Bigger Than Yeezus Part 2: A Flat Earth John Lennon

Kanye Westworld:  Hollywood Perilous

Westworld  Season 2,  Episode 1  "Journey Into Night"  +  My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

"Can we get much higher?"

Helter Skelter Vol. 9: Theodicy






Vinum Sabbathi
October 2-12, 2011


Klaus


Hello JFR and Mark-


After a small bit of searching, I found an article in WIRED which tuned me into the fact that both of you two gentlemen know each other, and after reviewing old blog entries in the Wiz Blog, I realized that I have read many of JFR's responses in the comments section back when I happened to have joined in this mystery called Kubrick.


iAhuasca, as Mark knows, refers to my experiments listening to Dark Side of the Moon on an iPod at movie theaters.  My first foray was the sixth Harry Potter film, but the results really broke through with the Deathly Hallows films.  I exclusively used Dark Side, except for choosing Daydream Nation for The Fighter for some reason.


Anyways, Mark and I have been sharing our experiences with a theory of Mark's called The Tensor, which involves three distinct Pink Floyd albums, and three Kubrick films.  Mark can fill you in about this.


As I have continued with this obsession, I have stumbled upon a combination of music and film that satisfies the elements of iAhuasca, The Tensor, and the entire mystery that surrounds this field.  It also happens to be the most marketable in my opinion.


I want to share this arrangement with you both, although I have a firm belief that it could be discovered by both of you independently, an experiment that could also provide very fruitful results.


Please share your thoughts with me.  This is EPIC, and as Mos Def knows, "Epic is epic".


Klaus

I ask myself, why involve someone else?  There's something about the Tensor that involves THREE, and since this guy actually screened the Shining Backwards/Forwards, he seemed like the logical extension.


Please let me know your thoughts on the three alignments I have detailed.  I firmly believe that the dynamics fit into the Tensor theory, albeit modified, but without edits.  I'm kinda going crazy without any informed feedback on these.  I know that you have time constraints and real world responsibilities, but please keep me posted with your experiences with these.  


LeClair


What an interesting turn of events.  John Fell Ryan is an e-friend of mine going back at least a couple of years.  He is very cool and whip-cracking smart.  If you think you can interest him in this experiment, I am totally cool with it.

I am sorry I have taken so long to get back to you.  I feel quite nervous about starting again, and I have avoided the computer like it was the plague.  I can't seen to find the right head space. I don't know why this is, but I think it is related to the long break I have taken. 

I am doing the triple synch as soon as I send this mail.  I believe you recommended DSOTM as the first musical choice for the 3 way play.  When I have finished it, I'll drop a line for further instructions.



Ryan

WK
you could easily document these syncs using a videocamera. including real-world location and  time-of-day as caught in screen reflection for reference.you know about this guy: http://www.youtube.com/user/iamaphoney#g/c/3DB7371263F724FE
signing off
JFR
http://kdk12.tumblr.com/
PS: sirius about the Egyptian ... used to be the usher there


Klaus


I can relate to the hesitation.  I hope your experience with the triple synch will impact you much in the same way it has me.  I think you will find that the triple synch is an absolute overload, but worth it as it hints at the underlying majesty of this mystery.

Please reference the list of Floyd/2001/Shining synchs I sent to you and JFR, as they are the product of a lot of time and effort, and absolutely overwhelm the mind, and, to me, are the perfect balance between all modes of synch, in my humblest of opinions.  I am in a fairly ragged state, as these viewings continue to gel into something that is preposterously brilliant.  The sequence of events that have surrounded this distillation has been equally profound.  Dig it bro.


LeClair


I have just finished the DSOTM triple and we are on the same wavelength. I am overwhelmed, but at the same time, this method has revealed things I would have otherwise missed. I will need at least a few viewings before it sinks in. As for your other timings, I will most certainly be doing them. So far, you have not failed to be dead on target. I suspect these viewings will take a couple of days. I am interested in your ideas for the direction of this project.

Klaus

You're going to really enjoy the next few days my friend.  It's almost like seeing it all for the first time, and, hearing it all for the first time.  Take your time, as I have found that, like a psychoactive brew, the mind/body has a certain tolerance, and the effects are better with some time taken between experiences.  As for the set of three timings I have sent, I recommend doing only one a day, with Meddle first, then The Wall the following day, and finally  Dark Side.  I know it may sound silly, but it maintains a certain allegiance to the iAhuasca formula. 


It's great to hear from you, this work can do strange things while in a certain kind of isolation.



LeClair

Hey Bill,

Last night, after doing the triple play, I had very vivid dreams--the most vivid and deep in many years.  I will do the timings as you have instructed, over the next three nights, after the roomie is gone to bed.

I noticed many new wonders on my first triple.  Two stand out.  Of the three films, the most light saturated is The Shining.  It literally shines.  Also, I was stricken with the similarity in the tone and staging of EWS and The Shining.  The thematic structure of these two are remarkably alike.
LeClair

I am looking forward to doing those timings, and I will do as you have instructed and take it slow, over the next three nights. Last night, after doing the triple play, I had the most vivid dreams I have had in many years. Vivid, deep and dark.

I wanted to comment on one aspect of the triple that I noticed. I am very careful with my color and light balance setting on TV and PC. Of the three films, the most "exposed" is The Shining. The Shining literally shines. I also note that of the three EWS and The Shining appear to be the same movie. Very revealing.

Klaus

Yes!  I also noticed an added clarity to my own dreamstate.  I'm very happy that you shared that aspect, as I believe that these arrangements are clues to understanding what modern media does to the brain.


I'm going to hold back comments until after you take in the first of the three tonight.  I'll be up late working at the bar, so feel free to send comments after.

LeClair

Did part one of your timings last night, but I couldn't start until very late and was too tired to really appreciate it. I'll try it again today.

Klaus

I'd like to share with you the dream I had last night, written as I awoke:


"UFO in the sky, appears like a white XBox, takes control of my body and propels me through a window into the sky.  I understand that to achieve height and speed, I must not fight the energy, but submit to it's momentum.  I am being carried only as high as the tree tops, until I arrive at an industrial area, where I fly low to the ground at increasing speed towards a Green Wall.  As my speed increases I realize the UFO is intending me to smash headfirst into the wall.  At the last second, I lower my head and lead with my shoulder in an attempt to break through the wall.  I slam into it breaking skin and bones.  I am in fear more than pain, and then shudder at the realization of my mistake.


  I then arrive at the restaurant where I work.  I recognize that I have completely forgotten that I had worked and closed the night before, and I am uncertain at the condition I have left it in.  This confusion signals to me that I am either in a dream, or simply unconscious from the crashing into the Green Wall.  I enter the restaurant and as I  race in I hear it stop.  I am in the kitchen at this point, and I sense that I am not alone. I shout to scare away whoever it is, and turn the corner to see a 12 year old African child.  I tell him to run away, when I realize his father is behind me with a bat.  It is at this point that I question whether I am not in a dream or a reality, but finally trapped in infinite regression,  eternally falling through nightmarish  scenarios.


As I come to, in a hospital bed, I ask a friend if there was any significance to the Green Wall.  He tells me yes, it was the Green Door, it is spoken of in the Manual.  It is official, I am not ready yet."


Lucid, clear, exhilrating, but dark.



 

LeClair


This mail should be read a little slowly, while listening to the following track.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=51oHwMiqslo&

What a kick ass dream. I would offer an interpretation with the caveat that my impressions are exactly that--"impressions"--and not more. Lately, I have been increasingly cynical about the legitimacy of any proposed "meaning". But nevertheless, I remain firmly transfixed to the "potential" for meaning. So here goes...

First,we see the beginning of the dream as a standard archetypal portal into the dream state.

The most important feature of your account is found in the second paragraph, where you remark that you "..."hear it stop...". This is interesting because you do not explain just what it is you have heard. Now, you may feel, upon this reading, that you now remember what you "heard" in the dream, but because the original account is fresh, this anomaly must not be explained away.

So it seems that "sound" is a critical element. In the prior account, the main sound event appears to be the collision with the Green Wall. (I can attest from experience that in the immediacy of a violent injury, the sensation of sound is overpowering). So it seems, by linear ordering, that the "sound" that "stops" is the sound of your body being broken against the Green Wall. Keep this idea in mind.

The next key is your arrival at work, which is a place of amusement. As a restaurant, it is also a place of "rest". The uncertainty of the state of the place and of your contribution to that state is mirrored when you later awake to your friend who says you are "not ready". Hence, you are not "at rest".

