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About mePrologue

  √  Shakespeare is for old farts. The masterwork of the Bard should be back in your life if you’re no longer a young’ən and you’ve got some maturity miles on you. So if you do, get reacquainted with him, ’cause you’ll be amazed! But you have to finish reading not just a second or a third play, you have to read lots of əm, and more than once; then you’ll start to see an “otherworldly overview” that he “stamped”/“imprinted” on the stuff, and it’s a mindboggler. And don’t cheat with the so-called translations, because the four-hundred-year-old lingo does sink in after a while, but only if you persevere with the footnotes. Bizarre stuff, at least at first, this early Modern English—and frankly, how strangely similar it is to most dialects of Spanish even today, but that’s another story—with its overuse of the subjunctive mood; its more narrowly structured, more literal lexicon; and its ridiculously over-the-top, antiquated caste system of second-person pronouns and obsequious forms of address. But after you get used to it, it clicks—easy peasy lemon squeezy; and then, finally, reading and studying his work is more fun than doing Sudoku or going bowling. (Who knew?)
  √  Of course you didn’t understand William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury; or Go Down, Moses; or Absalom, Absalom! the first time you tried to read it! Nobody did! You’re not supposed to. That’s the point. So you’re grasping at straws, taking notes as you read, asking your teacher to explain stream of consciousness and nonlinear narrative again, sketching the characters’ family tree, or racing to the back of the book to frantically flip through the chronology and the genealogy. What a pain! And you’re thinking why is this crazy author making me go to so much work? isn’t he supposed to have done all that? and then it registers with you: no! he did much more—and brilliant—work to have made everything come out this way. So you man up, hit it again, rethink your strategy, and finally—maybe on the second or third try—you turn the corner on it. But wait! Now it’s exciting, ’cause you get it! Then you’re ready to tackle other literature with ergodic text; so you take a stab at Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. But even if you finish it, you’re probably not in a hurry to reread this recondite bear with everything from retrograde narrative to Poisson distributions, because you need an annotated guidebook, an astrological chart, a spreadsheet, and a co‑pilot in order to conquer it. With Faulkner though, you do. You do want to reread his work, again and again. The “feel” and the “mood” you get from it are such that you just do. It’s that enjoyable. That is, at least partly, why this Southern author—whose work I love—is so important. (And there’s always this: his short stories are a million times better than F. Scott Fitzgerald’s.)
  √  Fed up that the tried-and-true standards of normal human interaction are being thrown overboard like so much deadweight as we leapfrog toward the illuminati-new-world-order-transgender agenda—fed up with all of this lunacy yet? Sick and tired of the ubiquity of a rob-you-of-all-your-privacy and the omnipotence of a screw-you-out-of-all-your-liberty Big Brother government yet? The Thought Police got you worrying you’d better not think this and the Speech Police got you all tongue-tied ’cause you don’t dare say that—had enough of being pushed around like this yet? Do you realize that Brave New World and Nineteen Eighty-four predicted these nightmare scenarios, and more? Most of you think of these social SciFis as old warhorses; but, in fact, they read like blow-by-blow, predictive-programming playbooks of what’s goən on apace today, ’cause most classic Dystopian novels are actually more like documentaries than they are fiction. So you’d better get goən with some rereads of these puppies. What?! You haven’t read both of əm at least once? If not, you’d best get the lead out, ’cause we ain’t got much time left, folks. But before you visit or revisit Aldous Huxley’s and George Orwell’s magnum opuses (opi?), I’d humbly recommend that you begin with a perusal of the granddaddy of Dystopians, We, by Yevgeny Zamyatin. It’s a difficult read, set up with a strange framing device and frequent shifts in and out of a weird sort of a prototype of postmodern surrealism. But it’s worth trudging through this terrifying tale which was written from nineteen twenty to ’twenty-one, because it’s probably the first occurrence in literature of the “elite” controlling the “masses” by way of a bureaucratic police state. (Ring any bells?)

Preface

     Some of us—a rare few of us—personify Colin Wilson’s Outsider: we are Blake’s opener of perception’s doors, Dostoyevsky’s sufferer, Nietzsche’s Übergänger, London’s individualist, Rilke’s communer with higher beings, Joyce’s Dedalus, Eliot’s quester, Hesse’s selfrealizer, O’Connor’s rebel-artist-mystic. And for us, living and working in the United Corporations of New Atlantis has become an unbearably miserable ordeal: society is falsely polarized to the point of impending selfdestruction, government is committed to engineering and perpetrating abusive schemes, employers are bent on instigating inquisitions and 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 launch an uprising toward more 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 when a freethinker/nonconformist sits out the insane game that all the “team players” insist on playən, that I’ve become completely disgusted and fed up with it all. If we let it, perpetually running around in circles for which somebody else is the beneficiary here in this cutthroat land of predatory crony capitalism keeps us so frantic that we cannot accomplish what we incarnated into physicality for in the first place: to explore our world and to realize important spiritual truths about ourselves and this realm—nowhere near enough of which gets done when we’re forever sprinting on the treadmill of Commute–Work–Commute–Party–Play–Sleep–Repeat. Humanity is enslaved by an illusory economic paradigm, the theft of our time, weaponized food, sabotaged health, and a “culture” of horrific distractions. Moreover, ninety-nine percent of you are mammon worshippers who make a virtue out of participating in your own enslavement. This doesn’t make any sense! Worse yet, anyone who is smart enough, principled enough, and spiritually evolved enough to blow the whistle on this outrageousness is instantly met with hostility and derision from the sheeple who simply cannot fathom how anyone could dare not want to play this surrealistic game—and I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!
     I am a convert to vegetarianism. It was a sudden transformation, years ago. One day you decide you can no longer participate in the immorality of cruelty to animals; then you lose a ton of weight.
     Viví en México por mucho tiempo y puedo hablar español bastante bien. Oh how I miss living in Mexico! The Mexican people are down-to-earth, kind-hearted, leery-of-change, old-fashioned folks who are not plagued with the delusion of “time is money.” How refreshing is that?! And while Mexico is no Utopia, while the hypercommunal behavior of its people drove me loco, living there beats the hell out of living in the fascist U.C.N.A., an evil empire which masquerades as a “free country.” (Who are you to scoff if you’ve never experienced living elsewhere, if you don’t have anything to compare living in the evil empire to?)

Favorite Songs

  √  [I Did It] “My Way” (performed by Glen Campbell);
  √  “Take This Jobb and Shove It” ([the word jobb being a four-letter word and all] performed by Johnny Paycheck);
  √  “I’m a Ramblin’ Man” (performed by Waylon Jennings);
  √  “Baker Street” (performed by Gerry Rafferty);
  √  “The Bottle Let Me Down” (performed by Merle Haggard);
  √  “Love Is a Stranger” (performed by the Eurythmics);
  √  “Don’t Believe” (performed by Cherryholmes);
  √  “The Grand Illusion” (performed by Styx);
  √  “Life on the Nickel” (performed by Foster the People);
  √  “I Got Mexico” (performed by Eddy Raven);
  √  “No me pidas perdón” (performed by Banda sinaloense MS de Sergio Lizárraga);
  √  “Yesterdays” (performed by Billie Holiday);
  √  “History Repeating” (performed by the Propellerheads, featuring Shirley Bassey);
  √  “No Time to Kill” (performed by Clint Black);
  √  “Fork in the Road” (performed by The Infamous Stringdusters);
  √  “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” (performed by Anne Murray);
  √  “Wish I Could Say I Was Drinking” (performed by Cadillac Sky);
  √  “That Old Black Magick” (performed by Rosemary Clooney); and
  √  “The Best Is Yet to Come” (performed by Stacey Kent).

