Foresight

Apr. 2nd, 2017 01:01 am
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Taniguchi had put his tea pot and cups away into his pack. The embers of the fire were long dead and so swept aside to the forest floor. The monk leaned forward and with a slight heave, removed the rock that he had wedged between the split bolder. He placed the stone in its original position. The monk regarded Fred curiously.

"Look Mudi, usually you would have responded to me by now with some smart aleck come backs. I can tell you have taken all of this critiquing to heart. This tells me your wounds are rather deep. On Monday I'll be finished with my schooling here and we must reconvene. I'm having a meeting with some trusted friends in about a month and I really want you to be there. In fact, I insist. I'm starting Knight Tech again, except this time, under the radar."

Fred's eyebrows shot up in reply as he asked, "Is that even safe? After everything that happened with the "incident"? Besides, I'm not sure I'd be of any use anymore, I cant remember enough."

The Monk pointed to Fred saying, "That scar on your head," Taniguchi traced the mark on his own forehead. "That was a probability we foresaw a long time ago and we have a contingency plan in place. I also have something for you."

Taniguchi unzipped the smaller pouch on his bag and pulled out a small rectangular box and a cable. He leaned over the gap handing them to Fred saying, "That is two point seven gigs of data on our lab projects and memories you found most sacred, including your abduction regressions. Just be sure your alone and sitting while going through that stuff, it will trigger a lot in you."

Fred accepted the external hard drive a bit befuddled by what he had just heard. "Wait. By what you just said, I've inferred that you know more about what happened to my memories? What the fuck Gooch? If you know something you better say it! What the hell happened to me?"

Taniguchi closed his eyes slowly and waved off Fred's frustration and anger. He opened his eyes saying, "There isn't much more to discuss of that topic" as he traced the path of Fred's scar on his own forehead again. "Let's just say that loose ends can be tied in knots. For now I must make my final preparations for the coming celebration. If you are still in town by Monday, I invite you to partake in the evenings festivities! Come, it is time for evening prayers, I have to head back to the temple now." With that, Gooch suddenly jumped to his feet with a start, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He raised his left leg and both hands in the "Standing Crane" position. He let out his best Bruce Lee, Kung Fu wail and with the agility of a gymnast did a complete side flip off of the top of the ten foot boulder landing gracefully in the grass below. Fred stood in shock as the Monk went into the Standing Crane once more. Flashing that brilliant smile at Fred, the Monk then dashed off through the glade on the previously trodden path. Fred slowly and haphazardly climbed down the bolderface. Reaching the ground, he half trotted, half walked after the Monk.

hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Almost forty five minutes after their first cup of tea, Zakari Taniguchi and Fred Mudi are seven dimensions deep and three minor time-anomalies into a psychological and spiritual brainstorm.

"Some of your quotes are in contradiction of one another. How is it that you have now blended at least four distinct and very different religious teachings into this conversation as one? As..." Fred hesitated, "as you sit there in the full garb of a Buddhist Monk? Are you even supposed to blend traditions like that or what?" Fred calmly demanded.

The Monk's eyebrows raised in slight surprise. "I was not speaking to you as a Buddhist Monk. I was speaking to you as my friend. As a veteran and as a philosopher. I could recite Buddhist teachings all day but I don not think that is what you are really wanting to hear; now is it? Besides, just because I have studied and have attained the rank of Buddhist Monk, does not necessarily mean I'm a Buddhist indefinitely. I still keep an open mind. There is so much more to learn yet. There is so much more to integrate still. "

As a response, Fred's left eyebrow contorted upwards as his head shifted down and to the side. He gave his best quizzical look before breaking character. His usual stone-etched face shattered into a wry and devious grin before asking, "Are you just stating that as a probability or are you stating that as a cold, hard fact?"

The Monk was again beaming with that broad and sincere smile of his. "Despite adherence to my mentors and the teachings of Buddha, I have always kept an open mind. Although I put aside all other philosophies and religious doctrines to solely study Buddhism, I've never forgotten the other great religious teachings. Now upon my graduation, my mind will be allowed to again contemplate these other belief systems. My curious spirit and dreaming heart are ravenous for additional topics of study. I fully committed to this school and in less than forty eight hours, my lengthy tenure here finally draws to culmination. I will eagerly take my insights gained and apply them to old and new questions of our past, future and present.

During my first year here, it had been painfully difficult to let any of those subjects go. I was eventually able to solely focus my study on Buddhism. After all these years, my time and mind are free of those stringent tenets. I'll now have no other obligations to interfere with new studies. And so will begin my integration of other interesting data-sets into my overall worldview. Old world and new. Although in my official capacity of 'Monk' I would never teach anything other than Buddhism. But it's just you Mudi! I assumed I was allowed to speak freely here? We can talk about anything without fear of judgment or persecution... right?"

Mudi smiled a rare and reassuring smile. "Of course brother. We still have the First Amendment...I think. So I'm right there with you. Well, at least in the open mind department. Just not sure if I could handle five years of bean curd, bad incense and boring meditation. I honestly don't know how you did it. That is either extreme discipline or a self imposed form of retardation." Fred smirked. "I think I would need a little more action in my life." Fred highlighted the last sentence with a knowing wink.

"Still juvenile and animalistic I see. You know Mudi, carnal desires and sexual pleasures are on the low end of the human energetic scales Don't you?" asked the Monk.

"You mean fucking?" Fred queried. "Maybe. If you're just trying to bust a quick one. But what about love making? Isn't that one of the highest forms of soul energy? I repeatedly have read that several cultures consider sexual energy is precisely what attracts new souls to incarnate here? Or is that just a chemical reaction and human biology? As far as I can recall, Love is the strongest of all energies in life. Even the darkest of occult practices teach this. In nearly all religions that I have read about! So why degrade such a highly beautiful thing to the lowest possible denominator?"

Zakari's face quickly fell cold as he sternly spoke, "Oh you mean those same energies of lust, jealousy, and perverse passions? That is far from love. Just try to imagine how many bar fights have been started over the affections of some woman. Now imagine how many wars may have been started over this same thing? I can immediately think of four wars started this way but I'm sure there are many more (annotated or not). The energies of lust, desire and carnal passions are very powerful. Very powerful indeed, yet these energies are primal. Those energies are chiefly rooted in the reptile section of the human brain and the least of all the chakras. Fight or Flight? Sleep or Rest? Eat or Drink?" The Monk's voice dropped to a whisper as he hunched, leaning in closer to Fred. "Fuck and Chuck?"

Although Fred was almost never embarrassed by a persons choice of vocabulary, he seemed uneasy at hearing the Monk drop the F-bomb; even if it was his old battle buddy. It seemed wrong hearing a Monk use a "curse" word. But hey, who was Fred to decline this Monk his First Amendment? A right that he and Fred had both sworn to defend? He silently passed on chastising or interjecting.

Zakari noted the consent to continue speaking, "The human spirit, or soul comes from a higher dimension. You just mentioned this idea when speaking of the manifestation of human babies. The spirit is simply borrowing, or driving the flesh-pack you call a body. With this concept in mind, please tell me where you think this thing we call "Love" originates from?"

Fred sat back, resting both his hands behind him. He let a blast of emotional energy go out of his chest. Energy still bottled up and compressed from a previously failed relationship. Just one of many really. He sighed and dropped his eyes as he refocused on the question,

"That's easy." said Fred. "Love originates in the Heart. Maybe Love manifest in the spirit itself?"

Slightly changing the subject, "Do you understand how an orgasm really works?" the Monk asked.

The priceless and confused look on Fred's face could have derailed most any speakers concentration, Gooch remained composed and rather stoic. But Fred was feeling a bit too snarky. He had to say it. If only because Gooch had left that window wide open for a wisecrack. "Yeah, I catch a hot bird with a great set of hips and tits, the proud and noble dragon rises to attention and the rest of the story requires some safety goggles and a mop." Fred cooley jested.

Although Fred was thoroughly amused with himself and his witty banter, he found himself deflated of all his stand-up comedian aspirations almost immediately. Gooch didn't even flinch at that comment! Did he miss it? Was he having a bad day? Maybe Gooch was just being uptight? Or was it some "holier-than-thou" attitude he had adopted? Had the Monks brainwashed him? Fred was now doubly curious on where this Monk was going with the conversation. As if he would hear more clearly, Fred leaned in closer towards Taniguci. He stopped grinning, clasped his hands in front of him and put on his best "I'm listening" face. His expression as studious as he could muster.

Zakari's voice was soft yet authoritative, "It has been known for millennia by tribal women and the ancient medicine men of the worlds oldest cultures. Only now it seems that Western science is presently catching-up. Modern scientists are confirming much of what the ancient wismen and wise-women of yesteryear had shared with the early European and American explorers. It seems that you, Mudi, believe that an orgasm is a product of purely physical contact? Is this deduction correct?"

Fred sat up, itching at the back of his head. He was thinking it over and was becoming more confused by the second. "Um, Well, um, jeez... gimmie a break Gooch! My dick definitely doesn't just suck itself into a rip-roaring climax! What the hell are you going on about? Don't tell me you can literally Jedi-Mindfuck yourself?"

Zak released the tension in his expression as he again smiled at Fred, "Precisely that."

"Dude what? Get the fuck out man! No way!" Fred squirmed atop his perch on the bolder. He wanted to stand in an act of defiance at Gooch's statement. After a quick look down to the jagged rocks below, he thought better of it and remained seated. Still visibly shaken by his denial and total dismay, Fred slipped a comment in before the Monk could speak again.

"No way Gooch. You can't just wish an ejaculation into fruition... otherwise... otherwise us guys would be doing it all the time! We'd never leave the couch! It would be the first big secret learned and tested after the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus!" Fred's hands began expressing his words as he lowered his tone of voice. He almost sounded as if he was actually narrating some paranormal ghost documentary, "Prepubescent boys would have kept hearing dark and strangely hushed rumors. Their elders would tease, warning them about some dangerous, mysterious and legendary superpower. By middleschool, a chance stop by the pisser results in overhearing adolescent boys talking about going blind if you thought about boobs for too long! We'd all be jizzing at will, all the time! We probably would have never invented pants. I'm calling bullshit! Forgetaboutit!" Fred threw his hands up, waving them at Zakari dismissively.