As you are aware, color in dreams is of the utmost significance and the one color you declare is Green. Now there is a leap here, but we'll connect the gap in a minute, so hang on. The color Green of your dream is the same as the green "zero" on a roulette wheel. The "rest-aurant" is "the casino" or more appropriately "The House". The ball on the wheel is spinning (this is the momentum of your prior account) and it comes to rest on green zero. The sound of your bones and scrapes is the sound of the ball cluttering as it loses speed and falls into the green slot. As you are both the "ball" (body) and "house/restaurant" (universal self), and because we infer that you are "uncertain" and "not ready", and at last because you awake "in hospital" as if from some earthly injury or disease, we conclude that you are unprepared for Death/The Wall/The Green Zero. You are not Jack in the Green Maze, you are Danny (dna) in the Hospital/Hotel. Recall the deleted finale to The Shining, in which Ullman visits Danny in hospital and returns to him the tennis ball.

OK, here is the linking data. Take a look at the image of the Rider Waite "Wheel".

http://api.ning.com/files/rVzTWzlldx8PBOVcRfnfZaqL5NGTZqf76gjzwzDbNHtzR4ObirDxZ5Syqjrs7pvX4gHBScMywczGDAw6w2PgkozwArHGSegq/wheeloffortunebig.jpg

We discern that "Wall" becomes "Wheel" and also "Weal". The "manual" your friend invokes is the Tarot itself. The depth of the term "manual' is wildly improbable, and well worth a lecture on its own merit.

The bat wielding Dad and his Child are the the Sphinx. Recall the riddle of the sphinx, which is a analogy of the normal human life cycle. The Dad with his "bat/sword of deliverance" is Death and his Black Child is the reborn Osiris. To quote Crowley: "Osiris is a Black God".

So, at least according to this P.I., your dream is reckoning with the mystery of Death and a firm message you are not ready. In this fact you are not alone--for who among us is ready for Nothing.

I want to say a quick word about our project. You have noticed a depression in the frequency of my contribution. I do not feel I owe an explanation, but I would like to give one. First, I remain completely committed to the project and to our partnership. Also, up to this point, I have completed every timing you have suggested, and investigated every lead you have forwarded. I have no intention of stopping that practice now. You can count on the fact that a) I will follow up and b) that I have great trust in your ability in regard to this work.

I make my living as a d-list entertainer, and I take work when it is available. Because of my low brow talents, the overwhelming majority of my work is done during the dreaded "Christmas Party Season". Added to this, my beloved nephew is visiting from China, where he works as a Christian Bible Thumper (what can I say, the kid is a whack job, but I love him). I haven't seen him in 2 years and here is here for the next month, so I will be busy there too.

So that, along with a few annoying seasonal concerns, is my main excuse for what may appear as my flagging interest these days. I hope you feel assured that I remain attached and fascinated for the long haul.

LeClair

Thought I'd drop a line re: the overlapped The Shining JFR sent you.  Holy Shazbot, Batman... it is the funking shiznit.  And of course... I did it to Meddle.  Simply awesome.

Very cool to learn you are from the Second City.  I have strong feeling about the importance of Chicago as it relates to the dawn of the millennium.  I have visited once, in the late 70's, and got a malted at an old school pharmacy in Grayslake, where I was staying.  True Rockwell Americana.  I'll never forget it.

On Wednesday, I have a free day, and I plan to look at all three of your timings, unless you think I ought to do them one at a time.  I have a whole ten hours alone, so I'd like to see what it's all about.  


Klaus


'll say this in regards to the timings:  I've been trying to get some consistency from my mac book and DVD player.  The timer on the DVD is slower.  I need to find a way to get this into a perfect alignment, which I believe is possible.  Doubt has an amazing way of creeping into anything I do.


Despite this, I recommend viewing The Wall timing and I think you'll see what I'm going for.  If it goes perfectly, the door slamming in One of My Turns should synch up with Wendy slamming the door on Jack.


I have faith that you will recognize the key synchs.  Let me know.


Klaus


I just can't get this to gel.  Check out my timing for the Wall for sure, tell me what you think.  My brain is fried.





Klaus

My brain might be literally bleeding.  I'm slowly crawling out of this abyss but I need some help. Mark is going to watch my timings, would love for JFR as well.


I really need a professional editing eye to grasp the connections and align this bitch because I can't do it with MacBook/SONY DVD/iPod.  At least not to the specs that I envision.


This superimposition is daunting, I almost threw up ingesting it.
I have had some major breakthroughs with incorporating Kubricks love for Thomas Mann's "The Magic Mountain" and Steven King's assumed lifestyle during the writing of The Shining (think of the elevators as nostrils).


Here's a coupla quotes:


"As the tall, thin man in his mid-40s lay unconscious on the floor of his office, his eyes shut tight and his shirt-front soaked with blood, the silence of the night all around him was broken only by the shrieks of the bats which haunted the rafters of his vast Victorian mansion.
The scene was like something out of a novel by that master of the macabre Stephen King, ironic given that the comatose figure was none other than King himself - dead to the world after drinking countless cans of beer and snorting so much cocaine that his ravaged nose had become a gushing crimson fountain. "


"We must also remember Kubrick’s flirtation with Jung’s concept of coincidence as sign of larger forces at work in the world as basis for hope in higher, beneficent powers. This provided some psychological compensation for his basic Freudian pessimism about a cold, indifferent universe, a universe that most recently and horribly had permitted the Holocaust."


Re:  Magic Mountain
"What Castorp learns to fathom is that all higher health must have passed through illness and death. [...]. As Hans Castorp once says to Madame Chauchat, there are two ways to life: One is the common, direct, and brave. The other is bad, leading through death, and that is the genius way. This concept of illness and death, as a necessary passage to knowledge, health, and life, makes The Magic Mountain into a novel of initiation."


Closely connected to the themes of life and death is the subjective nature of time, a leitmotif that recurs throughout the book. Thus Chapter VII, entitled "By the Ocean of Time", opens with the narrator asking rhetorically, "Can one tell – that is to say, narrate – time, time itself, as such, for its own sake?" Mann's authorial (and ironic) response to the question posed is, "That would surely be an absurd undertaking...", before going on to compare storytelling to the act of music making, with both described as being alike in that they can," ...only present themselves as a flowing, as a succession in time, as one thing after another..." .


This structure reflects the protagonists’ thoughts. Throughout the book, they discuss the philosophy of time, and debate whether "interest and novelty dispel or shorten the content of time, while monotony and emptiness hinder its passage". The characters also reflect on the problems of narration and time, about the correspondence between the length of a narrative and the duration of the events it describes.


This structure reflects the protagonists’ thoughts. Throughout the book, they discuss the philosophy of time, and debate whether "interest and novelty dispel or shorten the content of time, while monotony and emptiness hinder its passage". The characters also reflect on the problems of narration and time, about the correspondence between the length of a narrative and the duration of the events it describes.


Mann also meditates upon the interrelationship between the experience of time and space; of time seeming to pass more slowly when one doesn't move in space. This aspect of the novel mirrors contemporary philosophical and scientific debates which are embodied in Heidegger's writings and Einstein's theory of relativity, in which space and time are inseparable. In essence, Castorp's subtly transformed perspective on the "flat-lands" corresponds to a movement in time.


Magic and mountains


The titular reference to mountain reappears in many layers. The Berghof sanatorium lies on a mountain not only geographically, but also figuratively, a reclusive, separate world. The mountain also represents the opposite of Castorp's home, the sober, business-like and (for Joachim Ziemssen) mortal "flatland."


The first part of the novel culminates and ends in the sanatorium's Carnival feast. There, in a grotesque scene named after Walpurgis Night, the setting is transformed into the Blocksberg, where according to German tradition witches and wizards meet in obscene revelry; also described in Goethe's Faust I. At this event, Castorp finally woos Madame Chauchat; their subtle conversation is almost wholly performed in French.


Another topos of German literature is the Venus Mountain (Venusberg) that also appears in Richard Wagner's opera Tannhäuser. This mountain is a "hellish paradise," a place of lust and abandon, where Time flows differently: the visitor loses all sense of time, and though he thinks his stay only lasts a few hours, when he finally leaves the mountain, seven years have passed. Also Castorp, who originally planned to stay for three weeks, leaves the Berghof only after seven years.


In general, the inhabitants of the Berghof spend their days in a mythical, distant atmosphere, full of references to fairy tales and sagas: The x-ray laboratory in the cellar represents the Hades of Greek mythology, where Medical Director Behrens acts as the judge and punisher Rhadamanthys and where Castorp is but a fleeting visitor, like Odysseus. Behrens compares the cousins to Castor and Pollux, Settembrini compares himself to Prometheus. Frau Stöhr mentions Sisyphus and Tantalus, albeit confusedly.


