Modern Sisyphus

One night Quiche invited four friends over for some drinks and smoking.  She invited Tab Matsui, who always worried about people and her boyfriend Don Mosher who was always worried about animals.  She also invited Carmonita Scarfoni, who was always worried about life, and Toni Carboni, who was always worried about death. 

Drinks were poured, spliffs were lit, and conversation ensued.   Tab never took spliffs overly well and soon began to worry about the people who were being afflicted by natural disasters.  "there's nothing you can do to prevent something like that," she said, and began to weep.  Don, her boyfriend said "think about the animals though, they truly have no idea what is happening.  it must all be a mystery to them.  just like everything to us." 

"what's a mystery?"  Quiche asked.  Carmonita said, "life is a mystery.  how can we know what the point is?" 

Toni said, "you can't know the point until you've died.  it's too profound."  Quiche began to giggle.  Don turned to her, his drink splashing on the tabletop.  "how can you laugh, Quiche?  terrible things happen all the time.  what's so funny?"  Quiche spoke through a bouquet of laughter:  "everything." 

Tab asked:  "you think it's funny that we don't know the meaning of life?" 

Quiche answered, "no." 

"well then, what's so funny?"  Don asked.  Quiche turned to him.  She smiled.  "i find it funny that you all believe there is a meaning to the universe.  there isn't."  Carmonita sat forward.  "how can you dare to say that?  if there isn't a meaning then there is no point in living!" 

Quiche asked,  "no?"  and began to giggle again.  Toni sat very quietly, and finally said "Quiche is right.  there is no point.  if you think about it, it's perfectly obvious.  there is no meaning to life." 

Tab began to weep again.  "well then what are we living for?"  Don answered:  "nothing."  

Carmonita's face lit up.  "we should kill ourselves!"  Toni turned to Carmonita.  "yes, you're right.  it's the only logical response to an illogical universe." 

As the four prepared to kill themselves Don noticed Quiche was lighting up another joint.  "what are you doing, Quiche?  aren't you going to kill yourself with us?"  Quiche laughed again. "no, i have no intention of killing myself." 

Tab asked,  "but why?  it was you that made us realize the universe has no point." 

Quiche shrugged.  "so?"  was all she replied. 

Don turned away from Quiche.  "forget her, she's just afraid.  come on, let's get on with it, i can't stand this world another second."  and he, and the other three killed themselves, and fell back away from the table.  Their feet stuck up in the smoky air. 

Quiche sat back, gathered their weed with hers, took another haul on the spliff, and said "this is the life . . ."

Bean

Phantly Roy Bean was a saloon-keeper, and arbitrary judge who called himself "The Law West of the Pecos". Discordian legend tells that Judge Roy Bean held court sessions in his saloon along the Rio Grande River in a desolate stretch of the Chihuahuan Desert of West Texas.

As a youth Judge Bean was accosted on a stretch of road by a group of bandits, (or native americans, legends differ on the details) he was attacked ruthlessly and left for dead amongst the cacti. He survived for fifteen days by murdering armadillos and cracking them open for moisture - on the fifteenth day the Judge had a vision of a woman with golden hair who called herself "the Heiress", she gave Bean the strength to pick himself up and make his way on foot to a nearby town called Langtry, which would be his home for the rest of his life. He believed the Heiress to be a goddess who had spared his life so that he may make the world over in his idea of her image.

Roy built a saloon he named the Heiress that also served as his home. He hung a tattered picture he himself had drawn of his vision behind the bar. Above the door he posted signs proclaiming "ICE COLD BEER" and "LAW WEST OF THE PECOS." From there Roy Bean dispensed liquor, justice, and legends, including that he himself had named the town in honor of the actress Lillie Langtry on the Heiress' bidding. He was elected to office in 1884 and re-elected many times.

His court methods were arbitrary and comical and inspired many outrageous tales. His court paraphernalia included only one revolver, one law book and a pet bear named Boopsie. It is said that, when performing marriage ceremonies, he always ended the service by saying "And may the Goddess have mercy on what is left of your soul."

Judge Roy Bean was a merciless dispenser of justice, often called "The Hangin' Judge, having sent a record 23,00 men and two women to the gallows during his career. He was quoted often to have said "and there's LOTS more where they came from!"

Actor Michael Richards probably would have liked Judge Roy Bean a hell of a lot, since one of Bean's most outrageous rulings occurred when an Irishman was accused of killing a Chinese American worker. Friends of the accused threatened to destroy the Heiress if the Irishman was found guilty. Court in session, Bean browsed through his law book, turning page after page, searching for a legal precedent. Finally, rapping his pistol on the bar, he proclaimed, "Gentlemen, I find the law very explicit on murdering your fellow man, but there's nothing here about killing a Chinaman. Case dismissed."

In 1896 Bean organized the world championship boxing title bout between Bob Fitzsimmons and Peter Maher on an carnival island in middle of the Rio Grande, because boxing matches were illegal in Texas. The resulting sport reports spread his fame throughout the United States, as well as convincing a young Don King to enter into the world of boxing.

The Case Against Colour (or, NOTHING Is The New Pink)

Yesterday, I overheard a conversation between two homeless men who were waiting in a line for lunch at a nearby shelter. I was waiting for a bus on a bench close to where the two were standing, and happened to overhear one of them mention a 'golden apple'. This, of course, piqued my interest, so I began to listen to the two.

It turns out that the 'golden apple' the one man was referring to was what is commonly referred to as an 'Orange', but he is correct that at one time the fruit was called a golden apple - the conversation centered around the man holding the orange trying to convince the other man that the fruit he was holding was in fact blue, not orange.

"It's like this," said the man. "colour works in opposites. When you look at an Orange the light bounces off the Orange, and back to your eye. But, the thing is, the thing is this: the Orange absorbs all the colours of the white light, and only bounces back the colour orange to your eye. So, really, the Orange is any colour BUT orange."

"I don't get it." said the other man. "Why does it look orange to us, then?"

