb
–
Prove it with a wink.

[3] http://www.subtledensity.com
1. http://www.subtledensity.com/
2. https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0?ui=2&ik=fc81b5a33a&view=lg&permmsgid=msg-f:1418831943619184690
3. http://www.subtledensity.com/

States of Consciousness and Perception - Charles Tart (2018-10-30 03:24) - public

States of Consciousness and Perception

Kaleb Smith
< turboswami@gmail.com >

Sat, Oct 12, 2013, 10:22 PM

1934
to Charles

Hi Dr. Tart,
Have not talked for a while. Hope you are doing well! I saw you were on Glenn’s book, writing
with my old drinking buddy Albert! I look forward to reading it.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking more deeply about discrete states-of-consciousness, and how they
could be organized into a larger system. One of my favorite things which you introduced me
to is state-dependent memory – this idea that memories can be "bound" to a certain state-
of-consciousness really makes sense to me AND is something we can measure and test in an
empirical way.
My thoughts recently have been of how to extend this idea of certain aspects of cognition
being "bound" to a certain state, or bandwidth, of consciousness. For instance, in my personal
experience of EXTREMELY non-ordinary SoCs, perception, itself, seems similarly dependent on
the given state – with whole ranges of new perceptions sometimes becoming apparent once I
"crossed over" that boundary into the higher state, or bandwidth, of consciousness.
In a given environment – often a room which I had known (or, rather, FELT I had known!)
and been quite accustomed to previously – will suddenly OPEN up, with whole new thoughts,
understandings, and perceptions of that space which I simply had never been aware of in
my previous normal waking SoC. These new perceptions, like in the psychedelic experience,
typically legitimate sensory experiences, seem to flood my sensory system the moment I cross
over into that heightened state-of-consciousness – that is, they seem bound to that discrete
state, in the same way memories become bound to, say, a caffeinated state and FLOOD back
into awareness when we reenter that distinct SoC.
I feel there are a lot of benefits to approaching, and parsing, perception up into ranges like
this. Like I said, it’s something I’ve been rolling over for quite a while, but originally inspired,
of course, by your important systemic work with SoCs.
I was hoping you might have some ideas, direction, or maybe something you’d recommend
I’d read to flesh this idea of state-dependent perception out a little bit. I’m in China and need
something to work on – as I find myself suddenly illiterate and mostly deaf and dumb here, my
social life has taken a definite hit! ;)
Thanks and look forward to hearing back.
Yours,
-Kaleb
1935
Cartography of Consciousness: Mapping The Further Reaches of Human Ex-
perience (2018-10-30 03:40) - public

Book Project with Stan Krippner

Inbox

Kaleb Smith
< turboswami@gmail.com >

Fri, Jun 10, 2016, 2:30 PM

1936
to Charles

Hi Dr. Tart,
Long time, no talk. Just wanted to touch base and see if you were still interested in con-
tributing something to the Cartography of Consciousness: Mapping The Further Reaches
of Human Experience book project Stan is putting together, with some assistant editors. It
would focus on health, healing, and consciousness, with several strong articles from a recent
Neuroquantology special edition to be included.

Here’s a short blurb:

Cutting edge models of consciousness are presented, along with original research that ex-
amines the effectiveness of various mind/body healing methods ranging from yoga, medita-
tion, Aikido, and medicinal drumming, to the use of psychedelics for healing, and many other
thought provoking topics. The selected authors for this special edition represent the richness
of both this East/West synthesis and the synthesis of the physical, psychological, and quantum
sciences, including explorations of indigenous and shamanic healing practices and their unique
implications. Each of these perspectives suggests an exceptional range of human potential
which may be made available by various practices of healing and consciousness alteration;
two components of selfhood which are often intimately tied. By joining these multiple perspec-
tives on health and healing, the current volume hopes to contribute to this greater cultural
integration of novel and non-Western conceptions of consciousness.
Just thought, if you had a journal article related to shamanism, meditation, or consciousness
that you’d like to see get some more exposure, we could republish it.
Any article come to mind for something like that?
Thanks! Looking forward to hearing back! :)
Yours,

1937
Charles T. Tart
< cttart@ucdavis.edu >

Fri, Jun 10, 2016, 2:44 PM

to me

Dear Kaleb, Date Composed: June 10, 2016

I don’t seem to have time to do anything anymore, you and those are all sorts of ideas and
observations I’d still like to share with people, but want you take a quick look at the more recent
items in my [1]blog and if any of them look suitable, perhaps with a little editing, maybe we
have a project! Several of those blog items have been picked up by a journal editors in the
past couple of years. They are written informally, as I’m in a hurry to get things out while I can,
but they’re usually pretty clear.
With best wishes,
Charley

1938
Kaleb Smith
< turboswami@gmail.com >

Fri, Jun 10, 2016, 3:10 PM

to Charles

Thanks Charley! I’ll have a look later tonight, when I get home. I think that out-of-body
retrospective looks interesting though!

Yea, I haven’t been keeping up on your blog. I used to read it pretty regular. I think
that relaxed tone might help give some balance to those more dense neurology and quantum
physics papers we’ve been getting for it. Your writing is always so lucid, like a little breather
after all that wordy business! :D
OK, I’ll dig in and be in touch. Thanks again!
Warmly,
-Kaleb
1939
1. http://blog.paradigm-sys.com/

1940
18. 2020

18.1 February

Fundamentals of Nature (2020-02-09 05:31) - public

A personal breakthrough in understanding, for myself, came when I equated particle density
and frequency. Whichever medium you choose to study, the fundamentals of carrier and
modulator (i.e. amplitude, frequency, resonance, and phase) can be applied to understand
the propagation of information within it.

If not radiance of light or sound, itself, then the fundamentals of its perception – the os-
cillatory fields of neuronal firing rates, rippling across the cortex. These action potentials
are not magic, but do fall into synchrony with acoustic waves. They are the electromagnetic
rhythms of the brain that compose our every experience and are irreducible.

(Notice I took great care to avoid using the word "consciousness," as I know its a trigger
word for you. ;) )

Just think of how many decades the radio wave was considered an abstract theoretical
concept – mysterious, imperceivable, little understood, without "real world" basis or applica-
tion. I feel we take the wielding of those polarized waves for granted. To think, my grandfather
was alive when we first discovered that electricity, magnetism, and light are all manifestations
of the same phenomenon – that’s how new that understanding is! It’s dangerously narcissistic
to assume we have nothing left to learn about the spectrum of electromagnetism or, much
worst, to assume that the whole of conscious life in nature begins and ends within the narrow
bandwidths of our physical sensation...

"Nature may reach the same result in many ways. Like a wave in the physical world, in
the infinite ocean of the medium which pervades all, so in the world of organisms, in life, an
impulse started proceeds onward, at times, may be, with the speed of light, at times, again,
so slowly that for ages and ages it seems to stay, passing through processes of a complexity
inconceivable to men, but in all its forms, in all its stages, its energy ever and ever integrally
present. A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a tyrant in bygone
times may have altered the course of his life, may have changed the destiny of nations, may
have transformed the surface of the globe, so intricate, so inconceivably complex are the
processes in Nature. In no way can we get such an overwhelming idea of the grandeur of
Nature than when we consider, that in accordance with the law of the conservation of energy,
throughout the Infinite, the forces are in a perfect balance, and hence the energy of a single
thought may determine the motion of a universe.

–"On Light And Other High Frequency Phenomena" A lecture delivered before the Franklin
Institute, Philadelphia (24 February 1893), and before the National Electric Light Association,
St. Louis (1 March 1893), published in The Electrical review (9 June 1893), p. Page 683; also
in The Inventions, Researches And Writings of Nikola Tesla (1894)
1941
Liminal (Sacred) Spaces, Entity Interactions, and Their Study – ATP 2019 Con-
ference Presentation (2020-02-22 22:06) - public

Presenter: Kaleb Smith

Type: Lecture

There exists a primordial and universal relationship between liminal (or sacred) spaces
and the set of exceptional human experiences which define them. This relationship is uni-
versal as it is not distinct to any era or culture of our species, but can be generalized as
a passage between two worlds, those of the profane and the divine, where an established
threshold or boundary can be transcended to facilitate communication between the realms
of man and spirit. While the facilitation of this spiritual relationship is inextricably bound to
our species’ oldest profession, that of the shaman, it also represents a projected future of
transpersonal science as Western man approaches the inevitable edge of materialism, where
the liminal may serve as a jumping off point for controlled study of the subtle and nonphysical
ranges of nature which our ancestors once revered. The presentation will first report a set of
fascinating modern, sober, and verifiable entity interactions, with multiple witnesses, and then
attempt to isolate and rationalize key components of these exceptional human experiences
which suggest several fundamentals underlying the physics of sacred space. Discrete states
of consciousness, hypnagogia, ritual replicability, and methods of variable control will be
examined and discussed, in turn, with a question and answer portion designated at the end of
the talk.