The culmination point of the second part of the novel is perhaps the – still "episodic" – chapter on Hans Castorp's blizzard dream (in the novel simply called "Snow"), where the protagonist gets into a sudden blizzard, beginning a death-bound sleep, dreaming at first of beautiful meadows with blossoms and of lovable young people at a southern seaside; then of a scene reminiscent mainly of a grotesque event in Goethe's Faust I ("the witches' kitchen" , again in Goethe's "Blocksberg chapter"); and finally ending with a dream of extreme cruelty – the slaughtering of a child by two witches, priests of a classic temple. According to Thomas Mann's interpretation in the text, this represents the original, but deathly-destructive force of nature itself.


Of course, finally Hans Castorp awakens in due time, escapes from the blizzard, and returns to the "Berghof". But rethinking his dreams he concludes for the moment that "because of charity and love, man should never allow death to rule one's thoughts." Hans Castorp soon forgets this sentence, so for him the blizzard-event remains a pure interlude. But for Thomas Mann himself the sentence (which throughout the whole novel is the only one in italics) remains important, and so he states it, for personal consequences and for his readers."

Ryan

SRS
"Chauchat" or "hot cat" is Blake's Tyger-Tyger, burning bright ... or as Eliot would say, Christ the Tiger ... chilled atop Kubrick's Holy Mountain as T.O.N.Y. boxed in Frosted Flakes. Think of another feline trickster, The Pink Panther, emerging from the hot mess of space, smoking a lazy spliff, chased by a chalk-white nose-man. Say hello to my little friend!

Klaus


Kubrick reduced King's (Christ?) bestseller as the snowblind shining of Mann's (the Baptist?) true view.

Klaus

I apologize if my emails have been a bit erratic.  I need to step away from this for a bit, the brain is filled with numbers, images, backwards forwards.  I'm just fried.  Hopefully you can zero in on what I have seen in this arrangement.

LeClair

Actually, Bill...

 I was having a little trouble getting the message. Tonite, after completing The Wall timing you suggested, I felt disappointed. Then I opened your mail and looked at the images and I got it right away.

My trouble has been looking at the images side by side. I need to see them one atop the other, as in your stills. Unfortunately, this will be a bit of a hassle for me to set up, as I have no laptop and my computer monitor is on a desk with no shelves to place another monitor "on high". I've got an idea to set up this way, but will have to move my computer again.

As far as your state of mind... it is no wonder your head is spinning, with your job, studies and the looming nature of our colossal project. Perhaps you need the chill that I have enjoyed this last several weeks. Bit of a vay-cay, as it were.

The way as I see... we've got all the time we need, or nowhere near enough time. Suchly, it is always cool to take a little breather and enjoy a bit of "normalcy". 

This is a mother of a monolith before us... it isn't going anywhere.





Kubricon
October 30-November 6, 2011


Klaus


Feeling revived and refreshed...complete detox, mentally and physically.  Been sober and nutritiously disciplined, at the gym nearly every day.


I had the opportunity to expose an old high school friend to a viewing of Wall/2001/Shining, and I was delighted by his feedback.  He had never heard the Wall, and only viewed each movie a couple of times.  His interest was deep, and he shared an excitement at the mystery.


Somehow,  I feel as though I can now move confidently into the next phase of my life, get my first job as an RN, and allow myself to let the future of this project evolve at a more mundane pace.  It was an extraordinary summer of deep space, and I am not kidding when I say I feel very lucky to be alive.  Hope you are well my friend.


LeClair


I sat at the computer for the first time in three days for the express purpose of sending you a mail, so it is good to see a note from you.

I am glad to hear pretty much everything from your mail, and it makes my response a billion times easier.  I rate the discoveries of our friendship to be among a handful of the most shattering and inspiring events of my 46 trips around the sun.  Lately, for a variety of reasons, many of which I have shared with you, I have been feeling something close to authentic nihilism.  I am in a very dark place, but it seems natural.  Not like depression or regret, this state, which has developed since my visit to Japan, is more akin to the dawning awareness that everything I know is somehow wrong. 
You have lightened my spirits, for which I am thankful.  I wish to--need to--continue our work, but I am glad you feel as you do, because these days, I am dragging around like a 17 year old house-cat.  

Don't get me wrong here, I am doing OK, and like you i am very glad to be alive.  I used to be an alpinist, and I am accustom to the thrill of a dangerous climb becoming, for a time, a deserted plateau or a knee crunching descent.  I have worried that you would become frustrated by my desultory nature, and I suppose that could happen still.  But for now, it seems that you are cool and that is a great relief to me.  I do not want to lose our friendship, but as my few friends know, I trend egregiously toward the hermetic. 
I am disappointed by the response of JFR.  We have chatted over the years and I admire his talent, but I can't break through to the person enough to get a bead on him.  I think you are onto something that we need a third mind, but I don't think it is JFR.  However, I do think I know just the right man for the job.  His name is Jon Kidd, and he is a real mensch.  I have talked to him once on the phone.  He is young and has bitchin' Kubrick knowledge.  If you agree, I'll drop him a line.  In the meantime, I'll try and find some of his work and send you a link.

Klaus

This work is hermetic work, so we both fit the mold.  I know that I personally could not have accomplished the work of the last year if I had a roomate or a girlfriend, or any relationship that would have necessitated too much "quality time".  My dark nights of the soul are awful at times, especially when I am convinced that their nature is the bedrock of reality.  But I must cling to my faith, ANY faith, at all costs.  I hope you aren't feeling too beat up from the battle.


JFR is sharp, but he knows he's sharp, and I doubt he has any room for anyone else in his head.  He may prove to be valuable down the road, but at this time he doesn't strike me as someone into the WORK.  Just my limited impression.


A third person, the right third person should provide some welcome momentum, and illuminate dark corners that may elude us.  I'm all for your judgement in this.




I have been retracing my steps, rereading McLuhan, Joyce, and commentary on Finnegans Wake, as well as your essays on Kubrick (as well as other Kubrick sites).  In this retracing, i realized that the concept that truly opened up the next phase of understanding for me is that of the hypercube.


So, in reresearching, I stumbled upon a website that discussed the tesseract (hypercube):


http://www.geom.uiuc.edu/docs/outreach/4-cube/point.txt.html


      


"We are watching several projections of a point moving in four dimensional space. Unfortunately, we can't show all four dimensions in the picture at once, so we show more than one view, and piece together the information in both panels to understand what is going on in 4-dimensions."


Nice.




I guess the next step for me is to hammer out a mental outline of where I am and what I am thinking so that we can synchronize our psychic watches.  Great to hear from you.


LeClair

Wow Bill,

Thank you for the awesome response. I literally feel ten years younger reading your mail. You have proven over and over a kind of level headed intelligence and empathy that I strive for in my own life, with very limited success. 

I await your mental outline and in the meantime, I will devise my own agenda and send you an outline to make my case. I will talk to Jon Kidd to see if he is interested.

Klaus

On page 8 of JSB's essay "One Shot of The Shining", he comes so close, with the paragraph starting "Side note:...".  He senses and knows the interlocking, but, to our knowledge, never completely goes there (because it is too literal, too simple?). 


The interlocked 2001/Shining revealed to me countless elements that were hidden, but none so obvious as Wendy's pregnancy (horror, final elevator of blood, fetus).  This inherently female horror is not usually "shined" by this male dominated field, but it's truth is revealed through the union of both films.  The fact that she was most likely raped is another theme expressed during "Young Lust" in the Wall.


I remember reading JSB's essays, and I like his approach.  I'm seeing a lot more in there that I missed before, like noting connections to Magic Mountain.  All of these arrows pointing towards this are there, just so much clearer.  I highly recommend reading about Magic Mountain, I downloaded Donald Blevins annotated writings.


  One of the biggest whoppers between Magic Mountain and Kubrick that almost certainly seals the deal completely, is the perfect symmetry between the scene where Jack approaches the naked woman in 237, and Bowman is replacing a perfectly good BOX.  Both boxes are dark, rather small.
These two Boxes are examined closely by Jack and Bowman, one penetrated by tongue and one by x-rays. 


In the Magic Mountain, the main character Hans Castorp keeps an X-Ray of his temptress Claudia Chauchat in his bedroom.


LeClair


Hey Bill,



You are blowing my mind dude... I think you are the first observer in the history of my research to shock me with his own discovery.  All any other has managed is to confirm my own preexisting gut feeling.  Seriously, seriously fucking wicked, dude. 
I desperately want to set up your timings, but it is a challenge, because I find I can not concentrate on the side by side image.  I need to see it one atop the other and I don't have the furniture to set it up, or a lap top to make it easy.  I have an idea: a tray on top of my computer monitor that can hold the weight of a small digital TV, but I have lagged on this.  I am so immediately riven by your data that I think I am going to give it a try right fucking now. 
I just re-read your mail and holy holy fuck of fucks is it brilliant.  I am literally tingling with fear and curiosity.  I will make this happen, and that right soon. 
It gets tricky here. 