"Because that's the only colour bouncing back to your eye. It looks orange because orange is bouncing back. The eye works on opposites. We actually see things upside down, but our eyes correct the image so that we see it normally. And, we usually see in negative, but the eye corrects for that too."

"That's fucked." the other man answered aptly.

It was at this point that I turned to the two men. "I'll tell you what's more fucked. Colour doesn't exist at all."

They both just stared at me. I continued: "Think about this: Everything is made from molecules, right? Well, what colour are molecules?"

The one man shrugged, and the other said: "I don't know."

I winked. "Exactly. That's because molecules don't have any colour. And, if everything is made from molecules, and molecules have no colour, than de facto NOTHING has colour."

Before either man could respond I disappeared into a puff of smoke.

Comedy in Cinema is More Realistic Than Drama

In a word?  Defecation. 

Defecation is a large part of daily life, even if most of us would prefer to imagine it isn't.  In fact there are those of us who would prefer to pretend it doesn't even occur.  These people make the majorities of the dramas we see today. 

In Ulysses James Joyce portrayed a man who urinated and defecated as any normal person would, in what was possibly the first truly realistic novel.  The lesson, however, was not learned by the rest of the entertainment industry.  It would still be at least thirty years until even a fart was heard on a movie screen, let alone any actual movements of bowels. 

Today, defecation is still very taboo in films, unless it is a comedy.  So, in this way, comedy is more realistic than the average drama.  However, it should be noted that the only type of defecation allowable even in comedies is of the 'explosive diarrhea' type.

Planet YoYo

On this day, in 1854, a boy named Fudgio Montobono succeeded in securing a string all the way around the circumference of this glorified ball of mud we call Earth. 

He then proceeded to use the planet like a yo-yo, for a record time of twenty-three seconds before the string broke, and he careened off into interstellar space. 

The vast population at the time wasn't aware of this astounding feat, and as a result, to this day, most people are still unaware of what Fudgio Montobono achieved. 

Hermit Day

Today is the day when all intelligent aspiring hermits remember the life of Paul of Latrus, and vow never to repeat his mistakes. Paul had always wanted to be a hermit, ever since he was knee-high to a pariah, and had been hording hermitty things in preparation for years: lanterns, furs, nuts and berries, pornographic etchings for those long winter solstice nights . . . not to mention dreaming up strange and glorious manifestations of his chosen deity's awesome powers; truly an important part of a hermit's repertoire.

He was more than ready for life in solitude when he finally waved goodbye to his family and friends and trudged up the mountain to the cave which would be his home, sanctuary, and bathroom for the rest of his life; but he hadn't anticipated the biggest problem that every prospective hermit faces: fame.

Paul found it very difficult to rinse his socks out in the nearby River Hotsauce without hordes of curious onlookers watching his every move; he was unable to meditate while standing on his head -as was his wont- without fans asking "does it make your face hot?" or "can you hear China now?"; he wasn't able to chant through the Trumps of the Tarot without people shouting out cards which didn't exist (like 'Halitosis' and 'Stubbed-Toe') in a deluded attempt to help him out. In short, his new career as a hermit was already the pits.

Paul had an idea. He decided the best way to get rid of the crowd of gawkers was to frighten them away with his awesome connection to the Higher Beings, and promptly began to start vomiting blood everywhere and anywhere he went. True, he was dizzy, but he felt that he would finally have the solitude he had constantly craved.

Did it work for Paul of Latrus, I can almost hear you ask . . . of course it didn't, did you read the opening sentence? His stardom, of course, rose to heights he had never dreamed of, and he was a constant attraction in his part of the land for the rest of his life, with an entire industry built up around him: selling candy apples, pony rides, face-painting, etc.

So, let this day be a lesson to all prospective hermits: if you are planning to walk off into the woods to become holy, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF, dammit!

Agamemnon and the Ill Wind

Some time after the ORIGINAL SNUB, which started the Trojan War, but before the war actually began, Agamemnon son of Atreus had collected his fleets at Aulis in Boeotia but found himself unable to sail for Troy due to a contrary wind. 

Agamemnon clutched his long ivory scepter forged by the god Hephaestus who gave it to Hermes, who dropped it in a fountain when plonked at one of Dionysus’ parties, where it was subsequently found by Agamemnon’s grandfather Pelops, and was then grudgingly passed down to him. He clutched the scepter and shook with rage. He was consumed with revenge and honour, two ingredients which--when mixed--can become poison in a man’s blood. In desperation he called out for Calchas, who spoke with the gods. 

‘Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods,’ Agamemnon said. ‘tell me which god is it who is pissed with me and has asked the ill wind to blow against the long-haired Achaeans so that they may not sail against the wife-robbing bastard people, the Trojans, who stole the completely foxy Helen from my brother Menalaus, King of Sparta?’ 

Calchas was not a stupid man; he knew that those who gave bad news to kings soon became deprived of what was most dear to them: their lives. Hades did not have a good rep at that time, some would argue it still doesn’t, but it beats Toledo Ohio in a pinch. Conversely, everyone knew that lying about the gods could get you in worse places than either Hades or Toledo. The choice was obvious. ‘Good King Agamemnon, it makes me sick to say it, but there are five gods angered at you.’ 

‘Five gods?’ sputtered Agamemnon. ‘But how? But why? But when?’

Calchas said, ‘It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that swift and sleek Artemis is angered with you because she overheard you boast that you were a better marksman that she.’ 

Agamemnon said ‘Shit. It’s true. I did boast to be a better marksman than Artemis the swift and sleek. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Artemis ask in return?’ 

Calchas quivered in the hips as he said, ‘Only your first born daughter Iphigenia, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from her thighs burned in respect.’ 

‘Ach,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Gag. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me?’ 

Calchas said, ‘It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that beautiful and nubile Aphrodite is angered with you because she heard you vowed to sacrifice the most beautiful treasure in your life in exchange for victory against the little Trojan shits.’ 

