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You Can’t Go Home Again by Thomas Wolfe

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Stepford Wives by Ira Levin

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

Go Down, Moses by William Faulkner

Fail Safe by Eugene Burdick

Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett

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Member: brian5764

CollectionsFaves (94), Read (217), Currently reading (6), Not so great after all (5), Books I refused to finish (4), To read (283), All collections (609)

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TagsFiction (528), English Language Literature (498), Literary Fiction (397), American Literature (325), Genre Fiction (246), Speculative Fiction (158), Esoterica (113), Postmodernism (108), Adventure (107), British Literature (107) — see all tags

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About me       Done moved on from Reading Lite. The Tastes Great part can be cool, even refreshing now and then; but the Less Filling part just doesn’t work if you wannǝ keep on learning, arriving at your next level of understanding, and sorting out what the Big Picture/the Implex is really all about. And I do. (Isn’t that the point?)
       For those of us who are what Jack London—in his one-of-a-kind novel Martin Eden—called the “individualist” and what Flannery O’Connor called the “rebel-artist-mystic”—the concept of which she explained in her amazing Complete Stories better than anyone else ever could—living and working in the New Atlantis has become an almost unbearably miserable ordeal. Citizens are unwittingly falsely polarized to a debilitating impasse, government at almost every level is committed to engineering and perpetrating abusive schemes, employers are bent on instigating inquisitions and on sustaining rigged systems of impoverishment for most, employees are too unprincipled/too spineless/too immobilized by the copout of “that’s-how-it-is” groupthink to compel a paradigm shift toward equitability, and way too few of us are spiritually awake enough to stop the madness. What’s more, everybody is so addicted to/occupied with busyness and noise, and so incensed and perplexed when a freethinker dares to sit out the insane game that everyone else just keeps on playing, that I’ve simply become disgusted and fed up with it all. So, these days, I find positive ways to channel my energy, help others, and spend my time growing spiritually and intellectually.
       I am a convert to vegetarianism (the novels of Hermann Hesse can be credited for part of it). It was a sudden transformation, and it probably happens that way to lots of people who’re interested in metaphysics. (Hey, don’t knock it: you get the godawful meat with the godawful growth hormones out of your system and those pesky, unwanted forty-four kilograms/ninety-seven pounds might fall offǝ you, too.)
       Viví en México por mucho tiempo y puedo hablar español bastante bien. De hecho, pasé años en el Estado de Chiapas —y meses en Sonora y en Veracruz también— y lo extraño.

                                                          Favorite Songs

    √   [I Did It] “My Way” (as performed by Frank Sinatra);
    √   “Take This Jobb and Shove It” ([the word jobb being a four-letter word and all] as performed by Johnny Paycheck); and
    √   The amazingly intense and/or complexly syncopated and/or mood-altering or nostalgic song (or instrumental piece) of the month (September): “The Heat of the Day” (as performed by Pat Metheny Group).

(Gee, it’d sure be swell if you’d pretend along with me that here marks the end of the “About me” section and the start of the “About my library” section. Thanks.)