18.2 May

Personal Statement for Sage Institute’s Psychedelic Psychotherapy Training

Program (2020-05-13 20:44) - public

Kaleb Smith
504 N. Stewart St Sonora, CA 95370
May 13
th
, 2020
Sage Institute
3007 Telegraph Ave. Oakland CA 94609
To Whom It May Concern:
SUBJECT: PERSONAL STATEMENT OF KALEB SMITH, INTERSHIP APPLICANT
Background
My name is Kaleb Smith and I would like to take this opportunity to introduce myself and express
my enthusiastic interest in Sage Institute’s clinical internship program. I was born in the Upper
Peninsula of Michigan, deep in the remote Northern forests, there, in a small iron ore town
called National Mine. My house was built on the actual National Mine, the blood red dirt, tailing
piles, and three deep mine shafts in my yard, which had filled with water looking more like
ponds nowadays. Like most of the U.P.’s residents, I am of Finnish descent and my summers
were spent at the family cabin on Lake Superior, in an old Finnish fishing village called Shelter
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Bay. The sauna was much more than bathing, it was considered a spiritual practice by the
Finns. Grandma Anderson was very strict – no laughing, no flirting, no drinking in the sauna!
It’s like church. You sit and cleanse your soul!
My spiritual life is highly informed by this cultural background and lineage. The solitude of the
deep forest is very much part of my identity, the stoic Finnish reverence for nature, lakes, and
the purity and quiet of a long cold winter is in my blood.
My grandmother’s grandmother, Elsa Russanen, was a
noaide,
or shamanic healer in the far North-East of Finland, in a town called Suomussalmi, above the
Arctic Circle. Those far Northern regions like Suomussalmi, were where the
Suomi
met the
Sami
tribes. They were known as “bridge cities,” where the more potent Sami shamanic healing
traditions were transmitted to the Suomi, who quickly adopted and integrated them. Her career
involved the mastery of spirits and journeying out of the body to meet and interact with them,
to attain non-ordinary types of knowledge from them, in service of the community and her
patients. While much of this heritage was, sadly, lost when our family immigrated to Michigan,
I have always wanted to know more about how grandma did what she did. So much so that I
moved to Suomussalmi for a time, seeing the cabin outside of town where grandma had lived,
as well as living and training with a modern noaide shaman there who was well-acquainted
with the specific traditions and spirit helpers of North-Eastern (Karelia) region of Finland.
Grandma Russanen became recognized (somewhat infamously!) for her power as a shaman.
And these healing journeys she took in service of the community were often attained using
drumming and psychedelics. The
Amanita Muscaria
was one tool among others which she used in her healing rituals. The mushroom was given to
Sami shamanic initiates and patients, alike. Mirroring, in many ways, the shamanic traditions of
the Upper Amazon basin, this psychedelic was used to achieve hypersensitivity, non-ordinary
states of consciousness, hypnagogic OBE, or “night flight” experiences. What is especially
interesting is that the great majority of our American Christmas tradition is derived from these
Sami tribes’ shamanic use of this mushroom: The noaide, traditionally dressing
as
the mushroom in red and white, with his reindeer sleigh, is the basis of our Santa Clause
myth and I could easily devote a whole essay to that topic, on its own! But, suffice it to
say, my maternal side carries a unique set of genetic predispositions related to that healing
profession, with shamanic experiences being passed down the line of generations (whether
they wanted them or not!) Much of this lineage seems to derive from a kind of hypersensitivity,
a perceptual trait which seems, easily, as inheritable as temperament, intelligence, or insomnia.
My mother, grandmother, and sisters on my mother’s side all described these shamanic-type
spiritual experiences, which grandma Elgen would write down religiously in her bedside journal.
These spiritual interactions were simply accepted aspects of my upbringing, spoken about
openly at the breakfast table as a family. I did not realize other families did not have these
kinds of matter-of-fact spiritual discussions. It was when I reached maturity, around 23 to 24,
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that this guidance became more pronounced and began to exert an unambiguous influence in
my life.
I was well into my bachelor’s degree in telecommunications / audio production at Michigan
State University when this shamanic lineage began to surface, whether I wanted it to or not!
A spiritual emergence occurred which I struggled to make sense of. I began an advanced
independent study of shamanism under Dr. Robert McKinley, MSU’s wise elder and expert in
psychedelic shamanism. This academic relationship culminating over two years into my thesis
project, “Non-ordinary States of Perception and the Out-of-Body Experience.”
Returning to National Mine after graduation, I invested heavily into created a small business,
Fluid Mechanic Studios, with which I made a good living for about seven years. The studio
became a ritual space with a medicine cabinet behind the great leather-bound mixer board
that stretched across the room. My pride and joy! Floor to ceiling vintage electronics, ana-
logue synthesizers, and chugging vacuum tube-driven sound machines. Bands would rent the
house for a weekend or longer, exploring all that was made available to them in the studio
for intensive creative sessions, all captured to 16 tracks of high quality audio. The spiritual
experiences of this period were intense, transformative, and affected my whole family in a
deep and lasting way. Describing them would, again, extend beyond the scope of this short
personal introduction, but I still carry them with me and have devoted my life to understanding
and strengthening that relationship with spirit.
I moved to Grand Rapids, Michigan, some 8 hours South, in 2006 to begin work as a “psychi-
atric technician” at Pine Rest Mental Health, in several wards of the East Wing of their large
campus. My 1:1 and group therapy work was primarily split between two groups: those suf-
fering from schizophrenia and the higher security adolescent violent offenders ward. These
years of doing all I could to better understand and help my patients taught me that empathy
and genuine curiosity were therapeutic tools I carried in me, naturally. I became known by
my clinical supervisor for my “golden voice,” that is, for my ability to de-escalate an agitated
or violent patient without the need for chemical restraints. While these aggressive clients cer-
tainly taught me a lot, my schizophrenic patients, in particular, were often highly intelligent
and incredibly perceptive, which pushed me to study their illness more deeply, determined to
understand what was happening inside of them. This fertile period of early study would even-
tually lead me to the semantic hyperpriming and latent inhibition models, which I would later
apply to understand the psychedelic experience and my first MAPS presentation.
But through it all remained an adamant desire to make sense of the powerful spiritual experi-
ences which had shook me and my girlfriend to our core years earlier and left such of a lasting
mark on my life. I began piecing together answers in the study of consciousness, ancestors,
and the transpersonal realm, but I was not content to have this most sacred aspect of my life
being relegated to an idle hobby. I needed to commit fully! This led me to board up my house
and, essentially, abandon my life; driving my 1995 Olds 88 Royale across the country to pursue
a graduate education at the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, or ITP. I was determined to
understand and access this spiritual side of my life and to devote the whole of my attention to
learning how to implement it in the service of others, as my grandmother had in Finland. While
our culture has no place for shamanic abilities like hers, I felt that the transpersonal field of
clinical psychology was the closest approximation we yet have to her profession.
Transpersonal Education and Psychedelic Research
ITP was founded by psychedelic researchers, Jim Fadiman and Robert Frager. It was modeled
closely after the Esalen Institute, where Fadiman, Abraham Maslow, and Stanislav Grof would
live and, steeping in the hot tubs there, discuss broadly a possible field devoted wholly to
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the study of this emerging psychology of psychedelic medicine. They adopted Grof’s word
to establish and define this transpersonal range of exceptional human experiences. As Dr.
Fadiman said, after mentor Richard Alpert first introduced him to psilocybin, “I’ve learned more
about the human mind in the last 20 minutes than I have in 9 years of graduate school at
Stanford... This deserves to be its own field of study.”
My reason for choosing ITP was centered on their parapsychology professor, Dr. Charles Tart’s,
research into the out-of-body experience. His Systemic Model of consciousness, for which he
coined the term “altered state of consciousness,” had been adopted and used extensively in
my independent study of non-ordinary ranges of perception and shamanic trance states at MSU.
I was excited to actually work with him in the lab. My hope was to replicate his famous Ms. Z
experiment, which successfully used a five digit random number placed 5 feet above the bed
to establish that a participant’s out- of-body perceptions could be measured and confirmed
as legitimate. But I soon learned that finding an exceptional subject, like Ms. Z, was not
so easy! She claimed to have left her body nearly every night since she was a young child,
always “awakening” out of her body, floating some feet above her bed. I actually put out an
advertisement in the Palo Alto classifieds, with a headline “Do You Leave Your Body In Sleep?
If so you may qualify for an exciting new study at the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology...”
I received some very
interesting
replies to that ad, but, unfortunately, none that led to a successful replication.
I began work at several laboratories during this fertile period of my graduate education at
ITP. The majority of my effort was spent at the Psychophysiology lab of Stanford’s psychology
department, where I helped to organize a study using EEG to measure the emotional regulation
response of 40 participants. Specifically, the late positive potential (LPP) of the occipital lobe
was used as a measure of sympathetic
activation during states of fear. To induce this fear response, a set of frightening images called
the IAPS picture set, were combined with the use of a huge, boxy, old machine, which had
been found, caked with dust, in the University’s basement. This was Stanford’s electrocution
machine. I was instructed to electrocute participants at semi-random intervals to activate a
fear response. While it was not my place to question the ethical approval of this study by the
IRB, it was important for me to, first, administer an electric shock to myself in order to gauge
how much it actually hurt!
I took on the role of lead researcher at ITP’s William James Center, working under Dr. Arthur
Hastings to measure the clinical utility of his psychomanteum device to assist those grieving
the loss of a loved one. Additionally, I assisted in Dr. Hastings’ and Dr. William Braud’s formal
brainwave study of mediums – specifically, identifying the unique EEG signature of spiritual
mediums during the moments of their supposed mediumship state. One of the “gifted” partic-
ipants in these research sessions was Bay Area legend, Dr. Jean Millay, who claimed to have
gained her mediumship ability during her years as a groupie for the Grateful Dead. In addition
to supposedly permitting her deceased sister to speak through her in our lab, she also (some-
what hesitantly!) permitted her old friend, Dr. Timothy Leary, to speak while we recorded
her electroencephalographic response. Both of these parapsychological studies yielded signifi-
cant and personally meaningful results, going on to inform my later clinical work as well as my
overall understanding of spiritual interaction.
The pride and joy of my time at ITP was, without a doubt, my own pilot study, “Attentional
Modulation Key Factor In Efficacy of Isochronic Entrainment Stimuli” which was arranged and
implemented at the university’s Neurophenomenology Lab. I wanted to show that, in spite of
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their apparent disparity, there was an overlap between the seemingly-dry “soulless” telecom-
munications degree I had received from Michigan State and the spiritual psychology degree I
was then pursuing at ITP. I believed those topics met and overlapped in sound – specifically
in the ability for rhythmic sound (like a shaman’s drum) to “drive” our state of consciousness
deeper, into its non-ordinary ranges. The Neurophenomenology lab had received a generous
grant from George Zimmer, the founder of Men’s Warehouse. His donation permitted the build-
ing of the lab and the purchase of a state-of-the-art high density Geodesic 400 EEG chair and
dome array, which he stated should be used to better understand the effects of MDMA, which
he claimed had changed his life in a profoundly positive and transformative way.
I believed in the power of the shaman’s drum to change a receptive person’s state of con-
sciousness, to induce a trance state, and to facilitate an important type of journey. My re-
search sought to find the most effective ranges of tempo, pitch, and timbre to induce this
non-ordinary state of consciousness, and measure its effects. I found that, by entering trance,
myself, while maintaining a distant control over the tempo of the auditory driving stimuli (an
analogue synthesizer), the sound became very potent, essentially “transmitting” my state of
consciousness across to the participant. This understanding was very new to me at the time,
but I have since seen shamanic drummers, singers, and ceremonial leaders use the same prin-
cipals to “transmit” their state of consciousness to those around them, which taught me a lot
about how powerful certain music is in facilitating a transformative psychedelic journey. Being
able to actually
see
this transmission occur across a 64 channel EEG array was an absolute inspiration! Beginning
the sonic driving in a multiple of the low Beta range, over 20 minutes, I lowered the tempo of
the beat frequency slowly. The neural networks of the participants would generally
began to resonate in time with this rhythm around the occipital lobes but, as the sound de-
scended through Alpha towards Theta, other parts of the brain would also fall into sync with
this monotonous rhythm. In a rare set of participants, “global coherence” was achieved, where
the entire brain is seen to entrain to the trance audio. Even though this sound recording was
only being played through a simple set of headphones, one participant commented, “I could
somehow feel the rhythm pulsing through my entire body! Head to toe! It was the most in-
credible experience of my life!”
It was around this time, in 2009, when a set of uncanny and powerful coincidences led to me
being invited, out of the blue, by a practicing shaman in Peru to come to the jungle and present
at the International Amazonian Shamanism Conference about ayahuasca (which I had never
done!) This would lead to me living for a long period of time with members of the Shipibo
tribe in a remote area of the Upper Amazon, studying and participating in their ceremonies. It
was at that time in the jungle that I would become acquainted with my ancestors, the Finns,
both in visionary states of extended fasting and in actual flesh and blood, when, following an
astronomically-improbably set of events, two Finnish experts in Suomi shamanism approached
me at an Iquitos restaurant with specific and direct instructions for me to learn more about how
my grandmother used her shamanic abilities to heal people! A story of incredible personal
significance, which, sadly, is also beyond the scope of this paper, but hopefully for another
time!
Returning to North America a year later, I submitted a presentation, “Hyper- Sensitive States
and Indirect Semantic Priming: Inferring The Mechanics of Psilocybin’s Novel Association Effect”
to the 2010 Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) conference – the first
academic conference of its kind! I had followed MAPS since high school and was over-the-
moon when they agreed to let me present the culmination of my earlier cognitive psychological
1946
studies from my years working at Pine Rest. I met so many heroes, from Ralph Metzner to Ram
Dass, had tea with Alex Grey, formed lasting friendships that have only grown richer in the
decade since.
There are many other psychedelic and transpersonal conferences I have presented at since
that time, including the most recent MAPS conference. As proud as I may be of having been
able to share these perspectives on psychedelic psychotherapy in this way, I do not want this
personal essay to devolve into a simple CV. I have enclosed a complete list of these different
presentations, in the hopes that one the topics may spur later discussion, in person.
After being a member of the last graduating class of the ITP, before the institution was pur-
chased and renamed Sofia University, I lived in China for several years working as a faculty
member at Pingxiang University. The university generously provided me with laboratory space
and equipment to continue my clinical research into semantic priming. I returned in 2014 and,
after a set of powerful sober shamanic experiences, redoubled my efforts to devote my life
to spiritual healing work. I sought out Dr. Stanley Krippner, who had been a personal hero of
mine since sophomore year of high school, when I first read “The Realms of Healing.” While
I had strongly considered a clinical PsyD at CIIS, as so many friends from ITP worked at that
like-minded institution, it was Stan’s genuine openness and warm-hearted nature that drew me
to begin my PhD work under his guidance at Saybrook University. His role as a central figure
in both waves of the psychedelic movement, both the old and the new, helped me immensely
in finding my own niche in the Renaissance. In several intensive independent studies, Stan
provided me with key texts to help me better understand the shamanic experiences I had un-
dergone, introducing me to the “initiatory illness” literature; showing me, to my unimaginable
relief, that I was not alone with these ordeals, and that they are related to my ancestry. In all
honesty, it was Stan’s insistence that I work to become a healer in a contemporary Western
clinical context that brought me to Sage. Together, we compiled, edited, and published several
collections of academic articles on the topics of Spirituality, Health, Healing, and Consciousness.
This work, as well as our continual personal discussions, cemented my dissertation research
project into the “Psychotherapeutic Utility of Ayahuasca Consumption Within the Ceremonial
Context of the
União do Vegetal Church
,” which is currently in its data collection phase.
Clinical Experience
My clinical experience has always aimed to serve others, with the whole of my being, including
my spiritual, emotional, and cognitive capacities. Not every clinical practice site was recep-
tive to this spiritual component of care, as I soon learned when beginning practicum work at
Western State Mental Hospital in 2016. Western is the largest and oldest mental hospital West
of the Mississippi River, first built as a Federal military fort to provide protection to settlers of
the newly acquired Oregon Territory. The many wars with the native Muckleshoot tribe are
responsible for the hundreds of artifacts still being uncovered on the hospital grounds, which
is an active archeological dig site and historical landmark. My work at Western State involved
providing 1:1 and group based psychotherapeutic interventions across 3 distinct patient pop-
ulations: the elderly and chronically mentally ill of E8, the high security patients of the E2
forensic ward, who had committed homicide, and the sexually deviant patients of E7, which
was a male-only ward. I was hired to engage, specifically, with the “treatment resistant” pa-
tients of each of these 3 wards. It was an immensely challenging task which I approached
with all of the positivity I could muster! I was placed in charge of a team of therapists of dif-
fering theoretical backgrounds and tasked with forming a set of group interventions aimed at
1947
increasing the overall hours of treatment being received, across the East campus of the hos-
pital. Several approaches I experimented with, including the use of meditation and specific
forms of therapeutic sound, were highly effective and were later implemented hospital-wide. I
feel that this use of sound and focused breath to connect in a deep and empathic way to an
often non-verbal patient overlaps in a powerful way with the skillset involved in facilitating a
psychedelic psychotherapy session. My creation of a Dreamwork Group on the high security
E2 ward, was highly influenced by the training received by my ITP professor, Dr. Jeremy Taylor,
but, unfortunately, met with significant resistance from the clinical staff, who insisted I replace
the Jungian-style psychodynamic group with a second CBT group.
In 2018, I returned to the SF Bay area to accept a position as assistant director at the Dore
Urgent Care Clinic (DUCC), the short-term emergency psychiatric care branch of the Progress
Foundation, which serves underprivileged and homeless population of downtown San Francisco.
This was a very intensive change of pace from Western, but I enjoyed the shift in gear, the
personal challenge of maintaining the sharp and organized momentum of a high-intensity,
active crisis, clinical environment. Approximately 85-90 % of our clients were actively using
methamphetamine, but we accepted them without judgment into the clinic housing, with the
intention of doing all we could to help them improve their life. This was central to Progress
Foundation’s “harm reduction” approach to substance use disorder. The two-
week stay period did not provide a lot of time to implement the longer-term therapeutic in-
terventions I was accustomed to, so I quickly devoted myself to learning new skills to better
serve my patients. I drew heavily from Irvin Yalom’s “Inpatient Group Psychotherapy,” which
featured a more focused intensive psychotherapeutic approach, designed with the limitations
of an acute stay clinic in mind. Unfortunately, I was unable to attain clinical internship hours
through Progress Foundation at a doctoral level, so I began looking elsewhere for a more ap-
propriate clinical training site.
I was immediately attracted to Woods Creek Psychological Group and the internship program
organized by clinician, Dr. Susan Day. Her training in Imaginal Psychology from Meridian Uni-
versity was very much in line with my own training in transpersonal therapy. I was provided
with a large office and many hours of weekly supervision to assist in the treatment of a broad
patient population. Her nature was warm and kind, which reflected in the patient and spiritual
undercurrent of her training, which implemented Jungian archetypes, IFS, dream imagery, fo-
cusing, and ritual. All right up my alley! My year-long contract with WCPG seemed to end so
soon, but I look forward to expanding my clinical skills into a direction that compliments my
dissertation research into psychedelic psychotherapy.
My intention for this paper is to state how genuinely passionate I am about the ancient and
modern uses of entheogens to bring about profound and transformative changes – and even
physical healing – to the patients who most need it. I have known about Sage since its inception,
both the Institute and Integrative Health branches. What I like most about Sage is not only its
focus on treating the
whole
person, but its focus beyond the person, to the trans-personal and the greater community. The
appreciation of difference is of central importance to me, as I want to feel safe in my distinct
ethnicity, and the cultural beliefs which define my identity, and I want to ensure that I can
create that safe space for others. I believe that this mission is key to being able to facilitate
open and vulnerable conversations about self and other and the individualized journey of self
into ranges of therapeutic hypersensitivity and non-ordinary states of consciousness. It is my
genuine hope to be given the opportunity to learn and grow with a cohort of like-minded clinical
professionals at Sage Institute.
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Sincerely,
Kaleb Smith, MATP, PhD(c) (License #: PSB94024329)

18.3 August

Intuiting Meditative Practices for the Effective Facilitation of Working Spiri-

tual Relationships (2020-08-21 17:56) - public

Into bed, into the lap of luxury, lazy days without want or need of any consequence. Can I
relate from bed in a more or less authentic way? What are the dangers of meditation and
solitude?
What are the benefits and how can I most effectively access them?

How can ayahuasca be used most effectively to bring the most transformation, to bring
the honest up from deep and keep it flowing, everyday with every person. I see the defensive
parts of me on the tea and I see the fear that I constantly live in, laid bare and shaking like
a beaten dog in the corner. Curled up and afraid, that part is always there and when I catch
myself living in that victim role, advertising it with so many other stories and scripts, I want to
change it.

Are there spiritual benefits to solitary tea drinking, the silent meditative dive into the
deeper levels of that oceanic consciousness?

I feel and understand that church can never condone solitary drinking, or is there per-
haps a portion of the church that uses the tea in that way, for specific purposes types of
healing or certain areas of self development?
I want to draw all that I can from the tea, and integrate it into becoming a beter person.
I want to tell you that you have become a model for me, seeing how you interact with others
and the wisdom you have gained with the years of work that you have so clearly put in.
There are natural affinities I am sure you had which are allowed to shine and open, as with
each members personal relationship with the tea and how varied they are.
I have tried to be honest with myself about what natural affinities those are for myself, the
predispositions that the tea allows to open and shine as well. The good and the bad, the
way that the tea does seem to wind, like a vine, up through our very DNA, back into that
ancestry content that blossomed into my life and let itself be known to me, the window of
opportunity to form a relationship with that specific ecology of spirit that exists in those regions
of consciousness where my family and my people reside.
I sometimes feel as though I’m groping in the dark, trying to find the practice that will allow
this relationship with spirit to be facilitated most effectively, but I have had better luck with
intuiting my way to them, following the gut and what feels right in meditation, as opposed to
trying to read some How To guide or specific dogma and trying to replicate it.

