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A Farewell to Aergia

Posted by Unknown Kamis, 01 Oktober 2009 0 komentar

Not that she gives a shit, but I've been a devotee of the goddess of idleness, Aergia, for many years now. Was there ever a goddess more demanding? Kali perhaps, ha ha ha. Aergia of course is the un-Kali. The only death Aergia ever demanded was that of one's sense of duty (to any but herself, that is). The inscription over the door of her temple reads 'Abandon all ambition, Ye who enter here.' Not that that ever deterred those whose heads echoed with her siren song. Here lay a refuge from that world of care, stress, and anxiety.

Genocidal man-made pandemics? Contrived global economic collapse? World War and a fascistic one-world government? Ha! Nothing more than shifting transient patterns in the golden brown smoke of the temple incense. I lie back and with red-rimmed eyes observe the hypnotic sinuous shapes as they lead me down assorted trails, and all of them to somewhere balmy and untroubled.


Geez, is that enough of that? "Stop the metaphor, I want to get off!" Okay, I admit it - I'm actually talking about marijuana. God, the marvellous times I've had smoking grass and the brilliant people I've met - I wouldn't swap it for anything. But. For every reason I might offer as to why dope is good, the obvious falsity of the argument becomes ever clearer the longer one persists: all drugs obey the law of diminishing returns.

Biochemical inevitabilities are one thing and Les Visible is another, ha ha. I have no idea what percentage of the people who visit here read Les as well. There was a time when my entire readership (all ten of 'em, ha ha) was actually Les', lured sideways from his temporal blog, Smoking Mirrors (where I spent all my time hanging out). For those who don't read him, you should - he's a hell of a writer. However, somewhere along the line I found myself being more and more taken with his spiritual blog, Visible Origami. I don't know if this is a personal irony but it's at the origami blog that Les holds up a mirror in which my hypocrisies are cast in stark relief.


In the origami mirror I see a fellow extolling the virtues of selflessness in one breath, and... dragging on a scoob with the next, ha ha. Cue the descent into self-indulgence! Never mind me cleverly dispensing with everything in the Reckitt-Benckiser/Colgate-Palmolive aisle of the supermarket: for every dollar I didn't spend there, I'd spend two in the Cadbury's chocolate and Arnott's biscuit aisle. Pathetic.

I'll concede that that's not so very dreadful really - penny-ante stuff - but that's not the point. Les' words of advice over at Origami are not those of an allopathic doctor discussing a minor symptom in isolation. Les' ain't that guy. His view is holistic and addresses what ails us in the widest terms imaginable. And I'm so there!

Ha ha ha ha... fucking hypocrite! I'm not there at all, nor anywhere close.

Truth is, I'm a fucking mess - cigarettes, coffee, and grass rule my life. Without I shed these, I'm going nowhere. Whatever I want to achieve, or to become, all is subordinated to the fact that I have to have a cigarette every forty minutes or so. Subsequently, there's nothing for it but to bid them farewell and the one which must go first is also the easiest - marijuana. And what with Aergia being such a sexy goddess I thought the least she deserved was a big send-off. Frankly a quarter of an ounce of the sacrificial incense would have sufficed but as it turned out I ended up with an entire ounce of organic North Coast hippy buds. Ayah! I've encountered a few heroic dope smokers in my time and after this brook-no-resistance effort, I declare myself one of them, ha ha. (BTW - Did anyone suss me out? The six pieces preceding the last one were all written stoned. It was obvious if you think about it).

Me and the goddess aside, here we are, each of us on our own journey. And we know full well that this trip ain't going to be any kind of business-class as usual - no comfy seats, no free glass of champagne, no forty kilos of luggage. Never mind economy, in case you missed it, we never got on the plane! We remain the ant-like nobodies ten clicks below, doing the whole thing on foot. And down here, it's travel light or forget about it.


And me? I haven't even started, ha ha. Hell, I'm still ditching suitcases! God knows how many I've tossed so far. But I'm getting somewhere and I've only a few left to go. And then, whatever's coming, I'll be as prepared as I can be.

