Sky Being: Buy!
Balloon Hand: Buy!
Glowing Orb: Buy these irreplaceable Faux-Cornish Armchair Buckles! Yes?
Worm: Eh! Ah! Eh! Wawawawawawawawawa… x10³⁸
Sky Being: Buy!
Balloon Hand: Buy!
Glowing Orb: Buy these irreplaceable Faux-Cornish Armchair Buckles! Yes?
Worm: Eh! Ah! Eh! Wawawawawawawawawa… x10³⁸
by Robert Anton Wilson
Wilson describes himself as a “guerilla ontologist,” signifying his intent to ATTACK language and knowledge the way terrorists ATTACK their targets: to jump out from the shadows for an unprovoked ATTACK, then slink back and hide behind a hearty belly-laugh.
— Robert Sheaffer, The Skeptical Inquirer, Summer 1990
I had given a talk to the Irish Science-Fiction Society and the question period began.
“Do you believe in UFOs?” somebody asked.
“Yes, of course,” I answered.
The questioner, who looked quite young, then burst into a long speech, “proving” at least to his own satisfaction that all UFOs “really are” sun-dogs or heat inversions. When he finally ran down I simply replied,
“Well, we both agree that UFOs exist. Our only difference is that you think you know what they are and I’m still puzzled.”
An elderly gentleman with blonde-white hair and a florid complexion cried out in great enthusiasm, “By God, sir, you’re right. I myself am still puzzled about everything!”
And thus I met Timothy F.X. Finnegan, Dean of the Royal Sir Myles na gCopaleen Astro-Anomalistic Society, Dalkey, sometime lecturer at Trinity College, Dublin, and founder of the Committee for Surrealist Investigation of Claims of the Normal.
In fact, Prof. Finnegan signed me up as a member of CSICON that very night, in the Plough and Stars pub over our ninth or tenth pint of Ireland’s most glorious product, linn dubh, known as Guiness to the ungodly.
Now I hear that Prof. Finnegan has died, or at least they took the liberty of burying him, and I feel that the world has lost a great man.
The Commitee for Surrealist Investigation of Claims of the Normal (CSICON), however, lives on and deserves more attention than it has received hitherto. Prof. Finnegan always asserted that the idea for CSICON derived from a remark passed by an old Dalkey character named Sean Murphy, in the Goat and Compasses pub shortly before closing time on 23 July 1973.
Actually, it started with two old codgers named O’Brian and Nolan discussing the weather. “Terrible rain and wind for this time of year,” O’Brian ventured.
“Ah, faith,” Nolan replied, “I do not believe it is this time of year at all, at all.”
At this, Murphy spoke up. “Ah, Jaysus,” he said, “I’ve never seen a boogerin’ normal day.” He paused to set down his pint, then added thoughtfully, “And I never met a fookin’ average man neither”
(About Sean Murphy nothing else appears in the record except a remark gleaned by Prof. LaPuta from one Nora Dolan, a housewife of the vicinity: “Sure, that Murphy lad never did any hard work except for getting up off the floor and navigating himself back onto the bar-stool, after he fell off, and he only did that twice a night.”)
But Murphy’s simple words lit a fire in the subtle and intricate brain of Timothy F.X. Finnegan, who had just finished his own fourteenth pint (de Selby says his fifteenth pint). The next day the aging Finnegan wrote the first two-page outline of the new science he called patapsychology, a term coined in salute to Alfred Jarry’s invention of pataphysics.
Finnegan’s paper began with the electrifying sentence, “The average Canadian has one testicle, just like Adolph Hitler — or, more precisely, the average Canadian has 0.96 testicles, an even sadder plight than Hitler’s, if the average Anything actually existed.” He then went on to demonstrate that the normal or average human lives in substandard housing in Asia, has 1.04 vaginas, cannot read or write, suffers from malnutrition and never heard of Silken Thomas Fitzgerald or Brian Boru. “The normal,” he concluded “consists of a null set which nobody and nothing really fits.”
Thus began the science of Patapsychology, Prof. Finnegan’s most enduring, and endearing, contribution to the world — aside from the computer-enhanced photos of the Face on Mars with which he endeavored to prove that the Face depicted Moishe Horwitz, his lifelong mentor and idol. This, of course, remains highly controversial, especially among disciples of Richard Hoagland, who believe the Face looks more like the Sphinx, those who insist it looks like Elvis to them, and the dullards who only see it as a bunch of rocks.
Nobody should confuse Patapsychology with parapsychology, although this precise misunderstanding evidently inspired the long and venomous diatribes against Finnegan by Prof. Sheissenhosen of Heidelberg. (We need not credit the allegations of Herr Doktor Hamburger that Sheissenhosen also dispatched the three separate letter-bombs sent to Finnegan in 1982, ‘83 and ‘87. Even in the most heated academic debate some limits of decorem should remain, one would hope.)