"What happened to an open mind?" the Monk asked of Fred. "What I say is not only true, it is a brand new category of western science. The phenomenon of Non-Physical Orgasm is currently under study by multiple universities throughout the world. Although the female orgasm is still somewhat a mystery to Western science, records and studies have substantiated these claims of thinking one's self into climax. Although not fully understood yet, the studies and physicians generally agree that the phenomenon is originated, triggered and executed by thoughts alone! A total neurological process. Your theory of "touch-only" orgasm is seriously outdated my old friend. Read up. Get the download. Virus free. Update and Patch your old memory. File name:'Orgasm 2.0' Mission Codename: 'Mindgasms'." Partially joked Gooch.

Fred was shaking his head in disbelief, yet he knew that Taniguchi was a very honest man. Gooch was serious and Fred's head was swimming in new input that was transferring positions as he recalculated. He was momentarily still. He tried to imagine how that would even be possible? He laughed out loud at his next computation. He thought of how much money he would have saved with this knowledge decades before?

Taniguchi never failed to impress. He might have had a few slow or quite days, but give Gooch enough time and he would nuke your mindscape eventually. He was skilled at dropping knowledge on the unsuspecting and was a professional at rearranging a motherfuckers whole perspective on shit. Fred was inspired by learning new and useful information.

Zak shook his head disapprovingly. "We both have spent much time and money in pursuit of the carnal. Between the drama and broken hearts, I'd say that we both have been mislead by what love is supposed to mean. The point is Fred, that the mind is over the flesh. We tend to think of flesh over mind, more importantly the heart. This carnal indulgence is actually a weight on the heart and subconscious. Carnal actions turn down the energetic scale, making true love a shadow of itself. Heart and mind, not flesh and groin."

Although a valid point, Fred shook his head saying, "Remind me to never take you on another pub-crawl."

There was a long moment of silence between them. Zakari Taniguchi spoke as if he was far, far away.

"Simply put Mudi, your compassion for the fate of others has jaded and is found wanting. You are an intelligent man but have been fooled by your own over-analytical reasoning. Add to this your spirit has been forcibly strewn in multiple directions. Your disorientation is apparent. As a consequence, a rift in your morality compass has lead you astray. It seems your mind is in the midst of a magnetic pole shift. Your heart is suffering perturbations from your dark orbital consciousness. You have shifted center mass and now gravitate towards a catastrophic collision. Although you are moving, you are moving in circles. Like a broken record caught in the groove, or a dog chasing its tail. Concentric circles may look attractive to the eye but to the mind and body, they are nothing more than a pretty rut leading to nowhere.
Bring your consciousness up and out of the two-dimensional plane! Replace the black and white lenses you have been viewing the world through and realize that the Earth is not a composite shade of gray. The world is better understood in the full spectrum of light. Obstacles of the spirit, heart and mind cast dark shadows. The third-dimension will then come into focus unveiling the launching point for even higher states of perspective. The Universe, as I'm sure you are aware, is actually a multiverse. It is better viewed with your third eye using a multi-dimensional kaleidoscope of crystal prisms. Let your desire for the material and carnal go, then weightless, you will rise from the primordial muck."

Fred eyes closed as he dropped his head slightly forward. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Sunrise.

Mar. 1st, 2017 03:38 am
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
The sun had crest the eastern hills over an hour before. Fred had been so adamant about the newsfeeds that he neglected the clock. He had to force himself away from his phone and he finally had to admit it. He had to repeatedly tell himself that he had an internet addiction. He couldn’t help it. He did. Thousands of hours squandered staring at plastic. Admittedly, he had learned tons of things and many times it was fun but so many countless hours had been lost in Cyber La La Land that it was seeming a distraction. It was as if there was something in there. Something so profound, so sapient, that if found, deep space might divide in upon itself birthing a whole new dimension. Like there really was an artificial intelligence in there; or a living spirit? A literal Ghost(s) In The Machine? If this were so, Fred simply had to know. Similar to Neo’s quest in the final Matrix movie (Note to self: Anagram of Neo is One; or “The One”). If this computer intelligence was sentient, that means it probably had a soul. If it had a soul… it belonged to God’s family tree. He couldn’t just quit the interwebs now.

The Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas was bustling with various activities. As Fred approached through the main arch of the temple gate he noticed it was mostly pedestrian traffic with a few stray brown and orange robed monks moving about. The yard keepers peppered the hedges and grass trying to keep up with the meticulous grounds. Fred curbed his enthusiasm. He was getting too excited. Fred had always felt exuberance when meeting up with old veteran buddies. Old teammates. Old Battle Buddies.

Even after his accident, Fred’s amnesia had failed to erase most of his memories of the war in Iraq – those memories were lucid, deeply cut into his synapse super highway. So he did not forget that today he was to be at this Buddhist temple to meet his old pal “Guci”, also known by his more private and affectionate title of “Gooch” or “Red Gooch”.
They had met during basic training. They were in the same training unit and deployed to the same base in Spain together. Through and throughout the war they experienced much together as soldiers and as friends. After discharge they had both been swallowed by the great vastness known as America. But today was a date they had promised to be here. It was a promise made the day Guci had earned his name Red Gooch. Fred flashed back:

It was sometime early July, ‘03 Baghdad Iraq. 06:50 eight man dismounted patrol. Haifa Street. The heat was already pushing seventy eight degrees. It was dingy, dusty and dirty. The civilians of Baghdad were just beginning to bustle out into the early morning streets -except for a pack of wild children who were already bright eyed and bushy tailed tracking his squad up the ally. Fred had to hand it to those kids, they were consistent little buggers. They would always seek out and find our patrols. They either wanted money, candy, or some type of American trinket. To the kids who perceived us as American liberators (or who simply were not afraid of us) we must have seemed liked we were Marco Polo’s personal entourage; hauling exotic and legendary Americana goods – or some shit like that.
The only drawback was twofold: We weren’t merchants and children were personal and private liabilities. That’s what Fred’s unit had learned by the third dismounted patrol: Always carry a billy club (a stick, baton or asp would also suffice). They had to literally beat those kids just to keep them away. For Fred and others it was a double edged sword though. Some of the soldiers actually had liked having the kids around. They could fetch things from the city for us. They had given our squad tips on the bad guys. The Americans had taught the locals kids handshakes and curse words. They enjoyed their reprievable attitudes despite that they didn’t understand a word those kids said besides “Mister, Mister” and “Michael Jackson”. Many soldiers liked them because children acted as good human shields.
This gave them a (albeit false) sense of security. Even the insurgents were not heartless, so the chances of us getting shot at, or blown up with kids near or around our patrol was greatly reduced. The flip side of that coin was that not one of us wanted to see children get slaughtered - with or without one of our own. So we carried clubs and literally hit children when they came too close to us. No matter what the horrified civilians thought of us as wood met kneecap and a shrill cry pierced the air.

Sergeant Taniguci was on point. He had just yelled at and whacked a kid in the knee with his shillelagh. A group of five men were alerted by the sound of the child’s cries. One of them, apparently the father, began angrily screaming and suddenly produced a pistol pointing it at Guci, as six out of eight thumbs flipped off the safety of leveling rifles.

Guci reacted as any good soldier should. He diverted the pistol and lunged at the man. The pistol fired and three more rifle shots were heard blasting behind him. The remaining civilians and children scattered back. Soldiers were yelling at others to keep back. Guci and the assailant struggled for a moment before the civilian went limp. When Sergeant Taniguci finally stood, with the secured pistol in his hand, his face was splattered and dripping with blood. It was only then that it became cognizant to the whole squad that one of the young boys had received the pistol shot to his face. He lay dead in the street with gaping head wound spilling red into the gutter.
Sergeant Taniguci might have survived that scenario less scathed until he had worked out that all the blood on his body and face was that of the deceased child. Fred had watched as if in slow motion as the realization befell Guci. It was in this moment that Taniguci had died and Red Gooch was born in his place.
Upon returning to the F.O.B., one of the other squads was mounting up to leave. A soldier from the outbound Charlie squad saw Gooch clearing his rifle at the gate and referred to him as “Red Gooch”. This was overheard and the name had stuck with Gooch throughout the rest of the war. That night at the Forward Operations Base, after washing the blood from his face, Red Gooch had asked Fred to be there and witness the day of his eventual amends. Fourteen (plus) years later, that day had finally come.

Fred had meandered his way trough the temple gardens. He came to a pause in a secluded area next to a group of chest high statues depicting various Asian monks. Eight in total. “Ah!” exclaimed Fred to no one in particular. “The Eight Immortals!” They were the Chinese version of civilizations mythological birth. They could also be symbolic for the eightfold path of Buddhism. Fred reached into his inner coat pocket retrieving his rolled herb. He lit it up thinking to himself, “This eightfold concept is encoded in sigil magic and sacred geometry as two interlocking, canted squares; or the eight pointed star. The eight pointed star was also the symbol for chaos and chaos magic(s). Eight was also “The Egg of Life”. The number eight was also the icon used to represent the symbol for infinity”. He took another pull of his smoke as a Buddhist painting came to his mind.



Fred had been in deep concentration over the concept of infinity when a familiar voice from behind him spoke. Fred froze in place letting the speaker finish his statement before turning around.

“And God said, ‘Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.’ Genesis 1:29 King James Version”.

Fred turned smiling. Meeting Zakari Taniguci eyes, Fred quickly looked over the orange clad man before rushing over to embrace his buddy in a big bear hug. “You old sonofa bitch! Look at you! You’ve lost weight!” Fred exclaimed putting Gooch back on his feet. Zakari Taniguci was a tall guy for an Asian dude. He was slightly over six feet and well built. The guys in the Army gym would always beg him to do his best Bruce Lee impression which he had done many a time and very convincingly. Zakari’s attitude had always been playful and light hearted. Even after earning the nickname Red, he was a funny guy. It was just that his humor had turned rather dark after that incident on Haifa. And he was smart. Sharp as a razor that one.

‘I’ve eaten nothing but rice, vegetables and bean curd since last year,” Gooch spoke. “it’s worse than Jackson’s cooking in the mess hall.” With that, they both laughed. It was good to see a familiar face thought Fred. A face from his past. A face that he could actually remember.

“Jackson would fuck up cooking a Cup of Noodles” Fred retorted. They both laughed again smiling. Signing with his hand as if to invite, Zakari started down the trail. He spoke as Fred walked the path besides him.