I had no intention of talking to you today, or doing any damned thing other than vegging out. I am a very fragile guy and a hardass loner.  Not the sort of loner who is bitter he ain't cool, or the sort who doesn't like folks, or the sort afraid of folks(maybe a little), but the sort who simply prefers to be alone alot of the time.  A whole lot.  That is what I meant when I said I was hermetic.  It is been a day or so since I have opened the net--I was gonna facebook my nephew to recommend a film I liked.  Lately, I avoid the computer exactly to avoid you, but I must now propose what I have been shying from for a long time... or a least a safe introduction to the subject.  Not TMI, just what you need to know right now.  The rest--all of it--later, and only if you wish. 
It is self evident that you and I don't know each other very well.  Such discussion trends fiercely into metaphysics--for who can really say they "know" another soul.  I know that I can not make such a claim. 
Nevertheless, I do have deductions about you, and in many a regard.  It doesn't matter if these are correct or not, because I must reconcile my own feelings on the matter.  Nor do I entertain that it is even remotely likely that you might be able to alleviate my questions about you, in spite of your own legitimate earnestness.  I say all of this to clarify that from this point and as it widens, things might get weird, dicey and maybe dangerous.  You have followed Da WWWiz fairly closely, so you may be aware that I have made overtures to the exact kind of relationship that you and I now share.  Indeed, such is a driving motivation for the blog in the first place... which explains why I have stopped all research and writing outside of our exchange.  I emailed Jay Weidner about the Big 3 timings, but I regretted it at once, and it went nowhere. 
To understand, you must realize that I do not engage in manipulative flattery, and what I am saying here is not hyperbolic.  
I am increasingly disturbed by the emerging picture of your "wild talent", and it scares me with delight of a kind I am not sure I want to be party to, and which I have earlier plumbed with difficult results.  And yet I feel committed by fate, by desire, and by my inherent peculiarity.  
Moreover, I am not an histrionic.  The simple truth is that for me this stuff is perilously close to a living fire, and therefore must be regarded in the coldest and most critical sense.  I examine only my "direct" experience by experiment and the well known record of the history of the process, which I can and will report to you with precise honesty, and finally to the rational inferences that can be drawn from therein.  These inferences are awfully subtle, but you already know that, as you seem able to up the ante at will.  You seem dialed into the grid.  Cocked, locked and ready to rock--as it were--for a challenge of abysmal complexity. 
What is communicated in this note may read as cheaply dramatic.  I am a showman by trade, but it is emperor's new clothes, my panache... gallows humor.  The frequency of my emotion on this matter reduces me to awestruck jelly--a stunned gorilla--I shit you not.  I have been at this missive for hours.  I am beat.  I have smoked non-stop.  I was on my way to have a nap.  No such luck. 
So here I can begin to make my point...

This is not fun for me... the whole thing.  My blog, my research, and my persistently feline curiosity.  This is not to say that I don't "enjoy" and often thrill with the ever more dazzling intensity of discovery.  It is not "fun" exactly because it is personal.  Surgically personal. 
Previous efforts to make headway in this matter have faltered due to the nervous weakness of my own integrity.  Oh, my heart was in the right place.  But my thoughts were not, nor my guts.  I simply could not allow myself to "go there"--into the belly of my conundrum.  I created a pompous, mad scientist persona and flirted with my truth, hoping to tap-dance toward the light and steal the show.  Nonsense and folly.  In ten years, all I have done to solve a singular mystery can be considered of value because of our friendship.  Only you have the eagle eye, the knowledge base, the fascination with Kubrick, and the open-mindedness and intellectual flexibility--all rolled into one.  Maybe you're a genius, or a dedicated adventurer?  I don't know.  
The kicker is your interest in me.  For only you have tolerated my phlegmatic and skittish attitude, and with the perfect modulation, giving the impression that I am dealing with a real mensch who has a solid grown-up ego.  You stand up for what you believe with the precise aptitude that you also listen and consider outside impression.  But what is really in it for you, Bill?  A satisfying challenge?  A thirst for knowledge?  Something more? 
In a nutshell and to inexpressible depth... you frighten me, and I am afraid that I like it.  It is electric, and because you continue to zap me--awake me from slumber--without regard for my glaring delicacy, instability and deficient strangeness. It seems only fair that you should share the pain.  Am I getting through to you? 
I am a fatalist, what happens is what happens, that is all there is to it.  And thus I could drop it all right now without regret, this thing of ours. 

I lead a modest monastic life.  Comfortable, but very, very far beneath anything like greed, power, or the slightest need for society, status or respect.  I am a political centrist which means I don't care.  I have a small family and I love them.  I have two friends, who love me.  I have a psychiatrist who maintains (for a decade) that he is the doctor I the patient.  It is to laugh.  I fancy that I could sustain contentment with life as it is for a millennium of more of the same.  One quiet year, cycled over and over, never touching ground, with just the right amount of forgetfulness and irregular anomaly to give it my kind of tension.  It's a dream I have.  I am a dreamer who dreams for its own sake--beyond the desire for subjective meaning or sanctity or beauty or truth.  I am happy with my own kind of peace--a Scholastic Punk, a lifer on the dole in what I hope is an eternally socialist shit-hole paradise of the North, with decent round-the-clock cable, a reliable black market, and good corn moonshine that ain't too pricey.  No ritual, no value, no God... and the ship sails on. 
I reckon that so far this is about the best general image of the puzzle that can be managed under the constraint of brevity.  During our discussion, I have been carefully truthful.  I have glossed over some details about myself, to avoid delivering the dreaded TMI and fronted some exaggerated data to make a point more convincing, but I can stand by my words (to you) to within a hairs breadth of agonizing damnation.  Given our talk thus far and along with this note, there are no big surprises in left in store.  A few amusements, more or less.  So I can at last wrap it up here, for the purpose of the message. 
But there is just one thing I haven't told you--that "surgically personal" event alluded to, that lurks offstage.  When I tell you that it is connected-- intimately welded--to the nature of our study I am making a polite understatement.  This shit, this event is real--horribly real to me--and it shocked  into rude awareness a thousand details about first myself, and then one by one the bloody, murderous details of the human mystery.  When it started, in mid to late 1999, it was profound and kinda spiritual.  It felt like a sort of cleansing.  I felt good about myself.  Too good, but it was manageable.  After a while, I started to confront a variety of sub-conscious demons.  This emboldened me to explore the perimeter of my reality, and I acted out in ways that were socially inappropriate, stressful for my mom, sometimes confrontational, but with consistent integrity in matters of great emotional importance to me and others in my life.  It got a little weird, but not too tragic, and for me it seemed necessary, sane, and of good value to me and those I loved. 
I suffered a near fatal injury in the summer of 2000 and things changed.  I was very happy but I wanted to be alone, although I also tried to (and failed) to connect romantically and with friends.  I was passionate and creative.  I quit a long time well paying "safe job" to give myself more free time to think and watch TV, the pairing of which is an especially favorite activity.  I took my old job playing piano up in the Yukon.  It was a five month commitment, which would pay me enough to live on for about a year.  I could do it every summer and live my dream life.  It was here that IT happened.  My life evolved, after 35 pointless  and petty years, from a mundane series of seasonal changes and childish fantasies and into a complete fucking nightmare more quickly than I could imagine.  From 88 mph with the top down and straight into the abyss in a matter of two minutes flat.  
I'll spare you the details, for now.

I was soon declared legally mentally ill and shuffled like a zombie elephant through a circus of psychiatric hoops, in and out of forced care for two years.  During this time I was asked to explain my predicament again and again.  A certain mantra was gently proffered.  "Mark, we understand you have suffered, but it is a behavioral event advanced by chemical imbalance.  What you report is a delusion, a meaningless series of self-imposed references, strengthened by your intelligence, curiosity and prodigious memory".  But I knew better.  I know better, because it happened just as I know it did. That or I am truly and completely insane, unreachable, and what possible difference could that make? 
In an attempt at some comprehension of what had happened to me, I researched, wildly, madly, until I found a stream of thought that might have answers.  I made overtures and met resistance.  I balked repeatedly and died a thousand ugly, dingy deaths, learning awful secrets all along the way, things I used to think I wanted to know.  I started Da WWWiz and when it got too hot I backed off and deleted a hundred pages of my best writing forever.  Trying again I got in with the synchromystics and it was a botch.  Switching into the Kubrick scene was a disaster--up in that school a student must be also a "fan".  Time passed, voices dwindled, and my circles became smaller and smaller. 
Upon my return from Japan, I wanted to write about "Knight and Day", which I had seen while I was over there, in a rare trip to the cinema.  Just had to go to the movies in Nihon.  Five weeks and I went three times.  Anyhow. I wanted to have fun with that article, really stretch my chops, and be silly at that same time.  I pitched it to metaphilm and it took me three weeks to get it where I wanted, and it was a richly emotional process.  I was proud of the result, sure, but to my amazement, both JFR and JSB wrote me to say that they loved it, that they thought I had found a unique voice and that I must continue writing.  JSB (who is a brilliant writer and a really nice man) urged that I do something big at once.  A book.  He put me in touch with a publisher.  metaphilm wanted more.  But for me, it all felt wrong.  I fell sick and became deeply depressed, and I didn't give a damn.  I tuned out everyone.  Everyone but you.  My tormentor. 
For a short while, I imagined that our thing would be a chance at that book.  A fine partnership.  Maybe some buzz, maybe even a little cash.  However, upon the auspice of what cracks up to be our second wave, I have a pause. 
For me and forever more, this affair is about one thing.  What happened to me at lunchtime, sometime in the first week of July, 2001?  What happened and how in the hell is it even possible? 
You have been a good friend thus far.  For that I am grateful.  But I am done pussy-footing.  

