

### Wagging My Redshift Tail - A Philosophy of Madness

Nepomuk Onderdonk

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Nepomuk Onderdonk

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Contents

Chapter 1) Introduction  
Chapter 2) A reaction to terror  
Chapter 3) How to relate interesting compelling information that doesn't fit  
Chapter 4) Insight into the unknown  
Chapter 5) Why do schizophrenics believe nonsense?  
Chapter 6) Eukaryotes and fungus  
Chapter 7) Supernatural Dream in the Movie Theatre  
Chapter 8) Too many layers  
Chapter 9) Real or not?  
Chapter 10) Interconnectedness  
Chapter 11) I wear the rustic cap to prove my innocence  
Chapter 12) It was different things  
Chapter 13) The third eye  
Chapter 14) The meaning of schizophrenia  
Chapter 15) Dicebant quoniam in furorum versus est ("Since he is said to wander in the direction of madness")  
Chapter 16) Theory of Brain-Mind  
Chapter 17) Schizophrenia and society  
Chapter 18) I get myself in such a state  
Chapter 19) Flag of the Storm  
Chapter 20) Next Day he dreamed up he saw a man named "Weasel"  
Chapter 21) Three dinosaurs  
Chapter 22) Fishing on Fish Independence Day  
Chapter 23) Shamanism  
Chapter 24) I bring spoons and arrows  
Chapter 25) The kenotic event  
Chapter 26) Demon mind - Madness as Portal to the Demon World  
Chapter 27) Genetics and social hierarchy  
Chapter 28) Close the curtain, get behind it  
Chapter 29) Asleep versus Awake  
Chapter 30) Shiny girl  
Chapter 31) Tapirology  
Chapter 32) The Idiot  
Chapter 33) Risk  
Chapter 34) Ben Franklin  
Chapter 35) Opening up the mind  
Chapter 36) What would it look like?  
Chapter 37) Ytivarg  
Chapter 38) Cover & Title  
Chapter 39) What's wrong with human knowledge?  
Chapter 40) The Dopamine Tree, hotel "Monkey Shine"  
Chapter 41) The Meaning of Life  
Chapter 42) Angela  
Chapter 43) Motivation  
Chapter 44) Epilogue

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Chapter 1) Introduction

I am an amateur shaman, professionally trained but way off the track of shamanism the last decade;

And I always liked the line my teacher gave me, on the difference between the schizophrenia experience and the shamanic, the thin line dividing the similar professions: "The dreamer must control the dream, not the dream the dreamer". I have effective control over all my visual and audio hallucinations, the "movies" in the "demon world", an alternate universe I simultaneously have lived in for most of my 46 years, but alas I am plagued with extreme allergies, or extreme skin sensitivity, or if the psychiatrists are correct, extreme incurable schizophrenic tactile hallucinations, and I have never, in my 26 years with this escalating and currently life-threatening affliction, had any control over that, other than my current MO which is to eat only raw vegetables and sleep in an antiseptic room on a cold floor, or in a bathtub, with a parka for a blanket. Yeah that's my life now, full time, weird shamanic path where I have to meditate and hallucinate all day because I don't get much sleep at night; I really do live some saint monk lifestyle.

And I have a theory of what schizophrenia is, this madness I focus on in myself and casually observe in others.

I think consciousness is the problem, some people way over develop it, (like me, I know), so I work on curing myself here in my hotel room, which I use as a private insane asylum with myself as full time nurse over myself, 'cause I've been through the system a dozen times and they have nothing to offer me, and they kick me out now they don't want me there.

I have a line from the Taoist encyclicals, samizdats, and tractates I drag around as anchors, allowing me to catapult so far out into madness, well the line is "host and guest must be distinguished". Consciousness has to learn respect for its host.

'Cause consciousness can be an asshole, commandeering the host for some destructive joy rides, when a more appropriate humility of consciousness in relation to its host -the organism - is what the majority of the herd - the "normal" people - practice.

I used to think, 'why would anybody avoid reading or exposing themselves to anything whatsoever?' I was always encouraged to research infinitely in libraries and bookstores and whatever else, by my parents and by my educators; my whole high school education was to go to the library to research and write papers, and look at me - I still write these papers!

I was surprised when President Bush one day on the news said, about some book the liberal media had asked him about or had pointed out some democrat challenger had been reading \- oh yeah this was Gore - and Bush said "if I were him I wouldn't read that kind of thing". And at the time I just couldn't understand it, myself reading everything and anything all the time everywhere, like a two year old desperate to learn for pleasure. Infantile personality syndrome. Human neoteny, in the same vein as playing baseball, or valve trombone and piano, for a living, it's something the human species is known to push way past the typical envelope compared to most species, the stage of "play" that most animals grow out of early on, desperate to survive and be serious. Like the "normal" people of our culture, blue collar hard working or just lazy but friendly with their kind, relaxed and stout and hale in their ways, that tell me they don't think about the things I do because they are "just trying to get through life", they don't care about the non-existence of gravity or the structure of the universe or the nature of the demon world. It's hard for me to relate, what do they all think about while they are waiting for the red light to change, or the next song to come on, or during the commercials, I'd think to myself for years, maniacal mind running away with me.

I thought time was the enemy. Thinking about the nature of time is a gateway to madness in dozens of authors I've read and posters I've conversed with, as it has been with myself; some of my most psychotic moments in life are related to my battle with time, me, the leader of all matter and energy in the war against time, with Megadeth ferocity playing in my mind all day long.

But I came out the other end of madness, basically, going as far out there as I could and I guess it's like the drunks who say they can drink so much they can drink themselves sober. So I am so insane I've learned to behave myself among the worldly-minded camarilla, undercover.

I realized time is just consciousness, really, or they are deeply deeply intertwined, at any rate, and so "is consciousness the enemy?" is a question every schizophrenia patient ought to ask themselves.

Then I distinguish host and guest, minute by minute. Guest turns on the TV when I come home from work, host turns it off to get some rest, guest eats sugar or caffeine (used to) and reads the paper and schizophrenia.com (still do), host needs to calm down and get some rest, meditate, it isn't like my parents inferred, that thought is no-cost-to-me so go down in the basement and do it do it do it to compete with that world out there you inferior spawn of my happy madness (that was pretty much the running message from my parents when I was young, as it was with other people growing up I've heard, though certainly not the majority, the kids sent out to play and get tough and learn to function with others).

And if you think about it the doctors of the body never even FOUND consciousness, all their materialistic theories of brain-mind have fallen amazingly short for the scientists who dream of knowing and controlling all of nature within their test tube. I watched my nieces and nephews grow up, round 2 to 3 years of age, and they were all psychotic, every last one, at that age, in one way or another, and they all learn to integrate, to one degree or another, and most "grow up" into "normality", but us, one hallmark of people with schizophrenia is that when you look back you can tell from the very beginning of the personality that something was off, something that either snaps into place or flies off the hinges in the early twenties.

And after 2 or 3 the parents start enforcing normality, as if for the kids' own good, and back then I stood there feeling bad for the kid to have to lose the psychotic world that I get to retain, as they do in order to follow their parents into scared simplistic and blind normality. And I said it's like they are pulling the kid down, these genius kids who fly off at two years old to amazing heights of sentence and idea creation and play, only to be fired at with the heavy guns of their parents ' affection so that they come down in to consensual reality, so they can live on their own someday, and drive a car; (I stay out of driving cars and therefore reserve the right to be mad in America, at least on the fringes of the big cities.)

I said humanity, most of them, they have gone down into the rabbit hole, the test tube of human knowledge. And down there they can tell time and manipulate chemical reactions and build impressive machinery and even their silicon computer space age stuff, but they imagined, in the 50's, when my parents were taking it all in, that they could eventually understand everything, in another ten or twenty years, and just solve all the problems and be infinitely magical.

Then I realized they'd hit the wall, when I began the past 26 years' journey, with shamanism and insanity, the visionary mind. Realized science had NO IDEA what was going on, and with the track they were on they never would. Realized I could begin to learn freely but that I'd have to leave humanity, that "normal" part of the herd, behind. I'd have to climb back up out of the test tube of human knowledge that my parents surely tried to pull me down into, and out into the light of the world, to join my brothers the shamans, the spirits, the demons, the schizophrenics, and the two year olds, and all the trees and the other species, and the rocks and stars, out in to the world of mystery and wonder.

I like to say one day humanity will grow up, put away their "toys" of science and reason, in the toy box in the attic to be glanced at wistfully once in a while but left behind as neoteny mostly, (as I suspect the bird species currently deal with the faculty of language), and come up and out and join us, as we pursue our inner nature and our destiny, and search for mystery and wonder.

So I was hanging out in the demon world, growing up there 'cause I was bored with the human world, and they taught me how they complete the human genome so that it can bring destruction down on itself and on the universe, some master plan of destruction from the leaders of the religion of evil; I dropped out less than a year ago and am being tortured like someone who tries to get out of a gang, but no matter, and fear not, I am squarely on the side of humanity, my own, the host of the consciousness that's getting carried away again in this little essay, 'cause I have one more thing to say that's quite bizarre and a rather unique psychosis, and I'm definitely having this delusion full time these days, so I can say it quickly and clearly:

Yeah I found consciousness when another guy pointed out he had the same problem I do, infested with demons, and he had "starved the leech" to get it off and get it to behave. He had also gone in to their world, he told me he couldn't shake the idea that there was another world he was living in, and I introduced him to professional shamanism ("core shamanism" in New York city taught by graduates of Michael Harner, or something like that, you can just Google it and read it and get the training it's easy, but it's nice to have professional shamans for guidance, and in New York City they bring in shamans from the jungles and native civilizations from around the world to do hundred dollar an hour sessions, not much different from a psychiatrist visit in a way, but instead of meds the prescription was: find two rocks put 'em in a bowl of water add some rock salt sit and hold the rocks for a while, and start talking to a tree. It was kinda fun.)

So I learned from experience how to starve the leech, it was give up carbs, sugar, processed food, eat only raw veggies, for the host, and protein and fat in proper proportion. Learned to build the body and the mind while starving the leech, host got stronger, guest leech got weaker, got easier to manage, and so the psychiatrist might say I got more sane.

Or not. I tell the psychiatrist I don't have schizophrenia, but I have an imagination approaching schizophrenia, only I know the difference between my world and consensual reality. I told my boss the sales director I practice irrationality, and in your culture they call that schizophrenia.

And I discovered that the demons, those maniacal completers of my genome, writing from the "junk DNA" and RNA onto the stuff they call DNA, yeah, those demons are real, they're in the world of your scientists, but the scientists' prejudice of their own superiority made them completely overlook them. It's the fungus inside of you. Inside of me. Oh I'm infested. They think they are far superior to silly mortal man, with their immortal hive mind that spans the minds of most species on the planet, through which we can communicate with everyone everywhere, no cell phone minutes required, and they are waging an inter species war with their religion of evil, maniacal, not for the purpose of their own survival but like a warped damaged kid torturing his pet cat, they consider us "theirs", and oh they farm us.

And we the mad are just the canaries in the coal mine. The whole species is blindly pursuing consciousness expansion.

A trained shaman and a certified psycho pomp -really all that means is I signed up for some weekend workshops back in New York City in the old days. Shamanism training. I enjoyed it. And I was very good at it. Some people would pay and sit and try the mediations but not "see" anything. I'd go with the hallucinations behind my eyes, I see everything, and in those weekend workshops when we'd go around the room and report on our experiences, when it would get to be my turn the whole room would stop and be enraptured, hanging on each development in the little demon play I had just come up with. The thing is as they would go around the room, many of the reports would be less detailed versions of the unique motif that I had brought in. The teacher would segment me away from the others to be fair to the others and let them dream their own dreams. When we dream together, others see my dreams. It's actually kind of a natural phenomenon, with infants, which I am surprisingly sensitive like. I'm like an infant in many ways. In the way I think I am like an infant. Emotionally traumatized by a mad mother at an age younger than two, and then smart enough to grow a fake emulation brain over the forever-young brain, and to be clever enough to have hidden it for this long, enough time to develop it into something that is young and connected to the spirit world, parasite world, in ways humanity really isn't , but by now also able to emulate humanity enough with the mathematical brain that I can hold a job and have a family, live in the world of consensual reality where they believe in gravity and in property rights, while of course being completely beyond that in my "heart". It's through shamanic visions that I take people to see the demon world.

I had a Jewish girlfriend, scared of her own shadow, and she wanted to go see the demon world that I had been talking about and which she wished I would stop talking about. So here's how it goes: We unplug the phones one afternoon up in her apartment in Flushing Queens right across the Whitestone Expressway from the New York Times plant, if you're ever driving toward the Whitestone bridge, anyway, we turn off the lights, close the shades in all the rooms, unplug all phones, and lay out two towels on the living room floor. And I had the "drum tape", just shamanic drum beat straight for twenty minutes. We lie down, close our eyes, for twenty minutes the drum tape goes, my job is get my spirit guide to pull both of us on the tour wherever I want to go, and I really did go to show her the worst, just to show her the power I was talking about. So after we come out of it, she is freaking out, had seen everything I intended to show her, between our dreams/visions/hallucinations, and was mad at me for infesting her apartment with the demons, 'cause she never stopped seeing them after that moment.

The first time I heard of core shamanism, I had met a girl at a bar; she took me to her friend's attic apartment, I lay down between the two of them, with no idea what really was going on, they turn out the lights, do the shamanism drum tape; I want to show them my demon world and I'd never even heard of core shamanism before, but I knew reciting things would always rouse the demon world in my everyday visions behind the eyeballs, or in the second field of vision above the first field of vision that everybody has on the regular world, the upper field of vision full of much brighter colors, and animated with maniacal demons.

So while they did what I now know is the ritual with the spirit guide, I recited my stuff in my mind. Well, we all hallucinated the demon world. They moaned and whimpered a little during the 20 minutes. When we all sat up, we just stared at each other a few moments, breathless. Then I was the first to eventually stir the silent attic and say something. Obvious they were both terrified by what they'd seen, I said "I told you I was infested with demons", they said that sure was the third world, or the "lower" world, and they wrote the professional shaman's phone number on a piece of paper for me and told me I needed some serious help, that they'd been practicing this stuff for a while but they'd never seen anything like that.

I read the schizophrenia websites often. For almost a decade I regularly read the one in Australia and the one in England where people diagnosed with schizophrenia can "post their delusions" - I go there to post all my own delusions, and to take bits and pieces of others. I'm diagnosed schizotypal, and I know how to escalate it to schizophrenia, and how to reverse it, and there's a good reason for each way of going.

At least in me - and I can easily acquire a diagnosis of schizophrenia, and certainly have - but it's really just a matter of poor diet and poor lifestyle. Poor thinking leads to those two.

So now in a relationship, living a very healthy lifestyle and living on a diet I developed over the years to optimize my mental capacity while pairing it with a reading diet that keeps the mental electricity on the straight track, avoiding the usual train wreck, I have myself as "sane" or "normal" as anyone.

But all it takes is: isolation, malnutrition, and stress, and I can simulate schizophrenia. For the purpose of inducing psychosis, which is for the purpose of coming up with new ways of seeing the universe around me, and ultimately for the purpose of "utmost spirit pervasion", a Taoist ideal. (Some people still think they are located in their human body, but others educate themselves out of that, and become self-aware throughout the universe and across time; it's called "zentrallerkentnis", the condition of seeing everything from the inside, looking out.)

Does my theory hold? I have all kind of brain mind theories on how that works; is it your diet/lifestyle? Is it unhealthy? Getting your omega 3's???

I once asked my psychiatrist what the consequences of schizotypality were, since he wanted me on meds and I always refuse ('cause that stuff is trouble) - he said possible side effects of taking no meds for schizotypality are: I might start a lot of things and not finish them (I'm in the middle of a hundred books but I usually finish eventually), I might harm my family by going on a shopping spree (no, I stay within my means, though I don't save anything), and one other thing, can't remember, but just as innocuous.

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Chapter 2) A reaction to terror

What I feared was my mom's control over my survival. What I continue to fear is the cold, the hunger, the misery of the basic human condition. So I work, hold a full time job and support a family. But I maintain my insanity, on the side. Or we could call it an imagination that approaches schizophrenia. Or we could call it shamanism.

But I agree about schizophrenia being a reaction to terror. Usually we were traumatized, sensitive children who weren't likely to get past the obstacles of hard knocks without drifting in to an alternative world that offers itself early, dream world of mystical introductions to wonder and magic, c'mon who wouldn't choose that over the torture and pain of a childhood where you depend for survival on people who are completely mad, who will allow or deprive key survival components based on their own whims and sense of humor, maniacal behavior of authority - unjust authority.

One of the hallmarks of schizophrenia is a hypertrophied sense of justice, outraged at things that really outraged us at childhood maybe; I tell parents these days assume your kids are smart, that they judge you and compare you, 'cause they do, and they can tell when "because I said so" doesn't cut it, when there's nothing behind the hysteria but loss of control over feelings of helplessness. I felt much stronger, much less afflicted with their neuroses than they, and set out to teach them how it's done. They are the problem that I feared, and out of that fear comes the willfulness to be dreamy, the neotenous behavior driven to the extreme; a survey on how schizophrenic people cope was run and the answer from several was "retreat into yourself" - that's exactly what schizophrenia is, and that's my criticism of it, for all the romanticizing of madness I engage in, my criticism of madness, my own included, is the uni-directionalness of it; as I see it the universe shows us two directions, two behavior patterns: one is "giving - opening outward" the other is "taking - closing inward" or - "retreating into yourself", and madness truly seems to always about only one side, there. (In my native Aztec religion, Tezcatlipoca is the hungry chief who plucks the flowers in paradise and rules by smoke and mirrors, Quetzalcoatl is the outward offering of the blooming flower of honesty, bringing language and literature and spiritual civilization, they were just both brothers, part of the family of the one ruler, who is called Ometeotl - "Mr. and Mrs. Two".) All but the "good madness", you might say, but even so, it's so egotistical, so richly delusional, it's not really about reaching out and giving to other people.

So I embrace my madness, but I realize there is a need for something more in order to live a full human life, a need to come down to earth and embrace the little mundane world of the human culture, and interact, become a needed part of it, and more and more as I get older, a 46 year old crazy guy who if he isn't careful will be swept away on disease and distress because he isn't needed, so I try to maintain a career, and I have a wife and her family, but I am insane so I don't believe in property rights for instance. Oh I go through the motions as they hand me stupid paper at work last Friday, I take a drive round trip an hour to a bank that hands out Ben Franklin green guys going "BLAH! I AM the immortal demon that plays tricks on you four times a year and I just came through last week in between the moments dressed as Santa Claus, looking for cookies or something" (I caught him having stolen beans from my fava bean farm one year as well as canned pinto beans in a cupboard, just a couple of several cans, but you get that stuff back at Christmas if you ask for bean-related stuff I guess, kind of a robin hood but I think that's creepy you know.)

So madness, a response to an un-faceable fear, but after the object of that fear is gone, the lifelong brain structure suggests the contours of the original infliction of pain, and that pain in the past goes on, that is what it's about, you can't get the mental toothpaste back in the tube, the mental armamentarium I developed to deal with the psychological torture of my mom is no longer necessary and the weapons stand unused and rusting in the shed, ready to come out once in a while when a vendor steps over the line I decide to draw in the sand or something.

Just knowing it's a delusion or it's all about your childhood trauma doesn't make it go away; the brain isn't quite that plastic. The trauma can be dealt with, aberrant pathways overridden, and this may be what you mean by "cured", but the contours never go away, and the pits are deep enough in me as in many to fall in to occasionally for a long time, and that might be what you mean by "relapse" but it all seems to me the development of my lifetime. What un-faceable fear I have to face is pain, and the psychological torture of ghost bugs, a 26 year affliction that became unbearable enough this year for me to go to emergency rooms all over Bay Area California, and declare I'm ready to die or be lobotomized just get the damn bugs off of me. Nothing more science has to offer, they told me last time at the emergency room after 8 hour hold taking away my clothes and wallet and keys. (I went off on them on the way out saying they stole my headphones 'cause I couldn't find them, probably in the bed somewhere, I yelled - "I come here for help and you torture me and take my head phones" but I don't really believe in property rights, just using their own rules against them). None of the meds work on the bugs, because, they say, I've "been very sick for a long long time", they all make me drowsy but none take away the bugs' crawling, it's the processed foods and grains, the bugs, I'm sensitive, and I feel the bugs flowing around in my blood. I know that sounds like it has to be delusion. I think my psychiatrist might believe me at this point, he takes alot of notes and looks genuinely interested in the effect of the garlic, and I know my wife believes it, sees it and deals with it every day, but I'm sure most others just think I'm plain old insane. Bipolar was the latest diagnosis, for going off and saying I was gonna go get a gun and shoot myself or at least having implied that.

I fear threats to my survival; I've heard it said we schizophrenia patients don't do well with stress and THAT sure is true about me, threats to my food and shelter. I live in communist America, work hard and give it all to the family and they take care of me through job changes or whatever, I guess for life. That's what I came up with at age 41, marriage and family life, to help with my survival, in addition to the schizophrenic way of thinking I've been using for the same purpose for just about all of my 46 and a half years.

I face my un-faceable fears every day and get up and go to work, eat only the raw vegetables and lots of garlic and onion 'cause anything else and I'm insane, thinking that the bugs are crawling on me. The psychiatrist just takes notes, now, has absolutely no guidance to offer, looks downright flabbergasted. I got on the 8 hour hold for saying I was going to the gun store next if there was nothing they could do, then told the psychiatrist that was just to express my exasperation, and that the garlic kinda helps, I was hoping that new info would tell them enough to give me a pill that I could magically eat food again and not be insane, but no, whatever, that was delusional thinking mankind could help me with the projects I pursue, they involve the whole universe and mankind isn't good at these kind of mental projects, gedanken that may alter the way we see reality, they mostly shun that, and we with schizophrenia are the ones that find just that as our calling. Or we go too close and want a calling back to the humanity side of the looking glass, reach for the anodynes of SSRI's, but that doesn't get the mental toothpaste back in the tube. It's tough. I doubt the battle will ever be over. And in the end my fear about survival will have been realized and of course I'll die, but in the meantime I think my madness helps protect me from the cold heartless reality of life in the big city that I tend to perceive as I live my sedentary IT professional lifestyle. Gotta get out and walk more this weekend, two more days off. Going hiking up the mountain Monday. That, to me, is exactly what it means to be "cured", going up Mission Peak in Fremont. Magical. But then I'm insane.

But I do agree with the premise, the child who is treated lovingly and feels secure is the child who grows up to be the one cold and controlled and well-adjusted and running for president. And most go toward that side of the scale.

I think trauma in early childhood, a lack of that feeling of security, something inflicted intentionally in the early 60's when I was growing up by parents who meant well by society if not by the child when they followed Dr. Spock's advice, reading and studying the topic of how to raise a kid.

And the mad and kinda dumb little parents along with Dr. Spock, whose son we now know committed suicide, they all thought the kid would have no recourse, not in their scientific world, which at their time they thought might be able to actually capture all knowledge, but they think the kid who is put in the dark by himself for days at a time has no recourse. Oh but he does, we know who haunts the children, the ghosts, who come and offer a much more understanding and beautiful and complex world, something much bigger and more fulfilling to be a part of than the dysfunctional mess of an atomic family unit floundering on Dr. Spock books.

The kid has recourse to that other world. Maybe all kids do. Most choose the human world. I can't relate. But I think about it. They must have been coddled into loving their life, not encouraged to suffer, as I certainly was; they meant well, wanted me to be a philosopher or a priest, the dad had just left the Roman Catholic priesthood and the mom had been on her own after staying with her grandmother the Aztec sorceress, and earth religion and a sky religion crashed into each other and I was the love child.

That's what's wrong with me.

Now how do you want to cure that? I know alot of humanity's philosophers would have me killed. It makes sense. Hey if they didn't have the religious delusions in America they'd build the cathedral of mercy killing, at the center of the country, in Ohio, and they'd say step this way, mukky, it's quick, clean, painless, and effective. And I'd give them all my money and they'd put it toward making the cathedral even more and more spectacular. But nah, the religious delusions around here, they love the institutionalized suffering.

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Chapter 3) How to relate interesting compelling information that doesn't fit

How to relate to interesting information, when we find that, though compelling and fascinating, there's yet no way to integrate this knowledge with our general set of knowledge? I believe the word is "heuristic"'; I have an example of my own, I read alot, on philosophy and science, and I have a hobby of living in a "non ordinary universe model"; the fringe theories come out that I am able to integrate into a complete "fringe" or "non ordinary" physics model, and contemplate it. There is no such thing as gravity in my non ordinary universe model, as your scientists were unable to find the graviton, and indeed found no evidence at all for the mystical force that comes from Newton's 1666 imagination.

There's lots of stuff I'm able to twist into my own non-ordinary universe, but some stuff just won't go. I read the "holographic universe", and love the fact that in ten years those insights, though seemingly valid, just don't fit into my vision, or theory. Which is great, 'cause that then serves the purpose of the one shamanic thing that can spur my theories on to further development. That's how some humans deal with concepts that don't "fit"; we descend to the netherworld of the subconscious and work on a new understanding that integrates what we knew before with what we know now, "Thesis - Antithesis - Synthesis" style.

So I guess there are two different things each of us can do with new bizarre discoveries: either take the time now to integrate them into a new vision, or, set them aside in a compartment of ideas that are in need of integration, and wait till the time comes.

People who grow up early in different cultures have to do this, and it's called apperception, the ability to perceive reality in completely different ways that produce completely different concepts or subjectivities, and realizing that both are valid. Growing up in a mystical indigenous society, then being whisked off to capitalistic culture capitols at an early age, this always creates apperception. Mine comes from extreme reading expeditions as a young kid, combined with an Asperser's like isolation from my native New York City 1970's American culture. Philosophies and religions and shamanism from around the world opened my eyes early on to the availability of alternate, valid, and sometimes more powerful understandings of the universe that are available all around me.

That said, "astrology" is something I've tentatively "fit" into my alternate physics model, though I don't know much about it really.

I would like to point out just a few simple observations. First, our science of psychology has been carefully observing us for a couple of hundred years. The astrologers have been observing similarly for thousands of years. Second, the births of humans are not the only things with mystical cycles in our world. As a non-believer in gravity, I believe, instead, in "ytivarg", gravity spelled backwards, a good as any name for the push I am positing, rather than the "pull" that Newton tried to push.

Back in his day the vision of what's up in the sky was much different from the new vision that we armchair cosmic cartographers have been putting together over the past 30 years of humanity's "golden age of astrophysics", a phenomenal leap in humanity's access to distant light, as our vision went from one of the "solar system", part of the milky way "galaxy", to a vision where this galaxy is one in a galactic cluster, that is similar to a bunch of seeds in the cross section of a cucumber. We now look out on the cucurbitaceous vine, so we see all the other clusters of seeds at the centers of the cucumbers - the other galaxies all around us - and also then the in between space of regular cucumber meat, then the vine itself, then the air in between, where the sunlight and water flow to the great living organism. Yes, our vision changed from one of an isolate cucumber seed to one of a cucumber vine that stretches out in every direction.

It's all that stuff that pushes down on us, and it's our earth and sun that push us back up in the face of the ytivarg.

And those stars - and galaxies - go "wheeling" across the sky, like, as one of my favorite scientists once put it, a massive "hyperclock", one that ticks not in random events, but in a massive cyclical framework.

Besides the uncanny descriptiveness of our own adult personalities based on astrological "charts", there are plenty of other "cycles" that I don't see science even venturing out to try to explain, and I see the hyper clock's push, it's radiation, it's "action at a distance" as somebody described gravity, I see that as a possible, heuristic, explanation.

There are hundred and fifty year cycles for storms on earth. What do you suppose explains that? And hey, if your gravity is in the ground, well that thing rotates once a day, if that was it the people would all be based on the time of day, not the day of the year that they were born.

But the earth goes around the sun in a year. The outer hyperclock varies each day by a little bit, and returns on the kid's birthday to the exact same formation, same time on the hyperclock, the next year.

