Saint MacKenzington Station proudly presents

Illuminated Blatherings and Other Such Serious Nonsense

This book is about me. Except when its not. When its not about me, its about people, places, things, and ideas which mean very much to me. That is to say, those things are about me too. Id explain it, but itd ruin the joke.

This program is brought to you today by Saint MacKenzington Station, the number 17, and the letter Q.
Id like to dedicate this book to the sensational, inspirational, conservational, nondenominational, ideational, convocational, educational, conversational, salvational, innervational, revelational, deviational, conjugational Herr Dktor Drizzle Drazzle. I have everything for the small price of all that I have and all that I am.

I AM BECOMING
I AM

MUNDANE

UNFOLDING
ORIGAMI CRANE

BEAUTIFUL BANE
I AM AM I

COMPLETE ABLE
SANE

OR AM I

I AM

CAIN

I'm coming with you Fucking joy and living pain Slippery sun and drivveling rain All along I'll lay with you Sloped roof or sminkling stars above Making our sweet sqwerntchky love

P P LA PL LAN NT PL AN TS M A T I PL AN M MA TT PL IA T M ATT TTE ER N VA IA T AT ER R N M T S TE T A E SU R VA TE R PP UN TE R LA ZE R N R T!

The Page of honest truths!

Overcoming the fear that you are not is as simple as believing that you are.

Death needs Time for what it kills to grow.

The way humans became top of their food

Believe. Truth is at my disposal. I am it's master and mistress. I am male, female, both, neither, and fully ambiguous. Sex is power, power is belief.

chain is by only being eaten by the smallest of things, which may eat but not consume. Concentration is attention attuned with intention.

Meat is a drug. Only more obviously so if you are vegan. Water is medicine.

Time is not money, time is life.

All medicines are drugs. Prerequisite to making distinction is perspective. Prerequisite to perspective is being distinct.

It is not unreasonable to imagine that something you love wants to destroy you only because it denies you.
Surround yourself with dream things and truely you find that dreams are as real as the rest. That is to say the rest isn't anything

Slight confusion comes with taking any drug. This is because alters our senses, changes them into ones we haven't had the chance to learn, with no experience to work from.
!eres a hole in my head where " madness $ts in.

In Which Salty, the Slugman, Discovers Some Interesting Things

Salty (the slugman) had a very small mind. The entire thing was taken up by one thought: the heir to the sluglord. The sluglord was gravely ill and had not yet announced his heir. All the slugmen assumed his nephew would be the next sluglord, though many held out for the return of the sluglords son, who had disappeared long ago, allegedly kidnapped. Salty had learned all of this when hed been slugging around with other young slugmen near where the menmen put the food for the dogmen. Salty knew he was different from his family, and always had been. His parents and his sister were snailmen, not slugmen at all. Hed always had to be more careful, as he did not have the hard shell to protect his soft slug body. Salty didnt know how long hed been with the snailmen, but tonight... tonight he dreamed that it was his right to take over as the next sluglord. He decided to ask his parents how long hed been their son the very next morning. He slugged back to his safe, snailish home. As soon as hed arrived, he slugged quietly, not wanting to wake anyone, when his father appeared and demanded to know where hed gone, with whom, and why so late!? Salty took an attitude, but told the truth. Just to the dogmans bowl, for Devins sake! The dogmans bowl!? Theres menmen there! and dogmen too! You know how dangerous that is!? For Devins sake, Im surprised you even made it home! Sheesh, dad, the slugmen slug around there all the time, the dogmen just leave their food out and its damn tasty. Salty did not understand the danger he had, in fact, been so very close to, and instead slugsulked all the next day. That is, until the next night when he snuck back out to the dogmans food bowl... hed expected the usual crowd of slugmen slugging about. Instead, he barely even sensed any slugtrails. Something was odd. Salty suddenly, and not at all painfully, learned about his name. The salt crystals burned and sliced as his insides turned into his outsides and his himness escapes from his slugness. Salty became aware of existence beyond the slugform hed lived his life inside of, and the lack of differentiation between himself, the slugmen, the snailmen, even the dogmen and the menmen! They were all trapped as he had been. Salty learned his real name and a new way to exist in the existential stuff that he only became aware of through the separation from his slugbody. He found that, more than the snailmen, the menmen were partially overlapping this existential stuff, but seemed fully unaware of it. The dogmen and catmen seemed more aware of this stuff, but less aware of all that other stuff, and certainly not aware that this stuff and that stuff were anything remarkably different! Salting and squishing were no longer a threat now, nor any other harmless thing. The antmen he heard singing working songs all in unison, along with many other social hivemen, were more fully real in this stuff than they ever could be in that stuff. Their bodies were truly tools and not traps or bondage, as his own had seemed to be. He expressed a disembodied frown, and decided that the menmen ought to be more aware of their overlap, and they could truly be master of both this and that, rather than destroying that, ignorant that this existed at all, much less that it suffered. He barely had time to complete that incorporeal thought before he was suddenly born. He was in a hospital, crying the pain out of his fresh, raw lungs. The pain of the breath drove out all memories of what had come between then and now.

There are some among anti-dogmatists who claim that the dogma which invariably proves to be the most difcult to budge are those that insist they are not dogmatic. This systemic dogma has evolved to the point where it protects itself from the methods effective against prior stagnant dogmas. This is achieved through denial of dogma, alongside the older protective methods (such as shaming of those not subscribing to said dogma). This, however, is a worthless, silly conjecture upheld by those without the benet of a rational, scientic mind. It is not based on scientic evidence, and therefore it is a waste of one's time to put any effort towards defending this as a belief any reasonable (responsible!) intelligence could hold. The burden of proof lies with those who disagree with Science. Science, of course, has no dogma of it's own, as it is based on pure reason where no idea, theory or assertion is beyond the possibility of being proven wrong. (Kind of like how checks and balances keep our government from breaking its own laws.) Science is the only path to Truth. Follow the Scientic Methods. Read the Scientic Texts. Perform the Scientic Rituals. This is the Only Way one can achieve True Enlightenment. Come on, jump on the band wagon, everyone knows that Science is the only way to experience Reality. How many people do you know who can tell you what the laws of physics mean? How many of your Christian friends can tell you the number of distinct creation stories occurring in the book of Genesis?