Agamemnon said ‘Aw fer fu-. Mmm. It’s true. I did vow to sacrifice the most beautiful treasure in my life in exchange for victory against the little Trojan shits. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Aphrodite ask in return?’ 

Calchas shivered in the groin as he said, ‘Only your wife Clytemnestra, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from her thighs burned in respect.’ 

‘Feh,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Gak. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me?’ 

Calchas said, ‘It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that Zeus lord of the sky, had sent an omen to you of two young studly eagles meant to represent the Atridae, which tore to pieces a pregnant hare. White-armed Here, big mama of all the heavens and gueen of all the mothers was beyond pissed.’ 

Agamemnon said ‘Great Googly Moogly! Grr. It’s true. Zeus did send an omen of two young studly eagles meant to represent the Atridae, which tore to pieces a pregnant hare. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Here ask in return?’ 

Calchas jiggled in the gizzard as he said, ‘Only all your children, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from their thighs burned in respect.’ 

‘Bah!’ said Agamemnon. ‘Yuk. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet bitch, who speaks with the gods, tell me which other god is it who is pissed with me?’ 

Calchas said, ‘It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that flashing-eyed Pallas Athene, unsleeping daughter of Big Daddy Zeus was offended by your father Atreus. He vowed to sacrifice a lamb to aegis-bearing Athene in exchange for success in battle, this he did not do.’ 

Agamemnon said ‘Mother fuck! Mmm. It’s true. My father was a complete dipshit, he did stuff like that all the time, one time he promised me half of Caledon- aw fuck it . . . Tell me Calchas, what does wise Pallas Athene ask in return?’ 

Calchas trembled in the pancreas as he said, ‘Only all your only son Orestes, sacrificed on an alter, the fat from their thighs burned in respect.’ 

‘Homina homina homina’ said Agamemnon. ‘Retch. That I cannot do. Calchas, you sweet slut, who speaks with the gods, tell me which is the last god who is pissed with me?’ 

Calchas said, ‘It is the truth Agamemnon son of Atreus that Eris also called Strife is offended by your feeding of hot dogs to your troops. Her only sustenance when she went into self-imposed exile after THE SNUB was the hot dog bun, it is an affront to the goddess of Discord and she smites you in bitter and somewhat petty retaliation. It’s boring on Mt. Olympus.’ 

Agamemnon said ‘Rats. It’s true. I feed my soldiers Armor Hot Dogs, they’re the dogs long-haired Achaeans love to bite. Tell me Calchas, what does wise Eris ask in return?’ 

Calchas twitched in the pineal gland as he said, ‘Only all the soldier’s hot dog buns, torched on an alter, in respect.’ 

‘Uh uh.’ said Agamemnon. ‘No way. That I cannot do. They would eat me alive. Besides, it is never that easy.’ 

Agamemnon pondered all the gods requests and wondered which would be the least disastrous for him. The easiest in the eyes of a misogynist bronze era Greek was obviously the sacrifice of his eldest daughter Iphigenia, but once she was dead and cut up for sacrifice Agamemnon and Calchas realized they had no kindling. The only thing flammable to start the pyre was the hot dog buns. 

Agamemnon broke his scepter across his knee, ‘This is ridiculous! I promised my soldiers those buns, but if I must, I must . . . burn the buns, Calchas.’ 

The moment Calchas lit the buns the wind began to change. Agamemnon felt sick, and tried to convince himself that the fat of Iphigenia’s thighs was already starting to burn, but he knew in his heart the truth. Despite that, he turned to Calchas ‘A cheer for swift and sleek Artemis who granted muh-mercy on the long-haired Achaeans.’ 

A loud cackle from high above startled Agamemnon and Calchas as they toasted, but neither of them asked from whence it came. 

Emotion: Intellect's Retarded Little Brother

Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary.
Mark Twain

The emotions aren't always immediately subject to reason, but they are always immediately subject to action.
William James


You are, of course, a robot. Don't bother denying it. If you weren't, you would have complete control of your entire body at all times, both physical aspects and mental. But, you do not. You are governed to varying degrees by a strange group we call 'Emotions'.

These emotions sit inside your skull watching everything you do and edit the information before processing it through your brain. No information reaches you unaltered.

For this reason all intelligence you receive from the outside world is skewed in some direction away from what we often refer to as 'objective truth'. The old adage 'garbage in, garbage out' is especially relevant in this situation, and because of this skewed view we always react to situations in a slightly off-kilter manner; some more inaccurately than others, but none are immune.

"Is there any hope of eradicating this disease and becoming like Vulcans?" I hear you ask. Probably not. In fact, I don't think I would want to live in a world completely devoid of emotions. Complete lack of emotion is just as dangerous as being completely controlled by emotion.

"So what can we do?" I hear you ask. Become aware of your emotions. Observe your emotions and how they manipulate you. Go out and get in an argument. Get into a fist fight. See how you react when a fist comes into contact with your jaw. Were you able to think clearly afterwards?

The more you observe your emotions and become familiar with them the easier it will be to identify them in a hostile situation. Once you are keenly aware of your emotions it is much easier to observe them with something close to objectivity. Once you can observe the emotions with something close to objectivity it will be much harder for them to completely take over your mind and become blinded by them.

"Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps; for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are, and what they ought to be." 

                                                           -William Hazlitt

 

That is almost, but not entirely, true.  Platipussies are struck with the difference too, but most people pay little heed to this fantastic and wonderful marsupial.  So, it's up to us, and the Platipussies, to enjoy this weird and wonderful world Eris entertains us with on a daily basis.

About The Crumbs...

This is about insignificant crumbs of nothing. 

 You are an insignificant crumb of nothing.  Your size, when compared with the sheer vastness of our known universe, would be roughly close to that of a single atom floating next to the island of Manhattan. We (you, me, everyone you've ever met) are all insignificant crumbs of nothing. If you could get a bird's eye view of the entire universe, that vast collection of billions of interstellar shopping malls, you wouldn't even be able to see our galaxy, the Milky Way. Neither would you see any of our neighboring galaxies, or even the large cluster of galaxies we reside inside: no, we are truly cosmically insignificant.  