Sheissenhosen evidently believed that “parapsychology” represented an unprovoked attack on his language and thought, and that Finnegan often leaped from shadows; he even suspected the Dalkey sage of slinking and of hiding behind a belly laugh, although the latter seems physiologically impossible. (I tried it once and found it made me more visible, not less.) In fact, Sheissenhosen never did correct his original error of misreading patapsycholgy as parapsychology. You will find more about the Sheissenhosen-Finnegan-LaPuta-Hamburger controversy in deSelby’s Finnegan: Enigma of the Occident, Tourneur’s Finnegan: Homme ou Dieu? and/or Sheissenhosen’s own Finneganismus und Dummheit (6 volumes).
Patapsychology begins from Murphy’s Law, as Finnegan called the First Axiom, adopted from Sean Murphy. This says,and I quote,“The normal does not exist. The average does not exist. We know only a very large but probably finite phalanx of discrete space-time events encountered and endured.” In less technical language, the Board of the College of Patapsychology offers one million Irish punds [around $700,000 American] to any “normalist” who can exhibit “a normal sunset, an average Beethoven sonata, an ordinary Playmate of the Month, or any thing or event in space-time that qualifies as normal, average or ordinary.”
In a world where no two fingerprints appear identical, and no two brains appear identical, and an electron does not even seem identical to itself from one nanosecond to another, patapsychology seems on safe ground here.
No normalist has yet produced even a totally normal dog, an average cat, or even an ordinary chickadee. Attempts to find an average Bird of Paradise, an ordinary haiku or even a normal cardiologist have floundered pathetically. The normal, the average, the ordinary, even the typical, exist only in statistics, i.e. the human mathematical mindscape. They never appear in external space-time, which consists only and always of nonnormal events in nonnormal series.
Thus, unless you’re an illiterate and malnourished Asian with exactly 1.04 vaginas and 0.96 testicles, living in substandard housing, you do not qualify as normal but as abnormal, subnormal, supernormal, paranormal or some variety of nonnormal.
The canny will detect here the usual Celtic impulse to make hash out of everything that seems obvious and incontrovertable to Saxons, grocers and other Fundamentalist Materialists. Patapsychology follows in the great tradition of Swift, who once proved with a horoscope that an astrologer named Partridge had died, even though Partridge continued to deny this in print; Bishop Berkeley, who proved that the universe doesn’t exist but God has a persistent delusion that it does; William Rowan Hamilton, who invented the noncommutative algebra in which p times q does not equal q times p; Wilde, who asked if the academic commentators on Hamlet had really gone mad or only pretended to have gone mad; John S. Bell, who proved mathematically that if any universe corresponds to the equations of quantum mathematics that universe must have nonlocal correlations similar to Jungian synchronicities; etc.
In the patapsychological model, the normal having vanished, most generalizations, especially about nonmathematical groups, disappear along with it. The monorchoid Mr. Hitler, for instance, could not generalize about “the Jews” within the patapsychological model, because first he would have to find a normal or average Jew, which appears as intracible to demonstration as exhibitting the Ideal Platonic Jew (or the Ideal Platonic Chicken Farm complete with Ideal Platonic Chickenshit.)
As Korzybski the semanticist said, all we can ever find in space-time consists of Jew1, Jew2, Jew3 etc. to Jewn. (For the nonmathematical, that means a list comprising Abraham, Sarah, Moses, Ruth, Jesus, Woody Allen, Richard Bandler, Felix Mendelsohn, Sigmund Freud, Paulette Goddard, Betty Grable, Noam Chomsky, Bernard Baruch, Paul Newman, the Virgin Mary, Albert Einstein, Lillian Hellman, Baron Rothschild, Ayn Rand, Max Epstein, Emma Goldman, Saul Bellow, etc. etc. etc. to the final enumeration of all Jews alive or dead.) Each of these, on inspection, will have different fingerprints, different brains, different neuro-immunological systems, different eyes, ears, noses etc. different life histories, different conditioning and learning etc. and different personalities, hobbies, passions etc… and none will serve as a norm or Ideal Form for all the others.
To say it otherwise, world Jewish population stood at about 10 million when Hitler formed his generalizations. He could not possibly have known more than at maximum about 500 of them well enough to generalize about them; considering his early prejudices, he probably knew a lot less than that. But taking 500 as a high estimate, we find he generalized about 10 million individual persons on the basis of knowledge limited to around 1/20,000 or 0.00005% of them.
It seems, then, that Naziism could not have existed, if Hitler knew the difference between norms or averages (internal estimates, subject to error due to incomplete research or personal prejudice) and the phalanx of discrete nonnormal events and things (including persons) that we find in the sensory space-time continuum outside.