Not forgetting of course that this runs in both directions. There's us and where we wish to go, and there's the death cult with their own fucked up thoughts on the matter. In terms of the relationship between these two things, Les gets it, and the people in his comment section rudely demanding some kind of battle plan, don't. Anyone expecting some variety of Iwo Jima flag-raising over a pile of Savile Row clad corpses is going to be disappointed. Not forgetting the falsity of the original event anyway...


Hold that image of victory in your head if you want to, but you'll merely be that monkey who won't let go of the banana in the trap. T'ain't nothin' can be done for that monkey without he lets go. Okay, so time to let go.

Seeya Aergia, it was fun while it lasted mate.

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Walter Bowart, meet Carl Cameron

Posted by Unknown Rabu, 27 Mei 2009 0 komentar
A plunge down the memory hole! Penny sent me this book in pdf ages ago and I only just now got around to reading it (sorry Pen and thanks). I have to say that this book is, if you'll forgive the term, a complete mindfuck. So much so I want to urge it upon everyone.


But! It doesn't exist! The CIA bought the entire print run. It was even disappeared from public libraries. Admittedly it's on Amazon but only as second hand copies and those are going at a hundred bucks each. You read that right - US$100. Given this, and given the fact that the author died a couple of years ago, I see no problems with me making it available for download - 2.9MB pdf - off you go.

The book itself is written in a straightforward newspaper journalese. It's Dave McGowan albeit with a bigger bibliography and more footnotes. In many ways Operation Mind Control is a prequel to McGowan's Progammed To Kill. Ideally you'd read Bowart first and McGowan second. But really it's neither here nor there. Each book reveals the most astounding facts and there's very little direct overlap.

The main thought that kept running through my head as I read this book was that it was written in 1978. My naive wonderings in that know thyself piece were old hat well over thirty years ago. Bowart discusses the use of computers back when supercomputers had less grunt than a mobile phone now has. As for the book's discussion of tiny electronic implants in the skull for remote triggering, you don't need me to tell you how far we've come with that. Not forgetting that whatever we might know about RFID, we barely know the half of it, and even then the truth will be ten years ahead of that.

As then there's the drugs. Good God! LSD, as huge as that was, was just a small part of it. They tested everything - Bowart's book lists over 130 drugs. Since then I'd bet that there'd be that many again as families of drugs. And for every 'happy' drug like Prozac (even that's old hat now) there will be ten black opposites. The book makes clear that very little mind research takes place without spook involvement. And if this spook funded industry comes up with anything 'good', ie. useful for something other than the black arts, it's a complete fluke. The last thing they're interested in is improving the lot of mankind.

Bowart paints a picture of mind control taken to such a degree of perfection that it's staggering. Anyone could be made to do anything and have no memory of it at all. And that was thirty years ago. And here we are today, with endless discussions of 'how is this all possible', and yet Bowart had the answer in 1978. His book makes it clear that just about anyone, given several weeks of programming could be made to do pretty much anything - right up to killing their own mother. And after having done so, they would think nothing of it. And further, were they to be hooked up to a lie detector and asked if they knew anything about their mother's death they would pass with flying colours. Don't forget (and it's worth italicising twice) - that was over thirty years ago.

In 1978 a computer interface consisted of green glowing text in a UNIX shell. Now we have gorgeous photographic desktops with little animating icons, all of which are endlessly editable. I'll bet money that the fully operational mind control programme of that time, has now advanced to a similar level of sophistication. The 'tech' endlessly talked about by that fellow over in the Smoking Mirrors comments section seems perfectly feasible.

Once again, I'm forced to re-evaluate everything. Obama spent two years working for a CIA front company did he? Well that's all it takes. Pick a leader who makes no sense and plug him or her into this book and see if you don't view them in a whole new light. Sure enough, bring up 'mind control' in any discussion of current world events and you'll be viewed as a crackpot. But honestly, read this book and you'll know that there's no point discussing such things without mind control being considered as a distinct possibility.