Cycles in earthquakes, again, the huge span of the known cycles says it can't be from underground, the massive hyperclock above is a much more likely source of the power.

Patterns of the glacial ages, too. Just as heuristic and mysterious as astrology, or the holographic universe.

Taoist religion, too, prescribes dates per year, like 9/9, when certain behavior will be most restricted, or they also had times of day for eating versus fasting, and times of year for similar things; I don't assume these Chinese mystics know any better than you or I what time it is exactly and where all the hands are pointing right now on the hyperclock, but they carefully observed, as we do, and as all human minds tend to do, they picked out some patterns. And they are willing to let others benefit from their efforts.

Crease those trousers, zodiac lime!

(They called him zodiac lime 'cause he moves with skill under the zodiac sky, and has accumulated so much power, he now glows lime green. He has to crease the trousers now because he got a good job as a senior network engineer in San Jose California).

****

Chapter 4) Insight into the unknown

insight into the unknown, the feeling, at an early age like 12 or 14, that mysterious, satisfying answers, that the regular authorities don't have or don't offer, can be mine if I just use this special faculty of mine, where I can get any answer I want but all the answers are at a "45 degree angle from the questions", I remember phrasing it that way as a young kid 'cause I didn't know how better to put it. In shamanism the spirit guide always responds at a "45 degree angle from the question", the shamans say it's something encoded and you'll have to tease out the answer for yourself, the answers are infused with analogy and comedy and irony. I pursue answers like this all my life, my personality disorder involving me not trusting the authorities to explain the world around me properly, a need to figure it all out for myself - and to find insight into the unknown. It's not the same as hearing a voice or seeing a vision, it's in the understanding, fleeting at first, but you learn how to grasp on to it and get it written down, over the years. To realize the moment when it's happening and to pay full attention in case it's some kind of important message.

When the feeling is gone, you go back to the idea on paper. Sometimes it no longer has the power it seemed to have, and then you have to wonder what was that, maybe just a burst of caffeine and sugar on the brain combined with reading or hearing that one phrase, it seemed downright revelatory, and now it's just refuse on the side of the road of language. But more often it is an idea, a development toward a direction you've been seeking. And then the other thing I notice about it is that even if I don't stop everything and write it down, and the stream goes by and it seems lost forever, it's really not. It's lost for now to consciousness, but you set these things to cooking on the back burner on your brain, these delusions and psychoses, and genuine questions, and that's where these insights come from, I think, the back burner starts bubbling up with nutrition, with stress, with sugar and caffeine, and it produces flashes on what seems like enlightenment, and is often criticized as delusion, but is truly satisfying, like food for the mind. And if you miss the insight this time around, it will be back, the back burner is still burning, and it's like it wants to tell you something, and if you miss the first hint, there will be plenty more.

Though these flashes of insight into the unknown can appear like lightning strikes at any time anywhere, they are more likely in certain situations than others, as is lightning for that matter. So I starve my diet and then plunge it into richness, withhold caffeine for days but then flood the mind with the sharpest caffeine highs I know of (strongly brewed loose leaf oolong tea from mount lee Shan in Taiwan), work the body out with hiking in the mountains, quiet and cold. And reading, preferably into multiple advanced topics within the same hours, to the point where it's all echoing in my head and spinning together.

The other things too, the voices and the visions, can also happen anytime but there's definitely behavior that leads to it, for me. What I do to generate voices, the ones I hear inside my mind but also, once in a while with enough intensity to seem like a real voice from outside as well, it comes from sensory deprivation, basically. I think the loudest, most vividly real voice that I ever heard that couldn't have been real, was while I was sitting in a jail cell all weekend, sleeping on the floor. "Come downstairs now", and a few other things, some voice yelled in my ear, when there was obviously no one around anywhere near me.

The voice inside the head comes easier, still out of sensory deprivation, for me, though. I am aware that alot of people get the voices as unwanted and spontaneously as the ghost bugs that 'cause me to itch all the time. (Tactile hallucinations, or extreme food allergies there.)

The internal voices, telling me stories, showing me amazing visions, maybe trying to scare me, but more often taking my direction and responding to me with things I want to know. This I achieve by practicing shamanism, it's a matter of lying down silently and listening to a drum beat tape, you can download it off the internet "shamanic drumming", and you come out side of your body, go down a hole, and talk to the spirit world.

The hiking in the mountains helps, as does sitting at the center of a greyhound bus while everybody is sleeping. Learned some of those tricks while studying Theresa de Avilla, Catholic mystic, who also cultivated talking with these internal voices.

As far as these voices being really the self, of course I entertain that possibility, but it does not ring true. I learn things from these communications that seem I could not possibly have known - it's all at a "45 degree angle" from anything I could have arrived at consciously.

Many of these "movies" that play for me in the evening, my hallucinations and visions, they are amazing, complex stories that consciously I really don't think I ever could have come up with. It's like a good movie, when it's happening it seems dynamic, and you wonder which way it will go next and the surprises create the drama, and when it's all over and you look back on the panorama of the epic adventure, two characters stand out, in my own dreams and also many many of the dreams I read about from other lucid dreamers (they have a whole website too),

One of my old explanations for the apparent pre-created structure of the dreams and the presence of the dual-shepherds in so many, of both my own and so many others, was that the sun shines in a different way at night, it sends down two characters, the two "eyes" of the sun, and they appear in the dreams of human begins sometimes, orchestrating stories, great movies with moral lessons, that looking back on it seem to have been perfectly orchestrated, and meant to play out with that perfect ending and all that excitement and pacing, a work of art. They are the sun shining in our minds, as two characters telling us stories, I see it all the time, take the movie "a beautiful mind" my theory plays out there, for instance. Characters from elsewhere communicating with us, at any rate, is a common explanation. The presence of another world, with a more complex species and a physics all its own, a consistent world we get to know over the course of our lifetimes, not on the earth of the scientists at all, but in another dimension.

Sometimes a dream plays itself out like a pre-written story, like they had the ending planned from the beginning...

It begins that I am at a large mall or flea market, with many of my co-workers, we're all cops, detectives; there's a sergeant - the boss - and there are several coworkers, and a secretary. All of us spread out over the floor, shopping around. I play with some hamsters or guinea pigs, looking around but not able to find quite the right thing. Then there's a song, a bluegrass song, a very big production, by the boss, who's kind of like president Clinton, and the song is for me, as a present. After the song we are standing around talking and he asks how well he sang. I think other people gave me gifts, too.

The next scene is we're all sleeping, all in a big room, like we're camping, or maybe it's the army and this is the barracks. I have trouble sleeping and my legs itch. then the guy next to me points out that my gift from someone was some kind of experiment or poison, and I don't believe it, but then he says "then how come by this point your socks have been eaten through?", and I look at where my legs had been uncomfortable and the socks were disintegrating, like a bug had been eating through them, and then it starts....

I scream, I get up, but there's a different distraction, so everyone else is somewhere else, maybe looking for me, but they don't see me. I'm raging mad that I've been given this poison that's killing me. I smash at a window near me, to get out of the second floor barracks, but it's hard to break. After a few tries, I use a lamp, and break it well. Then everyone hears the breaking glass, and comes looking for me, but I escape, out the window.

I don't get far before there is a group right behind me, pursuing me. I see a closed McDonalds, in front of me. I try to break the glass to get in but it's hard to break and the people are getting closer. A young kid walks up from the other direction and seems to say he/she will do anything I want. So I ask the kid to talk to the people pursuing me, to stall them, and the kid does. Just long enough for me to smash through the McDonalds window.

Now they're right behind me, inside the McDonalds, and I'm pushing things over to block or slow them down and I get back into the kitchen, then when they get in, I get up above in to a storage area in the ceiling.

When I'm in the ceiling, there's one big guy, one of my former partners I know well, reaching up into the ceiling. I find a large garbage bag full of fish, and begin pouring the fish onto him. He says something like 'that's pretty good, how'd you get yourself in there with all those fish?' because, since the fish keep coming for a while, he thinks there are more fish than there are.

And then it gets pretty disturbing for a long while.

He gets into the ceiling area (eventually the fish run out), and I pick up an electric blender with the blades but without the jar, plug it in, and slash at him again and again with the blades spinning on full power, and destroy him. He lives only long enough to explain to the next agent or soldier who comes in as his backup. Then I go through each person, one at a time, each in a different brutal way. I smash one's head, I put others into machines, it's all very brutal and very graphic, I don't really want to remember.

Lastly there's the sergeant, the boss, and I manage to maim and kill him, too, after some discussion. The last two people and the sergeant don't die easily, but are badly maimed enough that I just walk away.

The movie is over. Angela and I go home in a car. Angela says "that was a good movie" and I'm very surprised because it had been so violent.

Then I wake up and see Angela is sleeping, and I'm glad she didn't see the movie.

I go back to sleep, though, and I'm driving to work with Seinfeld, from the TV show. Apparently the previous day had been my first day of work at this police job, and I had been recruited as an actor for a movie, made the movie, and all my coworkers saw the movie where I kill them all, and all this happened in one day and now it's my second day of work.

Seinfeld sympathizes with me. I ask him if he is doing any more acting any time soon, and he tells me about one movie coming up where they want to have only his forehead, and he'll be holding a baby. And there's not much you can do with just your forehead, and your hair can only be so puffy, he says. I look and his hair is pretty puffy. He says Kent (my brother in law) would be better in the role (Kent has very short hair); I get to work and it's odd, people say they will take a while to get used to the fact that I murdered them all in the movie, and I say that I had no idea what was going to happen. The boss said he knew because he had seen some previews. Then I started working on computer hard drives with the IT person. All the actors gathered around, and we talked about acting.

****

Chapter 5) Why do schizophrenics believe nonsense?

I live and work with the normal people, IT engineering, in Bay Area California, and I span the worlds because after my 8 hours of playing along to secure my food and shelter, I go to the hotel room and let myself become floridly psychotic, developing new psychoses and reading the delusions and hallucinations of the other schizophrenia patients, and reading that kind of thing all over the internet: the lucid dreaming, the stories of drug trips, the philosophers debating morality in the age of neuroscience, the astrophysicists contemplating the novel physics of the ever-changing big-picture, so I span the worlds.

And Bay Area California is open minded compared to the New York City I grew up in. "Dreams? Shut up and leave that stuff in the dark of night where it belongs." "Reading what? Why would you read that? None of us here want to know about that. There are like four people in the world who would be able to discuss that with you." "You were thinking WHAT? Nonsense! Never heard anything like that from anyone in all my life, you are ridiculous and should be ashamed of yourself, talking out your ass, get yourself together, grow up!"

I don't take the meds, because they don't work, yeah they make me dizzy but they don't change me in any way for the better. They have nothing to do with the itching, and I was tired already, being insanely dizzy tired just makes me mad when the bugs control my ability to rest, not my mind. I did eventually open MY mind and try, after decades of trying to protect my mind from their warping magic.

You eventually realize it's a small club you can tell your delusions to, and a much smaller club who will come back and work on them with you. It's a thrill for a schizophrenic, though, to share demons with others, and so we seek each other out, or I go out and get myself thrown in the psych hospitals and jails at least a few times a year, so I spend some time getting to know other schizophrenics. And then if you read the Nobel Prize literature and poetry from Europe across the twentieth century, especially when the topic is madness or time, you find the functionally mad who have been given license for it, check out Zagajewski, for example, won the Nobel prize for poetry with a book full of schizophrenia on every page, and what about Octavio Paz, another Nobel winner even more schizophrenic, then there are the great novelists, many quite mad, and that's some great delusion stuff too, Robert Walser is a madman who wrote amazing meandering short stories and then went to a psych hospital for 30 years, where he tried not to write but ended up writing even better madness the older he got.

And so I think it's a dreaminess we schizophrenia patients specialize in. Those New Yorkers, my father the Jesuit priest as a prime example, they lack the dreaminess. I guess they had a stage of childhood, where they played, and thought along all kinds of trajectories, acted dreamily for the sake of learning, but then eventually were pulled down out of the schizophrenic heavens into the little test tube of human knowledge, where their parents felt they'd be safe and where society felt it'd be safe from free thinking and madness. Put away the toys and grow up.

Then there's the schizophrenia, the peter pans, like the baseball players and the trombone players, we never grow up but stretch the human neoteny out well into the adult decades. I don't play trombone I play reality. My favorite hobby is to live in a non-ordinary universe model.

The regular people, they don't want to discuss it. They say they are busy and totally consumed mentally, with just the business of living. I don't get it and can't relate, I get bored and I ruminate on things, and I don't trust the world to just tell me something without it making sense, I don't care what the rest of them believe or think, I'd rather figure it out for myself.

It's a choice, you either want to belong, or you want to understand. I observe the majority, the normals, the worldly-minded camarilla, they choose to belong, and the only learning they are interested in is what everybody else already knows. They just want to know what the authorities of their university think, and that's gonna be good enough for them, they will simply parrot that and get through life without going mad.

Alternatively with me it's understanding, a new way of looking at reality that finally makes more sense, this is what I pursue and value far above "belonging".

It's a dreaminess that sets us apart, I think. Dreamy like a two year old, who still has the energetic spirit to question everything, ("why is the sky blue" got answered by science, but then there's "what am I?", "where is it all going?" "What is the meaning of this?" and schizophrenia is the peter pan state of mind where we still ask these questions. Who's in that white van outside, who's following me, who knows my thoughts, or with me it's "what is the nature of time?" "How can I reverse time and overcome it as my enemy?" along with the theory of brain/mind, the answer to why there is matter instead of all matter and antimatter annihilating each other completely, and most interestingly of all "what is madness?"

And on surveying possible answers, at first I didn't understand the difference between myself and the normals, and that must have lasted well in to my 20's. I remember showing other people what I'd read, some new philosophy or religion of self-control and deprivation, and they'd all say that's very nice mukky but that's not for me, and I knew that when I'd read about some ancient psychotic monastic discipline, I always think "that's EXACTLY for me".

And on surveying explanations for things, most people, without the dreaminess, have a cold sobriety that doesn't get them very interested in chasing anything. A two year old mind has infinite energy to chase everything.

And the dreamier answers make more sense to the child than to the adult. Myself a schizophrenic, I think it comes and goes, and it's a brain chemical, the dreaminess I mean. Sometimes I'm like the IT managers from cold hard reality, but most of the time I entertain way more possibilities than most people. The crazier stuff sounds good to me, while I know that to most adults it isn't anything.

It's a chemical brain response, that a new idea, way out there, a new psychosis, even if it's irrational, can be thrilling and well worth entertaining. I hear the dopamine pathways are bloated in us schizophrenia patients, way too sensitive to dopamine. Maybe that's it, a crazy idea sounds so much better coming down these fat crisscrossing pathways, than down the cold one lane bowling alley of the adult American mind.

So I tell my simple minded sales director boss that I practice "irrationality", which in this culture is called "schizophrenia", a willingness to walk outside the "house of reason", pursue inner nature and destiny and search for mystery and wonder.

I have an example, a short, dreamlike story, in that it has no real direction or point, just the madness; because of this, the normal people have no appreciation for it; they read it, look puzzled, then look angry, and then pretty quickly they completely dismiss it. To get "into" it, to contemplate listening and talking into your own soup based on this little play, requires the dreaminess that comes with being schizophrenic:

She and her children were poor, and when the man and woman at the door said they were government agents and needed to speak with her son and daughter about a very serious matter, she had a resigned look and sound, like "those kids in some crazy trouble again", and after letting them in went back about the hectic business of dealing with the kids in another part of the house.

A short while later one of the agents came over to them holding a thermos cup with the lid on, looking even more serious than before, and said, "We need to show something to your son now, would you mind if he listened to this?"

The crazy kids kept running around, and the son went with the agents downstairs to the living room. He seemed very excited about the opportunity to communicate like this, and so was his sister, who knew she was next, and was hurriedly trying to get the cat in the basement out through the yard in time to escape.

The boy was given the thermos cup and he held it in his two hands, carefully taking the top off. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but he put his ear to the soup inside. He listened to a couple of garbled lines, which the agents overheard, then the agents quickly took the cup away and went back to work on it in another room.

The mother went with the agents for a moment because they looked so serious and concerned, then, a little more serious herself, she came out and asked if any of the kids had been overseas recently; maybe when they were with their father, but they said, "of course not, we haven't gone anywhere."

Meanwhile the girl had made sure that the cat had escaped but it had already come back again and was running all around the huge basement like a maniac.

The agents came back in to the mother and said "ok, now we've got it, he can talk to him", and the boy went into the next room again.

He listened to a couple of garbled lines, at first having no idea what was going on but figuring it out pretty quickly. He asked if he could talk back, and the two agents looked at each other, then the female agent said to the man, "I guess it's his right", and the boy carefully put the cup of soup near his mouth and started yelling into it excitedly. "I'm here!", he began. "Everything is going fine! You'll never find the cat, he's been gone a long time, the dog chased him away like he always does! I can't believe you called, I can't believe I'm talking to you!..."

The boy kept yelling into the soup and he knew what was going on and what would happen when another phone rang and the female agent went to answer it. It was another small thermos of soup, and as the woman put it to her ear and listened the boy watched the amazed look come over her face when she realized that what she was hearing in the second container was the same thing the boy next to her was yelling.

And now he was really talking to the two agents in a final exclamation before the big getaway, when he yelled into the first container, "that's right, it's me, of course it's me, and you want to know how I do it? I come outside of my body and I dance around and yell like crazy, that's how it's done!"

Then he ran downstairs and got there just in time as his sister, the dog, and the skinny little cat went running out the back door and down the rocks.

****

Chapter 6) Eukaryotes and fungus

Eukaryotes and fungus: two long separate lines of "life" on earth.

"Sentient" life. Single celled and therefore simpler, more devoid of mind than we, as eukaryotes or as the top eukaryotic species of the planet, black magic blaring, spewed upon fields of tarmac;

Ok in the 50's humanity laughed that anything else could come close - that animals could feel pain, or even be conscious - but that conceit has been falling steadily; - that plants and trees had any kind of consciousness (we're just eukaryotes with eyes, the trees are just like us, eukaryotes, they just don't have the affliction of eyes nose and mouth.) Doesn't mean they aren't conscious, another belief gaining ground as more and more people discount the silliness in "science" the same way they tend to discount the ancient silliness of their cafeteria religions.

Smaller animals, not only believed to be conscious, have been known to form "societies" and work together, communicating efficiently throughout the colony, the way ants work together and form huge colonies the size of California.

So the single celled fungus: It's the mushrooms that proliferate wildly like demon plants just after the rain, under the tree, and it's cheese you put in your gut.

The largest creature on the planet is a colony of fungus, attached to the roots of some huge forest in the United States, I thought I read somewhere. Works together, like the ants and the bees, and therefore has some method of communication within the colony.

The fungus sits at the roots of the trees the way they sit at our roots, the inner lining of the intestines, (from where they tell me they can modify our genome and have a great deal of control over our ultimate manifestations.)

Science has been promising a theory of brain mind, but has never offered one, though it pushes implicit and foolish unspoken theories every time a drug trial for Alzheimer's is developed.

Me, I went way off the reservation a long time ago, in childhood began a "relationship" with the demon world of my daily hallucinations, a cohesive narrative I've developed based on a phantasmagoria of lifetime experience in a hallucinatory reality that's always been my home, more than the earth of the worldly-minded camarilla - "consensual reality" - which for me is just a boring closet in my life that I barely pay attention to. All the exciting things, all the real relationships, for me take place in the "other world".

By practicing dream yoga, which taught me to recall all my haunted dreams and to document my hallucinations, I have mined the information of the demon world for 26 years.

By reading the psychosis stories of people on the internet and in schizophrenia memoir literature, and by keeping up with the lucid dreaming website postings, I have realized that there are many others who experience a coherent "other world" in their visions and dream life.

Frustrated by the insistence of western authorities that these shamanic dreams and visions are nonsense, to be left in the world of night and darkness where they belong, and living and working daily in the spirit world with my demon family, I always wondered where and who these creatures really were, such an advanced and sentient culture, concerned with genomic manipulation and the torture and destruction of humans.

About a year ago I began conversing with a guy over the internet with a similar psychosis to mine, him more advanced in his, (mine here now less than a year in the making), and in a series of essays he told me a few components of his imaginative psychosis that captured my imagination for days on end, and now onto this developed psychosis of my own. He told me he didn't have nearly the clarity of visions and shamanic experiences that I had (wasn't nearly as "sick" or "afflicted" as I), but that he still couldn't help holding the belief that there was another world, consistent in itself, that he had also been becoming a part of.

He said he'd been working with the "parasites" too, talking to the kings or leaders of their world, about the parasite - host symbiotic relationship. He said he had to "burn the leech off" by starving himself, to recreate a more balanced relationship, parasite fungus on the living human host, telling him that all human prophets are hybrids of parasite and host.

Then I was looking at the ground and saw the ants working together. They were moving very quickly in relation to their bodies, compared to us. I remembered all the demon visions, where a dream is going along normal, and then a very common "signal" that all of a sudden we are in a haunted, special dream, was the people who would go running by at ridiculous fast forward pace. That was always a giveaway that the demons were up to something. They walked just like the ants relative to their bodies, though they seemed humanish in form in all my visions, in all the visions of the schizophrenics and lucid dreamers.

Finally about a year ago now I discovered that my tactile hallucinations of bugs crawling over me could be greatly reduced by getting rid of a yeast infestation in my body; I had welts all along all the folds of my skin, that began to recede with daily jock itch spray all over my back and legs; I stopped eating wheat, dairy, processed food, and stuck to raw vegetables and lots of onion and raw garlic. Didn't kill the parasite, but made him take a step back. It dramatically changed the nature of the dreams, as well as the severity of the hallucinations. Bringing back scones or bread or dairy - pizza and beer and pancakes - has consistently brought the symptoms back.

And there are cases of fungus taking over the minds of creatures and turning them into zombies that do their will; Google "mind control fungus", it's real. Wikipedia: Ophiocordyceps_unilateralis

Proves whatever mind is, fungus has it and can interact with the minds of discreet creatures.

So then the demons had revealed themselves as real, not some misty spirit world thing on the "other side" at all, but the living fungus, with hive mind (as science never came up with a theory of brain mind, and something is obviously communicated among insects, my theory of brain mind allows for fungus to be just as sentient, and a whole lot smarter, than mere mankind).

The hive mind of the demon world is immortal. They can sacrifice millions of single celled units and just laugh at us. They harvest us. They can communicate with us, some more than others, via the "feeling in our gut", and so they can read our minds at least partially and communicate with each other, and so this would explain us knowing the thoughts of others. Think of the infiltration of this planet wide fungus with immortal hive mind of startling sentience, another world indeed, occupying the bodies of most of the animal and plant species and listening to the whole cacophony of voices, while designing the twists and turns of each species' genome, in a playful orchestra of chaotic destruction, just like a bunch of overgrown reptiles gorging on each other's flesh under the shadow of the cataclysmic asteroid.

Ever wonder how that works? How come we can all talk to each other and hear each other's minds if we want to? They say on the Dao no thought goes unheard. It's all out there on the wire. So these spirits, turns out they are real, in our world, they are parasites, and mites in our homes, and they are not like us, individuals. Ever see star trek? They are the Borg, the hive mind. Super smart, like altogether mites are one giant hallucinatory human, and man is he smart and super interesting, shows psychedelic movies about the genome all the time, he's great for entertainment, monstrous, like on men in black, and maniacal, like on the boxes of cereal for kids that he inspires. Oh he's not Santa Claus or the Easter bunny, much better, he's the parasites, in your gut, the bad bacteria, on the old bologna sandwich at 12 midnight, oh yes, maniacal like a bad dream.

And all those little mites, they got the hive mind, and they penetrate the blood brain barrier, they do, and they think with us, only they are more than just spirits. They are a web of spiders, and they are out to trap their hosts.

I wander the edge of the nests now, out from their center, I loved them, I gave myself over to them and became an honorary bug king in their world.

But no more, I'm outta there, I can fight them, it's easy, (but for the possessed hosts all around me that draw me back in!)

Back in college I never personally tried the "magic mushrooms", but I knew people who did and read accounts of the experiences in libraries. Science can say "psilopsybin" got in your brain, but can't explain the spiritual content of revelatory visions experienced by many adventurers, or for that matter the claim by the adherents (nook.org!) that the mushrooms were a cult in Mexico but the Americans messed it up, lost the holiness of the cult, and now the magic has dissipated from the fungus. But if this separate branch of the mystery we call "life on earth" - fungus - has its own hive mind and sentient reality, that would explain their ability to take us on wild journeys of mind.

Less well known for being magic, the fungus yeast can get out of control in the lining of the human gut. Three percent of schizophrenics are cured with antifungals, allergy to the yeast being the 'cause of the childhood onset schizophrenic dreams and hallucinations, odd behavior, and secret membership in the "other world". In this portion of the population, celiac disease makes it difficult to digest grains, dairy, and meat, so the yeast builds up and launches into the blood stream, the body, and the mind.

For me, after about 7pm if I close my eyes I can watch "the movies", a running series of hallucinations that describe an amazing action adventure all the time. Sometimes horrific nightmares. Often fascinating visions.

I have this, they call it schizotypal personality disorder in me, 'cause I know the difference between my visions - the "movies" I call them - and consensual reality.

I have drawn and described this as a little dot at the center of the dark mind, a little multicolored dot. Well, after 7pm, I close my eyes and notice my mind is actively and wildly dreaming. Everyone around me knows - I went in to watch the "movies". And they know they don't want me describing the things I saw, they know I can be disturbing if I describe the demon world or the visions I am being fed.

'Cause after 7, that little dot gets bigger. It's a wheel now, have the size of the entire field of vision, and it's multicolored alright, multi-BRIGHT-colored, and spinning like a wheel of fortune. and in each of five sections in the wheel, a different bright colored movie is playing, and it's a violent action movie, like cars crashing, hurricanes lashing, monkeys swinging and throwing red things, explosions occurring, and these five colorful fast forwarding violent action movies spin and spin, that's not the worst part.

When the haunting wind blows into the vision, the spinning visions all coagulate into one giant monster, with all the different colors and lines of the monster flashing and changing, like a varying genome. And when it unifies like this, it acquires a powerful sucking-in power, a hurricane wind that pulls you in toward it, and you have to struggle with every last inch of effort to escape, till you reach a critical point, like just outside the door, and then you can just run, run, run.......

Another thing, about portholes around the bed. I can't stand to live in the same apartment more than a few months, 'cause the room gets infested with these portals because I dream like this.

I learned in the Oxford English dictionary that any person who explains the nature of mystery is a hierophant or mystagogue, and that that actual act of explanation is a scene of hierophany, and that any scene of hierophany opens up a portal, to the upper and lower worlds, out of which creatures can crawl.

After the room is infested, I fall down these holes so easily, and get the so-called tactile-hallucinations (ghost bugs) so I move. I'm such a nomad, living in a demon cloud.

So it made alot of sense when I heard a shaman explain a method of going to the other world in a wakeful vision - they said come out of your body and run around the room in circles. In my room you'll fall right in immediately.

And when I sleep, I dream, but once or twice a month, on average, the dream becomes haunted by an "other", or at least it sure seems that way. Lots of little kids have the experience in a nightmare: things are going along fine, you have no idea you're dreaming, and suddenly the light switch on the wall won't turn on. The force begins pulling at you, the heart beat races, adrenaline flows, and the nightmare is on.

It seemed for years that the details of the adventure, how many lived and died in the basements of the buildings or out by the sea, mattered for real, like it was my immune system versus the invaders.

I realize now that the consciousness has left my body at that point, and have entered the "portal", like being abducted by the UFO, and there's a whole world in there, the demon world, where we experience their world as one of them, as honorary cells of yeast or whatever, we play the role of demons. On earth I have a mom in NY and a sister and brother in Boston, and another sister out here on the west coast. In the demon world I have a father who leads me and a large group of kids/soldiers on military missions, practicing the religion of evil, pursuing mankind and torturing them and destroying some of them, for no purpose other than religious reasons, the maniacal mindset of an immortal planet-king, bent on hubris and cruelty.