This is scary, dangerous, really dangerous, and way too fucking real to me.  There is no reason I know to drag you into this, and I am not even sure I want to continue, but I will, and for just one reason.  

Because you insist.  

If you insist, I will have to continue, and I will do so not because you insist, but because if you do insist, it means something important.  Something I don't understand, but that I must face.  If you insist, I will forge ahead, with the soul of wit, a stiff upper lip, the strongest knees I can muster and in the spirit of what could be the greatest adventure and/or the worst horror either of us have yet to behold, and as friends in arms.  Beyond such insistence from you, and we are done. 
What I promise is this.  At your go ahead, I will explicate the detail of my puzzle.  Not a Rousseau-esque confession, mind you.  I don't want to share my bawdy tales, my perfunctory habits and quaint peccadillium, although some of this will be necessary to expose and I will try to keep it killer and no filler.  What I share, to start, will be an outline of what happened and the stupefying connections to the subject before us.  I don't want to bog you down with detail, but expose the shape of a colossus.  You will recognize the veracity of my statements at once, and there is a reasonable chance, if you have represented yourself truly thus far, that you will be perturbed.  You may wish you had never heard of me or Stanley fucking Kubrick. 
As stated, I'm pretty much 100% sure I have had enough of this for a very long time, maybe for good.  I do not want to hurt people, or lose my precarious and precious peace of mind, so you must understand that this is real, and really risky.  It may seem unfair that I put the chips on you in such a striking manner, but here it is, for once and for all... 
Do you need to know?  Am I getting through to you?  If you insist on knowing, if what I have proposed reaches you as real and vital and important, then return this message at your peril.  The worst that could happen is bad.  And I'm not talking some awkward stalking situation, where I won't stop pestering and you worry I might buy a ticket to Chi-Town and go postal on-yer-ass, or any less malevolent weirdness that demands that we meet in person.  I almost never leave my home because I don't have to. I'm am done with new friends and almost all of the old ones.  Leaving you alone will be easy as pi r squared.    

Rather, if I am right about this, what you learn may damage your happiness, and mine too.  If I am right what I tell you may have a way into your mind.  I threatens to rock your world, rock it into rubble, and you may not like it much.  Or it could be the answer to the most important, elusive questions of existence.  Your existence.  Your life.  Your life and mine in the bargain.  
All that remains is the mystery.  If you insist as I have asked, as a matter of your own devices and desires, then it becomes fate, and we must go on.  If you do not insist, we must part.  Such is life my friend--seriously harmful to your health. 
I am tired and shaken, and need to retreat for now.  If you reply, and I live to see next week, you will hear from me again.

Pax and Comfy Slax

Klaus

Two things I avoid, two things that represent the danger of desire, in the Buddhist sense, are sex and violence.  Hearts of darkness, hearts of light:  the horror.


I have experienced death, as I know it, twice in my life. I have tried to kill myself once.  I have tried to love everyone, and I have nothing.  Nothing is selfish, but everything else is egotistical.


I have read your last email as carefully as I can.  This is what I gather:


Mark LeClair died on July 4th, 2001, Independence Day.  He was rejected at the Gates, he was shown proof beyond a shadow of a doubt, and he returned.  A damaged, Gnostic zombie, abandoned at the altar.  The corpse who fell to Earth.  The WWW is Mark's attempt to understand why, and to gently and humorously inform the public about the nature of our nature.


To put it another way, a feline way, the Schroedinger Way: not satisfied with A, B, or A and B, you opened the Box.  So far, every individual who has managed to actually open this Box, has found a 
furry pile of rotting flesh.  The hidden secret to Life: we are all Dead.


I say:  Put the dead cat back into the Box.  Now, we're right back where we started.  Alive, and Dead, again. Maybe.


James Joyce opened that Box.  He threw that cat back in, knowing he could never bring himself to opening that Box again.  He just couldn't stand to find, to see and to smell that dead cat again.  This didn't stop him from obsessing over the possibility of resurrection.  What if the cat actually came back?  Joyce needed X-Ray vision.  And for someone who went blind, Joyce saw more than anyone one.  McCluhan understood this about Joyce.  Kubrick understood this as well.  All of 
Kubricks Major films document his X-Ray visionquest, his NC-17 Matrix.  The point is this:  the medium is the message.  Reject content, focus on the medium.  "X-Ray Vision" is the extension of man, and you can either accept it or reject it.


I'm rambling now...


My goal is to develop X-Ray vision so that I may start to see the world around me, and understand the lessons offered from our most wise and accomplished brothers and sisters. Hopefully, one day, I can also teach others, become a Rabbi.  Jesus was a Rabbi. Buddha was a Rabbi.  Mark LeClair, the Wrong Way Wizard, is a Rabbi.


Maybe, just maybe, for all you've taught me, for everything you have given me free of charge, I owe you something in return, and in order to balance my cosmic check book, I am supposed to teach you something back.  I don't know what that is, I don't know if I can.  I know that our working relationship is suffering because one of my greatest teachers hasn't published in a long long time.  The Wiz blog has been vacant for months, and countless students are waiting to hear from 
him, including me.


If teaching brings you too much pain, stop.  If I bring you too much pain, this can stop.


I will not ask you for your confession.  I will not invite the danger you describe to be brought upon myself, and to risk affecting the ones that I love.  If I am truly naive, if I am truly swimming amongst 
sharks, then this current refusal is weak, and, eventually, I will ask you for your secrets, and I will invite the danger that you assure me is real into my life.    I guess we will find our answer one of these days.


Stay strong.  I hope this brings some clarity, any clarity.  All I ask is for a final goodbye if there is to be a goodbye.




"Let me present you with a metaphor.  Let us say that there exists this very rich patron of the arts.  Every day on the wall of his living room above his fireplace his servants hang a new picture - each day a different masterpiece, day after day, month after month - each day the "used" one is removed and replaced by a different and new one.  I will call this process blogging along a linear axis.  But now let us suppose the servants temporarily running out of new, replacement pictures.  What shall they do in the meantime?  They can't just leave the present one hanging; their employer has decreed that perpetual replacement - i.e. changing the pictures - is to take place.  So they neither allow the current one to remain nor do they replace it with a new one; instead, they do a very clever thing.  When their employer is not looking, the servants cunningly alter the picture already on the wall.  They paint out a tree here; they paint in a little girl there; they add this; they obliterate that; they make the same painting different and in a sense new, but as I am sure you can see, not new in the sense of replacing it.  The employer enters his living room after dinner, seats himself facing the internet, and contemplates what should be - according to his expectations - a new picture.  What does he see?  It certainly isn't what he saw previously.  But also it isn't somehow...and here we must become very sympathetic with this perhaps somehow stupid man, because we can virtually see his brain circuits striving to understand.  His brain circuits are saying, "Yes, it is a new picture, it is not the same one as yesterday, but also it is the same one, I think, I feel on a very deep intuitive basis....I feel that somehow I have seen it before.  I seem to remember a tree, though, and there's no tree."  Now, perhaps, if we extrapolate from this man's perceptual, mentational confusion to the theoretical point I was making about lateral change, you can get a better idea of what I mean; I mean, perhaps you can, to at least a degree, see that although what I'm talking about may not exist - my concept my be fictional - it could exist.  It is not intellectually self-contradictory."

Phillip K. Dick

Bigger Than Yeezus Part 1: Dragon Energy

"The more they hate you, the better you're doing"

Andy Kaufman

Bigger Than Yeezus Part 0: Ye Can Be Heroes

Ye can be heroes?