But, we are conscious.  At least, we believe so.  Possibly, just possibly, the only conscious beings in the entire universe, as unlikely as that may seem.  And each of us: you, me, your mother, a dog down the street, are all composed of atoms created in the Big Bang.
We are all the same age, and we are all made up from matter that was once smaller than the head of a pin.  You, a potted fern, and a stapler are all essentially the same.  Think about that.

Cole Slaw, for an insignificant crumb of nothing, took being evicted from his crumb of an apartment quite seriously. He was pissed off as he ran with his olive green turtle-shell suitcase to catch the crumb known locally as the 501 Streetcar.

  At exactly that moment, as he ran sweating, a large throbbing red star in a relatively nearby galaxy winked out for the final time, and collapsed upon itself, sucking everything –even rays of light– within millions and millions of miles into the hole it left behind.  This star choking on its own vomit would not be visible to people on Earth for six million years. 

Cole had no idea the star even existed. 

A gargantuan super-galaxy that was spinning out of control, destroying stars and planets like a child destroying ants, swallowed up 
Three large galaxies on the opposite side of the universe.  Cole was only aware of one other galaxy: our nearest neighbor: Andromeda, which will eventually collide with our galaxy forming a super galaxy of our own. Perhaps, we too will careen out of control gobbling up star cities for the rest of time.  Think of it as something to look forward to.


Cole knew that he immediately needed to find a place to stay, and at the same time was vaguely aware the universe was expanding, but had no idea that the more it expanded the faster it traveled.  He had no idea that our 'Big Bang' was, in fact, the fifth big bang. The universe had been expanding and collapsing on itself for a googol's worth of years.   Cole had no idea this was the fifth try at a universe anymore than he was aware that he'd existed since the very first big bang.   And, so have you.


Happy Birthday.

Know Thyself

How can you be aware of anything, if you aren't fully aware of yourself?

People believe that they know themselves, but for the most part do not. Believing that they know themselves already, most people never think about getting to know themselves. How are you sitting right now? If a photograph were taken of you surreptitiously right now, what would the photograph tell people about you?

(And why are you so sure a photograph ISN'T being taken of you surreptitiously?)

To become aware, start by becoming aware of everything about you, down to the smallest detail. When you aren't paying attention, do you shuffle your feet? Do you chew your lips? Or your nails? Twirl your hair? Lick your lips?

Why?

Do you even know? If you didn't move consciously, who is in control of you? Become aware of these movements.

Do you like funny movies? If so, why?

Do you like foreign foods? If not, why?

When you become aware of yourself fully you will begin to become aware of what is around you more fully. When you become more fully aware of what is going on around you it will all start to come together.

'Know thyself' is more than just a catch-phrase.

YooHoo In Creationist Museum

Hoopla:

As instructed, I have managed to obtain a position within the Creationist Museum in Petersburg, Kentucky, and Hoopla, it is almost exactly as you had predicted – how do you do it, you wiley bastard?? You were completely half right. How do you see through these scams? Yes, the Christian Creationist Museum is -indeed- a front for The Discordian Society: The First Church Of The Wholly Chao: and yet it isn’t. The ingeniousness of its creation is remarkable . . . it is a Discordian organization pretending to be Christian, but it is genuinely creationist. There are actually Creationist Discordians, can you believe it?

These Discordians take Eris seriously -quite seriously- and consider her ‘She What Done It All’, in the most literal sense. These bastards are Fundies, you had better believe it. They believe Eris created the world last Thursday, and that all the memories we have as a collective society were implanted by the Goddess to give the illusion of a rich history. For what reason, they don’t say.

When chatting with a security guard one day he pointed out that there were several theories of evolution that go against Darwin . . . I didn’t have much to contribute since I hadn’t done much of anything in a few weeks so I asked him to elaborate. He pointed out that Dr. Rupert Sheldrake proposed a completely different theory of evolution which involved cataclysmic disasters as major factors in our development . . . in addition to Sheldrake there was also Prince Peter Kroptokin, Tielhard de Chardin, Dr. James Lovelock, Lamarck, Dr. Gregory Bateson and Henry Bergson who all proposed theories of evolution different than Darwin’s. After he finished, and there was a lull in the conversation, I asked him what that had to do with whether Tyra Banks was a lesbian or not, (which is what we had been discussing at the time) he answered: “Everything is connected, asshole.” He might be right.

The museum itself is intended as a surreal experiment in cognitive dissonance, by showing things like T-Rex’s and human children playing hopscotch together, but the actual lessons of the First Church Of The Wholly Chao will be implanted in a more subtle manner: pamphlets.

The pamphlets will be handed out by a Discordian agent outside who will be continually ‘asked to leave’ and escorted from the premises, only to sneak back on again. That Discordian agent? Yours truly. A bona fide double agent.

I have a big problem, though, Hoopla . . . these Last Thusradyite people from the First Church Of The Wholly Chao . . . they’re chiseling me out of pay . . . I’ve been here for two months now, moving around styrofoam rocks, polishing stegasaurus statues, handing out pamphlets and whatnot, but have yet to get paid a red cent. Everytime I ask for my paycheck they keep telling me I haven’t put in a full week of work yet. Their reasoning is since Eris only created the world last Thursday that means I haven’t worked a full week yet . . . I’m down to my last pair of clean-ish gitch, Hoopla . . . can you send some? Any kind will do, even Underoos.

Hurry. It’s not pretty.

-Count YooHoo, K.S.C., S.H., H.M.
Esoteric Order Of Eris, Van Vliet Cabal

Concordia Guy is Losing It...

I really think the Concordia Movement guy is losing (or has lost) it. Grok:Discordianism Linked With Ong’s Hat Cult

Score One For Fort:


On this date, in 1888, according to the Madras Mail, pieces of bricks fell into a Pondicherry classroom in the presence of many investigators. 