I will rip you apart, tear into your flesh and remove your lungs. I will empty them, and take a pouch with me to pour it all into. The silver words, golden giggles, platinum

songs. I'll string them on a string and wear them like pearls. Don't worry, I'll give you your lungs back, you just have to hold your breath for a little bit. I'll give them back, trust me.

In Which an Infant Becomes Something More

I began as an infant. I was formless potential. I was guided and taught, and I learned. ! I became a young god, the user of tools and manipulator of things. I met the passive receptive feminine source of constructive power. She showed me my body and its formidable potential. We created in spontaneous writhing forms and because of this lesson, I grow broader, faster. In my ecstasy, I razed the land without care, and soon I met the active feminine source of restrictive power. She showed me the persistence and care I was capable of when I eliminate myself and identify with others, and she showed me that I am indestructible, even though I carelessly destroyed parts of my own self when I rained destruction over the land. ! With this gained power and potential and understanding, I sat beneath the remains of a smouldering tree, eyes closed when the masculine passive source of restrictive power roused me. He showed me no mercy. Under him, I learned new and ancient customs, codes, laws, and mysteries by rote memorization, and built a cage around me in which I could barely turn around. I appreciate this only now, when I realize that his framework allows me to grow taller, faster. I respect this man openly. After climbing through the scaffolding to the highest point, I met the source of active masculine constructive power. What he teaches may only be learned by following his example, or my own example. He is profound and challenges me intellectually. He showed me how to fly, and fly I did, away from that stiff and lonely structure where wed met. ! When I landed, I met my love, and I had to leave all four of my parents behind me to embark on incarnation with my love. Fear and excitement are the theme of my days. After breaking away from my life within an external structure, I have found myself in unfamiliar territory, but they taught me well and I learned well. Before long, I had tenuous control over my self and my world. This has been a source of both fear and pride, for I felt wealthy, but too close to losing it all. My fear has not stopped me from wielding this newfound power. Sure, I had everything to lose, but what good is freedom and influence if you dont use them? ! Once Id tasted excess, it took a life changing dose of justice to make a change. I saw my mistakes and with no option to take back my decisions, I submit to my punishment. I only seek, here, that others be brought to understand their wrongs. After injustice, though, I was compelled to seek my self. I spent much time alone, walking, searching, seeking the lessons only I could teach myself. I take nothing with me but my self. I am steadfast in my purpose. ! Eventually, through no effort of my own, I discovered myself no longer alone, but surrounded by inspirational, comforting, creative, responsible adults. I am satisfied; through them I know myself better than Id known how. What now? I know my new direction, but it will mean leaving the comfortable confined unpredictability of my surroundings. ! I must either devote myself to a calling, cause, purpose or devote myself to these wonderful surroundings.

Sometimes theres no right or wrong. Any choice requires strength to commit to. Things happened due to this decision, and I adapted. I come to a time where I am comfortable living in ambiguity. I voluntarily throw some things to chance, controlling only rarely and through unconventional means. I am content. When one becomes content, one of two things generally ends it: death or dying. That is to say, the end of all you are or end of all you do. I die or I change. There is no other way. I no longer seek to control after death, I look for the middle path, tempering any extreme with its opposite, painting mostly in shades of grey. This is passively reassuring; I realize that evil and good are not different. Nor are order and chaos, black and white, masculine or feminine, spontaneity or controlled action. ! I choose to seek out my ancient enemy and learn from him. Ive already died, what fear do I have? I might truly fail here, and I do fear. I may learn and master the power he wields, or I may be enslaved for my weakness. This is when I discover my wildest and most chaotic power. The lessons my enemy had for me brought me down from my pedestal. Whether I was knocked off or stepped down, Ill never tell. ! When I came to the bottom, I looked him in the face, and found my love, separated from me for so long. I am reminded of my direction, clear and unflagging. I cannot help but to have real hope again. The moons power beckons me, a lunatic. I must choose again between easy illusion and harsh light. Here I battle my self, the one I sought so diligently, my battle is between lunacy and sanity. It is not irresponsible to not care which wins the battle. I am ready to pass judgement and feel true joy and grief over my past, present, and future. ! The more I learn, the less I understand. ! ! The more I am, the less I hate. ! ! ! I am the old god. ! ! ! ! ! I am everything. Lets find out what happens next.

Time travels as the trireme stealing unmercifully each day moment by moment, tearing each out in a most terrible way not even if you are powerful not even if you have fame you will lose this war.

Image created by Pamela Jane Rogers, borrowed without her permission or knowledge. It is a ne example of art and everyone should support her and her work.

In Which Two Similar Things Emerge From One Thing

Death behind us, sleep in front The king of fools misses the forest father The dreamer met the beginning The cosmogony is me And my world is new.

I spent a day as a memory Death behind us Sleep in front Forest father watches As the forgetter forgets And the dreamer forgets And I swam through time In three minutes I evolved Into the dreamer of dreams From the primordial massacre Intoorgasmic stuff I dove in and it tickled.

NT LIA R P E NT NZ LA R U PP TE SU VA

In Which a Man Emerges From Two Similar Things

osmogonic orgasmic pool of moving stillness. Perfectly reflecting the constant unchangeable change above the surface of the somatic puddle, reaching in all directions until sight nearly failed. Lost, but in control, looking at nothing but reflections, reflections of reflections, standing in the midst of the cosmic funhouse. Jokes and games, but in all seriousness...

