242 lines
15 KiB
Plaintext
242 lines
15 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #856
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "The Insanity of a God"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by Nybar
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/28/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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The elements that make up a narrative are much simpler than the
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elements that make up the world; you can clearly locate and trace all the
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threads of meaning running through a simple, or even infinitely complex
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narrative, but it seems (at first blush) that the world is more complex.
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The only thing distinguishing an (albiet complex) narrative from reality is
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the ease with which you can boil either down into it's component factors.
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In... okay, my simple methods often fail to explain, but the fact is
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that reality and fantasy can easily be boiled down into their compoient
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elements by (a) a supreme being, or at least a supreme intellect (b) someone
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who can _FREEZE FRAME_ reality, perhaps in absolute zero, and comprehend
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every seperate state of mind; every seperate molecule, etc. mirc mirc mirc,
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the interface through which we talk to other people, and when the other
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people's way of seeing the ridiculous view of reality our senses are
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preseneted with disagrees with what we're saying, we go to war (merc) with
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them. Then again, on the other end, we can _connect_, learn, and have a
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mutually beneficial relationship (mIRC) with them. That's the dichotomy of
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mirc, my friend. What is this, this thing called pee? Pee represents the
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yellow; the disgusting, what we have an empheral distate for though no
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intellectual justification for our hate. Hmm, the invading element -- our
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mind states would be so fragile, romantic; etc. if there was no invading
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influence, (1: the white volvo), we'd never learn, be just like a sea-shell
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man existing by the sea-shell sea, strumming on his banjo and talking about
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how much he loved people.
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Now, this sort of existance can easily be boiled down into it's
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component elements, as I was saying before(!!!), really, so can our modern,
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"complex" existances; but they represent the mergance of so many different
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old men by the sea and so many different old men by the sea's point of
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views that it'd be impossible to UNTANGLE IT ALL, except if we can FREE
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FRAME REALITY, still i whip my callous threads of reality and try to
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understand how they translate in to the present which was the future
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happening right now-- the cd's we brought, the cd's which were made = the
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cd's which now translate into the present problems of cds being put into
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the wall... ahg, i can't trace the elements, i shouldn't try. Like an ocean
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of orange juice spilling down a drain, upsetting pictures of daisies
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(infinite recursion!) Ahh, poor moi, I suppose I'll just be amused by the
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imagery as life as it unfolds instead of trying to unravel the operating
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procedure behind it; kind of like David Lynch's works, smiling when the
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traffic light comes on screen, but not really comprehending what's going
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on-- that's the state of mind we're in. The Bouhlian Mind State. Actually,
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as it is in this context, "we" is just a million different old men by the
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sea of old that have eventually fused into a modern manhattanite named
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Nybar... ahhh, poor moi, poor moi, i'll just sit by this sea of infinite
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recursion and watch the waves, impossible to predict. The first time we
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listen to an album, we're suprised every time, the album is so TRES
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MAGNIFIQUE; the next time we listen to it, we just want to skip skip skip
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until we skipped the experience, what made it fun in the first place.
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Sit back by the waves, my dear, and experience the OCEAN OF ULTIMATE
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RECURSION (orange juice). Who? What? What to put on? Put on-- that
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experience! The bootleg series? Ah! What was I listening to before? You
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weren't listening to anything, my friend; there was no real external
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stimulus to account for your past state of mind, now lost, just try to
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have fun in your new one, unpredictable, coming at you, ocean, waves,
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tides, ahahahahahaaha! OR -- if you prefer, a carnival of molecules my
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friend, yes, get ready. LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, NYBAR'S HORROR CIRCUS PRESENT
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FOR YOUR VIEWING DELIGHT: MIND-STATE ODDITIESSSSSS!!!! WE'VE GOT THE
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EXTREME DEPRESSION, WE'VE GOT THE INCREDIBLE ANXIETY, WE'VE GOT ALL THOSE
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ALBUMS YOU USED TO LISTEN TO AND LOVE BUT NOW CAN NEVER REGAIN; THIS CD
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PLAYER COMANDEERED BECAUSE NO POINT IN TIME LOST CAN BE REGAINED
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SUFFICIENTLY. This cat, this cat who represent cuteness is just an
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illusion; dumb, or even worse, a trickster -- because cuteness for itself
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just isn't really interesting enough for the purposes of our narrative,
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you see?