One brick marked with a white cross was placed in the centre of the room; a similar-sized brick, marked with a black cross, dropped out of the air onto the first brick. In reference to such appearances in closed rooms, Charles Fort said: 'Oh, yes, I have heard of 'the fourth dimension,' but I am going to do myself some credit by not lugging in that particular way of showing that I don't know what I am writing about.'

BOGOTA (Reuters) – Two clowns were shot and killed by an unidentified gunman during their performance at a traveling circus in the eastern Colombian town of Cucuta, police said Wednesday.

The gunman burst into the Circo del Sol de Cali Monday night and shot the clowns in front of an audience of 20 to 50 people, local police chief Jose Humberto Henao told Reuters. One of the clowns was killed instantly and the second died the next day in hospital.

“The killings had little to do with the show the victims were performing at the time of the incident,” Henao said in a telephone interview. “We are investigating the motive.”

With an entrance fee of under 50 U.S. cents, Circo del Sol de Cali attracts mostly poor Colombians. It pitched it tents in Cucuta, near the border with Venezuela, earlier this month.

“The clowns came out to give their show and then this guy came out shooting them,” one audience member told local television. “It was ghastly.”

Count YooHoo In Point Pleasant

Hoopla:

Sweet Bela Lugosi’s backhair! It seems like I haven’t spoken to you in yurts and yurts. It took me literally ages to shake those goddam Grapes of Wrath – by the way, I think they MIGHT have actually been associated with that band you mentioned, does the name “Chris ‘Mister’ Hooper” mean anything to you?

I shook the group of mammary-obsessed maniacs in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, and took refuge in a homeless shelter, if it was good enough for Coleslaw, it was good enough for me. It did smell vaguely of urine, but to be quite honest, it could have been me: those Grapes of Wraths were savages, man, I tell you: and they made me a savage to boot. It wasn’t pretty.

The word twerp originally meant someone who bit bubbles of flatulence in bathtubs: isn’t that a bizarrely exact description?

Where was I?

Good lord, I haven’t even gotten to the point yet. Verbosity is not an admirable trait, Hoopla, don’t let anyone tell you different. Christ: The point: In the shelter I met a man who I thought at first to be an Al Jolson impersonator, but it turns out there was a much more simple explanation: he was simply covered from head to toe in the ashes of burned corpses.

But, let’s be perfectly honest, my good Baron, who hasn’t that happened to? On occasion?

The man’s name was Brian Jolson (it turns out he was actually Al Jolson’s grandson, but it was just a “coincidence”), he was part of a cult, or sect, or religion called the Aghori, who worship Shiva, and consider everything holy, including eating corpses, copulating with corpses, playing Five Card Stud with corpses, and swimming in shit. I don’t mind the Five Card Stud part, to be perfectly honest.

Brian cruises around looking for women on their – well, their time if you . . . get me . . . he performes tantric yoga with the women, which he describes as a sacred Aghori rite entitled “Surfing The Crimson Wave”. That’s the English phrasing for it anyway, that’s what Brian tells me. He hasn’t had much luck since I’ve been with him. Well, if you consider finding an abandoned 1978 Pinto near some railroad tracks “luck”, then he has some luck . . . but not in the area he would probably prefer.

Anyway, where was I? Right.

Money.

I need you to wire me some money, so I can get the Christ away from this freak, he’s eyeing me up rather strangely. I was well fed when with the Grapes of Wrath. Maybe too well fed.

Send money soon.

Count YooHoo, K.S.C., S.H., H.M.
Esoteric Order Of Eris, Van Vliet Cabal

Spotted In Jamaica:

If I Told You...

“if i told you..absolutely they would kill me…and no tin hat would save me”
– nikola tesla

the other night i was watching the demons crawl out of the woodwork again, which is why caulking is so damned important. if you caulk it hard enough and tight enough the demons can’t get out of the fucking walls and suck your one remaining eyeball right out of your head. anyway, one of these demons kind of oozed up to me and said, “thayne, old buddy. you do realize that your very own government killed nikola tesla right? they let him live long enough to drain his brains dry of every idea he ever had, and then they killed him.”

“and you’re next boy. you’re next. only they won’t keep you alive long enough for you to spit. because after all, what does the uncle sammy want with heated toilet paper, floating lawn chairs and seeing-eye armadillos? well okay, so they might like the tp idea, but you know damn well they’d keep it for the bigwigs and let the little fellows continue to freeze their nuts off, right? of course right.”

and i thought to myself, thayne, i thought, big brother is everywhere. and it’s just like the old lady always says “goddammit, leave your glass eye at home next time you go on a bender down at harold’s lounge or it’s just dejavu like when the cops haul you away and you kick the cop in the knee and they cuff your feet together so even if you kick open the back door of the cop car and try to hop away (again), the truth is the police can run faster than you when you’re cuffed at the ankles. and you know they’ll throw you back in the drunk tank where they don’t care what happened to your glass eye, or maybe they took it and spit on it or are saving it for their hallooween costumes, or for a trophy. yeah, that’s it a trophy eye hanging on the wall of the break room down at the jail. even if you get it back you don’t know where it’s been.”

so anyway, back to nikola tesla, the fucking genius who immigrated here from Serbia , and either knew transmigration or teleportation or else had tunnels under his house that led to his secret lab. but then one day he decided to do things much as an ordinary man would and got hit by a car while crossing the road and died in the street like a dog and the fbi came in and took all his papers and his secrets when they raided his place. but he got revenge and the last laugh because the fuckers tried to photograph tesla in his casket and the photo blurred and they were unable to make the camera focus on his face. there’s not one death picture of his face which is the way he wanted it. the question that begs here is this: what good is the last laugh if you’re dead?

the moral of this rant is listen to your old lady, but not her mother. leave your glass eye at home, never forget your ankles are cuffed and the man can run faster, caulk those cracks in the woodwork, dig your tunnels deep and don’t cross the road like everyone else, or the they’ll get you next.