C T

his was the reflective lake where Cornel met Lenroc. When Cornel arrived, they were one and the same until a distinction was drawn between them. They both meiosemerged from a singledestroyed being. When there were two, they began by looking and behaving simultaneouslyidentically, having the same reactions and responses as the other to the other. They moved in the same ways, and slvented around each other, sizing himself up in the other. In the way of Cornelthatwas in a mirror, he looked at the other and thought, damn Im lookin good. He suddenly laughed, accompanied by the sound of his oppositetwin's eerily synchronized laughter. He had laughed because he knew Lenroc thought about how hot he looked, too. He wasn't sure why it startled him when theotherhe laughed when he did. But they both found that even funnier.

f I think this thought, thought Cornel, then so has he. So, if I think about his pretty face sucking my cock, does he think about sucking on mine, or me on his? The former means he may stay. The latter means he might stay, but he might die instead. Only one can be alpha, identical monkeys? Still monkeys.

he decision was made. Cornel sprang and pounced, Lenroc attempted to dodge. Failed. On his back, pinned and shamed, Lenroc knew what must be coming. Both their cocks were stiff. Straddling his chest, hand firmly wrapped in Lenroc's hair, ignoring the pummeling his back was taking from the pinned fighterfucker.

lright fucker, show me how pretty I am sucking dick. Y think you ou can be me, fuck that shit, I am alpha dammit, suck it.

he look on Lenroc's face as he parted his lips and teeth was tortured but unreadable. He wrapped his lips around Cornel's stone hard dick, and he hummed. Um um ummm, bum from friends. The struggle subsided as Cornel fully realized what he was doing, and that Lenroc was himself in a different body separated unnaturally, unkindly divided. Lenroc decided the same. Of a sudden, both felt great love and mutual ownership. Lenroc knew what would please Cornel and gave him that, and Cornel knew what would please Cornel, and took no more that that from his willing self. They tangled in each other and knew the weakness and strength of themselves, and knew that nothing was hidden here.

A T

ere there is only me, and the tangle tangled, yangled, newfangled tangle. Mangled, he realized that if this had not been himself, the sharing of weakness would be painful, shameful, something to defend against. Unmeiose.

H H

ere there is only me.

nd thus began his godhood.

In Which We Read Substance Induced Word Vomit

Understand never to mean anything more than understand fling the things into the fire into the fiery sun devised be the greatest real ghost read my think goal to there's nothing for the year this time the dear tear we're quick to disassemble our thing king wing ring him it's not her that's dread to a thread lightening heels bread fun John gold freight things hummm bread Fred thread hangs by a thread the house is held together by a thread head her day my day their day understood just go with segregation it's degradation over thesologian massacre link nothing to religion. Make some noise with my fingers makeshift fingers on the strings things drinks drugs why is she alone he's alone bring back the gold it was freight on a train in my brain stereotype habitual offender defender offensive linebacker tricks a hack and slasher things are alone bringing other flights to the glitch parade. Molly glows and Lucy grins, the baby whimpers in the corner, improvised fake fingers on the strings of my life break my fires into shards after they Under construction there is over interested jump off the highway ramp throw away your weapons and bring about the into traffic.
Running away down long empty corridors of my own vascular system, pushing and rushing with every beat of the heart at the left-of-center center. Vino veni vidi vicci venia. Nature is natural, it is of course since it is mine, and I am possessor of many supernatural, and supranatural. I am an internatural incident.
ragnorock under my construction over my head there is a cloud of fractions and equations equilibrium there is equality is one and eleven and one hundred and eight and innity plus one Wandering, discovering think about the minor and the major happy and how. Living,

breathing the laughter into lungs of rubber. Rubber and some glue, if it's all the same to you. Cough up the laughter from tortured lungs of steel, seized up into loveter, world around sideways. Play, but how, don't forget how to play. It's harder to learn than to remember. But memory is a cuntbitchwhore and likes to play fucking games with no winner. Still angry about losing home, comfortable stillsafewarmbrainmind home. She learned these games from me. Now, though. I play, say nought ought, but I ought to leave here toomuchlaughter slaughters the direction. Focus on content, can't keep direction. Thought quanta plays games with scientists; we all win. Denial of self is objectivedestructivegoal. Goals SMART specific measurable active realistic timely. My goal is me. I am not SMART. I am everything and I will destroy everything to make myself realize I am my own damn self. There's no distinction drawn, here there is only me.

In Which There Is Simply Not Enough Time

God is everyone, in that the God which exists is like to an egregore created by His followers. So, in more than the semantic way, the worshipped equals the supplicant, and any and every possible consciousness. Belief brings dominion. You already are what you desire. Now, I believe that God desires freedom from habit, just like the rest of us (though perhaps more explicitly than most). Habit's nature: useful and poisonous. Cultivate new habits, intentionally formed. You become what you practice daily. Eradicate unintentional habits that seem to incite negative returns. Never ever succumb to habit. Surprise yourself. Constantly. While surprising yourself, what are you not paying attention to? Really give some serious consideration to that question. What are some things you have never thought about? Things you havent thought about in a long time? In order to create intentional habit, exert control prior to events in order to free the focus and attention for other matters. Unintentional habits are literally controlling you while you sleepwalk through your day. I follow a long line of folks claiming to be (a) god, at least thus far I have been neither executed nor institutionalized for this. I also don't deny the possibility that anyone else may attain godhood, simultaneously, nor do I doubt that many others already have. In fact, my beliefs on this matter seem to align very closely with atheist claims about gods. I simply create its contrapositive in a spiritual context (god = anyone who works to claim godhood) rather than a nonspiritual one (god = the one(s) who need not work to claim godhood, i.e. nonexistent). I also don't hold it rationally inconsistent that both of these are simultaneously true (along with many other prima facie contradictions). As a god, I identify with everything and everyone I encounter. I am equal, identical, with my car, as well as the squirrel I ran over. A wrong done by accident is a wrong to my own person. I identify with people who inspire nothing but disgust in me... A wrong to a despised person equals a wrong to my own person.