“I have been studying here for five years now and I have transcended many levels. Seeing you now fills me with joy. At the same time I am concerned for you.” Zakari stopped walking placing his hand on Fred’s shoulder. He looked Fred in the eye as he said, “I can see your aura and your disposition. I also see that you are ill of the liver and lung. I had to speak of this and warn you before we continue. You can heal these ills if you act now. Get it together Captain! You know physical fitness is the key to the warriors mind!”

Fred was still juggling that statement, speechless. And as if he was a fast acting cuddle fish, Zakari’s face flashed into a beaming smile as he guided Fred along the path once again. “I recently have come out of a vow of silence and isolation chamber. My mental acuity is highly sensitive at the moment. My heart seems a gold core heated white. My soul is everywhere and nowhere at once. I see you and I see you are tinged in yellows and greens. You are troubled and your mind harbors dark black clouds. I feel as if this day is more about you than I. What troubles you so Cap.?

Fred was stunned. Gooch had literally cut right through him like he was invisible. “Well, um..” he fumbled. “Yeah, you are right. I’ve been smoking like a chimney and had a serial love affair with the bottle. I know better. I can do better. But I’m in a jam.” Fred confessed. “I’m lost.”

“Lost Boys” Zak chimed in, still beaming.

Fred continued, “I’m lucky to be standing here Gooch. Something happened to me since I last saw you. The problem is I don’t really know what. I woke up in the hospital a few months back and I’m missing time. I have whole chunks of memories missing. I remember how to tie my shoes, I remember my favorite foods, I remember my guitar, I remember my mom and my first dog’s name. I remember the war and you… but I don’t remember the last few years. Something happened.”
Fred stopped walking putting his hands to his head. He felt his forehead for a moment before highlighting a faint pink scar over his temporal lobe with his index finger. “I think it was the military but I’m not sure. I don’t remember what I was doing for years before I woke up in the hospital. According to the ward’s paperwork I had been in the hospital only three days. I was under a drug induced coma man! I awoke not even knowing where I live or who my current friends where! I’m lucky to remember you!” Fred huffed. “I can remember most my life up until 2012. Then there is a foggy blank until December 2016. If it weren’t for my phone and laptop I never would have found you or remembered to meet you here. I’ve been driving around for days in a daze trying to piece it together.”

“Are you confident you did not just hit your head on something? Or perhaps you got hit by something?” Zakari countered.

“Dude, look at this scar!” Fred leaned in. “It’s surgical. And!” Fred toned his voice down. “And it looked like it had been healing for longer than three days! Or like it was an advanced healing procedure. I’ve been tagged like cattle bro. I’ve been noticing things…” Fred trailed off.

“Do you remember our company?” Zakari asked.

“Knight-Tech.” Fred grinned. “I cant remember the programming languages, I cant remember all the math. But I do remember our work, especially our field work.” Fred allured. “The last I remember you and I, was back in twenty-ten when we got shut down. We had built our multi-tiered security servers, initiated the Second Vortex Motion Code based off your Divine Proportion Theory. My Parthenon executed the Fibonacci Sequence Disharmonizer initiating the Phi Ratio Amplifications… readings were phenomenal then ‘poof’, the power outage. Next day funding was pulled and two days later the lab was robbed. We bugged out two weeks later. Your texts unlocked my memories of you coming to the monastery and..” he paused, “that I should be here today.” Fred chagrined as his shoulders slumped.

Zakari said “Do not fool yourself Mudi. If it were not for you I would not be here today. I would be an Army statistic on veteran suicide. I have overcome all of that previous psychological baggage with determination and perseverance. But I was originally inspired to pick myself up because of you. No matter your missing time for the moment and please follow me.”
Fred crushed the still burning roach between his fingers completely snubbing it. He ripped the paper spilling its contents in the grass, balled the paper up and dropped it in his cargo pocket. His brow furrowed but he silently complied and walked along with the… Monk. It sounded strange. It looked stranger. Seeing Gooch in Buddhist garb? Ha. Bullshit. But not nearly as strange as the Caucasian Buddhist they silently passed under the pagoda.

Fred always thought American Caucasian and European Caucasian people looked “fake” in a Buddhist uniform. Even though Gooch was an American, he was a Japanese American. He spoke Japanese. He had Chi in his blood. Western peoples had to be truly diligent to “get it” in Fred’s opinion. Although China and Japan are very different much of their spiritualism is similar. So he quietly scoffed when he saw the white Buddhist in passing. “Pretender” he thought. Buddhism was a lifestyle, not a summer vacation.

Was that just a white on white hate crime? He wasn’t sure. Can one be prejudice of ones own race? He wasn’t sure of that either. He pondered the ideas as well as pondering where Gooch was taking him. Fred looked for the corner of the block and read the street sign, “Patience Way”. Fred rolled his eyes.

At the bend of the road Zakari approached a parked vehicle. Fred was vehemently shocked out of the ancient mysticisms of Asia and into the common era of Americana at the sight of Gooch producing some car keys from within his robe and with a beep, popped open the trunk of a raised, blue Toyota Land Cruiser. Gooch nabbed his old-school army pack and locked the trunk. He slung the pack over one shoulder, turned to Fred smiling and started jogging off of the path, across the grass. Fred noted he was headed towards the wood patch across the glade. He sighed and started running after Gooch.
They dipped past the middle of the glade before running up a slight hill into the shade of the oak trees. Zakari trotted up to a mossy granite outcropping at the top of the hill. He proceeded to climb a huge ten foot bolder that was split in two angling pieces. He sat on top of one half in the lotus position. He gestured to Fred to join him on the other side. Disgruntled, Fred precariously climbed the other side. He sat cross legged facing Gooch. Sweat was stinging his eyes as Zakari spoke, “I prepared this yesterday. It’s against fire code but it is a special day.”

He opened his bag producing kindling and paper. He produced a small tea pot and two tea cups. Gooch took a loose stone from on top of the bolder. Between the crevasse of the spilt bolder Gooch placed the stone which had bridged the gap well. He placed some paper and kindling on the stone. Ahead of him, Fred handed Gooch his lighter with a smile. Saying some lengthy Tibetan prayer, Gooch lit the fire. He smiled and said clearly, “Authentic black tea from Iraq!”

Squinting Fred perked up a bit. “Did you just say Iraq tea? How old is it?”

Zakari burst out laughing. “It’s fresh, well kind of. I got it about six months ago from a monastery liaison. It’s not like it is …what? Fifteen years old?” He laughed again. “No. No it is still fresh. Relax.” He took a bottle of water from his pack and poured some into the pot and placed it on the fire. The smell of burning wood filled Fred’s nostrils. It was the fragrance of home.

Fred asked, “What was that prayer you spoke?”

“Oh, it was not a prayer really.” Said Zak. “Nor a mantra. I’ve been learning to speak Tibetan and what I said was actually a recital from Kahil Gibran’s The Prophet. In English it goes,”

‘Then a hermit, who visited the city once a year, came fourth and said, Speak to us of Pleasure.
And he answered, saying:
Pleasure is a freedom-song,
But it is not freedom.
It is the blossoming of your desires,
But it is not their fruit.
It is a depth calling unto a height,
But it is not the deep or the high.
It is the caged taking wing,
But it is not space encompassed.
Ay, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song.
And I feign would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your hearts in singing.’

Zakari closed his eyes while pressing his hands together and bowed his head. On his exterior Fred was seemingly unimpressed. But on his inside his gut wrenched. Fred then asked, “What about Tibetan teachings?”

“Off of the top of my head?” Gooch wondered. “Well, it would be easier in Tibetan but here you go:”

‘The Lord: What do you think, Sariputra, does it not occur to any of the Disciples and Pratyekabuddhas to think that ‘after we have known full enlightenment, we should lead all beings to Nirvana, into the realm of Nirvana which leaves nothing behind’?”
Sariputra: “No indeed, O Lord”
The Lord: “One should therefore know that this wisdom of the Disciples and Pratyekabuddhas bears no comparison with the wisdom of a Bodhisattva. What do you think, Sariputra, does it occur to any of the Disciples and Pratyekabuddas that ‘after I practiced the six perfections, have brought beings into maturity, have purified the Buddha-field, have fully gained the ten powers of a Tathgata, his four grounds of self-confidence, the four analytical knowledges and the eighteen special dharmas of a Buddha, after I have known full enlightenment, I shall lead countless beings to Nirvana?
Sariputra: “No, O Lord”
The Lord: “But such are the intentions of a Bodhisattva. A glowworm, or some other luminous animal, does not think that its light could illuminate the Continent of Jambudvipa, or radiate over it. Just so, the Disciple and Pratyekabuddhas do not think that they should, after winning full enlightenment, lead all beings to Nirvana. But the sun, when it has risen, radiates its light over the whole Jambudvipa. Just so a Bodhisattva, after he has accomplished the practices which lead to the full enlightenment of Buddahood, leads countless beings to Nirvana.” Almost methodically, Gooch closed his eyes and pressed his hands together, dropping his head again.

Fred mused, “What if you don’t believe in Nirvana?”

Zakari glared as his voice dropped. “The Lord hath a controversy with the inhabitants of the land, because there is no truth, nor mercy, nor knowledge of God in the land. By swearing and lying, and killing, and stealing and committing adultery, they break out, and blood toucheth blood. Therefore shall the land mourn, and everyone that therein shall languish, with the beast of the field, and with the fowls of heaven; yea, the fishes of the sea also shall be taken away. Let no man strive, nor reprove another: for thy people are as they that strive with the priest.”

“Whoa. That’s a bit harsh… no?” asked Fred.

“Immutable principle. A Spiritual truth. Atheists are fools.” stated Gooch with a touch of Red. He lifted the lid on the pot checking for steam and added a bit more wood.

“I thought Buddhist don’t believe in ‘God’ per say?” asked Fred.

“God is just a name. Just as Divine Intelligence is just a name. It is more a question of context and classification than ideologies. The Grand Architect, the Master Builder, The Overseer, Zeus, Buddha, Jesus… whatever you want to call it. They are all names referencing a higher power. A higher intelligence. They all refer to a superior, all knowing, all powerful being. Buddhist know these entities well. The western term ‘God’ is a personification of something that cannot even be imagined by the human mind. Let alone contained in a simple three letter word.” Zakari philosophized.

