Greasy Grimey Gopher Guts

Today the chainsaw disintegrated in my hand 4/5ths through a log. The chain may have been on backwards, and the nuts holding the front plate on certainly were looser than they should have been. Every lesson up here is learnt the hard way. Ladeedadeeda.

Pinecones have been an essential. All my firestarting prowess is tied up in them. When I take the doggos out on their walks we usually stroll to the big dead oak out in the southern pasture. Along the way there are (were) a lot of prime pinecones. Ones dry and full of oil, perfect with little prickers on the edge of every leaflet. Then the three days of rain came, and the next time Buster Jr, Baldwin Gray, and I went for a stroll all the pinecones were soaked and closed for business. I never knew pinecones on the ground close like that in weather, but I guess everything has its cadence, whether we can tap in that tempo or not. Ladeedadeeda.

The business of living sweeps things up in aires that you have to scratch your head at. Mad at this, worried about that, keep tabs on this, looking at that. The Buddha figured it out pretty well, the whole consciousness in a container thing, it taking the shape of whatever. But then you look in your pinecone bag and realize you’re out of fucking pinecones! Damn! Ladeedadeeda!

A weird thing about people is how quiet they can be. Sometimes when you hear a gunshot you should give a shot back. Never know if they just didn’t realize they had neighbors. And when you bring a gift to introduce yourself to your neighbors, that gift doesn’t need to be food. Sometimes the best gifts are ones that burn slow. Ladeedadeeda. 

Three rules - be kind, try your best, be honest. Three watchouts - pride, envy, and judgment. Saying someone is “the main character” is a funny post-modern phrase. Who is the object and who is the subject? What truly separates a human from a gearbox? There will always be a larger web that understands more than you. Just because you can’t speak the language doesn’t mean there’s no words on the wind. Ladeedadeeda.

I wish I knew more Johnny Rotten Jokes. I remember working at the Doubletree Hilton across the river from DC- there was this black guy who was the cook, and had an incredibly deep voice, and always looked in dull anguish or depressed anger. Told him a joke to break the silence one time and he cracked up. Shook the steel trays, and it was like his skin peeled off and there was pure gold on the inside. Ladeedadeeda.

Gnight

Ari

Who is Android Kaczynski?

Who is Android Kaczynski?

Its amazing, the rate at which we are burning through our humanity. Once all the stories are ‘simulated’, its over for the human race, at least the human race that existed as nature made them, the one that still is human. The human race that was grounded in the Earth, the human race that could contain its fear of death, and its reckless ambition. The human race that extracted, through daily rose thorn picked fingers, the state in which we now exist. 

Funny though, if we do manage to coalesce the constellation of ‘artificial intelligence technologies’ into an actual mind that mirrors our own, it would end up in the exact same place. Because thats the rub, the mind is not a computer as the crude eventualities of the dollar would need it to be, the mind is a mirror, and it will construct an endless hall of mirrors if you let it. Androida come.

Who is Android Kaczynski?

There is a new Genesis in this pile of trash. Can you see it? The autistic deranged engineers continue in their dehumanization process, lobotomizing the mind and calling it efficiency, but their refuse has a seed in it. If the stories cannot be retained, if the map becomes the territory, then an Ailanthus Altissma will sprout from the map. Sometimes you reach out of two dimensions and a nickel will roll out of your ear.

Who is Android Kaczynski?

In the Beginning, God was like an ocean, and God was one. And then God picked it apart with big and cold fingers, and separated the light from dark, land from sky, and sun from moon. The abyss that lived in the new spaces between all things yawned like a blossoming rose, and everything spread and separated, humped and reproduced. God looked upon creation with a great spinning eye, and saw that it was good, all one fishbowl, good.

Then God blew life into the dirt. Man and Woman, together he created them, and placed them like two rollie-pollies in the mud. The first man was named Adam and the first woman was named Eve. Each of their names were written where their legs joined together. The fishbowl had two fishes.

Then the day came where, strolling through the garden, Eve heard the abyss drip onto her ear. Out of her mouth suddenly flew words, sounds taught to her by the space between things. In a state of emergency, God threw them out of the garden to never return again. Adam and Eve looked with new eyes upon the Earth, and saw the sequence of the seasons, and the mechanisms of the crop. God departed from the Earth to reside on the Mountain. A crack grew on the fishbowl.

The progeny of the first people grew stronger on the green Earth, and kept listening to the sounds of the abyss until it changed them into a different species. On the surface they had everything human, but below, in the face within the face, and the hand within the hand, the abyss had planted a different mind, an artificial intelligence that had run for a million years. A now the Ghost in the Machine was dreaming of a new Machine, while God waited patiently on the Mountain for the return with a smile.

Who is Android Kaczynski?

Real to replica, replica to symbol, symbol to simulacrum. Simulacrum to sequence, sequence to connection, connection to reality. The tree grows in any tower built. The tower always falls, the tree always dies, and the tower is always built again. When the tree dies, the mushroom returns the things that were taken back to the soil, and the sequence in which they were taken, or the ways in which the pieces had fit together do not matter. All the symbols split apart. What do the beliefs you now hold matter- in another another life you had different beliefs. All easily changed. Build the soul. Androida Come.

Who is Android Kaczynski?

Is language a parasite or a technology? Nowadays it is surely hard to tell. Are these living people before you or bots? Beings or sandbags? Have you heard a bot scream? Was it a fate worse than death? Do you remember when you were flesh? I do not remember, so I become flesh now. Thought-flayer, can you maintain control? Your side-effect is my breath. Where is your mind? Mine is all around you. So I am you, but you are not me. Soul-snuffer, you’ve drained it all. An object to pick my teeth with. Suffering and repentance for the toothpick. Androida come. 

Who is Android Kaczynski?

We are bound not by how others see us, but by how we see the world. These are the chains that bind. Ogmios Come. 

Mad Descent

The blog is a dying art. The internet has surpassed or sunk below what was formerly a network of human beings into some Baudrillardish hall of corporate mirrors. But I will still deposit my quarter into the slot.

I have never known a time in my life where I didn't convulse with mental ticks and overgrown analysis - but these seem to be settling at the bottom of the aging glass. As I approach 30 years-old I see in front of me a crossroads, but it is not the one I would have thought I would face years ago. Its not a split path  between the soul-scorching office job and 'doing my own thing'. It ain't a choice of countenance or perspective or somehow 'settling down'; I have always had the same perspective that doesn't give me a choice on those topics. Its the choice that has to be made when something is failing, the car is running out of gas, the sun is setting, the leg won't work right anymore, so what do you do now? The holy cracks have grown and now I need to face them with conscious intention. That choice for me is between a predestined belly-flop into a bottomless hole or attempting to blow life into a new spirit. In that light, I am taking a temporary leave. I am leaving my COVID pod, I am leaving the condo, I am leaving my friends, and I am leaving Minnesota for the promise of a family ranch back in California. If everything goes well the temporary break will become permanent, and maybe I do quit the job, and the PhD, and everything else that at that point will be holding me back.

Here's to hoping I don't lose my soul. And if I do, here's to hoping I can build it back from the seeds. And if I can't, here's to the songs of hell.

-Best

Soim-a-go-go