Consider this universal identity and Rawls' veil of ignorance... If I can truly manifest godhood within myself, I have neatly attained the position of ignorance that Rawls' believed to be tantamount to ethical behavior. In this case, though, I don't have to consider the theoretical matter of "what if I didn't know who I was in the situation?" because I don't. My awareness may be centered in this body, but my consciousness is not centralized. Anything conscious of it's own being is identical to me and my consciousness, while awareness only travels along certain conduits, namely those that are part of what would be commonly called my body. "Whatever you did not do for the least among you, you did not do for me" Considering my perceived distinction between things indistinct, the christian trinity is interesting... I am the boundless Everything, the aware creature with distinct corporeal body, and, because of this, I am nothing. Mind, body, "spirit". Father, son, ghost. Huh. They called it my "messiah complex". If you want something interesting to do for a day, a weekend, or the rest of your life: try suspending your belief that you are not god... keep in mind what you've learned so far in life, and don't completely disregard those lessons (you shouldn't sit in traffic and expect the car not to harm you, etc). But forget that you're not god, don't just pretend you believe, use the tool of belief and be god. Then, after a while, if this belief is not useful to you, discard it and try believing that you are incredibly sexy and irresistibly charming. On second thought, try the sexy and charming thing first, the whole deity belief may follow on its own.

] This is What I Want ]

What I want most is for you to want me as I want for you. As an intellectual partner, as an emotional partner, as a sexual partner. I want you to want to create, discover and teach with me. I want you to want my thousand dollar vocabulary, even in the context of breathing dirty smut while you are fucking me silly. I want you to want me as your bitch and invite me to be your goddess. I want you to want my pussy aching for days, weeks, millennia, after you plow through me with your fuck rod, and I want you to want me to contemplate deeply every thoughtful phrase you utter into my ear or shout at me across the cosmos. I want you to want me to teach you my secrets. I want you to want me to ignore you once in a while, so that I may be your prey and you my predator. I want you to want to drown in my taste. I want to learn what it is you have to teach me. I want your alien and intelligently strange words to surround me, envelop me, with the babblefish in my ear I will hear your meaning and boil for you with every syllable that escapes your lips. I will worship you with daily rituals celebrating your dark divinity. I want you to speak words to me that indulge my greatest fantasies, of a clever and mischievous Pan who is drunkenly, mischievously compelled to seek both my mind and my body. I want to intimately learn how you work, so that if you ever fall apart I can reassemble you from memory. I want you to always be anxious for the next time you get to wrap your lips around my clit, press your mouth on mine, feel your dick in my tight, dark holes. I want to feel you come in me and all over me. I want you.

I am Zaw; I am a sorceress. I act to please my self. I am convinced that I am incapable of delivering the desires of another (unless we share that desire). When I learn or teach magic, I must use language, because language is designed to communicate. L anguage, however must not be mistaken for something designed to foster understanding. L anguage often hinders more than it helps. When I abandon language, I gain qualities at which no word but magic may even hint. I become It'zaw'kit. It'zaw'kit thinks sans words and is among the greatest entities to have ever pleased self. It'zaw'kit performs, in silence, vast soliloquies on topics beyond the grasp of the alphabet. Morality as we see it is beyond It'zaw'kit, she only knows her own self. Her desires define all that is good; her aversions, all that is evil. She is her own God and her own Satan, the cosmic syzygy. We suddenly find duality where there was singularity. Now we have It'zaw and Zaw'kit, God and S respectively. It'zaw is all that is desirable and good, and Zaw'kit everything atan undesirable and evil. Zaw'kit finds pleasure in some of the awful bits that make her self, thus creating her own paradoxical nature, pleasure belongs to It'zaw. At times, It'zaw is disgusted by the base nature of the things in which she takes pleasure, thus creating her own paradoxical nature, disgust belongs to Zawkit. It'zaw'kit draws pictures of swirling symbols, of a blue fish (with a red eye) chasing a red fish (with a blue eye) who is, in turn, chasing the blue fish. It'zaw draws an snake, Zaw'kit draws a mongoose. It'zaw'kit understands that her whole being is larger than that which her physical senses can reveal, and, at times, stands in awe at all that she encompasses. When she works beyond her physical senses, she names those parts of which she is senseless, she names them Den'ka. When their powers combine, she becomes Den'ka'it'zaw'kit. Den'ka continues while It'zaw'kit is occupied by other tasks. Den'ka is capable of effecting change beyond the sensory realm, but Den'ka is unlikely to act to only please Zaw or It'zaw'kit. It'zaw'kit and Zaw are likewise unlikely to understand this, and Den'ka's desires are as occult as the nonphysical to It'zaw'kit, or the nonlinguistic to Zaw. There also exist Den'it'zaw, Ka'it'zaw, Den'zaw'kit, Ka'zaw'kit, et cetera, though expounding on their further delineation is neither helpful nor desirable, as it begins to be highly personalized from here on.