****

Chapter 7) Supernatural Dream in the Movie Theatre

A few nights after an experience with a shaman there was a supernatural dream. It was like a whole movie. The dream begins with me sitting in a movie theatre, watching a movie, and there are several other people watching too. But the theatre isn't full, just a quarter full. All of a sudden, some kids, mostly very young maybe a few teenagers, all running in from the back of the theatre, past me, and up around the back of the stage. There were about thirty to forty kids, but the speed of the stampede was other than natural. And I sensed extreme fear.

They had just passed, and disappeared behind the screen, and no one else in the audience seemed to care, but I got the feeling that whatever scared them into moving like that, it might threaten me, too, if I just sit in my seat, so I got up and ran to catch up with them.

So I go behind the screen, up several flights of stairs, running and getting more scared myself. The kids all reach a bunch of theatre seats way at the top and at the end of the line, so everyone tries to hide. Nobody's really hiding too well, just in their seats, with their heads down.

A moment later a few adults come in, and turn on the lights; they see everybody, and start picking out different ones and calling to each other, and also yelling out some chant at everyone. These are the people the kids were running from. I get picked, among other people, and I'm asked, or told, to do an operation on someone, and asked if I can be ready in three minutes. I'm handed, as are some of the other kids around me, a packet, with maybe a scalpel and a syringe and some medical-looking stuff, and the chant at us now is something like "we give you the power of life and death, but you have to use it for us and do what we tell you."

I'm getting worried and ask if I can make it ten minutes from now instead of three, thinking I'll try to escape. My offer is contemplated, and rejected.

I decide to make a run for it. Apparently we're about ten levels of balconies up in this movie theatre, all behind the screen, and each lower level is a little farther out, and there are big golden bars, so you can jump, holding on to the bars, and it's a series of small leaps, not a huge fall. I start leaping down, and I'm getting away, but there's a middle level that's much bigger than the others, like the concession stand area. I get that far, and they catch up with me. I'm not the only one who tried to get away, there are two or three others, and we're all cornered on this large, middle balcony. The chasers stand in the middle of the floor talk calmly to us, then pull up chairs and sit down and lecture us, calmly. It's like a manager disciplining an employee in his office.

But I and one or two other kids are in the corner, standing on top of something, and there's a big glass punch bowl. I smash the glass punch bowl, and we all start throwing the sharp chunks of glass at these 'managers'. Most miss, but two out of the three managers get up calmly, looking disappointed, and walk away. The one main guy walks forward, walks straight up to me, talking sternly and more forcefully. I put one huge shard of glass right into his forehead. Blood comes out, but he continues talking and talking, like nothing happened.

Now I and the other two kids are really scared, and we must have looked confused, because he breaks his monologue for a second, pulls the glass out of his head, and says "oh, this?" Then he starts pulling all the flesh of his head apart and off, and his skull is showing through, and he's still talking, saying something like "this doesn't matter, I'm beyond this." We're totally frightened by this, and we're corralled, brought back to the top floor where everyone else is.

I'm not sure what happened next. Some time went by, but I decided to make another run for it. I start swinging, jumping, holding on to the bars, going down the different levels again. They start chasing me again, but not that hard, just like I'm a nuisance, but they're right behind me. But I'm trying harder this time, and I have more momentum going, and as I'm getting near the bottom levels, I see some people on the side I recognize. I touch their faces as I go by to make sure they're real, and they are, and it feels reassuring, at least I have witnesses, and they cheer me on. I make it to the bottom and I come out a door into the lobby of the real movie theatre, out of that whole supernatural realm.

The three pursuers are right behind me, and they follow me out into the natural realm. But several movie theatre employees see them, and it's like they've always known who they were but couldn't chase them into their own realm. They see these three guys, and they gather around each and stamp them to death on the floor of the lobby, chanting "flesh and blood, flesh and blood". It's like as soon as they followed me out into the lobby of the real movie theatre they were mortal, and totally vulnerable and easy to kill. I looked at the splattered bodies on the floor in the lobby.

The dream went on a little while longer, just me hanging out in the lobby and doing stuff. And when the shift was over, all the employees gathered by me smiling to say goodbye, and congratulations. And I looked at all their faces and I recognized them from somewhere, but I don't know where. It's not the story I would have liked to see happen. I would have liked to see reconciliation, not the killing. I thought there were no 'demons', and no fear, but I reverted to feeling fear. I hoped to do better in my next encounter.

After the session with the shaman I practiced "journeying" regularly; I bought the cassette tape of drumming that plays for twenty minutes, meant to put you in a dream state. I lay flat on the ground, left my body, walked out the door, down the stairs, and down a nearby hole, for several minutes until I started seeing things. I saw a lot down there. I took the shaman's advice and asked "what is the nature of the ghost bugs"; I met the "ghost bug" in a vision: a demon, with the head of a bull. I read old dreams of mine from a decade before that I didn't remember at all, supernatural dreams, and that's how I described what I had seen there, 'head of a bull'.

In the journeying I picked up the dream from the movie theatre lobby where I had left off; I scooped up the three dead demons on the floor of the theatre lobby, and they / it came back to life. It was a demon, with the head of a bull. I asked if it was my spirit guide and it said 'yes'. Another night, journeying and being too passive, I let him lead me to a cross, and ram me with his horns. When he hit, I felt ghost bugs.

Seeing a bull again in another journey vision, I asked "what do you want?"; "To eat your flesh"; I asked "what do you need?" (These were Christina - the shaman's - questions); he said "to stay alive"; and "where do you want to go?" he said "to hell, to the heart", and "home".

When I asked, first, 'what was his nature?' he had showed me Aztec hieroglyphics. I didn't understand. But I did see an upside down heart with two X's on it, one in each lobe.

Thirty years after the soul was implanted in my back, when I was 35, my demon soul matured and blossomed, and I joined my family in the demon world. I have two families - my mother and siblings in the real world, and a father, sister, and brother in the demon world. The demon family lives in a brownstone building in a type of commune. They go on killing safaris, and plant black holes in enemy territory in wartime, but they are not all bad. Killing for them is like going on vacation. They have normal lives in a city most of the time, where they play and work and eat. I think the father has been trying to kill me, but I have been able to survive the dreams he has planted in me. When confronted he says it's just a test.

Elissa asked "how can someone plant dreams in you, or put dreams on you, why do you think that?".

There was one dream where I had experienced a lot of pain, some prickly things the size of pineapples stinging me repeatedly, and as I wake up I'm in this dream (still dreaming) I was in a central room in a wooden shack, and I exited through one of the doors into another room where I saw the man who usually seem to be my father in the demon world, (nothing like when I see my real father as I remembered him in regular dreams; this father is Mexican and has a beard and a mustache, and is very serious looking).

I saw him in the room next to where I had been dreaming, with a conical hat and a robe on and reading from a giant book on the table in the middle of the room, chanting, and I realized that I had been hearing this chanting throughout the entire previous dream, and seemed to know intuitively that this chanting 'caused the dream. I asked why he would do this to me, put a horrible dream like that on me, and he answered that it was meant as a challenge or a test and that I should have been able to take it. Another time I had been flying and then falling in a dream but had just barely managed to glide to safety and survive, and when I walked into the commune where I lived with my demon family and explained that I had survived, my demon father, who is only there rarely, looked disappointed.

The dream where I came of age was dream of the year. It takes place in a crater. I walk by a skull on a slick next to three other sticks in a square formation, and an arched piece of wood across the top of the skull, and a crow standing on top of the wood turned to the side. I thought 'is it a threat?', like 'you go here too'? Then I thought 'no, his spirit guides me; a powerful shaman leaves his skull, sometimes multiple skulls, to continue to guide the society. This one came to the event. It looks like Woodstock but everyone is in colorful war paint and Indian headdress, and a central spectacle occurs, way better than any rock festival. It's wild like a rock festival but really a much more powerful religious event, where they actually use the enthusiasm of the surrounding crowd to perform miracles. Sitting, colorfully dressed, one Indian holds two rattles on a stick, like balloons, while looking the other way, waves them together, slowly across right to left; as they go by, inside them, another movie takes place, in a different, vividly bright dimension. What's going on in there? The genome!

I walk through the crowd to the backstage, then down an aisle on the stage surrounded by old iron junk. At the center of all the commotion and with everyone's attention on me, I inhabit a counter-rotating nucleus in relation to the giant disk of observers around me. I walk toward the front of the stage, toward the crowd, throwing the objects around me up in the air, and everything hovers - typewriters, office equipment, telephones, wooden boards, utensils - and the crowd roars! Everyone is spinning one way, and at the very bright center there is a sudden shift, and it swings around the other way, as the one central eye gazes into the night, its holy voice singing in the sacrificial prayer for grace, calm, wisdom, and beauty.

Apparently doing this magic has convinced the demons that I have come of age, and my family takes me to show me more - an array of colors and marks revealed within any wall around them by scratching in a certain sequence of directions, some with the left hand and some with the right hand, and a colorful message appears and disappears. I try it myself but it's not really working; just barely; all of them walk over to me and one explains verbally while another shows another colorful diagram, like it has to do with the genome, and a special pattern reveals a circular set of letters 'HUMAN MASTER'; rub it and it shows, rub it differently and it goes away again, and a female voice says "show him the genome" but we get distracted and all through the rest of the dream I was waiting for this direct instruction but it never came.

On the way out of the room she did say "you just have to experiment", and that her brothers had found they could do certain things because they had more alveoli on their genome.

We left to watch what seemed like a movie, where a girl auditions to be the nanny of a bunch of rich kids; she does very well by showing she already knows all about them, and serves pizza. The one daughter isn't eating though, while the kids and guests are eating the pizza - she's listening carefully to the wall and sitting on a chair with her feet up. She listens and taps out a pattern with her toes very complex, like fingers on a typewriter. What she is listening to is this part of the movie that we're all going to see next. She sounds very excited; her father and mother are in the other room she is listening to, and the father is small like a monkey but shaped and dressed like George Washington; she says "my father was. .. (something) !" sounding very amazed.

We go to another room to see this new information in a movie, but when one amazing part comes, I'm the only one who sees it and they are all in the other room. I see these skeletons come through the wall. They're ancestors bestowing magic. I stop the movie and call the others in. I rewind it a little, but apparently not enough. It's like a movie but we see it taking place live in the room before us and with us. I play it back, but to me every lime it seems a little bit different. We all see the skeletons again and they say I should rewind it more and play it back again. As I'm rewinding, a woman says, "that's amazing, we all could be one person."

Another says, "They were immigrants. I had thought they had originated here; they immigrated to Idaho first."

The movie is rewound more this lime. People are at a train station; the butler cooks and serves the food to everyone. The children are gathered together and put in an elevator at the train station, gathered up by fun-stuff-dressed-up characters and balloons. Someone in the audience next to me says, "just like at a bar mitzvah". Then the selected children go down in the elevator, and I'm down there with them, and these flying monkey skeletons come up out of a doorway, flying over each of us, each one of them in succession, bigger and bigger ones, and tap each of us twice on the head; this seems to be the bestowing of some kind of magic power. After this two big skeletons come through the wall, and they seem to transform as they move, amazing everybody, eventually ending up in a kind of George Washington form.

After the movie I go walking around the house of these magical kids, my brothers and sisters, and look at embroideries each one has done. One of them said 'we don't eat meat because it's each other's flesh'. One was about me, and said something about Zen. I forgot what most of them said but I got the idea, as I walked up the stairs of the house, that these are our souls, we have been bestowed with these magic souls, and that's what the skeletons were. There was one big piece of furniture that was the size of a piano but full of water and it had three stories of rocks and caves, and it had a saying near the top -I forgot what it was but something about balance- and I rocked it back and forth and wondered why the water didn't spill out, though as it continued to rock after I stopped I worried a little but then noticed it seemed to crash up like waves in the back and take care of itself.

I went upstairs and saw some of the kids. I was going to ask again about the genome but didn't get the chance. The butler was cleaning up and the kids were playing. A little girl asked the butler if she could play, he said yes and she started ironing on the floor next to me. I made the comment that I do that kind of playing every day, and an older boy sitting down on the floor to the other side of me asked why, and I explained for suits and shirts, but he said even for that there was an easier way, just pinching it, but he didn't really explain, and he was pulling on a pair of sneakers like mine but metallic color, and I was thinking 'oh I guess I should start getting them in metallic color' (silver).

While I am awake I may be schizotypal but I am not schizophrenic; I know the 'difference' between dreams and reality, even if half the significant stuff that happens to me in life happens in dreams. But when I am asleep, I go over the edge. "The despicable devil gets you at your most defenseless - when you're sleeping", Elissa said. While I am dreaming I don't have the extra function that keeps me seemingly sane. I get confused about what's real. There are regular dreams but then there are supernatural dreams, and in the supernatural dreams I can seem schizophrenic.

There was some demon in the bathroom of a big house, so when he was in there with the door closed; I slipped some paper under the door, as an attack. Then I ran out of the house and kept running through the neighborhood with big homes and very wide streets. I had thought I would have more time, but the demon was right behind me, so I had no time to hide; I thought l would find someone and ask for help, so I looked around at people's living rooms while I ran through the street, but I thought I wouldn't have enough time to get in, so I ran toward a park and I saw a police car going into an area enclosed with a fence, so I went there for protection. A cop with a big dog was looking for a criminal he couldn't find, and when he saw me, he was corrupt and decided to kill me saying I had been the person he was looking for. So I killed the dog and killed the cop and chopped them up and buried them in the park. (The demon chasing me never showed again. I had done his will, I think.)

Then I went back to my family, but the next morning my sister's cat was missing, and I knew I had killed it, thinking it was that dog, and I felt very guilty, but I acted like I didn't know where he was and went out and pretended to look for him. The person I had killed was really the Philippino fiancé of someone else in the group, and she didn't know where he was, and I fell very bad about that also. Then he came back! He had lived, but he was very badly damaged, and didn't remember what had happened. So not only did I feel guilty, but I was frightened that I would be caught for what I had done. Time went on looking for the cat, and the fiancé had a stroke and said he felt like he was sinking to the ground. I thought I should tell his fiancé that he was going to die and this would be her last time with him, but I didn't because I was scared.

Eventually I was going on a business trip, and it seemed a couple of guys knew what I had done and weren't telling but were torturing me. One said, "What are you packing there? He's got dead bodies in the bag!" But I said "no, it's just some papers I need", and I was worried that my cell phone would be found with the chopped up body of the cat with my name on it. The guy next to me said "maybe we should get a bunch of people to search the park" but I still acted like I didn't know anything.

When I woke up I felt so regretful of everything, and noticed Elissa was having a rough time too.

I have explained that I have this other 'family' in the demon world, or sometimes I call them my 'demon family', and sometimes people ask why I call them 'demons'. Not everything they do is demonic, they have normal lives, but there is violence and killing. It's like going on safari, and they have made me a part of it. I woke up hurt, physically; it seemed, after maybe the most violent dream ever. I was very stabbed with glass and I didn't want to move. I had killed a lot of people, but it was non-stoppable. At the end of the dream I walked down some stairs, Elissa got up from a table with magazines, and a female demon who had now slopped fighting said, referring to Elissa, "she's so sweet" or "isn't she the sweetest one" and I came over to Elissa's side and she said "I don't know how to relate to you."

As the next dream began I can't remember what got me mad. But I was just standing up for myself, I think. It was against a man and a woman. I was upstairs at my mom's house. And I took a big chair and beat down the man. I prevailed. There had been an incident about purchasing a goldfish before this, so maybe that had something to do with it, but I prevailed, I came downstairs, and the guy comes down after me, saying something like "I just want to resolve it" or "I just want to deal I with you", whatever, and I don't stop. I beat him some more and throw him to the ground and stand on him. He gets up. There's also a female, and she comes down the stairs too. There is one scene, almost funny, where he's chasing someone swinging a chain, female demon behind him, swinging another chain, and I'm chasing behind her, swinging a chain. The second demon being female, I only hit at her legs. The scene switches to me having been sent to bed, and I'm mad. I'm in someone else's room upstairs. The female demon is putting me in there and trying to get me to cooperate, but I won't. At this point I'm not defending myself anymore, I'm going wrong. A light above the bed is lit and I swing at it and break it, to violently turn it off. The female demon says "no, no," but I won't stop, and she leaves. I smash the light, only to notice another light to its side, smash it, then another, then another. I can hear talking outside the room about what I'm doing. All this glass is smashed, finally the room is dark, but there's always one more light to smash. Finally I get in bed. It's full of glass but I lie down carefully and I'm ok. Then this other demon, a guy demon, is in the bed next to me and starts arguing with me, and when I make him mad he decides to push himself toward me, knowingly or not stabbing me in the right leg with some of the smashed glass. I tell him "you realize you're stabbing me deeply" but he doesn't stop. Finally it's over and he gets out of the bed and so do I. Then there's a part where the bed and all the glass in the bedroom are a central stage set and there are dozens of people around, the male and the female demons are there. All the people are on their side it seems but are only there as spectators. They taunt me. I smash the two demons around in the glass, they smash me around in the glass. My hands are badly stabbed; also my back, legs, and sides. The two demons sometimes get killed but come back as a different member of the audience turns into the original demon, whether the male or the female, whichever just got killed, and I continue to kill because I continue to prevail. The taunts are something about a TV show and a time slot. A man near the side has a book; I can't remember the details but the gist of it is that I'm now wild, outrageous character. One time the guy demon comes back and seems he might prevail this time but I throw him far down the stairs and it seems decisive, because the female demon comes back one more time but doesn't fight anymore. Everything, it seems, is back to normal. Someone else is talking with her and she mentions her concert tour, and seems normal, and at any rate she isn't attacking anymore.

I walk with her up the stairs over the platform and we see Elissa downstairs waiting behind a table with some magazines. The female demon says "isn't she the sweetest one" and I walk down to Elissa, who gets up, comes lo my side and says, "I don't know how to relate to you." I feel like a war hero or something and just act like it's ok.

The real Elissa woke me up with breathing spasms, saying 'help', and wanted me to put my hands on her back. I almost couldn't because of all the stabbing from the glass. During the fight, on the stage, as it started and stopped, there had been a lot of dialogue, a lot of challenge from the demon people, like "oh yeah, you can take this?" and my attitude had been "I don't care", all-out killer;

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Chapter 8) Too many layers

I always noticed I guess but never thought about it or just laughed about it, but everybody else out here wears shorts and short sleeves, people at work in short sleeve shirts all day; me, 3 layers under my thick button down shirt, three 40 dollar ski gear layers. Every day, all day, then three jackets and a black wool cap.

All day at home on the weekend I keep it all on, even the jackets, all day. At work I have to take off my jackets, but I hide three layers under my shirt - the better to keep my mind hot and febrile, hallucinating wildly and thinking quickly.

I was getting fungus on the skin all over, had to take off the layers, bought shorts and light silk t-shirts, walked outside all the way up the mountain.

My "tactile hallucinations" are more like the very real fungal consequence of horrible diet all refined carbs all the time, 7 to 10 thousand calories a day and tons of caffeine and sugar, then all the layers, my mind celebrating in other worldly madness as my dying body burns up, always a slight fever, all my life.

This is positively infantile, my fear of the cold. So I still wear my layers to work when I leave at 630 in the morning. I take them off after first meetings round ten in the morning. wear just my shirt, I'm cold all day, it's aversion therapy or whatever, I realized at 46 I'm insane about the cold and I might be causing my own ghost bugs.

I'm extremely allergic; any allergist who tests me tells me I'm in the point oh three percentile of Americans who didn't lose their allergies after age three. I am infantile. The immune system of an infant. They shouldn't be fed the way I was feeding myself, guzzling the milk and honey of the Promised Land while I grow incredible fungal infections that produce a lifetime of dreams and visions which I weaved in to a massive psychotic narrative, the collected psychoses of my life and personality. Now I'm abandoning the demons. Take off all my clothes in this hotel room, sit around cold and naked in shorts all day on the weekend, and walking outside, getting sun. Eating vitamin D, too. The guy on the mountain told me ten percent of the human genome responds to vitamin D, it has to do with inflammation, which is quite the problem in an allergic kid set lose in the junk food stores of America. So now it's all raw veggies and garlic, and hot baths and jock itch spray all over the body, and no more ghost bugs. No more refined carbs. Almost no carbs at all. I had anorexia from the emotional bad attitude that that reality had on me this summer. But I grew into it, I am gaining weight all protein, fat, and lots and lots of crunchy nasty veggies and mackerel and sardines in the cans, yuck, but I'm body building, and getting healthy in my little 5150 in a hotel room where I've isolated myself except for work, focusing on my skin and health.

II always noticed the crazy homeless people in the cities are in way too many coats and layers, and I realized I was becoming more and more like them; it was increasing all my life. More and more cold, more and more layers.

And nobody said anything, they just kinda laughed that I was different that way, very cold maybe because very skinny, but someone should have told me to toughen up and come out in the cold with the rest of humanity. Cured the ghost bugs. Doctors said I was just insane. They were right, but rather than say something about all those layers they would see me strip off in the ER all the time, they didn't say anything about that, just prescribed every psych med they had.

So I really was insane, I'm curing with shorts and a t-shirt, little by little. I put my layers on again at 445 right before I go home. I'm still dressed like a nut while the kids of San José wear a hoodie and shorts and sandals all the way home.

It's downright neotenous, infantile, my mind and behavior. The advantage, all my life, that I saw was that I could think quickly and capaciously, absorb knowledge and reading like nobody else (other than two year olds everywhere), and I guess it was that advantage that let me get away with being so neotenous for so long, I have always realized I'm an arrested infant, but I was so getting away with it. It was the incredible fungal infestation that finally brought me to my senses at 46, that and I've been spending alot of time reading European novels, worlds quite different from the modern day America that raised me, worlds where Germans take pride in wearing no t-shirt under a cold starched white shirt, they send the kids to gymnasium, they never would have let me get as carried away as America let me get. They would have calmed down my blood. I built an incredible mental metabolism. I can cool it down; nobody was competing with me anyway.

That fungus was deeply centered and attacked outwardly like a well-coordinated attack monster.

And the hive mind that links up with all mold and yeast and fungus and laughs at mortal humanity, from their superior perch these attacking species farm us, look what they do to us the mad, they are cultivating this in us. Ask yourself the true motivation for the layers. Do we really get sick, if we go outside dressed like everybody else? Do we admit this to ourselves, that the extra layers are a neotenous security blanket? The demons don't only tell me to destroy myself and others, but they also tell me to put more coats on!!!

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Chapter 9) Real or not?

I had to deal with this dilemma from a very early age, so I can tell you what I have come up with now at age 46.

I was an allergic kid, inherited it from my German dad, and I'd get these attacks and be overcome, all sneezing and itching, and my mom, who had no allergies, Mexican/Aztec sorceress's granddaughter, she would say it was "all in my mind", all this suffering that was disabling me and that would 'cause me to complain, she couldn't relate, so she would simply laugh at me, tease me, and tell me it was all in my head and that if I was tired of suffering I would give it up. Laughed at me, it seemed kinda cruel. I was five.

So I had to face that dilemma, completely abandoned and on my own to cure my attacks. I figured that, ok, she's got a point, the head is involved, the nervous system in general, and maybe I get all hyper, enjoying whatever extreme thought experiment. I think some kids are pushed to be tough, go outside and play and get along in life with the others, but some kids like me, my parents isolated me and encouraged and forced me to spend my time doing schoolwork, reading comprehension all the time, and a kid like that is going to drift off into his own dreams more than most, since that what he is being optimized for, the psychiatrists call it "ruminating" now.

"All in your head", that was never a helpful way of dealing with it. So ok, it's in my head, can I swap that out for a well-functioning head? I remember a girlfriend with bipolar anxiety disorder, her parents would yell at her to snap out of it, they would tell me not to "humor" her by paying any attention to her complaints. That was no way to help their daughter.

But I know what they mean, on the other hand. They are splitting body and mind realities. There's the body reality that the doctor or your mother have to tend to, is it hungry is it tired is it sick does it have a fever? No? Then all is well, send it on its way. The body has certain needs and some care practitioners are only tending to that.

The mind, especially in a ruminating kid, is another story. Those of us who go too far into mind at the cost of the body, so that we stay inside and think or read, get all involved in our thoughts of anxiety or stress, then get to the point where we ignore the cries of the body, for food, for sleep, for calm, none of that counts because the mind tries to take over, all these "issues" in the mind bring the body to a point of distress. So to make the distinction, it's another way of saying "I can't help you 'cause none of the needs I tend to is needed here, and if you want to do something about your situation just stop doing whatever it is you are doing in your head, the thinking, the worrying, stop it and you'll solve your problem."

That's what they are saying. If they were a little more honest or insightful they'd acknowledge you have a serious problem that needs to be dealt with, and all avenues that could possibly help need to be explored. They are just saying you've gone too far with mind, come back and realize the body's needs.

But we suffer, in our worlds, in our minds, and the authorities we try to go to for help don't understand, tell us it's all in the mind, it's all in the imagination, it's not real.

How does that help when we suffer from these tormenting tactile hallucinations, if that's what they are, or maybe we're just sensitive to the environment like canaries in a coal mine, and the environment is getting bad, infested. Same with the visual and audio hallucinations if they torture you. For me I'm able to drive and control those so I enjoy them as a hobby. It's the creepy crawly pin pricks and tickling on my skin when I try to relax that drives me insane. I manage it with diet and weird sleeping arrangements. It's NOT all in my mind. They just mean they don't understand.

So someone like me has to deal with two completely different realities. There's the one the psychiatrist is talking about, where a lot of my issues are not "Real"; I call that "consensual reality", the plane where all the normal people have their understanding of the way things are, like they think there's an invisible force in the ground called gravity (even though the scientists can't FIND it, they BELIEVE in it because of Newton's mysticism, or because they built so much of their math around his ideas and they don't want to do it over), they think the resources on earth are finite and so you have to hoard them and hide them from your neighbor (when every religious tradition on earth says no, there's no property or property rights, all is for all, the permanent universal capital, infinite; the bible says you should be like a bird and don't worry about food and shelter, providence will provide); and they think you have to work as little as possible and consume as much pleasure as possible (might be the line in the constitution about pursuit of happiness, throws a lot of them off, Mitt Romney is out quoting that phrase to defend his wealth).

It's important to understand consensual reality, what's "real" and "not real" to them, the majority, the people who hold the power over your life, the authorities who hold your food and shelter and freedom hostage until you agree with them on what consensual reality is. Do you talk to aliens? Demons? The CIA? Can't do that stuff in consensual reality.

But then of course there's private reality, where many talk to sprites and elves and aliens and demons, and the CIA in that white van outside the window all the time.

Private reality becomes important when that's how your body, your unconscious, your madness, that's where it's signaling you, that's where it's set up a relationship with you, the mind, the consciousness, the enemy as far as the body is concerned sometimes.

So in madness the mind is the affliction of the body, and the body resents it and cries out, in tears, in voices and visions and pin pricks, cries out for very real human needs. Needs of companionship and trust and friendship, needs of sleep, of proper nutrition, of proper relaxation.

But the body and the mind evolved together, as partners. There must have been a balance in our ancestors, they must have controlled how much "ruminating" they were doing, didn't have my mom forcing them to be doing reading comprehension tests all the time, or sending them into her basement with all her self-help and philosophy and religion books. At 12 I was practicing astral projection and talking with aliens, because I was bored and that's what the books in her basement taught me to do.

Maybe that was bad parenting. I see the normal kids, out there being tough, out in the cold, not thinking too much, on purpose, it makes me wonder who taught them that wisdom and who let my parents isolate me into madness?

The body and mind get like yin and yang, one trying to destroy the other in order to dominate and win and be superior. Guess that's the problem. Gotta get the yin and yang to be quiet about each other, don't let them get so upset with each other. Just leave it all alone. Let it all go.

So after I've got my food and shelter secured, after I've done my 8 hour day in the cubicle, I go home and I set aside the consensual reality I am forced to hold all day, and open up into the wide vistas of my private, floridly psychotic reality, full of grandiose delusions that satisfy deeply.