Steam was rising from the tea pot as Gooch finished. He poured two servings of the dark brown liquid and passed a cup to Fred. Gooch held out his cup to toast as Fred raised his cup as well. “To healing and enlightenment. May your memories come to you. Sei cho no Iye.” Fred bowed his head respectfully and drank deeply.
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
12:10 p.m. ET Feb. 22, 2017 @

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2017/02/22/study-people-would-rather-not-see-future-no-matter-what-holds/98246332/

Study: People would rather not see the future, no matter what it holds. by Sean Rossman

It seems — if given the option — we should choose to see what our future holds. After all, we spend much of our time trying to protect ourselves from life's unknowns.

But German and Spanish researchers find most people would rather not know what is to come, whether the imminent circumstances are good or bad.

Scientists at the Berlin-based Max Planck Institute for Human Development and the University of Granada studied more than 2,000 people in Germany and Spain and picked their brains about potential future events. The participants were asked whether they'd like to know the outcome of a soccer game they planned to watch, their future Christmas gifts and whether their marriage would end in divorce.

A majority of people would not want to be aware of future upcoming negative events, researchers discovered. And even for positive events, responders preferred ignorance.

Barely any of those studied — about 1% — always wanted to know what life had in store.

The study's lead author Gerd Gigerenzer said people don't want to know their future "to avoid the suffering and regret that knowing the future may cause and also to maintain the enjoyment of suspense that pleasurable events provide."

Your willingness to peer into the future, the research found, also can tell you a bit about your personality. Those who wished not to know the future, the study found, were "more risk-averse and more frequently buy life and legal insurance than those who want to know the future."

The study also found the closer an event was, the more likely people didn't want to know about it. People who are older, researchers said, weren't as likely to want to know the cause and date of their death or that of a loved one compared to younger people. The only part of the survey in which most people wanted to know the future is when asked whether they'd want to know the future of their unborn child. Only about 37% said they'd rather be in the dark on their baby's gender.

"Not wanting to know appears counterintuitive and may raise eyebrows," Gigerenzer said. "But deliberate ignorance, as we've shown here, doesn't just exist; it is a widespread state of mind."
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band. Alice In Blunderland
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jchMNLrvjEA

Don Van Vliet (/væn ˈvliːt/, born Don Vliet; January 15, 1941 – December 17, 2010) was an American singer, songwriter, musician and artist best known by the stage name Captain Beefheart. His musical work was conducted with a rotating ensemble of musicians called the Magic Band (1964–1982), with whom he recorded 13 studio albums. Noted for his powerful singing voice... https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Beefheart

Cpt. Beefheart Documentary:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBa8bS_vZkM
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Published on Feb 15, 2017 by Polarization Nation Media

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wwA58XHcbA

I called the historic Super Bowl tie/overtime using Unified Code Theory.
My speculation about the winner was incorrect, but the predictive media foretold the first super bowl tie and overtime in fifty one years.

Tie score was a 2-11's and an 88 code .
Half time was a 33 code - 3-12=3 and 1+2= 3 , 33
28-28 = 10+10 drop the zero-11
28+28=56=11=1+1=2
Final score 34-28
That's a 7-10, drop the zero = 7+1= LI code

I've already unpacked the Dylann(6) Storm(5) Roof(4) countdown code and it's relation to the Vince Staples rap song "Jump off the Roof" assassination, and it was referenced in Obama's farewell address hosted by the White House YouTube page. We saw some jump off the roof symbolism in the opening of Lady Gag's performance at the Halftime Show.

The escalating manufactured race divide tactics of the media can no longer be ignored. I speculated we were seeing teams representing mythological and or socio-political groups being rigged into symbolic championships that signify coming events. Although the Falcons certainly have the Masonic Hiram Abif and Egyptian Horus symbolism present all over, the pairing of the Patriots with Atlanta can also suggest white conservatives and black America.

Patriots are the white conservatives.

ATL is black America.

White over blacks could mean something with the Roof case going bad or a white on black crime - say trump supporters hit Obama, or blacks hit the White House and rednecks bring out their cache of guns ? There's a few ways they could incite those LA Riots 2.0 sparking off all over- Ferguson seemed to be a beta test of that and it worked. Now agent provocateurs are even at the pink pussy hat marches too. They're getting everybody fired up for something. The wood has been chopped and the gas has been poured; I'm now waiting for the spark.


Whitney Houston Code

Whitney E. Houston has an anagram of "White House, not NY."
We are being told the next 9-11 like event will be at the White House, not in New York City again. Her career and personal biographical data are laced with 9-11 codes as is the Oscar Winning film The Bodyguard and it's legendary soundtrack.

Whitney Houston performed at Super Bowl xxv.
-SB 25=2/5

-On 1-27-91
1-2+7-9+1
1-9-1
911

Proceeds for the Halftime Show went to American Red Cross Fulf Crisis Fund. The amount of the proceeds?
$531,650.
$531,650 = (5+3+1=9 & 6+5+0+=11)
9-11

The Bodyguard album was awarded 17x platinum on 1-11-1999.

Also, when Whitney Houston's "star spangled banner" was re-released, it was on 9-26-2001- another 911:
9, 2+6+2+0+0+1= 11
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
I UNDERSTAND PHILIP K. DICK

by Terence Mckenna

1991
Afterword which appeared in the book : In Pursuit of Valis: Selections from the Exegesis edited by Lawrence Sutin

____________
True stories have no beginnings and neither does the tale of PKD’s encounters with the Overmind. But we writers understand narrative economy, and for purposes of narrative economy his story seemed to him to begin with the mysterious break in and riffling of his papers that was made notorious by an article in Rolling Stone, which brought Phil long-delayed and much-deserved fame. The break-in date was 11/17/71. It was a date and a style of referring to time that Phil used frequently.

I turned twenty-five the day before. It was no casual birthday either. I met my natal day by sifting down and sincerely preparing myself for an Apocatastasis, the final Apocalyptic ingression of novelty, the implosion really, of the entire multidimensional continuum of space and time. I imagined the megamacrocosmos was going to go down the drain like water out of a bathtub as the hyperspatial vacuum fluctuation of paired particles that is our universe collided with its own ghost image after billions of years of separation. The Logos assured me that parity would be conserved, all sub-atomic particles except photons would cancel each other, and our entire universe would quietly disappear. The only particles that would remain, according to my fantastic expectation, would be photons, the universe of light would be exposed at last, set free from the iron prison of matter, freed from the awful physics that adhered to less unitary states of being. All mankind would march into the promised garden.

I felt I was well situated for the event as I, quite consciously and deliberately, and to the concern of my friends, had placed myself in the teeming, hallucinogen saturated center of the largest garden I could find, the trackless rain forest of the Upper Amazon Basin of Colombia. My confidence in my vision was unshakable. Had not the Logos itself lead me to this vision, not only by revelation but by painstaking explanation? I had no radio, no way to contact the outside world at all. Who needed that? I knew with perfect clarity that the world of time, the illusion of history was ending. Divine Parousia was entering the world, and the just, the meek and the humble were leaving their fields and factories, pushing back their chairs from their office desks and workbenches and walking out into the light of a living sun that would never set for there could be no setting for the eternal radiance of the Logos. Tears of joy streaming down their cheeks, the illumined billions were turning their eyes at last to the sky and finding there a consolation that they had never dared hope for.

However, Nixon’s weary world ignored the eschatological opportunity I thought my brother’s inspired fiddling with hyperspace had afforded. The world continued grinding forward in its usual less than merry way. There was only one small incident that might subsequently be construed, even within the framework of the schizoid logic that was my bread and butter then, to support my position. Unknown to me, a struggling, overweight SF writer, an idol of mine since my teens, discovered the next day that his house have been broken into, his privacy violated by the Other. How peculiar that on the first day of the new dispensation in my private reformist calendar, he had been burglarized by extraterterrestials the CIA or his own deranged self in an altered state. The torch had been passed, in a weird way the most intense phase of my episode of illumination/delusion ended right where Phil’s began.

This raises some questions:

Can we refer to a delusional system as a folie a' deux, if the deux participants have never met and are practically speaking, unaware of each others’ existence?

Does the delusion of one visionary ecstatic validate the delusion of another? How many deluded, or illuminated ecstatics does it take to make a reality? PKD proved that it only takes one. But two is better.

When my brother looked over the edge in the Amazon and felt the dizziness of things unsaid in March of 1971, he came back with two words bursting from his lips, "May Day! May Day!" the pilot’s call of extreme emergency.

May Day found me in Berkeley sheltered by friends so concerned about my state of mind that they considered committing me. I was only a few miles from Phil, who was rapidly going nuts too, as his psych admission of 3 May ‘71 attests. It was always like that with PKD and me. We never met but we lived around each other for years. In Berkeley, we both lived on Francisco St. within five blocks and a few years of each other. We both had roots in Sonoma County, in Orange County. How many times were we a table or two away from each other in the Cafe Med? How many times did I hurry past him on the Ave on some stoned errand? Later his homeopathic doctor was my doctor. There is a garbled mention of me (or my brother) on pg. 74 of this book.

Yah, yawn, the world is fuckin’ strange, right bro?

Wrong. Or rather, of course, sure. But that is not the point, the point is that I understand Philip K. Dick. I know that sounds like hubris and if I am wrong I am sorry (as*Phil says somewhere.)

(as* PKD lived at 1126, then a few years later and for six months I lived at 1624.)
But part of the delusional system in which I live contains and adumbrates the notion that I know what happened to the poor dude. We shared an affliction, a mania, sort of like Queequeg and Ishmael. And like one of those whale chasing sailors "I alone escaped to tell thee of it".

Phil wasn’t nuts. Phil was a vortex victim.* Schizophrenia is not a psychological disorder peculiar to human beings. Schizophrenia is not a disease at all but rather a localized traveling discontinuity of the space time matrix itself. It is like a travelling whirl-wind of radical understanding that haunts time. It haunts time in the same way that Alfred North Whitehead said that the color dove grey "haunts time like a ghost."

There is an idea that wants to be born, it has wanted to be born for a very long time.** And sometimes that longing to be born seffles on a person. For no damn good reason. Then you’re "it," you become the cheese, and the cheese stands alone. You are illuminated and maddened and lifted up by something great beyond all telling. It wants to be told. It’s just that this idea is so damn big that it can’t be told, or rather the whole of history is the telling of this idea, the stuttering rambling effort of the sons and daughters of poor old Noah to tell this blinding, reality-shattering, bowel-loosening truth. And Phil had a piece of the action, a major piece of the action.