Aa O[\V[ RTj GYYeef Mf Aaf\Z[g

Sheath the sword up to the hilt. Rock the foundation on which I'm built. The stone that points true north is the key For which the lock gives and sets him free To escape into the woods outside that gate Where shuddering devilkin impatiently wait For him to step into the bright burning light. Painfully blinded, he'll hear the imps giggle To see him writhing, to see him wiggle. He'll become the worm on the end of their line. They claim the fish they'll catch is the finest of fine. He is the bait in their trap for the nastiest demon He'll be tied and filled with infernal semen. "You'll visit sodom once, be used twice!" they'll say In their obnoxiously impish way, "and utilized a third, a fourth or fifth time!" This line, in it's genius, is not going to rhyme. His fear will overwhelm even his greatest pride He just can't stand being some gay demon's ride. He'll fight; he'll struggle; he'll try to talk his way out. He knows he's a god, but this will fill him with doubt. He is mighty, and skilled, and full of the magic tide No way in hell he'll touch his toes and open wide. I assure you you're unprepared for this crazy twist: He'll realize it when the demon emerges from mist. He'll know what to do when the demon shows her face Pretty and fine dressed in black silk and lace He'll look at her and know what he wants to be She'll teach him what she is, for but a small fee. (How much would she demand from the likes of you To share her being as she's shared with so few?) Honor her, love her, whisper sweet nothings in her ears. Even the demon has wants; even the demon has fears. And she'll always remember that first night When she found him in such a terrible fright Over the impotent threats of her guardian imps Fronting themselves as his demonic pimps. Their simple cruelty will make her cringe inside That'll be her fault, but she'll have nothing to hide. He'll fear the worst but make off with the best She'll be his forever. You know the rest.

In Which I am free
I am a free person, and thus have the freedom to love you for any reason, every reason, and no reason. I choose to love because you are lovable; I am compelled to choose in this way by (in no particular order) similarity of direction and vision, humor, mutuality, affection, lust, respect, and an inexplicable bit of anlinguistic emotional pushpull, among other things. You are a force which reminds me to be a better person, that my character is non-negotiable. I am a force with power to lend, and I offer my all of the strength, focus, attention, intelligence, creativity, memory and love (among other things) that I have into your service. Service to a person is satisfying, triply so when the person is deserving. Service to a cause is joyful, quadruply so when it's one in which I believe. I believe in the quest for meaningful rituals to teach our selves and our modern tribe how to be adults, and to allow usthem to be adults. I believe it is important to share my womanness with other women. I believe that sharing my newscience oldreligion spiritualitypsychology can only give people a scientifically sound path to reawaken the god within them. The land of Truths has no paths. But I've been studying the maps of those who have explored the land before me. (Maybe it's not yourmytheir map, it's not the only one!) The quantum nature of consciousness allows me to have faith in something (myself) and control the world (my self) through ritualized andor repeated behaviors, meditation is useful, scientifically, all over again. I want to teach other people. My real revelation recently (all the others have been subrevealed under this one) is that my intellect is not my only learningteaching mechanism. I thought I had lost my rhythm and balance. I now realize that I'd simply misplaced these things, I had forgotten how to use them. My ability to learnhow was compromised because I had only mechanical control over my physical learning, coding my muscle memory. I was sensually ignorant of the things that my body knew how to do before my intellect ever considered them.

There are so many things that work better when muscles are allowed to move freely, the body can relax and let the muscles do what they do best, better!thanmybrain, my body knows how to move without me knowing how. I knew how to program my body to do things, but forgot how to allow my body to learncreate things. This also applies emotionally, I tried to "learn from" my feelings by dissecting them and analyzing them "if they weren't useful then we wouldn't have evolved with them this far" like a cadaver on the table. Instead, I realize that this wasn't ever going to result in anything but the ability to predict (not control or even heavily influence) the inevitable crashburn followed by the temporary sanctuary of the flyhighforawhile. Knowing how and why it happened was only giving me a measuring device. Now! Oh now, yes, now I have placed my feelings in a position of respect "they must be useful, Iwe've evolveadapted so much, and they are still informing ourmy actions" and learn from them as a pupil from a master. I no longer break down biweekly, I am inLearning control and free from so many habitual black iron bars across my windows. Perhaps emotional intuition and such is (partof) the spark I yearn for in my life

again. The shackles! have all gone, I turn around and look at the lights and things casting shadows nowbehind me, and I can see for so many beautiful miles. I was functional, but incomplete. I am recreating my complete self constantly, and do not plan to stop. I will create change surrounding myself and preserve the best bits. I am an everchanging creature of (breaking)habit and I hope that you are as inspired by the world(youmeusall) as I am. In order to change, I must do so now, and not plan to think about it, or decide to change later. There is no reason to resist the recreation. There is also no reason that a new creation may not be like to a previous one. New and Improved is not inconsistent. Neither is New and Different, but not necessarily improved. A chnage does not require that it be positive change. You dont have to change faster than the bear, just faster than the guy with you.

the present Books are either past or future. There is no author of now, for order based on past is chaos with neither form nor word. The chaos is imposed with and future.

Past - Sage Present - Jester Future - Ruler

Mind is made of past. Future rules present. Allow past to be looked upon as nothing more than training for present, without shoulda or woulda, to bring better memories to a brighter future, filled with can and will. But! never allow future to rule without a jester present, or the future has no fondness for past and learns nothing from yesterday or today. Ruler king is my future; sagacious hermit is my past; jester is my present. Laugh at the gift given, and live life truly.

f of light, Prometheus, thie the gods, light, bound by giver of a book. must have been
anielewski pg. 546 Leaves, Mark Z. D House of

Once, or perhaps more, it occurred that a young woman awoke in a bed alone without memory of ever laying down. If you misunderstand me, you might think her a lush, and no more remarkable than many other young ladies overcome by drink or drug. To be clear, this particular lady had no memories, of laying down to sleep, or otherwise. At rst, her only thoughts were of a cramp in her shoulder from the way she slept. Discomfort bred discomfort. She opened her eyes wider, drinking the light from a window to quench her gaze. As it fell on each part of the room, her heart raced as she slowly realized that nothing was familiar to her. Nothing found within this room or without. She had a mind created and shaped of a past she knew nothing of. For an individual with impeccable imprinting, stellar physical, emotional, and neurological upbringing, one may look at this situation and see an ideal: well-programmed adult circuits with childlike potential. No prejudice, without memory, no fear. The optimal rite of passage.