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Chapter 10) Interconnectedness

I think it is the one percent who talks to the spirits, the one percent of every human population that has the madness, walks outside the rope that learn the secret. Shamanism was once said to be the secret of travelling between the worlds. I would say now that schizophrenia, shamanism, madness; they are the secret of understanding the interconnectedness.

The first clue to the unseen interconnectedness was the various religions and cultures who swore to it. My native upbringing in Catholicism had me understand well the demons all around me, as well as the cloud of witnesses, the invisible coliseum around each person which is made up on saints, rooting for your behavior as they watch. This psychotic sounding concept is standard Catholicism in all the catechism books. Well the religions all assume some kind of connection, through prayer for example, they say you talk to the saints, ask them to intercede for you with God, so that was the first hint of interconnectedness, the fact that prayer seemed to work.

The madness itself is the engine and the reward of interconnectedness. It's pure magic, in madness, to click your fingers and 'cause something wondrous to happen. Or I light a book of matches and throw it over my head outside in the deep cold lonely nightscape, and it does the same thing, opens up other worlds, dreamscapes that come out of the dark to talk to you, so seeing it for myself, seeing that there must be some validity to the interconnectedness when these spirits can tell me what's about to happen, and see into the darkness with all kinds of surprising instincts. Lambs in the furnace, soldiers at the door, we throw our money away! It's all about mysterious interconnectedness.

A long time ago I saw the map of the cosmos - the field is called cosmic cartography, or maps of the known universe, and over the past 25 years the sphere has widened by millions of times, and we have the map, and I follow it, know where all the big super clusters of galaxies are from here, and the whole thing looks like a tree. But when you look in the sky the dots seem unconnected. It's the maps of dark matter pressure that reveal the interconnectedness, and it's like a giant web. Invisible giant web holds all stars and galaxies together in a single structure. It's invisible to us by necessity, as the cable is invisible to the electricity flowing through the wire, necessarily so the multiple streams of electricity don't touch, and maybe we are not supposed to be able to see the parallel worlds of demons, but for me the veil between the worlds is thin, and I have short circuits. I've learned to see the structure around me, speculative logic is the tool, and work with it effectively. I talk to the spirits and they talk to the spirits and the spirits talk to you, and we don't need this stinky internet anymore to communicate our logic and our nonsense.

The Taoists I love to follow mapped this extensively, you had to be on good terms with local spirit officials to get your point across to the world of demons and the world of gods. You had to present your prayer with an offering and with purity, it all made sense, in my Taoist encyclicals, samizdats, and tractates, and the demon officials manage the humans.

Then I met the world of the demons. I found them in the real world, it was the insects that crawl on us from the microscopic but real world.

The mites work together, have "hive mind", and know more than human culture. It's the higher race of aliens that have abducted humans. It's the demon world through the portals. I found them, got to know them, became an honorary bug king, they are putting dreams on my wife telling her I'm still leading revolutions with flags waiving over my head in the demon world, but I quit and they can't inveigle me back no matter what dream they tell my wife to tell me.

Think about it, it's obvious ants use hive mind, and bees, so also then the mites, and I have infiltrated that hive mind as a spy for humanity, and I can tell you alot about the demon world.

Yes, they hold us together. They know whatever we know, and don't tell us anything other than to manipulate us, it is their mission to destroy us, and it is their strategy to possess our minds and 'cause us to destroy ourselves. The plus side is they hold us all together in the network, and we can talk to god through them. And demons.

Oh the secret of the interconnectedness, veins of the leaves anastimosing in various ways, so as to become a reticulated plexus of veins of unequal size.

Yes, all connected, through the parasites, on the Dao. Invisible, but rewarding to speculate on.

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Chapter 11) I wear the rustic cap to prove my innocence

'cause the hive mind is immortal, it looks down on our individual host capacity for limited life span, even while secretly treasuring our written history. My mind's on maximal fry, so I see the insects and communicate with their world, and they call it "crazy research in the mortal world", the work I do. "Short and thick, with grassy windings", they say, on the sunset afternoon of our lives, out among the rides, moist between the reeds, salad of understanding washing over us, mercy religion forever standing as the miracle days arrive; I eat my "pocket dash", a small piece of mercury, arsenic, and realgar, from the outside store, in honor of the day, and in between the day and night, the dawn of another world arrives, through an "opening in the hypersphere", wisdom turning special events, miraculous sunrise happening specially on the open dream front - the greatest music of your life in a pillowgram - miracle display that goes by while you're sleeping, nostrils turning deeply in the snow, a special wind to catch on magical days, and the four fits franken in the quaken sphere, quelling the Milltown, ("quiet the hell down"). The scientists and burglars query "Winstreet"; what do they have? An unfortunate attack by the letter "W", unforeseen and not for the sake of something. The force of rectitude, a distant ferment in his first career and a torment in his second, turns face forward to march in the stream of happiness, then wanders the banks where plants grow, and the nature of the hills effervesce, watches the rain go smooth creating forward energy and forgetting time in its juices. Salad of understanding windblown, the blizzard of consciousness blows sideways, water seeping through the phrases of mystery and disarray;

The sun mad about what he said in the movie sunshine, (no one has a comment here, the world spotless, not a piece of dust), because sunshot energy understands time and digests it fully in the opening between day and night, the "amazing twilight shine"; being still, the soul grows alveoli out into time; the moon sends a full complement of mystery array of dust, and the sonic boom of insects infests the twilight; an iron future in the sunshine of understanding, reminded of the sun by the holes in our cheese, we rock the tune and forever let the grace go sideways; saints forever, we wait for the trees, growing hardy before we grow quick; the sunshine laughs at fortitude, soul reducer, antonym of time, while monkeys count the oranges, and as we wait for the nests, while breathing in the fresh air that will eventually clean them away, mystery beeline toward the "fortitude".

Sunshots of forever franken the wall with special effects, grossly outshines dreams of doors; candle goes special in the downward spiral, recording ghosts seeping into telegrams, frost on the enjoyment; the room is battered, and the forest of forever goes silent like a wall, with a boom. Savage packages of the Friday morning express, with cups of coffee in their hands and mold on their minds, frightening examples of planet wide horror in the first world, glowing into unredeemed nations with a force of radiance that is downright purple in elegance and frightening in its time; the forest streams seem sure to go, where reverent presence doesn't seem to go any further, and slowly the exits arrive; it's the frost inside the pillow that counts, rainbow synthesis; I wear the rustic cap to prove my innocence, glorious across the screen, like a smiling game of horseshoes.

It's a simple black wool cap - a rustic cap - and in the evening I put it on. For warmth mainly, but also as a way to hide my head from the bright light all around which I feel guilty for having 'caused, slightly ashamed, just enough to hide the head from it under the wool cap the way Rudolf the red nosed reindeer doused his bright red nose under some mud to attract Clarisse the girl talking reindeer.

Like the crazy people who think the CIA is scanning their thoughts, they use the tin foil hats, but this rustic hat it how they did it in the old days, when the CIA couldn't see through black wool.

Now exactly what happened, what came out from my head that 'caused me such wonder to the point of shame?

A bright light, yes, one that many people can't see, but yes, I guided Santa's sleigh toward it and there it appeared;

At a point yesterday in between day and evening, in the twilight, a bright light broke out from another dimension, a dimension I'm afraid, of bugs - mites and parasites - and that other world shone through the hole in the twilight.

I feel I 'caused this bright light to shine, and so out of shame I hide my head under the rustic cap. And because it's cold.

I ate the pill - a little pellet I had in my pocket with me for a while - and 'caused the bright light, 'caused a light to go off in my consciousness like a nuclear explosion,

As the little "never-end pellet", designed from Taoist recipes for longevity, were dropping into the cauldron, the source of life, the little fusion reactor at the center, where we take in the minerals of the roots and vegetables and fruits of the earth,

And we astrate a little piece of iron at the center of the brain, where the well protected little reactor sits. Have to meditate alot for the reactor to be well protected enough to be throwing in cinnabar, mercury, and lead, and other alloys,

But I did it. It was a book way back, by Ge Hong, "to last as long as heaven and earth", like I said alchemy from Taoists on how to overcome death, and at the beginning there is a warning, don't get too caught up in this you crazy readers, and I thought yeah, right, me get caught up in alchemy.

Ten years later here's what I do. I gather the minerals in the mountains of California, and I go to a Chinese herbalist in my local neighborhood to get astragalix, and poria cocos, as well as goji berries, and I go to the health food store to get bulk cat claw and black walnut hulls;

I put all that in a pot with some ginseng and cayenne pepper, and boiled for a few hours, and that feels great at night, I call it longevity wine. Look at me making potions and taking them, as bad as the people who died leaving smelly corpses from eating the metals and digesting them instead of letting them drop into the astrating furnace, the sun inside.

So in the story I take one of my pellets, made from the minerals, poisons they tell us in our world, but the Chinese used them to try to overcome death and lived for hundreds of years with magic powers, or at least the power of insanity and psychosis;

And I call my pellets "pocket dash", 'cause it's just a little dash and I keep it in my pocket, as if to swallow any time, and the little dash will change the world, make you put on a black cap to hide what you've done to the lighting in your own and maybe the general consciousness.

The force of rectitude, the sun shiny way of doing the right thing, that came later in life, and was a key trick, but the first career, or session in life, it was not there really at all, and in the second it became a focus to the point of being a problem, so here in the new section, a balance from knowledge of what happened so far?

I'm writing rock and roll, and going from the statements into psychosis. "We rock the tune, and forever let the grace go sideways", "Saints forever, we wait for the trees".

The tree outside my room is huge, an avocado tree five stories tall, thick trunk bifurcates perfectly again and again, looks like several trees but the big thick trunk is just one at the ground here outside my window. Can't get my arms around it to hug it. But as a saint, a "leather bound saint", stuck in my body, I should befriend the tree, and wait for it, grow slowly like it does.

'Cause it's the sunshine I caused, the over-amped consciousness from eating the pellets and setting off the fusion reaction in the center of the brain, so that it's like a nuclear explosion of light, the "salad of understanding" tossing every idea and object in the "blizzard" wind, it's saintly to do that explosion and arise in pure daylight into the heavens as a star, but it's embarrassing, too, like it was for Rudolf to have that bright red nose, so I put the rustic cap on my head, like I said, rock and roll, "I wear the rustic cap to prove my innocence",

You open up communication with another world, hook the router up to infinity, thinking 'this will be fun, and interesting', and sit back expecting almost nothing, now it's raining darkness from an unknown territory between the worlds, and no one in ether world knows how to shut it off.

The darkness is fun its own way, full of firm fur farm sheen, residue of firm fur farm sheen idleness all over our backs and limbs. Miss Fur-and-thunder, a 17 year old black lab, is barely making it, but she spots a squirrel and you still get a 'woof' out of her, like the wolves have come out of the walls and it's all over.

The castle of Grover care, a melted tub, solution to all my problems a glass table and a vegetable farm, now I'm free, but mostly alone in my freedom from the circus of spider webs, the sofa and loveseat and mattress and bedding that every family has to have, the processed foods that everybody has to eat, I've escaped the net but they know it and they don't like it; so the soldiers are always looking for me, banging at the door, who's not eating meat in there? Who's throwing all their money in the sewer? Who's sitting still under the pressure that's supposed to be making coal into crystals? Yeah, lambs in the furnace, soldiers at the door, we throw our money away!

I get away, statistical anomaly, tiny tremor in the bug tumor, small alternate mystery inside the bigger mystery forest, bursts of kindness penetrating like sunshine into long rainstorms; and how to deal with the jungle of webs left behind and all around us, the cauldron of suffering full of glorious days? Just love them, coral them in a zoo of madness, walk by once a day in the morning and say cock-a-doodle-do; Just call the hotline, dial 912 on your cell phone, and they'll tell ya all about it - the soldiers are judigin speeches and species, and you can't make 'em understand, but you can make 'em toast. Lambs in the furnace, soldiers at the door, we threw our money away, and the force that makes the crystals glows!!

In the Wazbu capital of oshiptakroy, passengers bottleneck, battered upon the wake, screaming, stranded, in an oblong mirror; nasty quakes in the rich limestone, fever grade, in the limestone mix they get their kicks, feathers of the past shade. The moon is driving this, our hearts are made in the moon, it's red inside, comes out at the seams, and during the dark winter the sun is rearranged on the inside, burning through the cages of time, the office of the moon now fragments on the open sea, sandcastle merchandise fleeing the waves, shower of madness with epic propulsion; the turn is not the twist to follow, sandy in the hook, train rustified, brimstone balance of a lemony sea on an empty planet, they know what to say on that screaming day, we watch how they move, while the never-ending stream of licensed oo-too-woon-too wine flows graciously.

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Chapter 12) It was different things

It was three different things, the ghost bugs. They weren't ghosts. It was hypersensitivity to mites, and all the other microscopic stuff, so I sit and sleep up on aluminum tables; second it was the parasites in the food. Had to cut out everything but raw vegetables, and a little chicken and fish, a bunch of enzymes and oil supplements, to heal the leaky gut. And third it was mania. I can't read the first page of the New York Times without getting ghost bugs, even on the clean diet and up on the aluminum table. I can read but I have to calm down, look away, look at the sky, then read a little more, and eventually I can do OK, get through an hour, even two, but then that's it for intense mental activity for the day. I can work, but at stuff I already know how to do, and I have to generally keep myself calm, walking around outside and things like that.

The psychiatrist from the last 72 hour psych hold, after I had spent the whole day reading and writing, and needed to be sedated, bugs crawling through and through, said he doesn't think I'm insane, but that I have an unusual connection to the unconscious, and that it could be a curse and a miracle, and that I'd have to figure out how to manage it. But he really didn't know me that well.

Browsing websites about leaky gut syndrome led to the restrictive diet. Turns out the bugs are real, parasites infesting the processed food all through our food supply. I blur my eyes as I walk through the supermarket, past the boxes and cans with colorful packaging, all infested, not food for our bodies, not food for our minds, all just food for the parasites, keeping the infestation going, crowds like grand central station hugging when another meal comes down the pipe.

I eat my raw veggies and the 4 cloves of raw garlic a day, and when that raw garlic goes down there the mood of that grand central station hug fest changes dramatically, it's the look on Satan's face when you've just come out of an exorcism, when they realize it's all onion and garlic from here on out, and the infestation is gonna have to go, it's the look of shock and awe, like Grover and Elmo, bulging eyes, flat mouth, drooping jaw.

It's like when the shaman's I'd meet would all say things like "the veil between the worlds is THIN for you!", it was the gut, leaky intestine lining with yeast roots opening holes like the yellow submarine into the bloodstream, blood and brain exposed to the demon world of parasites. As an infant, the infant's behavior is to touch and poke on the most interesting members of the new world before their eyes, digestive systems so thin you really shouldn't feed them regular food. I'm in the point oh three percentile of Americans who didn't lose their food allergies after age three.

I sure don't regret it, schizotypality has been fascinating entertainment. I still turn on the drum tape from time to time, to watch endless adventure stories, with me as the central character, and always a psychotic vein of story to keep it interesting. This one was a recent little excursion one afternoon:

It's about me. I have a nice summertime date with my wife, special date, end with a special little hickey on my neck, then it's off to my formula one race at the racetrack, dangerous job. And dressed in my race outfit, standing at a podium under lights and cameras at the center of the stadium where I'll be racing, I make a speech, it's a declaration of a schism within Catholicism (happens all the time, Ukrainian church, church of England, now church of onderdonk), and I make this speech telling everybody to send the pope a telegram, tell him they are leaving with me, and the controversy goes out into the world, and then I get in to my car. The race begins, and I had told everybody to clock the engine, for with my new spiritual leadership of this new schism'd church I would be able to modify earthly physics, and go faster with the same engine if necessary. Well they watched, as the light began to glow from within my formula one, and the thing sure did go fast, but then complete whiteout, and I'm dead, crawling up through the ground, made it as far as the mall before I was given a wake and sent off, off to the moon, for burial. Not just me there, but a whole small collection of shamans and world leaders, that's where they really put Osama bin laden, and that's not it, the adventure story is nowhere near over: there is something about the tides, and having shamans on the moon, that gets the earth to be damaged in some way that has the cows completely stop giving milk, anywhere in the world, all there is is canned milk, and it becomes quite the precious commodity, and then that's it, the milk is gone, we are all out of milk and it's all my fault.

And when I take the greyhound I still wake up in the middle of the night and take notes on the voices that are going wild all around me, as all the other passengers sleep and I sit at the center, on the aisle.

In a gan-Shan-tropical town, cow-licked and criss-crossed, all the flurry instincts sharpen, so what's real? Forms? Isolation huts? The finger in my ear?? There's a nasty harmony in the growth in a soldier's bones, cranky as a fire-corn pit, nasty in the spotlight, and worldwide in its influence. We dent the tides with a spoonful of sunshine, in a zigzag design that entrances the porcupine, green streams flashing with kindness. It's the relationship between good and universe, bad and kingdom. With samizdat detail on the French veranda, smiling and smoking as he goes, the leather-bound saint leaves the time trail cold. Work smart and see purple, resist the north, elevators for the racehorse. Franken-cake slurpees and robot piss like a thumb in the sky on the world's drive, he's gone to see a man about a dog that wanders the highway (get the dog to the kennel and the captain says hello!); Bubble-bubble home, drippity-drip, the coin-operated thunder horse trickles forward; smart gators just gasp, and breathe in ghosts of the river - (the ones who were looking for a hotel room) - the year the rabbit went away, there was no more forest, and the chicken began singing a different tune.

It's hard for me to resist entertainment like that.

So this is where I declare the point where I stop trying to integrate the demon world, because I finally figured out what the hell it is. It's the world of parasites in our processed foods.

The ways of demons, that's what I've recorded here. They have a sentient world. It isn't David versus goliath, me against some little defenseless mite. It's little me against a giant worldwide creature that acts as a monster, and I'm just trying to give it a haircut, off of me, appropriately.

I had been seduced by the gracious offering of honorary membership in their world, as they revealed it to me bit by torturous bit, but looking back it all makes sense. They run so quickly, those demons, well so do the ants on the ground in our world, they run that fast relative to their own bodies, much faster than we do. That's always how I know it was the demons. And the "portal" where they pulled me in. I thought maybe they were the "aliens" people were talking about, with magical philosophical knowledge about our race. But no, that portal was one into their own consciousness, into their collective world. The world of their ways.

When my religious brother in law asked me if there was anything in art that looked like the demon world, I said there was only one thing, the illustrations of Dr Seuss books. And in "Horton hears a who", it was proposed by Dr Seuss exactly what I am proposing here. Horton the elephant was unusually sensitive, and heard the world of the whos in whoville inside a dust spec. He took some flak for it ("boil that dust spec boil that dust spec"), and got support from that world ("we're here, we're here"). Most whos in whoville were content to go about living their lives, but there was the occasional mad scientist who that would try to establish communication with the "other world", presumably ours in this case, and I think that's what happened to me, as well as horton the elephant, they drew me into their world.

And it wasn't just Horton who proposed this. I grew up watching the flintstones, and the jetsons, which I later realized were modeled on the honeymooners and maybe I love lucy. And scooby dooby doo had this motif as well: there would be a bizarre episode with supernatural stuff, TV series jumping the shark for a season premier or something, and the explanation at the end of the episode would be that moldy bologna sandwich at midnight before they went to bed. Gotta lay off the late night cold cuts. They understood intuitively that the mites had contacted their mind, and presented a bizarre world. An alternate world rabbit hole many of our species have been pulled down, me one of the worst of all.

Here's a schizotypal connection: we know the crazy people act up at full moon - the cops all know that, well documented. Well, we also know from bird mites dot org that the mites react to the full moon. And I know the pressure of mites acting up will make a person do all kinds of crazy things. I think those wolves howling at the moon have been eating some rotten meat and sitting in some unsavory sleeping holes, and are just bemoaning their own mite infestations as the mites themselves bay at the moon (imagine what kind of dreams those wolves are having!)

Yeah I listened to the demons for 25 years, 'cause the stuff they were tellin me was out of this world, no humans knew about it, and I thought somehow it would get me ahead, like john nash. But it's not getting me anywhere in the human world, just infested with parasites and insane and locked up in prisons and psychiatric hold all the time, itching all over like a maniac, with enough interesting stories to amaze the intakers and keepers.

Misunderstanding. Shamans told me they were my ancestors, "dead people". The psychiatrists said it was my subconscious, "all in my mind". But I figured it out. The demon world is real. It's the mites and parasites, and they have a world much like ours, sentient beings in a collective, who can meld consciousness with the more empathic humans and teach us their world. I became a Supreme Court justice and a tele evangelist in the demon world, and the mites love me everywhere I go. I had a father in the demon world, and he was trying to kill me, and now that I realize he's a parasite, I don't have to listen to him. But once in a while I still do, you know that world knows stuff about the genome that our species doesn't understand, they modify our genome, "genome completing optimists" they say, "the grand central excitement that presides over the calm collapse of the night sky". But they are out to destroy us, species versus species, its war, and I quit helping sabotage my original race for that of the parasites. I am eating 4 cloves of garlic a day, and the demons have the look on the face of Satan on the day you come out of an exorcism, all shock and awe, like Elmo.

So I stay away from processed food and they lose all power over me. They lurk in the cashews at my sister's house, and just about everywhere else in the human food supply. They crawl up my legs; I bet science dismisses it as "restless leg syndrome". I'm only insane when I eat from the human food supply. Fresh veggies, all rabbit food, and I am not itching, (just hungry), and not insane anymore.

Like a superhero, radically different. Sinewy guitar player baying and swaying, strong line in the fountain waiting, orange summershine frosts the coast, but the dark corners of tomorrow block the truth, shed the sun and the sea. In the lonely heat and the sun tanned ambulance, the trail is certainly plasma-packed, and the shine of the central garden is magic, forming a syndicate of optimism on the relief plain, eyeshot wandering through the noise, listening to the harmony of ghosts, parasites taking in a movie, all about the swimming pool of forever, rival pseudo-cakes the answer to fun and fantasy, exploring heaven on a triple-beam sandwich the size of super-pie. The tools of sunshine matter only indirectly in the swamp forest, whole as messemer, messy as clouds. Plying the by-ways of heaven with super-soap, we eat our oranges and forget our dreams, quiet before the dawn.

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Chapter 13) The third eye

The third eye, the pineal gland, yes, opening that and observing what came across it in the middle of the night, yes, that is how I "got my schizophrenia", or became entranced and infinitely entertained by another world much richer than the one I inherited from my parents on earth and my home species the homo sapiens. Yeah, opening that eye, is that a gift? More of a decision, a willfulness and a playfulness, a demonstration of toughness in a way, that I can go farther than most, I can be "out there" and still do all the little things homo sapiens do. Opening the eye is a decision, but the stuff that comes across it in the middle of the night? That's a gift, or a curse; it's nothing to be afraid of, though it'll try to scare you to get your attention, it's simply infinite knowledge, and in a way it's dangerous, and many whole chunks of cultures are taught to stay away, and these chunks of culture populate day to day society. Then the chosen ones, possessed, we open the third eye and all hell breaks loose, the astrated hole out of which demons fly up and gods look down, the hole that opens when we explain mysteries, as we become hierophants and mystagogues, and you know I've always known it to be true: at the scene of hierophany, a hole opens up between the worlds. That is how you open the third eye.

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Chapter 14) The meaning of schizophrenia

I've been reading all kinds of magazine articles and book reviews lately, and I noticed that several of the ideas about humanity in general out there apply to schizophrenia particularly, to make schizophrenia seem not like a brain disease that sets us completely apart but rather the extreme form of exactly what makes us human and what we have been developing recently as a species.

Last week it was an article about human neoteny,

"Intimations of Neoteny: Play and God in Wordsworth's 1799 Prelude", Scott Harshbargerhow; Most animals go through a quick early stage of "play", but that we not only go through an extended childhood for a species, but we also continue to "play" at sports, at music, at language, throughout our lives, and that this is humanity's "neoteny" or childishness, compared to other species; this was an article about Wordsworth and that kind of culture and literature that comes directly from human neoteny, or playfulness. And I thought what is schizophrenia but human neoteny, the dreaminess of the infant, the ideal perfect world we all like to revel in within our delusions, "play" at battling things that threaten us at a fundamental, subconscious, instant level.

With schizophrenia, as with children at play, we can practice for the challenges that we consider threatening. As I drive down the highway and a California Highway Patrol car goes by, my schizophrenia mind goes into a "playtime" of figuring out scenarios of life and death conflict between me and the officers. Oh it was a weird childhood, feeling threatened by unjust authorities who have too much power over me and use it to satisfy their own whims. That was how my parents seemed to operate. And with schizotypal personality disorder, they say "when the authority figures arrive, the cognitive slippage begins". Sure does!

The article was about Wordsworth, that the stuff he wrote could be explained by saying he was a little more neotenous than most. Some play he described was the act of hanging off a cliff to steal eggs from a nest, and this is praised as a "more risky type of play—one which may also lead to valuable forms of new knowledge."

The conceptual cliffs that we with schizophrenia tend to go out on and hang from are no less perilous (anybody who contemplates the nature of time is straying out on to that ledge, for instance), and what can we say we were looking for, really, other than "valuable forms of new knowledge", which unfortunately for our society are forms of knowledge that are not readily recognized, possibly because of the lack of comfort that the more mature humans, rightly or wrongly, think the new psychoses will require. "Look at how he lives, you want me to listen to what that guy has to say?!?!" It is the schizophrenic people, forsaking their anodynes from time to time, who give up all pretense of a comfortable life, and go out to "play" and find "new valuable forms of knowledge" in the mystical subconscious.

So they say "Play, like genetic mutations, provides a source of creativity that may eventually help produce cultural (and perhaps evolutionary) diversity", as they attempt to make play and dreaming more respectable. And so I thought I'd extend this to schizotypal thinking, making up psychoses, it's really just play, that, like play, can have unintended and serious consequences, and that's how we learn.

And at this point in the essay they almost seem to be pushing toward the kind of thinking I'm talking about:

"By allowing us to confront the world not just as naive realists who respond directly to immediate threats or opportunities (the general condition of other animals) but as supposition-makers and thought-experimenters, imagination gave human beings one of their greatest evolved assets."

&

'It appears as if humans have evolved specialized cognitive machinery that allows us to enter and participate in imagined worlds.'

&

"Pretend play, exhibited as a part of normal child development, requires breathtakingly subtle mechanisms to decouple the play world from the real world, and from other play worlds. It is not that the true/false distinction is abandoned in play but that the play world is bracketed off, and truth becomes truth-for-the-play-world"

&

"The artist's proneness to egocentricity combined with an often staggering ability to imagine and believe just about anything help to account for the playful and profound perspectives on life, nature, and society that we find so valuable in the creative arts."

For me, I use the "play" to figure out a better conception of the world around me. Didn't trust the adults, they were giving me nonsense and I could tell they didn't know and didn't seem to care. So I figured out how there's no such thing as "gravity", just a vestige of Newton's mysticism, figured out what "madness" really was, and what it was good or, figured out what the "spirit world" was, what its intentions were, how to interact with it (it's the bugs, war between the species, they can see and interact with our thoughts in dreams), figured out Santa Claus and Ben Franklin are the same object and it isn't human, etc, etc, I live in a non-ordinary universe model, and I feel it works alot better than the vision of the world I inherited, though I also realize there is a worldly-minded camarilla of adults in a shared consensual reality, where gravity is an invisible force in the ground holding us down, the spirit world doesn't exist, Santa clause isn't real it's just your parents shopping at Wal-Mart, and Ben Franklin died a long time ago. I understand their vision, and can hold a job and act like one of them, but then I go home to "play" in my much more sensible universe, twice as populated, 'cause we took everything in the universe and hid it, where nobody would ever think of looking for it - on the inside of everything! That's how to play!

Another article on psychology pointed out our irrational belief in our own theories. "Cognitive illusion", that we are right based on our intuitive opinion, even in the light of statistical evidence that we are wrong. Delusions, in other words.

Then the article was "How to dispel your illusions" reviewing the book "Thinking, Fast and Slow", by Daniel Kahneman.