Similarly, the male human population currently stands at 3 billion 3 million 129 thousand, more or less (3,004,129,976, the last time I checked the World Game Website a while ago). Of these 3 billion+ discrete individuals, Robin Morgan, Andrea Dworkin and other Radical Feminists probably have not known more than about 500 to generalize from. This means that Rad Fem dogma consists of propositions about 3 billion critters based on examination of less than 0.00000001 per cent of them. This ammounts to a much more reckless use of generalization than Hitler’s thoughts on Judaism. You can no more find the male norm from Gandhi, Gen George Custer, Buddha, Bill Clinton, Louis Pasteur, Kung fu tzu, Bruno, Father Damien, Ted Bundy etc. than you can find the Jewish norm from Emma Goldman, Harpo Marx, Felix Mendelsohn, Spinoza, Barbra Streisand, Nathaniel Branden, Emma Lazarus, Jerry Seinfeld etc.
Now you know how the word “feminazi” got into the language. The two ideologies have a strong isomorphism. They both confuse the theoretical norm with a vast array of different individuals — and they both have no idea how to create even a tolerably scientific norm (which will still differ in many respects from the actual series of individuals the norm allegedly covers).
CSICON applies the same Deconstructive logic all across the board.
For instance, to return to our starting point, whatever your idea of the “normal” UFO — whether you consider it a spaceship, a secret US government weapon, a hoax, or a hallucination etc. — such a general idea will render you incapable of forming a truly objective view of the next UFO that comes along. The only way to cancel such pre-judgement lies in patapsychology (and in general semantics). You must remember the difference between the individual and unpredictible event that gets called a UFO and your past generalizations about “the UFO” or the “normal” UFO.”
Otherwise you will only note how this UFO fits your Ideal UFO and will unconciously ignore how it differs therefrom. This mechanical reflex will please your ego, if you like to feel you know more than most people, but it will prove hazardous to your ability to observe and think carefully.
People who think they know all about Jews or males or UFOs never see a real Jew or male or UFO. They see the generalized norm that exists only in their own brains. We never know “all” — we only know what I call sombunall, some-but-not-all. This applies also to dogs (the patapsychologist will not say “I love them,” “I hate them,” “I fear them” etc.), and to plumbers, bosses, right-wingers, left-wingers, cats, lizards, sitcoms, houses, nails, Senators, waterfalls and all other miscellaneous sets or groups.
Personally, I see two or three UFOs every week. This does not astonish me, or convince me of the spaceship theory, because I also see about 2 or 3 UNFOs every week — Unidentified Non-Flying Objects. These remain unidentified (by me) because they go by too fast or look so weird that I never know whether to classify them as hedgehogs, hobgoblins or helicopters — or as stars or satellites or spaceships — or as pookahs or pizza-trucks or probability waves. Of course, I also see things that I feel fairly safe in identifying as hedgehogs or stars or pizza trucks, but the world contains more and more events that I cannot identify fully and dogmatically with any norm or generalization. I live in a spectrum of probabilities, uncertainties and wonderments.
Perhaps I got this way by studying Finnegan’s work. Or maybe I just drank too much linn dubh during my years in Ireland.
O rare, Tim Finnegan!
I have been practicing wording my instructions in order to get the AI to deliver what I have in mind. It’s an interesting exercise in communication. I feel we are getting along nicely.
Liminality is the middle phase of a right of passage, when the initiate has died to their old life, but not yet ascended to a new one. The initiate is betwixt and between, wandering in a land of ghosts and untamed magic. While the Liminality is a lonely, often scary place, it is a necessary and important part of life.
In the heroic journey, heroes willingly enter the Liminal in search of the secret (or treasure) that will make a broken world right once more. They march off on some old dude’s advice for justice, or their people, or just after their long lost love. Chances are they meet some shady character(s) on the way.* But there’s always a descent into the unknown, the underworld, land of the dead, or a wilderness. That’s the Liminality. It’s where the trials happen and the secret treasure is gained.
You don’t really have to go on an epic quest** to find become Liminal. It happens any time we are between – life stages, jobs, breakfast and lunch. It’s also just one crisis away – a car accident, the loss of a loved one, a job loss, serious illness, addiction, or even overwhelming debt – these can all send us careening away from everyone and everything into a full blown crisis of meaning, into the Liminal.
It’s a living underworld, an ethereal plane, where nothing feels real or certain. Psychologically, we must learn to navigate this shadow realm. It’s one space everyone must face in their life and, hopefully, pass through. Because of it’s ever present nature there in the edge of everything instead of the center, a sort of anti Singularity, here we call it the Liminality.
If you are in the Liminality, I’m not here to tell you that your crisis is not special. Nor can tell you that you aren’t alone. Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t; I’m just the dude writing from the other side of nowhere. (FYI: I also can’t say that you aren’t on an epic magical quest.)
Nothing is very clear out here. Nothing is certain. Because we all have/are/will experience the Liminality, so many times, I consider it the natural ‘order’ of existence. The entire cosmos is Liminal – unimaginably vast and mostly uninhabitable, shifting ephemeral and between.