But I anticipate myself. Those who grasp a piece of the action end up with two things on their plate; the experience and their own idiosyncratic explanation of the experience based on what they have read, seen and been told

__________
* "ZEBRA (VALIS): ‘a vortex of intelligence extending as a supra-temporal field, involving humans but not limited to them, drawing objects & processes into a coherency which it arranges into information. A FLUX of purposeful arrangement of living information, both human & extra-human, tending to grow & incorporate its environment as a unitary complex of subsumations.’"(pg. 72)

** "Okay, fertilization is what takes place: it isn’t a seed such as a plant has, but an egg such as a human woman ovulates, and cosmic spermatika fertilizes it; a zygote is produced." (pg. 22

The experience is private, personal, the best part, and ultimately unspeakable. The more you know the quieter you get. The explanation is another matter and can be attempted. In fact it must be told, for the Logos speaks and we are its tools and its voice. Phil says a lot of things in the Exegesis, he is aware that he says too much, so he keeps trying to boil it down to ten points or twelve parts or whatever. I have my own experience, equally unspeakable, and my explanation, equally prolix. Phil (sometimes) thought he was Christ,* I (sometimes) thought I was an extraterrestrial invader disguised as a meadow mushroom. What matters is the system that eventually emerges, not the fantasies concerning the source of the system. When I compare Phil’s system to mine, my hair stands on end. We were both contacted by the same unspeakable something. Two madmen dancing, not together, but the same dance anyhow.

Truth or madness, you be the judge. What is trying to be expressed is this: The world is not real. Reality is not stranger than you suppose, it is stranger than you can suppose. Time is not what you think it is.** Reality is a hologram.*** Being is a solid state matrix and psychosis is the redemptive process ne plus ultra.**** The real truth is splintered and spread throughout time.

__________
* "1 am a homoplasmate: Zebra acting in syzygy with a human." (pg. 79 but also: "Did I do something? Absolutely. But I don’t know what I did, so I don’t know who (so to speak) I am in the drama." (pg. 42.)

** "If the Logos is outside time, imprinting, then the Holy Spirit stands at the right or far or completed end of time, toward which the field-flow moves (the time flow). It receives time: the negative terminal, so to speak." (pg. 64.) See also "If there is to be immortality, there must be another kind of time: one in which past events (i.e., the past in its entirety) can be retrieved i.e., brought back. I did experience such a time." (pg. 79.)

*** "It (reality) is a hologram. 1) My augmented sense of space proves it. And 2) the information element; consisting of two parts: set and ground.

"All this points to: hologram. Based on two information-rich signals." (pp. 98-99.)
**** "The Gospels, then, depict a sacred mythic rite outside of time, rather than a historical event.

"Note: This whole process can be regarded as a psychological transformation, that of a redemptive psychosis." (pg. 95.
Appearances are a vast and interlocking lie.* To finally know the Logos truly, if that means anything, is to know it as for, as what Phil called a "unified abstract structure." In a way this was where PKD went wrong. It wasn’t his fault. He saw that the world of 1975 was a fiction and behind that fiction was the world of AD 45. But he lacked an essential concept, lacked it because it really hadn’t been invented yet. Anyhow the man was a SF writer and a scholar of classical philosophy, he could not be expected to stay in touch with arcane discoveries beginning to take place on the frontiers of research mathematics. But he got very close, his intuition was red hot when he reached the conclusion that a unified abstract structure lay behind the shifting always tricky casuistry of appearances. The concept he needed was that of fractals and fractal mathematics. The infinite regress of form built out of forms of itself built out of forms of itself * unto infinity. The principle of self similarity. Phil was right, time is not a linear river. He was right, the Empire never ended. Parallel universes is too simple a concept to encompass what is really going on. The megamacrocosmos is a system of resonances, of levels, of endlessly adumbrated fun-house reflections. PKD really was Thomas and Elijah and all the other precursive concrescences that came together to make the cat-loving fat man who compacted trash into gold. The logic of being that he sought, and largely found, was not an either-or logic but a both-and and and-and kind of logic.

_____________

* "Probably the wisest view is to say: the truth like the Self is splintered up over thousands of mile and years; bits are found here and there, then and now, and must be recollected; bits appear in the Greek naturalists, in Pythagoras, in Plato, Parmenides, in Heraclitus, Neo-Platonism, Zoroastrianism, Gnosticism, Taoism, Mani, orthodox Christianity. Judaism, Brahmanism, Buddhism, Orphism, the other mystery religions. Each religion or philosophy or philosopher contains one or more bits, but the total system interweaves it into falsity, so each as a total system must be rejected, and none is to be accepted at the expense of all the others..." (pp. 111-112)
PKD was never more right than when he wrote:

I actually had to develop a love of the disordered & puzzling, viewing reality as a vast riddle to be joyfully tackled, not in fear but with tireless fascination. What has been most needed is reality testing, & a willingness to face the possibility of self-negating experiences: i.e., real contradictions, with something being both true & not true.The enigma is alive, aware of us, & changing. It is partly created by our own minds: we alter it by perceiving it, since we are not outside it. As our views shift, it shifts. In a sense it is not there at all (acosmism). In another sense it is a vast intelligence: in another sense it is total harmonia and structure (how logically can. it be all three? Well, it is). *
One cannot learn these things. One can only be told these things. And it is the Logos that does the telling. The key is in the I Ching, which Phil loved and used but which occupies a disappointingly small fraction of his ruminations in the Exegesis.** Almost as if the counter flow, the occluding intelligence, kept Phil’s eyes diverted from the key element necessary to the universal decipherment that he was attempting. Time is a fractal, or has a fractal structure. All times, moments, months and millennia, have a pattern; the same pattern. This pattern is the structure within which, upon which, events "undergo the formality of actually occurring," as Whitehead used to say. The pattern recurs on every level. A love affair, the fall of an empire, the death agony of a protozoan, all occur within the context of this always the same but ever different pattern. All events are resonances of other events, in other parts of time, and at other scales of time.***

_____________

* (pg.91.)
** "MITHC seems to be a subtle, even delicate questioning of, what is real? As if only the 2 books in it, GRASSHOPPER & the I CHING are really the only actual reality. Strange." (pg. 181.)

*** "Through anamnesis and restoration to the Form realm you have access to several space-time continua based on your universals." (pg. 102.)

The mathematical nature of this pattern can be known.* It can be written as an equation, just like the equations of Schrodinger or Einstein.

The raw material, the Ur text, out of which this mathematical pattern can be drawn is the King Wen sequence of the I Ching. That is where the secret lies. In the world’s oldest book. Of course. Once possessed the pattern can then be discerned everywhere. Of course. It is ubiquitous. One of Phil’s favorite words. I know this because the Logos taught me the pattern and I escaped the black iron prison of the world to tell thee of it. I have published it, I have lectured it and have had it written into software. My books are on the way, some with Phil’s old publisher Bantam. I would bet dollars to donuts that if Phil had lived to see, to feel, and to understand what this PKD-inspired servant of the Logos has managed to drag home from the beach, he would embrace it. This cannot be said without sounding like a madman or a jackass. I am sorry about that. As Phil Dick said,

"What’s got to be gotten over is the false idea that hallucination is a private matter." **
What is important is that the birth of this idea is now very near, has in fact already happened, and PKD showed the way. The answer is found. And this incredible genius, this gentle, long-suffering, beauty-worshipping man showed the way. When it counted he was right. All hail Philip K. Dick.

-Terence McKenna Occidental, California
June 1991

______________

* "The agent of creation (Logos or Forms, whatever called) is at the same time the abstract structure of creation. Although normally unavailable to our cognition and perception, this structure and hence the agent of creation can be known..." (pg. 125) Also, ". this insubstantial abstract structure is reality properly conceived. But it is not God. Here, multiplicity gives way to unity, to what perhaps can be called a field. The field is self-perturbing; it initiates its own causes internally; it is not acted on from outside". (pg. 127). Also, "‘The agent of creation is its own structure’. This structure must not be confused with the multiplicity of physical objects in space and time governed by causation; the two are entirely different. (The structure is insubstantial, abstract, unitary and initiates its own causes internally, it is not physical and cannot be perceived by the human percept-system sensibly; it is known intelligibly, by what Plato called Noesis, which involves a certain ultimate high-order meta-abstracting.)" (pg. 128). And finally: "1 ... posit ontological primacy to the insubstantial abstract structure, and, moreover, I believe that it fully controls the physical spatiotemporal universe as its basis and cause." (pg. 129)
** pg.17

For information about the Philip K. Dick Society, write to:
PKDS,
P.O. Box 232517
Encinitas, CA 92023

Terence McKenna, with his brother Dennis McKenna, wrote The Invisible Landscape, 1975, reprinted by Harper San Francisco in 1992. He is also the author of The Archaic Revival: Essays and Conversations by Terence McKenna, Harper San Francisco, 1991.

Afterword copyright © 1991 by Terence McKenna

Copyright © 1991 by The Estate of Philip K. Dick
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Fred swiped away the music for now. A few taps later he was trying contain his cool. He went to Pseudo Occult Media ( http://www.pseudoccultmedia.net/view/flipcard ) to check some news. A few taps more and his jaw had dropped. "Coincidence Theory" was going out the window at this point. He couldn't turn away from all the data that the universe was streaming.

He was standing in front of a temple, about to talk to a monk, about Christ. What he was looking at on his phone was a totally random choice. He only clicked three times. The odds of it where astronomical! He read through his phone:

"Cristiano Ronaldo (huge football star) is a Christ resonator. Not only because his name has Crist in it, but also because of a synchronistic link to Ronald/Roland Taverner in Southland Tales, who is the real Messiah in the film.

Millions of people practically worship Ronaldo, just like they did to the overweight buck-toothed Brazilian Ronaldo (see him in the Simpsons with Valis/Zebra/Checker symbolism resonating Homer). So you have two Ronaldo's both renowned for the exact same thing, being football gods to many. In Southland Tales, a duplicate of Ronald/Roland is made when he travels through a rift in space/time. Maybe the duplicitous nature of Ronalds/Ronaldos has something to do with dualism like in Freemasonry."