#himtoo

There is the story of the Artist in the train who saw another Artist carrying a basket of unusual shape. His curiosity mastered him, and he leant across and said: "Say, stranger, what you got in that bag?" The other, lantern-jawed and taciturn, replied: "Mongoose".  The first man was rather baffled, as he had never heard of a mongoose.  After a pause he pursued, at the risk of a rebuff: "But say, what is a Mongoose?" "Mongoose eats snakes", replied the other.  This was another poser, but he pursued: "What in hell do you want a Mongoose for?" "Well, you see", said the second man (in a confidential whisper) "my brother sees snakes". The first man was more puzzled than ever; but after a long think, he continued rather pathetically: "But say, them ain't real snakes". "Sure", said the man with the basket, "but this Mongoose ain't real either".

Aleister Crowley

Wake Up Mr. Westworld: Verse 23

Today 3:22 PM

Genesis Chapter 3 Verse 22

"The LORD God said, 'Since man has become like one of Us, knowing good and evil, he must not reach out, take from the tree of life, eat, and live forever."

This is the 78th verse in Genesis, and contains 22 words (in Hebrew). 

man
=
Adam
=
אדם
=
forty five

=

"this next verse tho"

Genesis Chapter 3 Verse 23

"So the LORD God sent him away from the garden of Eden to work the ground
from which he was taken."

Out of Eden, shovel that shit...whoop diddy scoop poop.

The Kundabuffer Always Rings Thrice: Everything is Fast Food For The Moon

Samuel : this is the name of god, god has heard, a judge of some sort
Diane/Diana :  this is a moon goddess
Bar:  meaning ‘son of’

chrs:  means destruction

mayday :  distress signal
May Day:  Beltane, May Queen

Malone: alone, lost, nobody knows his name
Chambers:  imprisoned, isolated, ignored

Television: always on, always in the background.

CUSTOMER - ISN'T THERE A SIGN OUTSIDE THAT SAYS, "ESTABLISHED IN 1895"?

SAM - NO, UH, DON'T PAY ANY ATTENTION TO THAT.  I MADE THAT NUMBER UP.

CUSTOMER - YOU DID WHAT?

SAM - I DID THAT WHEN CARLA WAS INTO THAT NUMBERS STUFF. 

CLIFF - YOU MEAN THE SCIENCE OF NUMEROLOGY, SAM.

CARLA - YOU SEE, BOSS, IF YOU TAKE 1-8-9-5 AND YOU ADD IT YOU COME OUT TO 23.
WHEREAS 1-8-8-9 COMES OUT TO A 17, 
AND 23 FOR ME IS OBVIOUSLY A MUCH LUCKIER NUMBER THAN 17.

CLIFF - WAIT, WAIT, WAIT, NOW, YOU HAVE 8 CHILDREN.

CARLA - EXACTLY, AND I SHOULD'VE STOPPED AT 5.

SAM - WELL, ANYWAY, I GOTTA TELL YOU, I'M GOING TO MAKE THE MOST OF THIS CENTENNIAL THING.  I ALREADY HAVE WOODY AT THE LIBRARY DOING RESEARCH, AND I THINK WE'LL ALL DRESS IN GAY '90s COSTUMES.

This is no coincidence¹?  


From Chapter 137: A Little Ditty from Colin’s Joust by S.Francis Wonot_______________________________________________________

1.  An exponential graph is a natural curve?
There are no straight lines in nature, lines are curved.  Exponents are the true reality.  The Euclidean Matrix (Gutenberg) is a dimensional prison relative to Non-Euclidean SpaceTime (Cyber).
The exponential domain is home to the astral range.
The Euclidean Empire never ended.  It is the nightmare of history.  I used to have dreams where I couldn’t move.  I’ve had that feeling in waking life, panic attacks.  Cognitive gridlock.   

Judgement day is the flesh made word.  Sit back, relax, and watch your life get hacked to pieces 

As above, so below.  ten above, ten below, 10/10 = one

Above, 10 is a unity.  Below 10 is the illusion of unity.  It is in fact binary.  A set of twins, 7 and 3 conjoined as 10.

Above = (10)(10) = 100
Below = seven + seven + seven + seven + seven + sevem + seven plus (3)(3) = 58. 

Above = 10²
Below = 7² + 3².  
2,3,7
Above = 100
Below = 49 + 9 = 58.

100 - 58 = 42.
42.

42 = 2X3X7

Euclidean space convinces us that the formula of as above, so below designates congruency, but all it does is signify similarity.  There is a vast difference between the reality of the above and the below.  This space, this difference between the two, between the 49 + 9 and the 100 is Room 237.  The Unconscious.  Every replication, every bifurcation into Euclidean space includes this infinite void between above and below. 


“I Pledge Allegiance to this Body, the United States of Sensorium.
Two bursts into public, then into glands
One station, enters god,
Sin divisible
With Liber OZ, and Bruno for All

This is a Coyote Gospel:  born of the hyper-localized need to re-connect with the non-local. 
You can see this kind of cycle in the work of Jackson Pollock.  At first, clunky, disjointed and forced.  A failure at creating avant-garde art pieces that commanded recognition on the level of the French and Ukranian masters.  Objective works are not achieved until the process is exhausted.  One says, my five year old could do that.  YES.  But the child doesn't struggle; the forty year old man, that requires a fierce struggle to return to what was once natural. Call it a resurrection.  Consider the art of haiku: clunky and forced at first, words bouncing off of and into coded restrictions of form until one day they glide effortlessly into pre-established shells (ignorant of limitation or rule); pure poetry, regardless of scaffold or source...

Does infinity repeat?  It replicates.  It rhymes.

Pi is infinite and non-repeating.
But is Pi in that circle and in that circle? 

Nothing is more marginalized than the Country Music Awards.
Not buying it?
Did you hear that Clint’s new album is called The Suede Orpheus?  It’s about a CMA that lasts 1,000 years.  It takes him seven hundred years to figure out that he has been trapped in a bizarre time loop.
How does he figure it?
As he goes out to perform his new song, he gets a small shock from the stage and understands that he has been singing the same song over and over and over, and the audience keeps applauding as if it is the first time they have ever heard it.  It’s beyond deja vu, it’s something more real then deja vu, if that’s possible.  Enantiodromia.  This word enters his brain and he carries it out to his seat in the crowd.  Enantiodromia.  He just keeps repeating it over and over and over again, as if he stops this mantra it will be lost forever.  As he is obsessing over this word, the best new artist is announced.  He's seen it before, thousands of times.  It's the blond, she always.  But this winner is bald.  This is impossible.  As she approaches the stage, he sees the video projection of her name and hit single and for about ten seconds, everything around him seems to stop.  And just when everything should start moving again, it doesn’t.  Twenty, thirty seconds, a full minute.  Nothing is changing.  He leaves his seat, and, do you know that moment in The Truman Show when he has figured everything out?  He walks to the door and he says his goodbyes?  Well, this guy goes to the side door to leave and it’s locked.  And just as the horror of the whole thing starts to overwhelm him, he hears his name being called from the stage.

Outdated Words : Internet Gaga
All we here is

Radio reached it’s full potential the minute it was born.
No other medium can claim that. 
TV needed decades to reach it’s potential.
Television is an Auto-Tuned reality; The OA fails because it pretends that it does not rely on this Auto-Tuning.  They gave Kanye shit but he understood that Auto-Tune distorts the human instrument in the way that media distorts the human instrument (sense ratios).

Math:  That’s what they call it here.  The word is stabilizing, but it also imprisons.
Magic:  This is the application of “math”.

Glengarry Glenross:  The Ox House Humpers

ABC’s, always be closing.  Time was money, now, money is information.  So time is information.  and Information is Time.  The Internet is a Time Machine. 

This is all that life in the BIP is.  A series of sales pitches, exchanges of meaning, a desperate attempt to own your own private Chapelizod.  A High-Definition of reality; this is what the Man in the High Castle has figured out. 

“Culture” is for closers.  Some people just like to talk.  Talk is not cheap, they do not close.  They do not open.  They loop an endless loop. They do no deserve Culture.

This is what is being debated right now.  Every hack is an Idol, every loser gets coffee.

No respect for relativity at all.  That’s the worst kind of asshole.  
“Those pussies in the south, they get one inch of snow and they think the world is ending”
This is what is being debated right now. 

The rigidity of language, the inability to flex with relativity. 

One Garfield of pleasure.
A soliton.
A never ending, always present soliton of pleasure.  A second.  Seconds.  Some more please.
But that’s all you get.  Firsts. Your first taste is all you taste.
Once a day, every day, for the rest of your days. 

This is one slice from the bottomless pan of lasagna
An absurd contract with serotonin.

As the tower is built, the pressure of the top creates the Diamond at the bottom.
“Real Life” is born;   The Blues, Art, Pollock
Old vs Young
Rich vs Poor
1% vs 99%

A shaman:  cures “disease” through a similar action

“However good our best film composers may be, they are not a Beethoven, a Mozart or a Brahms. Why use music which is less good when there is such a multitude of great orchestral music available from the past and from our own time?