                         My Interests/Concerns and How They Relate to Literature

       One—Student of postmodernist literature in particular, but of other movements/periods—especially modernism and postpostmodernism—as well. I do not lump genre fiction together with so-called popular fiction: while serious, literary fiction is not a subset of genre fiction, the converse is sometimes true, which is to say that some of genre fiction is serious and has literary merit; but Reading Lite will never be “meritorious,” which is to say that being a passive entertainee may be fun, but indulgence therein cannot and will not contribute to an adult’s spiritual or intellectual growth. (I get it that most readers don’t agree with this outlook, but I calls ǝm as I sees ǝm.) In nonfiction, I’m interested in:
          √   comparative mythology/comparative religion (which, etymologically, boils down to “a system that binds, holds people back”);
          √   the occult/the esoteric (these terms do not mean “evil,” they mean “hidden,” and I’m interested in unhiding them, so to speak, because that’s a big piece of how we get our power back!);
          √   linguistics;
          √   “cultural” theory (unfortunately, so-called cultures are virtual realities of sorts, where people are imprisoned inside linguistic- and value-based structures [the consequences of which could be alleviated significantly if people would only stop accepting and consenting to all the constraints of the game!]);
          √   gnosis/gnosticism (which I look at like the advanced-postreligion and advanced-postnew-age parts of a spiritual, even shamanic, journey [and this journey, or rather, battle, surprisingly, is debatably better allegorized/epitomized by a movie than it is by any one book]);
          √   metaphysics;
          √   theosophy (studying a topic does not necessarily mean that one is a proponent of that topic);
          √   mysticism;
          √   the paranormal/the transnormal (the more “spiritually evolved” among us have pieced together that what is currently deemed para- and transnormal [in so-called conventional wisdom] is actually normal, just as soon as we allow ourselves to become what is really natural for us);
          √   multidimensional reality/multidimensional anatomy (physical/etheric/astral/mental/causal bodies, etc.); and
          √   quantum physics and fractal holographics (I ain’t no rocket scientist; if you’re not one either, let’s cut to the chase: “science” has been pseudoscience all along and reality isn’t what we thought it was.).
              One a.)—On and off for a few years, I’ve enjoyed some of the postFaulknerian work of Cormac McCarthy (whose novels, by period, are obviously postmodern, but their style—since they have literary characteristics more akin to modernism—is more like what I’d call retromodern), especially the ones he wrote in the western genre. I like the fact that, in his westerns—(think the novels of the Border Trilogy, not Blood Meridian, because the latter is horrifically violent and superdifficult, but not in a fun, engaging way)—when the dudes are traipsing around Mexico, el diálogo en español no es traducido. (Of course, when most authors write dialogue en inglés y en español, they turn right around and spoonfeed you the “answer,” and that’s just, well, demasiado fácil.)
              One b.)—Turns out there’s not just a generation gap, but a country gap, and other gaps, and they make people think—and therefore behave—differently, sometimes radically so, from one group to the next. (Culture, schmulture. Live in a different country for significant time and you see clearly that the people there don’t have a different culture, but a different mind. Each group with a gap, so to speak, is wired differently, and linguistic relativity seemingly does not account for the entire disparity.) Why? Who or what is driving that? How is it being used against humanity as a whole? And what about how the “mainstream media”/the trancebox/the boobtube manipulate human thinking in an en-masse sortǝ way with subliminal messages and incredible propaganda and godknows what all else? Por ejemplo: why do most folks buy that it is “terrorism” when “they” do it but not when “we” do it? Simple hypocrisy, or is there far more to it than that? I love studying this stuff—the “gaps” and what Noam Chomsky calls “the spectacular achievements of propaganda,” that is—and figuring out how it all ties to the hidden knowledge/the matrix/the insane game we’re stuck in. (And, of course, figuring out which books actually pertain to these topics. Interestingly enough, among the relevant ones is The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious by C. G. Jung. Synchronicity has also pointed out to me that the literary theorist/philosopher Michel Foucault [who is not to be confused with the physicist Léon Foucault that Umberto Eco referred to in the novel Foucault’s Pendulum] may have provided another exciting lead! But don’t bother, though, with Myth and Meaning: Cracking the Code of Culture by the anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss, because it turned out to be a dud of a little pamphlet in which the author didn’t even define any terms or codes, much less let alone crack ǝm.)
              One c.)—I’m excited about having started in on the short stories of H. P. Lovecraft! However, while his gothic/horror/fantasy is outstanding, there is more going on here than meets the eye: when reading some of his stories (notably “The Other Gods” and “The Call of Cthulhu”), the red flags of the gnostic apocryphal texts’—especially the Book of Enoch’s—warnings against the watchers/the nephilim/the so-called archons can’t help but stand up and wave at you (at least if you’ve done your homework); and the so-called Cthulhu Mythos (not Lovecraft’s term) and the grimoire that he used (known as the “Necronomicon”) seem almost to be a metaphor and a playbook for the summoning in of the [reptilian/illuminati] new world order. Yikes. And if that don’t beat all, the artwork that spawned offǝ this mythos (initiated by none other than the author himself) also happens to be the schema/thematic/visual framework for lots of kids’ gaming domains. (Well I’ll be dipped, whipped, and flipped: I had no idea about that. Wonder if these young’ǝns/gamers have any idea what they’re messǝn with.) Hmm, I wonder if his short stories also connect with the fall of Atlantis and what all else they might allude to or shed some light on, albeit from an unnerving perspective. Wow, this dude really did give new meaning to the word creepy! But the most amazing thing is that Lovecraft—who was somewhere between Edgar Allan Poe and Stephen King in terms of the timeline—knew about virtual reality sixty or seventy years before William Gibson birthed the cyberpunk subgenre—(or is it a period? in fact, the postNew Wave period?)—of science fiction with Neuromancer! Holy crap on a cracker. (Whoops! Apparently I’m partly wrong in re. the subgenre/period: a few years before Gibson’s novel was published, a Minnesotan, Bruce Bethke, coined the term cyberpunk for a short story of the same name; yet the novel Neuromancer was probably responsible for the term’s and the concept’s becoming more widespread.)
              One d.)—At a faster rate than was the case before the Harmonic Convergence of ’eighty-seven, lots of us are waking up—and some of us are evolving enough to avoid being duped into reincarnating back into the frequency prison/matrix of the demiurge’s material realm. We see reality for what it is: unreality. Which is to say that what passes for “normal life” can now be seen by some as simulated (programmed) reality, mass deception, illusion, and, well, bullshit. And just like humans herd/abuse/consume some lower life forms for their physical/carnal energy—(when the moral wrongness of this really sinks in is when you become a vegetarian, of course)—there are sentient beings in a higher dimension who are feeding off of our spiritual energy and using us for our labor. (Not to mention that some of them are trying to run a takeover plan [which may or may not include a “fake alien invasion”; and, of course, I say fake because they’re already here—and have been for millennia—and if you don’t know that yet then you haven’t been paying attention!].) Moreover, while they’re deceiving us, big time—especially with fairytale religions!—they’re laughing at us all the way to the bank, which is what David Foster Wallace called the “infinite jest” and what Goethe called the “laughter of the gods.” And this mocking, it turns out, is greatly exacerbated when they let us know partly how they’re going about it all—which is also known as the “revelation of the method”—and which one must be pretty much blind not to be able to see, because references are legion, all over the place in literature, the trancebox, cyberspace, and flicks, so piece it together. (“It’s only a novel—”/“It’s just a movie—” my assets! Nope, it’s not that simple, folks: fiction is chocked full of nonfictional allusions to the occult/the esoteric. That is how it’s done.) The bottom line in my world is the following: if all of this lunacy does not demand a ton of reading and studying and transcending religion through gnosis and transcending the new age movement through gnosis and transforming personally and reaching out to others and sitting out the system and sitting out the mainstream, I don’t know what does.