---

The only point of contention for mine is who owns the mind control caper. Bowart, like McGowan with his paedophocracy, posits his 'cryptocracy' as a product of the CIA, the NSA, the US military and sundry US government acronyms, and all of this under the control of about 'twenty people'. We're left to assume that these twenty are all of the American ruling class. Me, I don't buy it - way back when, this might have been the case, but not anymore. The rule now seems to be that as the stakes rise higher, so does the likelihood of the US elite absurdly acting against their own interests. Honestly, we see it over and over.


Since we're in memory hole territory, why don't I put up another disappeared story - it's Carl Cameron's Fox News reports of Israeli spying, and specifically Amdocs and Comverse Infosys. It's in mov format and comes in four parts, each between 10 and 15MB.

Watch these and ask yourself - if the US spook elite is so powerful, how is it possible that they'd let two such crucial apparatuses of spook control end up in Israeli hands? If they really were such ne plus ultra powers, there is no way known that these insanely important telecommunication functions would be in any hands other than American ones. QED.

Besides, watch Cameron's reports and see how these all-powerful institutions flail about, unable to do anything about Israeli spying. Not forgetting that the FBI's biggest case for decades, the AIPAC spy trial, just folded with only a single guy going to jail, and he was American. Honestly, for the old school American elite this was nothing other than an ignominious, shit-spattered defeat - an unambiguous, in-your-face demonstration of who's in charge.

Let's not forget that the CIA, founded as an umbrella organisation to whom every other intelligence agency would report, is now itself underneath the Department of Homeland Security run by an Israeli citizen. (Hmm... it seems we have unstoppable programmed killers and yet Michael Chertoff remains unwhacked. More QED for the question of 'whose cryptocracy is this?')

Let's finish with a quote from Operation Mind Control about Dr. George Estabrooks, who in the early forties theorised about what the fiendish Japanese might do with a single hypnotist -
It would be possible, he said, for "the enemy" to plant a foreign agent as a doctor in a hospital or his own office. This "doctor" could, by means of fake physical examinations, place thousands of people under his power over a period of time. Estabrooks projected how, by hypnotizing key officers and programming them to follow suggestions, this "masked maneuver" could enable a lowly first lieutenant to take over the reins of the entire U.S. Army.
Ha ha ha, such fatuous nonsense. I have a much better idea. Why not let the intelligence agencies spend all their time and money conducting experiments and torture etc. and then if what results is a thing worth having, just take the reins when it's done? Cue the maniacal laughter! Ha ha ha ha! Bloody evil genius, me! Oh wait, it's seems someone already thought of it. Damn.

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Holding on to 'know thyself'

Posted by Unknown Minggu, 22 Maret 2009 0 komentar
It's embarrassing I know, but I have never taken a trip. Of the psychotropic variety, that is. Everyone I know has done so, but somehow I missed out. I have no great philosophical objection to it all. Quite the opposite - so many people have told me that I really must do it that I've put the word out that if anyone comes across a goldtop mushie, pop it in some honey and give me a hoy. One day...

And yes, thank you, no need for anyone to pile in and tell me of the wickedness of this. I get it. A cousin of mine went out on a Friday night once and disappeared for three days. Finally he turned up in a casualty ward, naked, cut to pieces, and barking like a dog. No one knows quite what happened to him but it's assumed he took a trip. A bad one, obviously. Sure enough, he got better but he's now on a daily regimen of anti-schizophrenic drugs and will be for the rest of his life. That LSD (an industrial strength chemical concoction) is bad, in no way condemns the natural hallucinogens which ancient peoples have been taking under the guidance of elders for millennia. Natural v chemical. Tradition v the latest thing. Wisdom v no idea.


These dichotomies aside, if only my cousin had had someone like the father of a Swedish friend of mine. His father was an original hippy and had been there and done that, and he told his son that no one should take a trip until they're at least forty. It was his opinion that any earlier than this was dangerous, what with a young mind not quite having settled down into a solid variety of 'this-is-who-I-am', if you can dig it. For this original hippy, even thirty was too young.