The book proposes there are two separate systems of thinking, system one and system two.

Intuition is based on quick thinking; system one thinks fast, based on immediate access to memories that it uses as a basis of judgment. The resulting judgment is often wrong, but in the world of the jungle, better to be quick and wrong than slow and right.

System two thinks things over rationally, allowing us to revise opinions and behaviors.

Why do we not cast away system one after we grow up and develop system two? Well some do, those presidential candidates, they go all system two and try to win the job.

Us neotenous schizophrenia kids, we, more than most, are awed by the thinking within system one. We post our delusions and they tell us we are wrong, look at the face of the statistical evidence. The psychiatrists say I love my delusions way too much. And I have a system two, I understand the difference between my delusions and consensual reality, I drive down the highway and go to work all "system 2", but I revel in my delusions as a hobby.

They ask why we don't just cast aside system one, and they answer that we are lazy. (We're neotenous). They say it takes glucose metabolism, and increased calorie intake in the brain, to get us to "think things over" in system two.

And you know these meds the psychiatrists feed us for schizophrenia - I have a whole collection now, I'm getting familiar with all the side effects - these drugs get us to want more sugar in the brain. We go eat it up and many on the meds then gain weight. But they process the sugar in their brains and get past system one thinking (is the guy in that white van following me?) and on to system two (probably not and what does it matter anyway?).

"At the end of his book, Kahneman asks the question: What practical benefit can we derive from an understanding of our irrational mental processes? We know that our judgments are heavily biased by inherited illusions, which helped us to survive in a snake-infested jungle but have nothing to do with logic. We also know that, even when we become aware of the bias and the illusions, the illusions do not disappear. What use is it to know that we are deluded, if the knowledge does not dispel the delusions?"

And that's always rung true for me. Some say I have "agnos..." whatever which means I am so sick I can't realize I'm sick. My mom says similar things sometimes. But like he said, I know they're delusions, I understand that it is my infantile system one thinking that is in full use there, but knowing that doesn't deter the appeal of the fullness of that content, I always say the "movies" and "visions" of schizophrenia just beat every kind of entertainment earth and regular human culture have to offer. Almost. There is a small set of delusional memoirs and delusional artistry that can be found, but in general we live in a culture biased against that kind of thing; I have a friend that says he wonders if I should be reading certain things. Or watching that movie with the aliens and will smith where the bugs are taking over, he thinks maybe I shouldn't see things like that. I revel in it.

The author suggests the more we talk about the concept, the closer to the "miracle" of overcoming our illusions we will go.

But another book, philosophy by Habermas, about religion and science interacting, has a similar setup, where "religion" has a "thought-content" with moral truth, though it appears as an irrational religion, and that it has to translate itself into the profane scientific society, to bring that moral content to it, and without that content, that the religious people feel is a strong force for morality and truth, then we will never get rid of the "irrational" religion.

If you think about it, Habermas's "religion" is like system one, thinking intuitively and irrationally and getting the overall plan right. Then system two does the "translation", thinks things through, tries to appropriate that moral truth content into the profane industrial scientific system two world, and that's the harder work, requires alot more calories, and a shot of caffeine doesn't hurt.

Habermas, asked if he thinks that will ever happen, he says he doesn't know, it'll be for the future, only if the rational scientists and the mystical religionists get alot more understanding of each other.

Ad so to translate this to system one and system two, the system one world that comes up with delusions has a serious truth content or we wouldn't have it coming up in one percent of the world population no matter how hard the medical and scientific community make an effort to stamp it out. Malaria was a clear demon infestation. We stamped that out. Schizophrenia might be something else, a canary in the coal mine, madness ripening on the vine we all populate. That truth will have to be actually listened to, and understood, before the madness of schizophrenia goes anywhere.

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Chapter 15) Dicebant Quoniam in furorum versus est ("Since he is said to wander in the direction of madness")

I called it the integration of the human world and the demon world, my impossible project; I was a warrior shaman who proposed peace, a sobornost across discrepant worlds. I was amazed at the impossibility of my project, like getting all the cats and dogs to sit down for a peace conference and work out a form of government, it wasn't happening.

I grew up in our time, "madness" was a "mental illness" and people like that had to be "removed", similar to prisoners who go to jail, for our protection. So it was eye-opening to read Michael Foucault's "History of Madness" and the French philosophy that followed in its wake on the meaning of madness, how it was integrated with humanity, demons and man drunk together on the "ship of fools", until the sixteen hundreds, when it was shut down across the world. In Europe, the sanitariums were built out of the old leper colonies, and madness was radically separated from "civilization" and progress. At the same time, the Spaniards came to the new world to conquer the Aztecs and stamp out their pagan, shamanistic society, all that speaking with the spirits considered another madness to be locked down, and at the same time the Russians were rooting out shamanism in Siberia, (and in 1666 Newton was dreaming up gravity, an invisible force in the ground holding everybody down).

So why this big lockdown, after madness and irrationality - the demon world - had been comfortably integrated in to humanity up until that point? And why does madness seem to still be around, all the time seeping out from where it was supposed to be suppressed? What is its meaning, is there an importance there for humanity?

First, there's the role of shamanism in culture in general: healing, wisdom and poetry, looking at the hidden gates and strange symbols, was a traditional role of shamans, to show us what's inside ourselves, "a spiritual warrior against forces of evil, empowered by a personal relation with the celestial. A symbol of independence and hope, harvesting the unfettered power of a world beyond human society. Mastering of these powers dramatically offer man the claim of control over his spiritual environment, and the ability to treat the gods on equal terms."

Then too, in 1320, pope john xxii wrote of a "supernatural dimension to the devil's power far beyond the actions of fool hardy individuals", but debated and ultimately decided to leave that relatively alone, ignore it as mere "madness", so as not to give it validity, but also to secretly use it as a "doctrinal laboratory to be used for strategic purposes".

In wartime, the Hmong shamans get in a boat and go to war with the soldiers, and they bring 48 white magic shamans, but two, usually-isolated-as-almost-mad, "red magic" shamans. They needed the strength. Two percent of the Aztec Nahual's were red magic. And magic is not on our side in Iraq. Some of the mujahedeen are demons, and can blow themselves up again and again and again. We should fight demons with demons, but President Bush turned me down when I flew to Washington to suggest it. Monotheistic objections. (it's the autochthonal justice of our agrestic kakostocracy with the kakodyll himself leading us to his vision of kakotopia!)

We, human and demon alike, all look for a "leader", to tell us about ourselves; we're looking for a "miracle", yet we banish "madness", and so maybe I was thinking we're demanding that madness groom itself. I should only sacrifice my horses from the horsemen of the apocalypse in the other dimension, never in this world, only out there where it is far outside the scope of the human-societal laws. (I keep everything I do in the universe-can't-tell well, in a home I have there called provision-fragrance monastery, the command center of the war against time- "c'han stillness masters poison dragons") because the big mistake I see in beginner shamanism worldwide/across history, is trying to spread it to others. In a galaxy cluster, the quasar is the galaxy at the center, and maybe a few on the coast, but not all galaxies can be quasars shining like that, and it wouldn't make sense. Self-organizing flow lets up to ten percent hold irrational over the center vortex, it can be any particular particle, but it's about percentages of a big object. It's like how you can kill almost all the pigeons in Rome, but soon you have exactly as many pigeons as you started with. Kind of. Why do they try to spread the religions, the crazy ideas, (and like that's not the fun I'm having right now), well, I thought maybe we share our soul, we're in each other's souls. All the people in our gaze. And we have TV. So when we get the idea to "purify" our soul, we intuitively mean everybody. And that's not ethical. (I'm in a cult, the highest cult on earth, called "sittlickheit", or Ethical Life, initiated by George W Hegel in Germany in the 19th century.)

In "journey to the west", a Chinese classic, successive demons are overcome with a variety of clever methods, until an ultimate demon, that considers itself on the level of a god, and appears completely incorrigible, becomes the problem - monkey. Monkey is locked up - "confined" - for 500 years, then set free to help out, which is a natural pattern in Taoist magic. Monkey was hired for his ability to discern absolute reality, "free from the dichotomy of form and formlessness. And the main character following along in the story, the monk, says to monkey 'if you can save my life, I'm willing to become you're disciple'.

Ok, thought getting a little disorganized? Sorry. That would be the downside of "madness".

Madness is out, already, seeping I would say, but significantly. It is here to talk with us in the movies, through ghosts and demons, it is here to make presentations to us through crazy pop stars - no one can take their eyes off Jim Carrey or Robin Williams; maybe their manic energy addresses something within ourselves left unaddressed, intuitively important enough to drop everything and watch last comic standing.

"He's got so much spunk!"; the power to stand, irrational, against rugged terrain, like the bar-against-the-flow near the center of a spiral galaxy. I used madness to get me to the top of the mountain;

I went to speak to "it" at the zoo. Madness. Shamanism. The demon world. The collective unconscious. The tapir, quiet and strong, beamed with shocking visions full of heart. The doppelhernvogel tried to say it all: neck outstretched, mouth opened expressively, it says 'live your life and live it well, it's not the intensity of your subjectivity, ''cause there's transcendental subjectivity, and it's all about that subject, not your false, 'obvious' self.'

Madness is the molten tadpole of mystery and wonder that will never quite grasp the fragile icicles of hope and promise.

I'm picturing, in this shamanic vision, a sort of snow globe about the size of the room, with the top half looking like an alpine village, snowing, all humans accomplished and going about their sane business in their world of science and reason.

On the bottom half the temperature is hotter, progressively much hotter, with the bottom quarter or so just pure molten lava, but not "just", as there are creatures, we now know, in lava, they are the hyperthermobarophiles, the creatures that love heat and high pressure and outweigh the biomass on the surface of the planet as they swim and lounge in the rivers of hell below us. And I picture a successive evolutionary ladder, from the hyperthermobarophiles to the accomplished mayors and congressmen at top. Like tadpoles, small novel structures of the irrationality we call "life", come leaping out of the lava at the bottom and in the leap they get into the upper colder reaches and begin to freeze, to solidify, much as stone mountains rise up from the lava beds and become mountains. These tadpoles are new shapes, new ways of being, new logical structures, and so when they arrive in the upper reaches the power structures are a little shaken. If there is only the occasional tadpole, it can be ignored as "mad" and shut away in the old leper colonies now referred to as sanitariums, condemned to silence. Enough of them come out in Cairo and they call it the revolution.

So the frozen people (one name on the internet for the frozen people is the Western Educated Industrialized Rich Democrats, or WEIRD) sit at the top and wish to hold on to their power and way of life forever, but as some within that structure find themselves in less than optimum positions, shaken, they attempt to dive in to the lava, mix with the ancient heat and high pressure and resource pool of elements, and they plan to eventually leap back into the cold and then land in a better position, though when they first take that leap in to a "psychotic break" their friends and family hold back the encouragement more typical when the student takes the similar step of diving in to school to get a better position in society when he gets out of it, gets out from all the pressure of exams and papers.

And of course some never get out from under the pressure, but collapse under it, are never able to make that leap out of the molten lake back on to the frozen land, even if that was the original intent, the molten tadpole of mystery and wonder never quite grasping the fragile icicles of hope and promise.

Chekhov's view was that "poor and needy" was the default situation, and reason is supported as a way of getting out, whatever the cost, selling all to "culture", "rationality", and "scientific progress", but then the "boredom, the dreariness, the ennui"; David Hume said "reason is and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them". The core of the mind is the seat of the passions, the surrounding cortex the more rational thinking part of the brain. The core evolved long before the relatively recently bloated cortex, and still some of us let the cortex get carried away as if the awake mind had all the right and the asleep body was merely a vehicle or servant.

Then after Foucault's "History of Madness", another French philosophy book from the sixties just translated into English (the age of Aquarius still dawning in America as we are just now getting English translations from that time around the world), the book "writing and madness", which proposed literature as the new home for madness, after it had been liberated from the mental hospital and confined to silence, but the project was to look to the literature of madness to ask madness itself what it had to offer, to engage in dialogue with madness.

I started looking into the people around me as I read, and saw madness as that unspeakable connection between things that people hold deep within their heart but don't explicitly make obvious, their love for their relatives or their country or culture, the irrationality that motivates them, I see the workers and the madness that got them to get up in the morning, I see the high school kids with their homework and gossip sessions, madness blossoming and branching out.

And I don't call this project uniting the demon world and human world now so much as integrating madness and consensual reality, so that the frozen rational people from consensual reality can dip into the waters of madness for refreshment of their structures, and the mad can leap into reason to secure themselves a better bed to lie in, (if they so wish).

These French philosophers talk about how madness cannot speak to us, can only speak as being trapped in language, language itself part of that ice that happens on the wings when the lava leaps up high enough as a little tadpole. So what we see is the effect of madness, in literature. We have memoirs of schizophrenics, my favorite are written from the depths of the psychosis, Daniel Schreber in 1900 Germany is the best of these for me, and I just comb through the other type looking for morsels from the depths, these are the ones written from the "cured" side, so of course completely trapped in the language of the icy heights. The people who write these memoirs from the depths do use words but communicate vastly different universes, I remember rays from the sun coming to Daniel Schreber and torturing him but also giving him magic powers. To me what was fascinating was how everything was unique - the world of 1900 Germany and the asylums as well as the ideas at the time was foreign to me - yet also the same as what I read from the schizophrenics today, and what the little children talk about, and the dreams that people have from time to time. It's that similarity that I'm learning from, that is mysterious, the unspeakable connection between the realities of the speakers from within the madness.

An un-reality check, the job of madness, as people get wrapped up in their little eddies of reality, and the madman grabs them once in a while and shakes them out of it, just for a second, the whole thing disappears and we're all just standing here together in the mystery and wonder. Demystifying the "mystified mystifier" of public society, consensual reality. By producing word salad, completely letting go of meaning and rules of language yet still communicating something amazing, madness shows that communication doesn't have to come from within us, shows us how much of it just happens, and how reason's dream is really only the crust on madness.

At the bottom of the room sized snow globe it is pure lava, and densely packed with creatures and structures, but more like the structures of an explosion or implosion in action as it is the chaotic unordered abyss, and as the scene gradually rises there is less and less density, things are less connected, though even at the alpine heights we can see the connected mountains, but if you get all the way up to the mayor of the mountain village, he thinks people are separate, ought to have their privacy, ought to be able to shoot each other if they threaten each other sufficiently, etc., so at that pinnacle of the mayor's mind, things are almost completely separate.

In between of course there's always some grade of connectivity, connection to family, friends, community, etc, connection to the earth through farming, connectivity over the internet for communication (within very cold isolate icicle like words, but this is all we've got up here), but connectivity in general is a downward trend in this snow globe, so that if the mayor started thinking too much about the interconnectedness of it all he wouldn't be the mayor any more, and a few levels down they're all communists, in the tropical regions, right before it's just ridiculously hot and you can't really be human anymore; some of these people in the Alpine slide are considered mad, and on where to draw the Mason Dixon line - "the DSM V will set the new border between mental disorder and normality".

It's all pretty interconnected down there, and then there's the pure lava, but within that lava it's the most amazing magical place, it's the center of the star, the center of the black hole, and this unspeakable interconnectedness between the worlds I try to bring can get the riches of this infinite well to spring forward for the frozen finite tundra. Within that lava, (we find if we learn to jump back and forth from top to bottom of globe easily enough, shaman knowing the secret of traveling between the worlds), there is much going on with the math of the genome, lights going on and off being orchestrated whimsically by amazingly powerful radiance, and it only happens in the deepest of heat and high pressure, lucky hyperthermobarophiles, there to witness as new holes are opened up through which winds blow from beyond all the way up to the alpine heights of the mayor's mind!

Heirs of the Enlightenment, WEIRD perceives a world of separate objects, rather than relationships, they say, shutting down madness about the unspeakable connections, "everyone else sitting in darkness, giving credence to religion, superstition, and tradition". WEIRD does admit that madness is where it came from, before it got up there and tried to kick the ladder out from under it. One claim is that WEIRD is a bunch of systematizers and so somewhere on the autistic / Asperser's scale, but they are the leaders, or the leaders chose their "systems", they were the ice sculptors for the top part of this snow globe of fools.

Just like the king and the queen at the center of the sun making their favorite tea, "dark enigma", you gotta get your shine out. The monsters that flash and run through the lava of madmens' dreams are showing the way, can't leave that star locked in the basement all those years, forgotten, it's gotta burst out in the springtime and shine like a meteor. And the frozen laws can't hold in the leaping lava, crust shaking and melting all the time with the winds of change.

Madness is the molten subversion of the icy provisional structures of consensual reality, mystery flow effervescent, crust outside the moving cloud always having to shift reactively.

The radio played "Off the Wall", Michael Jackson trying to be meteoric, suggesting that crazy was the "only way to live your life".

Band names are traditional subversions of the frozen world, significance cut off from the meaning of the words, and kids who think "that's a good name for a band", they're saying there's a sign ripe for subversion, to have its meaning replaced by something they seek to express - madness. The teenagers sometimes have a "real/fake" dichotomy realization, the "fake" is the ordered rational society, and the "real" that is excluded is madness. The "well adjusted" just accept their fake roles, the mad reject the fake completely, like the unabomber rejecting technology, and of course there'd have to be a middle ground, maybe taking madness and integrating it, not as if the option was to leave it off on some other planet, or in the dark of the closet in the basement; already it rules: obesity, drug and alcohol addiction, medicine to "soothe the nerves", man's losing battle with madness.

Mind, up at the top, it seems, doesn't really have the body's best interests in mind all the time, more in some people and I'm one of them, so I can tell you, sometimes I'd rather just drink tea and keep reading and writing, and when I eat it would be something quick and convenient, but the body has needs and eventually something will break down, there have to be vegetables and fruits and nuts and grains, not just hamburgers, (I keep trying to tell myself!), and there is the awake versus the asleep state in people in general, it seems neither side - the body vs. the mind - is winning out, people in general don't have a surplus of control over them"selves".

Awake or asleep, where is the fire that burns us up? The fire of time, the fire of consciousness, burning up the strength that has to rise up again from the depths, the smoothly exploding volcanic flow from the cloud-serpent billowing effervescent from the community garden spring, that carries forward the not-knowing, as it cooks lightly in the fires of consciousness. The not-knowing, the quietly radiant madness, as it "cooks lightly", only gently and tentatively entering consciousness, but we know the depth is there. Cook the fish only lightly in that fire \- focus on a good sleep, not a good day, cells together, warm, in love, the madness dreams to wake up and secure itself in the sea of change, of time.

Asleep and then awake and burning a little, the person's like a protein, a complex fold that, if successful against the overall pressure, convinces other proteins to fold themselves similarly. One of the few things we can truly offer each other is "way", up the mountain, for instance. Way rises up out of the magma of madness, custom made to contain the madness and transport it in a particular direction, for a while....

With a plan in place, madness stalls, procrastinates, hesitates throwing itself forward into the bucket of "way", moving like a slug into the racing shell. First stage is self-collection into the shell of way. When I wake up in the morning, I see the tasks before me but there is an hour, more or less, since at least the time of high school, till now 25 years later, that I have to just lie in bed, and that is madness, the slug resisting moving into the racing shell of the day's planned behavior. I know it's not most people around me, and I know it's in some people found "guilty" of "madness", so I have focused on that, and though it doesn't go away at all, I get to stare madness in the face and theorize about it. And it seems of the two things the universe does - separate and fall together, madness is really about the second, about curling up and staying warm inside itself, even if the presentation is projected outward, madness is rarely about being open and empathizing with the surrounding environment, or reaching or stretching out, but about isolation, and the secrets within the depths that we have access to sometimes, as a collective species.

If you got up in the morning and planned your week without allowing for food or sleep, the need for these things would gradually creep in and obstruct the fulfillment of the original plan. And so I think it is with the demons of madness, controversial and unpleasant as this idea may be. So do you "exorcize" the hunger and the sleepiness? Fight it and pray for it to go? Wouldn't it be more effective to allocate it its proper place in the creation of the initial plan?

It is as if the universe itself, made up of brilliant balls of light and vast swaths of darkness, decided to pray only for light. Beautiful suns would light up, and at first it would seem like wonderful magic, but something about this is not right. Darkness is an integral part of this universe we are so graciously presented with. Could it be this universe is our truest "bible", revealing unimaginable beauty and power, as an infinite guide and even a role-model - the human spirit as a microcosm of the universe, which contains within it two opposites, and uses it's very being as a unification of these opposites?

I think being a consciousness is like having a zoo and sitting at the center of it. You have to provide for the animals, and impose order, have to "make loving the people and ruling the nation nothing's own doing". And so unlike the guy at the very top of the ice structures I go ahead and bring up the unspeakable connections between the stars and humanity, between all of us and the spirits around us. I cook that fish of madness only lightly, and sometimes I let the animals in the zoo surge, their wills momentarily loose, as they glow with health.

It was the answer to "where does madness fit in to the scheme of things." The mind became illuminated to itself, instead of just being a big black box; "it's all in your mind" was never a helpful comment. Now the mind can be analyzed as a vision. The mind was a big castle, connected to the body though deep pipes that allow steam to rise up ‐ like the 18th century ideas of "humours" and "vapors" of the body that affect the mind. And a homunculus ‐ a tiny man in charge of orchestrating everything ‐ is in the central tower, looking out on the hills and lakes and villages of the soul.

A mind becomes objective to itself: the castle is like a grand central train station, trains going out in every direction, above ground, (and coming back, from every direction, below ground); Beneath the white castle, four black stakes penetrate deep into the earth, and a single red light like Rudolph's red nose is placed at the top of a central tower, where a central figure – a homunculus that feels like the force of will itself – can look out on the surrounding hills, valleys, and towns, like a panopticon of the soul. The central figure pulls a book from the library in the tower, and as he reads, the pages are produced dynamically, from the steam rising up out of the black pipes below. The book he is reading is called "MADNESS RISING";

"PRIVATE GIGGLES IN A POSTCARD TO YOU: OUT OF A GOLDEN LAKE, MOLTEN LAVA RISES UP LIKE A TADPOLE THAT CATCHES THE ECSTATIC DRUMBEAT OF TIME AND LEARNS TO RIDE THE AIR; HOPE AND PROMISE TWINKLE AS ICICLES AN INCREASINGLY COMPLEX TADPOLE CAN NEVER QUITE MASTER, MYSTERY AND WONDER FLYING ABOVE THE SURFACE OF THE LAKE AGAIN AND AGAIN."

And as turbulent wind affects the environment, the homunculus/will is in charge of orchestrating everything back to the best possible scenario.

There's a huge "heat gradient" across this landscape that this will looks out upon: the higher regions, corresponding to the height of the castle tower, are cold. Icicles hang. Hope and promise. I could add the material world, comfort, companionship, etc. this is available only in the upper, colder reaches.

Mankind at this point in its development has risen out of the lower, hot, molten, alchemical (molten gold lake), and has reached the frigid heights. Continuous landscape that it is, the upper reaches are constantly threatened to be overcome by the hot below (the lake of "madness"); so the cold upper reaches have tried to close the door, stop talking to unreason, confine it in the sanitarium, drug it with SSRI's, but keep it from melting our icicles of "hope and promise".

But the homunculus itself is the evolution of the tadpole‐from‐the‐depths, that's not only the source, where it came from, but it's what will sooner or later be needed to rise up again, when there's a crisis, when the red light on the top of the castle comes on. That's when the homunculus will have to raise up more "mystery and wonder", when there's no more "hope and promise" to cling to.

I lead my own soul, in and out of madness. I flood the upper reaches with storms of molten gold. I let them drip off and dry and freeze, for a little while, see what kind of butterfly emerges from the cocoon, but I am a wildly experimental homunculus, and I get bored with my cold and frail little butterflies of "proper behavior in the physical moral human social world", and I choose to raise up continuous streams of phantasms, out of the molten gold lake of madness.

Did I find my way out? I gained and understanding of madness from the madness itself; I will continue to inhabit and guide my own soul‐landscape, and mine will be full of the molten tadpoles turning to fiery dragons, the dragons of "mystery and wonder".

Delusions of power are the hardest part to keep contained. In any conflict I fly into the rage of a god. It's a mistake, frequently made.

As I was watching " Law & Order" last night, the district attorney made the comment to the defense attorney: 'so you turn the courtroom into Alice in wonderland?!?' because she wanted to discuss the possibility that her client believed a 'god' would 'strike down a soul', and this was psychotic, in the context of the story. The point is the attitude of humanity toward 'Alice in wonderland'. Hard to integrate these two mindsets, these two worlds.

I had been reading Carlos Castaneda. I remember reading several books in order from him, but as with many authors, it was the first that made the lasting impression. I have told people to start with that as apprentice to shamanism. Here is the critical scene: Carlos goes into the Mexican wilderness, and discovers Don Juan, a Yaqui shaman, who shows Carlos his magic powers and gradually makes Carlos the shaman apprentice. Carlos had to beg to be taught the magic. The first thing Don Juan said to Carlos when he agreed to teach him was ‐ Carlos, you will go to the top of this cliff, and stand there as long as you need to, before you jump off. if you have the slightest doubt, you will die at the bottom of the ravine. But if you figure it out, if you get it right, you will just bounce when you get to the bottom. With this bounce you will arrive back at the top, and THEN we can get started with your training.

It's like a Zen koan. Mentally digest THAT story. Get to the point where you're ready to become a shaman. The mental processing of that koan has to do with learning how to integrate two realities into each other. Our American culture doesn't understand, and calls this schizophrenia. But the Mexican pre‐Columbian culture mapped the hallucinogenic worlds. Aztec, Taoist, Russian irrationalism, etc. but not our culture. But they gave us the libraries!

Problem with me is I have so much energy inside. I find sanity is an energy management issue, and I try hard, with lots of exercise, reading, and hard work, but sometimes it gets away from me. In the stressful situations that threaten my survival, the energy to maintain the insulating firewall between the right and left brain degrades. At some point I give up the effort, and it's not like I 'can't stop', but it's more like I stopped trying. And I let out the 'demons'. That's what people call 'acting out'. It's battle mode, mind‐to‐mind combat. I have a powerful arsenal, and unfortunately, a whole section of the frontal lobes devoted to warfare. It activates in confrontational situations. Acting out doesn't always have to happen, but the ideation is almost inevitable. And usually I just scare people by presenting the ideation, and that's enough, though since I always pull all the punches, eventually I lose credibility.

I think I have something kind of unique here, not run‐of‐the‐mill schizophrenia. Actually, I never heard of a mental disease that I didn't intuitively feel I have, but always with a twist. I'm autistic, but I can talk. I'm schizophrenic, but I can hold it in.

And that's the trick. And how hard is it? It takes energy. A lot of energy. That's what's behind the 50 dollars a day worth of 7000 calorie intake, this is one huge circus I run. And I've always said that I could be 'caught' at my insanity, if only society had the resources to follow me around twenty four hours a day ‐ because I can't maintain the wall of 'sane' around my 'insanity' up 24 hours a day. It's unnatural. I've had the situation all my life.

I recently saw 1408 the movie, and room 1408 is my situation. Only I can leave and go back in anytime I want. But it's exactly that crazy in there. The guy has to deal with it. Michael Eslin is the writer; and he takes a bit of the tack that I have learned to take. I command the spirits before me, overcome them with my will. It's the only way. I would describe how I learned this as 'shamanism training', and I think it's a shame that people in this situation without shamanism training are termed schizophrenics in this society, and drugged into submission. I would also venture a theory that this 'madness' in room 1408, the schizophrenia, the demon world, the hallucinations, the collective unconscious even maybe, this madness learns to groom itself into the human world through parental guidance in the early years. I see a mom take the 4 year old in the temper tantrum on the bus, hold the kids head steady, look straight into the kids eyes, and say firmly 'you will STOP that'. That's how most people cut off the demon world from the human world, I think. Like when I see the parent of the 18 year old say 'you do your best to raise them, you try to teach them right from wrong, and then look what they go out and do', again I think this is the dialog between reason and madness, between human and demon world.