              One e.)—Understanding what revelation of the method is is more than just grasping one key part of the Big Picture/the Implex: this “disclosure” of sorts is related to serious literature and to not-so-serious entertainment/infotainment—(which is actually more propaganda than anything else)—in the following way: because “they” (the previously-mentioned “sentient beings in a higher dimension” and their puppets, the “human elite,” who are really just actors: “All the world’s a stage and [they] are players, performers, and portrayers”); because they are sneaky bastards, they render versions of what is actually happening as fictional stories and they mock us with the direction in which things are really going as fiction—be it by way of a speculative novel, a thriller movie, or what have you. Therefore, it is not the case that, say, a science fiction novel is “just fiction.” Nothing could be further from the truth! And the really devious thing is that this nefarious, in-your-face technique is how they go about stripping the hidden-in-plain-sight truth of its believability, because it’s a way of getting all the numnuts who can’t wrap their brains around irony to angrily bark something like, “But it’s only a movie!” and then miss the forest for the trees. (Ask John Q. Public to define and differentiate the terms fiction and nonfiction and discuss beyond a junior-high level how attributes of one may be synthesized with or incorporated into the other, and he cannot do it; so the view of a whole herd of Publics doesn’t exactly garner credibility or any persuasiveness at all in my way of lookǝn at it.) Studying fiction—(fiction that is not Reading Lite and that is not ostensibly the stuff for novice or intermediate-level readers who can’t see beyond whether or not the author “fleshes out characters” that they “can relate to”)—studying serious, literary fiction (which, again, includes some of genre fiction) is every bit as much part of the deal of studying and comprehending the occult/the esoteric and thereby advancing one’s spiritual journey as studying nonfiction is, folks; and those who contend otherwise betray that they don’t know shit from apple butter vis-à-vis the Big Picture/the Implex, or how literature really works, or both. And here’s even more irony for yǝ: the truth is that it’s not the case that someone who points out this correlation of how stories—(F or NF or a complex mix of both)—are actually partial disclosures of reality “is a little off his rocker” or “has been watchǝn too many movies” or “must not be too bright.” No! It’s the other way around, folks: the confident-but-wrong and the simpleminded/anti-intellectual folk are not so much a quart low as just plain noodleheaded for not having seen the basic pattern, because the same tactics/deceptions are being utilized and referred to over and over and they’re everywhere you look—(in both fiction and nonfiction and, well, pretty much all versions of “reality” out there)—and how can one not realize that?! The fact that there “must be something there” is the only valid conclusion that may be reached. Consider also that this whole mess connects with the concept that literature scholar Thomas C. Foster, in How to Read Literature Like a Professor, and superwriter Cormac McCarthy, in The Crossing, have referred to as “all stories are one story.”
              One f.)—Although no longer a diehard mystery fan, I’ve been thrilled lately about tackling Dashiell Hammett’s hardboiled/noir short stories and novels, ’cause even if his work seems dated, it not only utilizes the unique methodology among whodunit writers of starting with a situation that is already fabricated to begin with and subsequently deconstructing all the versions of false reality out of it until what’s left is the “real” reality—(which may “solve” the case but which isn’t really real anyway ’cause life itself is only a fiction, at least in Hammett’s world [and in mine as well])—but it also happens to represent the approach I try to employ as a sorterouter: that is, I’m someone who at least attempts to plow through and figure out as much of the aforementioned simulated (programmed) reality/mass deception/illusion/bullshit that constitutes life by peeling away as many of the false layers as I can. What a cool connection! (Oh, by the way, if you’re the type who insists on your authors knowing how to use em dashes skillfully, and who gets peeved when semicolons are not employed in order to avoid comma splices, and who has a conniption when required commas are missing around nonrestrictive relative clauses, you will be quite charmed with Hammett’s competent, correct use of punctuation! He, along with few others—like, say, Truman Capote—was refreshingly expert in this department, like pretty much no living author that I know of is, unless, of course, you count John Irving.)
              One g.)—Many moons ago, having completed Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (an excellent book) and H. G. WellsThe Time Machine (a pretty good book)—and, of course, the bare-minimum-everyone-must-read dystopian novels, Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and Nineteen Eighty-four by George Orwell, which are both awesome and prophetic—I thought I’d sufficiently delved into science fiction. My tune has changed as I’ve come to realize that with scifi, “they” tend, as a general rule, to reveal/divulge more of the previously referred-to method and overview/details of the Big Picture/the Implex in this genre than they do in any other, because scifi is, in part, a projection of the future. That is, with science fiction, we’re able to perceive the present better when we’re able to see where things are heading. And so, you have, for instance, a metaphorical and, at times, an even almost literal overview of the alien invasion (the real one, not the fake one) and a snapshot of paranormal/transnormal manipulation in the [ubiquitous] matrix, in Childhood’s End by Arthur C. Clarke and Ubik by Philip K. Dick, respectively. And if you’re looking for something that has the occult/the esoteric/the theosophical all over the joint, you can hardly do better than Robert A. Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, which is a marvelous read even without all of those particular bells and whistles. What’s more, having gone back to Bradbury—whose work (which I learned is called soft science fiction) is debatably more about human nature and human struggle than it is about so-called futuristic technology (and thus the flipflop would be hard science fiction)—I was simply amazed with The Martian Chronicles and how successfully he pulled off so many (but not too many) themes in one neatly-tied-together composite novel. Love it! So you see, this old dog can learn new tricks; and now, I’m a definite convert to scifi, especially the stuff from the Golden Age and New Wave periods, and especially since some of it dovetails with postmodernism and vice versa. So, get what is synchronistically the right scifi book in front of you and it practically shouts the unfolding of evermore info relevant to your own search! Can you grok it?
              One h.)—Quite fascinating, indeed! How scifi and postmodernism dovetail with each other, that is: I have discovered that cyberpunk—(which I do now know to be both a subgenre of and the postNew Wave period of science fiction)—is even more vital and integral to everything that is postmodern than the works of the Golden Age and the New Wave eras, because cyberpunk (don’t let the hipness of this term fool you) and its derivatives are definitively and quintessentially—in a Baudrillardian sense of what they characterize and represent—postmodern, or postpostmodern/metamodern/neomodern/New Sincerity, as the case may be (depending on whether a work is pre- or postDanielewski’s bringing postmodernism to the end of itself with House of Leaves, or pre- or postWallace’s bringing postpost- into being with Infinite Jest [which phenomena do overlap]); more importantly, and frankly, much to my astonishment upon making this discovery, cyberpunk and, in turn, its subgenres/derivatives—postcyberpunk, biopunk, nanopunk, and ribofunk (inter alia, but excluding retroderivatives)—are posthuman and transhuman. You know, we’re talkǝn ’bout the singularity (also called the technological singularity), a term coined in the time travel murder mystery (say what?) Marooned in Realtime, by one Vernor Vinge, none other than a cyberpunk author. (Well, color me so surprised.) For those of you who are “not into” this topic, I encourage you to reconsider and get into it, on the basis of the following fact: science fiction books by Gibson, Stephenson, Di Filippo, Sterling, and Stross, among others, are not only literary and philosophical offshoots of the work of Wells, Lovecraft, Stapledon, Huxley, Borges, and Clarke, they are also a metaphor for, and a picture of, posthumanism and transhumanism; in other words, even though the comefrom angle of these books is usually one of technology as being intrinsically neutral, merely part of the lay of the land, and not evil based on the intent behind the, oh, shall we say, developers, this flavor of scifi provides an allegorical map of the drive toward humanity’s being merged with machines, which is apparently the endgame gameplan, other concomitantly potential, eschatologically apocalyptic subplots notwithstanding. Too “out there” for yǝ, merging with machines, that is? Guess again. It has already started: people are already in the initial stages of merging with their smartphones. And even though I’ve been awake since ’ninety-seven, I’m ashamed to admit that I had no idea, even in twenty fourteen and ’fifteen, of this hugely significant facet of our fabricated “reality”—this post- and transhuman component, that is—nor of the true purpose behind the counterculture and so-called political correctness, and how all of this madness fits in with the overall agenda—I had no idea whatsoever. Now, though, it is crystal clear in my mind what is really “going on” and where we are being taken, and a big part of my improved bigpicture understanding comes from having examined all of this stuff from, what has been for me, a new and radically (reactionarily?) different point of view and of changing the way I look at the more recent literature of science fiction.