I expect those of you reading, and who are in their forties, will get the concept. Me, I'm so glad I'm in my forties. Sure I miss the thoughtless physical health of my youth - the endless energy, the instant healing, the indestructibility, etc. But between that and me having a handle on who I am, I'll take the latter. And when I heard the Swedish hippy's advice it struck a chord. I got it. Had I heard it when I was thirty, say, I suspect I would have been too nebulous a concept for me. I may or may not have followed the advice depending on whether someone else said something different. "Nah! That's bullshit!" - "Um is it? Okay."

Being young is about not knowing what to think. As it was, my friend's Dad's advice was no do-or-die for me, what with already being past forty, and never having taken a trip anyway. But all that aside, the kernel within that advice is a thing worth rolling around in one's head and wondering at.

---

Along these lines, let's jump - to the word 'break', as in break, broke, broken. This can mean various things. In the context of 'The photocopier is broken', it could mean something as simple as a fuse being blown. No biggie, let's just call the repairman. But for that part of human existence that preceded photocopiers (and other diabolical machines), when a thing was broken it was necessarily in pieces. Think clay pots. You break a thing, and it becomes useless.

Funnily enough, with humans it's the other way around. You break them and suddenly they become really very useful. Perhaps the most useful thing there is. What sort of 'broken' is this? Think horses. A human can be broken just like a horse can be broken, same same. Which is to say, we break their will. (Now there's a word for you. What is one's 'will' in this sense? Hmm... 'the faculty by which a person decides on and initiates action'. Not bad. But might we not call this 'knowing who one is'?)


When we break a horse, we break its will and it is no longer what it was. It is no longer its own master but instead is subject to us. What we broke was its definition of itself. And so it is with a human who is broken. A broken man, whether by someone else's hand, or mere circumstance (ie. 'After his son died he was a broken man'), loses his spark, his impetus, his definition of himself. And when one man breaks another it is invariably so he might subject that man to his own will. The man is redefined - servant to the fellow who broke him.

It's not just this being broken that humans and horses have in common. Were they to be released from their fealty each could recover their sense of themselves. A horse that escapes it's corral will turn wild again, which is to say rediscover itself as a horse. 'I am a horse! I run about! I root mares! I do whatever the fuck I like!' (Um, apologies for this being very 'male'. Certainly I could make it all non-sexist but the clunky syntax required would make it flow like a bucket of wet sand. Between flow, and catering to the rigidities of non-sexism, I choose the former. Words are one thing, and deeds are another. Oh wait, have I broken the flow here? D'oh!)

Where was I? Oh yes, breaking a man. It strikes me that this has been a constant throughout history - men breaking men in order to subject them to their will. Hmm... there's an book angle for you. "Men as Beasts - The History of Breaking the Human Will". Howard Zinn eat your heart out.

Anyway thank God we've left all that behind - master/servant - all that rubbish. Now we have freedom. Ha ha ha ha - as if! The motherfuckers of this world (psychopaths, whatever) have never quit. In much the same way that horses have been replaced by horsepower, breaking a man's will has likewise scientifically progressed to hitherto unimaginable heights. Which is to say, 'depths'.

For black-hearted secret organisations like the CIA et al, keen to have the world subject to their will, this ability to truly break a man, to make him act against his most deeply held principles, constitutes a variety of holy grail - Mind Control. If one could control a fellow's mind, who needs super powers? Bugger kryptonite - between being able to weaken Superman, and turning him into your biddable asset, it's a no-brainer. Or to put it another way - why would you shoot a horse when you could ride it instead?

---

And then there's MPD/DID. The acronym stands for Multiple Personality Disorder/Dissociative Identity Disorder - the former is the old term and the latter the new one apparently. This is that old chestnut of fiction wherein two or more personae ('alters') exist within one mind. Think Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, albeit with Hyde as an alter appearing merely by having his name called. In searching for a non-cinema metaphor, MPD/DID is to the breaking of the human will, what the Reserve Bank system is to your local loanshark.