Calm, how calm can I be?

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The energy that quivers up into my chest during the ceremony is overwhelming, my whole
body becoming so hot, hyperventilating, unable to contain so much energy at once, my whole
nervous system subject to the burachera.
How can I temper that quivering, follow it down to the source beneath it, to calm it and slow it
to a pure resonant tone, an exhale that with purpose and direction. Intention.

A call.
Sobbing sister, need to talk to Lisa.
They cops are coming he beat me up.
Sob sob.
Not doing good.
She can fucking stay there, I’m not picking her up. Should have came when we offered.
I am in hiding from the world. I am in hiding from my family. I am intrenched in this bed, this
nest where I can lay out and pretend to be healing. My sick bed, where their sickness cannot
find me.
Where the lock on the door keeps their thieving and lying at bay.
The authenticity of one’s searching and the genuineness of one’s prayer can easily be lost to
others, to talking about weather and raffle tickets. To keeping up appearances and worrying
about how I am seen, how I should be seen or how I want to be seen, falling backwards into
the regrets of past dishonesty and shame, trauma and lost opportunities.
Remembering the feeling of being in their good graces, obsessing about the loss of that, the
squandering of that sacred gift.

How to measure and map those distinct bandwidths and regions of the electromagnetic
spectrum which serve as a medium for these subtle ecologies of spirit?
To use the map and the practice to return to that ancestral home which feels so familiar to me
when I arrive, for example.
That familiarity with these entities, The Finns, which derives from a greater memory, one ex-
tending beyond the details and developments of this single life and its comparatively minor
identity.
As Dr. McKinley said, “The spirit felt familiar to me although I had never met him in my life.”

It told him, “You must guide the boy you see often.”

The implications extend beyond that of example region of lineage and ancestry, or be-
yond my
ancestry into his, into the orchestration of certain meetings, guidance presented at the perfect
moment through another, when it is needed most. That is the confirmation I had sought of
their presence in my life, but what did it teach me?
Rather, what have I ignored of that call, lazily refusing to integrate what I had learned,
ungrateful and obstinate to being fostered along that path by spirit?

The more I try to live a normal life, the sicker I become.

1950
I can’t keep up, my body won’t let me. Its sensitivity is the root of the suffering and it draws a
very straight, narrow, and solitary path.
It has been hardest to accept the solitary aspect of the calling, to give up on the dream of a
family to follow through with the fullest possible devotion, instead, to God. A life wed to spirit,
abstinent and dedicated to fulfilling that unnatural role, giving and receiving via the mortifica-
tion of those and other carnal desires. This comes naturally with the practice, without conscious
intention or thought, the diet and libido change, coming into alignment with something beyond
myself.
And I expect this, too, may simply be one of those natural affinities which the tea can open
in certain people, as my father describes similar inclinations, towards fasting and those deep
breathless states of transcendental meditation.
Mortification, approaching the edge of death and accessing the wisdom of death, sounds so
scary or negative at first.
I needed to examine that reaction and grieve the identity which had been so tied to those
desires in a process of letting go.
The profound surrendering of biological potential and all of the obligations of family it would
bring.
Is that why the Catholic priest takes no wife?
So that his focus can be solely devoted to his marriage to God?
While that may be the original intention, the requirement, at its core, is unnatural and leads to
unnatural acts, as the force of that libidinal energy, for so many, must surface.
If not through the relationship with the woman which has been denied, through sexual expe-
riences with boys in the church; the resulting epidemic which will forever stain Christianity in
the eyes of history.

pigshitpoet (2020-12-04 19:52:29) ; )

i’ve been reading a book by jeff foster on the simple joy of meditation and find it quite helpful
connected in the moment! happy b-day guru

pigshitpoet (2020-12-04 20:04:56) ; )

i’ve also come to like this gentle fellow who speaks words of wisdom from the heart hope you can
reconcile with life happy b-day! john butler spiritual https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi0TFuqj6eND-
mJRf8i2Tnw

1951
1952
19. 2021

19.1 March

Simulation VS Lesson: The Purpose of Pain (2021-03-30 01:47) - public

The pain of the body, enduring it, and all the reasons for its being there. Mistreating one’s
own body with unhealthy food, intoxicants, or behaviors. But also the experience of having
pain inflicted – being punched, beaten, hurt – these are all tests, lessons of a sort, as has so
often been said by those facing such challenges, to the point of cliché. “This is God’s will…
This is God’s plan.”

Yet, in a related paradigmatic vein, the belief that all of our experience in the world is
merely a simulation has become quite popular since the release of The Matrix (goes to show,
once again, how much influence a movie can exert on the thinking of a culture!) While I have
difficulty taking these computer simulation arguments seriously (even if Neo looked so badass
in that trench coat) the feeling still remains, in many of these related cosmologies, that the
hardships and pathways of our life serve as lessons (sometimes hard-won lessons) for the
soul. Stevenson’s research at the University of Virginia at least partially supports this notion
of reincarnation – or, as some interpret it, of taking (and retaking!) a given class until it is
finally passed. And, thinking back, it is often those most unpleasant classes, requiring the
most work, personal challenge, and pain, that I ended up learning the most from and which I
carry with me to this day. The easy-A courses, which I was able to glide through without much
difficulty, really didn’t ever leave much of an impression on me. I passed, sure, but, looking
back, they feel more like a waste of time – not just of the students’ but of the professor, who
clearly didn’t feel passionate enough about the ideas to “profess,” challenge, or make much
of an impression on us at all.

So, in this common interpretation of hardship as “lessons,” God’s Plan is described as

something beyond our capacity to comprehend, often with the implication that it is irreverent
or selfish of us to question His lesson plan. “Our pain must have some purpose! Why would
He do this to me if not for some overarching plan??”

But, at least at within a given range, our universal experience of these subtle bands of
nature, their systems and ecologies, suggest something much more akin to a polytheistic
fabric of many distinct influences, some cooperating and some competing. Our species
role within this larger ecosystem of conscious entities is not as universally defined, cross
culturally, as are the entities and experiences, themselves. There is one school of thought,
very European, which positions mankind at the center, somehow sacred in spite of ourselves,
made in God’s own image. Angels and Demons revolving around our every ignorant misstep,
sacrificing sons for our misdeeds, etc. This is a decidedly narcissistic or self-important
placement of ourselves within this greater cosmology, not to say it is not necessarily true.
The alternate, materialistic view of our place being helplessly alone within a vast Universe
which could not care about us one way or the other is, in a way, just as self-centered – rugged
individualism spread out across the lonely infinitude of what our eyes can see. So the mopey
self-centered loner or the absolute center, God’s Golden Boy, the Sun revolves around us
1953
narcissism. These are the choices the young Westerner were given for the better part of the
20th century. And, gradually, they opted more and more to think of the scientific reduction
of nature as the thing they could trust. The sudden exposure of America and Europe to these
ancient South American cultural beliefs, spiritual rituals, states of consciousness, and the
pantheon of polytheistic gods, ancestors, and spirits that are revealed by them provide a
range of new cosmological choices to entertain. The all-or-nothing theist divide suddenly
sprouts a rich tapestry of non-ordinary perceptions, spiritual interactions, and the exceptional
sacred, which bring the divinity into the range of their personal experience, whether they had
a space designated for it or not!

Just Kidding... Unsent Letters and Unexplored Experiments (2021-03-30 01:49)

- public

Just kidding. I do sometimes use a hit of sativa, high energy, high creativity/inspiration pot
to get the juices flowing in the studio. Ideally having everything wired and ready to record
GEFOREHAND, of course. Wiring and multitrack software templates get suddenly daunting,
but the inspiration is clear.

I did a casual experiment when Jesse Decaire was in my studio…

Open with ocean crash sound, shamanic whistling, expelling unhealthy spirits from the
room.

Long breath, single tone, toned breath mix, isolating a section for seamless looping and
create a submix track. A second track of the same at a lower pitch. Assigning pitch shift
parameter of 2nd loop to midi control knob, GRADUALLY gradually create a linear ascent
towards harmony with the 1st track, allowing the beat frequency to very slowly descend in
tempo over 20 minutes.

Experiment 2

Waterfall recording
Small creek recording
White water rapids recording

Each sample divided into two tracks, one of the original pitch, one of (root frequency –
12 Hz)

• Use Adobe Pitch Shift, to lower pitch while maintaining exact same duration (with ap-
propriate sample rate Hz settings determined by the software).

Two tracks mixed with identical amplitude, this should create a beat frequency of 12 Hz,
existing within the waveform, itself. White noise from natural soures may not be the best
carrier waveform for this technique, but isochronic brainwave entrainment may be more
successful with naturally relaxing sounds, as opposed to the unnatural computer-generated
tones which are usually used for entrainment media.

Vocal range (Low / High) ?

Lowering pitch of both tracks of nature sound by an octave. ?
1954
Hello,

I’m sorry I have been delayed. Contacted the French researchers responsible for the
BES-A instrument several times, but have not yet received a reply, for the permissions the IRB
board has required. Have received permissions from Johns Hopkins and purchase records for
the PAR instruments, so those are all ready to go. It is looking like we will need to continue
our work after Summer? Or does the IRB board still meet over the vacation?

Close to something, and then pulled 4 steps back. There is still a fear of what I come
close to, the variety of interactions that have taken place at that same door, over the years;
from frightening and dangerous to beautiful and loving. Immediately following the spiritual
trauma of 2004, I became terrified of meditation, often petrified in my bed at night with
my girlfriend, the two of us waking one-another up to listen to the activity in the room or
downstairs. Is a possession different from any other trauma one can experience? Is Teasha’s
spiritual rape any less a PTSD event than her physical rape? Likely moreso, although the
environmental triggers and scenarios of her possession are likely rarely, if ever, encountered
in her day to day life. Or, rather, a darkened bedroom has become so normalized since
that time, the memory of the trauma would no longer be tied to those cues. Yet, for myself,
the cues differ. The spiritual events of that time and since were often tied to my state of
consciousness, changed by meditation or other means. These spiritual encounters were
encouraged by my hypersensitivity, as if attracted to it, and ascending to higher states of
consciousness in transcendental meditation seemed to affect this hypersensitivity, attracting
the attention of the unseen even moreso. As best I could rationalize, many of these entities
saw me as their “in,” their mouthpiece or vessel for mediumship, a way for them to get their
message across or settle unfinished business. With the benevolent beings of white light, often
lessons were intended, healing and diagnosis, protection and guidance. “We will teach you to
see and hear more… We live in the higher frequencies...”

Making a habit of facing that fear, taking on the entities that surround me, clearing them out
and calling in the higher ones, those of light and love. They have taught me that they will
always come when they are called and their arrivals, so blessed and reverent, have confirmed
for me the most successful methods of requesting their presence. I read the Keys of Solomon,
the Kabbalistic rituals of calling forth each distinct entity, good or evil, angels and demons,
summoning Moses, learning his sigil. I cannot help but to think that these texts were written
by a man who had devoted his life to establishing these relationships and similarly learning
the most successful methods of presence, noting the factors that affect the invitation, helps
encourage their “confirming via RSVP. “ The keys describe factors of the solstice and equinox,
full moon doorways and fasting in solitude, away from women. The Keys of Solomon even
attempt to prescribe specific states of consciousness and how to achieve them before the
summoning ritual is to begin. All of these points align with my own experience of the beings
of white light and the specific manner of prayer which brought them to my bedroom, or to the
threshold of its doorway.

Do I wish for them to return? Or for how many years can you ignore a relationship be-
fore the other party decides it has ended? Harner describes the common practice in many
shamanic cultures of finding a new guardian spirit after yours has abandoned you. When I
first read it, I remember how heartbreaking an idea it was, that if you ignore them, and their
intended path for you, long enough or offend them severely enough, they will leave your life.
Carrying a bag of stones, each stone representing a moment, the emotional signature of a
1955
memory, the moment he met each helper spirit. In this way, these relationships are held in a
bag and carried with him, like a Rolodex of colleagues in the healing business, teachers and
relatives, who he can call on as needed by holding the stone in his hand and entering trance,
recalling the distinct state of emotion and consciousness from the memory of that distinct
spirit. And this is how travel is rapidly accomplished through the spirit world, so they say! The
unique place of residence, some distinct bandwidth or bound field of consciousness, can be
traversed by thinking of the individual. Think of the family member and you are quickly there
with them, at their bedside, to share a message or say your goodbyes.

19.2 April

Factors of a Realistic and Modern Approach to Asceticism. (2021-04-26 00:19) -

public

Removing the influences of culture and media, living “off the grid” is most effective. Without
the temptation of cellular reception, internet, or data plans, the inward state of being is allowed
to rise to forward consciousness, the fore of awareness, without any outward distraction. This
can be thought of as a noise floor which can be defined in consciousness; both the literal
auditory noise floor lowering, but also its effects on our person, the influx of visual media
and stimulation within the average Western cultured individual is, by comparison to other
eras, immense. Its effect on our self-conception and general sensitivity to ones surroundings
is equally immense, the inward reflection of this dynamic sensory field, modulating a set of
bandwidths, a transmission of infinitely varies signals along these media which can be repre-
sented graphically as an electromagnetic ionosphere encircling the Earth. Cellular and WIFI
noise, radio and UHF signals, all carrying information which can be received and interpreted
by devices more sensitive than ourselves or, rather, receivers of higher frequencies, finer and
immaterial ranges of physics which, to our physical senses, are nonexistent. Yet, while they
are not visible, this radiation does effect us in a variety of ways – ask Marie Curie. By removing
one’s self from direct exposure to these radiated electromagnetic fields, or the blaring of the
devices receiving and transmitting these signals into our physical sensory bandwidth, those
ranges of frequency along that spectrum acting as a medium, the bounds of which are defined
by our 5 senses. By thinking in discrete graphical terms of these boundaries as the floor
and ceiling of a bandwidth, we are presented with all of the addition bandwidths we cannot
perceive, those oceanic expanses of frequency which we have not yet explored, but which we
know can also carry the modulatory signals of conscious life. The individual electromagnetic
signature of our heartbeat, or the fantastically complex electromagnetic signature of our
brain, its many parts each creating its own field of frequency, often competing or entraining
with other fields, all derived from the binary signals of neuronal firing rates, action potentials
electrochemical, an electric field which science can only recently measure and which, in
many ways, still confounds us. The entrainment or electromagnetic control of these fields by
external means has been shown to influence aspects of our state of consciousness and has
been touted as an effective treatment for OCD, ADHD, headache, insomnia, or as a stress
reliever. Yet, while the effect of regular isochronic beat frequencies or pulses of light, sound,
or amperage on the nervous system has been somewhat studied, the effects of non-periodic
noise on those same bodily systems has not, to my knowledge been studied. Perhaps the
use of noise in latent inhibition research and the definition of that unique sensory noise
floor we all posess, for some individual naturally more highly sensitive, this LI floor is much
lower. That is to say, their conditioning response to surrounding sensory stimuli is much
1956
more highly attuned. For many, like those on the autistic or schizophrenic spectrums, this
hypersensitivity can be pathological, leading to insomnia, delusions, obsessions, and other
nervous disorders. For these cases, the hyposensory environment of the off grid cabin away
from people and culture can be considered a traditional treatment or cure. The sanitariums of
early psychiatry were generally in nature, away from the city, near a lake or forest. The word
“asylum,” itself, implies a safe place away from danger, chaotic or unhealthy influences. This
is an acknowledgement in the earliest language of psychology of this elevated noise floor of
city life and of then newly burgeoning industrial society. The effects of excessive noise on
the nerves of a sensitive soul is a trope seen in the culture of that era, the “nervous wreck”
and the “nervous breakdown” still used in the parlance of our time as well, although generally
viewed today as outdated or layman’s terms. The modern ascetic would exist within this
cultural understanding of the nervous system and the use of technology within this culture.
The cave or mountaintop may be harder to find in today’s world, but the instinct to meditate
and to connect with spirit still exists in us and can be interpreted to lead to a handful of
culturally universal methods of inducing non-ordinary states of consciousness. (NSCs) These
non-ordinary states can, themselves, be defined as universal, as can be the set of exceptional
human experiences (EHEs) that are most closely associated with those NSCs.