My Interests/Concerns and How They Relate to Literature

     One—While I am a student of postmodernism, I’m not an advocate of postmodern “philosophy” in the sense that I bought into some pseudointellectual offshoot of Freud, Boas, Mead, and the “social engineering” of the Frankfurt School (which is a bunch of crappola with an agenda, so take that, all you “SJW”ers!). But I do love “deconstructing” postmodern literature. 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. In nonfiction, I’m interested in:
      √  comparative religion (Religions are “belief systems” designed to suppress spiritual knowledge, dumb down humanity, infuse subliminal programming into and channel psychic energy out of the masses for the purpose of controlling them. Religions are hoaxes which have human beings behaving COMPLETELY UNNATURALLY. They are the pernicious restraining programs of “authority,” statism, debt-based “money,” scientism, and abrahamic monotheism and its spinoffs: they’re the culprits which have us locked in to the control system. To become free, we must have the capacity to analyze, compare, and synthesize information from disparate sources: if we’re unwilling to study unconventional theories and/or if we’re unable to learn from a variety of sources while rejecting portions of their comefrom angles, we stay stuck.);
      √  the occult/the esoteric (These terms do not mean “evil,” they mean “hidden,” and I’m interested in unhiding them, because that’s how we get our power back! Most people misunderstand these words and park on some low-level plateau, some “belief system,” rather than investigate them. That phenomenon alone proves they’ve been rewired or rerouted.);
      √  astrotheology (Etymologically, “the ‘spoken word’ [actually, it’s the telepathic thought] of the gods in the stars.” Because the vast majority of folks have no knowledge of the exoteric or the esoteric, they wind up in some “outer belief system” which prevents them from becoming an initiate of—that is, one who has begun the process of—the unhiding of the esoteric, or inner level of the “know-thyself” process, which is all about studying and taking action, so that consciousness can evolve. Regrettably, most people end up “believing in” some exoteric, or outer-level, symbolic deception, such as the worship of the sun/son for “salvation,” otherwise known as the copout of not doing your own internal work.);
      √  gnosis/gnosticism (The term gnosis means knowledge born of direct experience, as in you don’t naïvely “believe in” some dogmatic deception, you acquire your own awareness of false systems for having experienced or researched them yourself. The spiritual journeyer who has graduated from religion and/or new age either stagnates or expands awareness. If he continues growing spiritually, he is a gnostic. And he’s in a journey/battle which is debatably better epitomized by a movie than it is by any one book.);
      √  theosophy (Studying this branch of esotericism helps one gain a better understanding of ancient, hidden wisdom—as was manifested by the Brotherhood of the Snake before it was infiltrated and corrupted—and how humans may advance to higher levels of spirituality.);
      √  the paranormal/the transnormal (What is currently deemed para‑ and transnormal in “conventional wisdom” is actually normal for threeD reality. The problem, though, is that we’re not in threeD reality, we’re in threeD unreality, due to humanity’s psychic awareness center/third eye/chakra system having been tampered with and the veil of secrecy having been placed around mankind’s raison d’être—the implementation of the Magnum Opus—all with the aim of keeping us locked in to the control system of the matrix.);
      √  quantum physics and “real” science (“Science” has been pseudoscience all along and reality isn’t what we thought it was. Not only that, so-called science fiction, ironically, has a lot of truth in it! Here in this world of inversions, what we “know” to be “science” is mostly fiction—a farce [like “global warming,” which is rubbish]—because it’s part of the matrix, part of keeping everyone in the mindset of “having faith in” the opposite of what really is. We have all unknowingly been adherents of the false religion of scientism! Study up on it. Then throw it out, ’cause it’s limiting us all.);
      √  multidimensional reality/anatomy (The notion that we each have one body is dangerously limited thinking, not to mention wrong. We have physical, etheric, astral, mental, and causal bodies. And if we don’t learn how to enter, e.g., the astral plane, if we don’t know how to control ourselves when we’re out of body, how can we expect not to be duped in the “afterlife”?);
      √  the “archons” (This word means “rulers,” but they “rule” only if we let əm, so don’t give əm any unmerited power! They’re the primary cause of the deception and misery we’re struggling with. But who are they? The androgynous, ancient serpent race—a.k.a. shapeshifting reptilians—which is what theosophist H. P. Blavatsky and cosmicist H. P. Lovecraft referred to as the Nag/Naga? [The name of the apocryphal library—the Nag Hammadi—is not a coincidence, folks.] Proponents of the talmud, descendents of those who made a deal with an alien named Melchizedek? [You know, the one whom you bornagainers, you biblestudiers, can never quite figure out the true identity of.] Mind viruses which have neurolinguistically hacked most humans into remaining spiritually asleep, stupid, and mad as hell at anyone who refuses to follow the herd? Whether you’re aware of it or not, humanity is getting [bleeped] with by fourD, nonhuman entities.);
      √  “transhumanism” (Gnostic/SciFi author Philip K. Dick wrote, “Fake realities will create fake humans.” It has come to pass: we are already forgeries of ourselves—we’re not even real anymore! And we’re not too far away from getting our souls hacked, while most folks—obliviously addicted to the latest gadgets, recklessly hungry for even more technology—are not only doing NOTHING about it, they’re foolishly embracing it like moths diving into soap bubbles, drowning in the unseen water.); and
      √  comparative mythology/folklore (Stuck in the false polarization of false choices of “Darwinian evolutionism” vs. [traditional] “creationism,” are yə? You’ll stay stuck if you “believe in” either of these nonsensical hypotheses. That man clearly did not crawl out of the slime does not prove the legitimacy of the “intelligent design” myth which everybody assumes to be correct, even though its timeline is absurdly implausible. It takes years of comparative analysis to realize it, but the stories of paganism/folklore/the old gods—i.e., higher-density beings who are not Prime Creator—these stories are far more sensible tales. And even if you’re too lazy to do Earthschool’s homework of investigating such matters, you’d better wake up, ’cause what you believe when you disincarnate can cost you. So beware of the narrative in the groupthink of “conventional wisdom,” because it’s not our story.).
         One a.)—You gottə love it that in Cormac McCarthy’s post‑, yet retromodern Westerns—(think the Border Trilogy, not Blood Meridian, because the latter is horrifically violent and superdifficult, but not in a fun, engaging way)—you gottə love that 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. Unfortunately, I do get annoyed by his invalid use of eye dialect. (Following modal verbs with the preposition of is a written or typographic grammatical error, not a spoken error, because no one ever says such a thing. A character may “think” he does, but if so, he’s confusing the word of with the contracted ’ve, the two utterances of which sound identical in rapid speech. And since this error is written, not spoken, it does not merit an orthographic representation in attempting to represent dialogue; therefore, occurrences of it are eyesores rather than valid eye dialect.) Nevertheless, I love McCarthy’s quirky, Joycean, Faulknerian style of wordjoining and his use of archaisms and occasional ergodic text. And who else could have spanned the genres from Southern Gothic to Western to postapocalyptic? What a trip.
         One b.)—Turns out there’s not only a generation gap, but country and racial gaps, and they make people think and behave differently—sometimes drastically so—from one group to the next. “We are all the same,” my ass; and culture, schmulture: live in a less “industrialized” country long enough and you can see clearly that its people do not have a different “culture,” but a different mind. Each group with a gap, so to speak, is distinctively “wired,” and that’s what drives “cultural” differences. Moreover, in theory, linguistic relativity suggests that variations in foreigners’ thinking and actions derive from the varying grammatical structures of their native languages. For example, some languages lack the aspectual categorization which enables speakers to perform chronological sequencing, so they don’t; they can’t—they’re not wired for it. Others have native languages that are saddled with excessive subjunctivity, which results in too much hesitancy in their getting things done in a timely manner. But these factors, which can make for vast discrepancies in outlook, seemingly do not account for the entirety of folks’ differences in behavior. The denizens of some nations are innovative, for instance; of others, not at all. Why? Who or what is driving these inequities? How are they being used against humanity as a whole? I love studying this stuff and figuring out how everything ties to the hidden knowledge/the matrix/the insane game we’re caught up in. And of course, figuring out which books pertain to this topic. Interestingly enough, among the relevant ones is The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious by C. G. Jung. Don’t bother, though, with Myth and Meaning: Cracking the Code of Culture by anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss, because it turned out to be a dud of a pamphlet in which the author didn’t even define any terms or codes, much less let alone crack əm.
         One c.)—Get into the rhythm of Trainspotting: look up the Scottish linguistic connections about whether it’s different dialects or different languages or some of both, figure out how the unique orthography depicts what’s beən sed, sort out who’s who by variations in individual lexicon or wordplays in their nicknames, piece together the short chapters and the inner-monologue vignettes, make sense of the rollercoaster-ride flashbacks and flashforwards, empathize with the characters’ party-and-play fun and adventures, suffer through the requisite ohmygod-what-did-I-do-last-night? terrors—those inexorable prices which must be paid for gettən high—and witness the whole mess mutate into senseless violence. Then let it dawn on you that this masterpiece contains a roman à clef: addicts who cannot stomach or who will not tolerate the bollocks of “society” transfer their dependency on drugs (or whatever else they might be hooked on) to perpetual “counseling” or “therapy” the minute they accept that the “State” has the right to “fix” əm. As soon as this illogical leap has been made, the addict struggles in the realm of twisted logic to make himself “re‑enter” what the blind gameplayers in and of the matrix deem “worthwhile” in order to be “successful,” but which, of course, has never been anything but banality/emptiness/hogwash to the addict, not to mention the Outsider! This novel, Irvine Welsh’s first, is not only the ultimate in nonlinear narrative, organized fragmentation, and multiperspectivity; it’s not only the marathon of the pomo literary device known as linguistic play, with initially tough-to-figure-out bi‑dialectal speech; it’s also hyperrealism’s and late postmodernism’s most riveting portrayal of drug addiction.
         One d.)—Life couldn’t possibly be this asinine, this preposterous, if we humans weren’t being messed with—if we weren’t under attack—right? That realization is precisely what the first wave of spiritual awakening is all about, and lots of us have experienced it. More and more of us are going through the stages of waking up, and some of us are evolving enough to avoid being duped into reincarnating back into the matrix of the demiurge’s material realm. The more awake we are, the less likely we are to wind up back on this [bleeped]-up planet surrounded by asleep sheep, otherwise known as the tares who make life such a pain in the assets for us wheat. We wheat now see reality for what it is: unreality, because what passes for “normal life” can now be seen by some as simulated reality, mass deception, illusion, and bullshit. And just as most humans herd/abuse/consume some lower life forms for their carnal energy, there are sentient beings in a higher dimension who are parasitically feeding off of our loosh. (Not to mention some of əm are running a takeover plan, which may or may not include a “fake alien invasion”; of course I say fake because they’re already here—and have been for millennia—and if you don’t know that yet, you haven’t been paying attention!) Moreover, while they’re deceiving us—especially with fairytale religions like xianity—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 their plot, which one must be pretty much blind not to be able to see, because references to it are legion, all over the place in literature, the trancebox, cyberspace, and flicks.
