On Offal.

The next time you have to go "number two", take a moment to contemplate this.

All that we create is, at the base of things, just shit. The stuff we put into toilets and send away with enough water to support life for a day at least every time we take a crap - that's just the physical stuff. The rest is the mental counterpart.

We are bioprogrammed with a need to clear our minds as much as we're programmed to clear our bodies, and when we get constipated there it's just as frustrating.

One thing that constipates us is worrying about our shit, and whether it's good enough. This practice must be abolished if we want to be healthy. Remembering that our precious music and art is just shit is a good way to do this.

Sometimes when we crap we crap a perfect pinched loaf, with its yuckier aspects nicely packed in, and a lack of that putrid smell that the shit that crumbles into diarrhea and little chunks, a "bad shit", always carries.

Everybody shits, and some folks just have their shit together more than others. After a while, you can find a meta-balance in your life, if you seek it, and if you take on habits of good input.

You see, just as with physical shit, your mental shit tends to be as good as what you put into your mind, just as your physical shit tends to come to pieces when you don't eat right.

The thing is: ask people the question "What is eating right?" and you'll get as many answers as there are persons, which is about how it should be, because everyone's physical conditions are different from each other's.

You have to find right input out for your own conditions and circumstances, and once it's found, it has to be balanced out with WRONG input.

This is the only way right input STAYS right input and does not become entropic.

There's a time for diarrhea and a time for cold hardness, and this is as true of verbal and visual reality as it is for something as base and physical as one's shit.

Getting it metabalanced right is something that can only be judged by feel. This is what was really meant by "if it feels good do it".

And when you think about all this, it's no wonder that our culture has a very common expression - "having one's shit together" tends to result from it.

Your call is very important to us

So you are getting this wait message for sitting on hold, since that's your only recourse, being that while your call is suuuure important to us, going out and running this stupid errand and bringing home food (and other ingestibles) is...to be totally honest, far more so.

Here's some stupid fake Muzak with embedded subliminimal messages (sic) to induct you into joining my cult and buying my crap and making me dinner and taking me to get expensive reptiles (and cages for them) and crate me home metric tonnes of inscrutably, wonderfully commercially inaccessible experimental and industrial and stoner metal and every single music CD that has a trace of actual bonafide xeno music on it if it's not one of our own, or even if it is, buy those too, in fact, buy two copies of EVERYTHING that's 'our own'.

(It's a cinch to spot, it's the ones that say CHORONZON at the top...)

And if you play them, when I see you, I'll totally be able to know if you did because the headfuckery stuff woven in and over and under and out through it leaves marks on your tianta current that are very scentable to the psyonick gnostrills.

Good, good little Reader of Pointless Bloggistry Foray, have a treat, go on, I wanna see you LEAP for it like it's a piece of fucking gold and you're both a miser and a pauper, and don't ask me how that's possible, because all I know is that it is.

When I was on acid once I was walking down Haight Street and I had this quantum revelation about Mammon. I could look at every shop window and pretend I bought anything I liked, the thing was it had to stay on the street, which I walked along constantly anyway, it was just outdoor living room hallway space to me. I owned anything I wanted to.

It's better on acid but it can be done any time and work. WHY buy shit you can own if it just sits somewhere in a store someone else owns? No difference really.


(cue the "If you can remember the eighties you weren't where you should have been then" music)

I am by definition either a Reality Author or dead meat walking as though alive. And this is totally paramount; just being a Reality Onlooker Audience Drone ain't ever gonna cut it unless one could conceivably actually live out pure mediocrity and call that life, and do that without feeling like I "settled" for less than I coulda had. Fat chance that happens.

I'm going to be late, I have to scoot.

While I'm out you should go and download illegal movies for me and feed the whatever it is growing in the front yard postage stamp dirt square, or just water it or something, unless you want to go all out and buy me rose bushes and lilacs and fuscias in which case just plant those.

You should just basically follow my every idiotic pronouncement, command, wish or whining imploringness and treat it as though it was your mission in life to respond to it happily. And just live like a damned dog in the manger barn with an address in Upper Lower San Francisco, address all love gifts, time bombs, etc to:

The Gate Keeper,
c/o the DisLodge Temple of the Grotto of ZAX
333 Akolasia Avenue, Cubiculum MCMIX

BY THE WAY:

This year is the one ordained that we own completely, from start to end, in which all the sleeping sheeping eyes will awaken to the glory of CHOOOOORAWNNZAAAWWWN, or, the One With Who I Am Possessed, or maybe Obsessed, or just Best will do, because It IS. And he's mine, and you can't have him...but if he wants to, he can suuure have you.

So you just SIT RIGHT HERE and don't move and think happy thoughts and WAIT for the High Priestess of This Year's Dubious Bullshit, Inc. to return and maybe she'll even pay attention, which would only happen if she wasn't busy with Her Magusty the Risen Demon. If there can be fallen angels, why not risen demons?

Mistuh C. is more of a God than a Demon but he very much prohibits me from referring to him as one...so don't anyone say anything to him or I will either be in Dutch, unless I manage to throw a curve ball at him, manage to waylay the beastie in just the right way. I know, I'll confuse him with a flashback to the time when [REDACTED: SENSITIVE DATA] and THAT should be enough to make him forget my transgression COMPLETELY.

I posted guards outside your window.

When I say sit, you better say, how low. They are antsy to fuck with someone so remain TOTALLY still so their Spiffy Electro Detecto gadgets don't do insta-ping on your ass.

Back in 19 shakes of an epileptic monkey's ass or tail, depending on species of monkey, and if you're good I'll throw you a Snausage.