              One i.)—If you’re a big postmodern fan like I am, you can’t miss the little-known but essential pomo read Wittgenstein’s Mistress by David Markson! The entire novel scrunched into one chapter, it rides the crest of a crescendo like Ravel’s Boléro with solipsistic narrative gone insane like stream of consciousness on steroids and a whackjob of a woman who tries to make meaning—linguistic and philosophical and whatever else she can grab at—out of her fallen little world. A veritable fusion of the Lovecraftian/Hammettesque/PKDian “What Is Real?” and “Who Is Real?” queries it is indeed; now we’re cookǝn with gas.
              One j.)—Trainspotting, by Irvine Welsh, contains an epiphanous roman à clef: those who cannot stomach or who choose not to put up with the bollocks of “society”—and who also happen to end up stuck in some compulsion (like, say, heroin addiction) outside of what the “mainstream” deems “acceptable”—these folks transfer their dependency on drugs (or whatever else they might be hooked on) to dependency on “counseling” and perpetual “therapy” the minute that they accept that the “state” has the “right” to “fix” ǝm: as soon as this trap has been fallen for and this illogical leap is made, the addict and/or the called-out one struggles in the realm of convoluted, twisted logic to attempt to make him- or herself “re-enter” what the blind gameplayers in-and-of the matrix deem “worthwhile” in order to be “successful,” but which, of course, has always been and still is banality/emptiness/nonsense/bullshit to the addict and/or to the called-out one in the first place! Do yǝ see the contrived futility, the endlessly circling-, corkscrewing-around-to-nowhere ruse here? This novel—clearly among the very best of five-star reads—is hyperrealism’s and late postmodernism’s most articulate portrayal of what drug addiction is and of what it does to addicts and everyone else around them. But it’s more than that: it is the ultimate in nonlinear narrative, organized fragmentation, and multiperspectivity: piece together the short chapters and the inner-monologue vignettes, make sense out of the rollercoaster-ride flashbacks and flashforwards, let the metastory sink in on yǝ ’cause the structure of the parts lines up with the cycle of addiction itself, sort out who’s who and do it by variations in individual lexicon or by wordplays built into their slightly-altered nicknames if yǝ have to, empathize with the characters’ party-and-play fun-and-adventures and observe it all and feel it as it transmogrifies into senseless violence and evadǝn the “labdicks” and the requisite ohmygod-what-did-I-do-last-night? terrors—those inexorable prices which must be paid for gettǝn high or for gettǝn blitzed; and it is the marathon of the postmodern literary device known as linguistic play, with initially tough-to-figure-out bi-dialectal speech: google it and research it and investigate the Scottish linguistic and literary connections about whether it’s different dialects or different languages or some of both and about how the unique orthography depicts what’s beǝn sed: — Ah huvnae reid anythin this excitin in yonks. Likesay ah couldnae [bleeped]in believe it masel, ken?
       Two—Experienced ESL teacher, with a degree even. (If you’re a resident of the New Atlantis and you don’t know what ESL means—
              Two a.)—that’s partly why it doesn’t pay worth shit; and
              Two b.)—find out, ’cause the good ol’ U.S.A. ain’t no Mayberry anymore. [Yeah, I know, it never really was “good,” although it used to be not so outrageous; now it’s a country with a fascist Big Brother of a government that engineers and orchestrates abusive schemes against its own people {most of whom are sheeple who do not know and who don’t even want to know}, psychopathic military operations, and insane psyops which integrate with the so-called archontic agenda.])
              Two c.)—Let’s go. Set the bar high and negotiate it a skōsh lower later only if necessary: a few middle-of-the-roaders and slackers will not see the course through regardless of what gets done or does not get done and no matter who steers the boat, so crank up the prepackaged, partially unintegrated, fall-short syllabus wherever it craps out and teach to the high and the motivated and advance ǝm as far as possible without discouraging them, ’cause if you set the bar medium or low, that’s exactly what you get: medium or low.
              Two d.)—Some native speakers with a B.A. or higher degree in English or who have some type of adjunct K-12 “certification in English”—(the not-necessarily-too-obvious implication of the prior scare quotes being that only a linguistic and “cultural” naïf would presume that some alleged, sanctioned ability to teach language to students who have the same native language as the teacher necessarily translates into an equivalent ability to teach language to students who have a different native language)—but who don’t know diddly squat about phonology or second language acquisition theory or advanced descriptivist grammar or the incorporation of the mechanics of grammar into teaching essay writing, and who also have not the slightest idea of how beastly difficult it is to try to learn another language—let alone actually acquire it—these folks (and it’s amazing how many of ǝm there are out there) think that they’d make adequate or even great ESL teachers; and I haftǝ wonder what they’re smokǝn.
              Two e.)—Speaking of language acquisition or lack thereof, perhaps the “Elohim,” (read: the “Anunnaki”?) or the “gods”—and that’s plural—did not “confound our languages” (Genesis 11:7 [Don’t worry, I’m not a Jesus-saved-me type who’s tryǝn to work in lots of verses; but the bible—an astrotheological literary hybrid if there ever was one—can be, at times, a quite useful research tool.]); perhaps, anyway, “they” didn’t confound our languages by creating more languages or through some other linguistic means (which is what everyone assumes); but rather, perhaps they did so by coding each already-existing dialect of a language (the “one people with the same language” thing from the previous verse being metaphorical?) to a unique “wavelength” or frequency (Jakob Böhme called it a “signature”), and subsequently preventing us (by utilizing encumbering frequencies?) from being able to zero in on the wavelength/frequency/signature intrinsic to the dialect of any language that is not our own. It’s like it’s right there, but we don’t know that yet; it’s like the signature is a door or portal that is locked, but we don’t have the key yet. We humans, though, should easily be able to tap into the right “vibration.” That is to say, we should—if operating with our telepathic abilities that occur naturally when we’re not under the confines of this planet’s frequency prison, that is—be able, e.g., to step off a plane in Helsinki, reset our “native frequency” that we’re operating under and thinking in, and, within minutes, understand and be fluently conversant in Finnish. Remarkably, the famous and sometimes dreaded “Ineluctable Modality” Episode of James Joyce’s Ulysses (which is a bit of a bear to plow through, by the way) hints at this concept, albeit in a rather roundabout way. (Well, um, yeah, that’s part of what I got out of it; your takeaways may vary.)
              Two f.)—Wow! It seems that Neal Stephenson’s apparently logic-defying novel that is simultaneously both cyberpunk and postcyberpunk, Snow Crash, is, at least partly, about this very topic of the wavelengths/frequencies/signatures. I haven’t even read the book yet, but a little investigative prereading reveals that it evidently dovetails with the idea that our seeming linguistic disconnect from readily available fluency in any language not only goes all the way back to Ishtar/Anu/Enki—(the heck with the old testament; these references tie the stuff back much further, all the way to The Epic of Gilgamesh and Mesopotamian mythology)—but that “they” pulled this one off, this disconnect, that is, by neurolinguistic hacking: i.e., that it was accomplished by computer programming! Dick was right and our “reality” has been “simulated”/“virtual”/tampered with all along? How, if at all (but, yeah right, there’s a tie-in here all right!) does this story connect with transhumanism and the fact that we’re obviously being step-by-step “re-engineered” in the direction of merging with machines/gadgets? (So, like, if you’re awake and you’re heads up and you know at least the basics of gnosis/gnosticism and you’ve been studyǝn your assets off, the “archons” [scare quotes on this one ’cause they’re “rulers” only if we let ǝm be]—who are jealous of our true, unencumbered threeD-STO-oriented abilities—want us to be AI-based-fourD-STS oriented just like they are [or some of them are anyway], and that’s what explains why they and their human proxies [a.k.a. the elite] are orchestrating all of the insanity that we’re contending with?) Well praize the lord and dropkick me Jesus; I can’t wait to get this book!