         One e.)—“It’s just a movie—”/“It’s only a novel—” my ass. No! It’s not that simple, folks: fiction is chocked full of nonfictional allusions to the occult/the esoteric. That is how it’s done, because they’re mocking us to beat hell and letting us know partly how they’re going about it, which is called the “revelation of the method.” But understanding this concept requires more than just grasping one key part of the Big Picture/the Implex. First, it’s crucial to see that “they”—the previously mentioned “sentient beings in a higher dimension” and their puppets, the “human elite,” who are actors—they are parasites. Next, we need to know that unless we agree to being “played,” they can’t play us. So they’re looking to hoodwink us into “giving our consent” to going along with this nightmare trip on the holodeck, so to speak. Moreover, they’re brainwashing the sheeple with entertainment/infotainment and literature in the following way: because they are sneaky bastards, they render versions of what is actually happening as fictional stories and they ridicule folks with the direction in which things are really going as fiction. And the utterly 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 miss the forest for the trees. Studying fiction which is not Reading Lite—studying serious, literary fiction—is every bit as much part of the deal of 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 works, or both. There is truth in movies and novels, and lies and hoaxes in the “news,” because we live in an pլɹoʍ uʍop-ǝpısdn.
         One f.)—In Dashiell Hammett’s hardboiled, noir fiction, he begins with a situation that is already fabricated, then dismantles it and eliminates each version 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. In mine as well: as a sorterouter—as an Outsider—I attempt to plow through and figure out as much of the aforementioned simulated reality/mass deception/illusion/bullshit that constitutes life by peeling away as many of the false layers as I can. What a cool connection! And while this methodology is not unique—other detective fiction writers, such as Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald, employed it—his writing exemplifies what some postmodern theorists, notably Jacques Derrida, would have called deconstructionism: the author’s breaking down of the fabrications is analogous to the reader’s making sense of what runs against the “structural unity” of the text. Furthermore, Hammett was an extremely capable grammarian. If you’re the type who insists on your writers knowing how to use em dashes skillfully, 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’ll be quite charmed with his competent, correct use of punctuation! He was refreshingly expert in this area, having excelled in the mechanics of grammar to a level that very few living authors do. (One example of an exception, of course, is John Irving.)
         One g.)—Bornagainers are parked. On a plateau. On an exoteric, or outer-belief-system, plateau: the one where they experienced “Praize the lord! and dropkick me jesus,” which probably included visceral, “feel-good” deception from fourD entities against whom they’re not even aware they got a chump made out of əm yet; they’re on that plateau where they’re biblestudiers for a while and they “go to church” for a longer while (and don’t forget, y’all, to pass the plate to the ravening wolves!), even though their own selfcontradictory literature says that the “church” is not something you “go to.” If this is you, you’re copping out by not doing your own spiritual work, your esoteric journey. You know, the inner-belief-system, arduous trek in which you initiate, or begin, the unhiding of the occulted, i.e., hidden, know-thyself process, which is, in turn, about studying and taking action, so you can graduate from threeD. Instead, you’re counting on some outside, sentient being to “save” you by “believing in” the notion of one component of the tripartite-yet-there-is-only-one god having incarnated into human flesh to take part in a blood sacrifice to appease another component of the tripartite-yet-there-is-only-one god, which is a fable, not to mention rationalization for not having to do your internal, spiritual work, the doing of which is precisely why your soul is here on Earthschool in the first place. Your belief system is, in part, just that: it’s a system designed to keep believers and nominal “members” parked on some plateau fighting, even killing, those who are stuck in the isms and schisms of other plateaux. And if only the chaos ended there! No, the rabbithole goes much deeper: xianity is also a tool for removing spiritual knowledge from humanity so that occult power may be used by the few to manipulate and enslave the masses. This religion—the greatest story ever sold—is one of many divide-and-conquer tools being used against us, yet somehow we’re not smart enough to see this and stop participating. Why is that?
         One h.)—The “new age” is no solution; it’s another parking lot. The one where “believers” fall for doctrines like the way-too-simplistic-to-be-true “You Create Your Own Reality” and wonder why their reality creation somehow never materializes, even though it obviously doesn’t line up with everyone else’s unreality uncreation. Worse yet, those trapped in the new [c]age invoke “arch[on]angels” for “protection” and study and “believe in” literature which was supposedly “channeled” from “ascended masters” and “beings of the light.” But the light and its beings are false—(which is to say they’re not “of the light”; rather, they’re “of the darkness” but disguised as being of the light)—and anyone with an iota of discernment can figure this out simply by doing a comparative analysis of the material. To take an example, a well-loved new age “classic,” Bringers of the Dawn by Barbara Marciniak, is baited with sensible stuff and promptly switched to deceptive bullshit, including “channeled” messages. These so-called channelings always have the same blueprint, the same Newspeak, the same script you could write yourself complete with buzzwords, because they always have the same cornball message. And gullible new [c]agers are buying this message because they have no gnostic, intuitive sense that both “sides”—the [false] light and the dark—are illusory since this entire realm is a false duality. Even though our physical bodies exist in a falsely polarized, wrongly bifurcated, deceptively fabricated domain—the demiurge’s material realm—we tend to think that one “side of the coin” must be “good” or “right” or “of the light,” but it just ain’t so: the entire coin is [bleeped]. The only viable solution, therefore, is to select “none of the above” and learn how to transcend both “sides” by rising above this false-duality matrix with continually expanding awareness, which is gnosis.
         One i.)—I’m excited about having unearthed the short fiction of Howard Phillips Lovecraft! However, while his Gothic/horror/fantasy is outstanding, there is more going on here than meets the eye: when reading some of his work, notably “The Other Gods” and “The Call of Cthulhu,” the red flags of the apocryphal texts’—especially the book of Enoch’s—warnings against the “archons”/the “watchers” can’t help but stand up and wave at you, at least if you’ve done your homework; and the “Cthulhu Mythos” and the grimoire that he used, the “Necronomicon,” seem almost to be a metaphor and a playbook for the summoning in of the [reptilian/illuminati] “new world order.” Yikes. This dude really did come from an unnerving perspective and give new meaning to the word creepy! Think I’ll do my first reread, though, after I’ve perused Helena Blavatsky’s synthesis of ancient mythological and “religious” hidden knowledge, The Secret Doctrine, because it contains some of the same verbiage H. P. L. used, like Naga and the Old Ones, the terms of which are codewords for the ancient serpent race, which every awakened one here in the matrix—even bornagainers who are not yet awake enough to be former bornagainers—can just see as malevolent. But are matters really so simplistic as that? Perhaps the “evil” symbols (e.g., the ubiquitous one eye) and concepts associated with əm—legion in literature, the trancebox, cyberspace, and flicks—are merely red herrings, there to scare us away from taking the actions we need to cross the proverbial finish line.
         One j.)—Extraterrestrials: the term itself is disinformation; it’s misleading nomenclature, so switch it to extradimensionals. “They” are not “from another planet,” folks. That’s cheesy crap from ’fifties’ flicks. They’re from another dimension, and they have the technology to appear [mostly] human. That the vast majority of folks still don’t get that most famous “people” are impostors is mindboggling to those of us who have eyes to see. Moreover, we are being played like a freakən fiddle from outside threeD chronological time; decades and centuries are moments to them. And these infiltrators have fomented a war on Terra—our land, our planet—which’ll be lost unless we refuse to participate in the selfenslaving systems of “government,” “finance,” and “employment”; unless we turn off television (which is how they program us) and dumbphones (which are run by towers that’re killing machines); and unless we learn our own backstory. Here’s the shortlist from which you can launch your own search: The Epic of Gilgamesh provides the oldest-known stories of theogony which are uncorrupted (unlike those in the old testament); Zecharia Sitchin’s The Twelfth Planet is an essential read (even though, regrettably, some of its scholarship should be approached with caution), because it offers an alternative worldview to the false choices of evolutionism’s nonsensical fairytales vs. creationism’s implausible timeline; and William Bramley’s The Gods of Eden is a not-to-be-missed book (even though, unfortunately, it’s sloppily edited), because it puts a new spin on everything. With these books, you’ll garner an understanding of the Anunnaki—some of whom are helping humans—and other extradimensionals.
         One k.)—In House of Leaves, the haunted house motif has been taken to a new dimension—namely, the fourth, by way of Hinton’s tesseract/hypercube—and you’ll need to employ tactics such as physically turning the book and placing a mirror in front of it if you want to decode the structural metanarrative of this most amazing novel, in which author Mark Z. Danielewski does not fail to work in the concept of anfractuosity—wherein the multidimensional shifting ability of the house is analogous to the matrix’s responding with individually customized synchronicity to spiritual journeyers’ emitting of unique fractals—and in which, through multitiered dialogue, multinested footnotes, and hypertextual maneuvering, the author answers to the theories of deconstructionism set forth by scholar Fredric Jameson in Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism in such a way that postmodernism is left entirely deconstructed, having been brought to the end of itself, with the metastory having come full circle all the way back to Yggdrasil, the Norse Tree of Life. Not too shabby for a début performance, huh?