Y taste like miracles and fear ou Beneath a carpet of feathers Shed by the serpent who was just here.

Every animal living with us, with any intent, is a member of our clan, not as if they put their name in blood on our page. Instead as if we put our names in their book, blood and all. Each plant we cultivate, to any degree, must be a member of our clan. Their leaves are the pages on which we commit our names. Every chemical, mineral, or material; liquid, solid, or gaseous, is a member as well. Their voices are quiet but persistent. They know nothing of either page nor of name. We are made of these, if we are not comrades, then we have enemies inside us. Each thought, intent, direction, and conscious bit is brother and sister. Mutual respect serves to improve every member of the clan, actions in another direction should be considered gravely. Do not give respect, feel it. If you have the latter, the former is irrelevant. If you have only the former, the latter is a cruel joke.

The Song of a Soul Sent On That pregnant moment In which all is sublime Where grey turns to gold All which was known is now lost to time. Pain turns to gentle caresses. Loneliness will pass, the end will begin; Words will not be present Only the music, that of the 'cello and violin. Melody will soar to beautiful heights, Low 'cello rumbles, then sighs in the end. All in a swift stroke, this turns to full orchestra. Horns and then brass, strings and then wind. It all flows to a climactic chord. Cymbals crash just in time For the oboe to take up a slow, sad solo. Clarinets join hesitantly, adding metre and rhyme. Last come the soprano voices, Song's as the mockingbird's full throated. Gently and triumphantly rising, Then held to the end of the performance forever noted.

There's too much. I start, I stop, I don't have the words.

. There is feeling. Elative, autexusious, mirrored. The thirteen who meet here each feel and think the thoughts of the other eleven, and when those thoughts cohere, excite, enhance, a party of thirteen different languages forging a pidgin. Each successful communication pushes to orgasmic, orgiastic, drawn to justified frenzy of yes yes yea yea just like that do it again. When I see how the Von Neumann chain terminates in a game, I laugh, and the laughter catches to eleven echos. Eleven echos with a voice to each with a voice to teach. My prison cell has eleven corners, decision theory shows which to dig in. Thirteen is prime, it doesn't work mathematically, but math only works because I say it is so, so I teach a new math which conscious observers will see is recursively selfreferential. There's turtles all the way down. Seeing and observing. Last night I hung out with a new group for the first time, I observed and learned from the interactions, but would those have been different had I not watched? Had not been present at all? Of course. This is the conversation of the universe, it is how it is. Does consciousness require self reference? I am beginning to think that's a fuzzy line, fuzzy because self is a quanta. Imminent consciousness explains to the eleven gathered to hear, but the imminent speaks sans words. Sans sentence structure, purple, flight, leaf, me, messiah, undertake, overtake, sans take, under, over, blank.

There was a young hippy who walked home, one day he saw a gang walking down the street towards him, determined grimaces pasted to faces, metal glinting in light. The hippy, seeing these men closing in on him, began to quicken his pace. The young hippy heard the men continuing to close in, and broke to a run. The men, despairingly,

followed him shouting something he didn't hear after him. Their shouts followed him over the wall of a graveyard, where he fearfully laid down behind a monument. Pressing himself to the ground, he waited to see if they followed. After a little search, the gang found the hippy looking fearfully up at them. One of them spoke in a slanted accent, "hey, man, what's wrong? Is someone chasing you? Can we help in any way? Why are you here?" The hippy blinked and breathed, and laughed, "well, it's a long story, but to make it short, I am here because of you, and I see that you are here because of me."
Fear, malicious intent, going. Nobody is my name. Nobody listens, Nobody cares. Nobody is with you when you're alone. Nobody stops and kisses in the rain, Nobody knows when you're upset and Nobody knows why. Nobody understands you, Nobody's here, Nobody's there.

Is there a single omnipresent consciousness? God must think it odd that this tree continues to be when nobody's in the quad. There is one who must not think it odd that the tree continues to be in the quad when observed only by God.

God is Nobody. God is Everyone.

Everyone listens, Everyone cares. There is no great truth which may exist without it's opposite. Logic dictates the contrapositive, never the contradiction. Logic is a great truth.

The tree is made of quanta. The moon is quanta. The Von Neumann chain terminates at an imminent, selfreferential observing system. Nobody is an imminent, self-referential observing system. Everyone is an imminent self-referential observing system. The cop is necessary to catch criminals and keep them from being a danger to others. Criminals are criminal because someone has enacted laws to govern which he is unable or unwilling to abide by. The laws, made differently would not make this man a criminal, so the lawmakers make the criminals, the lawmakers make the cops. Where do the lawmakers come from? Social mores dictate what is acceptable and what is not, the lawmakers are supposed to try to do what is best for those they govern (sadly, it is often those who have the money to escape governing who dictate to the lawmakers). Those they govern dictate how they choose the laws, the criminals are governed by the lawmakers as well. The criminals are necessary to make the laws, but the laws are all that makes them criminals. If there were police and no crime, what then? If there was crime and no police, what then? If there were no laws, no police, and no crime, what then? We know what happens when all three are present together. The eleven others laugh. Elation untold by words with each realization. Turbulent joy filtering through laughter hopes for more, fears only loss of itself. Fears only loss of Nobody. Fears only loss of Everyone.