This culture leaves that stuff as 'just dreams', 'leave it in the night where it belongs.' other cultures grab the dreamer and make him explain it to the community, and if the dreamer is good enough he is the shaman. The magical assistance of the tribe, interacting with the unseen forces. Whether they be modern physics 'Higgs field', or sprites and goblins, we could always use some help with the more‐than‐meets‐the‐eye.

I grew up in this culture. Dreams from the outset. The demon world. Not till 18 years old was I set free in the libraries of America, in the college and universities, in the New York City 'stacks' beneath Bryant Park, in the book stores of America, and even a little bit on the 'internet', did I discover the hallucinogenic cultures of the world, and their alternate understandings of reality. And I developed 'apperception', the ability to believe in more than one valid way of looking at the world. I dropped right out and retreated to the library, apperceptive capacity intact.

And I looked to the mysteries of modern science to develop my own alternate and equally valid way of looking at the world, thereby becoming a world visionary leader, as I always assumed I was, having been born to a Roman Catholic priest and a Catholic nun who had run away from her home in Mexico, where she lived with her mystical Aztec sorceress grandmother. I tell people I walk around in a non‐ordinary universe model. I have articles that I have integrated together so that I can explain away gravity. In my 'world', the earth pushes up, not pulls down.

I have a theory; it's only a theory, of how this works. I have a right brain and left brain. Colin Wilson in the sixties wrote a book, 'the bicameral critic', about experiments using one brain or the other. Breathing in through one nostril to activate the opposite brain. I did an experiment later in life from a guy in an article who said to drop cold water in each ear, one by one, to notice the different mood, activating that particular hemisphere. What I discovered that afternoon walking back up the hill from the diner to the computer admin job I had (which I was later kicked out of, lead away by the FBI, thinking I was a terrorist. it usually ends that way. Can't keep the craziness locked up forever. I never actually hurt anybody though, just manipulate their minds about the risk of having me around), and here's what I learned about my bicameral mind:

I think the emotional right brain suffered severe trauma, and I came up, under intense stress, with the survival tactic sometimes taken, where the left brain is commandeered to grow a new imitation replacement right brain. I can't do math. I mean I took calc I in college, but now I can't do math, don't know how much money I have, just vaguely know how long I can go for till I need to work, I refuse to compare the values of two numbers. it makes me depressed. To calculate with my mathematical left brain is to leave the right brain, 2 year old stunted emotional personality in place. Dangerous, too, ''cause the left brain, when it's not doing math, is the wall of energy over the two year old emotional mind. And it's the artificial personality talking to you here and now. Got good at this around 21 years old, in college dorms. Started working on it in 1st grade. Miserable at it till at least mid way through high school. At 45, I'm a star, at the top of my field, at managing my class and doing a dynamic presentation. I'm a Citrix politician, ''cause I've just learned all the right things to say to make the students love me. I have the top evals in the country. And I stopped getting the rave reviews the few months I was on Seroquel, so they are responding to the schizophrenia ‐ the high, manic energy level. The entertainment of madness. (Though I act like a sane computer manager or something, till after evals on the last day, maybe.) One time someone said he thought I was either gay or crazy, from the animated personality. This disturbed me a little, I wonder how many people assume I'm gay, ''cause I'm not, but I guess whatever. But that's why I think it shows no matter what. I used to think I could convince anyone that I am sane or insane, depending on what I choose. I can't really. Insane, sure. But for sanity, the best I get from the psychiatrist is 'schizotypal personality disorder' and a recommendation for antipsychotics or SSRI's.

I know that I don't deal well with stress. when my survival is threatened, or, worse, when a conflict begins to brew over anything, I jump into 'mind‐to‐mind conflict' mode, which is very schizophrenic, and there is no beating me, I'll gradually escalate to the point where everybody dies and all is destroyed, unless the opponent takes an opportunity offered to step back. So that's the worst side of the schizophrenia. No, I know, it's my delusions of power.

A few years ago, a writer for the New York Times took notice of something called the "genius awards". There were about thirty given out that year, and when the situations were looked at more closely it wasn't quite "genius" that was being identified and rewarded, but more clearly, creativity. Of the thirty, twenty eight had been won by New Yorkers, so this writer decided to interview as many of them locally as possible, looking into the subject: what is creativity? And what do the people who are better at it have in common? She was able to interview the majority of these interesting people, and there was indeed a common thread to these New Yorkers' lives: they all stayed away from technology. One was a runner, but while the other runners had their iPods in their ears, the genius award winner left hers at home. Of course she enjoyed good music, she said, and had her favorite music at home, but her running time was for creative thinking. (I remember a guy who would walk dozens of hours, he said after 5 or 6 hours the mind kicks in.) Several genius award winners had no televisions in their home, and most watched little to none of it. Most were refreshingly out of touch with the internet fads of the day and the pop culture media obsessions. A girl at the front desk of a school I was once teaching at said "You are so anti-technology, yet what you do back there is teach extreme technology", and I smiled and said I was like a tiger who had escaped from the circus. I now get by teaching other tigers how to perform at the circus. I wouldn't recommend it, but if you're going to do it I can show you how, and get my fleeting share of survival resources in the process. And I have that creativity that, like a firefly, comes and goes. And after 45 years I've got the recipe down pretty well for how to grow massive fireflies, and I'd love to share it here. I just saw one of these fireflies last week, a rare appearance that teaches me vocabulary words I've never heard in recalcitrant echoes from nowhere. I overate last week, between health kick breakfasts and two heavy dinners out, and had dreams all night one night with a message I was able to carry out I'd never heard before: "prandialist", and a little bit of "post-prandialist". I spent the last few hours of my restless sleep thinking "the word is "pran", like the prawns my wife had last night at the Chinese place, and "dial", like the soap in the shower, and I got out and said "prandialist" and "post-prandialist" to my wife when I woke up, then, after a day of food poisoning nausea, worst in years, I googled "prandial" and it means "eating", and that kind of thing happens to me from time to time, so that at this point such weirdness barely surprises me. I of course chalk it up to the subconscious, that I do read a lot and look stuff up in dictionaries, but I never consciously knew that one. Makes you wonder what the subconscious knows, how it works, who it really is, or if we can contact some collective unconscious /spirit world in moments of twilight clarity. A book I found once, buried in the back of a large American city's main public library, was written by a psychiatrist who wrote of his 30 year career, since the 1950's, where, outside the consensual psychiatry field, he would get to talk to and care for people in their initial stages of psychosis. He began the entire career with the thesis that these people in the emergency room where their relatives had brought them when they, around 21 years old, suddenly fell apart and began walking around dazed, talking to themselves, drawing weird pictures, acting out madness, did not need to be drugged back into their old world, and were not mal functioning. These people, he said, had reached into the human mind's source of creativity, and he provided the recipe he had seen in these people. They all had just experienced an event that confused them, something they could not process based on their previous beliefs and teachings. If they believed God always acts justly, and someone good had something bad happen, for instance, or if they were suddenly told their parents were not their parents, then these contradictions they could not deal with would send their mind in to a different state, called psychosis, where it would reach back in to the myth making deep state, not under functioning but actually using more calories in the brain than it had previously, thinking furiously at the metaphysical level about how to integrate the new facts they're faced with. And the doctor said that after up to 40 days, the mind would return to its old way, with no outside assistance, and the person would then have a sane, integrated way of understanding the world that now integrated everything they had been presented with. The point of the book was not to drug patients but to let them talk, and to listen to them, to think heuristically about what the patient was trying to think about with their word salad, and give them the trust and understanding to move to where they need to be. The book was called "Trials of the visionary Mind". He just listens to people! He says they aren't schizophrenic; they are having "visionary experiences" that last 40 days and should be listened to. He says treat them his way with no meds and there is only an 8 percent relapse rate. Give them just meds and none of his therapy and you get a 75% relapse rate.

Actually his theory of the psychotic episode is remarkably similar to my theory of "what is evil", except I say energy gates go down and the demon world comes out; he says energy goes down and then the "psyche", the "collective unconscious" comes out. (Same thing I guess)

And how do you get the psyche to come "inside out" like that?

Span discrepant worlds. Like your family wants you to be "all nice" but there's nastier stuff just below the surface, or you change from one dominant culture to another (or I create psychoses on purpose by reading different topics back to back and thinking about the relation between them, or riding the subway and picturing a deep jungle all around me, or reading astrophysics while riding the NEW YORK CITY subway);

The Aztec civilization says all existence (collective unconscious?) is born out of "duality", their highest god being ometeotl, or "Mr. and Mrs. two", who live in omeyoacan, or "place two".

So I like to try to hold opposites in my head for the purpose of causing psychosis, but controlling when I do my psychotic thinking – not while I'm at work (the dreamer must control the dream, not the dream the dreamer) – and that, I think, is a great source of creativity, it's looking for contradictory ideas, and loving to pour out the mental energy it takes to rethink everything, like, for instance, contemplating that gravity, or time, don't actually exist, that works for me lately. I tend to scan science for their "mysteries" – just heard today that there are twin inverted tornadoes at the south pole of Venus and science is mystified. Concentration on things like that can lead to creativity, then psychosis, so some psychiatric patients are told not to contemplate these kinds of things, to leave them to someone else. These patients that can't handle it I think are just malnourished, which leads me to my personal recipe for creativity.

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Chapter 16) Theory of Brain-Mind

Just like when I saw the experiment, in first grade, where a marble and a bowling ball are dropped off a tower, and, quite counter-intuitively, hit the ground at the same time, and I knew there was something wrong with that, and eventually came to a satisfying understanding - a "vorstellung", or pictorial representation of the physics around me - where there is no such thing as "gravity", (but rather "ytivarg", or gravity spelled backwards, as it is a push from above, not a pull from below), I also was disturbed, only a few years ago, with a description on TV \- some PBS or Discovery Channel thing - where the human brain was forming, in an infant, and the neurons were depicted something like sperm cells, as they were flying, in empty "space" in the brain, and they actually used the word "migrating", trying to explain how the different "structures" develop. I knew intuitively, having speculated on just this topic somewhat obsessively, on and off for decades, that this was wrong.

I'd been speculating on brain formation mainly because I'd found an analogy - and this isn't just me, others in popular science magazines have made the same connection - between the structure of the human brain, and the structure of the universe. Einstein's brain was saved and dissected, and it was indeed different from most human brains, and the difference was the complexity of the interconnections between the neurons. I knew that from a young age, read that somewhere. Then as I studied during this, the historical "golden age" of astrophysics we live in, peeing deeper and deeper into our surroundings with radio, X-ray, and gamma ray space-based telescopes, I realized early on that the structure was "developing". You see, in astrophysics, with the way the speed of light works out and everything, when we look into red shift space - and we do this all over the place, we have all kinds of pictures of galaxy structures in red shift space - we are looking at the past. They say we are looking at what happened millions, then billions of years in the past, and they say the universe is something like 13 or 14 billion years old - it's weird but there is actually pretty solid science to support this, and it has become just about universally accepted by modern day science these days - and that we can look, these days, almost all the way back. We've hit a brick wall at something like a billion or two years of age, due to something called a "polarization" effect, I think, and some ambitious astrophysicists are still trying to push this envelope all the time, they want to go ALL the way back, for no obvious reason, but anyway, we know about how the structure has changed over the lifetime of the universe, from 2 billion to 14 billion years of age, and the story is remarkably similar to the way a human brain develops from womb to adulthood - at first almost a misty net, and as it grows up, some connections fall away, while others become much stronger, and eventually - at our point in the universe history - there are huge empty blank spaces, and then galaxy clusters - like ours, the "Local Group", comprised of merely our Milky Way galaxy and the Andromeda galaxy, and a bunch of way smaller satellite galaxies, and the nearby "Virgo Cluster" with a super massive core, biggest thing in the "local universe", (M81 and the quasar at its core), and then all the "empty vacuum" besides. Basically the structure stretches on and on, cucurbitaceous, into the past, and becomes less dense and more "misty" as we look back on the past the way an old person may look back on what he used to care about as a young man, and then as a kid, all playful and habit-free.

So I had theories, as the astrophysicists do, on how and why this structure forms the way it does. As the leader of all matter and energy in the war against time, I struggle against the "development" of the structure, as it progresses in time, and try hard to understand my opponent, time, and what's happening to me, all matter and energy. I know, crazy project, but I've been working on it for a couple of decades nonetheless.

I didn't like what modern day astrophysicists were coming up with - all "gravity" oriented theories, and I had come up with the analogy of the "structure" of cracks in an egg under pressure from outside, and that was my alternative working theory for a while.

Now I have a new approach, and this one is satisfying to me, it's my new "vorstellung", a new psychosis for me to use as I read the next brain or galaxy structure article, as I contemplate my own life, and as I bike to work and pump the blood wildly through my brain, and this new vorstellung "feels" good, so I'm thinking I'll be keeping this for a while, like my "ytivarg" thing, just makes me crazier in the surrounding population of my worldly-minded peers, but I'm having fun. Honestly I don't really have a choice, and this theory of brain mind I have even explains that insight, come to think of it.

I've been expounding a version of this theory for a few years, drawing on the whiteboard my "theory of brain / mind" after all-day or all-week computer classes. I knew from experience that I needed fats and cholesterol to deal with complex problems. One day a long time ago in New York City, when I came in for my 4 to 12 evening shift, it was a problem day: three people started telling me about all the issues: this was broken, that was in some state that we had no idea what was going on, and there was really no plan for how the evening work would get done. It felt a little overwhelming and I didn't know what to do, I couldn't really wrap my mind around it all. But after everyone left, I went out for my cheeseburger and fries at the diner downstairs. When I came back to the datacenter, all by myself, I had a different take on it. That stuff was broken and there was nothing I could do, someone was coming to fix the second thing, and I would do what I could with the evening's work. And I think that day I related the change in attitude to the fat and cholesterol in my bacon cheeseburger.

Twenty years later, teaching computer certification classes, I was still eating my bacon cheeseburgers, but I'd also learned how to consume a lot more fats. I'd learned about omega three fatty acids - the coating around brain cells that allows us to multiply brain power by separating neurons from each other the way insulation separates electrical signals in speaker wire - the flax seed oil, borage oil, evening primrose oil, and black currant oil. Also I learned about the omega three fatty acids that the large coldwater fish can create: the salmon, the tuna, the swordfish - but you have to watch out for mercury poisoning in this world of dirty oceans. And I learned about the magic of walnuts and walnut oil, one other source of omega three fatty acids, and so on top of adding the above supplements to my daily diet, I cook regularly with walnut oil, and then lots of other oils just for the oil of it - I use four oils a day in my meals, rotating walnut oil, peanut oil, hazelnut oil, olive oil, safflower oil, grape seed oil, and at four times the price of the rest of them, pumpkin seed oil. And I take coconut oil supplements as well. There is bad cholesterol and good cholesterol, and I eat it all. Just got my blood tested, and my bad cholesterol is high but not past the recommendations for man, and my good cholesterol is higher than the recommendations. I like to keep myself oily. It's a mind experiment. I use it to think, and I've been expounding a simple theory on why it works. I was feeling vindicated a few years ago when the New York Times, in the Tuesday Science Times, ran a little couple of paragraphs to describe a recent study. They said they noticed that of all college students who'd had their blood tested, the ones with the highest cholesterol were also the ones with the highest grades. So after a difficult first day of class, when the students get up to go home, I'd tell them on the way out to eat protein, get 8 hours of sleep, and get as much oil and cholesterol as possible. When my boss would direct me to learn a new topic, the first thing I'd do is go get that bacon cheeseburger and some ice cream - French vanilla, from the cold stone creamery, was the most powerful way to get the "bad" but powerful cow cholesterol in - and get started. I do caution people that there's more to this than eating ice cream: after a few weeks of cholesterol eating and computer certifying, I'd do some hiking on a mountain, and later some alcohol drinking, in an attempt to reset the whiteboard to blank.

I knew oil was involved in the project for about a decade, but until now I hadn't figured out this last component.

Now I've got the theory. The blood flows. The power of the flow varies, and exercise gets it flowing harder, and the oolong tea I overdo pushes the flow farther, like a little stream that surges in the springtime. This stream doesn't flow in a vacuum, it is what feeds the mind - we all realize this intuitively. Well, here's the brain - mind connection. That stream flows into, I imagine, a dense mush of dots, the neurons that grow together, very close together, like a pile of eggs, not like the pictures of neurons in text books. This raw mush of potentiality is what the stream, then a pounding river, pushes into, and just like a stream, it makes indentations in the surrounding environment, into which the flow later on just falls. And as the food and oolong tea and exercise and crazy concentration increases, the stream makes more and more inroads into this mush of egg-like neurons.

This flow is, of course, not constant. The flow dies down hours after the sugar and the tea, and eventually slows to a trickle, and doesn't penetrate as deeply. The absence of the flow in the environment becomes what we experience as tiredness, then sleep. A trickle keeps some of the path open, but some of the path closes up. As this flow withdraws, the neurons, soaked in oils that got past the blood-brain barrier, come back together, the way they were originally, and we are "sleeping like a baby". While sleeping, as originally, these neurons get sticky with each other. But then what happens the next day? I eat more sugar, drink more tea, get that river raging again, and read enough to get it pushing even farther. The neurons become separated again, but "hold on" to some of the stickiness of sleep, and these connections become the "dendrites" of the neurons.

As the brain pulses in time, the initial mush crushes down, then expands, then crushes down and gets back together, then expands again, and there are patterns in the flow.

Without the fats and cholesterol, the neurons are ships passing in the night, but when you get the brain all gooey with oil, they stay sticky and remember their connections better even under the steady force of the daily flow. I use the oils to form eddies in the structure, and I use these eddies to represent the world around me - or the computer program I'm trying to master - and I find it easy enough to build structures that hold themselves together for days or weeks. I am talking about short term learning here, you can't remember too much this way or you won't be able to learn anything new. So every few weeks, I cut the oil, add alcohol to get the neurons back close together, and use intense hiking and biking exercise to clear the palimpsest.

The insight I have now after realizing I really do have hypoglycemia, is that after pushing the river way too far, way too deep, and way too rapid, on a regular basis, then, on a budget, letting it go to draught levels, the surrounding environment of neurons crushes down, the river banks fall in, and it is way harder to think, mental power is reduced dramatically. Then after abstaining for a few weeks, and all of a sudden letting the river pound heavily again in celebration, the neurons light up better than ever, as they have formed many more connections, being so close to each other, and are now experiencing the flowing river again, awakening as the separate neurons.

The philosophers from Plato to Kant to people on the schizophrenia website debate whether reality, as we imagine it in our consensual consciousness, really exists, or whether our human reality is more like shadows on the wall of the cave, distorted representations of something outside the cave beyond the fire, that's actually going on. I watched the debate and always leaned toward the idea that reality doesn't exist, we're living in a dream, but of course there is some objective interaction going on here too, flowing blood and squishing sticky neurons powered by the rich pulsing blood making up our daily experience and burning it into our heads.

It seems we can push this squishy sponge best by pushing a powerful flow through, and making a rhythmic pattern with the ebb and flow. When doctors started putting stints in the veins in the back of the necks of stroke victims, the patients said forget about the strokes, we're seeing the colors brighter, the meaning sweeter, and the world more beautiful than ever before. My pounding bike ride for a few minutes every morning on the way to work is when I plan my day and my intricate strategies best. And the seventy-vegetable-thirty-bean diet with some oolong tea is a very powerful form of fuel for that boiling river.

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Chapter 17) Schizophrenia and society

The streets! Yes, that sure is the home of madness. In fact I read a book when I first came out to San Francisco, I was trying to figure out why all the Irish girls I met were insane, the book was on how schizophrenics in different races and nationalities, and locales mostly, get along with their disability. Ad everywhere else was better than here in SF. Even in Ireland, all those genetically predisposed to schizophrenia make out better in that culture, because their families and communities do not exclude them or shut them away, but integrate them (there's never that many of us in one place, we're not the plague people think they are getting), ship of fools sailing together integrated with humanity. In SF it was the case that the poor and dispossessed and crazy had no resources, they scatter like atoms on the street in the tenderloin district, sit on the sidewalks begging for the money for the drugs and alcohol that keep them propped up there in their misery. I always figured getting a job for a few hours a day, then having your own place to crash, was the logical improvement on what the homeless crazies are doing, but on the other hand I admire them, refusal to integrate with the madness that is society today. I don't respect the society I am forced to integrate with, I do it though to get secure access to food and shelter. Even pull off having a family, with a wife who certainly contributes, works full time and holds the family together herself as well, anyway, I respect the schizophrenics more, when they get on a topic like "there's no such thing as time" and go crazy, posting up messages about time on the doors of churches at night, and running and hiding from the "shadow people", I only do these adventures in my dreams, those lost homeless people are my heroes.

I check in with the homeless crazy people; I use public transportation, I talk to everybody, especially the disturbed people, I'm like a free case worker roaming the city, found a guy just last week, out of it, listening to music and dancing with wild abandon on the BART platform. A lady cop was watching him, not doing anything though. I walked up next to him, put my bag down, learned his dance and imitated in time. She laughed, then addressed me authoritatively but I ignored her, eventually backup arrived, we both stopped the synchronized wild dance, I said "yes" I'm alright and went on unaccosted, he yelled angrily and got pulled away, but I saw later he got on the train right after me, so they didn't hold him long; it's pretty liberal out here, that could easily have led to a 72 hour hold for both of us.

And the best place to meet the people is prison. I haven't hurt anyone or stolen any of their property, but I'm in and out of all the psych hospitals and prisons in America all the time, to case the system and meet the people I say. And in Santa Rita out here in Dublin California, it's the world's strongest and smartest leaders, and the world's most amazing real-world rap stars, and the most amazing crazy people who have the world all figured out, so well they are no longer allowed to play, like the card sharks kicked out of Vegas. That place is amazing; I get so over stimulated I can't sleep for days when I get out.

Also traveling the country by greyhound as I do is the way to keep in touch with the crazy people of the streets. They talk all day when crossing the country with strangers, the same type of conversation that breaks out in the jail cells, some do that to pass the time, I just listen and record it all.

Intensity, yes, but one on one too frightening for the other person? No, I'm not this intense always. The first 1000 sentences out of me in person are all to make you think I'm a normal person. That gets them at ease. After that, depending on how they react, they go to level 2, or 3 or 4 or 5 or 6, but not if they can't handle it, or show any signs of fear; 'hey we're just normal folk with normal minds here, go easy on us, lighten up', that's the signal to shut it down. I'm at different levels with each person I interact with, though here I just broadcast, get it or not, sprinkling my Jesus mustard trees all over the rock and sand and fertile soil in one fell swoop, I still eventually meet interesting people.

Had a guy come in for a one on one class all weekend, a few years ago. You gotta pay the price of four students to do that. So I get up Saturday, assuming I have a two day job of explaining Citrix Password Manager (now called "SSO"), anyway, the guy shows up and it's not about Password Manager. He's an Indian guy, Tamil Nadu actually, the race that just got ousted after a 25 year war that this guy explained was a centuries long conflict between peoples, anyway, he comes in because he had been a former student, and yes we talked supernatural at the end of his class, well, he came back for one-on-one intensity - and it's only certain races, the Indians, the Ashkenazi Jews, maybe some Chinese - and they like this intense stuff, they shovel it out as well, and he said, we'd been talking about the nature of dreams, and now he had a new baby, sleeping in the bed with him, and he was having a whole new set of dreams, intense and never before seen, and wanted to discuss it with me, as I'd explained that as a shaman I can share dreams with those I sleep near, and that a baby could also do the things a shaman can. We talked all weekend. Like I said, only if they can handle it, but for those that can I think it's alot of fun for both of us.

It's not just schizophrenia they denigrate, that power structure that control the movies and your job and residence, etc, (not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, it's just obvious, the military-academic-industrial complex), no, it's free thinking, anything outside the little white box they paint you into if you are so generous as to go into debt for half your life and hear about their literature and beliefs by going to college. I got caught up for a year and got the hell out of that place, took revenge though, got myself access to their libraries and book stores, paid zero tuition for my education, and got to major in the in hysteric esoteric, and I can tell you as a free thinker 25 years deep from that story where I fall into the floor at the library while my friends are going to college and work, they don't like free thinkers around here these days. Seems like it might have been different, for instance 19th century Germany, the kids were raised weird, to be thinkers - philosophers, men of letters - that they got real crazy, and wrote to each other, about all kinds of ideas, there were for instance five competing ideas for evolution, and everybody was allowed to speculate on the metaphysical nature of the universe around them using whatever logic they could pull out of what they were calling "wit" instead of "insanity" as they try to label and drug it today. It's what I have updated into the 21st century when I talk astrophysics, contemplating the speculative nature of the observable phenomenon all around us to better understand the nature of god and the kingdom of heaven.

Oh it threatens their power, it's obvious, they are silly, I would have thought in intuition that they would listen to us, their priests of the unconscious, map their little material world to our mystical universe, we can know what they cannot, by definition, but no, they are afraid of us and do everything they can to shut us down, and this has been the case in most of western society since the 1660's, when that mystic Newton came up with his gravity thesis, oh that 'caused some trouble, like an American constitution but bad enough to rot the entire species, but not before a few centuries of debauchery, the devil promised them, and threw in the added bonus of laughing at the great men, the philosophers, who knew better, but were unlucky enough to be situated here in the timeline of the evolution of the species (this is no place in time for philosophers, they call us schizophrenics, mame us with mind altering chemicals, and isolate us, silence us, radically exclude our thought from culture, or at least make every attempt that a powerful economic power can come up with;) paranoid, I even get to thinking that the itching, mysterious, out of context, when they see it, gets them a signal, even if its subconscious, that they are in the presence of one of us thinkers, who think outside the box and go places they are neither willing nor capable of going, every other minute of the day, and they go right into treating the witness as hostile. I watch the cop shows, and I get special attention up for the parade of schizophrenics they march down their imaginary perp walks, one thinker in their little play was in court talking about his religion, his "God" having something to do with his behavior, and the reaction from the DA was something about "Alice in Wonderland" in the courtroom, because we are allowing in this "non sense", and it was the same thing in fourth grade when I was excluded from the reindeer games if I wasn't willing to believe in the non existence of Santa Claus, they don't like independent thinkers - I grew up with the Italian mafia kids, they are a great preparation for the knuckle headedness of society - and they don't like people with magical powers. This has been true throughout history, look what happened to the first shaman I had ever been told about, Jesus? yeah, he got beat up pretty bad, and that's the way it always ends for the visionaries. I can see what the people are thinking, they are threatened by the unknown, think of how blind it must be to not have schizophrenia, to think and be normal, how limited a world, limited from suffering but limited from so much knowledge, enlightenment, awareness of the expansiveness of being and the falsehood of mind and thought, think of how blind most people are compared to us, and you may be able to understand why they hate us, why they fear us, for all they know we are harry potter and they are the muggles, that is the core of their fear, that's why Jesus got his ass kicked by the roman soldiers - mafia kids of their time - but look what some characters do with getting their ass kicked for being magical - they let it happen, sucking out all the magic from the perpetrators in the process, then walk away with so much magic they stand in a corner and make a window open out onto heaven. Nice trick, and it happens all through every religious history, so that's why I am ok with the way we are treated by society, and even wonder at the people who make their life work principle the idea that there should be more rights for schizophrenic people, more respect, even better propaganda on the cop shows, because it is not in their interest, they are not really capable, and anyway what power do we have, we will always be one percent of the species, so we have to figure out how to navigate from there, and the answer is not military power and the answer is not a demand for empathy and respect, the answer may be to leave them alone, go off in to our corner, become magical, go ahead and open up that little slice of heaven, and then go out and share it with them, offer them a slice, I know they don't know to value or accept it, but try to show them in a nice way, rather than the way we usually do, full of snarling hate and the old chip on the shoulder, which granted we deserve, but that presentation just isn't working, it's the one percent thing, the other 99 percent are such mathematical economists! no they're not, they just have the rudimentary understanding of human power in societies. They are doing what is right for them, the way they treat us, they are being healthy people, and we wouldn't know what that's like, we're not in that 99 percent club.