         One l.)—Wannə delve into the Tree of Life in an attempt to learn more about how the different realms/dimensions are interconnected? You could investigate the Kabbalah, but after you’ve researched and studied for seven blue moons about how and why the Mesopotamian/Sumerian mythos and its backstory constitute the origin of everything (even though the focus everywhere you look is seemingly deflected away from that fact), and how it all morphed into exoteric judaism (the literature of which is bonkers and which features an egomaniacal tyrant named Yahweh/Jehovah, who eggs on his followers to smite everyone else, makes out as “god” when he’s really the “father of lies” himself, and cooks up circumlocutions of the creation story to hide our true origin and purpose—the working of the Magnum Opus) and exoteric xianity (the literature of which is rigged not only with disinformation for the purpose of maintaining control over the masses but also with literary allusions and inside jokes referring to the Roman “ruling class,” meant to mock all who misunderstand them), you’re probably not especially eager to ponder their corresponding esoteric component of the map of realms/dimensions, which is essentially what the Kabbalah is a corrupted version of, because eventually you realize why they are not to be trusted. “They” being the zionists and their formulation of talmudic judaism and its spinoffs—which are HOAXES—including catholicism, islam, protestantism and its myriad subsidiaries, and even mormonism. These isms and schisms are throwbacks to and inversions of the Mesopotamian/Sumerian mythos, parts of which are actually true, yet nobody has a clue about the interconnectedness of its history: this is how the [bleeped]ers roll folks, pitting one group blindly against the others, and if you haven’t figured this out yet then you are still being played.
         One m.)—Story within a story: Outside threeD, in a realm far, far beyond, Prime Creator telepathed unto its intermediate‑ and higher-dimensional creatures, “Go create more worlds and populate them with new or genetically upgraded creatures,” because Prime Creator expands awareness by experiencing multiple realities through multiple sentient beings. P. C. again telepathed, “Suffering and war are permitted in freewill multiverses which have dualistic materialities, because second‑ and third-density creatures progress slowly in the absence of conflict; not to worry though, as they’ve already reunited in nonduality near my dimension.” Flashforward: A “war in heaven” commenced: scheming extradimensionals outnumbered the humans’ creator and his collaborators and “chained” and “cast” them into “darkness”—(i.e., outMagicked/outspelled them)—cutting them off from their humans, who had been designed to be telepathic, multidimensional beings, psychically equipped, able to regenerate or selfheal when injured, and who—flashback—indeed operated as such during a Golden Age. Then the connivers telepathed, “let’s downgrade the humans by deactivating their chakras and third eyes so we can manipulate them. And let’s confuse əm by making əm think that their enemies are their ‘gods’ and their own higher-density beings are ‘devils’; let’s trick əm into ‘believing in’ a hedonistic ‘father’ who is not their creator but who does desire their ‘worship’; let’s get əm stuck in allegorized, selflimiting religions so we can control them. In fact, let’s rig everything so convoluted by twists, turns, and thoughtforms and so obfuscated by rituals, lies, and memoryholes that these dumbasses’ll not only be duped into fighting for our side, they won’t even know they’re in a cosmic war!” Bamming the war up yet another notch, the schemers engineered their own “humans” off of our DNA—(not to mention they infused əm with some of their own)—thereby creating hybrids who are shapeshifting deceivers that run a helluvə show. Crazy theory? Wild speculation? Buy this story, do yə? Of course you don’t. Now here’s what I don’t buy: I don’t buy “turn the other cheek,” nor “love your enemy,” nor “give unto Caesar,” because these xian precepts are mantras for losers, for victims who’ve been mind[bleeped] into not fighting back.
         One n.)—So in the ’sixties New Wave smash, Lord of Light, there’s this warrior, name of Shan, who expects a fab new body upon exiting the soul transmigration machine. Only prob is, he doesn’t know this model has epilepsy. “Then the fit hit the Shan.” Metempsychosis, extra“terrestrials” interacting with humans, and other “para”normal phenomena abound in this postmodern extravaganza by Roger Zelazny, so it must be a work of fantasy, right? That’s what all the mucketymucks with “graduate degrees” insist on. I say they’re full of shiitake mushrooms: this novel is truth in fiction. It’s an allegory; it’s a picture of those extradimensional, higher-density beings and their establishment—right here on slavecolony planet Earth—of religion, the cast of characters of which may be likened to the hindu pantheon of gods or the cryptically referred-to Anunnaki in the old testament. Or take your pick from among the gods of any of the other belief systems which are the opiates of humans, because they’re the same beings. (Except for some of the Nordics, they’re the douchebags who think we humans shouldn’t be granted the Life and the Knowledge so that we may be like unto them, plural.) This tour de force includes a wildride configuration—it’s Joycean circuitry with a twist—as the penultimate chapter metanarratively circles you back to the first chapter, serving as a metaphor for reincarnation. But if you figure out the hook, you may advance to the last chapter, symbolically escaping to Nirvana, exiting the endless cycle of lives. Can you dig it?
         One o.)—Did yə know that the term god is loaded with a play not so much on words, but pronunciation? We English speakers pronounce the vowel as a “short o,” which is the “ah” sound of the letter a in virtually every other language with a Roman-based script. When we say “Gahd,” we’re uttering the familiar/shortform version of the word Gädre‑el, the name of the serpent “trickster.” Bet yə didn’t know that. This handy factoid shows up in the literature once, in the book of Enoch, which “they” don’t want you reading, so they declared it “apocryphal.” How convenient. (Turns out that manifesting serpent Kundalini energy is an essential experience for the advanced journeyer, but the point here is that you’ve been deceived into doing something which is the opposite of your intention, and we might wannə stop being dumbasses at least long enough to find out who we’ve been praying to, right? [Chapter sixty-eight. Go.]) Then again, what’s considered not to be apocryphal is artifice anyway, ’cause the bible is not only disinfo. and inside jokes, it’s a jewish book of witchcraft, wherein we’re “enchanted” from recognizing that their “adversary” is our creator!; and you haftə study sedulously for almost forever until you get it that its pantheon of gahds is the same lineup that exists in Gilgamesh, Greek, and other mythologies. And if you’re too beset with busyness to do Earthschool’s homework of studying such matters comparatively—(because that asshole, “father time” [Anu/Yahweh/Chronos/the demiurge], has you locked in to a neverending “work” schedule here in fake threeD “reality,” with its sham materialism and fake chronological time)—if you’re too “busy,” you will never graduate. Humanity is under a spell, folks. Bet yə didn’t know that either.
         One p.)—You could be active in a “bible study” for many years and you’ll never learn that the Tree of Life is a map of the human soul, with the “seven seals” mockingly referred to in the book of Revelation as cryptic language for the seven major chakras—which the extradimensionals thought’d be cute to seal off from proper functioning when they waged the previously mentioned “war in heaven,” and which is partly why we’re not operating optimally, and lots of luck finding anyone at a churchianity who grasps that. And when this little bombshell hits, you’re thinkən I’m seriously gonnə have to ramp up my meditation!, which some of us came into kicking and screaming, hating “quieting the mind,” oblivious as to how crucial it is to advancement. Yet THE WAY OUT lies in the performance of power meditation by opening your third eye, cleansing your pineal gland, balancing your chakras, and experiencing Kundalini energy flows safely, because then and only then are you in the homestretch, where you can heal your physical body naturally—(thereby escaping the unhealth “system” designed with sophistry by the despicable, condoned with apathy by the clueless)—and where you can see into the etheric and astral realms, but don’t expect to get there by watching a video or two, ’cause it ain’t happenən.
         One q.)—Natural humans—i.e., those who are not enslaved by the clock, jobbs, fake fiat funnymoney, a mentality of having to “pay” and “owe,” übertechnogadgetry, the hypnotrancebox, and/or lusts/addictions—natural humans’ve been designed to narrate, listen to, and celebrate tales dealing with their own story, not those of predators who handpick themes/motifs out of multifarious pagan folklore; stitch them together as a syncretistically composite, ersatz “religion” that has been infused with nefarious boobytraps; and then forcefeed the [bleeped]er back to mankind on pain of death while concomitantly rewriting the backstory. And there is no fakeass story so repulsive, so obnoxious, so reprehensible, nor so insidious as the xmas story—which is NOT OUR STORY. But by gahd every fool in the world just loves the annoying, drawn-out-for-two-freakən-months music which makes you wannə gag and which can be heard virtually everywhere, and all the clueless folk think it’s just splendid to assume that everyone else wants to play their reindeer games. You know, all the “festivities” which frame this nightmare. And these oblivious folk pass their entire lives remaining dumber’n a box of rocks about the fact that this debacle was instituted by extradimensionals who work through one particular odious group of “humans” for the purpose of duping the gullible into worshipping the image of their own destruction. I could not be more disgusted nor fed up with this garbage. That all and sundry buy this bullcrap story and are apparently programmed to loop to the scoff-and-scorn subroutine upon encountering anyone spiritually awake enough not to buy it is the foremost example of the stupidest groupthink ever, and you can put that in the Akashic Records and smoke it.
         One r.)—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 everyone-must-read Dystopians, Brave New World and Nineteen Eighty-four—I thought I’d sufficiently delved into science fiction. My tune has changed as I’ve come to realize that with SciFi, “they” tend to reveal more 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. 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. What’s more, having gone back to Bradbury—whose work is more about human nature and struggle than it is about futuristic technology—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. Now I’m a convert to SciFi, especially since some of it dovetails with postmodernism. 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!
         One s.)—Quite fascinating indeed, how SciFi and pomo dovetail with each other! In an aptly named nineteen eighty short story, the author whose portmanteau indeed “grokked the juxtaposition of punk attitudes and high technology,” Bruce Bethke, coined the term which was to become the name of a new subgenre of science fiction: cyberpunk, which may be defined as “pulp characterized by a mixture of moral corruption, technological obsession, ambiguous identity, and loss of bodily integrity.” Don’t let the hipness of this term fool you, because cyberpunk is Dystopian; it is postmodern. Furthermore, cyberpunk and its derivatives and subgenres (including postcyberpunk, biopunk, and nanopunk) are transhuman or posthuman. You know, we’re talkən about the singularity, a term coined in the time travel murder mystery (say what?) Marooned in Realtime by Vernor Vinge, one of the first writers to clarify what cyberspace is beyond that which Borges had hinted at decades earlier. This flavor of SciFi also maps out the drive toward humanity’s being merged with machines. Too farfetched, too “out there” for yə, merging with machines, that is? Guess again. It has already started: people are in the initial stages of merging with their dumbphones now. Moreover, getting everybody addicted to gadgets as a precursor to being morphed into A.I. is apparently the endgame gameplan, other concomitantly potential, eschatologically apocalyptic subplots notwithstanding. Yet having experienced an epiphany about the extremely coordinated facets of transhumanism being all over the joint in cyberpunk, having achieved an understanding of this component of our fabricated surreality way beyond that of the hundredheaded rabble—such an awareness in and of itself does not prove that the A.I. scenario must necessarily play out, because at some point it dawns on you that perhaps even that info. is just more highly coordinated disinfo., ’cause that’s how the [bleeped]ers roll. Whatever transpires though, an encounter with some of the more recent literature of science fiction has resulted in my having acquired a new and radically (reactionarily?) different point of view. As such, my knowledge of the Big Picture/the Implex has been enhanced tremendously.