About my library                   My Interests/Concerns and How They Relate to Literature (Cont’d.)

       Three—I Beg Your Pardon: I Never Promised You a [Politically Correct] Rose Garden. (Thanks for the inspiration, Lynn Anderson!) Making so-called cultural/social progress is not all that it appears to be to many who are enlightened/educated and not logjammed by religion; moreover, we’ve lost enough of our objectivity nowadays such that we’ve become too candyass to call a spade a spade anymore, and I refuse to play along with that. (Enough already with all of the euphemisms and bullshit buzzwords!)
              Three a.)—Let’s start to see “political correctness” for what it is: a type of neoGramscian “cultural” hegemony (which, of course, in turn, is a type of Marxism), and which is one of the strategies that is being used against us. (Of course, predatory crony capitalism—out of all the economicopolitical isms/schisms they done thought up yet, the fastest way to the “globalization of poverty” for the ninety-nine percent—and christianity—the most hypocritical of the patriarchal fairytale religions—are major weapons used by the “elite overseers” of the matrix to make and keep humanity all [bleeped] up [at least in the “world’s policeman”/bully corner of the globe], but so are so-called cultural Marxism and its offshoots, one of which is the big P.C.; so don’t “choose” a “side”: transcend the “sides”!) Pretty neato-cool stuff “they” done thought up, this P.C. thing, huh? I mean, with this bullshit, they don’t even haftǝ be the Thought Police, ’cause we are—if we’re gullible enough/dumbass enough to fall for it—doing the policing for ǝm. Talk about divide and conquer!
              Three b.)—So, are yǝ piecing it all together in terms of how and why “political correctness” is one of the strategies that’s being used against us? I realize that P.C. was not imposed upon the “mainstream” until about twenty-five years after the launching of the counterculture, which, it can easily be contended, did have some positive effects (the counterculture, that is): who but an Archie Bunker could begrudge progressive gains made in the fight for civil rights and the libertarian freeing up of what had previously been the too-rigid, virtual forcing of everyone into two molds, where—in a Wally-and-the-Beaver world—every male was the same, typecast; and every female was the counterpart to the male but otherwise the same, typecast. (It’s still that way in Mexico, más o menos, because they think it’s nineteen fifty, which drives me up the wall.) But when, where, and how did things go too far? How about the fact that children are not being raised right—(and have not been for decades now: the proof is legion, ubiquitous; look around you!)—no thanks to the obvious scarcity of proper discipline and a lack of sufficient nurturing that is seemingly Huxleyan? And why does the fiasco that is “society” tolerate and resign itself to ever-increasingly bizarre absurdities, like, for example, the nutjob politics of “transgender bathrooms” (what the [bleeped]?!), brought to you by The Puppet Masters, by way of a puppet gay prez (whose “wife” isn’t really a wife)? What’s that about? (Irony, people! Otro ejemplo: it’s no coincidence that Mādoff made off with the moola, albeit temporarily.) Unfortunately, because of neato-cool P.C., we take this whacko issue of transgender bathrooms (in which somebody gets targeted and demagogued rather than being left alone), or whatever other issue du jour there might be, we make some junior high determination of “correct” or “incorrect” about folks’ reactions to it on the basis of having run the latest litmus test on it, and we attach a newfangled label word to it as we scold them, or worse. But this tactic is not valid for the big picture that we’re dealing with—(or rather, that we’re not dealing with)—because the true big picture is one of vast deception/illusion/fabricated reality, including the contrived falseflag events and the orchestrated, falsely polarized issues that have been set up to divide and conquer us. Thus, victims end up fighting other victims instead of collaborating to stop the perpetrators. (Do you see how they have successfully deflected us if we fall for it?) We desperately need to get over the childishness and to start turning things around, but this will not happen unless we first realize what madness we’re up against and where things are heading, so what and where are that? Well, it’s the transhumanist/posthumanist agenda, and it’s accelerating toward the singularity, which means, among other things, a genderless society. Ponder the following for a moment, if you would: how can there be superhightech implants/abiogenically produced humans/genetically modified humans/sexless humanoid machines/androids/simulacra—how can it all come into fruition without the boundaries of gender categories and the parameters of decent childrearing methods being shaken up and broken down first? That is why, folks, all the lines have been and are continuing to be blurred, crossed, erased, and redrawn. Do you see that now? Over ninety-five percent of you have not the faintest idea of what we’re up against and how enormous and coordinated it really is, in part because we’ve been too busy tippytoeing around eggshells, speaking with euphemisms and buzzwords, trying to be “inclusive,” and worse yet, selfpolicing each other with our junior high, invalid P.C. pronouncements. Are you kidding me?! We gottǝ change this approach, peeps, or we’re screwed: if we don’t stop shooting each other in the foot with this nonsense, then we’ve already let “them” win. None of the normalization of the unnatural and the demoralization of the natural—(like making it “illegal,” for instance, for parents to spank their children, which is a used truckload of bullshit if there ever was one)—none of it that has taken place could have been gotten away with if P.C. had not been in play as a significant part of their overall strategy. Again, do you see this connection? Come on, you can do it: enough of the pieces are out there now, so put ǝm together, ’cause it’ll rock your worldview!
       Four—Not a fan of the new soma, the ubiquitous handheld gadgets/gizmos that are:
          √   obliterating our real interpersonal communications abilities;
          √   getting everyone addicted and even more dumbed down and focused on minutiae;
          √   increasing noise pollution;
          √   violating the personal space of others;
          √   producing radiation that causes brain cancer;
          √   encouraging geopolitical exploitation of thirdworld countries in order to control the markets of rare minerals used in constructing the circuitry;
          √   killing bees and thereby dangerously tampering with the ecosystem;
          √   supporting the enemies of humanity and their move toward transhumanism and merging humans with machines without most of y’all even realizing how cellphones/smartphones/ebooks/tablets are part of this plan;
          √   facilitating governmental agencies’ ability to spy on everyone; and
          √   causing our young folk to have the attention span of a gnat.