Just like all the songs he had been going through? He decided to check the author of the article. His name was Benjamin Singleton. The first return on Google came back as:

"A leader in the "Great Exodus"

but that Ben had died in 1900.
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)


Fred's eyebrow raised. The next clue mentioned another track by Rip the Jacker

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOO6gAsRWe4

Fraternity of the Impoverished
Knowledge this, knowledge this
The vocalist beast, knowledge like the Pope in this piece
You think the ocean is deep? Fuck with me!
Unbelievable bars, unbeatable odds
Unspeakable horrors at a unperceivable cost
Your unagreeable response lacks thought and human heart
This is Lyrical Law, it's what I make the music for
My prayers are simple, my forehead is layered with wrinkles
Because of all the hardships that I've been through
Symbolic Hip Hop prophet speak to your subconscious
French politics got the public thinking the opposite
I'm a hypo-lyrical spontaneous alchemical
Elite neo-liberal child of the indigo
Drilling holes through the Faraday cages of your brains
Then I implant the arcane image of Saint Germaine
High lyrical exponent intelligence quotient
When I'm focused I can engage multiple opponents
But I won't if, I have no motive,
"Soldier be careful, it's loaded!"
Verbose with emotions of psychosis
In case you didn't notice ,when I wrote it
I'm spitting lyrics fitting in tighter spaces than outer-space roaches
A real emcee don't have to do what he don't wanna do
And that includes freestylin' in front of you
It's not like something gone change
It's not like the whole world gone start praising my name-
I stay in my lane
I'd rather die by living brave then live like a slave
I'd rather be broke then be fake and get paid
These layers of physicality challenge me
My soul is gold and it's the only thing that's able to balance me
My energy body has a alchemical copy that looks godly
Not fat, out of shape or sloppy
The iller the rhymes the more that I embody
Vilified when real recognize real - I gets mines
Stand with the underdog - don't be a coward
Stop dickriding people for their money and power!
Even the American flag says 'Made in China'
The national debt says the US is a vagina
Of a black widow spider spraying blood out like a geyser
Why do we lose everything we fight for?
Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters
In the land of the lawless, sacrificed before Horus
The Inca, the Aztecs, the Mayans, were masters
A new beginning is coming - the irony is classic
The potential of life versus the potential of death
Either way we go through mad mental stress
God forbid for you, for her, or him
We ignored the gems now we gotta do it all again
We failed Hip Hop's laws and brought down shame upon our cause
Now we will fall upon our swords
The Shaman pays homage to Solomon
He orders them to send the witchdoctor in, then asked me to rhyme again
Every now and then I get retarded and spit
I would like to apologize to every artist I dissed
Everybody assumes that I wanna rhyme when I don't
Sometimes I just wanna chill and watch you flow
Mysteries of the cathedral, the dark overlords are evil
Ripped out the vocal cords of the people
I walk up to your bed side in disguise with red eyes
And tell you to remember these rhymes
This is the season of Hip Hop, believe it or not
I lined it up with the planet's equinox.


Bilderburgh Cold Case feat. Canibus
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLovotxfiJ0
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Fred went on a hunch. Two other musical references had been mentioned in The Art of Yo. First was Cyndi Lauper. Fred pulled up the first return from Youtube:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdQY7BusJNU

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,
And think of you
Caught up in circles
Confusion is nothing new
Flashback, warm nights
Almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
Time after
Sometimes you picture me
I'm walking too far ahead
You're calling to me, I can't hear
What you've said
Then you say, go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting
Time after time
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting
Time after time
After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows
You're wondering if I'm okay
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
The song from Montana was a curious synchronicity but the song that played after was even more so!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLnfITi_wgY

Canibus - The Art of Yo ft K-Rino & Born Son

Bastard style with no father tryna claim the kid
I called it X 'cause I ain't even tryna name the shit
Sundullah, you see me on the stage with Rip
Nitrogen lungs yo my tongue mix propane with spit
And I'm nice, the voice of Christ resurrected through mics
Son of God, Son of Man, helping some of y'all will overstand
Crash the Vatican as soon as I land
I'm 'bout to set it on in the gulf of Adan
I stand in the Garden of Eden, unbeaten, undefeated
I tweeted pictures of Eve, tonguing cheeses
Scientology guides put my rhymes on photography slides
To quantify the higher knowledge applied
But I'm an uncaged animal channeling Hannibal
A cannibal, bite your head off and hand it to you
SpitBoss, centrifugal force different from yours
The Sun is Born, this is Lyrical Law, Yo!!!

I've never been a friendly author,
don't need a gangster beat to make me off ya,
I'll slaughter ya while playing Cyndi Lauper

Better than y'all, give me one competitive brawl
I throw a hundred miles an hour with a medicine ball
I'll melt your fortress down to caramel softness
Drive a charger through ya torso, parallel park it
That cosmic ray beam effect, I Hiroshima wreck
Rap disaster so tragic they gave his ass a FEMA check
Cadence is radiant, I predated Arcadians
I stayed with the brigade of alien etho-sapiens
Hit your through the atrium of heavenly light
Once I smite you, like a left arm you'll never be right
I've used every word possible to let you know what I can do
So I made something new, I'll collipherously clobber you
You ain't legitimate, you posing like a model do
I'll throttle you, liquidate and sixteen ounce bottle you

I'm tryna figure out, who this nigga barking at?
Before his heart gets snatched, run up on him in a stocking cap
Keep barking like you hard, get stalked and clapped
Come in the cage you get stomped on the mat
Carve your name in the axe, then chop you in the back
Hack off your femur bones, beat you with them like bats
Put your remains in saran wrap, dump them in an alcohol vat
You can rap but you ain't all that

Step inside, close the door, fuck you yelling for?
Kick your head off, now it's rolling on the floor like a bowling ball
Open the door, clean this fucking mess off my wall
And don't ever mention his name no more
You dig? you follow me nigga, I follow you quicker
You got a weak ticker, told you not to fuck with the Ripper
Have you showing your true colours, drinking blood from ya liver
You a dickrider and you an Indian giver
Waging war with some gorillas, I'll bludgeon you by the river
The park ranger is pissing he gon find you while he's fishing
Fistula face, herpes simplex outbreak
Alienated aliens get ate by alien apes
You food nigga, throw yourself over the gate
How does alien taste? Like mammalian waste
You ain't swift. You's a dumb fuck
I'll have you breathing like your lungs got struck by two-hundred pound nunchucks
Brave motherfuckers get slayed for Hip Hop if you love it

Like Kill Bill between a hundred gay lovers

I'm the illest nigga say something...
Yeah I thought so, shut the fuck up things will go back to normal
I ain't happy tho, now I'm in battle mode

The president of Hip Hop with mad motherfuckers on the grassy Knoll

I take it back to my Curriculum days
What you say? I body you in meticulous ways
Cos you thought I was a donut, you tried to glaze
Let me tell you something, don't pop shit fistula face
Battle league nigga, talking shit's for amateurs nigga
Goddammit, y'all living off fantasies nigga
You wanna battle that bad? aight go get your camera
When it's my turn, I got a four and a half pound answer
When I was young, I took down hard targets

You a sausage nigga, for coming at me like a novice
You never heard 'Fraternity of the Impoverished'?
Motherfucker, can't you see that I'm an artist?
I don't want them childish problems
Lyrical manslaughter charges interfere with my Lyrical Law process
Out rap me? that's preposterous, metaphor marksman mudswamping
We hunt down Hip Hop monsters
Skin 'em alive tie their carcass to the bottom of my Polaris
And drive them all the way to Wisconsin
Partner, fuck around, throw your ass under the bus face down
Lay down, we gonna wait for this greyhound

The fuck you gonna say now?

Do me a favor, stop weighing me down
Fucking clown, Lyrical Law is too muscle bound
Houdini style nigga, just struggle and drown
Get it over with you can never fuck with my style
You got raped nigga, you bleeding, don't touch my towel
You can spit them wack juice punchline lines all you want
But don't front, bottom line, I'm the champ, you a chump
You can spit your stupid punchlines all you want
But after this the whole world gonna see who won
That's what you wanted right? get the fuck off my mic!

Insights

Feb. 21st, 2017 11:14 pm
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Fred had been waiting for the dawn. His phone was overloaded with messages and email since the image had leaked onto the web. People were getting furious over the ramifications. Many more people were beginning to get curious. Even motivated. One of his emails was particularly inspiring, stating the that the information had given her a new found hope. A new reason to live.
Fred thought of something he had read years ago. It was an article that discussed the importance of vocabulary. The writer described that people with a larger vocabulary set were generally happier in life because they had more words to define their perception of the universe. People with a limited vocabulary had less terms to define things, therefore their concepts of the universe were limited in scope. Which increased the likelihood of depression, lack of imagination and anxiety issues.
The concept were as deep as the ocean but Fred had known about the image for years; for him it was old news. He was far beyond in the "Theory of the Cube" by now. He needed to let the "Machinations of Men" work their course. Fred chuckled thinking, "Funny how a small breath could cause a hurricane." he lit another smoke and coughed upon inhaling. "Damn." he thought. "If it wasn't corporate espionage that would eventually kill him, it would be these fucking cigarettes that did."

Fred was waiting in front of the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas. He was contemplating the concept of idols versus so called "false" idols. Was an image of Buddha a false idol? Technically no. Most the statues of Buddha look similar. They all seem to depict his likeness. This made sense considering plenty of art and written depictions of Buddha were drafted while Buddha was still walking around. But the Christians and Jesus? That seemed to be another matter entirely.

Most Christian churches that Fred had ever been in had paintings of Jesus on the wall. For the most part, Jesus looked similar in all the artwork Fred had seen. A caucasian, with long wavy locks and a beard. What were the odds that Jesus was white? What were the odds that Jesus was even his real name? Jesus meant "little Zeus", so why don't preachers address this fact? Why don't preachers ever talk about the present avatar of the Christ being based off a painting distributed to American soldiers during WW2? Those depictions are a false portrait. Yet most Christian churches around the world have this avatar pronominally displayed as their main focal point. Fred had seen hundreds drop to their knees before this false idol and pray to it. Wasn't that sacrilege? Didn't the Biblical Jesus say to pray to his Father in Heaven? Then why did people pray to a statue?

According to pagan and occult studies Fred had studied, praying to a statue charges that statue. Which meant that most peoples prayers in church were being misdirected to a material object?