Dear Stan,

I would like to publish that graphical representation of states of consciousness (ordinary

and non-ordinary) as existing as points along a multi-bandwidth spectrum of frequency. We
explored this model only briefly in our article on Maria Sabina and in the ayahuasca SoC
writing, but I think it deserves to be focused on more exclusively. Specifically the idea of
state-dependent perceptions, or legitimate sensory experiences tied to specific states of
consciousness.

Was hoping you might be able to lend your expertise to this article I’m working on, and
maybe Charles Tart as well, since his writing systemizing states of consciousness inspired a
lot of this. I haven’t talked to him much since ITP, but we did connect deeply about this and
his out of body research while I was there. He’s not usually interested or open with working
with students in that way, but maybe he’d be receptive.

Anyway, I was thinking of having something written on this by the upcoming MAPS con-
ference. I think it would fit well in that area of psychedelic research. What do you think?

Cut off, isolated, to the traditional Finn, the forested cabin can, in the Winter there above the
Arctic circle, there is not even the noise of living things, all life silenced by the heavy snow
and freezing temperatures. I have always found myself to thrive in the cold temperature, my
thoughts and perceptions crystalizing in the cold silent walks in the forest, to the top of the
highest point, looking down across the valley of my hometown, I felt incredible perspectives
come to me those nights, ones which I can confidently say would not have come to me among
the busy streets, noises, music and people of a city in the daytime, or sweating under the
oppressively sweltering heat of a Summer day around 3:00 PM. A Northern Winter, after
midnight, became a kind of sacred spiritual time and place for me, for the quiet of that solitude
and the unique “crystalizing” effect the cold has, at least on my thinking. I felt I could see my
life from above on those nights, see the larger picture of where and how I had been living my
days, the path to that place my life was in and, by extension, a potential path or paths forward
1957
from that life place, out of ruts or patterns I had not even been aware of before that moment of
perspective and insight. I feel these early experiences, during my formative teen years, gave
me a taste of asceticism that I never forgot, a taste of spiritual inspiration that always left
me wanting more, or knowing there was more to experience than people and small talk and
impressions, that some part of me always longed to return to that mysterious sense of ascent
in solitude. Slipping on my warmest coat, hat, and gloves, slipping out from the darkened
house at night, only the light of mom’s living room TV shows and her quizzical smiling response
to my saying I was going for a walk in the cold. Perhaps I miss it all, perhaps part of the longing
is simply for home, but no, these moments were sacred to me, the rest of the house was chaos
and frazzled emotional burnout, tension, and resentment, outbursts and criticism. These are
things I wanted to put behind me at the end of the day, walking away from all the types
of noise of that place, find some quiet and give my nervous system a rest from that loud stress.

The Importance of Asceticism in Utilizing Hypersensitive Perceptual States

Latent Inhibition is generally lowered in individuals along the autism and schizophrenia
spectrums. While this hypersensitivity is seen as symptomatic of the pathology and can be
related to the biological etiology and development of these illnesses, LI can also be lowered
chemically in healthy individuals, as seen in their experimental treatment with a psychedelic
substance.

What value does lowered latent inhibition have to psychiatry? The ability to perceive
more of our surroundings at a chosen moment has been proposed to have had been evolu-
tionarily advantageous to early man, allowing heightened perception of prey or danger during
hunting expeditions, for instance. The range of information accessed during these heightened
perceptual states can be defined as non-ordinary, or existing above or below what can be
thought of as our species’ median or baseline perceptual range. The proposed evolutionary
advantage is contingent on this information of the non-ordinary state-dependent perception
being accurate and helpful to the hunter in identifying or locating the given animal or, in the
case of a shaman, a given object, medicine, or helper spirit. These techniques to modulate
one’s perceptual state therefore had value in these early societies, and those who mastered
those techniques over a lifetime became renowned healers, accurate seers, and cultural
heroes, with many myths of their exceptional human experiences and abilities existing to this
day.

Guilt and shame weaponized in the deeper ruts of a long term romantic relationship,
how can these patterns be best avoided, in tolerance, patience, and forgiveness? Or simply
severed once more in a choice to abandon the other? This choice to sever is easier for
some than others, for sure, but there is an inevitable point of no return in one’s life, the last
severance, after which the man or woman is too old to have a family and fulfill that genetic
obligation of our biology. The ascetic, no doubt, accepts this point of no return, and embraces
all that is beyond it as part of their commitment to the lifestyle or career in spirit. The
severance may be of the family they have already started, which must be more difficult than
having no family of one’s own, in many ways. The culture judges the deadbeat dad or unwed
mother, deems them unfit to parent, in many cases. But, again, the tradeoff is lost to us, as
our culture does not place value on the abilities honed and mastered by the ascetic shaman
or his techniques of mortification through self-restraint. The value of asceticism in India, for
instance, is written pretty extensively about, for instance. It is a different era with different
values, no doubt, but the counterculture reintroduced many of those values to us, even if the
techniques of yoga were diluted into our more materialistic culture. What can be distilled, as
1958
opposed to diluted, of this ancient culture? Or all the branches of philosophy and practice for
achieving non-ordinary states of consciousness that developed out from that ancient culture?

The Axis Mundi, the upper and lower realms, are the way these non-ordinary states are
represented in every tradition except our own. How can science integrate this universal
understanding of the inward journey? In so many ways, our understanding of physics and
electromagnetism afford us a more accurate model of these nonphysical or unseen aspects of
nature, as we have defined so many fundamentals laws governing this expansive spectrum
of energy within which we are immersed. These fundamentals, such as the carrier medium,
radiation fields, and waveform transmission of a modulator, can be applied to unseen aspects
of nature, yet unstudied. The first steps in doing so would involve the placing of known fre-
quency bands into a large-scale spectral cartography, one which encompasses natural vibrant
life’s many facets; representing the inward and outward, for instance, the inward-upward and
the inward-downward so described by the Axis Mundi universal.

EVP Rationalizations

The indication from these many recordings I’ve both made and heard is that,

1) The discarnate entity is in the room with the recorder or, more specifically, present in
a subtle non-physical range of that room. This can be thought of as a layer of electro-
magnetism existing in that space which the entity is able to influence. The fact that these
vocalizations are not physically heard at the time of recording, but are audible only on playback
of the recording implies that the electromagnetic devices used to make the recording are key
to the EVP procedure. These devices are, of course, much more sensitive to EM influence that
our naked senses. EVP did not exist before these recording devices were invented, although
vocalizations and spiritual interaction is certainly an ancient aspect of every culture.
2) The recordings often imply that this communication is exhausting to the entity, or requires
an extensive expenditure of energy on the part of the discarnate to accomplish getting their
voice to the magnetic tape, or whatever the medium may be. While the clarity of the recorded
words of the EVP is often lacking, the emotionality of the speech often speaks volumes of the
entity’s state. Seemingly mournful, troubled, or tormented EVPs are common, often asking for
help or assistance of some kind which, to my mind, often imply some “unfinished business”
the discarnate entity seeks help to resolve.
3) The recordings of the Spiricom device of Meek, if accepted as legitimate, imply a progression
of the discarnate away from the physical world the recording is taking place. That is to say,
the entity’s eventual ascension (or descension) from the immediate EM range necessary to
impart their words to tape.
4) Certain individuals, with hypersensitive or mediumistic predispositions, are often required
to be present in the room for the EVPs to occur. The identifiable entities returning to recordings
made in the presence of these gifted individuals seem to imply these entities are following the
individual. Often identified as deceased family members of the individual, or someone tied to
that specific location the recording is made. Details of the gifted individual or other people
present at the recording are often of such a personal nature, no person could have known
the information recorded (e.g., pet names, relationships details, or specific experiences or
memories of the departed and the individual).

1959
19.3 June

Etiology of Marijuana’s "Demotivational Syndrome" (2021-06-30 05:14) - public

What is the etiology of marijuana’s “demotivational syndrome?” Sufi and Indian cultures de-
scribe similar patterns of behavior observed among hashish smokers. What is the progression
that leads to this common casualty seen throughout history?

I would venture to say that the profundity of one’s cannabis psychedelic experience may be in
direct proportional relationship with the lack of priorities or goals which seem to follow. Earl in
cannabis use, I wrote and described a feeling of seeing all of the goals and career trajectories
I had set for myself up to that time in my life having been, all at once, revealed to be empty
and theatric, manifestations of ego and the self I had built in society Where ego had stood,
I saw a role I no longer cared to fill along a trajectory I no longer had the same naive blind
passion for. I could see through myself…

Empty ego, and how far can I chase its tail down, so to speak, down the clichéd rabit
hole that came to define sixties counterculture. Grace Slick was tapping into a set of signature
lines of thinking common to the LSD trip. At once, an immense relief in no longer carrying
the burdens and obligations of that stressful anxiousgoal chasing lifestyle, the emptiness that
remained was a severe struggle in therapy during that period of Freshman and Sophomore
year of college. The absence of a social self is described within this subculture of LSD explo-
ration. Timothy Leary did not speak for several days after his first LSD session to the point
that Richard Alpert and others close to Leary became worried for their friend, who no longer
seemed present. This is the outward appearance of inward ego death. No doubt a baseline
was formed with subsequent experiences so that a social personality could be reestablished.
Leary was a resilient social being, much like fellow Irish American Terrence McKenna, classical
bards in their own way, each. But that unique genetic signature which manifested from within
them , charming and whimsical, playful and provocative, cannot be applied to other genetic
phenotypes in the same way. For myself, much like my own ancestors, the words were gone
with the personality and social self that had dissolved away in the brilliant attention of that
first experience. Learning so much of the complex mesh of interrelationships that existed
between myself and the world. The personality did not “bounce back” so easily and resiliently
as Leary or McKenna. The loss was profound, loss of innocence in a way, seeing every opinion
or category I had once held for another was groundless ego.

How strange, I come out of the bathroom and the laptop screen turns on, as if welcom-
ing my presence. This occurs when the keyboard or mousepad is touched, typically. I wonder
who touched it?

The relationship between states of electromagnetic arousal 1and electronics being dis-
turbed goes back, with so many strange and, as witnesses said, unbelievable or literally
incredible phenomena. The gradual understanding that forms over decades of such phenom-
ena is an informed and evidenced position that I cannot simply expect critically minded and
intelligent atheists to simply accept by declaration. Being scientific, as myself, they would
wish to see the evidence themselves, as I had. And so a line is drawn between what is , as they
can confirm, is fact and belief. If they cannot believe my account ofevents, they , they cannot
accept the conclusions subsequently drawn from those experiences. Or the understanding
1960
of nature and reality that those experiences changed in myself cannot be shared. Or, even
among those closest of friends who, when told the story, accepted it, as they said, they
have nothing to say in response, as they have never experienced anything in their lives with
which they could relate. I And perhaps I can join them, and ask “So what So this strange and
incredible thing mhappenedto you, what of it? What does that have to do with my life, or an
one’s? Big deal! You think you’re better than me? I don’t!”

So my sharing of the experience tends to end with resentment or fear. C Potential friends
becoming guarded, as if threatened. What is the value in that? The ego they see has formed
around the experience like a kind of inflexible scab in the shape of the experience, a false and
empty image of who I was once, at that time and in that set of circumstances. , environments
and relationships. Now that all of those places are sold and all of those friends are estranged,
what value now does airing those tired stories have? I forget the nitty gritty details and lose
the personality and humor and charm that could once reenact those stories with fire and
enthusiasm. Where first it was so emotional, I could not begin to tell it without welling up with
intensity and fear around the trauma, with time it became common and the conclusions of
those stories assumed. It is so easy to forget how far from the mainstream those experiences
were, to remember the personal leap I had to make, myself, just to rationalize and make sense
of what we were seeing. Paranormal phenomena, and their subsequent study, will always
be met with skepticism, as they should be. But there are ranges of skepticism which can
be confirmed prejudicial, where the scientifically minded can be discerned from those more
practicing scienceism, or the dogmatic categorization of what is acceptable and real from
what is ignorant gullible, or weak-minded superstition. This is a system of belief as inflexible
or virulent as any other. , with the dogmatic culture within the academic sciences in actuality
veer far from ideals of the scientific method. , where we imagine no place for prejudice being
able to hide. But lets not kid ourselves! People are petty and competitive, stealing and ass
kissing, desperate and greedy. Academia is no more refined than dogs fighting over a carcass.
The Alpha and the old Bull, patient vultures, scheming coyotes.

In what ways is the shaman not a schmoozy Vegas act or car sale sleaze, trying to drum
up attention with the same old song and dance that worked before. Keep the animal spirits
contented and thte ancestors entertained, “Sammy Davis Jr., personal friend of mine!”

“Stanley Krippner, PERSONAL friend of mine! Oh yea, call me, we’ll do lunch baby! Oh
yea, me and Stan go way back, we edited journals together. Got that book project in the
works, definitely. Definitely! “

Every moment is your peak receding , and it will never be younger or fresher than it is
right in this moment. After that, we’re only repeating ourselves.

Good job with these, Wiz! And what kind of legend were you?

Banging and clanging in the kitchen, who is throwing things? It would be good, or would have
been good, to have had each of those renters describe their experiences in the house, in
detail, with the scrutiny and accuracy of a formal investigation. What did The girlfriend see,
what did he remember seeing, so on, removing bias , ideally as much as possible in collecting
the data.

Asking others, lassoing them into obsessing about my past. Imagining myself as Robert
Stack, in my trench coat, living the external life of a tv personality standing upright in the
1961
world, applying my image, my side profile mug, awkwardly plastering it onto the side of my
car. As a window decal. So very foreign, even unable to turn my head or breath through the
laminate packaging. And can the camera pan as he jogs in his tracksuit to the gym, with the
white towel around his neck, and then changing costume for the stressful stop to the post
office, how flustered!

Reminder to self, spitefully post an image of the overhauled Dodge Neon up on blocks
in the parking lot. No need to label it “Hillbilly Yokel Post Office”, the image really speaks for
itself. That’ll show that fat bitch!

19.4 August

Isochronic Brainwave Entrainment and Anamolous Experience

(2021-08-01 06:31) - public

Kaleb Smith
What’s Parscoustics about?
EVP? Communication techniques?
3

· Reply
· 1d

Jack Hunter
Kaleb Smith partly, yes, but also the role of sound in other areas of the paranormal, e.g. raps
and bangs. My chapter is on music and trance.
2

· Reply
· 22h

Kaleb Smith
Jack Hunter My research at the Neurophenomenology Lab involved using isochronic rhythmic
stimuli to induce specific states of consciousness, gradually. Many described anomalous or
spiritual-type experiences, especially when global brainwave coherence … See More
2

· Reply
· 21h · Edited

David Luke
Kaleb Smith is this published?