your friend, 

thayne

Discordianism And Thelema

Are Discordianism and Thelema representative of emerging consensus belief in the 21st Century?

by: Tristram Burden

Introduction

The following is an analysis of two new religious movements that emerged in the 20th Century, Discordianism and Thelema. It is the authors intention to assess the cultural functions of these movements, and also to demonstrate that in the modern age of secularisation and the breaking apart of old social infrastructures (for example the family and the church), the structure, practices and particularly the philosophies of these two movements are representative of the possible future of religion and also the possible future of consensus belief, or non-belief, of western society. No attempt is made at forecasting when this change in human belief systems will occur, but certain trends will be analysed in conjunction with the tenets of Discordianism and Thelema, to demonstrate the emergence of these philosophies as an emerging standard of faith, or non-faith. A profile of each religion will be given, detailing its main tenets, how it was founded, and the practices that accompany them. The practices involved in both religions will be treated under one heading, as this involves a discussion of the current trends in Ritual Magick and Mysticism, and ties in strongly with the actual purpose of both religions.

What is Discordianism?

“If Religion is the opium of the masses, Discordianism is the marijuana of the lunatic fringe.”

In 1958, Kerry Thornley and Gregory Hill (known within the Discordian movement as, respectively, Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst and Malaclypse the Younger) were sitting drinking coffee in an all-night bowling alley, discussing the amount of confusion in their lives, when time appeared to freeze, and they perceived themselves as the only two people moving. After a sudden flash of light, and an ensuing sensation of peace and stillness, a chimpanzee holding a scroll walked into the bowling alley, and proclaimed to them the following:

“Gentlemen, why does Pickering’s moon go about in reverse orbit? Gentlemen, there are nipples on your chest; do you give milk? And what, pray tell, gentlemen, is to be done about Heisenberg’s Law? SOMEBODY HAD TO PUT ALL THIS CONFUSION HERE!”

Proceeding this outburst, the chimpanzee unrolled the scroll he held, on which was transcribed The Sacred Chao. The two then watched the chimpanzee explode, and they lost consciousness.

After conducting extensive research about the symbol, discovering only its relationship with the Taoist Yin-Yang, and the symbolism of the Pentagon and the golden apple inscribed with the Greek word Kalisti (To The Prettiest One), they were visited by the Goddess Eris Discordia, who told them, among other things: “Tell constricted mankind that there are no rules, unless they choose to invent rules.”

The two men then ordained each other High Priests of their own madness, and the Discordian society was created.

Discordianism has been described as either a joke disguised as a religion or a religion disguised as a joke. Such ambiguity is found throughout Discordian literature. It presents itself as a semantic meta-puzzle which all enquirers are encouraged to sift through and solve.

“The Discordian take on reality is that there is no reality as most people understand it. ‘Reality implies some kind of structure, some sort of guideposts. There is no structure. No bird, no song and no cage. And there is no goddess, so I guess this is all a waste of time. You might as well go home now.” Mao Kung Pao

The religion of Discordianism is centred upon the Greek goddess Eris, recognised by the Romans as Discordia, who acts through mediums of chaos, confusion and mayhem. This is partly a semantic attack on the idea of a male god, Yahweh or Allah, obsessed with order. The primary discourse evinced in Discordianism is that everything follows a pattern of total disorder, and that reality is entirely up to the perceiver. It is the Discordian view that the main religions in the west have been dominated by ideas of order and patriarchy, and that ideas of matriarchy and chaos deserve a chance. These are Discordian catmas, as opposed to dogmas.

Discordian Practice

“Is Eris true?”

“Everything is true.”

“Even false things?”

“Even false things are true.”

“How can that be?”

“I don’t know man, I didn’t do it.”

- Malaclypse the Younger (Gregory Hill) in conversation with Greater Poop.

The bible of the discordian movement is the “Principia Discordia, or How I found the Goddess and what I did to Her once I found Her.” Gregory Hill printed the first copies of the Principia Discordia on Dallas District Attorney Jim Garrison’s Xerox machine in 1963. It immediately achieved a wide notoriety in the subculture of the 1960’s, and became something of a cult classic. Between 1963 and the printing of the fourth edition in 1969, only 3,125 copies were sold. It has since been reprinted five times, internationally, and this serves as a possible indication of the Discordian movements membership, though this may reveal more about its popularity than actual membership. Discordianism has become particularly popular among the modern community of Chaos Magicians, to be discussed in further in part 2 of this article. Since there are no organised bodies in Discordianism, and considering that anybody can proclaim themselves or anybody else a High Priest or a saint (but not a prophet – there is a no-profit rule running through Discordianism), verifying the exact membership is close to impossible. Many, many people, it is theorized, are probably Discordian without knowing it, being proclaimed so by other Discordians – which abides entirely by the Discordian rule of no rules.

The goal of Discordianism is to confuse the time-bending semantic circuit (using Timothy Leary’s 8-cicuit model of consciousness) until a state of tabula rasa, or heightened input sensitivity, is reached, whereby the Discordian recognises that whatever one believes, one projects into the world faultlessly. Accordingly, belief is everything, and surrendering belief produces a brain state whereby everything the experiencer experiences is reinterpreted in the light of chaos.

“The Real Reality is there, but everything you know about “it” is completely in your mind and yours to do with as you like.

Conceptualisation is art, and YOU ARE THE ARTIST.

Conviction causes convicts.”

- Principia Discordia

What is Thelema?

The reader is referred to Liber Oz for a comprehensive summary of the main tenets of Thelema. The two phrases that bind these principles are “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law”, and “Love is the Law, love under will,” both of which are quotes from the Thelemic bible, The Book of the Law, referred to here as Liber Al.