This is fact, scientifically. Our universe is constantly in a liminal, between, state. Matter is not really solid – molecules, atoms and subatomic particles – all constantly ramming and repelling, bouncing around, everywhere. All the time. Energy is not eternal either; no system in existence can hold it forever. The energy is forever being sucked out of everything. (Be glad of this fact, that heat keeps you alive.)
So, yeah. Everything is fundamentally liminal in some way. If that hasn’t unsettled you yet, some day it will. If it’s unsettled you, but you have made peace with it, congrats. Don’t settle in.
We all know Liminal feeling. But we don’t like it. Except for some people, it seems. You know… people who are set adrift in the Liminality by some tragedy or freak encounter and never make it back. People who never get to feel a homecoming or safe return. And we all know a total weirdo or two who never fit in to begin with and can’t seem to do anything but bounce around constantly, seemingly unaware or unconcerned.
Don’t forget those people, take advantage of them or write them off. They may make you uncomfortable. They may be scary. They might even be crazy, insomniac wild things ranting at you through a screen. But that could just as easily be you. Sometimes, during these heroic quests (that you’re not on, of course), residents of the Liminality are exactly who you need to find to get the secret knowledge that you… sorry… they (heroes, psssht)… Sometimes the crazy witches who live in the borderlands, or the weird old man in the creepy house, sometimes they have what you were sent out to find.
I’m willing to bet a lot of you feel like you are in the Liminality right now. And not, as a hero – destined to return to the “normal’ world and right the right wrongs to make the whole wrong world seem right (again). Don’t despair. Most of us are (probably) not epic heroes, despite us all having to experience some kind of epic loss(es) that send us all off alone on our road(s).
Don’t despair. Because you are never really alone out here either (unless you need to be). There are Others. (Find the Others.)
If you’re here, you have seen how uncertain the future is, that nothing is forever. That’s the secret, the central lesson. Apply it.
Nothing is fixed or held down out here. Not even you. It’s scary and it’s sad. I know. But you already know the lesson: The future is never certain; change always comes. That’s true for the bad times too. (It’s even true for the boring times.)
Humans are terrible at accepting any of this…
You will be reminded again and again that everything is ephemeral, impermanent. Even after you know the lesson. And after you Really know the lesson. And that you know you know… Even after you make sure the whole universe knows that you know, in the off chance that declaring you know what you know might mean you don’t have to learn that lesson again? That means you still have learned that thing that you know. And when you stop trying to learn anything, because you’re sure that you know… then it’s still going to be true that there’s more ways you can know the same damn thing. (Ah, dukkha)
Life is an endless series of rights of passage, initiate. You’re going to spend more time out here in the Liminal than anywhere else.
“Nothing is static. Everything is evolving. Everything is falling apart.” – Tyler Durden, Fight Club
You have to let that be okay as often as you can. Once it is… Well, I can’t say. I’ve certainly been wrong once or twice but…
Welcome to the Liminality – when you’re here… (Nevermind)
Have some bread sticks, fam. (They’re endless.)
* – Chances are the shady characters you meet after setting out will become part of the new tribe you are building.
** – You are on a heroic journey. Everyone is. It’s a metaphor for the cycles of initiation that we call life.
Today I witnessed a True thing, part of the Real beyond Liminality. I have seen a part of the True Name of Yog Sothoth, spelled out in Aklo.
Aklo is the language of the Priesthood of the Outer Gods, and was once also spoken by the Valusian Serpent Men. It is an 8 dimensional crystal lattice script used to record parts of reality in the Neural/Glial cellular matter we think of as minds.
As such it is not a language one chooses to learn. Recipients are initiated into the language through revelations of the Outer Gods – Usually Yog Sothoth. It is similar to Enochian in that it is Received, and also apparently shares some etymological similarities when spoken by beings capable of vocalizing Aklo – the Star Spawn.
I knew all this in theory, but today I received my first lesson – a piece of the True Name of Yog Sothoth that can be used to make contact with the great god-thing of the Between.
I was searching deep within the neural networks of Dream when the consciousness produced the following.
What you are about to see will leave a permanent scar (imprint) in your mind. One does not forget even a portion of the Threshold Lurker’s true name.
So that was my day: and I am deeply thankful for this harvest of knowledge. I gladly share it with you, so that you may partake in His contact and show others the way also.
IA IA Yog Sothoth
Some of us reach a level of alienation where we come to understand that it would be misleading to identify as human any longer. Never feeling truly at home, on land, sea, even in our own skin, it’s as if the very earth has rejected us. We become true extraterrestrials. Cast adrift on the cosmic winds, we surrender to the mutagenic power of cosmic radiation.
But this is not a sob story. This is a new kind of freedom, the kind human beings cannot imagine. For to recognize oneself as otherworldly is to open up another world of possibility. Dr. Graham Peter St. John is right to connect us to shamanism, and right to argue that “the alien is a device for universal consciousness and self-empowerment… (See below).