Not just movies and the usual power structures, either; think of how shocked I was six years ago, when I moved out from New York City to the bay area, California, (where I heard everybody was crazy anyway), and I went to join the bay area shamans group, missing the old 75 person drum circles we used to have once a month in New York City. Well I lasted a few days at those drum circles up here in the Oakland hills, till one Saturday afternoon at lunch I mentioned to a couple of girls I was having lunch with at this shamanism two day class, that I don't have electricity at home (didn't at the time for about six months), and they said whoa, welcome to the 21st century dude, and I said , to this group of wanna be psych majors trying to get in a little insight on anthropological shamanism, with no prerequisites for this kind of thing ,'how come the rhythms of light and darkness that come with the universe are good enough for every other species on the planet, including yours for almost all of its evolutionary history, and of course for your spirit guide and the world you are here to visit, but with Ben Franklin's help you think you can do way better on the cycles of light and darkness?', and it wasn't just that but the fact that I said I talk to demons every day in the demon world, that was the magic sentence out here, danger to myself or others, I got the cops called on me and I was asked to never come back because of that, they threw me out of the shamanic community for being a shaman, but that's the same thing, they are scared of the unknown, I never threatened to hurt anyone but they assume if I speak with demons, that the demons will tell me to destroy them. It's a strange phenomenon, and that's what I think about as I drift through the city sometimes.

In music the powers don't seem to have everything locked down as well, I heard Michael Jackson yelling out on a top rated album of all time that "crazy" was the "only way to be" - (off the wall), and big music fan that I am, I may have noticed a few other references to madness as making alot of sense, a few other posters like me, who explain our insights and leave the normal world looking kinda stupid.

I do understand why the laughing hurts, at the bowling alley, as the song comes on that laughs at the crazy people left out of society, because those drunk people all laugh, and they are all feeling better about themselves, and joining in on the persecution of the one percent. And with me I don't mind the persecution, I'm one of those over in the corner with his magic, but I just cringe at the direction the mind of our species takes, it chooses togetherness over understanding, they aren't interested in insight into our magical existence, they are frightened of the prospect of our mind that they can barely glimpse, more frightened for the fact that it is so distant and incomprehensible to them, and they choose to secure themselves against us, assuming we are wizards with voices that will know how to destroy everything they are and take away all the comfort they have. Look at the motivation, look at the demonic eudaemonism in your persecutors, do you really want to belong with them? Leave them behind! Humans need companionship, but in a species this big, one percent is alot of people!!!

I've understood our dilemma in life for a long time - ever since I was released from my first-five-years cocoon and launched in to society in first grade, with those mafia kids (Bronx, New York), anyway, I had a personal myth. The circus tiger - me - got caught and taken to the circus, but wanted to become magical. So he escapes, goes out, becomes as magical as anything, goes back to the circus, invisible, goes to get his family and get them out too, 'cause though he's free and magical, he's lonely. But the wife and kids, and close friends and neighbors, are all horrified by the magical tiger with the powers of invisibility, who seems to understand so much about the outside world that he is psychotic, and talks about not only leaving, but making his whole family leave, and that's suicide, he might hurt himself and others, so they scream, call the game show host, the circus master.

Lights go down, come back up, circus master and tiger have a talk, tiger is threatened, for bringing this magic up in here, with being strung up on a tree to twist in the wind, and the solution is that he can go free, but not all the tigers, just him, the one percent. He sits, just outside the circus, wandering in and out to visit his friends, trying not to frighten them, and just hangs out most of the time with a couple of beings from another world, right outside the circus, where they can steal provisions from the supply train whenever they want, and keep an eye on their origin species, the captured tigers.

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Chapter 18) I get myself into such a state....

I'm not really schizophrenic, I'm diagnosed "schizotypal personality disorder", which I call schizophrenia-lite, or optional-schizophrenia, something you can turn on and off at will and use as a hobby.

A girlfriend misunderstood, thought it was schizophrenia when I began explaining all my alternate physics ideas, and she dragged me to her therapist. I spoke for an hour. The therapist then announced that there is a big difference between schizophrenia and what he has, and that if we could put what he had in a bottle and sell it we'd have more money than bill gates (which is offensive since I'm not a capitalist, I just give it away, take what I need and do what I can).

I get misdiagnosed as schizophrenic when I'm upset about something, like the peripheral neuropathy that is basically the amplification of the microscopic world on my skin, so that I feel the "bugs" crawling on me - dust mites, mold spores, and in this infested house, dust mites, really horrible.

The memoirs of schizophrenics is a favorite topic of mine, and the best ever was Daniel Schreber, in 1900 in Germany, the son of the famous doctor Schreber who created the "Schreber Method" of raising children in Germany, it involved a torture device. Daniel was floridly psychotic - this wasn't one of those memoirs where the girl gets on meds and tries to return to normality.

I was raised in the 60's in New York City, but a Jesuit priest and an Aztec sorceress, afraid of the Beatles culture of blue jeans that they saw coming toward them on their TV's, and clinging to securities like the Dr. Spock book on how to raise disciplined children ("children should be seen and not heard" was one I remember) .

But what is almost always sad about the schizophrenic memoirs is that they are incarcerated, and often heavily drugged (though no drugs in Daniel Schreber's case), but the characters are all about escaping, or getting back to the old life they had. And they are sad, angry, confused, and marooned.

I recently discovered YouTube, and when I typed in "schizophrenia" I saw some amazing characters - (you gotta check out the little girl schizophrenic, she's amazing, she believes the imaginary friends are numbers!) but they, too, are all stressed, suffering, trying to solve a problem and get healthy and usually incapable.

The next week I typed in "schizotypal" and noticed a striking difference, not as clear in the memoirs, come to think of it I'm the only schizotypal who wrote a memoir, that I know of, but those schizotypals are not sad, not lost, they look like Jim Carrey or Robin Williams. A few years ago the Nobel Prize for literature went to Adam Zagajewski, that year I had to call it the Nobel prize for schizotypality, you can't miss it, on every page that man ever wrote, guaranteed.

But all that said, I do agree that the characters that get the farthest out there are the schizophrenics, and I know some schizophrenics that, when off their meds for a while, are better than me at living in some kind of quantum level reality (maybe) and I do listen carefully to their insights and advice.

Myself, I am not conscious at the quantum level. I have, however, achieved quite the exotic reality by this ripe old age of 46; it's more of the eastern Taoist/Buddhist reality, I'm like a super advanced Buddha character, unlike the majority of Americans around me, to whom the ideas make little to no sense. My journey of a zillion miles began with the first step, and 26 years later I'm deep in to esoteric Taoist sects like the "statutes of mystery metropolis" ethical training, wild psychotic stuff; the Taoists teach me to do what the psychiatrists try to teach us not to - become floridly psychotic - see as if not seeing, hear as if not hearing, the most common Taoist parable is that the senses are "Close the mind, block the senses, blunt edges, loosen tangles, soften glare, mingle dust" - the Tao Te Ching (David Hinton's awesome philosophical, poetic translation works best for me). I really do live in a beautiful reality that I re-fortify by reading all the obscure Buddhist Taoist poetry that David Hinton translates, as well as the ancient work of Ge Hong, and anything else I can get my hands on in Berkeley and San Francisco's Chinatown bookstores.

Of course I also have the golden age of astrophysics surrounding me, I'm 30 years deep in that (just an armchair astrophysicist, xxx.soton.ac.uk), and I can use that to create quite an alternative universe of physics around me, much as Hegel did in his time, going through all the theories of my day and age and re-evaluating everything, putting it in to a new order based on my own psychotic insights. Vanquished gravity. Enemy of time, though that's not going anywhere. Today I posted the wan wu honeycomb theory of the universe, just various concepts form staring in to the world of astrophysics and thinking for myself.

But I get myself into such a state; high pressure job by day, drink a lot of oolong tea and a high calorie diet, talk fast and click fast on the computer, a computer consultant trying to keep track of it all, then at night a glass of wine and possibly antihistamine to get it all to calm down again, and then there's a heavy hung over feeling in the morning. I tell myself I'd rather be healthy, as I walkout my front door, diagonally across the street and down the neighbor of the best-city-in-America-to-walk-in, (which is even better to walk in), the blood starting to pump through my head in the clear summer morning sunshine under the trees by the little gardens. And in that fresh healthy morning air things seem a little clearer than usual, even than they seemed a few minutes ago in my bedroom while thinking about getting up this morning. It seems that what's really important in people's lives is that they breathe, and stretch, and all this in-depth thought about the nature of things, battling scientific theories against each other, that we get to doing to one extent or another, is the tendency especially of the schizophrenic mind, to go off dreaming about stuff. I guess it was the article in the New York Science Times that we all drift off and daydream and also have internal communication, some we don't even realize. I always knew that as a technical instructor, I told them I knew I was the only one who knew everything I'd said, because they all had to drift off a little bit from time to time at least. And what is the schizophrenic mind's tendency but to dream, to drift off into fantasy at the slightest opportunity? So all this dreaming, theorizing, is maybe less important than the business of life, as many will say, numinous jet focused on the working surfaces of health & strength, as it has to be at least some of the time. But to different degrees we stray from that and start to wonder, and wander in our own dreams, whether alone or together, and to the degree that it is harmless entertainment, it is one thing, but in some crazy people like me it goes much farther, runaway train on oolong tea that hijacks the living being out of sleep into a passionate frenzy of dreamy ideation, kinda like this little essay, and I was just thinking walking down that gardened sidewalk this morning, that the thinking is beside the point. It's the breathing, the stretching, the squeezing, that's important, and the heavy hangover feeling just inhibits that, and I only got that way ''cause I was confused about what was important in the first place yesterday, but then in the clear morning air I figured It out again, so I can start to walk lighter and clearer, as it felt after I turned around and started back home, focused on what's important, but then that only gets to last until I power up the computer and get back online for work and go back to pretending to care about the dreams again. I asked at the beginning what was the world about, what was it made of, what was its significance, where was it supposed to be going, and the answers coming from those that called themselves authorities - parents, teachers, education - were just inadequate, not satisfying. "because I said so" was one of my parent's favorites, and so the interesting little personality disorder here is built on not trusting the authorities to bring me up, having the idea from really early on that they don't know what they're talking about, and spending alot of effort coming up with an alternative to mankind's concept of reality. There are two worlds for me, then, because I have asked mankind what's up with this phenomenon and they came back with nonsense, but they call themselves the authorities - these days I'm threatened with 5150 psychiatric hold or prison, and at next level down with lack of work or denied access to resources - and those authorities, and their insistence on "property rights" and "capitalism", have all the power over the resources I need access to, my food and shelter. So I maintain "consensual reality" for the sake of getting access to resources, then after my 8 to 16 hours a day of that, I see no other reason to keep it up, to believe in gravity, to believe I am an individual separate from the others, separate from anything, to believe that time is appropriate rather than an enemy trying to destroy me or squeeze something out of me, and so for that last part of the day, I'm floridly psychotic, I've gone to my other world, there are no property rights, it's all the permanent universal capital, there's no gravity, this is all taking place in a time garden but I've escaped like a tiger from the circus, out of time, at the center of the stars, and I come back to be in the world but not of it, playful in the time garden. It's a beautiful, fulfilling existence, this completely different conception of the phenomenon of my existence, not the explanation the world around me offered. I maintain two because it just makes sense to be like that. It's irrationality when it comes down to it. Like I told the cop at the door who said he was a trained negotiator and wanted to know where he'd made a mistake in his negotiation to make the conversation go in a "direction" he "didn't want it to go", I like to practice what I call "irrationality", so, I told him, there's absolutely nothing you can do. At that point Mr. trained negotiator proceeded to freeze like a deer in the headlights, made only one other comment in my direction, that I may think something was funny but he is actually way more concerned about me, and then ignored me as he searched the kid's room anyway but just quickly, afraid for his partner at the bottom of the stairs assigned to "cover" me during the un-warranted search, as I began to yell "you got one of ours so I think we're gonna take one of yours", so anyway, I learned years ago not to let reason get in the way. One day the young species of humans will put aside their toys, "science" and "reason", and join us in the world of mystery and wonder. I once watched as two strangers had a conversation, one manic and presenting a sort of psychosis, (like me) and the other just looked on calmly and still, and after the psychotic manic amazing presentation was over, the guy just asked "why?" and the first guy stopped and dropped his head, and the binding spell was broken. So there and then I decided my psychoses were not going to be susceptible to any letter in the alphabet especially the letter "Y". Irrationalist like the movement in 19th century Russia, that's the movement that taught me that the concept of property rights is naive at best, evil at worst. Irrational like the Zen guys in the Zen koans, irrational like the megalomaniacal Germans, of which I am one, who want to rule the world, and go about it however they think they have the best shot. I watched my two year old niece, as she listened attentively to what we read to her and developed an imaginary world in her mind based loosely on what had been presented, and as she was still somewhat isolated from the family and the world by a lack of full language capability, it made sense that she would fill in the details in her own mind with her own invention. I see that each niece and nephew starts out spewing their own reality, and gradually learns which components of their reality get recognition, and which don't, and categorize quickly and easily into "private reality" and "consensual reality", and the socialization process is one of gradually imposing consensual reality down upon private reality, in something of a compromise or integration, and the resulting psychosis becomes what we call the personality. I watch a microcosm of the process over the course of each of my days, as I wake up in the morning spewing my own idealistic fantasy, and gradually having consensual reality imposed upon me, to whatever extent, and think it is somewhat the same thing, and somewhat common; dreams we all have of potency and prowess gradually come into contact with harsh reality, and we have to "recognize our limitations". Gravity. Time. These are the battles I've chosen, the biggest problems I encountered in the human condition. They are the brick walls I run up against. Then there's the refusal to integrate, on the grounds that we can do better, and this is "irrationalism", not to be mistaken, as may be happening often, with directionless "emotion". Not just emotion inside when you get lost, but a real guide, sometimes better than elsewhere available, especially for a frightened and isolated child, who screams into the night and wakens the demon world, the collective unconscious, which has so much to teach about strength and magic and being alive, that it is sometimes chosen as superior, and as a leader. This is irrationalism, often misunderstood as rudderless, a lost gang of wild colts up against calm cold rationalism. We choose to serve Reason as a master, or not, but it cannot be enforced by the police and military forces around us; it can be gently nudged, suggested with a wink by psychiatrists who say we don't have to suffer, we can be more safe, come back from our 'Alice in wonderland' syndrome, back with "the rest of us". A pack stays together, and holds one eye each, at least, on hard and cold reality, as you'd like to believe in it, purely for the good of the group, including his own welfare, but the other eye, oh, it's looking out there, for the sake of power, and this power pushes up against the weight that bares down upon us all. It seems unfair to refuse a minority the right to stand alone; either just consider them left behind, or out there in front leading the pack; some cultures allocate the role to priests, other cultures allocated that role to shamans, often one percent of the population, and it seems now this culture has allocated the role to the delusions of schizophrenics, irrationalists, knowing as well as my two year old niece which is "real" for man's science, and which is "imaginary", but, I ask you, what of the power of that latter, for our own light to shine out against that which bares down upon us, the warmth, the meaning, the love, the fulfillment, that can come of this hallucination that some call masturbatory? If properly managed can't this be an important part of mankind's mental development? Is it somehow in the rationalists' interest to halt the advancement of mankind's mind? Because what a crazy idea that is!

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Chapter 19) Flag of the Storm

Lance Armstrong is the United States' strongest bike rider, a great American shaman, now retired from cycling. I remember how I 'd see his picture on the front page of the New York City Daily News almost every day for a few weeks right about now in the summer, and I'd get out on the bike and work hard, one man victory parade coming in over the 59th street bridge and rocketing downtown, ricocheting from Park to 5th to 7th in the undeclared races with the bike messengers, my former teammates, and back out over the Brooklyn Bridge, or other days it was two hours out on the Metro-North with the bike then shooting across the Hudson Valley to the foothills of the Appalachians where I'd say I was working my way up to the Alps slowly, with the rocky Mountains my next proposed phase of training, and never quite got there, lost in California now forever. Lance works hard, seems practically selfless in his efforts, and so carries on his form a psychosis of mine, "flag of the storm", (- the "storm" of irrationality, like a smashing thunderstorm but on the inside of everything and raining straight up, the storm of irrationality thinking itself, spit from the storm of perfection) - like some actors in old movies, Fred Astaire, they also get this psychosis of mine going, it's like they are not really there the way most of us are, it is like they have succeeded in overcoming themselves completely and plunging themselves into their own hands in order to develop some skill, whether it's Jim Carrey overacting in the blockbusters or Lance Armstrong shooting up the Pyrenees, and where did they "go" then, after they were overcome? In my story they – the selves, the subjectivities, or consciousnesses, like us – they go inside, they implode, they leave the time garden via the core, like a collapsing star at the end of one phase, collapsing into a compact object and withdrawing from the physical sphere previously surrounding it. They leave the time garden, go back outside time where all matter and energy are one object, un touched by time, and from there the full united will of being can think and make decisions, and then take actions that are in the world but not of it, these unusual characters, not full inhabited subjectivities subject to the storm of winds around them, but escaped circus tigers, escaped through the center, and having left a stuffed tiger behind, the shaman's empty scarecrow, the tiger gets away with having escaped because everyone thinks he's still there, indeed giving him awards for his butter oil grace.

And to say my heroes have 'escaped time' is to say they escaped the world or "reality" into madness, that other way of being, so unreal, living at the center of a star, submerged fully within madness, outside of time.

Madness is the larger or smaller reserve of subjectivity outside the performing structure. What we celebrate in our heroes is the structure above – how high, how clean, how agile, how empty of madness. But to be that perfect, it has to be more deeply mad, to be able to fly a flag so high, the flag of the inverted thunderstorm of madness.

With the people at the mall, there's the controlled behavior but most also demonstrate some reserve, and speculating on the madness within that reserve, it's the civilians in the gilded cage, contented more or less by the gilding on their cage, but barely contented, that reserve of madness born out of the frustration from being caged. The more the reserve of madness, and the more pronounced, the less "promising" in the Republic of Learning the candidate, the less-than-wholeheartedness a tatteredness on the flag of the storm, storm of madness, storm of perfection.

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Chapter 20) Next Day he dreamed up he saw a man named "Weasel"

There is a TV show I watch every night, in the demon world. I didn't write the episodes, they play out around me every night.

In the demon world, watching TV is like living a situation, you are there, in 3-d, maybe because you are dreaming at the time, and it is as if you are one of the participants in the show, feeling the pull of the group's anxiety, and trying along with them to work out a solution to whatever is going on. Every night is an adventure. There is a theme song and that's the thing - I jumped up in the middle of the show and woke up for a second and wrote down the theme song, since it was so familiar, and it worked, looking at it the next morning it all comes clear.

Each episode begins with a story of a normal citizen, living a normal life. Then, invariably, something, or a series of things, happens to the main character - a bunch of tragedies in their life. Then, about a quarter of the way into the show, we get the one-line them-song: "next day he dreamed up he saw a man named wea-sel". And then this mysterious character, or pair of characters, show up, and they are undercover demons, from inside the sun, that's the thing, they feel they are part of the sun and shining light in a different way, as stories that so-called "schizophrenic" people see and hear, and dream, and this is the remainder of the episode. We, the undercover demons, show up as these imaginary people in the life of the person who suffered tragedy. We tell him weird, unearthly knowledge. Prophesies. The person then either goes crazy and gets locked up, or goes on to be a religious leader who glows and seems crazy, and it's all because of the character named "weasel".

I KNOW, it's not really THERE, but.....

It's controlling all the stuff that really IS there!"

"What's 'not there'?"

"The CAVES! I'm so schizophrenic I can read the writing on the surface of the dark matter! It's alive! It started talking to me! It was the pellets - after reading all those recipes, with arsenic and lead and mercury and gold, who knows WHAT was in there - I asked but all I got was "NO TELLIN' WHAT"'s in those pellets, with the glowing eyebrows of a convicted irrationalist. I found a corpse in a mausoleum on a hill, and I put one of the pellets in the corpse's mouth. He got up, twisted his head, bent both his arms, and started rocking them back and forth in sync together, like he was dancing. Seeing the corpse's reaction, I tried a pellet of my own. I was right, life is fusion, and consciousness is the light hitting a surface. Ignore everything, and yet shine the light, and you hit a wall like a cave that the sun shines within. A corky cave, as I found a hole, climbed up through the gooey layers, and tied a rope so I could leave and come back. (Otherwise this was the scene where I leave humanity behind forever in a big flash of light.)"

"And these caves are controlling "everything" somehow?"

"No, not the cave, the WRITING - the writing is ALIVE somehow. I can talk to it, and it's making people do all the crazy things they do, and it's hard to tell why but it doesn't look good... it watches closely as our collective blood rises and falls like a green tidal ocean, and pumps in all kinds of alternating patterns..."

"And you say you can "talk" to the pictures?"

"Well the thing is I realized I've been talking to them all my life, in my nightmares, since I was a kid. These are the monsters, the monsters that chase me, the ones lurking around the corner when all of a sudden the lights don't work, the ones with the hurricane-like wind in-sucking force, that rearrange the genome when they catch you, and that can sometimes be talked out of an attack, but will sometimes just kill and kill, and they give off their own multicolored light. And because of that light, they've always stood out from "reality", even when they sneak in and try to create a "situation". But now I see them on the cave and I know that's not THIS world, but because of where I see it and what I see it doing, I'm starting to react. To be still. Because of it. Isn't that crazy?"

Psychotic stillness or catatonic schizophrenia? Don't just STAND there ?!?!?!

****

Chapter 21) Three dinosaurs

It was once taboo to ask the question, 'is humanity a kind of cancer on the face of the planet?' that was the early 90's, now it's common to see this sentiment, even in a Depeche Mode song.

I have been playing the role of this guy for decades now, the only non-humanist around, I'm kinda harsh in my theorizing I guess, just get to be free, I like to say I'm not in politics, not in law enforcement, so it shouldn't really matter what wild unicorns run through this mind.

So I like to tell a story: The dinosaurs were like us, wearing suits, smoking cigars and drinking in bars, and going out to run in general depravity, eating each other's flesh in murderous cannibalistic run ins in traffic on the way home at the end of a busy early earth day. Most just told each other to go out and get laid and drink and smoke some more, and do some more of that murderous carnivorous stuff, but there were three dinosaurs, walking on two feet, who looked around and realized their species was evil. And when you realize your species is evil, isn't self-destruction, on a grand scale, the right thing to do?

Well these three dinosaurs gathered one evening in what is now the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico. They put on their conical hats, dark magicians that they were, and bowed their heads, dancing around a campfire counterclockwise for three days, while waving their tails above their heads in clockwise circles the whole time.

They stopped and slept for a day, then turned around and did three days in a clockwise circle, tails this time twirling counter clockwise.

After the second three days the asteroid came right down and hit the three of them on the head, and it took the rest of their "evil" world with them, stored the entire jungle world in the most brilliant emeralds on the planet, as the dinosaurs now travel forward in time un encumbered by the turbulence we now shoulder.
And with the weight of the universe on our upright walking shoulders, we now are starting to hypothesize about the nature of our own species. I'm sitting this one out, but you guys with conical hats, you can call down Quetzalcoatl, the nearby asteroid in resonance that threatens our species. Do it, call it down, like I said I'm sitting this one out, as I was one of the original three dinosaurs in the story, but you go ahead, I'm rootin for you!

****

Chapter 22) Fishing on Fish Independence Day

On January 2nd, the fish, having already declared independence from the water a few weeks earlier, hovered in the sky demanding a conference, then floated over Kentucky, where the general declaration was made, that the humans better back off and then the fish will back off, otherwise the sharks would be sent out to the desert to start hunting, wearing pink or blue house dresses. The deal was made and the fish seemed to leave the people alone, but on an island in the south pacific, ex-Nazi's were trying to overcome the flying fish creatures with magic of their own, integrating nanotechnology into bugs - mosquitoes and so forth - so on this little island of Dr Moreau a bunch of cyborg mosquitoes went buzzing around, supposed to be the new threat to the independent fish, but all we know is that last night the volcano on Dr Moreau's island started to explode, then the insects buzzed around the volcano, and the bright orange lava rose up and the bugs pulled it all into a giant cyborg bug cloud, and the whole thing took off into the night, first volcano that ever exploded without getting the ground "wet" with lava. And as I was watching the whole orange glowing cloud of cyborg mosquitoes rise up into the sky against the calm ocean and the surreal hovering independent fish, I wondered, is that a delusion, a hallucination, or a belief?

When I post a story like that on a new year's weekend, I call it fishing; my boss at the last place, a training center where I was an instructor, said to me "stop freaking out the employees"; out of the two hundred or so staff, I talked to just about everybody, and of course about 50 % were somewhat frightened or at the very best just disinterested in that stuff, and of the other 50 % that are friendly, most are just humoring me. There were 2 that were outright scared and wanted me off the premises, there were 5 or so that I will probably always stay in touch with, since we have bonded so much over the years, over the crazy ideation that we all join in on. And I know it's kind of unfortunate about the two people who got scared, but how else would I have found my 5, in the 200?

There's another number out there, floating around in a bunch of disparate research. The number is one. That's the one percent of the population that wanted to talk to the spirits, and live the life of a complete break with convention, ready for the adventure of mystery and wonder - the percent who want to join the priesthood or the novitiate. It was always 99% of the population that just want to live, they say that they are caught up in just living life, they even criticize the ideation and say I am wasting time and not living life, with most of us they are right but with me I do both.

And in our American culture, one of the youngest and silliest in history to ever have power, the one percent is the percentage that are said to have "schizophrenia". It is my contention that those are the same one percent, often hereditary lottery winners of previous spiritual leaders (my father was a roman catholic Jesuit priest, who got my mom, a girl in his theology class twenty years his junior, pregnant; after the affair was dying down, my dad got on a ship to Rome to meet with the pope; on the way, a telegram came to the ship, about me, and the fact that her period never came so he got to the pope and confessed, and the pope gave him two options – one, you go to Europe, forever, and we pay for the lady and her kid and you'll never see them again, or, two, you're fired, go be the husband and father; he chose "B" and there were three more siblings after me, another boy and two girls, us boys never had our own kids but one sister just had her second the other sister is pregnant with her eighth, it's a catholic thing with her wanna be deacon husband, well about six years ago I was up there as the stay at home uncle and lived life with the stay at home dad, and kids are tough, my sister says if you just kinda want kids then don't have kids, you better really want kids, 'cause kids are tough. Enough of this aside....) but that one percent in America is called the schizophrenic population, and whatever with the labeling, this is a magical power in most cultures.

What is it about these kids, the one percent? We stand out from the very beginning – awkward, shy, odd interests, but functional. Until around age 17 – 23, whenever the stress level of adulthood hits hard, college finals, social drama, whatever, the energy to hold the mind together is taxed and the subconscious comes spilling out. It's often the hereditary offspring of the spiritual people, but sometimes not, just identified by the dreams. When the parents can't relate to the kid by age 5, they oughtta just turn the kid over to the local shaman. Because in shamanism, the dreams are real.

Complete break with convention, like Tolstoy, like me, like the Unabomber, who was fiercely against technology and wanted to save humanity, (weird part was he decided he had to kill a few people to get attention, I'm not with that part) but saving the planet, I recently read an article about "irrationalism" and they listed the ecological environmental conservation movement as an irrationalist movement, since you can't reason out the principles of it, it's instinct. It's not a criticism I'm putting on it, just one I recently learned was out there. Inspired by the wilderness, as if you have an intuition of the unspeakable connections out there. The sense that you are not one of the 99% that can be bought off with the gilding on the cage; the idea of wanting to control the dream, not the dream the dreamer.

I can talk within consensual reality, the one where there is an invisible force in the floor called gravity and it's pulling us down, the one where property is divided up and either belongs or doesn't belong to you, the one where people have to strive to make as little effort as possible and consume as much luxury as possible, the one where all the people are individuals inside themselves and nowhere else, disconnected from the universe unless they have a cell phone with some bars; and yes I maintain consensual reality for the sake of getting access to resources, ''cause hey, the humans got them all! But after my 8 to 16 hours a day of that nonsense, I see no reason why I should have to maintain that mind. I have always been able to hold multiple minds, (I "put the space suit on backwards", 'cause I don't want to see, and I also mean that my physical right brain hemisphere is being abducted and turned in to an artificial left brain and vice versa), so I spend my last few hours of the day – or all day last Sunday – just doing my favorite hobby, which I have called "walking around in a non-ordinary universe model", but I mean ideation.