Thelema is not entirely recognised as a religion (and is only refered to as such here on account of its mythic language and focus upon spiritual practice) due to the minority that espouse its doctrine. But, as will be shown below, its popularity may well be rising steadily. The religion contains echoes of Gnosticism and Hermeticism, particularly overt in its rites. To do one’s True Will, the major focus of the religion, is analogous to acquiring a daemon, in the Hermetic sense, or contact with the Higher Self in general Mystical terminology. It holds that we behave like stars (“Every man and every woman is a star.” This is very similar to Manichean tradition.), in that each individual has their own particular orbit, or path to follow, during their existence – the primary focus of existence for a Thelemite is to discover this orbit and to act entirely within this orbit. The causes of suffering in the world are a consequence of the majority of mankind existing unawares of their true orbit, and thus causing friction by interfering with other peoples orbits. To discover your True Will is identical to enlightenment in the Buddhist tradition, or attaining the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel in the modern Western Magickal Tradition. In Thelemic terms, then, to “do thy will”, is to attain a level of mystical illumination whereby the Thelemite is in unobstructed contact with his/her supra-mundane self.

The origins of the religion are tied into the work of Aleister Crowley, a man still regarded with suspicion (usually very hostile) in modern day society, but who can be regarded as simply a modern mystic in the tradition of Madame Blavatsky, G.I. Gurdjieff and Krishnamurti, even though these three, especially the latter, are regarded with less cynicism. There is no overriding reason to regard Crowley with either more or less suspicion than these mystics.

In 1903, while in Cairo with his pregnant wife, Rose, Crowley performed a magical operation designed to bring to visible appearance certain entities for Rose, who had no experience of such phenomena. The operation failed, and instead Rose fell into a trance-state. Crowley questioned her intimately, while in this trance, about the details of the Egyptian Mythos, which Rose had begun to show signs of knowing, even though she had, according to Crowley, no previous knowledge of it. The next day, while Rose still exhibited signs of being in trance, Crowley decided they both should visit Cairo’s Boulak museum, in order to further test her new-found extensive knowledge of Egyptian mythology. The god Horus was referred to in particular by Rose as requesting Crowley to perform a ritual designed to evoke him, which Crowley met with his characteristic scepticism. The exhibit number she pointed out was numbered 666 – this number had special connotations to Crowley, who had been styling himself the Beast 666 for a number of years. This and various other occurrences encouraged Crowley to take notice of what Rose was espousing. The incident culminated in 1904 when Crowley performed the invocation requested to him. The result of this was the dictation of the Book of the Law, Liber Al, by an entity known as Aiwass, and is the central text of the religion of Thelema.

The mythology used in Thelema is borrowed from Egyptian mythology, “for literary convenience” and the Revelation of St John the Divine from the Bible. The sky goddess Nuit; Hadit, a winged globe at the heart of Nuit, and Horus, the crowned and conquering child; Mega Therion, The Great Beast 666, and the Scarlet Women, Babalon, The Whore Archetype. Detailed analysis of these concepts is beyond this treatise, but the reader is discouraged from attributing classic definitions of Satanism to such concepts as The Beast 666.

Thelemic Practice

The practice of Thelema is largely the domain of people who work within the Western Magical Tradition. Two particular ‘official’ bodies are, though, existent, whose self-proclaimed mission, among other goals, is to spread The Law of Thelema. These bodies are the Ordo Templi Orientis and the Argenteum Astrum. The latter was formed from the ashes of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, a quasi-Masonic society that taught Ceremonial Magick. The O.T.O. is also a Masonic society, though many different orders exist, one of which, the Typhonian O.T.O., has discarded the Masonic structure all together. In the United States, the Caliphate O.T.O. has now a tax-exempt status, making it, in US constitutions, a recognised religious organisation. There is always a steady increase in membership and the establishment of lodges. It should be bore in mind that this is a representation of only one OTO, and that other bodies do exist, on an international scale.

To be a Thelemite does not require membership of either of these orders. As the key Law to Thelema propounds, it is entirely up to the individual whether or not he or she wishes to be formally initiated into the Western Magickal Tradition. Thelemic authors like Maggie Ingalls and Kenneth Grant encourage a self-initiatory journey. There is no authority in Thelema, though some bodies of the O.T.O. are prone to elevating Crowley to the status of a god, and propounding the dogma that Crowley himself despised, as his works bear out.

Thelema is essentially a mystical doctrine, encouraging the individual to become entirely self-responsible and self-aware. This awareness is achieved through a variety of techniques, incorporating Tantrism, Yoga, Gnostic and Jewish techniques of consciousness expansion. “Do what thou wilt” is not to be confused with “do what you like”, but rather is best seen in a mystical sense as, for instance, finding the Tao. Thelema teaches that the self is the ultimate authority, which is quite contrary to both the Judeo-Christian and Muslim traditions, and to the ‘established’ hierarchical structures in society. To be a Thelemite is to exist outside the laws that govern the general populace of humanity. With this message, it is understandable why Crowley is considered such a dangerous man in modern society.

Original Link

Lookey-Likeys

FROM: Ramses Colossus,
Quinti-Primi Illuminati, Hermes Trismegistus Cabal

TO: Baron von Hoopla, KSC
Esoteric Order Of Eris, Kaufman Kabal

In response to your recent query, yes, you are correct to doubt the authenticity of the video you saw, purporting to show the hanging of Saddam Hussein, it was in fact a fake. It was not really Saddam who hanged, but was instead what we in the Invisible College refer to as a “lookey-likey”.

Perhaps you have heard of the mid-90’s American film entitled Face Off?

The plot here is remarkably similar. Saddam Hussein was smuggled into the USA in 2004 CE and has his face switched with “comedian” Andy Dick, while Andy Dick had his face switched with Hussein’s, then was stuffed into the “spider hole” in Iraq. So, if Andy Dick seems to have been acting slightly erratically lately, now you know why.

And yes, it was Andy Dick who was hanged. No harm no foul, eh Hoops?