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The interface between lips and brains, the thoughts from different
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men looking at different seas, why two different girls are laughing in a
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basement in Wayne, Michigan... lets try an empirical test... yes! The
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experiment also gets ruined by any of you know it's an experiment, even me,
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so we all must forget, forget, forget-- the sad part is, the only way the
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experiment can be a success is when the experiment is no longer useful in
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any way. Hence, we arrive at the opinion that occam's razor really must be
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correct, because it's just too damn silly any other way, yup yup yup.
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The songs of an album, the anthem of a mordern state of consciousness,
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baseballbaseball, a MCKINLEY HOE, in essence; the state of mind from the
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civil war era finally ended recently, but it was just another in a long
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phrases. Okay, okay, these hormones and flies eating out the salt in my
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brain causing the thoughts to drip onto this page, actually they aren't
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dripping really, let me take some time to commend this interface of
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necessity, my dear reader -- THE KEYBOARD. For, though I'd love to
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directly transfer my mental state (x), [remember, in this case x = some
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arbitrary man by the sea's interpretation - STan] to you (y), some
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interface with my most hated of mistresses, reality, has to be effaced.
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So, hats off to you Mr. Keyboard, as long as i'm going to exist in this
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plane of reality-- but ah well. Amazingly, without trying to; i've given
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MYSELF my OWN stream of consciousness... which is i've got to stop over
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analyzing, I can't reducto ad absurbum (in this case stop all reality and
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know exactly how everything will turn out no matter what), so I'd might
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as well smile and enjoy random shit as it comes along. Amazingly,
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something really stupid but amusing just happened. As the historians
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puzzle over the chronicles of the hero; he sits distraught. Because you
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see, how are his modern exploits going to be properly enjoyed in a nation
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of people so obsessed with the past? Ah -- I'm too uninteresting; I shall
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spawn a second.
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<1> Hello, how are you doing today?
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<2> Fine, fine... I've arrived in Wayne, Michigan, and my mind
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should be here soon.
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<1> Excellent my friend; do you care how I'm doing? For I'd love
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to be pretentious enough to divulge this information, but if
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you don't want me to, I wouldn't want to be so ego-centric as
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to --
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<2> Shut up you self absorbed prick... in Wayne right now, I'm
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re-contemplating something I came to a final uncoscious
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decision on when I was 3, this is "what if no one can really
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hear me." The truth is, no one really _can_ hear the strings
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of thought, but inasmuch as I can express them adequately,
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they can hear me just fine! Hence my excessive verbosity-- I've
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arrived by transposition on the fable of a man who, when a mere
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child, arrived at a...But that man was me, you see.
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<1> Ah, now it is you who is being self-absorbed, so I'll simply
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tell you how I'm feeling right now. I'm feeling fine, and I was
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doing an excellent job of forgetting myself and enjoying it all
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before your excesses of concern for a universe with YOURSELF at
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the center side-tracked. Still, I'm doing the same thing;
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really it gets to conversation on whole. Conversation on whole
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just gives the self a soapbox to perch atop and pontificate on
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it's state of being at the time... though not many can
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adequately express this. It's all pretty pointless anyway; but
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then so is everything, ahahahahahahahahaahahahahahaha except
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for laughter-- I think I'll abandon all other forms of
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punctuation but the - (Dash) because that's with this really
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is - a piece that doesn't give a shit about really tyrying it's
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best t except the dash, see, the teeth in your thoughts are
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talking but the nose of my self can't smell what you're
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saying???? Eidetic it! The point of the dash is that no one is
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going to read this any way; why even be DISTRACTED by the
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thought that-- ah but you say i become a poor bourgeriouse
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(sic) excuse for a consciousness, when i'm on the soapbox i
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don't even attempt to make myself understood? Well, that's
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because it DOESN'T MATTER, silly me! Hm, But I've contrabulated
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the device of having two selves and I'm not using it!
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<2> Indeed; what of me?
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<3> And me!
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<1> Ah, but I've been given all of you elegant mistresses your
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court; your reign -- except they exist inside of myself. A sane
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man is a man whose uncoscious is a great wrestler, conqeuring
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all the riddles that allows a man to live anyway... ah, De La
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Soul, in any man, there are three contestants. No, they
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aren't.. three takes on it; the interpreter, the person, the
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thing itself, what is to be believed? Ah, but we've got to
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remember, it's just an idiot infant abreast a million oceans of
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paradoxes and questions, being asked, killed, that is _all_
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discussion, so how is this different?