How in the world, folks, can we keep on doing this much damage to ourselves and to our planet?! Being oblivious/ignorant/idiotic as we merrily roll along just don’t cut it no more! It’s time to stop. I did. I mean, I admit that, in the past, I have used, moderately, the plainjane models of what physicist Eric P. Dollard (whom some folks refer to as Tesla 2.0) calls sillyphones. But now, though, like author William T. Vollmann, I’m out. Done. How about you? Would you go without all of your handheld gadgets/gizmos for three weeks just to find out how much freer and more real you can become? (Actual, desktop computers allowed: the Borgesian/Gibsonian cyberspace that we’re dealing with is a catch-22/double-edged sword: without having experienced cyberspace and without having accomplished part of one’s spiritual research in the realm of its environs, a normal human has little chance of breaking through to mastering the true big picture [in terms of what we’re up against, not in terms of a personal, gnostic/shamanic journey]; and yet the thing itself has a bǝzillion drawbacks due to the malicious intent behind its creation and proliferation. But no matter which way yǝ slice it, this evil is obviously necessarily a huge part of the overall conspiracy of the Borgian drive toward the AI singularity, and “they” cannot achieve their endgame objective without our having interacted with the Internet and thereby having been able to learn certain things along the way at a much faster rate than was previously possible or that were, prior to its advent, impossible altogether.) So, would you chuck ǝm for good—all of your handheld gadgets/gizmos, that is—to do your part to save humanity?
       Five—“What’s the score?!” When I was a child, I learned good sportsmanship, got exercise and fresh air, and played along for a while; when I grew up, I put away childish/counterproductive/superfluous things and puerile competitiveness and noisy drivel/mindless foolishness and endless chatter about fake/simulated tribal combat. Sadly, alarmingly, we have allowed ourselves to be deceived by a motherlode of perpetual entertainment/infotainment that has been brought to us by those with ulterior motives. And we’ve let ourselves become so distracted by our worship of the ludicrously overpaid performers/players and by our communal observance of their State festival rites that we’ve been deflected away from taking action on real issues that really matter, and that’s scary. (Yes, worship: it’s a thing of religion—and mindcontrolled religion, at that—not a hobby or a pastime, folks, ’cause y’all get downright ornery or possibly even physically threatening when someone refuses to accept your invitation to fellowship. Think about it.) Moreover, while it’s possibly a beneficial thing for adults to participate in noncombat sports for the purpose of getting exercise, sitting in front of the tube and watching others duking it out or chasing a ball around a field and getting all obsessed about it—as an observing nonparticipant, no less?—that’s nuts! Not to mention a colossal waste of time. (On second thought, time is only an illusion; so party on, dude, if you’re not ready to bring anything better to the table.)
       Six—Have you noticed that the vast majority of the ninety-nine percent are too clueless/spiritually asleep/spineless/lazy to do a damned thing about the one percent? If that’s not a superfrustrating big ol’ pissmeoff, I don’t know what is.
       Seven—In re. the jobbmarket/workworld (again, jobb being a four-letter word): my, but the ringleaders sure are mighty nasty/patronizing/presumptuous/insulting/snoopy/manipulative, what with the whole thing being a penal colony/ratrace stress factory/backstabbing witchhunt and not to mention that you’re under the jurisdiction of the Keystone Kops and that it’s likely not worth your while and possibly hazardous to your health and maybe you somehow got screwed out of insurance or it turned out to be bogus and you’re definitely a slave if you can’t not go to work and unless you figure out some way to refuse to play the bullshit game and all. And don’t forget that they almost always end up trying to stifle your creativity. Wow! How can this be?! Even if things are going well for a while, they always turn on you, sooner or later. Every time, every place, you leave, throwing your hands up in the air, shaking your head; and you haftǝ wonder who in the hell they think they are. And, sometimes, that was just the interview!
              Seven a.)—We have become actors and liars to such an extent—especially in this arena of jobbs/the workworld/the “money” chase: the most fake part of The Big Lie/the matrix, for sure!—that not only do most of us foolishly, naïvely endure the offensive, insulting parameters and rules of this godawful game, but we also actually selfpolice each other into accepting these bullshit parameters and rules. And all of this nonsense is called the work ethic. Of course, this is one of the ways that “they” mindcontrol us. Do you see that? Then, when some fed-up, former gameplayer, nonsheeple person has the chutzpah to blow the whistle and call this spade a spade (“Hey! You don’t have the right to ‘investigate’ someone’s ‘credit’ and on top of that have the temerity to ask this person, who has already suffered more than enough, to pay the fee for obtaining a ‘credit report,’ which is none of your damned business, for a jobb! It’s a freakǝn jobb—and an underpaid/underbenefited one at that—not a mortgage! This is outrageous!” [and them’s just for starters . . .]); anyway, when somebody calls them on their bluffs and tells it like it is, the ringleader gameplayers in the circus/unamusement park, and even the nonringleader gameplayers, get all in a big ol’ nasty snit. Why do y’all insist on working against everyone like this? Market, schmarket. We are allowing this ugly scene to be this egregious—we’re actually consenting to it!—and we’re not doing anything about it. Why is that, folks?
              Seven b.)—As if all of the above outrageousness weren’t enough, given how consequential and injurious and even expensive working a jobb can be (e.g., I cannot afford to teach, as the two teaching jobbs I had actually ended up costing me), why is it that everyone and his brother and his dog make it their concern and their business to wannǝ hurry up and assimilate all and sundry back into the Borg of getting yet another jobb the minute that someone escapes the nightmare/hell on Earth of the previous one? (A “friend,” in a very snotty tone: “Well, it’s been almost four months! Isn’t there something you can do in a different field or in a different city?” What a jerk. A third party twice removed regarding a lousy temp jobb: “There is a two-month gap from four years ago on your résumé. Is that a typo?” What an idiot. An acquaintance or a stranger, almost incredulously, and making dumbass assumptions: “But you’ve certainly got something else ‘all lined up’ for right away, right?” What a “team player”; i.e., what another idiot.) Aarrgghh! None of these I-can-write-the-script-complete-with-buzzwords comments/questions that almost always get said/asked make any sense, folks! Why get all pissy when a fellow prisoner—who maybe cannot afford not to be choosy about the particulars of his next position (read: his next cell)—breaks out, thereby shooting both him and yourself in the feet? Why insist on staying stuck in some groupthink way of operating that doesn’t work anyway? What’s the point of inflicting all of this annoying, illogical “cultural” pressure on each other (which is especially loco if you happen to live in the New Atlantis, otherwise known as “the land of You Are What You Do,” a hit-the-nail-on-the-head quote from Lester D. Langley’s historical and comparative sociological study, Mexamerica: Two Countries, One Future)? Almost all of you groupthinkers operate in this manner, and I have learned The Hard Way that it stems from the so-called work ethic, which anyone on a postreligion, postnew-age, gnostic journey must struggle through and then unlearn.
              Seven c.)—One must not only unlearn the work ethic, but also “authority” in general: “authority” is fake, because it’s the result of having given one’s power to some person/entity/organization whose “authorship” is rarely in an individual’s best interests. Staying stuck—be it by way of jobbs, a statist mindset, churchianity, or the copout of “this-is-how-it-is-so-just-accept-it” rationalization—will never be the way out. Each individual must author/write his or her own ticket/script, and, like Neo, must reject false authority in order to escape the matrix/the ratrace. So, work a job/task, or even godforbid a jobb, with integrity and an attitude of get-it-done-right, if and only if the timing and the situation are right?, yes; work as a shoot-ǝm-in-the-foot, let’s-all-police-each-other, get injured, get screwed, sheeple slave with a work ethic, all for the chase of the dollar/peso/whatever, which isn’t real ’cause it’s all an illusion anyway?, hell no. I’m done.
       Eight—Donchyǝ just hate it when the local library can’t get the material you’re itchǝn to peruse/ponder next—even with an interlibrary loan setup, they can’t—’cause you’re surrounded by Steele/Grisham/Sparks fans who have never graduated from Reading Lite? (Steele and Grisham and Sparks don’t warrant links in my world.) Beam me up already, por favor.

                                                          All-time Faves

Thanks for taking a quick look at these snippets of synopses—sans spoilers, of course—of some awesome reads that you won’t be able to live without! (That is, of course, if you haven’t read them already.)