Here’s a tidbit for you and your imaginary readers: The man who fundedSaddam’s smuggling into the USA is a “lookey-like” himself . . . He was the man known to the world as Comte de St. Germain; he was the man some knew as Giuseppe Balsamo, but was better known as Count Cagliostro; he told Edgar Allen Poe that his name was Arthur Gordon Pym; some knew him as Indian Prince Dakkar, the basis for Captain Nemo; he was the inventor of the enormous airships spotted in the skies all over North America in the second half of the Nineteenth Century; he got Charles Fort interested in the paranormal; he taught Harry Houdini everything he knew; he invented rock n roll in 1948; he staged the Roswell Incident, and then headed the MJ-12 investigation into the same incident; he was the man with the umbrella at the JFK Assassination; he convinced Bob Dylan to goelectric; he turned Charlie Manson onto LSD; he introduced Timothy Learyto the 8-Circuit Model of Human Consciousness; he telepathicallycontacted both Philip K. Dick and 
Robert Anton Wilson; he introduced Pierre Plantard to the concept of thePriory of Sion; he invented both Disco and Punk Music; he trained the rabid mutant amphibious rabbit which attacked President Jimmy Carter; he toldCarlos Castenada that his name was Don Juan Matus; he convinced George Lucas to make Howard the Duck; and then in 1990, when an almost unknown actor decided to kill himself after being fired from the Americansitcom Roseanne he took the man’s face, and assumed his life, in a desire to live a relaxing, life of luxury . . . that man? None other than George Clooney. Of course, his real name is WiseAss Pomal Coleslaw

Toodles,

Ramses

King Of The Booze On: BOOZE

It’s around this time of the year that people around the world really begin to pay attention to my subjects: the many liquors, beers, and wines of the world. I see people raising the wrist all over town, and hear people hiccup to one another “T’is the Season!” – which warms both the cockles of my heart, and the heart of my cockles. It pleases me to know that I can in some way bring joy to people at the time of their year when they celebrate the birth of a 40th century jewish stone mason.

However, a certain story in the news which came to my attention recently has brought me some dismay – I don’t like to see my subjects besmirched in the media, after all. The story is -of course- the recent ’scandal’ surrounding Miss USA, Tara Conner. Miss Conner has been stomped from all sides by the media in the last week or so for doing no more than ‘drinking under age’ . . . something any well-rounded individual has done in their own past (easily forgotten when on the witch-hunt bandwagon). How under age was she exactly? About a week; Tara turned 21 (the abominably high legal age in most US states) this past MONDAY. She almost got dumped as Miss USA for drinking a week before her birthday.

I feel at this point it would be prudent to remind my readers that Eris is also the goddess of Bureaucracy.

My point, though, is not about her drinking under age. My point, rather, is directed at the last sentence in the most recent article I read about the incident: “Miss Conner will be entering rehab.” She will be WHAT? Entering REHAB? For drinking a WEEK before her LEGAL BIRTHDAY? What in the goddess’ name could be the point of this? Are there not hundreds, nay, THOUSANDS of people more legitimately needing rehab counseling than this poor woman? She should be drinking for krist’s sake! SHE’S 21! I don’t even remember the age of twenty-one.

This obsession with rehab has grown to monumental proportions. There are two things the people of North America love: someone entering rehab, and someone forced to apologize.

I need a drink.

Anonymous Hermit Day

Today is the day when all intelligent aspiring hermits remember the life of Paul of Latrus, and vow never to repeat his mistakes. Paul had always wanted to be a hermit, ever since he was knee-high to a pariah, and had been hording hermitty things in preparation for years: lanterns, furs, nuts and berries, pornographic etchings for those long winter solstice nights . . . not to mention dreaming up strange and glorious manifestations of his chosen deity’s awesome powers; truly an important part of a hermit’s repertoire.

He was more than ready for life in solitude when he finally waved goodbye to his family and friends and trudged up the mountain to the cave which would be his home, sanctuary, and bathroom for the rest of his life; but he hadn’t anticipated the biggest problem that every prospective hermit faces: fame.

Paul found it very difficult to rinse his socks out in the nearby River Hotsauce without hordes of curious onlookers watching his every move; he was unable to meditate while standing on his head -as was his wont- without fans asking “does it make your face hot?” or “can you hear China now?”; he wasn’t able to chant through the Trumps of the Tarot without people shouting out cards which didn’t exist (like ‘Halitosis’ and ‘Stubbed-Toe’) in a deluded attempt to help him out. In short, his new career as a hermit was already the pits.

Paul had an idea. He decided the best way to get rid of the crowd of gawkers was to frighten them away with his awesome connection to the Higher Beings, and promptly began to start vomiting blood everywhere and anywhere he went. True, he was dizzy, but he felt that he would finally have the solitude he had constantly craved.

Did it work for Paul of Latrus, I can almost hear you ask . . . of course it didn’t, did you read the opening sentence? His stardom, of course, rose to heights he had never dreamed of, and he was a constant attraction in his part of the land for the rest of his life, with an entire industry built up around him: selling candy apples, pony rides, face-painting, etc.

So, let this 30th of Chico be a lesson to all prospective hermits: if you are planning to walk off into the woods to become holy, KEEP IT TO YOURSELF, dammit!

The Eris Society

I stumbled across this group about a year ago, meant to look into them more, then completely forgot about it, as is my unfortunate wont. For some reason I stumbled across them again last week and decided to test the waters with them . . . they didn’t seem like the kind of group open to just anyone but I was interested to see. I suspected they couldn’t be as insufferable as the GD, but who knows?

I filled out the online application form, and was quite pleased that I was able to list “The creation of the Nation of Quebec” as one, feeling certain this would gain me access to the group. Just to be safe, I made sure to include my desire to give a speech outlining the esoteric aspects of the Carry On film series – knowing that it would cinch the deal . . .

Well, it’s been over a week and I still haven’t heard back from the Eris Society . . . I guess my initial reaction must be right, I guess they are just fat, spoiled, middle-aged hippies who feel guilty that they sold out so early and are now desperately attempting to cling to the last faded vestiges of their youthful anarchism.

I hope they read up on Eris thoroughly, though, before they decided to take her as their namesake – she has a way of dealing with people who pay only lip service.