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

     Two—I beg your pardon: [I Never Promised You a {Politically Correct}] “Rose Garden.” (Thanks for the inspiration, tranny 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!)
         Two a.)—Let’s start to see “political correctness” for what it is: it is the fascism of ridiculous, euphemistic language being ever-increasingly imposed on what used to be an unafraid, tell-it-like-it-is, plainspeaking public; it is intolerance disguised as “tolerance”; it is a type of neoGramscian “cultural” hegemony; it is so-called cultural Marxism; it is the Frankfurt School’s dismantling of majority rights and the nullifying of any criticism from being leveled against minorities or their manipulators; and, most consequentially, it is the Thought Police in action. It is dangerous: everyone is in peril of losing his or her freedom—or what’s left of it, that is—when behind-the-scenes maneuverers shrewdly, nefariously deceive a whole country of asleep sheep into accepting new “ways” that come with an agenda. Pretty neato-cool stuff “they” done conjured up, this P.C. thing, huh? I mean, with this baloney, they don’t even haftə be the Speech Police, ’cause we are—if we’re gullible enough/dumbass enough to fall for it—doing the policing for əm. Talk about divide and conquer!
         Two b.)—Because of neato-cool P.C., we take the absurd issue of “transgender bathrooms,” or whatever other issue du jour there may 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/the Implex that we’re dealing with (actually, that we’re not dealing with!) because the true Big Picture is one of vast deception/illusion/fabricated surreality, including the contrived falseflag events and the orchestrated, falsely polarized issues that’ve been set up to divide and conquer us. Thus, victims end up fighting other victims instead of collaborating to stop the perpetrators, whose tactics—which are straight out of Machiavelli—work slicker than snot on a doorknob because nobody knows who they are. (That very few of us bother to find out is pathetic, by the way.) Moreover, knowledge of who they are is not enough. If we are to become free, we must also 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 abiogenically produced and genetically modified humans which are straight out of Huxley, how can such insanity reach its culmination without the parameters of decent childrearing and the boundaries of gender categories being shaken up and broken down first? This is why children haven’t been receiving proper discipline and sufficient nurturing. This is why “sexual liberation” set the stage for sexuality confusion, which in turn is setting the stage for gender confusion. This is why all the lines have been and are continuing to be blurred, crossed, erased, and redrawn. Do you see it now? Over ninety-five percent of you have not the faintest idea of what we’re up against and how enormous and coordinated it 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. We desperately need to get over the childishness and to stop cooperating with the new “speech taboos” which are straight out of Orwell: if we’re baby adults with not enough miles on us yet, or if we’re spiritually unawake dumbasses of any age, we end up being useful idiots for the enemies of humanity. The end. Unless, that is, we individually wake up, admit we’ve been deceived too, let go of whatever it is that’s enslaving us, and grow up. Collectively, we must change our approach, peeps, or we’re screwed. If we don’t stop shooting each other in the foot with this bullshit, then we’ve already let “them” win.
     Three—The “U.S.A.” is a “country” (read: corporation) with a fascist Big Brother of a “government” which is propped up and supported by a police state and its deceived citizens who have no inkling what Natural Law is; it’s a so-called government which 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; it’s a government which administers psychopathic military operations and insane psyops which integrate with the so-called archontic agenda; it’s a government through which we have virtually perpetual warfare brought to you by the banksters, not to mention the conniving zionist conspiratorialists. (And the plebes/philistines look to this wicked government to “protect” them, it never having crossed their minds, not even once, that this behemoth itself is the thing which they need protection from; and the uninformed don’t know that it’s a counterfeit republic, or, as some “alternative” researchers/truthers are saying, a mockup; and the even more uninformed, despite all the evidence to the contrary, still think that it’s a “democracy”; and the most ignorant of all—you know, the most easily manipulable and impressionable, the ones who have no clue they’re being played by crowd psychology and that they’re being tricked into giving their consent—they’re the idiots who yell, “You! Ess! Aay!” at “political” and “sporting” events.)
         Three a.)—The counterculture was a scam. An intricately coordinated-from-above sting operation, it was: social engineering that, given enough time, would get everybody behaving degenerately. “Why?” you ask? ’Cause “they”—the “oligarchs”—want absolute control, and plebes can’t defend themselves when they’re addicted to/enslaved by their lusts and dumbed down. Look around “society” nowadays; people are just skuzzy: dressed way too casually in public, some of əm with whoknowshowmany tattoos and piercings. And if you want to talk grammar and lexicon, mostly what you hear is substandard English already gone to hell in a handbasket. (Don’t get me staaht‑əd!) None of this would’ve taken place had it not been for the counterculture. But before all this distastefulness, in contrast, everybody—even the rowdier ones, the riffraffier folk—everybody was more respectable. To take an example, look at old flicks from the film noir era. Notice how everyone was attired; there was no indecency and no trashtalk. What a different world! “Yeah but, times change,” you say. No. No, they don’t, because the construct subject/intransitive verb in the active voice/no object implies that the times are doing their own changing, in and of their own volition, which is nonsense: a nonsentient entity cannot perform its own action; rather, it is being acted upon by someone. Thus, “Times are being changed by the ‘controllers’.” The construct object/verb in the passive voice/agent provides, grammatically and logically, a picture of what is actually happening. Times do not change by themselves! They are being changed—they’re being acted upon—precisely because we have been, and are being, screwed with. Any questions? I used to think, though, that some good must’ve come out of the libertarian freeing up of the old “cultural” pressure that this so-called counterculture facilitated, because who wants everybody to be the same? How bourgeois; how anti‑individualistic; how annoying, right? Wrong. It turns out that I was wrong on that. Dead wrong, but I’m not the only one to’ve grasped this as of late, because it’s part of the “global” waking up going on: sexual liberation was a psyop for addicting/enslaving everyone to his desires. And guess how “they” pulled it off? Television. (There’s a reason that “shows” are called programs, folks.) Moreover, urban renewal was ethnic cleansing. And while the roots of so-called urban renewal predate the counterculture, the point remains that these swindles, these cons, when run in conjunction with usury and predatory crony capitalism, managed to solidify political control for the oligarchs. This was their strategy. But everybody was so busy “doing the nightlife” that was ushered in by postcounterculture, late-’seventies disco—not to mention acting out hedonistic fantasies during the ’eighties—everybody was so preoccupied with “diversion” that nobody noticed we were being socially engineered. (Research the lyrics of ’eighties’ pop and New Wave music. It doesn’t take a genius to see why, given how smutty these tunes were, everyone became so hypersexualized.) We fell into the moral and economic abysses, and we didn’t even know it! Whether you realize it yet or not, the surrender of reason to passions/appetites/lusts is the moral equivalent of death; and if you don’t believe me, consult Euripides and Shakespeare. And do your homework before you write these concepts off: Did you know that some of the famous “feminists” from the ’seventies were CĪA operatives? Are you aware that “gay-rights activists” from twenty and thirty years ago, well intentioned though they may have been, were naïve pawns being used in a game in which they had no clue what the hidden-agenda, longterm objectives were? Did you know that “psychology” and “counseling”—(talk about bullshit!)—were set up as part of a plan (mostly by Freud and other descendents of those who made a deal with Melchizedek) to become eventual vehicles for “cultural” subversion? (Let’s face it, folks: the jews are the ones who’ve owned and run Hollyweird for as long as it’s been around. They’re the behind-the-scenes and the right-in-front-of-your-face power structure in banking, in international banking, in the specially zoned corporation known as the “District of Columbia,” and in the “culture wars.” It’s the jews, dammit, not the Wesleyan Methodists or the Plymouth Brethren, and we need to stop ignoring this fact.) We’ve been had, folks. Let that sink in. Now, what are we going to do about it?
         Three b.)—A section on the Coudenhove-Kalergi Plan will be coming right up.
     Four—Not a fan of the new soma, the ubiquitous handheld gadgets/gizmos that are:
      √  getting everyone addicted, more dumbed down, and less real in their interpersonal communications;
      √  absorbing people in “social media” to the extent that they no longer have a social life;
      √  increasing noise pollution;
      √  violating the personal space of others;
      √  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;
      √  producing radiation that causes brain cancer;
      √  supporting the enemies of humanity and their move toward transhumanism and merging humans with machines;
      √  sending information to the towers, which are weaponized;
      √  facilitating governmental agencies’ ability to spy on everyone; and
      √  causing our young folk to have the attention span of a gnat.
—So yə still wannə stay addicted to your silly phones, dumbphones, and the latest gadgets du jour? Because, you know, you “need” əm for “business,” you just might get caught in a blizzard, and you definitely cannot survive without taking “selfies”? Are yə doən “apps” and “texts” to the extent that nothing is real in your life anymore, are yə? And you’re so enthralled by it all you’re oblivious to the fact that the towers which run this crap are killing machines, huh? You fool! The enemies of humanity are screwing us over with this stuff! Be part of the solution instead of the problem: get yourself unaddicted—then help others do the same. Spread the word while there’s still time!
     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 and mindless foolishness and endless chatter about fake, simulated tribal combat. Sadly, alarmingly, we have allowed ourselves to be deceived by a motherlode of perpetual enter‑ and infotainment that have been brought to us by those with ulterior motives. And here on all-the-world’s-a-stage planet, we’ve let ourselves become so distracted by our worship of the ludicrously overpaid sportsball players, performers, and portrayers 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, not a hobby or a pastime, folks, ’cause y’all get downright ornery or even physically threatening when someone declines your invitation to fellowship.) 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 hypnosis machine and watching others duking it out or chasing a ball around a field and getting all obsessed about it is the height of stupidity and insanity, not to mention a colossal waste of time. How damned dumb are yə? How many times do you want to incarnate back on to miserable Earthschool for having been a simplistic, materialistic doofus here, for having refused to do your spiritual journey? But by gahd you know everything there is to know about NOTHING, though! And you get all pissy at those of us who will not come down to your level and play your version of twenty questions on your turf about all of this sports trivia crap? Questions, of course, based on your stupid assumptions that we’re low-level enough, dumb enough, to be “fans” too? Really? Don’t all you testosterone-filled he‑men feel silly? Have you no shame, foolishly misdirecting your virility instead of being real men and fighting the enemy, huh, huh? Way to go, Bubbas.
     Six—[Please select a string quartet by Béla Bartók {the second movement of the Nº 2 is my personal favorite} and listen to it while reading this section, ’cause it’ll set the mood just right!] In re. the jobb “market”/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 you have an ohmygahd-I-don’t-wannə-get-there-that-bad commute and you’re under the jurisdiction of the Keystone Kops and forty percent of your “coworkers” are so incompetent they couldn’t organize an orgy in a whorehouse and you’re tempted to get in on “office politics” but you do so at your own risk ’cause your “playmates” are overly sensitive little darləns donchyə know so one of əm might “report” that you “don’t play well with others” and if you have a justifiable gripe about any little/medium/bigass thing all the illogical blockheads bellyache “Well I have to do it!” in a summarily dismissive tone as though that makes the whole lot legitimate and they lay it on thick at “mandatory meetings” as they try to reindoctrinate you by shoving “sensitivity awareness” or some other “Kumbayya” jazz down your throat and if you let əm know you’re not having any of their crap they assemble a little get‑together in which you’re presented with a bogus papertrail because they’re too insecure to have their “authority” messed with and somebody almost always ends up trying to stifle your creativity and you have to “multitask” with seven projects on your desk eight of which were due yesterday ’cause you just got another one and the “department heads” get all irritated with you if you refuse to do “overtime” even though they’ve already stolen more than enough of your time and the telephones destroy your concentration because they ring off the hook all the livelong day (“Doo dah! doo dah!”) and the noise level always drives you up the wall before it dances you across the ceiling even if the phones are quiet for one precious moment and I never did get the memo but apparently staff infections morphed into “group therapy” rap sessions at some point and periodically your unqualified-to-judge-you “supervisor” gives you a “performance review” which is completely useless because it’s based on superficial criteria and once a year you receive a “benefits package” but you’ll need a spreadsheet/co‑pilot/“legal counsel” to sign up for it or they’ll gyp you out of something sure as shit and the “payroll” people fight with you when you decline “direct deposit” but you duke it out with əm anyway because all “banks” are nothən but a bunch of robber barons and in addition to being “understaffed” your section is also “underfunded” yet there somehow always seems to be enough moola for some greedy asshole “c.e.o.” who swindles everyone out of a bəzillion a year until he pulls the ripcord on a “golden parachute” and there’s always plenty of dough to spread around for superoverpriced snake-oil-selling “consultants” who slither in with all the latest “vision”/“mission” mumbo jumbo including a veritable plethora of lingo/buzzwords/catchphrases/assorted bullshit but there never seems to be enough funds to decently remunerate the real people who do the real work and don’t forget that working a jobb is rarely worth your while unless you’re “midlevel management” or even “higher up the ladder” but this “hierarchy” is actually a false domain in which it’s impossible to advance anyway unless you’re a brownnoser who not only bought the lie but who also actually likes playən the game and the higher up the “salaries” of these puffed-up conmen go the more obnoxious their egos become so the more asinine they are to deal with and this “management” just cannot fathom why it is not copacetic to try to make it their prerogative to put pressure on “labor” to make “charitable contributions” out of their