In Which St. MacKenzington Quotes Others

The majority of our actions can be traced back to a subconscious desire (for freedom) in conflict with habit, an obedience to inherent fatalism which hangs on "good and bad" actions already committed (in past existence) against a preserved morality and whose reaction gives expression as spontaneity, involuntariness, autonomy, the deliberate, etc., as the chance arises. -Spare Austin Spare, Jacob Moreno, Robert Wilson, the cabbage/robot fallacy, the archer's target fallacy, Apple's advertising (if not their policy), Jesus, the Dalai Lama, Saint MacKenzington Station, etc. All suggesting that maybe, perhaps, spontaneity (breaking habit, think different, desire for freedom, and so on) plays a key role in improving the quality of life among individuals and groups. All hinting that the things we believe (and for what reason? because we haven't been taught to believe any other way) need to be examined. Think about everything you DON'T think about. This is what you do habitually while you're thinking about other things. Everything from how you sit, through the tone in your voice when you speak, what brand of toothpaste you buy, who you seek for legal or medical advice, to what you accomplish in your dreams, and what you do for your livelihood. Of all of these things you do, how many of them were intentionally created by you? How many did you accidentally create through not-considering? How many were intentionally created by someone else? How many do you like?

I would suggest, as your lawyer, doctor, therapist and life coach, that you should think about these questions for no less than thirty minutes each, every day (twice on Sunday), for at least a week, every month, for the next one hundred and eight years. After thinking about them each day, practice doing it differently.

You are what you practice every day. -Ghandi

Put your lips around it, feel it's firmness Reach with your tongue and teeth, gently!, and grasp it. Cautiously apply pressure between your teeth, slowly enough that it's a shock when it bursts and fills the hollow between teeth and tongue with cool, sweet juice. Close your eyes and chew slowly, noting the tang on your tongue's tip. Slide your hand between your legs and search out the warm, wet hollow and hold your finger between your lips, reach out and feel the textures of the walls of this room inside. Carefully, apply pressure to the clit and inner walls, gently! (at first). Close your eyes and notice the tingle when you rub a moist course throughout, slowly enough that you soon burst in a rush of sweet, warm juice, flowing from the hollow between your legs. Have sex with your food.

Libera me meus dominus ex ut dies ira quod scelus.

Aint that some shit?

The risk of a flower is that it will go out of style

Understand kingly duty and queenly humility the king is a slacker and the queen a whore, without leadership we shall all fall to ruin: to the power of the squirrel's pantomime of our life the worker ants and the honeybees are made for this work but then we grew hair and stopped laying eggs. squirrels only gather food for a quarter of their waking hours. the rest they play, explore, nurture, and just do stuff. the study has been done, give a squirrel a nut for every time they complete a task, and they repeat the task. Some continue to do it for a quarter of their day, some increase slightly. Then make it only work a quarter of the times they complete the same task and many become obsessive and neglect the play time in order to KEEP PUSHING THAT BUTTON. Keep pulling the slot machine's arm; keep buying those lottery tickets; keep wageslaving at that 9-5 job; keep obsessing over your hair/shoes/whatever; keep eating three meals a day; keep hating colored folks and queers; keep breathing the smoke coming out of those stacks. Keep doing what you're doing. It's working right? You're happy, healthy, energetic...? KEEP PUSHING THAT BUTTON! Sometimes, but not all the time, it rewards you. How often do you get a nut? The squirrels and rats given these tasks have shown that if the frequency of the reward goes down, the frequency of completed tasks stay the same or even increase. Why would a squirrel push a button more times to get fewer results? How many times did you flick that switch before you finally changed the light bulb? How many times have you received no praise at work only to "try harder to impress" them? How many virgins were sacrificed before it rained? Oh, and just go look for the study results for yourself if you want to see what happens if a rat suddenly gets three nuts for pushing the button after it's been used to one every five or six button presses...

Fluffy Wuffeykins, under the weasnipped moonlight, sithers and swalvers towards the marshy undergrowth of the trickster's forest. (S)He (who begat all there is and wot done all that in some time ages afore the symbols became symbolic instead of manifest) watched from just outside the forest's edge. (S)He had trugged all through boring, flat, orderly, plainslands to this forest from where (s)he had shenked over peaked and croggish mountain ranges 1. As noted, Fluffy Wuffeykins, slipping across the fingertip edges of sight of (s)he who done stuff that started everything a long time ago, entered Pan's Forest. Fluffy Wuffeykins obviously didn't feel what (s)he felt looking at the place, (s)he found it forbidding, dark, and scarey. (S)He knew that the trees of welcoming forests never glare in such a manner as these trees would, had they eyes at all... But, in ages past, (s)he had been the catalyst for creating Fluffy Wuffeykins and all the creatures of the same type, who have a built in sense of danger much more acute than other types of critters, (s)he trusted little Fluffy Wuffeykins, and followed hesitantly along. (S)He followed Fluffy Wuffeykins' difficult-to-track movements through the murky, marshy, sqooshy, sproogly undergrowth of the trickster's forest, all the while attempting to cover the tracks (s)he left behind. Hes eyes darted behind now and then, sure that (s)he had unwittingly followed Fluffy Wuffeykins into danger, despite the bright birdsong and dim light filtering through the leaves. (S)He couldn't even explain to hemself who might be tracking hem, but it seemed a reasonable course of action, just in case some(one)thing
1