· Reply
· 21h

Kaleb Smith
David Luke Unfortunately, no. I was kicked out of the lab before I could finish my pilot! 😂
1962
I still have copies of the brainwave data, though. I ran about 6 participants. Some very inter-
esting things learned, just with those folks... On how to effectively induce global coherence in
folks who were, initially, falling asleep.
I later introduced a photic lamp to the procedure and needed to have the participants sign a
waiver releasing me from liability if the flashing lights and tones induced a seizure! Wild times
back at the Transpersonal school! 😉
2

· Reply
· 21h · Edited

David Luke
Kaleb Smith nice research. What’s isochronic stimuli when it’s at home? Is this like the
opposite of binaural beats?

· Reply
· 21h

Kaleb Smith
David Luke Binaural is very specific, the piping of two distinct frequencies, one tone into each
ear, the subtraction of which give you your LFO, the entrainment frequency (which doesn’t
actually exist acoustically, only mentally.)
I was using an old wooden synthesizer to modulate tones/white noise signals at the speed (or
multiples of the speed) I wanted the neurons to fire at (so it was in mono, each ear getting the
same stimuli.)
My working thesis was that these entrainment frequencies would fall within the same ranges
seen in monotonous shamanic drumming; a more regular, precise, and scientific version of
that ancient consciousness modulation technology. The voltage from this old synth was then
piped out to the stroboscopic lamp, so it would fire in sync (Gysin’s 10 Hz Dream Machine
was an early inspiration). I was just beginning to learn the "sweet spots" of lumens and pitch
for the most visual or tactile experiences when I got locked out of the lab. Told it was too
dangerous! 😜 Ohh well! It’s an interesting area of consciousness research, for sure.
1

· Reply
· 16h · Edited

David Luke
Kaleb Smith sounds great. The artist Haroon Mirza works with synched Hz tones and light too.
He’s got some dope gadgets for internal psychedelic effects.
1

· Reply
· 15h

David Luke
What anomalous effects did you get?

· Reply
· 15h
1963
Kaleb Smith
David Luke I remember one girl saying it was the most powerful experience of her life. Even
though the bass "wows" were only in the headphones, she said she felt them pulsing through
her entire body, like her nervous system, head to toe, was pulsing in sync. She achieved cross
-hemispheric Alpha coherence, which you could watch, starting as synchrony in the occipital,
spread forward across the cortex. She was especially receptive to the auditory driving stimuli.
I would always lose them somewhere in mid-low Theta. There was a ceiling and floor to the
influence on their state of consciousness. You can only drive them so far down...
I’ve seen similar in Ayahuasca EEGs. Full body "pulsing." I have thought many times of getting
a simultaneous electromyograph to measure the entrainment through the entire nervous
system, not just the cortex.

19.5 November

Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 1 of 4 (w/ Comments)

(2021-11-08 11:23) - public

Such A Darling!

[1]turboswami

A curious face stares back from the night,

1964
The one she sees, that of a chubby cherub, such a darling.

Curious mistreater of selfish corners,

Portal on a poor pour us face, poured fate,

Into an open vessel so out-stretched, why?why!

Rolling curseI’ve written across a strand genetic,

1965
6

The prying throbbing need bares my throat and heart to sharpened thighs.

Hedge clippers.

Head lickers, with hands unseen.

Holding a pair of hedge clippers, naked, with a raised brow.

1966
10

Below, I am throbbing away in recollections of the day,

11

I feel every pulse up my neck, separate, but running alongside the heartbeat.

12

Serious, now.

13

Straighten up you slouching layabout!

1967
14

Hobble up grobbler of down below the alter.

15

Its time to drink your medicine and get into out-through-bed.

16

Can you climb into the bed to wake up?

17

A giant cavernous hole extending deep into the square patchwork blue of the comforter.

18

1968
Crawl inside your comforter,

19

crawl inside my chest and I will hold you there.

20

Huddled up against my heart, there in my cage.

21

How to make a life out of this? Too easily!

22

1969
Soak a crowd of screams into a night’s flick blossom.

23

The flick of a lighter, the burst of inward combustion.

24

The flick of a scene into the silence, crying up from the blue.

25

Echoing out into the memory in ripples rising color from the black.

26

1970
See me, don’t see me.

27

See me, repel from the strength.

28

Further and further, only to return back up in a rush of buoyancy.

29

Or maybe never come back.

30

1971
Release from the gravity of our opposition.

31

So this was the gaping cold of freedom, unrestrained and sensitive.

32

I never remember it hurting so much.

33

End on a good note.

34

Bah dum bum tchhh

1972
35

Returning To An Older Lover

[2]turboswami

Do friends do that?

Sing such soft fragile things into those big beautiful eyes,

1973
2

Dim dashboard light reflecting her welling intensity.

Do friends do that?

Do friends caress souls on a long warm breath?

Or plumb the depths for the most genuine self to offer up as a gift?

6
1974
Truth of self, like a precious stone, is bound to trust in a loop, a ring.

Can anyone trust a man who hides behind truths greater than himself?

In solitude he reveals all to that greater truth,

And only in the finality of marriage does She return the favor.

10

1975
6 Mar 09

Comments:

I have to admit, your poetry is ten times better, from head to toe than mine. I mean,
each poem says so much about the human experience. “Do friends do that?” I mean, wow.
I know what you mean too, Its like you have no flaws in your presentation. “...caress souls
on a long breath?” I know exactly what you’re saying there... Plus, the number of words, I
mean prolix is the best way to express even the most complex of human experiences—only
to confuse and frustrate the intended essence, right? I give this a two because of its ultimate
comercial message of importance on carbon. Diamonds aren’t precious, they aren’t rare, and
you are not profound, nor intelligent.
— [3]MattPat

Mattpat,

I am sorry if I came off as pompous or pretentious.

I was trying to use wedding ring imagery to carry the idea of resigning to a life of soli-
tude, and that being own sort of “marriage” to spirit.
In truth, its a bit of a depressing idea... but I had just been dumped so, yea... : )
— [4]turboswami

I’m sorry if I came off as angery or abject—because I was. Misinterpretation is easy

with poetry; when someone reads shallow, or if the poem is vague in abstract ways, the reader
may be wrong in their interpretation, or the poet may need practice. I believe the latter to
be true for you, and the former to be true for my work, simply because poeple do respond to
mine in the ways which I intend more often than not. Your hasty criticism of my poem was
frustrating; it was obvious that you did not read the poem, but instead, projected your own
reality tunnel upon it, and reacted uppon that without reading the poem the way a poet aught
to (more than once, and searchingly). I have no hard feelings though. I took a look at your
myspace. You are a very interesting character in all actuality, and that complexity makes you
more beautiful than most can say.

That being said, I hope you realize that a marriage to spirit doesnt require solitude, but
for enough time to realize that it doesnt take solitude, and that it is not depressing, but to a
person who is not married to spirit.
— [5]MattPat

1976
I’ll Mark My Door And Call It Ours

[6]turboswami

Lamb down my pretty hurt searcher and rescue

me, I’m ok. really.

Lamb down and lay bloody, my fucking innocent.

1977
3

I’ll mark my door and call it ours.

I’ll lay beside you and neither of us will sleep.

I’ll wrap you tight till you feel safe enough to sleep.

And the blood will stop.

1978
I know a sunset that’s red like that,

I remember seeing it behind the wind of your hair.

I remember how the clouds were purple with pity,

10

Watching that painful red goodbye behind the wind of your hair.

11

1979
And now the red is gone, the clouds are lost in the dark.

12

You are no longer with me.

13

And the night has no such pity.

14

It is too slow and deep to feel with me,

15

The memory of the wind of your hair,

16
1980
Behind me now.

17

14 Mar 09

Comments:

She was so innocent.

So pure she could read my mind.
I dont miss her body as much as I miss the way she searched into my eyes like a curious little
girl.
— [7]turboswami

I found your poem to be beautiful, but your comment kind of ruined it for me.
— [8]banditfemme

your comment about the eyes set me back many years... i always like to read between
every line in every piece that comes my way, it gives “me” insight into pieces... “always read
between the lines and write between the lines” Ferlinghetti
j.g.smiles
— [9]goeszon

Bandit,

I am glad you enjoyed my writing for that brief moment before scrolling down. : )

1981
Perhaps I should comment more about how firm her little ass was, if talking about her
beautiful personality “ruins” her for you.
— [10]turboswami

ah, you misunderstood my point. Your poem box has impeccable contents; let others
add their comments.
— [11]banditfemme

: )
— [12]turboswami

I love the title, the poem, the way it flows. Awesome. :-)
— [13]starr

A Rest From Rational Fear

[14]turboswami

For 5 days, I call four magic smiles to furnish any mood decided by any room. Each smile
carries it’s own distinct tone, a smile for time and a smile of mine, a smile of his and a smile
of the raging hate of inflicting pain upon a loved one...each of these I cherish, with however
much guilt one or the other may deserve, in a way which loves me down to nothing.

1982
For 4 days, I close my eyes and feel nothing and everything shift through my tugging guts,
neither but both all alone with her as I do what I can to comfort my child’s mother. I must
remember her and her free spirit which makes me smile and laugh, frown and cry, grit and
spit; the freedom which I never allow myself an innocent comfort for the long days which are
sure to come.

For 3 days, I learned to love.

For 2 days, I fell in love with a growling angel who’s emptiness fulfilling beyond the realm of
words. I hugged her back into line, slowly rocking her from exhausting sleep. I said “I love you”
with every breath, exhaled. I dug a well with a sharp shovel, ground edge of my 22 years, and
with it’s icy pure water, pulled laboriously

1983
up from aquatic caverns far below this heated stress, I wish to plant a fruit try tree, and with
stern daily attention, feed a lover.

For 1 day, I taught what I learned of well-digging to a man who’s water streams deeper beneath
his stress than abysmal love could allow his self-restriction to thirst for.

15 Mar 09

Comments:

thanks for the breaks... way to many words... as they say you should chop this down
to what your heart means... you know what i mean ,i am sure... it hurts to do cause it is your
baby but you gotta do it so it will work, beautiful words but to much explanation... poetry is the
essence of ideas before they are distilled into thought... by Ferlinghetti... as usual j.g.smiles
— [15]goeszon

Yea, its a wordy bugger.

...I mean, I am.
1984
— [16]turboswami

i am a man of many words... an i work on it... Ferlinghetti would say “”Think long thoughts in
short sentences” just look at my comment i get blown off all the time .j.g.smiles
— [17]goeszon

This was very deep. I am still trying to figure out the last stanza..the him you are talk-
ing about..is that you or your child?
— [18]psychofemale

Whose Soul I’ve Known In Ten Thousand Faces

[19]turboswami

I use a trouble to make a trouble.

I struggle juggling young troublers, but was punished.

1985
I slaired a turning stair down deep to the lit ones.

They greeted me kindly and didn’t ask my name, and I remembered,

Them in my eyes who I loved All all my Life,

The greater Life, from before this choice’s memory.

The Divine lineage, the greater scale, my place on the spectrum.

1986
7

I remember them there,

and I remember all my lovers as one;

one beautiful radiant woman,

10

whose soul I’ve known in ten thousand faces.

1987
11

A man who has accompanied me,

12

spectating me (kind spectre,) performing in life for me,

13

or once meeting in a life as deep friends,

14

two old fishermen who told stories of the sea.

15
1988
25 Mar 09

Comments:

you’ve made a troubling poem of the beloved one

where deep calls to deep,
that infinite-in just beyond where we sleep,
in a tunnel vision where all the dead-ends meet

well writ allusions to the infinite in where the heart speaks in the tongue of silence
— [20]AlchemiA

fantastic

dont like the title

first line . .. laughter . . .sounds a bit italian accent caricature?

possibly me being premature?

at any rate

wonderful stuffs

utterly delights

thanks
— unknown

”Poetry is a hand print of the invisible, a footprint of the visible reality, following it like a
shadow” L/F... this drove me around to the end where i found... two old fishermen who told the
story, remove the fluff, cut it down in size an it will be a container of love with no lid needed...
j.g smiles
— [21]goeszon

Goeszon,
Which lines, in particular, felt fluffy?

1989
The last one is the longest... my guess is that one.
— [22]turboswami

Changed the title, and the parsing. Did it seem to help at all?
— [23]turboswami

A Torn Tomb Swallows The Sun

[24]turboswami

On a life like today, a torn tomb sets the sun.

Swallowing the side of a cycle in a yawning recline.

Old stories are told around dim remnants of fire,

1990
3

faint ember of a man recalling passions that once blazed radiant.

His peak, when so hot and bright he could lick the treetops teasingly.

Dim eyes faded peer out from his tattered camouflage army coat.

Heavy head enclosed by his shoulders, he speaks from inside his ribcage.

7
1991
His thought’s long beneath his quiet words, so long away from that fire,

So distant his gaze, searching the horizon for that warm light he once knew so well.

“Was I really ever there?” so long ago fades into question.

10

He knew once that distant fire on the horizon was lost, he could never return home.

11

1992
He would be alone without a beacon.

12

No direction to follow to the light of those he once loved so dear.

13

28 Mar 09

Comments:

[25]http://www.myspac e.com/thebandabsorbed

Song accompanies poem.

— [26]turboswami

Contemplations then drawn to dim eyes , such as mine, it seems that an older age has
caught up with his heart of hearts, was i really ever there? when i think of the things i got
away with i almost shudder... this was well written and thought out perhaps from one who is
close with the thoughts i am at my age where i read this and breath heavy for the feelings of
this piece... thanks for your piece... j.g.smiles
— [27]goeszon

1993
Snivel Sly Viking Vine Snaking

[28]turboswami

Drag a strong eye down across Surface Steet,

Walking into oncoming traffic.

Shade a clothes’ stage fractured,

1994
halling up a forest shard of sky.

Fellows hellows waved down long halos.

From that break in the sky where they’re no longer clothed.

Feel their field and sunlit white dress,

Like the purest veil from above the blue hue.

1995
8

It was a vine that grew through the sky,

a two-tangled spiral of body and spirit.

10

One of above, one of below,

11

they met and merged as a ladder, learned

1996
12

and learning, enveloped each other informing.

13

12 Apr 09

Comments:

has some very good rhythms in the lines here.. but i’m not sure what it’s saying .. other than
drawing quite nice pictures :)
— [29]Feminoid

I was trying to draw the “axis mundi” as two vines of ayahuasca, intertwined within
themselves like DNA information.

I admit, its a bit vague—but that shamanism stuff wouldn’t have it any other way. ;)
— unknown

Nice one
— [30]psychofemale

The Labyrinth of Tunnels Burning

1997
[31]turboswami

Awe-men Some,

Sons of Om and Ahm end.

Stories of strobic patterns of light,

and the doorways inbetween flashes.

1998
Straw men burn within,

their billowy remnants flowing out.

Stores of winning stories flare up spirals,

through tunnels course flooded with purifying flame.

1999
Scrawl cross a dried mudbed, the tendons stretch and ligaments prod.

Like chicken bone pillars in line,

10

enclosing the extending edges of a darkened tunnel’s blind corner.

11

Nothing seen beyond.

12

2000
Wardens coil slowly, inspecting the damage to their defenses.

13

Extensive.

14

A loyal fire marshal swings in to lay down rules.

15

I need to bring the rules through for him.