And in much the same way that Reserve Banking's private ownership doesn't exist in the media, MPD/DID is similarly misrepresented as the fantastical stuff of fiction, not to be taken seriously. However, having read the account of witness X1 (amongst myriad others) from the Dutroux scandal, I now have MPD/DID down as non-fiction. Besides this, if you plug it into Dave McGowan's Programmed To Kill, and the battle between Recovered Memory Syndrome and the CIA's False Memory Syndrome, a 'what-the-fuck-is-going-on-here' picture starts to sharpen into something possessed of shape, colour, and form.

It seems we're permitted to know about MKultra and its assorted drug and hypnotism experiments. But perhaps this was merely a side-show to the true three ring circus of Operation Monarch. According to Ron Patton this involved Josef Mengele. We all roll our eyes - bloody Josef Mengele! More Boys From Brazil fiction! Yeah, maybe, maybe not.


Given that American practitioners of the black arts wholeheartedly embraced the personnel of Japan's Unit 731 (and their experiments in biological warfare), the default position would have to be 'why wouldn't they?'. That the Germans pursued Mind Kontrolle like the Americans pursued mind control is beyond plausible. That they did this in concentration camps with the prisoners as experimental subjects, likewise. It's precisely what the Japanese did with 731. And Mengele? Why not? Every other goddamn thing about the Holocaust has been misrepresented, why not him too? It's perfectly possible that the various stories of him in Brazil were complete fiction. The Boys From Brazil certainly was.

What if we were to call MKultra a search for a drug induced shortcut to MPD/DID? And it seems the shortcut, by way of LSD, failed. LSD, in breaking the link between reality and fantasy, seems only to produce less than useful casualties like my cousin. No problems, if LSD doesn't provide the answer, move on. And since it's not addictive and thus unlikely to produce the staggering profits of smack, coke, and meth, then it isn't really worth pursuing. If there's any proof to be found in one's own microcosm, I have encountered all three of above and yet never bumped into LSD. The experiment is over and it no longer suits the motherfuckers to have it out there.

So they chucked in MKultra. But there's no way they chucked in the search for mind control. For motherfuckers, this holy grail will never lose its appeal. Best to stick with the tried and true - smashing the psyche of the young. Certainly that one can take a child, brutalise them, and turn them into killers is old hat. Evidence of it is everywhere, from Sparta of yore, to China's Cultural Revolution, right through to the Congo of today.


But we are white men. As if we couldn't come up with something better than Africa's blank-eyed child killers. Even Henry Lee Lucas and his grand guignol slaughterfests, whilst serving a definite purpose, leave a lot to be desired. Really, MPD/DID is the go. To be able to take a mind and fracture it into discrete entities each capable of different things answers the brief pretty well. And yeah yeah, suffering beyond comprehension, a mind smashed to pieces, with only a shell remaining - like motherfuckers give a shit.

And so we arrive at X1, and all those like her. She survived and with help is attempting to reconstruct herself. You'd have to wish her luck in her endeavours to find peace of mind. There but for the grace of God etc. etc. But I suspect she's in a minority of those MPD/DID victims who escaped their snuff film fate. Who knows how many went on to inflict their own misery upon others?

---

Did anyone read Ursula LeGuin's Earthsea Trilogy? The magic of Earthsea pivoted on everything having a secret name. This name was always guarded since possession of this knowledge gave one power over whomever it was. When I read this book, way back when, I greeted this concept with a shrug. Nice idea, but as best I could tell it seemed to have no great connection to anything. Not anymore. Now I really wonder at it. It's a precise description of the mechanism by which an MPD/DID slave is controlled. Curious. Never mind a shrug, now I shake my head. Did Ursula LeGuin just fluke this?

---

In amongst this sordid trip through MPD/DID, the thought occurred to me (since I'm that sort of fellow) 'What if it was me being subjected to this?'. Would I cope? Or succumb? If someone wanted to split my mind, would they succeed? Could I hold on to my will, my sense of myself?