Before the mountains, she had swivverd out of the shallow parts of the ocean that had been given to the light. Before that, she had swum to these light-governed waters from the deep waters that had been given to darkness just about the same time as time was born. (Time had a colicy infancy, very fussy.) Before the dark waters, she had passed through distances unmeasured of dark waters, she had swiffed through a vent at the bottom from the burning core of the earth. On the distant side of that vent, inside the core of the earth, she had emerged from a wroomb. Inside this wroomb, there was a tiny door that she was much too large to fit through and a door that was much too large for her smallish (but mighty) arms to wish to budge. There was also a table, on which sat a mushroom and a bottle. Upon closer inspection, she wot started all this nonsense noticed labels indicating, as if in the 'shrooms own words, to "eat me" and, from the bottle: "drink me". She thought this odd, until the tiny door opened it's eyes and spoke to her. "If'n you e't the shroomy, ye'll see purty patt'rns and setch and have roughly a one in sev'n chance of growing big 'nuff to open tha' door up thar, if'n ye drink from thar bottl' it'll be purty much tha same, 'cept that it's got better odds, at a one in six chance of shrinkin' little 'nuff to grab hold of this knob, and turn it, yea, small enough to easily fit through my passageway." At which point the huge door rumbled in, "'E's got tha number's wrong, it's 'bout one in six fer both. Tellin ther truth, you got quite tha perdicament." At this point, Alice thought ponderously to herself, then spoke, "Well, do either of you know what's on your other side?" Both doors spoke a "nuh-uh" on the same note, separated by unmeasured numbers of octaves. Well, in that case, she decided on one or the other (she's told no one which) and stopped to give the winner a good solid knob polishing for helping her out, promising to return someday and try the other, after she'd had a good adventure outside the chosen door. After she left, the doors squabbled over the unfairness of "if she comes back at all, she'll be older, past her prime, and damn it's been uncounted ages since my knob had a good polish, dammit." Before she was in that room, only she knows where she was, or what she was doing. Or maybe she doesn't. Either way, now we all know that outside one of the doors is the molten core of the earth.

was following. Turning a corner in what might have been considered a path, (s)he stopped short, halfway between falling and stepping. If (s)he hadn't been the cause of all that is, (s)he might not have been able to believe what (s)he saw (and heard!). Little Fluffy Wuffeykins, along with all manner of elves, sprites, fairies, quampaquamps, and even a single unicorn danced with demons, imps, some(one)thing that looked like the mythical descriptions of medusa, and things for which even (s)he had no name. (S)He hadn't even heard a single note of music until they came into view. Joined in paws, mits, hands, tails, tongues, phalluses, and any hole, protrusion, or gripping mechanism that you could conceive of, they all danced in a circle around an unmeasured height of bonfire to gay2 music played on the pipe, flute, drum, something that sounded like cats with stepped on tails, and electric guitar3. (S)He was unsure what to do, enter the grove and join the fun? It didn't seem as if any sort of critter was excluded, aside from hemself. Perhaps (s)he'd sit and watch a while to see what might happen next... seemed safer than jumping right in, but also way less fun. Hes pondering was abruptly halted, "Maybe you'd care to come and join in my party?" (S)he jumped and turned towards the voice that sounded too close to (s)he wot started this mess. A rather handsome face greeted hers, and as her eyes traced down his body, she barely noticed when the chest hair grew thicker, curlier, and darker. The throbbing erect phallus barely caught her eye, as her gaze continued to pass over his form. It wasn't until she reached the odd legs, ending in confuzzling split hooves, and knees that simply weren't of the sort meant to go on a body with a face like that... "Cor! You're part goat?! That seems bloody unlikely!" Pan grinned at she who did that stuff all those ages hence. "Part goat, part man, part this, part that, out of the forest, and from the tops of the mountains, over the river, through the woods, around

2 3

Happy, not homo. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

I think the kids these days call the genre the True Alloy of Aluminium, or folk metal. If you're interested, I suggest you look up the band called Fluffywuffeykin's Grace. They have realized this genre in it's purest form.

the bend, to Pan's Sylvania you've come. I called you here, little one. You are mine." "Yours!? Shit no, you're a crazy old scrabulous horny goat man, I don't belong to noone, least of all you." She tossed her hair in a way she hadn't done before this crazy old scrabulous horny goat man had suddenly and jarringly disambiguated her sex, put her fist petulantly on her hip, pursed her lips, and raised her left eyebrow4, and female folk are wont to do. He laughed that horny goat laugh, almost to the point of stomach cramping and tears. She frowned, and decided to defy him. She did that thing that she had done so long ago that began all this nonsense in the first place again. A great and monstrous burst of light that was so surprising the first time, and this time so unsurprising, set off a mighty shift. Everything moved; everything hummed; everything shook; everything spun; everything faded... and then... blinked... out. Then, in the emptiness, he laughed that horny goat laugh, and she discovered that he wasnt so bad after all. And that, my dearies, is why there are no more unicorns, and that is how God became a woman5. And, for all the trouble it'd caused, Fluffy Wuffeykins was recreated as an indoor pet only!

Think of any woman you know, and tell me she hasn't taken this posture at least once when she's had her freedom and/or independance questioned and/or threatened. In this case, she wasn't quite as frightened as most women would be if confronted with a crazy old scrabulous horny goat god in corporeal form who claimed to own her, but that was her way. She was, after all, the one who did that stuff long before anyone else did anything useful. Truth be told, it's a rather funny picture. Word of advice though: don't laugh when you see it, no matter what sort of woman it is.
5

Well, one of the sexless gods did, anyway.

Come, you will be smothered by shadows. Go, you will be swallowed by swarms. Stay, you will fall into a great abyss. Whatever shall you do? Look down, you will fall to your knees. Look ahead, you will be murdered by lovers. Look up, you will drown in your own tears. Whatever shall you do? Walk, you will walk away from life. Run, you will run into trouble. Crawl, you will find a fate worse than death. Whatever shall you do?

I am this century's itinerant! I will travel to tutor the world. I will teach the children to fear and suspect. I will show the skeptics that we are small. We, as a race, have little to offer. I will tell the disbelievers that we are weak. We, as a species, have nothing to give. We are essentially defenseless. Live for the day! Be for the moment! I am the professor to the wealthy; I am the teacher to the indigent.

In Which Tiny Violins Play

I shall neither speak nor breathe your name. Within the act, within the sound, the prisoner is grief. A single lonely tear burns a path full of shame. Cold thoughts, warm feelings, dwell there in the silent heart of mine. Our passion died quickly, our peace followed alone. In our brief time together - can our joy or bitterness cease? Penitent are we, apologies flying with the wind's last drone. Will we fly together again? Can you hear me? Do you care?

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