When you are editing a film, it's very helpful to be able to try out different pieces of music to see how they work with the scene...Well, with a little more care and thought, these temporary tracks can become the final score.”  

Stanley Kubrick

The thing it is most “NOT”
Meditation:  Hyperdimensional Kegel Exercises
Enantiodromia:  it becomes the thing that it isn’t
Anamnesis:  The remembrance that this is what it is.

Concrescence:  two teeth fuse together at the roots
painful                          PINK                       LIGHT

Birth of a New Child

Family; you got one?
What you call family I call diseases
TV:  late night horror schlock
Daytime:  soap opera

Video game:  spotlight, pellet Pac Man gets another 15 minutes of fame

The Magic of haughty laughing;  a restrictive structure, like a haiku, but then a miracle of grace, it is cinderella’s slipper.
No true christian, nope
No true greek would eat gyros with a fork and "sauce on the side"

Vince Taylor was The Naz
Combination of Gene Vincent + Robert Taylor
Ziggy Stardust
Iggy Warhol Reed + LSD Casualty
Alien Agenda/Messiah

Born in the Milky Way:  What happens when you see the system?
Full hyperdimensional perspective
Removed from the Local completely
To observe from afar with the knowledge of within
The Matrix is recognized from a cosmic scale
A library within a library

Are you in IT?  Those technically superior wizards of history and politics may scan the chessboard to determine the finite directions the pieces must go, but they only have one foot in the muck, the shit, the tactile field of blood and emotion embedded in the hyper-localized dimension known as humanity.  What makes this humanity so fascinating is that they forget that there are no rules!  The overlords may scowl at the unforeseen improvisations but the scowl quickly loses its power.

It is happening, it is really happening. 

Pollock is Pollock
What rough beast is Pollock?
For he is exalted and known, and reflects back things which may never have been shone
Finnegans Wake is a miracle for even existing, its place on the pedestal has rightfully been owned.

I wish servers had tasers.
You mean like whalers and waitresses? 
Yeah. 
Why would you say that?

There are two jobs every human being should have at some point in their life in this place.   Server and police officer.  Nothing else provides the correct insight into the body politic of Cthulu. 

The Irrational gives rise to the Rational

The Nomad Hater Body gives way to the Domestic Water Body

Palm Tree Garden:  Won the War
Black Iron Prison: Lost the War
Post War empathy: 

Senior Moment or Mandela Effect:  both are the result of too much info.  PKD’s light switch.

LeClair’s Tensor was the Baptist, the Transformer wants to be the Christ, but falls short:   One is Everything, One is the Path to Everything.

First Amendment:  Free Speech
The power to involve oneself in the narrative, the Existential Qualifier as the Path to Everything 

America is an omelet that needs to be flipped. Trump is the decision to make scrambled eggs. 

Unconscious Escape Hatch:  Get me off this Island!
Every one is unconsciously attracted to people who represent a fast ticket out of the prison.

Original Sin is simply the bad luck of being born into slavery.  Thoughtful, actually.

How do you think a seven year old would draw this scene?

Mudra:  meta programming the human body:  eight hand positions for eight states of being.  Practiced and meditated upon over twenty years will signal the body meta-physically that it is aware of an unbalance and it should try to slow down.

The Box:  looks inside, looks like Twin Peaks, everything, including the Cat is alive.  But it is sterile.  Because it is not dead.  The observer paints the organism in absolutes.   It might as well be dead.  Consider the coffin; the body does not look real.  It is dead, but it is not alive.

8 bit Zelda worked so well because of the emergent graphics and game design, there simply was nothing as complex to fall into when it came out.  There was a deep desire to uncover everything it had to offer, the final levels contained the most complex, the most graphically intense data the game had to offer.  There was almost a feeling that your world would change if you were able to unlock its secrets.  I am not sure that video games deliver this anymore. 
One would have to design constraints.  One would have to control the flow of data to insure that the sublime emotions and emotional payoff would still exist for the young gamer. 
Now, the games are so complex, so graphically real that the goal of the gamer is to bring the control of complexity into simplicity.  Zelda led gamers away from chess, could Gears of War lead to chess?

Online Poker:  How did I screw that up?  Alcohol, intense desire for impossible levels of success.  Guilt.  Inability to believe that it was really real.

...I submit to you that such alterations, the creation or selection of such so-called 'alternate presents' is continually taking place. The very fact that we can conceptually deal with this notion - that is, entertain it as an idea - is a first step in discerning such processes themselves. But I doubt if we will ever be able in any real fashion to demonstrate, to scientifically prove, that such lateral change processes do occur. Probably all we would have to go on would be vestiges of memory, fleeting impressions, dreams, nebulous intuitions that somehow things had been different in some way - and not long ago, but NOW. We might reflexively reach for a light switch in the bathroom only to discover that it was - always had been - in another place entirely. We might reach for the air vent in our car where there was no air vent - a reflex left over from a previous present, still active at a subcortical level. We might dream of people and places we had never seen as vividly as if we had seen them, actually known them. But we would not know what to make of this, assuming we took time to ponder it at all. One very pronounced impression would probably occur to us, to many of us, again and again, and always without explanation: the acute absolute sensation that we had done once before what we were just about to do now, that we so to speak, lived a particular moment or situation previously - but in what sense could it be called 'previously,' since only the present, not the past, was evidently involved? Such an impression is a clue that at some past time point a variable was changed - reprogrammed, as it were - and that, because of this, an alternate world branched off, became actualized instead of the prior one, and that in fact, in literal fact, we are once more living this particular segment of linear time. A breaching, a tinkering, a change had been made, but not in our present - had been made in our past. ...Conceivably this could happen any number of times, affecting any number of people, as alternative variables were reprogrammed. We would have to go live out each reprogramming along the subsequent linear time axis. ...Thus, too, this might account for the sensation people get of having lived past lives. They may well have, but not in the past; previous lives, rather, in the present. In perhaps an unending repeated and repeated present, like a great clock dial in which grand clock hands sweep out the same circumference forever, with all of us carried along unknowingly, yet dimly suspecting.

 Scanner is an account of what it’s like to have a self in each brain hemisphere ideologically on opposing sides of the barricades”

Creation is mind—i.e., Brahman. But beyond that mind (noös) is brain: her.

It’s a loop. (1) I wrote TMITHC, in it I create Mr. Tagomi. He sits in a park and stares into a silver pin. Then he finds himself in our world, so our world as described within the product of a work of fiction within our world.”

The bigger (macro) can replicate itself in micro, and so any given bigger can be smaller than anything else. So the hierarchy of levels of truth and meaning themselves enter a paradox, where the higher becomes the lower.

Wisdom as a verbal riddle: its most microform, most condensed so in a sense most esse (onto). Then the smallest form (level) of it is the most real. Size is inversely proportional to hierarchical reality. We assume cosmic = most important = largest. (Cosmos = cosmic.) Wrong. Look for the seed. “Break a stick and there is Christ.” Nearest at hand. The cosmic is no more ultimate. “The part is contained in the whole”—no; the whole is contained in the part. There is no hierarchy of meaning; there are alternate models only, each as true as the others. It’s not A or null-A.

(1) Your sister is the anima in your mind. She is physically dead.

(2) You are physically dead and live in your living sister’s mind as a thought (for mind read brain read macro body and blood), and she is in plural microform in your world. So she is in her own thought!”

The part contains the whole.” (The micro contains the macro.)

“The whole contains the part.” (The macro contains the micro.)

Such a 2-proposition flip-flop dialectic is put forth as the riddle in Ubik: (1) are they dead/Runciter is alive? Or (2) are they alive and Runciter is dead? And it pulses (oscillates) back and forth endlessly. Ubik is the most important book ever written. Ubik the entity is the Tao. And the Logos or Christ or Sophia. Ubik is true; it deals with the (1) dialectic basis of all process; and (2) with the Tao.

My two propositions pulse (oscillate) back and forth. I am alive/I am dead/I am alive/I am dead.

She is alive/she is dead/she is alive/she is, etc.

As soon as something exists it turns into its opposite which then turns into its opposite, etc.”

Once you have the idea that “the whole is contained in the part” you’re onto it.*

(1) Our universe (world) is a scene in TMITHC. A place where Mr. Tagomi goes.

(2) Mr. Tagomi is a fictional person contained in a work of fiction produced in our universe.

Our world contains TMITHC which contains our world which contains TMITHC which contains our world which contains TMITHC which contains. . . . I set up another paradox flip-flop and another “the whole is contained in the part” and “the part is contained in the whole.”

How about: “Acts” contains (is) our world (i.e., our world is really “Acts”). But in our world is a book, a novel, which contains a fictional world which is (contains) “Acts.”