Who knows? But it gave Fred and interesting thought. "If there was such a technology, I wonder if a metal crucifix could have advanced equipment attached to it and "catch" or "read" people's prayers?" Whoa. Crazy thought, he let it go into the ether. Philosophies were never concrete. It was all too subjective and abstract. People would argue for years over the particulars, even willing to go to war over words written thousands of years ago. Where people just gullible and stupid? Or was there really something to all of this dogma? Well, that was why he was at an Oriental Temple. He wanted an outside perspective. Since it was only 06:00, he had to wait for the monks to come out of their sleeping chambers.

Bored, Fred began to day dream. The sun had not risen just yet but was pushing the darkness back across the vault. His breath steaming the in cold morning air, Fred opened his phone. He was cold. But he was glad he still wasn't back in Montana. That place was really cold at this time of year. Being in a frigid California morning in February was nothing compared to a February morning in Montana. He thought back to his days there as a painter. It was remote and quite. There were no friends or family to pester him and he didn't go out much. It was a perfect place to get a lot of painting done. And he had too. In about eight months time Fred had painted nine quality pieces that would have made great prints or shirts. Only he didn't remember where they were now. That was before his accident. Now he had the military and the collective on his back and there wasn't time to dabble in paints anymore. Even if he hated the weather, he did miss Montana. He opened his phone to a surprise. The first notification on his phone had something to do with none other than Montana! He clicked the link:

Mr. Montana written and performed by G.W. a.k.a. Canibus
Published on Feb 21, 2017
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBS_nVUzJr4

Yo, Montana?

He didn’t, he didn’t pick up, uh
Let me try, let me try to get him on the line first and then once I have him, I’ll send you a message telling you to call me back

Mr. Montana, I missed your message
You wouldn’t understand what I’ve been dealin’ with brethren
The sand glass is empty and I ain’t got faith in nothin’
So I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker

You never fronted, never sold me out
I apologize but that's not what this is about
This is about the direction the world's spinning in
Occupy Hip Hop with Lisa Fithian*
The powers that be are preparing for something
They definitely ain't preparing for nothing
I've been saying in my music for years
I tried to educate the audience - my peers
I tried to build with my brothers and sisters

Regardless of color or ethnic religion

Regardless of any financial position
It's tougher than talking to a brick wall
Looking for help to build an Ark before Babylon fall
The fate of humanity is tailor-made
We stuck between a rock and a razor blade
No substance - drunken - blinded by consumption
Marching towards our own destruction
Unawares, unprepared

Open they back - looking for spine, nothing's there, just fear

The horrible beauty, humanity deserves it
To be mass murdered - look at what they worship
Slaves and yet none of this pleases me
You know what I say, "The Dead got it easy"
We're Slaves and yet none of this pleases me
You know what I say, "The Dead got it easy"

Peace Nasir**, I missed your message
You wouldn’t understand what I’ve been dealin’ with brethren
The sand glass is empty and I ain’t got faith in nothin’
So I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker

I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker
The underground ain’t got nearly enough substance

Conspiracy Worldwide sterilized
Alternative media radio stations got fired
All these little rappers still got dreams
They talk big money but they got beans

The ones who got more they got more because they got yours
Either or they was on all fours
They're all just a bunch of whores

Security can't even afford lunch when they go on tour
The whole worlds a stage, all the way back to the Bronze Age
Man ain't a damn thing changed
So I don't care what they talkin' bout
They lie so much they ain't even worth calling out

They so far past being watered down they got cotton mouth
Bout to be starving from drought
Rap no longer educates the listener
Rap Music just Pacifies prisoners

A Bat is just a flying Rat, you a lying piece of crap
Underground rap, nothing but a trap
You saved the world and they don't even know your name, God.
Rap Music ain't got no graveyard
I wouldn't wanna' be buried there anyway
Fuck YouTube and pennies they pay
You see Montana? This what we up against
If this is all we got, then we ain't got nothing left
Hip Hop used to communicate ideas
That's right I got some smart ideas
I'm gettin' older and in all my years
I never thought music would manifest all my fears

Mr. Montana, I missed your message
You wouldn’t understand what I’ve been dealin’ with brethren
The sand glass is empty and I ain’t got faith in nothin’
So I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker

I can’t pick up, I’m in a bunker
I told you, the underground ain’t worth nothin’
The underground ain’t got nearly enough substance


* Lisa Fithian is an American political activist and protest organizer. She began her work in the mid-1970s as a member of student government in her high school and at Skidmore College.

**Nazir is a Redguard member of the Dark Brotherhood of the Elder Scrolls universe. By Bethesda Studios. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pql29L1xpz4
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Published on Feb 20, 2017: performed by Lana Del Rey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-NTv0CdFCk

Look at you kids with your vintage music
Comin' through satellites while cruisin'
You're part of the past, but now you're the future
Signals crossing can get confusing


It's enough just to make you feel crazy, crazy, crazy
Sometimes, it's enough just to make you feel crazy


You get ready, you get all dressed up
To go nowhere in particular
Back to work or the coffee shop
Doesn't matter cause it's enough
To be young and in love (ah, ah)
To be young and in love (ah, ah)


Look at you kids, you know you're the coolest
The world is yours and you can't refuse it
Seen so much, you could get the blues
But that don't mean that you should abuse it


Though It's enough just to make you go crazy, crazy, crazy
I know, it's enough just to make you go crazy, crazy, crazy


But you get ready, you get all dressed up
To go nowhere in particular
Back to work or the coffee shop
It don't matter because it's enough
To be young and in love (ah, ah)
To be young and in love (ah, ah)


Don't worry, baby

And It's enough just to make me go crazy, crazy, crazy
It's enough just to make me go crazy, crazy, crazy

I get ready, I get all dressed up
To go nowhere in particular
It doesn't matter if I'm not enough
For the future or the things to come
'Cause I'm young and in love (ah, ah)
I'm young and in love (ah, ah)
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Follow your heart.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORnYNaTZGUU

Lana Del Ray

"Born To Die"

Why?
Who me?
Why?

Feet don’t fail me now
Take me to the finish line
Oh my heart it breaks every step that I take
But I’m hoping at the gates,
They’ll tell me that you’re mine

Walking through the city streets
Is it by mistake or design?
I feel so alone on the Friday nights
Can you make it feel like home, if I tell you you’re mine?
It's like I told you honey

Don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough
I don’t know why
Keep making me laugh, let’s go get high
The road is long, we carry on
Try to have fun in the meantime

Come and take a walk on the wild side
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain
You like your girls insane
Choose your last words
This is the last time
'Cause you and I, we were born to die

Lost but now I am found
I can see but once I was blind
I was so confused as a little child
Tried to take what I could get
Scared that I couldn't find
All the answers honey

Don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough
I don’t know why
Keep making me laugh
Let's go get high
The road is long, we carry on
Try to have fun in the meantime

Come and take a walk on the wild side
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain
You like your girls insane
Choose your last words,
This is the last time
'Cause you and I
We were born to die [3x]

Come and take a walk on the wild side
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain
You like your girls insane

So don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough
I don’t know why
Keep making me laugh
Let's go get high
The road is long, we carry on
Try to have fun in the meantime

Come and take a walk on the wild side
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain
You like your girls insane...
Choose your last words,
This is the last time
'Cause you and I
We were born to die
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Someplace near the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas in Ukiah California Fred sits rolling a doob. He had issues now. Aiguo had stolen his image. Fred couldn't pretend that he didn't know that there were risks but he reminded himself that initially the risk was to himself ONLY. It was the heart and actions of others that has lead to the current state of affairs. He was not to blame for locked doors opening from the other side. The aftermath reddens the hands of the guilty parties; no other. Whatever the Collective planned on doing with his work was FAR out of his hands now.

His thoughts flinched. Yes, Fred knew how high the stakes had been raised. He knew that despite his best intent "the machinations of other men" would derail a good thing. Now he knew several people would suffer his hands now. And for what? A game that isn't even real? What a notion!

"Remember this. You made me." he thought. And now the most sacred of your offerings is just a shell of the dream, by YOUR HANDS. Fred accepted his fate. Have they? The cries of protest and the gnashing of teeth will only reenforce his position now.

The Church leaders would be furious of course, this was to be expected. It was the crossfire that was the point of interest. Look at them all backstab each other! Seamlessly knitting together as if it was planned. The whole point of going to that church and reliving some history was a simple plan. Bankers know it well.

Now that those people are eating each other up, Fred had a whole new paradigm. A new monkey wrench. A new way to think outside of the cube. Now for every equation an asterisk has been added.

Why is God spelled backwards "dog"? Because God is mans best friend? Or is it that man should be as obedient to God as a dog to man? Or maybe this was all just philosophy and dogma? Maybe God wasn't even real?

Makes you wonder.
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
By Fiona Apple:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRv4VQra2kc

I've been a bad, bad girl
I've been careless with a delicate man
And it's a sad, sad world
When a girl will break a boy just because she can

Don't you tell me to deny it
I've done wrong and I want to suffer for my sins
I've come to you 'cause I need guidance to be true
And I just don't know where I can begin

What I need is a good defense
'Cause I'm feeling like a criminal
And I need to be redeemed
To the one I've sinned against
Because he's all I ever knew of love

Heaven help me for the way I am
Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done
I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand
But I keep living this day like the next will never come

Oh help me but don't tell me to deny it
I've got to cleanse myself of all these lies 'till I'm good enough for him
I've got a lot to lose and I'm bettin' high so I'm begging you
Before it ends just tell me where to begin

What I need is a good defense
'Cause I'm feeling like a criminal
And I need to be redeemed
To the one I've sinned against
Because he's all I ever knew of love

Let me know the way
Before there's hell to pay
Give me room to lay the law and let me go
I've got to make a play
To make my lover stay
So what would an angel say the devil wants to know

What I need is a good defense
'Cause I'm feeling like a criminal
And I need to be redeemed
To the one I've sinned against
Because he's all I ever knew of love

What I need is a good defense
'Cause I'm feeling like a criminal
And I need to be redeemed
To the one I've sinned against
Because he's all I ever knew of love

Wet Dream

Feb. 19th, 2017 01:48 pm
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Angela had been singing. She had drawn a hot bath, lit some candles and some incense. Fred had been gone for a week and all she had heard from him came in the form of some hip-hop songs. The print-outs he had left behind must have been just more of that conspiracy theory garbage. She didn't believe it, or care for it. She had realized he was having a hard time adjusting since his accident. She figured he must have been doing something important to reclaim his memories.