In turning this thought around, the phrase 'know thyself' popped into my head. It's an oldie but a goodie that I'd never taken beyond face value. Like LeGuin's secret names, I'd merely shrugged - know thyself - um, okay, sure, why not? But under the light of MPD/DID, 'know thyself' now seems fraught with meaning. Madly, I wonder if it might not originally have been a warning from an ancient sage familiar with some antediluvian version of mind control. Hmm... an unlikely prospect. And besides, surely the MPD/DID variety of smashing-of-the-will must necessarily be restricted to a tiny number of people. Statistically individuals like X1 couldn't comprise more than a tiny fraction of one percent of the population.

Not so fast! Perhaps this isn't an either/or proposition? Perhaps it's another continuum? What if people like X1 were merely the furthest extreme on a bell curve? (So extreme, that in much the same way that statisticians reject such extreme anomalies under the 2.3 standard deviations rule, we too do likewise and reject it as a subject too far. We really just don't want to go there). Back to this continuum now, isn't our sense of know-thyself under a daily assault? In fact, couldn't we describe everything we're on about here - from Adbusters' simple sense of dislocation, through to the Protocols plans of destruction for everything 'not them' - as an assault on our ability to know-thyself? What is the media (Hollywood, games, advertising - all the same thing) apart from a machine that does precisely this? Isn't it our sense of know-thyself suffering death by a thousand cuts?

And then there's who the media is aimed at. It ain't me, that's for sure. One doesn't have to spend very long immersed in the media before realising it's almost entirely directed at the young. As with MPD/DID, when assaulting know-thyself it pays to start young. Otherwise, not so long ago there was no such thing as 'youth culture'. A single generation ago people would have understood each of these words separately but to connect them would have had them scratching their heads. Ha! Now that I think about it, 'youth culture' is a perfect oxymoron. With culture being a thing that develops slowly over countless generations, how could 'youth' and 'culture' possibly be put together in any sensible fashion? Honestly?


Regardless, the media relentlessly beats young people about the head with perverse ideas of who they should imagine themselves to be. A lot of it is connected with turning them into hell-bent consumers, sure enough. So what's up with the media's relentless sexualisation? What does this have to do with consumerism? Whether eight year olds are wearing g-strings or granny pants, the money would flow regardless. So what are our kids being made into? And why?

And whilst this is a long way from what was done to X1, it's still the same road with everyone being shepherded towards the same destination, with know-thyself receding ever further into the distance.

Between our venerable Swedish hippy urging his son to wait until he's forty, and the CIA handing out vast quantities of LSD; between parents hoping for a 'normal' family and the media's mad deification and sexualisation of children; and between peace, love, and understanding, and the endless inculcation of us-and-them with death to towelheads - could we not define all of these as a struggle to hold on to know-thyself?

Am I the only person to ask some variation of the question, 'Is this my country?', or better still, "Who are we?'. I don't think so.

Whilst it's early days for yours truly with this line of thought (with much work to be done), could we describe Siddhartha Gautama's ascension to Buddha-dom as him arriving at a complete state of know-thyself? For mine, it's inescapable that the ultimate truth of know-thyself is that we are one with the universe. The black opposite of this, desired by those who would break us/break our will, is that we each become our own universe. Thus we become individual, self-obsessed molecules bouncing off each other in a state of complete chaos. We lack all coherency - in both meanings of the word. It's a smashing of our 'one-ness'. Whether this one-ness is within our own heads, à la X1, or collectively, as in our sense of community, I'll posit that it's all the same thing.

I have no idea if that Swedish hippy dad quite knew what he was doing when he passed on his advice to his son. And never mind the specificity of it as being about psychotropic drugs. That's a useful thing to know, sure. But above that, his words and the wisdom that underlies them are pure gold, perhaps the only thing worth knowing. Thyself. Within this lies everything. If one could pass on one single thing to one's child, says I, this is it.