       Why Americans Hate Politics by E. J. Dionne, Jr. (1991): a very sophisticated yet pragmatic book which will help almost anyone gain a better grasp of the “false polarization of false choices” that Americans are still struggling with today;
       The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck (1939): a Great American Novel candidate, contrapuntally alternated with a skillful rendering of the loss of the American dream en masse is a supremely vivid depiction of one family of have-nots and their ever-worsening descent into penury and desperation;
       The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner (1929): another Great American Novel candidate—this one about the degeneration of one family of haves set against the backdrop of the cruel and complex postbellum South—the seeming incongruities resulting from the shifts in consciousness, chronology, and narrative voice can be resolved with persistence and patience, and getting the sorting out done is worthwhile because a reader who brings nothing to the table and wants only and always to be a passive entertainee is not a mature reader;
       Portnoy’s Complaint by Philip Roth (1969): in this brilliant satire, the funniest laugh-out-loud book I ever read, a neurotic man can’t seem to escape his sex addiction or his hilarious but relentlessly nagging New York jewish mother (yeah, I know, it’s a stereotype, but who cares if the author, jewish himself, doesn’t?);
       Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich (1984, 1993): with multiperspectivity and disjointed yet interconnected fragmentation, this postmodern composite novel about life on the rez and the restoration of hope should be required reading, especially for those of us who are from the Dakotas or Minnesota;
       Independent People by Halldór Laxness (1935): in this mindboggling epic that most readers have never heard of, a simpleminded, grumpy shepherd subsists in dire living conditions yet sedulously toils to be debt free while being pitted against obstacles, manmade and supernatural, that he can never quite grasp—this morose, complexly plotted, intense, slowgoing rare gem of a book from Iceland is worth every minute it takes to trudge through it;
       Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace (1996): another Great American Novel candidate, over-the-top, hysterically realistic, recherché madness with a myriad of funny-as-all-get-out narrative voices and finessed plotting and backstory (some of which occur in the endnotes, for cryǝn out loud), this weighty tome is the consummate hit-the-nail-on-the-head indictment of how pathetic postpostmodern American society has become as pretty much everyone is hooked on consumerism and escapism—(like mind-dumbing boobtube-watching or mind-numbing alcohol-and-other-drug using)—and deluded and stymied by ubiquitous “solutions,” like Alcoholics Anonymous, which is both bizarre and cultic, and which this novel—better than any other, ever—excoriates as being every bit as whackadoodle as the problems and their consequences;
       Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse (1922): the quintessential epiphany for anyone on a spiritual journey just might be found in this novella because the protagonist is the only journeyer smart enough to realize that since enlightenment comes from within, clinging to a teacher/guru/sponsor/mentor or to traditional religion (or converting to any new one of the above) will always be a stumbling block to true spiritual progress, because no one can ever hammer out his own answers to life’s seemingly impervious questions and thereby secure his own release from virtually interminable reincarnations by studying and following the answers of someone else;
       Lord of Light by Roger Zelazny (1967): call it scifi if you must, but it is not fantasy nor a syncretistic blend of scifi and fantasy because this superingenious tour de force is a big ol’ multitasking pomo allegory, a picture of extraterrestrials and their global establishment, right here on slavecolony planet Earth, of myth/religion—(does the research of James George Frazier, Godfrey Higgins, Zecharia Sitchin, and Alexander Hislop resonate, anyone?)—the “cast of characters” of which may be likened to the hindu pantheon of “gods” or to the cryptically-referred to “Anunnaki” in the old testament as well as in The Epic of Gilgamesh or take your pick from among the “gods” of any of the other “belief systems” which are the opiates of humans, because they’re all the same beings, albeit with different names—this masterpiece is complete with a wildride, structural metastory/metanarrative, in which the chapter sequencing is itself indicative of flashbacks of past lives, reincarnation, and eventual escape to Nirvana, and it plays out, no less, with the “gods” trying to make up their minds as to whether we humans should be granted the Life and the Knowledge so that we may be like unto them, plural: “Then the fit hit the Shan,” and, “It’s a long way to Tipperary,” indeed; and
       The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie (1988): the author, condemned to death by so-called fatwa by closeminded fundamentalist extremists merely because their part of the world has yet to go through some semblance of an Enlightenment, pulls out all the stops in this multicultural, anti-religion, flawless postmodern magnum opus—complete with hysterical realism, magical realism, intertextuality with the qur’an, and contrapuntally structured subplots—which is easily conquerable with the accompaniment of a good annotated guide (unnecessary though, if you’re an expert in the “cultures” of India and the popculture of Bollywood and fluent in Hindi, Farsi, Urdu, and Arabic), which turns the tables on both the Brit colonization mentality and on smallminded Brits (and, by extension, Yanks) who are not smart enough to channel their hatred/anger/frustration toward the elite—(who use immigration as a divide-and-conquer tool)—rather than direct it at poor immigrants—(who are only pawns in a rigged game)—and which, most delightfully, mocks the bejesus out of islam in particular and religion in general.

                                                      A Few Final Thoughts

       Looking forward to adding more synopses in the near future, including one for the most amazing novel I ever read—House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski—and one for the most difficult book (fiction/nonfiction/you name it) I ever read—Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. Time permitting, I’d also like to add some stuff on why Bringers of the Dawn by Barbara Marciniak can easily be seen as bait-and-switch bullshit (intended as a trap for hopeful but naïve new agers who wannǝ come full circle before having done enough comparative analysis, so that for lack of discernment they fall for the ever-so-appealing idea of “rapturing” up and out of prison planet every bit as much as gullible bornagainers who haven’t done their research do, having fallen for the same ploy?) and on why sorterouters need to approach Castaneda, Icke, and Sitchin (among others) with caution, ’cause in this game, deception is part of the game. Which is precisely why—when investigating recondite information—I try to sift through it carefully, by keeping in mind that there is also a lot of mis- and disinformation out there.¹
       But the primary cause of disinformation, not to mention all the deception that we’re struggling with, is the “ankle biters.” Take away the ankle biters—(according to some who’ve transcended the new age movement, if you call ǝm “archons” [which means “rulers,” and we’re talkǝn negatively polarized, fourth-density-based,² parasitic reptilians and greys here], you’re givǝn ǝm way more power than they deserve, ’cause they’re actually more mind[bleeped]ers and manipulators than anything else)—take ǝm away, them and their creepy, illusory operation here on what is presently prison planet for a moment. Pretend they were never here. What do we have? What can we do? Well, now we’re very cool, empowered humans who are grounded in positively polarized third density—in physicality, that is, with flesh bodies as bases of sorts—who can:
    √   maneuver and interrelate multidimensionally/transdimensionally (for starters, we would be able to project etherically and astrally—so say “Hello” to the end of disease and say “Adiós muy buenas” to this [unacceptable, dumbass] “manage your pain” and “take a pill” mentality that we can’t seem to let go of);
    √   experience Kundalini energy flows (each and every one of us, not just the very few who have done meditation for many years);
    √   interact with Sophia/Gaia and be empowered by her gridlines and leylines (the currently obstructionist objects, like Stonehenge, for instance, having been removed);
    √   live about as long as Methuselah—you know, nine hundred plus years—like humans once did (because the powergrid is functioning optimally without being suppressed by encumbering frequencies and holograms);
    √   open and close the third eye (with a fully-activated pineal gland that is not all [bleeped] up from the effects of a poison called fluoride), just as we were designed to do, and thus see any potentially threatening entity for what it is and kick it to the curb;
    √   perform telekinesis (and operate with other para- and transnormal phenomena as normal occurrences, sans prefixes); and
    √   communicate telepathically, incantationally, and transformatively (having been realigned to the singular, original human language that we’re all wired for).