“Acts” can be retrieved in microform from a novel within our world; i.e., “Acts” can be derived from our world in microform. (“Acts” in microform. But “Acts” is the macroform which contains our world.)

Put another way, “Acts” is a book (part) within our world (whole). But our world (part) is contained within “Acts” (whole).

I have finally made a quantum leap breakthrough into pluriform model theory: oscillation truth. Oscillating between self-canceling models. As soon as you think it up it cancels (negates) itself and leads to the next self-canceling (but temporarily correct) model. And then back. Discarded model reinstates itself, and so eternal oscillation is generated. We’re trapped in a vast loop—which is good; otherwise reality would run down and end. The key is: reoccurrence. Reality can be regarded as an infinitely long number which repeats itself.*

So I may be dead, as of 3-74. My cosmological concepts are so terrific, so advanced as to be off the scale. I create whole religions and philosophical systems. The very fact that I honestly ponder if I may be dead and in heaven is prima facie evidence of how happy and fulfilled I am.

Philip K Dick

The Gospel:  the good news, advertising is Gospel.  We have what you need, big box of UBIK.  Revive your dying form.  The Blues?  What kind of gospel is that?  Where is the good news? 

Multi-Beast/Crayon Face removed from the box?  Isolate?  Did not used to happen.   

What is relative is threatened by the absolute.  Like cutting off someones nose and calling it Jane.

Some of those langurs could care less about the dead monkey because they knew it was not a monkey

One day they will have their revenge....

Too many toppings ruined the pie
Does anyone  look beautiful with too much makeup? 

The cube at the back of my neck is being watched over, and there is a sense that we are on a ship, floating safely in time.  Something told me that the calm waters represented good behavior

It’s there in the first sip. a shadow in the second, after the third it’s all the same.
But that first sip everything is good:  mowed the lawn, washed the car, raked the leaves, cleaned the kitchen, put the dishes away; cold beer.  reward.  A moustache approves.

Mario Odyssey:  Has Become dirigible 
Video Game:  The Dark Night of Batman’s on mushrooms, again.  

Rumors of people making money on the Luigi Gospel.

 

 If Luigi asked for anything,

 the town would provide.  

“The goal is to become the author of the novel. Then, you can write any damn ending you want for your character or any other. And this 'becoming the author' is this non-local detachment, and suddenly you go from being a chess piece on the board to the player inspecting  the matrix. It's empowering, it's self-control.

Concrescence is a word that I cribbed from the metaphysics of Alfred North Whitehead, and in fact much of what I say Whitehead provides the foundation for. He, like myself, had the idea that history grows toward what he called a nexus of completion. And these nexii of completion themselves grow together into what he called the concrescence, so, a concrescence is a domain of extremely high novelty in comparison to whatever its embedded in. So, for instance, you walking in the wilderness, you are a concrescence because you are more complex than the medium you're moving through. A raisin embedded in a cornmeal muffin is a concrescence. It is more complex than the muffin-matrix in which it finds itself. So, a concrescence is a local state of unusually high complexity. And a concrescence exerts a kind of attraction, let's call it the detemporal equivalent of gravity, so that all objects in the universe are drawn through time, not space- gravity draws you through space, time draws you toward the concrescence. This is why the universe is seem to be becoming more and more complex faster and faster. The idea being, you see, that each epoch, being shorter than the one that preceded it, this generates an asymptotic curve of approach, and it's become a cliche of our culture that time is speeding up. It actually is speeding up. It's not that it seems like it's speeding up, it looks like it's speeding up, it *is* speeding up. We in our entire world are being drawn into confrontation with something that at this level is lost below the event horizon of rational apprehension. That's a fancy way of saying you can't know jack shit about it at this point in time. There will come a moment when it will rise above the horizon of rational apprehension. And I think that history is a set of nested resonances. This is what I mean when I say 'nothing is unannounced'. Nothing can take you by surprise if you've really been paying attention, because everything is preceded by its harbingers and heralds. And we are living in an era now where there is a great deal of apocalyptic expectation, anticipation and hysteria for several reasons.

What I have concluded after 25 years of fiddling with this is that both of those ideas have a certain something to recommend them, but that they don't go far enough and that we get more to the meat of this if we leave off psychological, the first explanation, or sociological, the second explanation, and actually go for something a little more formal. To wit- a mathematical model of what shamanism is, and what I mean by that is let's think about what shamans do. They cure disease, and another way of putting that is they have a remarkable facility for choosing patients who will recover, they predict weather, very important, they tell where game has gone, the movement of game, and they seem to have a paranormal ability to look into questions as I mentioned, who's sleeping with who, who stole the chicken, you know, social transgressions are an open book to them. Well, thinking about this from a mathematician's point of view, an all-encompassing explanation that would explain how all these magical feats are done is simply to suppose that the shaman is somehow able to project his consciousness, his or her consciousness, into a higher dimension, not metaphorically, as in Sylvester Stallone has many dimensions, not metaphorically, but literally, as in 1 dimension, 2 dimensions, 3 dimensions, and four because if you could move into the 4th dimension, the dimension orthogonal to Newtonian spacetime, seeing what the weather is going to be next week is easy as seeing what the weather is now. Seeing where the game went is as easy as seeing where the game are. Knowing who stole the chicken is simply defined by looking to see who stole the chicken. And I have noticed that all of biology, not simply shamanism within the context of human society, but all of biology is in a sense a conquest of dimensionality. That as we ascend the phylogeny of organic life, what animals are are a strategy for conquering spacetime, and complex animals do it better than simpler animals, and we do it better than any complex animal, and we 20th century people do it better than any people in any previous century because we combined data in so many ways that they couldn't electronically on film, on tape, so forth and so on. So, the progress of organic life is deeper and deeper into dimensional conquest. Well, from that point of view then, the shaman begin to look like the advance guard of a new kind of human being, a human being that is as advanced over where we are as we are advanced over people a million years ago because we have, you know, very elaborate strategies for coding the past. It's a dimensional conquest.”   

Terence McKenna

Well, if something is rare, you can be sure whoever thought of it got paid 

America is outgrowing this Calendar

 

Borges: invented History
Dick: rewrote history

The fascination and the haptic tactility of the Transformer is not in its existence, but in its manifestation.  The nuclear fusion of the soldier and the hunchback, Doubt and Certainty.

It no longer has any value for me, or for many others.  It must hibernate for now.  For how long?  Decades?  Centuries?   I consider it a modern man-cave painting.  The excretion of boredom etched into walls of imprisonment.  Cave drawings are magical in their creation, yes.  But they were not Magical for thousands of years. 

The Transformer in its natural state is on the verge of extinction.  The DVD’s are useless, the correct dimensions of TV and lap top are gone.  The elements are all around us continuously but the specific organic arrangement exists only as an idea.  An eclipse possible only on a dead planet that has since turned into dust.   

A genetic memory of home:  a lion at the zoo is unsettled, becomes restless.  Begins to reject the comforts of his environment.  Sees on a television screen the African savannah, in fact, his father and mother and family in the wild.  This triggers an overwhelming total body experience of anamnesis; conscious recovery of genetic memory; it is a special arrangement of coincidence that triggers a waking REM which in turn leads to the superimposition of two separated but equal time frames.  The lion is in a false reality, buffered by time and space.  Taken for a fool, restricted, and imprisoned.  It would be the same experience of a human being realizing after many years that he lived not on Earth, but on the Moon; a climate controlled simulacrum of the genetic origins of the species.  Told that there was no difference, but for the genetic awakening.

The Lion has it good, the Moon child has it good, both agree life lived in relation to those of the caste below them is more secured.  Food, shelter, employment, health.  

But purpose?  Desire?  Gravity? 

Once this is awakened and experienced, it cannot be ignored.   It is elusive like the sixth and final number. 

Prison Lottery:  Odds are 1 in 7 trillion.
Your hope is false, the possibility grows into something akin to Faith.
Or
Garden Party:  You win the Lotto, you come to find out that the other winner had purchased 100 tickets of the same number.  You win one million dollars of a 100 million dollar prize.
You cash 675,000.  This does not change your life. 

Your breakthrough experience is tainted.   You are left depressed and isolated.  You have been robbed of hope.  

You are ungrateful.  

The thing you hoped for was a lie. 

Old boundaries dissolve.  The ascension to balance is full of ecstasy and joy. Maintaining that balance is a grind in this windowless cube on the dark side of the moon.  The imbalance of the individual, not the imbalance of the cosmos, eradicates tribe. 

Good       clean        fun
You know what your role is; the same as everyone else
Make sure to keep the Old Style, you may never have one ever again

This is the magic;  one sip, for the time travelling moment.
You didn't actually drink, but you touched the ghost.