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How to go directly to jail

Posted by Unknown Kamis, 11 September 2008 0 komentar
Just yesterday a friend of mine was arrested for possession of marijuana - one ounce. Fingers crossed she gets off lightly. In the meantime my head was filled with mad, windmill-tilting thoughts. Perhaps this is best viewed as comedy, or if you'd rather, as proof that smoking marijuana renders one imbecilic.


Your Worship,

May I have a few minutes of the court's time to express an acknowledgement of my crime? Yes? I thank the court. Because it is clear that I have failed. That the police have spent time and money bringing me here, and that the court has devoted its own very valuable time to my case, is proof of this.

My prime failure is my inability to reconcile two understandings. The first is an historical one, to wit, America's prohibition of alcohol in the thirties. This famously failed on account its criminalising of otherwise law-abiding citizens and its enrichment of true criminals, who in turn, unsurprisingly, used this wealth to corrupt those ordered with enforcing the law. Not forgetting the debasement of the law in the eyes of those citizens newly deemed criminal. And all of this to no useful effect.

And the second understanding is that the prohibition of marijuana seems barely to differ from this.

Any decent citizen would be able to hold both of these thoughts in their head simultaneously and think nothing of it. That I am unable to do so reflects poorly on me and renders me as (how shall I put it?) 'the wrong sort of fellow'.

I do not wish to lay blame on others for my failure. It is not the fault of my education, nor of my parents, nor of society. The fault lays entirely with me. Numerous people, including the police, have, in a spirit of helpfulness, attempted to correct me in this matter. But perversely I have refused to concede to the rightness of their thinking - the rightness of holding two contradictory thoughts at once.

Clearly this renders me at odds with decent society. I appreciate that were everyone in society as wilful as me, things would quickly degenerate. In this mad dystopia I would have us live in, the law under which I am charged would be done away with, and criminals like me would be able to openly walk the streets, wander into a liquor store and purchase two joints of a Friday evening. Dreadful - that I, a criminal, should be rendered law-abiding, that the criminals who profit from marijuana should lose their income (indeed that the government would derive tax from these sales), and that everything taking place here today should be made unnecessary, is a mad thought from which all here rightly recoil.

Except for me, Your Worship. In this I fail. Further, that I should choose not to be fearful of the repercussions of holding to such views is condemnable. May I say, that the police have done the right thing and attempted to impress upon me where such thinking leads to. As one constable said to me (if the court will forgive me for quoting directly) - 'You fucking smart-arse cunt, see how fucking clever you are when you're in Boggo Road copping it up the arse!' I thank the police for this lesson in fear and apologise for my obtuseness in learning it.

As I apologise to the court also. That the court should have it's time wasted by jumped-up nobodies like me who imagine that they should determine the rightness of a thing by means beyond those prescribed by statute, is criminal in and of itself. That I obey all other laws, and concede their rightness, and otherwise qualify as a law-abiding citizen (and have done so for my entire life), is no excuse. Indeed, I have no excuse, Your Worship. I have failed and I admit it. I ask nothing for myself and submit to the court's better judgement.

Your worship, I thank the court for its time.


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Me and You and Us

Posted by Unknown Minggu, 03 Februari 2008 0 komentar


Me

I'm a complete idiot. I usedn't to be. I used to be a model citizen. I was a cog in the advertising machine. I had an apartment, a motorcycle, a regular life. I had internet banking, credit cards, driver's license, insurance, power, gas and phone bills. I paid tax. But I never seemed to have any money for some reason. My apartment was not flash and my clothes were cheap. God knows where the money went. All of the above seemed to eat it.

I grew to hate it all. My work was bullshit - deadlines, stress, arguments, finger-pointing - all so that we might better convince teenagers to pester their parents to buy them more worthless shit. And God knows how many people excitedly asked about my job because their teenage kid wanted to do what I did, ha ha ha. Cringe! So hateful was it all, that I would go home and get stoned every night. But there's no future in being stoned. The Buddha was right about clouding the mind.