And what do we not have? What are we not held back by? Well, we don’t have:
    √   religions—(Let’s do that thing about what the word etymologically boils down to again: “systems that bind, hold people back.”)—and other belief systems contrived to limit us, compartmentalize us, make us feel guilty and thereby generate loosh for higher-realm manipulators;
    √   governing systems like theocracies, monarchies, fascist dictatorships, communist/socialist faux utopias, parliamentarian plutocracies, phony “republics” for the oppressed, counterfeit “democracies” for the deceived, or predatory crony capitalist/corporatist oligarchies for the screwed—anything, really, that is not based on the philosophy of anarchosyndicalism (which, etymologically, boils down to “let’s get together and stand systematically opposed to the ‘archons’/rulers” and), which is the only ism/schism that makes any damned sense at all; and
    √   fake, bullshit “money” systems which are all really part of one giant, the-bubble-may-burst-any-day-now Ponzi scheme devised to keep most of us in debt and poverty.
       You know, so-called money is a much bigger part of our problem than most of us are willing to admit. We’re all so busy and stressed out with jobbs; simpleminded materialism; and futile, busybodying, inane concerns—(like, e.g., which candidate, the republicrat or the demopublican, is less evil [which is pointless because they’re both unilaterally controlled and financed by the new world order and the entire false dichotomy is an elaborate, evil show]; like what our “credit rating” is and what we can do to manicure it [sit out the games, don’t share culpability for them by participating in them!]; and like what the latest apps are [so that we end up making things even more unnatural and surreal than they already are])—we are so busy and stressed out and concerned with nonsense that we can’t see the forest/matrix for the trees/red herrings, much less let alone have “time” to do anything really useful in life, such as taking our power back, getting rid of the elite’s phony “human-resource-energy-farming” system, and living a true life—not a fake reality—because it is our birthright. Moreover, when it comes to this godawful money system, we need to get more educated about what we’re really dealing with:
    √   The so-called Federal Reserve System is a colossal scam set up along the lines of the Hegelian dialectic of problemreactionsolution. (In this case, manipulate “bank scares” and perpetrate “runs on the banks”–convince the public that it consequently needs a “centralized bank” that everyone thinks is “federal”–establish an unconstitutional, privately owned money system. Then—in conjunction with the so-called International Monetary Fund—eventually place a stranglehold on all the governments and on all the people of the world.);
    √   The New Atlantis—a counterfeit republic/“democracy” which thrives on deception and predatory crony capitalism—is fabianistically yet acceleratingly morphing into a corporatist oneworld State. (Are you doing all that you can do in terms of refusing to cooperate with globalization/corporatism and trying to prevent it as much as possible in your corner of the world?); and
    √   The it’s-real-if-we-all-believe-it’s-real “funny money fiat system” is solely based on lending and the creation and pedaling of debt. (Talk about predatory!) There aren’t quadrillions enough to back up what everybody cumulatively thinks they have, and the entire mess, by design, must and will crash. It must and will come to a screeching halt some very dangerous day. It’s been set up that way all along, folks, ’cause the endgame objective is not to possess all the fake cash, but to make a colossal grab for absolute power.

Wouldn’t it be awesome if we were able to free ourselves from all of this crap?! We could get there if only enough sheeple would stop following the herd of communal groupthink³ and wake up!
       The waking up, the spiritual path, the true journey: without reading and studying, it is all incomplete, based on insufficient knowledge. So I’m trying to augment my foundation of knowledge, and who can do that without books?! (Books, you know, actual items that you can physically pick up, and you can actually turn the pages. You remember them, right? Down with so-called ebooks! Are you aware that these gadgets/gizmos relay info to cellphone satellite towers, and that said towers are actually weapons [in more ways than one]? Why would you want Big Brother to know even that much more about what you’re reading, like when and whether you actually read the “book” that you bought, like what “page” you’re on, and like even how fast you’re reading? ¡Ándale, amigos! Don’t let ǝm take that too!) As such, I’m making my own canon, or what’s left of it, so to speak. In other words, because I ain’t no spring chicken, I probably won’t be able to finish everything I haven’t yet read off the Modern Library’s One Hundred Best Novels list or the One-Thousand-and-One list. (Don’t get me wrong: if it’s a goal of yours to do something like that, kudos to you and knock yourself out.) I’m just sayǝn that I know my own list—what I need to crank out before I disincarnate out of here, that is—and I appreciate LibraryThing and the fact that the “categorizing” that I’ve been able to accomplish in this environment have helped me toward that end. This website has also been beneficial to me in my own analysis of that insufferable, elusive Big Picture/Implex.
       Still looking to compare notes with likeminded people who have similar interests and who actually still use desktops and (godforbid) laptops—(oh well, at least you can type on a laptop, kindǝ/sortǝ)—which is to say anyone who has not taken the plunge into the bizarre—and dangerous!—neverneverland of apps to the exclusion of actual computers.
       Wake up; fight on; peace out.

Endnotes

       One—Researchers’ presentations of occult/esoteric info often contain x percentage of clever little lies or sneaky little traps designed to get sloppy/careless sorterouters stranded on some plateau(x) (they weren’t just whistlǝn dixie when they called it an Implex!); fortunately, though, such material is frequently “stamped” or “marked” in such a way that identifies it as of the darkness or of the false light: like, for example—
              One a.)—an author works the symbol of the pyramid or the allseeing eye into a book when it’s unnecessary to the context and/or when the symbol itself isn’t being explained; or like
              One b.)—a seminar presenter quickflashes a hook-ǝm-horns handsignal in some YouTube video while the camera is zoomed way out so that most viewers will miss who his allegiance is really with; or like
              One c.)—a scholar of ancient texts deliberately casuistically mistranslates words with subtle differences in shades of meaning to get readers off on an incorrect tangent, even though the base information itself is very helpful; so, heads up!
       Two—The term density corresponds somewhat—but not exactly synonymously—with the term dimension. The seven densities (which are sometimes considered to be comprised of a total of twelve or thirteen) are mapped in a geometrically complex way and can be thought of as lining up with the Kabbalah, the Tree of Life, Yggdrasil, or a myriad of other names, if you happen to be dealing with a “base” esotericism/religion/mythology. However, such alignment does not imply that other, (mostly lower-level) attributes and concepts of said esotericism/religion/mythology are necessarily correct. The Implex, obviously, was purposely set up to bottleneck us in any way that it can.
       Three—Because each individual emits unique fractals—yes, quantum physics and metaphysics do connect at some point—based on different needs/experiences/“karma” and because the labyrinth/the matrix is constructed with the anfractuosity necessary to adjust accordingly (the concept of which shows up in House of Leaves, by the way!), each individual’s exit out of the labyrinth/the matrix is necessarily a unique journey. (Each individual’s escape is probably through a separate, distinct door or portal, so to speak.) Although spiritually awake individuals can help each other, there is no communal/pantheistic/“we-are-all-one” way out of this particular density/dimension. (I’m not talkǝn about the bighouse of the jobbmarket/workworld here, but the whole enchilada, the entire realm itself: we have to cooperatively oust the ankle biters—which could be done by collectively invoking a paradigm shift and eradicating the prison that we’re living in, provided that enough people wake up—or individually figure out how to avoid coming back to the demiurge’s material world yet again.) Furthermore, there is to be found, oddly enough, in Jungian parapsychology, and specifically in The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, the key to understanding why the buddhist concept of striving for the “collective consciousness” is balderdash: there is no such thing! Here in the third density/dimension, because consciousness is individuated, there can therefore be no such thing as a “collective consciousness.” The only thing that is truly collective—at least until we get to a higher realm—is the unconscious. In other words, we cannot groupthink our way out of prison planet, folks. Moreover, “cultures,” “traditions,” and anything else that limits or inhibits individualism/individuality and/or that tries to get people to accept that which is inherently and ludicrously unacceptable with “that’s-the-way-it-is” rationalization are a huge part of what is keeping us stuck.


Updated September 27, 2016. Thanks a lot for reading!


Groups1001 Books to read before you die, 18th-19th Century Britain, 50-Something Library Thingers, 9/11 Truth, African/African American Literature, American Postmodernism, Arthurian Legends, Books that made me think, Bookshelf of the Damned, British & Irish Crime Fictionshow all groups

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