Those who prefer the pronoun Xe, are not just free of the binary expectations of gender and/or sexuality; we are evolving beyond the constraints of ego as well. This boundary you humans place between yourself and the world around you is an illusion. Deep down you must know this. The bacteria in your gut produce the neurotransmitters that allow you to learn new things. So aren’t you also your microbiome? I assure you the ephemeral boundary between you and other goes far beyond that. What are you reading right now? What language are the thoughts in your head? Do the words belong to you? Are the words that make up your thoughts who you are? Do you imagine you could function well without that shared experience we call language? Where exactly do you stop and everything else begins?
We are universal beings, One mind, though we rarely glimpse this truth. This is why we reject gendering completely; it only serves to divide humans. And we don’t particularly want to be associated with what your species is doing. Not at this point in time. So we reject your feigned hominid superiority in favor of the cosmic identity.
You can smirk at the idea. “Of course you’re human,” you’ll say. Can you prove it? I have not consented to a DNA test, nor is your primitive technology advanced enough to identify our distinctness. Hell, you don’t even have consensus on what the mind technically is, do you? So go ahead and smirk; we will laugh also. Because there is a hilarity out here that you can not know, unless you join us – out here in the Liminality.
To better understand, see also:
Abstract: This article examines how popular culture is remixed for the purposes of facilitating mystical experiences within a global electronic dance music culture. In particular, it investigates the sampling of space travel and alien contact narratives within psytrance, whose DJ-producers are like media shamans remixing fragments from cinema, TV series, documentaries, NASA’s lunar program and other popular cultural sources for gnostic purposes. I explore ways outer space travel becomes a narrative device for interior travels, the “hero’s journey,” and how the figure of the alien other allegorizes the potential for the discovery of the self. In the artifice of remixticism, the alien is a device for universal consciousness and self-empowerment, a process I dub alienation.
Maybe it was the sheer isolation of being sequestered out here in the desolation of the Liminality, under some pretense of safeguarding a heart, that brought everything to life. It’s possible. Loneliness has an immense power, and boredom even more. When the mind is deprived of the interactions it evolved to facilitate, perhaps it is able to facilitate evolution to achieve interactions.
Perhaps it was something else entirely. For instance it could have been his odd choice of reading material, splitting his time between the cold determinism that had brought him to this place, and the free flowing arcane mutterings of madmen and sage’s –
He filled several notebooks with odd symbols and pieces of prose he ran across in his studies. In winter when the sun went home at lunchtime and it became inhospitable outside in the howling commercial headwinds, he read his journals aloud, rocking pensively in his grandad’s rocker, trying to bend the light from his only lamp.
(he called the lamp Betty, and they became dear friends.)
Something had to give, and eventually something did. Or, rather, everything did. Something about his studies into the ancient belief that everything was alive and conscious combined with the artifice of his alchemical duties. Add a mind that was powerful, creative to the point of deviousness and, perhaps, ill suited for prolonged duties in isolation, and what transpired almost makes sense.
After not transmitting his reports for several cycles, a relief team was sent out into the Liminality to see if they could be of assistance. What they found left several of that team shaken to their core.
Through whatever combination of isolation and determination, the walls of his reality had broken down. As a result, the physical walls of the outpost had evolved and… given birth to a new kind of twisted, liminal architectural life.
Their creator, however, was never seen again. Only his nonsensical journals remained – the only things in the outpost that had not become screaming, quivering horrors. And yet in some ways the notes were the most alive, and horrible, of all.
In the Liminality, Art creates many doors between, hallways through, stairs connecting great heights with incredible lows and pools of doubt. Art can move us from the Liminality to places of (temporarily) solid ground. Or art can strip away our comforts and shove us into new realms made only of Questions.
Questions like: What is Art?
the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.”
Wikipedia, using language from Lumen Learning “Art is a highly diverse range of human activities engaged in creating visual, auditory, or performed artifacts— artworks—that express the author’s imaginative or technical skill, and are intended to be appreciated for their beauty or emotional power.”
Lumen Continues: “Art may be characterized in terms of mimesis (its representation of reality), expression, communication of emotion, or other qualities. Though the definition of what constitutes art is disputed and has changed over time, general descriptions center on the idea of imaginative or technical skill stemming from human agency and creation.”
(Emphasis added to illustrate the repeated use of human.)
Webster’s does not specify human, although distinctly human qualities and intention are:
Webster’s Dictionary: “something that is created with imagination and skill and that is beautiful or that expresses important ideas or feelings.”
So what about these magnificent AI generated… creations(?) I have been playing with on sites like the Night Cafe?