16

2001
Slobbering body hounds sleep slow and wake sullen,

17

To search and dig on leashed regrets

18

through charred remnants of winners.

19

19 Apr 09

Comments:

tub-o-salami your first two lines are the poem after which it reads like you’re one of
those channellers of dead-ghosts speaking in the tongue of a drunken Irish-men lost in the
labyrinths of your mind—people talking through you, can’t hear what their saying, only the
echoes of your mindless chatter—the idea bears some resemblance to tunnels ‘n labyrinths
but it seems to get lost somewhere—the sounds of lines one and two and the word play is
2002
very interesting, however
— [32]AlchemiA

i think of burned out england and the fire marshal swinging into action after the hell...
or the tunnel fire that killed so many leaving some piled like chicken bones... but the hounds
would not be use so much in char since their feet could not take it etc even with booties...
anyway i am confused... j. g. smiles
— [33]goeszon

AlchemiA,

Mindless?
Really? Ouch.

Tub-O-Salami. Hmm...
Your comment seems generally resentful.
— [34]turboswami

1. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120030711/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
2. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012014/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
3. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012014/http://poetrycritical.net/~MattPat/
4. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012014/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
5. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012014/http://poetrycritical.net/~MattPat/
6. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
7. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
8. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~banditfemme/
9. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
10. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
11. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~banditfemme/
12. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
13. https://web.archive.org/web/20111106183445/http://poetrycritical.net/~starr/
14. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035653/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
15. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035653/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
16. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035653/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
17. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035653/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
18. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035653/http://poetrycritical.net/~psychofemale/
19. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035618/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
20. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035618/http://poetrycritical.net/~AlchemiA/
21. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035618/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
22. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035618/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
23. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035618/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
24. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120011958/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
25. https://web.archive.org/%22http://www.myspace.com/thebandabsorbed/%22
26. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120011958/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
27. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120011958/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
28. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035613/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
29. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035613/http://poetrycritical.net/~Feminoid/
30. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035613/http://poetrycritical.net/~psychofemale/
31. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120030737/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
32. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120030737/http://poetrycritical.net/~AlchemiA/

2003
33. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120030737/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
34. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120030737/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/

Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 2 of 4 (w/ Comments)

(2021-11-08 11:27) - public

The Alternative Sickness

[1]turboswami

I am sick.

I am sick a deep sickness beneath,

A sickness many will never feel.

2004
3

I am sick there, beneath the body.

I am a child, stomach torn by a claw.

I am cursed through a family,

a spell spun on a long genetic strand.

7
2005
In can’t ed, the downward tug of an inner weight.

I am heavily bleeding, I cannot cross the river.

Across the river, the long current which flows between,

10

there are men and beasts that cheer and prowl.

11

2006
Stalk or celebrate, fend or set the bait.

12

They cross and tend softly to my needs in the night.

13

I am my family,

14

I am my mother’s angry gaze.

15

2007
Her critical eye is my own sword, cutting in and out.

16

I am afraid,

17

of all the women she is.

18

I am angry,

19

I resent women.
2008
20

I want to hold a woman again.

21

I hate.

22

I am open armed beneath that hate.

23

I am a softie.

2009
24

I am a soft one sensitive and girly.

25

I am a womanly man with a booming voice to wield and carry in front of me.

26

I was once wildly soft.

27

I am a thousand voices, 3 for any mood or set of the sun and stars.

28
2010
I know a voice thats so quiet and honest, it could whisp you away, inwards.

29

I know a voice that could crawl up your spine and grab you suddenly aware in bed.

30

I can grab your sudden awareness, I can cut you open with a scalpels voice.

31

With precision I can cut, I can stab,

32

2011
I am stabbing myself again and again in the stomach,

33

I must dismember myself completely,

34

I must die and reawaken completely.

35

I must be born into the knowledge of death in this life.

36

2012
I feel the claw, I am a beast’s soul taking hold.

37

(My right hand twitches at the elbow,

38

the fingers gnarled sharp over the keys for a brief second)

39

I am made strong by his torture below.

40

His sharp gnawing claw my test to overcome.

41

2013
I have been torn.

42

I must not retreat from the wound.

43

I must dive within it, and let it take me.

44

I am called to live within or die trying.

45

2014
26 Apr 09

Comments:

What’s on your mind? What do you have in mind? I’m DYING to see what others say...
j.g. smiles
— [2]goeszon

this is an aria from a lost opera by elton john. i can’t wait to hear the dead kennedy’s
cover.
— [3]trashpoodle

trashpedo^
— unknown

Thanks Goeszon,

You reply to each so diligently.

This was a rum poem.

Rum was what I had in my mind. ; )
They are a lot more guttural, less cerebral, but...more honest in a way.
— [4]turboswami

Bare Your Teeth Knowing You’ve Broke Me

[5]turboswami

2015
Yea, stored that.

All that emotion for later.

Stored it for someone more deserving,

saved it to be let out at the Right Time.

And waited.
2016
5

And the Right Time maybe came or maybe never came or...

Was snatched up by someone with fire, with passion,

With emotion.

And as they were leaving, I fell to my knees to offer up all I’d been storing,

2017
9

Opened my chest for all that had been bursting to be released...

10

...and something ugly and wilted slid out from where I had felt so much

11

...and that beautiful thing I had waited to shout

12

had suffocated in my patience.

13

2018
Did I hear the screams?

14

The wailing cries of that passion as it died within me?

15

Drowned beneath the polite whispers and small fucking lies!?

16

I’m so fucking polite!

17

So fucking polite and you killed me!

2019
18

Alll of you smiling fuckers, bare your teeth knowing you’ve broke me!

19

You broke my soul, I fight no more.

20

I beat my heart, I pound my chest,

21

I hang my head and wail in mourning for my soul,

22
2020
for it once felt

23

for it once radiated all the honesty that I could be.

24

I want to stab it open

25

it

26

2021
I

27

not

28

this

29

23 May 09

Comments:

2022
let me start by saying i like the fire behind it. i definitely felt the strong emotion behind
the words, especially the overt pain/frustration. one minor issue would be the inconsistency
of the flow.
— [6]nemissk8

Yea, the rhythm comes out more when I speak it...

There’s something about a speaking poet’s pauses and emphasis that gives the words more
passion.
I love hearing Bukowski read.
— [7]turboswami

wow. this is truly wonderful what youve created with these simple words. to start i
adore the title. the way the lines come in short bursts emphasized by the periods makes
this poem jump out more than others would. descriptions of the ugly “thing” show controlled
rage. i think maybe in line 23 you should try to break it up so certain parts become more
emphasized, “all the honesty that i could be” should perhaps jump into a line of its own. and
line 21, perhaps, to eliminate the second “i” so it reads more, “ i beat my heart, pound my
chest, hang my head. and wail.” the ending is a bit upsetting for me as you seem to lose
momentum and fade out. with a single line to rip the whole poem together this would be
complete itself. glorious writing.
— [8]silentspring

the fait accompli of reason is the doubt based paradigm where certainty is part of the
confidence game well known by gamblers of every sort—the darWINian grin where the ‘smile,’
that is showing all of ones teeth, is a move even the great apes know as an Alpha gesture
of ‘I’m better than you’—the anger is your Nature struggling to become whom you ought to
be, raging against the socially accepted “I” you’ve created to fit in, which has chained you
to an illusion, the polite grin—the anger is real and so is the write you’ve writ—its move is to
recreate your life from the bleeding passion in your pen where you can become whom you
want to be again—you’ve seen folks so afraid to get out of their tunnel-visions of fear which is
a form of leprosy where all the courage of the heart falls off in black rotting bits over the years
until there’s no heart left at all—and you don’t want to become that—neti, neti, not this, not this

this is the Dancer, a rhythm of blood sweat and tears, whirling feet realized, after all
these years, he will fly with a grace, hard won by many a fall, in his mind/body interface, is
an awareness of all ... I had this dream two nights ago, I had removed my head and realized
I was able to see in a warm-fuzzy way with my heart, you might say — aware of my feet,
feeling complete—when I used just my head I did not really feel but could see structure more
clearly—funny eh? nice writing turbo
— [9]AlchemiA

Thanks, I made some changes, Silent.

The ending fades out, yes...
For me it leaves the impression “they” might have won.
Victory grins, all around.
— [10]turboswami

2023
In Through The Watcher’s Window

[11]turboswami

Lay down, dark cat weave, storm no more, your beckoning fulfilled.

Strange requests down in dreams,

nightmarish gears rusted still turn near my toes at a sailors unconcerned whim.
Balance tight ‘long tetanus strip for the plank’s sog rot won’t hold.

Gray drunk in cold glass awash refract a crowd of watch girl’s blur-sung.
I’ll know better pains in outer gains two fears a dollar to the scar.
Dont revise my drunk staired mess for slouched confessions know more unstrained.
There’s a known love song I see and course up through fingers soul-held.

There’s a known love song I see that courses up through fingers soul-held,

On married hands I play stray swift a thousand slight of forms, resigned.

2024
2

I cross the fields inter-message, I fold along withinner edge to hear.

First clarity of a silent fast, I see in through the watcher’s window.

Make clear my water, make calm its surface,

Show me the visions which flood in wordless knowing.

6
2025
24 May 09

Comments:

nice sunglasses,bad pome

— unknown

really nice authentic voice in this, with perfect flow. Casual in approach yet precise and
honest... it reads like an excerpt from a bigger piece. would love to read the rest
— [12]syrossoul

Haha. Wow, you totally caught me, syrossoul.

This is a “cut” of the end of a much longer poem of a dream.
I’m so impressed you could tell!

The larger poem was looser, less cohesive, and touched on too many themes that came
up in the dream - I thought it better to just choose the best, most concise theme, spiritual
mediumship, which came near the end. I’ll go ahead and add a bit more, as a comment.
— [13]turboswami

Lay down, dark cat weave, storm no more, your beckoning fulfilled.

Strange requests down in dreams,

nightmarish gears rusted still turn near my toes at a sailors unconcerned whim.
Balance tight ‘long tetanus strip for the plank’s sog rot won’t hold.

Gray drunk in cold glass awash refract a crowd of watch girl’s blur-sung.
I’ll know better pains in outer gains two fears a dollar to the scar.
Dont revise my drunk staired mess for slouched confessions know more unstrained.
There’s a known love song I see and course up through fingers soul-held.
— [14]turboswami

2026
Glory Be To The God I Was

[15]turboswami

Glory be to the God I was

prays every old grandpa on his way to sleep,

resting nestled up there in polished oak,

contented.
2027
4

And I, for as long as I now live, strove to be him,

strove to be done, completed with the competing,

the hard struggle finished, laying back to rest,

contented.

2028
8

I’ll reside and watch, thank you.

Side and reside, beside myself with emotion.

10

I stand beside my emotional self for a moment,

11

for a lifetime.

12
2029
I take a step back, get a perspective on things

13

– on all the things I never finished.

14

What’s all I found,

15

what beautiful lives and possibilities,

2030
16

were opened for me, gift after gift.

17

And I slept through

18

and I broke

19

and I fucked

20
2031
and I lazed to disappoint on potential, past-ripening.

21

We are the fruit of the spirits,

22

to be plucked, but also planted;

23

cared for, both watered and pruned

24

2032
with either side of two loving hands.

25

What is the fruit that weather permits,

26

but the greatest of our life achievements,

27

for they to share with us,

28

2033
gleaming with pride behind us,

29

on the other side of the glass.

30

And in the construction of coincidence,

31

they worked just as hard as we did,

32

and have reason to be proud of their labor of love:

2034
33

our life.

34

1 Sep 09

Comments:

Your piece adds truth, contented, for a life time, things I never finished, gift after gift, I
slept thru, we are the fruit, of two loving hands, for they share with us, on the other side,
construction of coincidence, their labor of love, our life... yes a piece of truth that I go through
almost everyday in my mind ,heart... j.g. smiles
— [16]goeszon

Thanks Goeszon. I’m glad a few lines resonated with you. :)

— [17]turboswami

She Forgot What We Knew

2035
[18]turboswami

Lacking a long late laugh she lit once.

She who was with me, I was so sure of it.

I was so sure that she knew what we knew.

And that it would not be forgotten.

2036
Gullible, I guess.

To believe in children’s stories like Love.

Grown ups don’t tell eachother such things!

Say Amen, shutup, and eat.

2037
1 Sep 09

Comments:

Where are Whitman’s wild children, where the great voices speak out ? L. Ferlinghetti
j.g. smiles
— [19]goeszon

the first line is confusing but i like the rest of it.

— [20]wiccanhot

Perhaps if it were “I lack...” ?

— unknown

there’s something wrong with the first line. take a look

at its proper construction. maybe editing it will give your poem an edge of clarity.
— [21]suedehead

I could say “I” Lack... yea.

But that would take away from that L rhythm.

Curious how it would come out if written “right,” Suede.
— [22]turboswami

I think that the first line should say lacking instead of lack. That’s why it sounds so
awkward.
Find a synonym for sure. I would replace one of them with a word like certain since it has the
same s sound.

I would remove line 5 the rest of the stanza infers gullible so you don’t need to state it.

I love the last line!

The title is great too.
— [23]Io

1. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012020/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
2. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012020/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
3. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012020/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/

2038
4. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012020/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
5. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034015/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
6. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034015/http://poetrycritical.net/~nemissk8/
7. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034015/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
8. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034015/http://poetrycritical.net/~silentspring/
9. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034015/http://poetrycritical.net/~AlchemiA/
10. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034015/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
11. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035607/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
12. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035607/http://poetrycritical.net/~syrossoul/
13. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035607/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
14. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035607/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
15. https://web.archive.org/web/20120907132827/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
16. https://web.archive.org/web/20120907132827/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
17. https://web.archive.org/web/20120907132827/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
18. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034043/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
19. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034043/http://poetrycritical.net/~goeszon/
20. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034043/http://poetrycritical.net/~wiccanhot/
21. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034043/http://poetrycritical.net/~suedehead/
22. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034043/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
23. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120034043/http://poetrycritical.net/~Io/

Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 3 of 4 (w/ Comments)

(2021-11-08 11:30) - public

The Sirens

[1]turboswami

Sirens sing up a fragile mask for danger,

1
2039
and the dogs run out to jump and smell and know.

The dogs, like men, love the scent of a beautiful woman,

and will curl to protect a voice so delicate as hers.

2040
Clothed in the glistening of the night sea, they call,

call from a place somehow beyond the rocks,

just beyond all a man could ever know.

2041
7

Each man dies trying to protect her that he can never hold.

Stop being dramatic. Your cheese is getting sweaty in the living room, you’d best eat it before
it softens. Eat it all up!
Don’t hunch over like that. So you have to fight gravity a bit harder than other kids your age,
you mustn’t show it!
Oh my God! You walk like you have a board up your ass. Hurry up!

8 Sep 09

2042
Comments:

this is cool but i wish it were longer. maybe just one more stanza of what happens
next.

sirens sing diamonds so bright they blind men’s eyes from the frightening scene of surprize
that echos the demise of men like them
— [2]justagirlx3

Yea, all the guys died.

Seemed like the end.

Maybe if you think of my comment as a 3rd stanza. — [3]turboswami ditch the footnote.
we already have a cheese prince poet here as for the poem, melodramatic and false. —
unknown Not a constructive critique. — [4]turboswami
So Long, So Long, Slowly On...

[5]turboswami

The fists of the little men were not curled so tight

1

when they were infants

2

when they cried openly just to be held.

