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