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