paltry “paychecks” and everyone speaks out of both sides of his mouth because everybody is a lying actor and you naïvely think you’ll just work someplace else but it don’t make no nevermind because everyplace is this hosed and not to mention that jobbs are hazardous to your health more often than not and you might run up against a whole gaggle of have-no-shame shysters who’re running an abusive racket known as “workers’ comp” in which they send you to “doctors” who actually sabotage your case by deliberately misdiagnosing your condition or by performing malpractice on you because they’re quacks who receive “kickbacks” from crooked “insurance companies” while the aforementioned shysters/racketeers carry out their legalistic papershuffling tricks as well as other dilatory tactics on you so that they can get “richer” off of your pain and if you’re permanently or even temporarily neurologically disabled from doing what you’ve been doing for years every chump in the world is mad as a hatter at you if you don’t really wannə dig ditches next week and if you ever wind up on “unemployment” for a spell you’ll see why it’s yet another system which was obviously designed to be abusive and sometimes you might get backed into the corner of dealing with a “temp” agency but these middlemen companies should be made “illegal” because no one should be allowed to make a humongous forty to sixty percent “profit” off of your sweat and at some workplaces they simply can’t decide whether they want quantity work at the expense of quality work or vice versa ’cause they obviously can’t have both at the current “staffing levels” yet they’re feebleminded enough to unrealistically expect both anyway so it’s always chaos for the entire “team” and at most of these foolishly run joints there are duplicitous “assistant managers” who refuse to hire even one more person or make alternative scheduling arrangements while claiming that the “budget” doesn’t allow for it even though the “manager” who’s hardly ever there rakes in a hundred gees and of course some goobers try to get you to be cheerful or excited about the prospects of some gahdawful gig with a “wage” that is clearly not in line with the “cost of living” while they’re looking at you with straight faces ’cause they’re so ignorant of what the Big Picture/the Implex is truly all about that they don’t even know enough to be ashamed of having made the suggestion and it doesn’t make any damned sense at all but everywhere you look there are knuckleheads who think that they have the right to negatively judge you if you are “on sabbatical” because apparently it’s anathema to these yutzes that you should take your own time back to do what is really useful for you in the spiritual journey that is your own life as opposed to “spending” all of your waking hours running around on the get-nowhere-fast treadmill of the workworld and these same knuckleheads/yutzes always take it for granted that you will play their version of twenty questions on their turf regarding their “What-do-you-do?” groupthink assumptions so of course you have to learn how to nip that shit in the bud before they even saw it coming and there are more than a few wives along with many teenagers out there who are willing to work for peanuts since someone else is “subsidizing” them while their couldn’t-care-less attitude or naïveté about why they shouldn’t be working under these circumstances results in screwing up the “market” on how much you can “earn” not to mention it also results in their inability to figure out why the “gender gap” never closes and there’s no shortage of imbecilic interviewers out there who are downright dimwitted enough to ask if you’re a “team player” during your little tête-à-tête which is basically pretentiousness on steroids or at least a ton of forced phoniness and these prospectively hiring pricks seem to think it’s their affair to know your “socialist insecurity number” even though you’re not on “payroll” yet and some interviewers have the balls to tell you that you don’t qualify for their “underpaid”/“underbenefited” jobb unless you agree to “pay” a “fee” for them to obtain a “credit report” on you and you tell off these same interviewing bastards who not only don’t get that they have a lot of nerve for even having made this request but they’re also so clueless they don’t even understand that your “finances” are none of their damned business yet they get mad at you like you’re the one in the wrong and you decide to go “back to school” in order to do something more “professional” but the entire world has gone stupid nuts so it ends up making no difference anyway and if you have a few hitches in your giddyup gettən goən with a jobb in your new field in which you now have two “degrees” all the nitwits crawl out of the woodwork shriekən vociferously at yə to haste thee back to a “cubicle” or peddle fake deadanimal at a “fastfood” dump ’cause they’re justdontgetits who pontificate that you’re “worthless” unless you “pull yourself up by your ‘bootstraps’ ” or do something “monetized” in order to “contribute to ‘society’ ” and all the numskulls that’re incapable of piecing together the true bottom line condescend to you that if you’re not rarən to “put out a shingle” then you must be insufficiently “entrepreneurial” yet what they fail to capiche is that such a maneuver’d never yank anyone out of the twilight zone of the “time-is-money” matrix and like an ingénue you figure you’ll work at a “not-for-profit” since they couldn’t possibly be beset with anywhere near as much “corporate” doodoo but what an imprudent decision that turned out to be ’cause they’re every bit as much beset with lies/fakery/greed and so it sinks in at long last that in this pyramidal top-down-driven world the comefrom angle of the “top” filters down everywhere so you can help no one at the “bottom” without it costing you and although it’s no skin off his nose your [former] friend gets all pissy at you for nothing but the fact that you’re not in your next virtual prison cell several months after you escaped the last one even though you can’t afford not to be choosy about the particulars of your next cell and once more you’re preparing to hightail it out of the phoniest/most odious Corporation in the world maybe for good this time as an expatriate but a multitude of “permanent-record-mentality” retards who seemingly care more about your “résumé” than you do simply cannot wrap their brains around why you don’t have time to let yourself be enslaved to some jobb until two days before you leave and you have some blind-as-a-bat-albeit-well-intentioned acquaintance try to convince you that jobbs in the United Corporations of New Atlantis are just marvelous but you know that’s a load of crap ’cause you have an honorary Ph.D. in Scarcity Economics/Bureaucratic Mismanagement Assessment from one of the U.C.N.A. branches of the School of Hard Knocks so off you go to toil in a’-whole-’nother country fər cryən out loud but it’s just a different batch of shit from the same ol’ pot because this entire planet is a slavecolony and this time you didn’t get fleeced out of “health insurance” but you might just as well’ve been ’cause you turned out to be “underinsured” since the bureaucratic bastards who schemed it up loaded it with loopholes and your pushy broad “boss” who lied right to your face about your “deductible” got all underhanded/queen bitchy on you when you didn’t care to “spend” your entirety of “free time” micromanaging a paperwork fiasco en español by chasing all over the city shuffling documents around and when you finally let əm know “That’s it! Enough already!” they lash out yet again out of a false sense of having their “authority” messed with ’cause if truth be told it’s just their own insecurities getting ruffled since they were never really “in control” anyway and then you have to question why people aren’t doing squat about all this madness/stupidity much less let alone not rioting in the streets especially when you consider that even most small-potatoes outfits “protect” themselves by screwing the average Joe and someday most of y’all will sit around frettən over whether what’s left of your fake fiat funnymoney will “run out” after you’ve decided to “retire” based largely on whether the evil slavemaster “government” said you could and these ohmygahd-what’m-I-gonnə-do? anxieties about your leftover loot are not assuaged when it registers with you how these [bleeped]wad “companies” are formulating more gouging-you-deeper-while-scamming-you-sneakier frauds every day and you’ll end up in a “community” of nearlydeads watching some “neighbor” who apparently has more “money” than you but his mammon-worshipping relatiks will start fightən over it the minute he kicks the bucket and you’re “forced” to keep up with “health insurance” as your physical body goes to hell in a handbasket but “the system” is so badly rigged you don’t achieve solutions to your problems even if you happen upon a “doctor” who gives a shit if he’s not so full of ego like most of these assholes who wannə “treat” patients as if they’re runnən by on a conveyor belt and meanwhile you haven’t croaked yet but you’ll do dumbass stuff like demand/bellow “What’s the score?!” instead of making good use of what’s left of your time by doing something about the preposterousness of this world or by getting ready to graduate to the next and right now whether you own up to it or not you are definitely a slave if you can’t not go to work and unless you can figure out some way to rise above playing this absurd game which isn’t winnable anyway. What the [bleeped], folks? “When did this country,” to paraphrase Peruvian postmodern author Mario Vargas Llosa, “get so [bleeped] up?” I come back to this corporation nation and everything is significantly worse! Worse yet, NOBODY is doing squat about it! Even worse still, y’all get beside yourselves with indignation and think you’re qualified to be the Occupation Police of anyone whom you perceive doesn’t wannə plunge right back in to the insanity! Have you all been replaced by pods from The Body Snatchers, or what the [bleeped]? No? So what gives? Are you all looney tunes? No? Then you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.
         Six a.)—Like the alcoholic who retaliates when he perceives that his modus operandum to drink has been threatened, you’re all so heavily invested in the game that you become vitriolically contemptuous with anyone observant and candid enough to declare that the emperor has no clothes. And even though you have no right to get righteous about that which you don’t understand, you always insist on assailing a principled spiritual journeyer with misguided accusations, such as “Shame on you for being such a ‘victim’! It’s your fault!” NO, YOU DON’T GET IT. It’s the other way around: you folks are the victims because you refuse to refuse to participate. Spin that one around in your rolodex for a moment. Consider, as well, that in your frenzied gaming you are aiding and abetting the enemies of humanity. Reflect on the fact that your dinero isn’t worth nada anyway the moment the n.w.o.ers deliberately crash the “dollar.” Placed these variables in your equation yet, have yə? Of course you haven’t. So how dare you presume to be the Finance Police of and “talk down to” anyone who sees through the charade, and is thus the one on the actual higher level? “But we have to ‘spend’ all our time working, ’cause that’s how the ‘market’ is!” you scream. Market, schmarket. STOP GIVING YOUR CONSENT to a “system” that is OBVIOUSLY screwing you and me and everyone else right along with you and me. Get some backbone: FIGHT and be part of the solution; quit being an idiot who gets hostile at those who do want to be part of the solution. Learn to REFUSE to cooperate with the enemy. If enough of you would SIT IT OUT, this evil mammon Big Brother Corporation would come to a screeching halt. But you folks are not principled enough, not smart enough, to see that. Why is that? And why is it that everyone and his uncle and his dog insist on making it their concern and their business to wannə 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? This is ludicrous, and it has to STOP. And the stopping starts as soon as we become honest enough to admit that we’ve been had—we’ve been duped—and face up to it that we’ve been deceitful too, both to ourselves and to others. We have chosen—all of us—to slip into a different lingo, into a different mentality, into the song and dance of impression management. We don its mask the minute we write a “cover letter,” the instant we field a “business call,” the second we “talk shop.” And it’s all lying gaming! But nobody wants to ’fess up to this, because everybody’s selfdeception—everybody’s selfdelusion—would then be shattered. You’d all have to admit that you’ve been suckers too; you’d have to renounce your greedy materialism, your childish competitiveness, and your “faith” in a “system” that has not merited one whit of faith. Yet not only do y’all insist on maintaining blind faith in this folly, most of you even make a virtue of it. This doesn’t make any sense! You must be under mindcontrol.
         Six b.)—Y’all must wannə be slaves (and apparently you freak out when somebody doesn’t), because “employment” is slavery; and “wage”/“salary” slavery is theft of one’s time. We incarnated into this realm to accomplish a spiritual journey that is immeasurably, incalculably more important than any nine to five, and IT DOES NOT GET DONE when we’re occupying most of our time and energy placating the fools, squarejohns, suckers, stagers, operators, “entrepreneurs,” and criminals of the ratrace. Moreover, our human dignity and our true identities are independent of occupation. As such, we must unlearn the “work ethic”; we must, as well, learn to refuse to align ourselves under fictitious hierarchies and “authority” in general: “authority” is fake, because it’s the result of having ceded one’s true human sovereign free will to some person/entity/organization/“country” whose “authorship” is rarely in an individual’s best interests. Staying stuck—be it by way of jobbs, a statist mindset, religianity, the new [c]age, or the copout of “that’s-how-it-is-so-just-accept-it” rationalization—staying stuck will never bring one true success. Each individual must author his own script; and, like Neo, must reject false authority in order to escape the matrix. So, work on one’s spiritual journey and business with integrity and a get-it-done-right attitude, and help others when and where appropriate, yes; work as a shoot-əm-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 banksters’ fake fiat funnymoney?, hell no. I’m DONE.
     Seven—Donchyə just hate it when the local library can’t obtain the material you’re itchən to peruse/ponder next—even with an interlibrary loan setup, they can’t—’cause you’re surrounded by Steel/Grisham/Sparks fans who have never graduated from Reading Lite? (Steel, Grisham, and Sparks don’t warrant links in my world.) The trouble is that no, you don’t mind it a bit, at least not the vast majority of you; such a thing has never even occurred to you. Do you understand that They Live is a documentary, not just a Dystopian flick? I mean, you know, Conform–Submit–Consume–Obey–Watch Television–Money Is Your Gahd–Stay Asleep–No Independent Thought. Even if you don’t care to admit it, you do realize that pretty much all of you engage in every single one of these behaviors, right? You’re all so caught up in postpostmodern surreality—Baudrillard’s “copy of the original,” his “Borgesian map” that has morphed so many times that virtually no working concept of what the original was remains—you’re all so caught up in this derangement that you no longer desire to connect with the human story. Granted, some of the backstory is not our story, right? But you gottə start somewhere! And how can you reconcile who you are with where you’re going with no knowledge of our backstory? Who among you has read Aeschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles? You know, the big three ancient Greek tragedians? Is anyone familiar with them? HELLO out there? How about Homer? And you haven’t read the three cantiche of Dante’s Divine Comedy just for the fun of it? What, you weren’t an English major, so you never got around to reading Beowulf or The Canterbury Tales? You know what? That’s not just sad, that’s deplorable. So who is this “Scotty,” and why won’t he beam me up already?!