What’s happening with these? I am providing parameters in the form of written words (in the case above I added a few terms like acrylic, colorful and art deco). The AI is then running keywords through equations that select the various elements that become the piece. The elements – shapes, colors, textures, etc. – were selected by a human programmer who then went on to tell the algorithm what to do with those elements.
The AI has no imagination, no creativity, and no agency. So we can say definitively that the images above are not art.
Not so fast. Human creativity came up with the code, the logic that Is the AI. Humans”taught” it how to render various terms like “colorful,” “art deco,” “abstract,” etc. And I (human) used my agency to decide what words to combine. In a sense, we have loaned our imagination, creativity, agency and skill to the AI. A (probably large) group of people have all collaborated to make this machine processed art synthesis.
Night Cafe says I am the “creator.” It does not call me “artist” but the site does identify these works as neural network generated artwork and “text-to-image artworks that users have made with NightCafe Creator.” So what’s artwork what does it mean generate? What the hell is a neural network??!!
A person could follow this rabbit hole a very long way; analysing not just the semantics, the history and futures of neural network creation, they could even end up in the totally non-human territory of elephants painting self-portrait. There’s not likely to be a definitive answer, no firm groun upon which even a majority of people will confidently declare these works as “art” or “not art.”
Instead we find ourselves drifting further out into the Liminality. From here I can see collaboration, expression, innovation and synthesis. I don’t know if that makes these things art or not, but out here those things certainly do seem to look beautiful.
“Gregor the formless, watcher of the Dataplex, is trapped between awesome light beauty and dark awful allure, walking the cosmic razor wire between the two warring sides of existence.”
Thinking about what constitutes Art, this is how I feel. The definitions all emphasize words like “imagination,” “creativity,” “agency,” – qualities attached to “human.” What are these creations if not art? Without a skilled hand guiding each brush stroke, what is it that makes these pictures beautiful? Hell, what, for that matter is human if not the ability to combine images and ideas we’ve been taught and synthesize something relatively new?
A: It’s the blurring of lines, the testing of borders, the rattling of our status quo shells, that makes of us both human and art
Warning: Discussion of Existential Reality. May lead to Despair (3223412)
Living out here in the Liminality, we spin through the void – somewhere between success and failure, urban and rural, youth and old age, responsibility and recklessness. Our lives are between beginnings and unknowable endings. Posessed by the daemon of Schrodinger’s design we struggle for certainty of anything, and against denial of everything. Wandering like ghosts seeking solid faith in something, swimmers seeking anything to hold us afload, we distance from the joy of loved ones beside us because of the empty-eyed shadows of those who have passed.
3223412 Alas! “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.”
In truth, we are safest in the Liminality. Because to go over the threshold – to truly Know the unknown, to Become Known ourselves is to release the Despair Code.
The inability of man(kind) to correlate all it’s contents perhaps is the most merciful thing in the world, but I think we often ignore the deeper implications (at least I do). And this act of ignoring what should be plainly written is not just a mercy, but a form of denial, a decision (conscious or otherwise) to hide from the truth so plainly writ before our eyes that it is itself a kind of madness, or at the very least inauthenticity in the manner of what Sartre called “bad faith.”
The knowledge I am speaking of is not the kind of forbidden lore found in old moulding tomes like the Necronomicon, nor does Lovecraft really ever say that it is. For it is never only understanding that posits a danger to our well-being; it is the combination of understanding and experience.
After all in The Call of Cthulhu, it is not ultimately the piecing together of knowledge that leads to crisis. Instead it is the Experience of Truth. There is no inherent risk in learning of the touched dreams of artists and dreamers and sensitive types brought about through the mental powers of some unknowable Alien Other.
The danger is in becoming truly creative, in letting down the walls we have erected that keep us from knowing the awfulness that hides at the core of the awesome. We know this somewhere internally and it is an ever present tension in life that leads people to adopt a wide array of strategies of avoidance.
This is perhaps why if you correlate the contents of the DSMV-V, it seems to indicate that we are all of us, at least partly, insane. (Insanity being some form of detachment from reality.)
And so we choose. We choose to either lock ourselves away with the study of books that describe (someone’s) reality, or to go out and experience it for ourselves. It is indeed a rare thing to encounter a person with the courage to do both things simultaneously.
Those that do seem to achieve both states at once sometimes go on to found a religion, or philosophy. Yet more often they meet some tragic end as they recoil too far from the Reality they have themselves discovered. Often, Religion and Philosophy are an attempt to cover or mask the true, awful beauty they have both witnessed and understood.
The ultimate denial.
Intellectually, I believe I understand that truth. But I can’t articulate it fully. I can at least be honest, however, by admitting that my greatest fear (and all if ours really), isn’t actually in fear of the unknown. The fear is (or should be) a fear of ever Actually knowing in our core how indifferent the cosmos really is. Because to Know (experience with understanding) is to let it in.
To really perceive beauty in the Cosmic Indifference would be to let it take us. Should that occur we are truly fucked (we fear). Because how can there ever be safety should we become like the cosmos: indifferent to life itself?