She turned the bathroom light off, letting the soft yellow flickers of flame illuminate the room. She then dropped her robe and slid into the warm, steaming bath. She began to sing. She sang and sang. The warm water began to slowly change its vibrational state. For you see, the song she was singing was a secret song. It had been taught to her at a very young age and after awhile her singing subsided into a hum. Before she knew it, she was asleep and dreaming.

She was looking down. Her bare feet were dangling. She was sitting on a branch in a tree high above a sunny field of grass and daffodils. The sky was perfectly blue. A smile stretched across her face and she threw up her arms. A mild breeze blew through her hair. She let a delightful laugh slip out of her lips. Suddenly she began to fly.

Weightlessness is a funny thing. To feel gravity release from tired and weary bones was a thrill and thoroughly intoxicating. Angela flew up high and higher. At the peak of her ascent she looked towards the earth. She could see green swaths of grass, and yellow patches of flowers. From this height, the trees looked like tiny twigs and the forrest like brown carpet. She surveyed the land before looking to the vast blue sky again. It was too blue she thought. Suddenly wisps of white vapor began swirling about. The vapor began forming into clouds. With just the suggestion of thought, Angela could move and shape the puffy clouds as she wished. She played with this new found power for some time until finally willing the clouds to form a deep-set throne under her. Her head lifted, chin pointing high. She felt an overwhelming since of serenity.

In the distance, Angela noticed something swirling through the clouds. At first she thought it was just a fast moving wisp, except it had been weaving through the clouds. As she zoned in on the object she could finally identify it. It was a white, snake like dragon circling through the cumulus. As she noticed it, it started to sew its way towards her. The more it slid through the vapors, the more it reminded her of a snake in water. The dragon would disappear underneath a puff of white only to emerge closer to her. Before long the dragon was before her, curling into a coil, it cocked its head to meet her gaze. The dragon reminded her of an Oriental dragon or even "Falkor" from the movie "The Never Ending Story". The dragons mouth opened slightly revealing sharp, pearly teeth. The dragon spoke but no words came from its mouth.

"I have a very important communiqué for you dear." It's voice was mesmerizing. "I have been sent to you to relay the following message: Fredrick Mudi has fallen into despair. He was once an angel of light, now he stagnates in the muck of of his own subconscious. Darker than you can imagine, his mind is in danger of imploding. The forces of time and space have stretched his soul thin and he is one good defeat away from disintegration. He has come so far yet is still so far away. Nearly everything he has tried in this world has failed. Time and time again he has failed. He is unaware that every one of his defeats, failures and sorrows are a culmination of strict training.
If you were to imagine God as a blacksmith, then imagine your soul as a glowing, red hot piece of metal. Every failure you have experienced has seemed as if it was God himself striking you. Again and again the the hammer of Thor has struck you down. Many people are not aware that this is the only possible way to forge the souls of his chosen. Your soul is part of God's armory. And every hit from the smith's hammer is another fine tuning of his righteous blade. You are being forged.
Your lover Fredrick is also being forged in this way. You two have been chosen for this task. There are no others in this present dimension who could withstand this type of tempering. You both have suffered immensely. My message to you is that you are not alone. Fredrick is not alone. You have one another and above all you have the source. Forget not. You manifest the will of the creator for light or the dark. You will reap all that you have sown. Grow your garden with love, reason, justice and your harvest shall be more than plentiful. Fall into hate, deception or malice and your reward will be that of blight, desecration and decay. Love banishes all of these negative traits. Love heals most all wounds. Love is the only truth in this realm. Forget not. Now awaken child, he is coming back for you." Out of the blue, the dragon gradually faded into invisibility and Angela suddenly awoke.

The water was cold. The incense had fallen to ash. Her candles had burnt halfway down and she began to get goosebumps. Pulling the drain, she got out of the tub, dried her sleek body and tucked herself into her robe. Had she been dreaming? Something about flying she knew but the details had already slipped into oblivion. She began to wonder again what Fred had been up to? With a shrug of her shoulders, she turned her mind to happier thoughts and began to sing another song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGH19_KjWY0

"Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I got my red dress on tonight
Dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight
Got my hair up real big beauty queen style
High heels off, I'm feeling alive
Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above all sizzlin' like your stare
Honey I'm on fire I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh
I'm feelin' electric tonight
Cruising down the coast goin' 'bout 99
Got my bad baby by my heavenly side
I know if I go, I'll die happy tonight
Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above all sizzlin' like your stare
Honey I'm on fire I feel it everywhere
Nothing scares me anymore
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh
I think I'll miss you forever
Like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies
Late is better than never
Even if you're gone I'm gonna drive, drive
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That baby you're the best
I've got that summertime, summertime sadness
Summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness"

Songwriters: Elizabeth Grant / Rick Nowels
Performed by: Lana Del Rey
hextraterrestrial: Hextraterrestrial (Default)
Fred had been on a long stretch of road. He was someplace off of interstate 5, near Empire Mine in California. His phone had no reception in these hills and he was not a local; therefore he was lost. He had been listening to some talk radio program heading east. The radio host mentioned the upcoming radio program entitled "Transgressions of Atom". The host then mentioned that the show would be upcoming in five minutes before cutting to commercials. He turned the radio down. Fred glanced to the blue numbered clock on his dash. It was five forty five. He would have to wait fifteen minutes.

So much had been bouncing around his head. Primarily the missing memories in his brain. Secondly the serenity of peace that came with amnesia's ignorance and thirdly, that he may have just unintentionally birthed the one world religion. He began imagining dominos, like a chain reaction, falling one by one into place.

"The Christian folks would go wild."
"The archeologists would debunk."
"The geologists would deny."
"The Hebrews would make prophecy."
"The atheists would nervously reconsider."
"The Muslims would vouch."
"The smithsonian would plead the 5th."
"The Satanists would rejoice."

By the time Fred had recapitulated his list of the western worlds religions it was a minute to 16:00. He turned the radio up. He was expecting to hear one thing but heard another entirely. The radio programing coming on air was titled "The History of Rocky Road Ice Cream."

That wasn't right. He checked the dial on the radio. It was set to to proper channel and it was the proper time but where was that science program? What was it? Oh yeah, it was called "Transgressions of Atom". He wondered why the program had changed? Then it dawned on him. The night he had blacked out! His phone had been drained of all battery. Maybe the vehicles clock was wrong because of some type of power surge, or gap? He had to pull over. When he had stopped at the gas station previously, he had removed his jacket and tossed it in the back. He couldn't reach it while driving, so he pulled in at the upcoming reststop. Parking, he popped the back hatch and retrieved his coat. As he pulled the coat out, a book and his phone fell to the asphalt with a violent tumble. Fred cringed. "Not the phone!"

As he reached for the phone he thought, "If I was just feeling good and "flying high", dropping that phone felt like free falling thirty thousand feet!" He looked to the screen. With a smattering of relief, he saw that the phone had not cracked. He grabbed the book from the pavement, closed the hatch and was returning to the drivers seat when he paused... His phone said "17:02". Befuddled he slumped into his seat comparing the dash clock with his phone. "How in the..." He looked to the book in his hand. The title was "Heroes, Villains and Fools". The book was slightly open to page ninety three. Distracted, he began to read:

Importance of social typing
by Orrin E. Klapp 1962:

"People in public life feel typing as a powerful force. It is a key to their
failures and successes. Unfavorable typing can "dog" a celebrity through
out his career. In my opinion, it was unfavorable typing more than any
thing else that caused the defeat of Thomas E. Dewey as a Presidential
candidate in 1948. Richard Nixon, also, was impeded in his candidacy for
President in i960 by unfavorable typing. Both of these men have lived
lives as correct as one has a right to expect a politician's to be and
considerably more exemplary than those of many American favorites.
Favorable or unfavorable, an almost inevitable result of the typing
process is that a public personage has at least two selves. People build up
an image that satisfies them. Celebrities typically feel that they have a
public self that is different from what they feel themselves to be. Of
course, anyone may have this experience; but it is aggravated by the
intense and continuous force of popular typing as well as studio build
ups and public relations techniques which foster and create images.
Movie stars complain of restrictions on their private lives by the demands
of the public image. We notice, for example, that Kim Novak cries and
shows frustration from "the system" which manipulates her life; she is
rigorously supervised, told whom to date and whom not to date; her name
was changed from Marilyn to Kim (to avoid similarity to the public image
of Marilyn Monroe); she is one of the most recent versions of the screen
goddess—a human being who has been converted into a piece of valuable
property. Again, Marlene Dietrich, at fifty-five, projects an image of
glamor, with the help of make-up, massage, and dresses costing $12,000 —
the image of a "world weary woman"—but in real life a friend describes
her as "an old German shoe."
The mystery of why some celebrities are severely criticized and others
receive no blame for (are even helped by) the same kind of conduct is,
in my opinion, largely a matter of getting out of touch with one's public
self. As is well known, misbehavior does no great harm to some
entertainers (the dope-scandals of Gene Krupa and Robert Mitchum, the
alcoholism of John Barrymore). Others may be taken to task for minor
faults. A television singer, Eddie Fisher, lost his sponsorship after six
seasons on NBC because of a falling off of rating, due in good part to a
love triangle of comparatively innocent proportions as triangles go
breaking an idyllic marriage with Debbie Reynolds to marry glamorous
"Liz" Taylor. Countless stars have gotten by with worse; it is even expected
of some of them, but Eddie, somehow, got characterized as a
"sneak" in the minds of many Americans. It seems plain that were it not
for the type established by his "idyllic" first marriage and fatherhood
(belonging to that species of marriage illustrated in the popular mind by
Doug Fairbanks and Mary Pickford) and the ballyhoo of this theme by
television and magazines, fans would not have been so outraged by a
typical American readjustment. The key to the mystery, I say, is staying
in contact with the nature of the established type (through feedback in
the form of fan mail, and so on), and acting consistently with it in public.
The same standards are not applied to all—even in the same field or
profession. Consequently, when a person's career depends upon a public
image, a type-analysis is called for. He must know his type to know
what criticisms he is vulnerable to, and also what other types might be
alternatives (conversions) within the social type system, that could change
his character for better or worse."





https://issuu.com/holisticshop/docs/angel_numbers_101_by_doreen_virtue_

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