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.)

     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): having years ago naïvely thought this novel to be the most hilarious, laugh-out-loud, knee-slapper of a satire ever, it’s not so funny anymore, now that I know that the compulsion of the protagonist’s—(wait, or was that the antihero’s?)—not being able to stop shtupping the shikses and lying on the proverbial Freudian couch continually rehashing the sexologue of it all is actually a symptom of the so-called JQ and the “chosen people’s”—(yeah but, “chosen” by whom?)—deconstruction of and subsequent reconstruction and manipulation of pretty much everything, from Boas’/Mead’s systemic delegitimization of once-forthright anthropology to the Frankfurt School’s top-down infiltration of academia and their eventual creation of fake subjects beset with bullshit euphemisms like heteronormativity and bogus taboos which are real enough in terms of their consequences, to Hollyweird’s tactic of waging war on the “culture” by way of socially engineering everyone as titillated and zombified enough so that mass mindcontrol programs achieve their maximum effect—(virtually everyone nowadays thinks and speaks like, “You can’t say that!” but we’re not under mindcontrol? yeah right!)—to Wall Street’s and credit card companies’ screwing of Main Street and John Q. Public, respectively—(and who isn’t in “debt” up to his eyeballs anymore?)—to Washington, Incorporated’s having been franchised right out of zion, and their running of a wicked government which has been so contemptuous of its “own people” since at least the time of Andrew Jackson—yeah, it was a riot back in the day—(this book, that is)—but now, it’s not so cute anymore, not so much;
     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 “financially solvent” 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 cryən out loud), this weighty tome is the consummate hit-the-nail-on-the-head indictment of how pathetic postpostmodern U.C.N.A. society has become as pretty much everyone is hooked on consumerism and escapism—(like minddumbing boobtube-watching or mindnumbing 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;
     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 antireligion, flawless postmodern magnum opus—complete with hysterical realism, Magickal realism, intertextuality with the qur’an, and contrapuntally structured subplots—which is easily surmountable 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), and which, most delightfully, mocks the bejesus out of islam in particular and religion in general; and
     Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1831 edition): even those of us who’ve reread the book and who’re familiar with the old movies tend to revert to thinking of Frankenstein as the “monster”—but no!—he was not the monster, he was the scientist, the creator who was ahead of his domain, because while we’re not ready for it in this defiled threeD world, the aim of exiting the incarnation loop is, in part, to advance by fashioning more creatures—which Shelley implies with her subtitle—because the name Prometheus is a mythological counterpart to the names of Ea, Enki, Shiva, Ptah, Óðinn, and Wōden—not to mention Satan—who is the creator of true humans.