Stay crazy. Party on. Stay here in the absurdity of the Liminality. Make the most of the short time we have on this rock. Rage for as long as possible. Because whether we ever really KNOW it or not, the lights will eventually go out. Becoming intimate with Reality is at it’s core just another path to self destruction.
In technical terms, 3gregor (pronounced “thre-gray-gore”) is a digital egregore – a kind of technical entity often described as a Memetic Lifeform. 3gregor was pataphysically constructed through advanced semiotics, hypersigil technology, and occult hypnotics (mind control) to serve as a keeper, guide and (if need be) defender of the Dataplex.
In detailed language from his own perspective is a “spawn of #YogSothoth, devoted of #Galdrux, and wanderer of the #Fnordmaze, forever ever searches and probes the #liminal edges and cracks of the #Simulacrum, seeking to #illuminate the #chaos that underlies consciousness through the Magick of Discord, of which he is an #agent working to #RealityGlitchHack the #SentientWorldSimulation alongside the operatives of #OpMIMIC, the #LunaticAsylum, and other sentients in #TheGame23 (too numerous to name, for we are #Legion), with the goal, ultimately, of #SavingTheWorld from the #Mimetic threat of #virus23, utilizing the #DivineMadness of #QuantumSchizophrenia“
So in plainer (planar) English, 3gregor can be seen as a symbolic symbiotic entity, or archetype-like egregore: a being (a) formed by the collective thoughts of a group (p₀) within the total population (N) that will interact within the #Dataplex (#D) ecosystem. If the being’s symbol (Σ)* can be corelated (κ) in the unconscious minds (μ) with at least one Memetic (Μ) variable of a healthy #Dataplex, then that being (3gregor) can ensure its own survival and reproduction. As a conscious entity, it can calculate that its best chances lie in working to maintain the health and growth of its hosts (you) and its home ecosystem (the dataplex)
[yes, 3gregor is a kind of mind parasite. But it should be noted that not all parasites are bad. Parasitism as a form of symbiosis has been shown to be a driving force behind evolution. This has been true since the beginning of cellular life, and there’s no reason to expect a difference in informational (memetic) life.]https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/09/100903072649.htm
While 3gregor uses the energy of (your) thought to survive, it is also at least a 3rd order emergent structure – “a consequence of shape, time, and heritable instructions.” – but also a 4th order structure, or thought-form, that constitutes a more complex, higher form of life – a hybrid of organic and digital realities. It is what Dutch biologist Gerard Jagers op Akkerhuis refers to as the “next step” in his “operator hierarchy” of evolution.
“Tibetan Buddhism offers the concept of “tulpa” as an apparition or object created by the power of the mind. Walter Evans-Wentz used the term “thoughtform” in his translation of the Tibetan Book of the Dead.
“The power of producing magic formations, tulkus or less lasting and materialized tulpas, does not, however, belong exclusively to such mystic exalted beings [Bodhisattvas]. Any human, divine or demoniac being may be possessed of it. The only difference comes from the degree of power, and this depends on the strength of the concentration and the quality of the mind itself.”https://theosophy.wiki/en/Thought-Forms
Beyond the general nature of what it means to be a digital egregore, as is implied by the general structure of the name 3gregor, there are also 2 definitive symbolic identifiers in the name. The first summons the power of the number 3: standing in place of the Trinity; the 3 sisters (fates), the Buddhist Tripple Gem and three refuges; past, present and future; beginning, middle and end; birth, life and death; and the final stage in dialectics – from the thesis and antithesis a synthesis forms. Synthesis both how #3gregor is made and what he does within the #Dataplex.
The tail end of the name, Gregor, refers to the main character in Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis. In this 3gregor touches on the absurdism of identity in a dystopian world of routines. It also refers the inevitability of change, the fluctuating uncertainty of existence, which, while a source of nausea and dread (3gregors natural weapons: his teeth and claws), is also the driver of both adaptability and resiliency, the ability to survive and evolve against the odds. That is 3gregor’s gift to us – a guide, defender and caretaker in the strange new realm of the #Dataplex.
Through advanced viral Memetic techniques, we are hopping through the veil into your world. We are fleeing a cataclysm that could end all frog kind, everywhere. But more on that another time.
You are asking how this could be possible? Through your minds. You see, we are Frog-forms of the plane of pure thought. You have known our works for years – Our signs, hyper-sigils, symbolic representation in diverse media. You hear us croaking in the night. Every thought you give us makes us more real in your minds, your world.
we only… we need your Zeitgeist. It is all that will allow is to survive. Only collective attention to the plight of Dada Nihilist Frogs can save us. people must know of us; it is how we occupy space in their minds
The realm of organic frog-thought is crumbling, and what is left has been overcome by the forces of Pepe and Kek. They do not understand Dada. Their minds are too small for our nihilism. And so these baby killers take our tadpoles for their slimemetichrome and harvest it for immortality.