3

And if I cry openly

4

2043
will you hold me again?
5

If I fall to your lap,

6

collapse to your feet

7

will you hold me again?

8

For you knew I was a little man,

9

you knew what none of them knew

10

You knew I was really so small

11

that I would climb inside you to sleep.

12

And if I die openly,

13

2044
would you cry for me again?
14

If I fall to your lap,

15

collapse to your feet

16

will you know me again?

17

Remember that song I sang you,

18

about how far loneliness can reach

19

and curl into a shell.

20

and blind your memory

21

so you dont know which home

22

you’re in at night.
2045
23

And if I sing openly,

24

would you feel with me again?

25

If I fall to your lap,

26

collapse to your feet

27

will you hear me again?

28

There’s a careless love

29

and there’s a careful love

30

and their gaping difference

31

can be hidden in a dress like yours

2046
32

for only
33

so long
34

8 Sep 09

Comments: and there is also living in the closet. — unknown There’s a careless love 29 and
there’s a careful love 30 and their gaping difference 31 can be hidden in a dress like yours 32
for only 33 so long ha HAH. — [6]Liliana this could be a song it reads so smoothly nice job —
[7]justagirlx3 Yea, living in the closet is always an alternative. I hear its warm and safe in there.
; ) — [8]turboswami
A Full Moon Fever Memory

[9]turboswami

A figment of a harsh shard retracts its head with a dissonant hiss,

1

The lush rolling hills are interrupted by sudden fear.

2

The insects, burrowed in their dark nests,

3

click and chatter about larvae, curled fat and fetal white.
4
2047
The frain fell with my frail refrain,
5

and cooled, with a sizzle, the fire seeing beneath the serpent’s hood.
6

I’ll tear open like a tomb with a stretch of awakening

7

and breath full like another first.

8

Like when my thirst was first quenched by the cool air I opened into.
9

Long ago, I remember,

10

and long before even still, to a stillness I felt I was before feeling,
11

Lay beside me there, my love,

12

lay beside me and we’ll age a thousand back

13
2048
and I’ll love you still the same, through a thousand faces.
14

I’ll love you, still the same. I love you, still the same.
15

I love you, still the same. I am, and you know I am as I was,
16

And smile to remember all I was, with warmth please.

17

I am a stalk which has bore that bright blossom (“Don’t Say Stalk!”)
18

I wilt inwards around fragility, while others stand tall.

19

24 Apr 11

Comments: Good! — unknown

Fill A Voice With Remnants

[10]turboswami

Like a long time mother-friend, you leave me cared for and loved.
1
2049
A closing and opening knowing, hinge grinding on fear of attachment.
2

Respect these drifters as goddesses, riding a precious secret.

3

Their long trailing strings are histories that sting with wisdom.
4

Stored old scores, I collapse into tired stories, disassociated.

5

I fill a voice with remnants, and they are like many hot embers.
6

With beauty to fuel, charm to catch fire this tired passion.

7

I offer my archive like a wall, decorated with decades forgotten.

8

24 Aug 11

Comments: high-level critique in a workshop like this is about asking you what you think is
wrong with this poem. do you want to go there? — [11]trashpoodle Care to critique the poem,
rather than your tedious psychotic goings on about how its not about the poetry but the critic
and the critique? — [12]jharrison ..and you are not asking what the author thinks is wrong
with the poem, nor any reader of it either .. but you want a response so you can say what you
think is wrong with this poem. You’re such a language and personality hypocrite, Mike :) —
2050
[13]jharrison can’t critique the poem until you know what the author is about, what the author
wants from the site and the critique. usually it’s obvious, but this one is so naive that i thought
i’d better get it clear up front that this isn’t poetry idol. — [14]trashpoodle Yes you can critique
the poem rergardless wether you know what the author is ‘about’. You are quite a clueless fuck
on the subject. Again, Mike, you do not get to decide what any of this is about. If it’s ‘poetry
idol’ then that’s exactly what is is... and there’s a not a fucking thing you can do about it. By
the way . did you ever find that link to the thread where I said what you claim I said about
the Japanese? Or were you just lying again? :) — [15]jharrison no, you critique the poem with
an idea of what the author is about, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to read it at all—you’d be
like one of those bimbos who are always telling us we’re writing nonsense. the only thing true
in a poem is the story of the author writing the poem. the rest, all the content and fire-cones,
is vanity. — [16]trashpoodle No, you critique the poem. I thought you said you ‘blind read’
poetry here .. or is this just another affectative lie to try and make it appear as though you
are some sort of pure saintly poetry guru dude guy man? You’re contradicting yourself in your
self delusional evolution. — [17]jharrison ”the only thing true in a poem is the story of the
author writing the poem. the rest, all the content and fire-cones, is vanity.” Wrong ... though I
agree you would know all about vanity. There is no one more vain on this site than you. Your
magic is weak, Mike :) — [18]jharrison if the poem isn’t a picture of the poet writing the poem,
then what is it? where does the content and form come from? god? direct and immediate?
— [19]trashpoodle start with the notion that THE POEM is what it’s ALL about. we need know
nothing about the poet, or a lil old critic’s psychosis. forget theory, autobiography, and what all
else: the words start here and end there, that’s the poem, eye on it, douche. for you, poodle,
this IS poetry idol, apparently. — unknown ”if the poem isn’t a picture of the poet writing the
poem, then what is it?” It is everything. The poet writing the poem, the poem itself, the words
and meaning the reader picks out and feels without any ‘insider’ knowledge, and also with
insider knowledge, it is nothing to do with the author, and everything to do with the author, it
is the reder making connections with themselves and with another, it is creation of the new out
of the old and familiar. It is art that does not need an explaination, but once you read the name
of the meaning it changes from the first flush of contact into something not you any more. By
‘knowing the author’ there is no reader, no poem, no poetry ... only the superficial analysis of
the creation. It appears that poetry and the reading of it is far beyond your single issue, small
time, redundant linear pyschosis. Art is beyond you .. art is esoteric and magickal .. not a study
of statistics. Whatever you claim to have learned at this ‘workshopping’ event of yours was a
complete pile of donkey shit if this is what you are promoting as the only way to understand,
know and learn what is poetry. You do not ‘know’, that is obvious. — [20]jharrison the poem
doesn’t exist as a poem until you enter into the mode of ‘poetry reading’—you can read the
phone book as a poem, but you’re going to want to know how the book is organized if you
want to find your aunt sally. that means understanding how and why the book was published.
which means understanding what ‘phone’ and ‘looking up a number’ is about. so, a poem.
you, if you’re conscious and not a beginner, want to know at least what else the poet wrote.
and, if you’re a poet, you want to know how the poem got made at all. the poets look first at
the personality behind the presentation—look how the words are used and what kind of words
and rhythm support the ideas. the poem is a story about the author writing a poem. there’s
nothing else real in a poem except the author’s thought and work. — [21]trashpoodle 2for you,
poodle, this IS poetry idol, apparently” ... and he is so very desperate to win! Simon would
sign him up for a one hit generic bland money maker and then dump his ass :) — [22]jharrison
”the poem doesn’t exist as a poem until you enter into the mode of ‘poetry reading”’ I disagree.
This utterly perverse and quite stupid nonsense forgets the very author you are trying to say is
the only way to understand a poem. The poem always exists, even without any readers. There
is no need for a reader, only an author who is also the reader. Your magick is weak, Mike :) —
2051
[23]jharrison there’s this lower-class notion that literature is upper class and that it’s subjective
because it’s upper class and rarefied. a poem is always written by a human, first, and then
passed around in stages to the public. the myth of poet is a sick thing, if the myth makes the
poet some kind of moses coming down off the anthill and talking about the worker’s duty. —
[24]trashpoodle ”if you’re conscious” You’re not ‘concious’, Mike... you’re deeply psychotic. —
[25]jharrison ”there’s this lower-class notion” wow... wandering off into class disctinction and
tertiary insults. You’ve lost this one, Mike .. if this is all you have to offer .. or are you being your
dauighter again now, and will start calling us peasants? — [26]jharrison or was that pheasants?
... I didn’t take much notice of your lies and deciets... — [27]jharrison look how fucked people
are reading ‘do not go gentle’—thomas recorded how it’s to be read, but people still think it’s
about shrieking like a castrated pig because you’re going to die. what thomas said was that his
dad was a fool to whine about death, after doing nothing all his life except practice being dead.
that’s the reading of the poem: dylan thomas created this from nothing, invented poetry. it’s
not the same poem joe bet-wetter has in his head when he first sees do not go gentle... you
have to watch the poet write the poem: it’s the only way a genius poet can read a poem at
all. why would we want, as thomas said, a cheap ‘rub and a tickle?’ — [28]trashpoodle ”if the
myth makes the poet some kind of moses coming down off the anthill and talking about the
worker’s duty.” .. perhaps that’s exactly what the poet is .. are you trying to tell us that the
‘bard’ (not WS) did not change reality and decide destiny? Are you telling us that words do not
shape thought and reality and can alter perception? Words without an author are still just as
powerful as those with an author. This gimmick you offer that the critique must be critiqued
by the critic is a blind-spot, a dead end, a meaningless diversion from the art. As all critics
are failed artists, the title Critic fits you so very well, Mike :) — [29]jharrison ”look how fucked
people are reading ‘do not go gentle”’ oh, do shut the fuck up, you limp dick. :) — [30]jharrison
joe bed-wetter has every right to post a poem on this site and not have you say they have no
place here. every dry-sheet and bed-wetter has a place on PC. — [31]jharrison they have that
right. they also have to live with the fact that they’re not in kansas anymore. you’re not either,
but you’d melt because it rains so much. — [32]trashpoodle Of course they have the right. It
is not your place to say if they do or do not have the right. Once you understand that very
simple equation, you’ll be a far better human being... well, it will be a start to becoming one.
— [33]jharrison ”they also have to live with the fact that they’re not in kansas anymore. “
Again, you do not decide if this is Kansas for them or not. If they choose to engage or ignore
you it is not up to you to decide why they have done that or who they are for doing it. This
psychotic arrogance of yours is the only stumbling blockm to you actually understanding. You
are not the denominator of reality, kanas or otherwise. — [34]jharrison why should the truth
be kept from them? you don’t become a poet by writing what everyone expects you to write.
you have to find your own way through the history of poetry and then find a style and voice
of your own. sometimes, at accidental times, someone like rimbaud can have a voice at 15,
but that’s because no-body else was writing french as though it were english. he surprised
them. if you read rimbaud, you read most of his stuff as not poetry at all, just toy-boxes for
a homeless museum curator. — [35]trashpoodle why should the truth be kept from them?”
Turth is always fine. This is not about the truth. This is about your opinion on what you think is
the ‘truth’. Your ‘truth’ is not reality, nor is it the only truth. You are not god. — [36]jharrison
On the one hand you have intimated in previous conversations that all poets can benefit from
being in a varified poetic workshop such as PC, even if they are very young and new to the
form. On the other you are telling people they should perhaps think about trying some where
else as your standards of what you think PC is all about isn’t exactly for them, as they possibly
wouldn’t be able to understand it, nor dela with it. Mike ... you are the consummate incarnation
of the fucking hypocrite... and your story about krishna and comparing your current level of
writing to that of the ‘wrong notes’ being played is utter shit, and you know it is ... and if you
2052
don’t know what shit it is .. you are far more seriously fucked in the head than I realised. —
[37]jharrison it is the truth. this is poetry critical, not poetry american idol. the truth of idol is
that idiots vote for what they like. here, you set your poem up with other poets, other good
readers, to see how you can keep away from idiots; you see how poets read your poem. the
only point in posting a poem here is to publish it. p.c. is the first venue, but not the only
one. it is good, when you’re young, to publish—it gives you enough credibility to enter into
poetry discussions. what’s good about that, is that you’ll be an idiot in the discussions and go
away from them and write nasty poems about everyone. that’s how you first start to walk with
words, instead of letting them walk you. later, you learn how to talk about poetry, and you
go back into the discussions and learn what people were really saying. maybe, like me, you
can publish critical comments and only write poetry when you have to write a poem. when
you’re young, you think that everyone’s a poem and you’re their pencil. ( you notice how they
always want to edit you, personally, the way you act? ) that’s what poetry critical and poets
can do for real poets. help them edit by reading the poem. the beginners and all can come
here and compete with consciousness, but they run from that and compete for rated instead.
— [38]trashpoodle the poem is a word-object, not a sponge. you can say it might be a sponge,
but that’s the fun of words: you can say anything! how you say them is culture and literature.
how you invent them is poetry. — [39]trashpoodle ”it is the truth.” No it’s not, as I described
above .. it is YOUR opinion of what you think is truth .. and is based on hypocrisy. YOU do NOT
get to decide who participates in this site, nor why they have decided to particpate. It is not
‘truth’. It is your fucking filthy shit-filled hypocrisy :) — [40]jharrison ”the beginners and all
can come here “ Agian, this has nothing to do with YOU, nor why they are here, nor what they
decide to participate in. But, why is anyone bothring to talk to you... you’re such a psychotic
fucked in the head pedophile loon you will never learn beyond your tiny insignificant world. —
[41]jharrison you’re not much of a scientist, but you’re a lousy philosopher too. the thing is
in words; words are noises attached to moments. moments fill when they’re needed, empty
when they’re useless. there’s no happy-god in the empty moment, as a good buddhist like
you knows. it’s only void. the sound in the void is illusion, and a poem is a fine illusion for
us, because we really like poetry. i don’t know what you like. probably food. does this thing
printed on the page exist in any other form but words? that’s the question here always, but
one you’ve not even begun to know is the truth of poetry. — [42]trashpoodle this is probably
the only hard-core poetry discussion on the net, so think before you answer. does the poem
have a soul? can the soul of the poem exist outside of words? is the poet that soul’s vessel,
or, instead, it’s own reality, spazzing out words as poems because it can’t speak for itself? —
[43]trashpoodle is this poem called ‘Fill A Voice With Remnants’ or ‘Mike Bauer Wanks’? you
hypocrite :) — [44]jharrison ’this is probably the only hard-core poetry discussion on the net”
omg, you really do believe your own hype... hard-core ... LOL .. what a fucking lunatic you
are :) — [45]jharrison jenni, it’s already happened. people have written about me already. it’s
what kids looking for a thesis topic do, and, if they can discover an under-represented writer
or artist and keep them, they get a career. — [46]trashpoodle ”does the poem have a soul?
can the soul of the poem exist outside of words? is the poet that soul’s vessel, or, instead, it’s
own reality, spazzing out words as poems because it can’t speak for itself?” All redundant first
year questions with no answers. You’re no poet. You’re a critic. All critics are failed artists. You
never got beyond first year remedial theory :) — [47]jharrison ’jenni, it’s already happened.
people have written about me already’ This is a lie. If it’s not a lie then post a link. I mean
a serious link .. not some comment by you saying how you’ve been included in someone
home-made zine. That’s not ‘serious heavy weight published’. You know, like those ‘serious
heavy weight published people you were workshopping with when you were pretending to
be your own daughter on PC. — [48]jharrison When actually challenged to proved any actual
proof you usually come up with some ropey link to some blurry picture of some Uni where
2053
you claim to have got a degree. When actually challenged you go flaccid and withdraw. You
have nothing, Mike, other then your claims, which mean nothing. — [49]jharrison provide #
— [50]jharrison Wow. Yes, I post here to be read, and yes...to improve as well. I see very few
genuine critiques on the site though. Cliche and fluff saturates, and is celebrated. I honestly
dont know what you two are on about, but it sounds deeply set and it got my heart beating
faster just reading it. ;) Some good points on both sides, but I’m not about to dissect those
42 comments! — [51]turboswami I am curious what you felt was “so naive” about my poem,
though, Trashpoodle. To simply refer to someone’s writing as unsophisticated or ingenuous
seems like an offensive thing to just blurt out without any specific example. Not to sound
defensive. The poem is too wordy and, despite the division, still feels somewhat disjointed. I
really wanted to say ”You leave me cared for and loved. You leave me.” but 4 lines is kinda a
thing I was aiming for. I guess you could say 4 lines is “what I’m about.” — [52]turboswami it”s
not constructed with poetry consciousness, it’s mouthing while typing and looking for a story.
a poem has no story to tell except the author writing it. this story is pretty simple—word after
word and then look for some fancy words to keep it arty. it’s in a form, but it’s a story-telling
form and maybe out of a children’s book idea of ‘tell me a story’. what a poem does is combine
all the senses at once into a conscious reading, and this one simply narrows the mind to follow
the tale. — [53]trashpoodle That is not a critique I can do anything with, I’m sorry. That is
merely an incorrect definition. — [54]turboswami

1. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012027/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
2. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012027/http://poetrycritical.net/~justagirlx3/
3. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012027/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
4. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012027/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
5. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120015123/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
6. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120015123/http://poetrycritical.net/~Liliana/
7. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120015123/http://poetrycritical.net/~justagirlx3/
8. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120015123/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
9. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120035623/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
10. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
11. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
12. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
13. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
14. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
15. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
16. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
17. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
18. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
19. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
20. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
21. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
22. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
23. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
24. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
25. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
26. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
27. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
28. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
29. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
30. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/

2054
31. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
32. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
33. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
34. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
35. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
36. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
37. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
38. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
39. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
40. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
41. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
42. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
43. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
44. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
45. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
46. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
47. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
48. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
49. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
50. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~jharrison/
51. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
52. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
53. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
54. https://web.archive.org/web/20111120012006/http://poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/

pigshitpoet (2021-11-08 21:39:05) ♫¸.•*¨♥✿♪

quoth he: It is everything. The poet writing the poem, the poem itself, the words and meaning the
reader picks out and feels without any ‘insider’ knowledge, and also with insider knowledge, it is
nothing to do with the author, and everything to do with the author, it is the reder making connections
with themselves and with another, it is creation of the new out of the old and familiar. It is art that
does not need an explaination, but once you read the name of the meaning it changes from the first
flush of contact into something not you any more. By ‘knowing the author’ there is no reader, no
poem, no poetry ... only the superficial analysis of the creation. It appears that poetry and the reading
of it is far beyond your single issue, small time, redundant linear pyschosis. Art is beyond you .. art is
esoteric and magickal .. not a study of statistics. – jharrison this speaks to me when i am in process,
either wrtiing or reading, creator and audience thanks for sharing

pigshitpoet (2021-11-08 21:41:47) ; O

much to fathom here... need a week just to comb through... then time to ponder... thanks for sharing

turboswami (2021-11-09 02:28:25) RE: ; O

Oh, thanks! Yea, I guess I didn’t need to post ALL the comments/critiques of the poetry, but it was
kinda entertaining watching them go at each other! Haha. Internet: Serious Business.

pigshitpoet (2021-11-09 17:20:36) RE: ; O the internet

a moment of time captured and encapsulated.. and here we are linked to it all over again ; ) thanks
for sharing got me wondering and pondering meandering all good the remarks are quite reactive!
over all..

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livejournal (2021-11-08 21:43:04) Poetry in Morion
User [ User: pigshitpoet ] referenced to your post from [1]Poetry in Morion saying: [...] Via :
https://turboswami.livejournal.com/47670 4.html [...]

1. https://pigshitpoet.livejournal.com/6656939.html

Poetry Critical - TurboSwami - 2009-2011 - 4 of 4 (w/ Comments)

(2021-11-08 11:31) - public

A Solemn Swear To Ravish On

[1]turboswami

She deserved glass smooth moonchance,

a solemn swear to ravish on.

2056
She selected a lesser stoop to watch from,

to tease me with our knowing.

Don’t glance up into my eyes anymore.

I’m a wolf hiding in the valley.

2057
You tempt me to climb,

and to be what I no longer am.

You tempt me to howl, to hunt,

to run panting ‘neath the night brush.

10

After you.

11
2058
”After you” is what gentle men say, holding doors open. Forever...

27 Aug 11

Comments:

Eloquent, primal, erotic. Well-played! I will never walk through a door held open by a
man quite the same again.
— [2]sybarite

poetry is dancing on the page with words, but this seems more like an anaerobic work-
out with fingers on the keyboard. you’re giving orders, possibly because you’re in a state of
inferiority next to whom-ever you’re writing to. i wish you were actually writing to us, the
reader.

this is pretty cliche in part, and common as michael jackson lyrics.

— [3]trashpoodle

I disagree. As a woman, this poem made me see the perceived ‘chivalry’ of men open-
ing doors for women in a completely new light. I find nothing about this poem cliche or
common.
— [4]sybarite

This is lovely. Did you mean porn instead of pron? Or is pron from the urban dictio-
nary?
— [5]Io

syb, you’re not a woman, when you read a poem, you’re a poetry-reader—a separate
consciousness and with your unique poetry-reading age. you’re as old as your poetry expe-
rience, and not older. that you find it not cliche, puts your poetry age at about seven. yes?
and, not precocious.

2059
if this made you see these things in a new light, and we’ve been seeing these things
since 1970, then this isn’t a reading of a poem, this is a reading of something else in prose.

what about the gesture the author makes of giving us this poem? isn’t it condescend-
ing?
— [6]trashpoodle

Thank you, Syb. There is an primal undercurrent unspoken beneath all interactions, men and
women with unacceptable intentions tugging insistent to see the surface.

Holding that door open, baring his teeth kindly, a man’s eyes will ALWAYS want to de-
scend down your curve—whether he lets them or not.

We are all so fucking polite, wanting so intensely to do impolite things! ;)

— [7]turboswami

cheap freudian talk makes for texting while driving leads to running over the inner chil-
dren.
— [8]trashpoodle

Condescending AND inferior? At least try to keep your insults consistent, Trash. It will
help your insatiable negativity seem more focused.
— [9]turboswami

all condescension projects from a sense of real inferiority. like, i’m inferior to you physi-
cally, so i insult your intelligence. yes? and, doesn’t that make it ok for the rest of them too?
to insult our sexuality? and, you? what are you inferior at? writing? is that why you pretend
to write poems and then insult us when we see through the pretense?
— [10]trashpoodle

really, all writing of poetry-template is exhibitionism and cannot be poetry until you reach the
stage in your creative consciousness where you invent your first poem.
— [11]trashpoodle

Thanks Io. Yea, it was an intentional typo, to go with the suggested drunkenness. Al-
though the formal 4chan code is “pr0n,” yea.

I got back from the bar, I was drunk. There was a buxom girl there who gave me eyes,
and I didn’t respond. I didnt talk to her, but I took that glance home with me. It’s not insulting,
it was just that hormonal rush of sexual pursuit, which I notice now, edging 30, is not as driving
or sharp-edged as it was junior year of high school.

The Wolf isn’t even a cliche—in my mind its so much more a central symbol, archetypal
dangerous virility. The idea of taking it and posing it in a new way, stretching it, really
appealed to me. The image of the “retired Wolf,” the wolf in hiding, descending from the cliff
where he once howled, down to the valley to sleep. That was strong for me. Certain instincts
can be triggered by a just a glance, and make us want to take those old risks again.
— [12]turboswami

”syb, you’re not a woman, when you read a poem, you’re a poetry-reader” I don’t know
2060
about you Mike, but my genitals don’t disappear when I read a poem.
— [13]sybarite

”We are all so fucking polite, wanting so intensely to do impolite things!”

Preachin’ to da choir! Amen!

— [14]sybarite

you’re showing your education now. modern people feel the gender thing is a learned
thing, or are you saying you think with your prick?
you ought to be able to read a poem in a pure way, without your filters of ‘is this proper’ or,
‘does this person want something?’

that’s the way to read a poem.

— [15]trashpoodle

I have no education. I’m a high-school drop out. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid though.
Sorry, Mike, everything we do is ultimately based in sex. Those among us based in reality
understand this.
— [16]sybarite

if you’re a high-school drop-out, and feel you have no education, then a high-level criti-
cal workshop should really be exciting for you. you can ask questions here and not have to
worry about your background. but, giving your opinion means you’re going to have to back up
your opinion with real experience and thought. you don’t have to have the prior education in
writing, beyond your own experience. we’re all here because our poetry doesn’t change the
world. we need to know if we’re supposed to change, or the world’s supposed to change. it’s
the ongoing dialog poets and artists have with each other, and i’m glad you’re here for it.
— [17]trashpoodle

Trash, the poem is about sex. To neuter the reader is to neuter the poem, which itself is
engendered.

It will speak differently to a woman than it does to a man, obviously, since each gender
has different drives and reacts differently to those drives. To pretend sex doesn’t matter must
require that you disconnect and ignore so much, of both yourself and the poem.
— [18]turboswami

the writing is about the author projecting a persona. it’s not sex, nor even about sex.
you can write about stuff but what’s your foundation? are you a freudian, or just horny?
because sex isn’t gender, and we’ve been discussion sex and gender rolls in a very radical
way since 1970. you sex is your concern, but how you create sex with writing is poetry, and
this isn’t sex, just tweeting about your impressions.
— [19]trashpoodle

L1 what are you on ? It just gets weirder. Maybe just listen to the Beatles I am the Wal-
rus , they held it together
— unknown

When I say sex, I mean gender. This poem is manhood. The old manhood, apparently
2061
something you cannot relate to.
— [20]turboswami

isn’t that a Led Zeppelin song?

RAVISH ON.... RAVISH ON...

— [21]aliar

I am charmed by this. It’s a white coat with a red lining, unexpected drama, well tai-
lored on a wooden hanger. The reversing is intriguing and fun.
— [22]Isabelle5

Wow, the comments are so out of touch with reality for me. We are sexual beings from
birth, we might learn the social niceties of our gender but having raised 3 kids, I know that we
are born gender consistent for the most part, no one has to tell us what we are. You spend any
time at a park, you’ll see that little girls watch the boys and the boys pretend not to watch the
girls. Can’t stop nature.
— [23]Isabelle5

Damn! I missed all the drama!

What did all those comments say?? Did I get insulted at all?? :D
— [24]turboswami

I bet the comments were the porn spam that’s going around. Nothing about the poem.
— [25]Isabelle5

Beloved Teachers of Things Forgotten

[26]turboswami

The floating semblance of a way of thinking resembles once more, forever more.

2062
1

A movie plays in a moment, one we both acted in, and I smile like I did then.

Stowed away were these memories, these distant places and people I once loved.

I return in their inspiration and those places and loved ones speak through me,

and I know them again.

2063
Be patient with me, teacher, for I am an inattentive child in your world.

I, who cannot sit still or keep focused for more than a few moments,

I, who have not kept myself clean or done the homework you wanted me to,

I, who accepted your special guidance and coaching only to use it for nothing,

I am sorry and kneel beside my bed so that you may pity me.

2064
10

I know you love me and see my potential, as only a teacher can.

11

Teach me about the way things were, about the decisions of a lifetime,

12

Of unconditional love, without fear, obligation, or regret,

13

Of torrents of it that fill me until I simply burst with tears.

14
2065
Teach me to remember all of these things.

15

Sweetness, who I held so close to the warm sunlight of my heart,

16

Beautiful girl, in all of the softest most fragile things wrapped,

17

I know you still, beneath all this life’s distraction, I know you still.

18

2066
And I hear you at night, even though I do not respond,

19

I hear your voice at night.

20

So soft, and low, and with the curl of a pursed lip inwards, I know.

21

As I knew, as all the joy of past harvests, falls for years extending back.

22

2067
I’m sorry.

23

31 Oct 11

Grown To Full Blaze

[27]turboswami

Audrey Redfield, with the red hair and the fire to match,

2068
Stepped along a thin line across that hard wood floor,

a line that existed only for her, and those high heel shoes,

and anybody else who watched her curve along that narrow tail.

I get frustrated.

All that red and voluptuous business bulging,

2069
6

I need to be busy somewhere else, excuse me.

Tease her in my mind with extravagant gestures.

When she laughs, I won’t question why.

31 Oct 11

2070
Comments:

shut the fuk up. go write some fiction with friction

— unknown

Thank you for that thoughtful critique.

You posted anonymously, meaning you are not only unintelligent, but show cowardice in
the spreading of your stupidity.

I don’t blame you—your comment deserves shame.

— [28]turboswami

Thank you for that thoughtful critique.

You posted anonymously, meaning you are not only unintelligent, but a coward as well.

I don’t blame you—your comment does deserve shame.

— [29]turboswami

you deserve something better

in terms of a poem
— unknown

1. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
2. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~sybarite/
3. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
4. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~sybarite/
5. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~Io/
6. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
7. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
8. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
9. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
10. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
11. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
12. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
13. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~sybarite/
14. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~sybarite/
15. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
16. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~sybarite/
17. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
18. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
19. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~trashpoodle/
20. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
21. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~aliar/

2071
22. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~Isabelle5/
23. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~Isabelle5/
24. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
25. https://web.archive.org/web/20120121082402/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~Isabelle5/
26. https://web.archive.org/web/20111103082920/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
27. https://web.archive.org/web/20120102224304/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
28. https://web.archive.org/web/20120102224304/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/
29. https://web.archive.org/web/20120102224304/http://www.poetrycritical.net/~turboswami/

The Etiology of Alzheimer’s Disease (2021-11-28 17:00) - public

I read that by the time the first signs of Alzheimer’s appear at 65, it’s already so far along that
it’s irreversible. That the actual neurodegeneration starts at around 40.

Insomnia, sedentary lifestyle, inflammation, sugar alcohol... those things start the Alzheimer’s
pattern decades before the first signs of the disease appear.

Scary.

I need to get back to myself, because I can feel that the depression is a symptom of a more
systemic decline.

I can feel the brain fog. I suspect it’s something that comes and goes at first. Something you
can combat with effort at first, but that gradually it just becomes more the norm. You get
accustomed to it, learn to function around it...The loss of focus, straining to find words and
stay organized....

And then, gradually, that new normal just progresses until it overtakes you.
1 Comment

[1]
Kaleb Smith
I shared that with Jake, whose mother died yesterday of early-onset Alzheimer’s.

I said, "Not to burden you with any additional gloom, doom, or stress. I’m sure you’re grieving
and don’t need anything but support right now. Just what’s on my mind, thinking out loud to
you – partially thinking of your mom and how terrifying the disease is at its worst.

I really loved your mom and was glad to have known her when she was herself. She would pull
me aside when we first started hanging out and say how glad she was that I was in your life. It
was a very tender sentiment. I told her I was glad you were in my life too."
2072
1. https://www.facebook.com/kaleb.smith?comment_id=Y29tbWVudDoxMDEyMDQ2MjM3OTAyNTIyNF8xMDEyMDQ2MjQzODcxMDYxNA
%3D%3D&__cft__[0]=AZWQ_pLNWy5WyUd3BC4nKJCjODDsEzhrz19u

2073
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Edited: November 29, 2021