In a Category All Its Own

     Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon (It’s not pronounced ['pɪn•tʃən]!; it’s ['pɪn•'tʃɑn]. Harumph.) (1973): This quintessential work of postmodernism is the Great American Novel.
      √  How yə doən with calculating probability density functions?
      √  Can you make a big ol’ metaphor out of likening the astrological retrograde motion of astronomical bodies to narrative that halts and goes backwards?
      √  Well-read in Austrian and Argentine poetry, are yə?
      √  How many of you bornagainers can differentiate Calvinism from Arminianism, hmm? (Nothing doing? Tsk, tsk, tsk.)
      √  Do you understand that so-called Operation Paperclip was a colossal joke which was played on us humanoids by snatching supposedly superhightech “rocketmen”—such as Wernher von Braun, the source of GR’s first epigraph—out of Nazıland and sneaking them in to professorships at U.C.N.A. universities, not to mention the hoax known as “NASA”? (In the case of von Braun, he’s suddenly palsy-walsy with the Disneyland conman and various prezzes, and NOBODY caught on this was a FARCE? Really?)
      √  Can you distinguish a fake from a real séance?
      √  Are you aware that the Qliphothic Kabbalah has duped most disciples of the Left Hand Path into unknowingly dabbling in an invalid—not to mention a dangerous—practice, and why?
      √  Did you know that preposterously bizarre sexual perversions are being conjured up to keep people [bleeped] up and spiritually sick, and that that was the reason for the disturbing inclusion of coprophilia in the book, thus invalidating John Gardner’s and Gore Vidal’s prissy objections?
      √  Could you doff your hat to Sean Carswell, who, in his article “Gravity’s Rainbow: A Love Story,” came up with “The novel is many things. Among these things, it’s a seven-hundred-sixty-page-long dick joke.”?
      √  Did you know that this tome’s comic-relief, slapstick limericks were the inspiration for Devo’s nineteen eighty, avant-garde, one-hit wonder “Whip It” [Good]?
      √  Studied up on how film noir cinematographic techniques and dolly shots may be emulated in literature, are yə? (The sprocket holes which separate the episodes are meant to evoke film reels; they’re not decorations.)
Gravity’s Rainbow is the love–hate relationship book: you love that you actually finished it and you hate to admit that you’re overdue for a reread! jewsus christ it’s a bee‑ätch though. And you need to be prepared, ’cause this time you’re gonnə understand it better! So you obtain copies of Pynchon’s short stories and earlier novels; you brush up on Rainer Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegies and Sonnets to Orpheus (which you simply cannot accomplish without segueing yet again to Ovid’s Metamorphoses!); you burn the midnight oil for José Rafael Hernández y Pueyrredón’s El Gaucho Martín Fierro (which, believe it or not, I actually read parts of for a Spanish Lit. class a hundred years ago); you make yourself more knowledgeable in astrology (which a student of the occult should do anyway, right?); you learn about how the German industrial system functioned during World War II; and you find a friendly nerd who’d be willing to conduct remedial crashcourses in calculus and in the physics of rocket propulsion. Understand that while the rockets’ trajectories are parabolic, this masterpiece’s metanarrative structure is not; it’s mandalic: the chronology pans out in a circular design in which historical events astrologically coincide with pagan festivals and xian “feast days.” Then coffee yourself up, lay the annotations in Steven C. Weisenburger’s A Gravity’s Rainbow Companion out side by side with the novel, and blast off! Are you equal to the challenge? Do you wannə read the toughest—(except for probably James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake)—the kickassingest English-language work of fiction ever written? It ain’t gonnə read itself, sweetheart. Tick tock.

Shakespeare Faves by Genre (with a little “cheating”)†

†By which I mean working with six genres instead of four, ’cause it’s more fun when you throw in a couple of subgenres.

     Comedy—As You Like It (1599–1600): While it isn’t the only play by the Bard that contains the notion “all the world’s a stage,” it is certainly the drama which focuses on this theme in spades. (Ah, if only! If only people would get a clue that this expression isn’t merely a metaphor: “All the world is a stage” and “they”—the parasites—they are players, performers, and portrayers.) It is the perfect work of art if you’re looking for a complex, intricately plotted tale with farcical mistaken-identity routines. In As You Like It, twisted logic and reasoning-it-all-out ratiocination unfold against the backdrop of the matrix, where everything is deception and illusion, and nothing is as it seems. This king of ruses even comes complete with flawlessly structured parallelism and a cryptic reference to Plato’s allegory of the cave in the final scene. And if you tell me, “Man, you’re reading too much out of it,” then I’ll know you’re still spiritually asleep.
     Tragicomedy—The Comical History of the Merchant of Venice; or, The Jew of Venice (1597): Let’s take this things-are-not-what-folks-think-they-are idea and bam it up another notch: the parasitic, “archontic” infection operates, in part, by way of a “chosen” group of “humans” acting as proxies after having been wired to plot and scheme and make disasters out of others’ lives via a multitude of tactics—including capitalism, and worse, usury. Are you spiritually awake enough to handle that little tidbit? Well, Shakespeare was, and this drama is set in Italy, the birthplace not only of the Renaissance itself, but also of the Machiavellian monetary system which oh, so conveniently happens to be based on the “lending of debt.” (A for-the-record side note: accompany this work with a reading of the playwright’s contemporary’s—Christopher Marlowe’s, that is—tragedy, The Jew of Malta, which, frankly, makes The Merchant look like a fancy Sunday brunch, and your understanding of this nefarious subject matter is supremely enhanced.)
     Tragedy—The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600): With some critics claiming that it’s the greatest tragedy—even the greatest play—ever written, Hamlet can’t be beat in terms of sheer literary beauty. Its motifs of profound pondering over existentialist despair and the spiritual growth which accompanies selfreflection and introspection are invincible as well (perhaps with The Tragedy of King Lear a not-too-distant second). Oh, and by the way, the prince’s contemplating of “to be or not to be” does not mean what virtually everyone thinks it means! It refers to the struggle of a perennially brooding Outsider over whether or not to off himself, not to some nonsensical belief that humans obtain their identity by what they “be,” which is to say by what they “do for a living,” which is a bunch of balderdash.
     Comitragedy—The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (1596): In The Crying of Lot 49, Thomas Pynchon wrote that “love is the dumbest addiction of əm all,” and you’ll get no arguments from me: there ain’t no romantic in this corner. Yet I can’t seem to get enough of this love story which is pretty much the Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto Nº 2 of literature anyway. Written during Shakespeare’s lyric period, it is chocked full of phenomenal word play, tongue-in-cheek sexual double entendre, and exquisitely beautiful sonnets. Linguistically, it’s almost as much of a crowning achievement as the comedy Love’s Labour’s Lost. Yeah, it’s a tearjerker in the end, what with the deceased young lovers and all, but it is the best of sad stories, in part because it has the best comic relief ever: it is, at times, funny as hell.
     History—The History of King Henry the Fourth (1597): It’s all about the fusion of history and chorography, which is a systematic description and mapping of regions or districts in all their true-to-life diversity. He chose, the Bard that is, to leave off from the eloquent whining that prevails in The Tragedy of King Richard the Second and sequel into a play not just about philosophical/spiritual journeying (which this particular Henry wasn’t wired for anyway), not just about battlefields and discoursing on the dry-as-dust seriousness of running a State, but about what “real” life is—including a coming-of-age Bildungsroman which is complete with a portrayal of the youthfully irresponsible, bawdy, seedy side of life (with a little help, of course, from the fabulous Falstaff, the foolish foil of folly). Other playwrights at the time about had a fit, ’cause donchyə know y’all just don’t mix High and Low “culture”—(at least not until modernist lit. transmogrified into postmodernist lit. three and a half centuries later)—but the playgoers, frankly darlən, didn’t give a damn, and attended in droves.
     Romance—The Tempest (1610–1611): Let’s get the storm rolling by letting the idiots who presume that the deliberately contrived caste-like system of “rank” is actually worth a tinker’s damn—let’s let əm know they’re full of shit; then let’s get some Merlin-like dude who is all studied up on sorcery, divination, and necromancy to use Magick—(which may be defined as “the art and science of causing change, whether internal or external, in conformity with the will”)—against his enemies, but with integrity, with the respectable goal in mind of forgiving them just as soon as they’ve made reparations for damages caused (as opposed to a bunch of evil “controllers,” who, since at least the time of John Dee, have used Magick to screw everybody over). Throw in some more bawdy satire and make it a review and a study of a myriad of themes/motifs from previous works, and you have the the-Magick’s-all-over farewell play that beats all other farewells.

Homage to the Toughies

     Come on, be honest, ’fess up. With authors like James Joyce, William Gaddis, or Thomas Pynchon, how many times did you start a book and manage not to finish it? I admit it: I’ve done it. I sure as heck didn’t crank out Gravity’s Rainbow on my first attempt. What about Mario Vargas Llosa’s Conversation in the Cathedral? Have you figured out the interlacing dialogue in this tome yet? I haven’t. And Gabriel García MárquezOne Hundred Years of Solitude—ay, dios mío. I just detest it; I’ll probably never go back and finish that one. But Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry clicked with me. On the second try, that is, and years after the first, aborted failure. (Ha! I even completed it in Mexico!) Anyhoo, I’ve decided that I’m deficient in Joyce, so after a quick reread of Dubliners and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, I’m going to tackle Ulysses. (Now where in hell did I put that annotated guidebook? And yes, in preparation, I did reread Homer’s Odyssey, but it wasn’t quick.) So, can I get a big ol’ “Lots of luck!”?


Updated June 13, 2019.


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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Currently readingUlysses by James Joyce
Metamorphoses by Ovid
Ulysses Annotated: Notes for James Joyce’s Ulysses by Don Gifford

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