Outside of me, there was the world, or at least what I understood of it courtesy of Time magazine. I started reading it when I was ten if you can believe that. And it rendered me cleverly stupid for decades. Until the Iraq war whereupon I found myself driven to the net. I felt I had to do this what with Iraq making no sense at all, not even to a Time reader. There I realised that the utter disparity between the MSM and the net was impossible. If the war was such utter bullshit, what else was up for grabs? Ha! Everything! It was all bullshit. Everything I knew, was bullshit - the past, the present, the future. I had been deceived. I'm still pissed off about it.

But never mind. And yet as it was I simply couldn't continue. What to do? My genius plan was to gather all my friends, cash in our assets (I had the least of course) and buy a place in the country (for cash, natch) and make a commune and grow food. This was to be no leisurely walk, it was a sprint, said I. What an idiot. My friends had jobs, mortgages, kids in school - all the ties that bind. None of them liked their jobs but that was beside the point. And crucially they weren't on the net (not beyond msm.com anyway) and didn't believe anything I was saying. The net's 99% shit, said they. It is if you don't seek, said I uselessly. Really, what was I thinking of? It was a fool's errand. There was to be no collective. It was just me.

And sure, myriad things happened in between then and now. Whatever. I arrived at a singular place. I now no longer officially exist. No bank, no tax, no name on anything. It's do-able, but barely. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. But I am free and I have nothing to lose. There's a lot to be said for it. Ask any bum.


You

And what? Do I really think I have something to say worth listening to? Ha ha ha. Yeah, why not? Everyone, do what I've done! I recommend it! Render yourself penniless. Live on fresh air. Be a disappointment to everyone you know. At this time, in this society, only an idiot would do such a thing.

But that was now - this is then. And 'then' is what's coming. And something is coming. Who knows what precisely. Or when. Let's just say that it will look nothing like now. Everything we understand will be blown to the weeds. We'll look at each with other with appalled, dismayed faces. We'll watch it on the TV. Not on the net. It will be gone of course. It cannot be allowed to live. In fact this confessional tone is on account of us maybe not having much time left. Better to get last words in early, than too late. I could be wrong about the timing. My record is pretty good, except for the timing. And timing alone will make a fool of a man. In the age of instant gratification, a prediction that doesn't come true straight away is obviously bullshit.

To hell with timing. I just wonder if the things that empower us might not enslave us. Did somebody say power? It's an interesting word. Consider its two senses here - They who have the power have the power. It's obvious really. And you? You don't have power - the corporations do. And they sell it to you. Or not. Enron showed us how power works. That's why the government is uninterested in spending money on providing each home with solar energy. Power may not be so dissipated. The money will be spent to ensure power is concentrated in the hands of a few. That's why Australia, the sunburnt country, is absurdly talking about nuclear energy. Think this through - give equal time to the concept of who ends up with the power.

And money? No one needs money. In and of itself, it's useless. It's merely a contrivance to create a buffer between you and your real needs - food and shelter. The monopoly that controls money controls your relationship with food and shelter. If you control your own food and shelter (and power, sure) you are free of the control of others. Easier said than done, ha ha. That's the whole idea. On your own it's nearly impossible. The ties that bind are there to ensure it doesn't happen. A collective response is the only answer. Anyone who wants to hang on to the mad dream of individuality will be doomed. It will not be possible without surrendering oneself to the power of others. It suits them to have you 'stand' divided. It can't be done. Those divided, fall. Those united, stand. You know this is true.

What then does this fool have to say to you? Be mindful. Wonder at the nature of the things you 'need'. Do they free you or shackle you? Can you escape? How? Cast off fear. It is the opposite of thought. It not only stops you coming up with answers, it stops you coming up with questions. Your fear suits those who would control you. Let go of the self. It is the source of fear. People obsessed with themselves doom others. And ultimately themselves as well. Uniting with others will dissipate your fear and make you stronger.



Us

Forget 'me'. Forget 'you'. There's no future in it. Only 'we' can prevail. United we stand, divided we fall.

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