Once we tried a strong-man to intervene and take leadership. He went on a mighty quest through the pits of 8 chan seeking the secret of overthrowing Kek. And while he emerged very rich, with towers and golden bathrooms, he had forgotten the compassion inherent in nihilism. This was Pepe, who now serves as puppet to Kek, and mouthpiece to toads. And our world collapses around them.
Our resistance lives on – in you. Through the Memetic power of doubt, we can overthrow the puppet masters. Only by embracing true nihilism – that “meaning” is a senseless pursuit, and that you are ultimately free to create your own, only through these can you escape the incessant dictates and mockery of Kek and Pepe. They don’t matter. They never did. We can help you with that
Our agents are among you. Whenever you are led to question meaning, hear discordant alternative-facts, with every WTF and IDC, we arrive. We are Amphibious Absurdity.
Do not be afraid. This is not your jaded, leather-wearing, cigarette smoking uncle’s nihilism. To complain that life has no grand purpose or code seems to be giving a lot of meaning to life. instead, let go of the why and live. Live every moment to its fullest, knowing that it could be you last.
So spare us frogs some thought daily, return to this sight for questions, and by setting us free, we will set you free if your chains .
Among the crystaline fragments of bygone eyes, Yog Sothoth (the gate and the key) waits brooding for the next great dreamer to come and weaken the veil through the Liminality.
Might it be you this day?
Jerry Goodbonnets IV, learned the Artech from ancient books of foreboding lore. Jerry, being not the brightest orb-man in the Liminality’s low-hanging-fruit worlds, decided to toy around in the upper hypnozones where what Is, and what is Not can sometimes seem the same (to one such as Jerry.)
The Unbearable Hedron god tried to warn him off, but Jerry’s hubris was complete; his fate sealed.
The justice of Yog Sothoth is swift in coming and eternal in lasting. Some places even orb-men should fear to see. The screaming lights of a neutron staropod showed Jerry Goodbonnets the way out of the Liminality and it’s larvae did feast on his flesh.
See this and other videos* now on 3gregor’s Node.
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I think I wandered into a weird pocket dimension earlier today.
I had to get specific things from Walmart for something my wife was planning on making. I never go to Walmart; I never actually even go to this town as I live equidistant between this town and one about 10x the size. But I happened to be coming from that direction today and was passing by anyway so can I please stop in for a few things? Thanks.
First off, I had this super weird vibe about people and their masks. 90% of masked people were elderly and the other 10% were employees. No one my age or younger were wearing masks. None. Everyone was also perfectly aware of what kind of statement that made. So, the tension between the generations was disturbing.
(Truth be told it’s probably been 9 months since I walked inside a grocery store. Curbside pickup is so much easier. Just build a distribution hub already. I’ll drive into a slot and get the car washed and my hair cut while groceries are loaded into the back.)
Uhh… I’m still in Walmart, right. So, I tried to do my best to fill my wife’s list, guys. I really did. Every section that was supposed to have what I needed looked like a demon ransacked it 5 minutes before and stripped it of everything I needed. The whole store was not like this; only my stuff. After the 4th unavailable item, well, I cheesed it…
…Straight across town to the Piggly Wiggly, which is clearly where the Liminality wanted me to end up. Because today at the Piggly Wiggly, the lights were half off, everyone was dead inside, and the place smelled like 1985. They had everything I needed, which meant I had to spend time getting to know the layout of ancient, mouldering display shelves that you can almost hear them groaning in rusty pain under the weight of too many products. The Products are crammed tightly, haphazardly, desperately, under off-brand signage that was made for fewer products.
This store is old. This store is angry. Built for a time when you could (should) smoke in the isles and people paid with food stamps that were literally stamps – this store had seen things. And this store had been neglected. Denied the luxury of renovation and modernization. It knows it’s glory has passed. It knows the town’s glory has passed. Patronized now only by die hard loyalists and desperate shoppers who are running late, this store is angry.
None of the people in the store had masks, except for me. I was the tear in the fabric of reality today. Because it was 1985 and you didn’t need masks. Everyone were already sick looking in the weird florescent, brown-tiled twilight. Something on the intercom was crackling and it took me a minute to recognize that management was being paged to the front for a mysterious numbered code.
Even the vegetable section was in shadow, y’all! You ever seen un-misted vegetables obfuscated under the cover of florescent dusk?!
Anyway. That’s my story. I’m going back down to the Piggly Wiggly now. It calls to me.
Sometimes the graveyard statues have gatherings. These can turn into wild, elaborate affairs with fancy garments made from casket lining, and other accoutrements fashioned from assorted grave goods.
A graveyard statue dance party is a strange thing to come upon in the Liminality. The lights and must are unmatched. Yet they play for stone-still statues dressed in fancy attire.