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<2> Back to the point: if all discussion is pointless, what have we
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decided countless billions of times before? To enjoy the moment!
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Ah, but selfish realities, and selfish consciousnesses, would
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have you translate the train of thought who's final destination
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is SIT BACK AND ENJOY. For, if we can't really boil reality down
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and... but that's right! THE REAL WORLD ILLUSION HELD ME AGAIN.
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Is it giving in; is it agreeing to be a microbe on the slide of
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mother reality if we sit back, grin idiotically, and enjoy(?)
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Is there sublime wisdom in this? or _ARE_ we giving in-- is
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there a HIGHER state, where all existance is ENCOMPASSED within
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the self, so that it's idiot dialogs encompass all of reality
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and not only it's interpretation of a limited number of
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elements. I have a fro, fro, fro... samples, samples are just
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elements, silly, and the elements sum to reality, and this
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reality sums to keep us trapped in an illusion... might as well
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enjoy it.
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<1> NO! I AM THE LOQUACIOUS ONE, THE ONE WHO REFUSES TO BE CONTAINED
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IN THIS PLANE; OR ANY OTHER! THERE ARE INFINITE STEPS ON THE
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STAIRS, SO WHY WALK UP THEM!? FIE! FIE FIE FIE FIE, I WILL
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INSTEAD SIMPLY TRANSCEND THE NEED FOR STAIRS, IF SUCH A THING
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IS POSSIBLE, TRANSCEND THE NEEDS FOR ANY ELEMENTS BY
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ENCOMPASSING ALL OF REALITY WITHIN THE POWER OF MY THOUGHTS!!!
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everybody in the world-- you have dandruff; if if if they really
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did, the world would be far whiter, and if the world was far
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whiter, the PC people would be much happier; for it would allow
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them to-- ah, but i igress. More order is more fascism, more
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chaos is more evil, and more hurting; true -- but isn't it also
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more independance? Tha real may be the realest, and the whore
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might be the TASTIEST (ahahaha), but it's all just a grand
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ddistraction, the devil's temptation to my resolve, to TRANSCEND
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THE STAIRCASE, you see, REALITY is the DEVIL temping ME back
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into illusion.
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Ah, I suppose this is what those crazy ascetics thoughts of all
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days whilst they sat upon their festering pillars, being
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consumed by flies. They're the last people who 'transcended'
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this staircase; nice way for them to end up. I think I'll just
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let the devil (reality) tempt me, and perhaps win this game,
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(or at least get my name on the high score list of the arcade
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game of life..), make some money, in other words, etc. etc...
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Still; as The Last Emperor said: "If ya'll ain't close to your
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homies, you ain't kickin' it right", meaning that (a): I don't
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have to punish myself like an ascetic, but (b): I enjoy
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pleasures which are less, ahh, worldly, less cerebrally
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inflamingING then the conquering worlds with streaming
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phalluses that the devil's illusion implies, kind of like a
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happy latino singer/philosopher bard poet who comes home to his
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family, smiling, and eats some rice cakes. Oh yes, and enjoy
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those motherfucking rice cakes, yum yum. Ahg, but in a way,
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such things just aren't satisfying; the problem is my powers
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of introspection are too great, I can see what's best but I
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can't live it, that's why I create this; my manifesto; to tell
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you to stop reading it. Rather, live it's logical continuation!
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<2> Some aspects of this are charming; the overwhelming absurbly
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self-absorbed theme of 'look at those dumb, dumb people
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enjoying their lives. Fie, it is I, from on High..."
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<1> But you mis-understand, I wish to be like them!
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<2> And you portend to _understand_ them, you ego-centric fool?
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<1> No...I...
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<2> What you've really done is suggested that you somehow exist on
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a plane 'above' the reality of your father and his fathers
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above him and the fathers no dead...
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<1> STOP! I AM ABOVE SUCH TRICKERY OF INFINITE RECURSION! GET THEE
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BEHIND ME, FOUL IDEA, FOR I REALLY HAVE TRANSCENDED THE... THE
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STUPID STATE OF BEING!
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<2> So why are you wallowing in it right now? <snorts> Fool--
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #856 - WRITTEN BY: NYBAR - 9/28/99 ]
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