I remember writing to someone in England off and on for a year or more, and one day she told me, after analyzing me, "You're in love with your own mind", and I thought that was interesting, close to the truth, and a boss at that old training center once noticed, as I pulled one photocopied article after another out of pockets for disparate esoteric discussions, she said "You love ideas", and that's even closer. And best of all, I wrote a lot to a schizophrenia patient who had made up his own sub classifications of schizophrenia patients, and I only remember the category he said I fit into: he said I have "infantile personality disorder", stuck at the stage, around age 2, where I don't trust the parents or other authorities around me, don't trust what they are telling me about the world, I think it's all lies, so I go about trying to figure it all out for myself. Makes for quite an awkward first twenty years – I was isolated at home till age 5, nursing all the way to age 3 but also not being allowed to play with toys unless they were educational; my mom, a 6th grade public school teacher in New York City when I was born, went to the teacher conventions and bought me reading comprehension tests for toys, and by the time I was introduced to society at age 5 I was at the 6th grade reading level, or so she says, and I noticed then, to my surprise, that everyone was similar to each other but nobody was like me, they'd all been taught to "look out for number one" and I was taught, by my Jesuit priest dad and ex-nun mom, the stories of the bible, to be like Jesus, to serve all the people, to sacrifice myself for others, to be the least of the brothers, to be magical. I wondered a lot in the early years, how come I didn't have twelve disciples!

By 17 I went away to college, started interacting socially at parties, with 25 cent beers and ten cent wings in Buffalo in 1983, and learned how to emulate humanity. But after emulating all day, and getting my food and shelter secured, I see no other to imagine I can only do as little work as possible and have to take in all the luxury, rather, I can do as much as I can and take what I need – America doesn't seem to mind that I live in communist America, 'cause I work hard and let them keep the profit, I think the only kind of communists that America is afraid of is the kind that won't work and wants the profits of the workers. I read everything I can – alternate theories of physics, memoirs of schizophrenics, imaginative philosophy or literature or poetry, latest discoveries in astrophysics, the odder more esoteric religious practices, the autistic kids that have been taught to speak, the two year old nieces and nephews and their "baby talk", similar to word salad – and out of all that and my own dreams I tend to weave together a narrative, a universe model, for which there is no other backup than my own weird speculation.

And that's why I call it "psychoses". I guess I called it "theories" of religion or of science, when I started writing my own notes on scraps of paper about 25 years ago, in the research libraries and college libraries of America. But at some point I realized, what is a big complex new theory, created when you cross pollinated across multiple disciplines and went out on tangents of interconnectedness, a theory that is wildly complex, that only you can explain, and that gets you very excited when you explain it? It's a psychosis, of course! I was very impressed when a jazz musician friend – one of those 5 people from the training center –wrote a song parody that goes:

"schizotypal thinking means I'm making up psychosis,

Even if the sound of it is something quite precocious

If you say it loud enough it's really quite atrocious,

schizotypal thinking means I'm making up psychosis !"

\- based on the Mary Poppins jingle; I'd written lyrics and stuff before but for this guy to match up that number of syllables and say it rhymes with supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, that's kind of schizotypal in itself.

I'm diagnosed schizophrenic but I don't take meds and I'm not really schizophrenic. That's just the diagnosis when I'm upset about a threat to my survival and I practice irrationality.

But when I'm not upset, I still can't get a diagnosis of "sane". Instead, the unanimous diagnosis is "schizotypal personality disorder"; the first long white bearded doctor to rattle that off told me he wouldn't tell me what it meant because he was sure I'd go research the hell out of it. The small dictionary at home called it "a person with odd ideas".

I think I'm unusual in the fact that I can turn it off and on almost at will. I can, but I like to have a full day to start it up, run it – the floridly psychotic mind – for a few days to a couple of weeks, reading disparate ideas and walking around by myself in the mountains, to digest it all, then developing a new "psychosis", a new understanding of the universe around me that integrates the new things that were previously impossible to integrate.

That's how the human mind works. You can do consensual reality, if that satisfies you. But if it kills your soul (in 6th grade walking home, living the mundane life of consensual reality 24 hours a day, I had jaw pain from the boredom of it, maybe that was my soul dying, or the soul's jaw, anyway) but if you want to access the subconscious, the collective unconscious, the demon world, you have to present yourself with two opposites, anything, like my parents are good but my parents are evil. Like there is gravity but there isn't. Two opposites, if they upset you enough, will overcome your mental process, and you will have the first psychotic break. During this break, you should be given space and listened to (or in America, drugged and put in a closet), and you develop that idea in the mythological portion of your brain, working hard while the conscious part looks like it is underactive, or droopy, sluggish, while the lower, sub consciousness, rises to the surface to develop a new reality. And that's what I consider developing more "material", and why that material is something I call a "psychosis", though" fish independence day" was more of a hypnagogic hallucination, just a fun way to get the goat of the schizophrenia.com people. They don't like me. But I "fish" there, for people. They say I'm so sick I don't even know it, so sick I like it. My mom agrees! But I guess I'm just so sick I'm enjoying the hell out of life, I don't see the downside. I support my family, I contribute to society – well I just contribute evil, if you listen to my religious friend, all this science and computers and capitalism is just evil, but like I said, that's the Tolstoy position, I'm more advanced, it's not the kakological world, just evil, it's definitely the agako-kakological world that spins beneath my feet, a big yin yang symbol, and I just keep it spinning.

Mundane reality is fine too, I understand, I have a wife, we discuss reality for an hour or two a day. I have a birthday coming up and so does Angela, my wife, we are both Capricorn, Jan 7th then mine on the 15th. And though on my own I don't bother at all, I have the wife in the material world to pull me in a little, and there was going to be a party, with her turning 40 and me 45, but now we are moving and have indefinitely "postponed" the party. Moving from the 2000 a month rental with 5 big bedrooms and a huge yard, down to 4 smaller rooms, which is just enough, and a smaller yard, I'm from New York City, and wanted the yard, worked it like a farmer for two years, but this new job is pretty demanding, I have no winter farm this year, and that's the end of my farming days for now. The teenagers I inherited are 17 year old twins and a 19 year old college student, great age ''cause he has a different career path every week. Bio chemistry is this week's career path, also has been lawyer (most of the time) comedy writer ("just get me to LA or NY to get famous"), chef (made our wedding cake and every family thing since), engineer, psychologist, etc. Other two are in various permutations of high school and getting in to trouble. Hard to talk to boys that age, I'm waiting till they grow up a little and can go out drinking, then that should be fun. Have 5 birds in the house – turtle doves – the main couple is in my room then some of their babies are up with the kids, bird hoarding in that house? Well I just say those are the earthquake alarms in every room, you know, it's CA after all, and I expect about 30 seconds advanced warning on the big one. And a dog, too, Tasha is 17 years old, half German shepherd half black lab, 16 years old and acts like a puppy, outside dog, she's moving to the smaller yard this week. I tried to tell her, but she's been deaf for a year.

****

Chapter 23) Shamanism

Is the shaman just delusional and in need of medicating, when he says, and yes, believes, that he has left his body, gone on a journey as just a consciousness outside the body, met up with a host of other beings, and interacted in a meaningful way, bringing back relevant knowledge related to the problem that he was trying to solve? 'cause it's totally impossible, according to science, the powers that be, the military-academic-industrial complex, the WEIRD (western educated intellectual rich democrats), how could someone come outside of their body, how can they believe that, maybe such a person ought to be medicated, so dramatically sick?

Well, I would never have understood or believed it if I hadn't experienced it. And not everybody who tries it gets it to work. The training shamans would listen to my results and say things like "the veil between the worlds is thin for you".

You gotta have a capacity to hallucinate, in the first place, I think, and then the suggestibility helps too, as they tell you, in beginner shamanism as well as in astral projection, to "imagine yourself" coming outside your body, facing a particular direction, then going to a particular site previously picked out, a hole somewhere in the real world, and then you "imagine yourself" going into the hole, going down down down till you meet your spirit guide, and then you recite the question or request that you have memorized, and you stick to that, repeating it frequently to drive the hallucination. Because a vivid hallucination is what it is, aided by the steady drumbeat on the shamanic journey cassette, that is said by science to change the rhythm of the brain to the one used in dream states. At first, for me, it's all blackness, as I just imagine myself going to the hole and going down down down. Listening to the drumbeat and just imagining. At some point on the way down, though, the hallucinating starts, first just the suggestibility in the darkness, the random shapes and contrasts starting to suggest new visions in the sensory deprivation chamber of the orchestrated situation. As the drum beat progresses, and you suddenly meet your spirit guide, who then takes control of the dream, listening to your question and deciding on a complex plan of action that will become the answer after the 20 minute journey. The spirit guide only has a few basic answers to offer of himself, and often for the heavy lifting takes he me to the "center", to see "the shaman", and by the time we get to the shaman, maybe ten or fifteen minutes into the drumbeat tape, the vision is brightly colored, loud and clear, the shaman floridly psychotic and vividly hallucinating.

So ought this be medicated away, stopped by force by the authorities who know what's best for the deluded individual?

In Nunavut the Eskimo shaman's wife takes the precaution of hog tying her husband the shaman before he undertakes the journey, so that he doesn't get lost out there. I tried it with bungee cords and that really works, helps you snap back if you are tending to get lost.

(In fact the bungee cords 'caused an unintended effect: I was able to walk through oceans, through fires, through cataclysms, and at any point I could jump up and "pull the cord" and go snapping back to where I came in. It became an extra source of power.)

After twenty minutes, the drumbeat changes, giving a signal to the shaman to snap the cord and go back, to drop whatever he is doing; it's always too soon to be leaving such an enchanted vision, but my teacher used to say there's a good reason for these 5000 year old rules, so you get up and go, travel back up the hole, go back to your house, back to your body, and then I like to take a deep breath, and that's it, I get up, it's all over, not hallucinating at all, only kinda staring at mundane reality again, after having just been to such a strange place. And the first thing we do is take out a piece of paper and start writing up the experience.

Never would have believed it possible, would have understood if you told me they were taking LSD or mushrooms but no, this is not a drug effect, no side effects, but amazingly effective and vivid. Unlike schizophrenia, it's controlled; though the visions can easily be full of demons and horror, the controlled recitation of the original directive keeps the vision on track. The dreamer must control the dream, not the dream the dreamer. Turn the tape off and come out of it and it's all over, the shaman is not lost, and if he does get lost he needs bungee cords, not drugs to calcify the pineal gland to try to stifle his ability to journey.

The bungee cords were the cure for several dreams where I knew I was dreaming, but could not get out of the situation, and got more and more panicked as the dream got deeper with seemingly no way out.

***~~~***

After eating beans, while packing a couple of big bags, I was in a big basement where a demon sat writing at a desk across the room from the mirror that reflected him.

As I went to my open dark closet, a bug stung me. I threw out the rest of the beans, thinking they might be bad, mainly because the aura of the environment just doesn't seem right.

Back upstairs, I went to sleep for an hour in the reclining chair, until my ride to whatever I'd been packing for, but when I woke up it was 11:15 and dark out.

I ran around panicking, asking a crowd of kids what time it was, day or night 11:15, disoriented.

I had to get back. I yelled for my sister to drive me, but she said she'd never see me again. Eventually my mom drives me, along on a ride with a bus full of kids; one mean kid steps on my foot, and I remembered he had done the same thing in an earlier dream, so now I knew I was dreaming, and I knew who was a demon, so I threw him off the bus and his body fell down a long way; I saw him fall and then die on impact. I was surprised that everyone seemed shocked at the killing.

I try to wake up but can't, and I begin to worry that I'm dead.

My mom kicks me off the bus and passes be to a priest, who takes over in a fatherly way. We walk together. I ask about waking up, and talk loudly, trying to send myself a message, but I apparently can't get through. As we continue to walk down the block and approach a corner, I try to fly, and to do magic by throwing stuff up in the air, but the priest stops me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"Why are we worried what others think?" I asked him.

We go into a building, and upstairs it seems to be some sort of commune, a large apartment where several people live and work, and only a small portion of them are actually here right now. Sitting down, the priest asks, "What do you notice about this room?"

I notice a crucifix, without arms, melted into the wall. "What else?"

"Amitaba... amitaba.....Amitaba Buddha!"

"Very good!"

I wander into the next room and in a moment I come back out and say "not the bedroom".

"OK"

(It had been full of demon statues.)

I drop to my knees, and another woman walks into the room and smiles. She says I remind her of someone. She and I walk into the dining room and we sit down with her husband. The couple seems Russian, and appears to get along very well, though they are both older looking. I ask his name, and he gives none. The woman has a name for him, though, and when I ask she simply points out that they met after death.

The priest comes in and gives me a small statue to paint, a Buddha with two skulls beneath his feet. Seeing some of the other, smaller, plain white statues and symbols and assorted paints scattered on the floor in the living room, I got the idea that the statue that the priest had given me was meant to be a symbol of my soul.

A man was working, standing on a ladder in the same room as the table. As I walked past him, he said towards me, "a lot of bones have passed through here".

Sitting down again with the priest at the table, I said I intend to remember everything I see here, and the priest commented that most people can't even remember the tabletop we're sitting at.

Next to the table we were sitting at was a patio door, and there were several people gathered out on the patio, maybe about twenty, and they seemed to be having a party. The priest and I decided to go join them.

Moments after we got to the group of people, a jet in the sky suddenly starts going down, sideways and backwards, approaching a distance of only a few buildings, and everyone panics and starts to run inside, and so do I. I was wondering about the safety of being in the structure of the building if it collapses, but I kept going, even when somebody behind me yells for help, saying "I'm stuck!"

We all gather downstairs and the priest and I are going back in to get people's stuff, after the dust has settled, and on the way up I'm noticing cracks in the walls and stairs. I gather my statue, some paints, my clothes, then I start to gather some of the women's' pocketbooks on my cart, stacking it high. I ask the priest, while we're alone, "is this heaven?"

The answer came as one word, "Prelude", right before I suddenly wake up.

***~~~***

Christina, my teacher, said I could ask the shaman in the spirit world for healing, especially when the ghost bugs get really bad. She suggested I journey to be shown a ritual that can be used to keep protection around my new place, and reminded me to clean out whatever does get trapped inside. She said the boar has a power-song, and that it could help me, and that I have a power song too, and I could journey to find these songs.

I journeyed down to ask the boar to take me to the shaman for help; I saw the boar all alone on a mountain cliff, perched like a Billy-goat, like he was unable to get down. (Like me when I climb way up a pine tree and then can't figure out how to get down.) I suggested he use some mountain climbing equipment. He didn't, but he started leaping down, Billy-goat-like, getting stronger and heavier as he got farther down. The mountain was becoming less steep, and he stopped along the way to feed his kids from his mouth, and then kept going.

He got to the bottom, and I looked up and he was in Manhattan, among the skyscrapers. He kept going (from mountain to the city and forward was right to left) and got to the jungle. I looked up and saw a three-way street sign: "forest", "jungle", and "center". We followed "center" and ran through the jungle. I saw myself with sunglasses shining, riding some kind of vehicle. Going through the dark green jungle, we came to a brightly multi-colored teepee, with a glowing aura (and I'm thinking 'wow, this is getting good!'). We go inside the teepee and go down farther. I saw myself looking up and the shaman was looking over me. I saw a lot of shapes and symbols and colors but I couldn't quite make out the detail or remember. Then I was standing in front of the shaman and three differently shaped spiders came crawling out of my left ear and down to the ground. I asked the shaman if coming to the center would get the ghost bugs off of me, and he looked at me funny and said "of course". Then the drum tape started going fast and it was time to go back.

After two very bad nights, I asked "what can I do to keep the ghost bugs from interrupting my sleep tonight?" The boar said "I'm the pig with the answers"; I saw him sleeping. He was in a wide pit, in the ground, and he just kept sleeping. I whispered the question to him again and again. Later I saw several monkeys staring at me with red eyes. I asked who they were, and they said "we're slaves". I saw one very scary human face vividly, and the jaw dropped off and to the side when I asked who it was. I felt ghost bugs. I told them to get away. I saw many people around my room- twenty or thirty, all along the sides, standing on things, looking, and waiting. I told them to go away. Twenty minutes go by quickly; the journey was over already.

The next night I went down to the teepee in the jungle and the first thing the shaman did was throw me in the water. He said he would give me the medicine. He told me to hum. He went out into the woods for a few minutes, then came back and gave out logs of firewood, or had me give them out, to all the ghost bugs, and told them to cross two sticks to start a fire, then look into the fire and they would go home.

I asked where the boar was and he said he was right beside me, that he was always by my side. I looked into the fire myself, and it turned black, like smoke. There was someone standing behind me, watching me. It was another one of me. He also had to go home.

The grand total was eight nights, no ghost bugs, though the last couple of days I had felt some ghost bugs in the subway and on the sidewalk, so I knew it was coming. I journeyed to ask "how can I keep these ghost bugs off of me?" I go down and arrive on the wild plains of Africa, the boar running around, playing. Suddenly a stretcher goes by carrying a body, and I see the skull badly burnt. I continue to ask my question. I see the fire the ghost bugs were supposed to look into, but it seems there is a path around the fire, they have learned to go around it. I go to the center of the jungle to ask the shaman there for help. "Practice", I hear, several times, and the recurring image of a hook, as if I should practice fishing. I look up and the shaman is fishing, sitting quietly and calmly above me.

Later the same night, sure enough, the ghost bugs were back. I journeyed again to ask for help; "Show me how to practice"; there's a big fire, the shaman repeatedly dancing and the fire keeps going. I saw a hole beneath the fire; it was a demon or something, holding up the fire, above his open mouth, with his head tilted back. I also saw a woman, looking like a witch, walking away but looking back at me, turning three times to motion me to follow, and then showing that a tornado was inside of her. But I didn't follow. And she got smaller and farther away.

Still the shaman continued to dance by the bonfire. At one point the shaman stared at the surrounding ghost bugs, and fire burst up from his hair and shoulders, like an aura. At another point, a piece of the big central fire broke off, put on a tuxedo, and danced with a large monster. And again I had seen the hook, and the letters "STA". I looked to the boar standing beside me and asked him to show me what to do. He showed me all the strength within his tusk - a solid world was inside his tusk.

Another night came and again I journeyed. Right away as I went down I saw a tiger leaping downward along the outside of the tube I was going down. Right away I landed, in a comfortable chair. "How do I get to the center?" I heard "MAP" and I saw the tornado, going around. I thought, 'the path to the center is around and around?' Anyway, seeing the tornado, I then saw two eyes; it was the woman I had seen before - she said she had been sent from heaven. I followed her this time; we flew away, and the boar was running hard behind us. As we flew, a bolt shot straight down, just missing us, and hit the ground hard, like a pole or a missile standing straight. Later we seemed to stop, and I asked about a ritual to protect me. I saw my heart, but it was full of needles sticking out of it. (This reminded me of a dream I had had a few weeks before where I was in a church, saw a small splinter in my arm, and pulled it out, and it was a very long wooden needle. That dream I had forgotten but it had been meaningful.)

So the woman told me, as a ritual, to pull five of the needles out of my heart. So I did. Finally, I asked the boar what was his power song - he looked at me and munched on leaves - "Crunch, crunch, crunch!"

Those stories are from years ago. Since then I've had many other experiences when I go inside that drum tape, always uncanny, and you have to wonder where that stuff comes from, is it just madness or what? I get so much new and relevant info, I have to entertain the idea that it isn't from me, that I've been communicating with other creatures, and then maybe a little more believable, I'm communicating with my own subconscious. Should this be illegal? Should I be medicated into compliance? Though I show up at psychiatric emergency rooms in distress about ghost bugs, they listen to me for a few days and then say things like - "I don't think you're insane, I think you have an unusual connection to the subconscious, and that can be a curse or a miracle, and the only one who can figure that out is you". They suggest and offer the psych meds, and I try them, but they have no effect on me, just make me dizzy.

Then last night I had ghost bugs pretty well managed, the raw vegetable diet and sleeping on a cadaver table ("philosopher tray" I call it), so I tried popping in my headphones and listening to the shamanic journey mp3 file. I didn't go 60 seconds before jumping up and ripping the headphones out, 'cause as soon as the drumbeat started, the ghost bugs got to swarming.

Makes me think, that tape and the practice of shamanism, gets you to connect with the subconscious, and there's gotta be reason's not to do that, like all the noise from the microscopic assaults on the skin, for example.

Other times it seems to come from inside - I got a new apartment, remodeled, looked like a bug dessert, all hardwood and stone tile, brand new and clean, but the floor felt as infested as ever; as soon as I'd lay down and close my eyes, I'd see my body lying there in my mind's eye, and a million black bugs spewing out from inside and crawling all over down my body, then the close up of just one running across an expanse of flesh, smiling maniacally then biting down and drawing blood, as millions do the same all over me. In my mind I scream and leap up and through the window in horror, in reality I lie there blood pounding like a heart attack from the stress piling up, going insane from the torture, exhausted from the endless parades of parasites.

So my question now is how do you undo a lifetime long relationship with the subconscious? Turn it off ?!? How do you get the mental toothpaste back in the tube ??!?! 'cause the psych meds have nothing to do with that, zero. I think I need a lobotomy but Kaiser won't do it, they say that's too drastic. Don't they still do that though, when necessary?

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Chapter 24) I bring spoons and arrows

Stillness - the mysterious receptacle for mysterious action above, and the action that matches it below. Still apes. It's the action, of body and of mind, that make us brutal, and it's the stillness that returns nobility. More of a slow, grand rhythm arises on the wind, mysterious, subtle, less barbaric, non-doing/non-thinking.

Let's go see if the devil's home; the devil lives in a very dark and shiny little box, it's the box of activity of body and mind, but outside that box the devil is dwarfed by the heavy magic of the sun and the earth and of the moon and the stars and all of heaven, the "hyperclock" that is always ticking. And all the suffering that the devil puts humanity through takes place in that little shiny box.

Deep in the catacombs, we find a mine, and we pull up a bottle, a rare and fine wine, and when you drink it you have the power to create an entire living jungle around you, but if you do, you will forever be at the center of that jungle, with that wonderful dark heart and the true blossom of stillness, peaceful in a strange land, with a repertoire of steel stillness, golden coin in the ablation wind of breath and time.

You pull down the dark moon, subtle candy of the night sphere, grown large from entanglement and dislodged from its origins, running forever in the fabulous snow - the frozen time of dark remembrances, like illumination pouring down in streams, down the sides of the finger tips.

The wind-river finds the canyons and gulfs and hollows them further as they burn and glow while the saints come marchin in; the microwinds inside my tablet land in and fill square pools of cartoon-energy, tired of the relationship with the friend and looking to the horse for some understanding...

I have animal-license-cash-cavities, a poison grape at the center of the brain that continues its buffalo attacks; calm in the fantastic light of recollection, the temperature fades. The bold facts of striving for endurance meet the party replay with the tunes of confinement.

A forgotten dream turns the characters on all the license plates to question marks; the broccoli of understanding becomes the tall tree of forever; a canyon's heart is in its head, breathing fast, hoping for a future without a date, tears for that same future streaming.

Smooth flow over Los Angeles leading straight away, license plates of understanding glare back into time. The cousin is free in the backyard, full of catastrophe-thinking, and a branch from the yogurt-tree breaks off while he walks in the cave of fruit and sand.

I bring arrows and spoons - spoons to feed myself and others, arrows to shoot into the sky, where they become one with forever and fly on to greatness, expressive flower of the country, wisdom under the confinement of time; I breathe in all the license plates and quit understanding, fly away into the tunnel and take my place in the garden of time.

The astrophysical cures of distant sunshines trickle down into the planet through the mysterious receptacle of stillness and then bubbles up from the crunchy pits, up into our conscious world, as vegetables. The mysterious receptacle of stillness blends the darknesses with the sunlights, and captures little glowing fusion capsules of awareness, wanderers in the stream bringing back medals of honor and captured birds, for cooking.

I saw the hole between heaven and earth, and found the license plates of my birth on the lines in between. The day sparkles with the energy that powers kindness, questions are lost in the bushes, pushed down by the quiet light. They start the ride of knowledge transformation and end with a super-glow, patterns in the sand all around them made only from wind and mystery.

Tubes of art squirt from my eyes into a jungle tapestry, and I wait to contain all there is in between, the heart and the home. The heart makes its mark and the sandcastle crumbles, cornerstone's rectangular surface blossoming into time and smiling in the wind.

Life is hard, and confusing to anybody in early adulthood. I'm a 46 year old crazy guy- they diagnose bipolar or schizotypal personality disorder most of the time, but I've learned to manage myself and accept my situation, and it's really just life, the human condition, and there are aspects of it that suck and schizophrenia is an attempt to overcome that; there are other ways of overcoming it, more natural and simple and less cognitive, there's "full catastrophe thinking", because at the early ages of the 20s and 30s you still have the impression that you can run your life in relative ease and comfort and if anything goes wrong take it to the mechanic - the medical community - and they'll fix it. But at 46 you start to notice that fiction falling away, they start telling you there's nothing they can do, nothing else science has to offer, they'll send ya back to thought school - the 72 hour psych hold - but that isn't advanced thought school, it's the minimum on anger and stress management, when many schizophrenia minds are looking for true, rich, complex spiritual and mental leadership, a bit more of a "script" to manage the mysterious wind of life, 'cause hey they don't teach you much in school, and I don't know about you but my parents were completely lost, nothing there to follow, I've kind of figured out the world for myself. So the good news I can pass down is: life gets better. For someone with a mind like this, it will probably be a rather rough life at many times, probably demanding, but also almost certainly more rewarding, the magic that comes from the suffering that will come. We are all suffering, and you know no one's perfect, but we'll all probably survive quite a while, you know, "it's amazing, the moment arrives that you know you'll be alright", ah the moment comes and goes, but hey, it gets better, after 40 or so, for alot of people, you just start figuring it all out eventually, and for a mind like this sometimes it does take decades of suffering and life experience, it all happens down here and what can you do? I was reading about a website with interviews going into a book, old people in the 80s and 90s - on what's important in life. Getting out and making connections with the world around you \- that was more important than money when any of them looked back on it, the material world pales in retro vision, so wisdom says don't worry bout the suffering and the loss, life is beautiful.

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Chapter 25) The kenotic event

This was a delusion so potent that on the first night, about 26 years ago, which I remember vividly and viscerally, it was an outright hallucination. And over a little time with a little practice, I developed a belief, and so this must be the right place to explain this!

I have ghost bugs, it's been a problem on and off for 26 years, from right back there in that period in my early twenties, dropped out of college working for 16k in New York City computer rooms and living on my own through "roomate finders", in a bunch of interesting and weird situations in queens and Brooklyn, and getting the push in toward madness from Hegel books, a series of 19th century German philosophy books by a very crazy guy, George w Hegel, he wanted to be the official philosopher of Prussia, didn't quite get the job, had teaching jobs where he'd teach a class for five years then write the book, we have his book and the notes of several students with all the additions - "Zuatz" - he'd ramble on in class, including comments like "he'd stop take a pinch of snuff and then expound the theory again with more color, like this..."

Ghost bugs are invisible bugs crawling on me to the point where I can't sleep, and I learned over the years to sleep on metal cabinets, to stop eating past noon, to take singulair the antileukotreine basically extreme antihistamine, to take Theraflu before bed every night for ever, and then recently when even all that wasn't working learned to drop all my food and live on raw radishes onions garlic and turkey and fish, no carbs sugar processed food, celiac disease and yeast infested. Don't worry I'm working on it the doctors say I'm just insane, and say science has nothing to offer, but I keep trying, yesterday I got my 60 bucks worth of ThreeLac, it's yogurt creatures to eat my yeast, see it might be nuts but at least I keep trying.

I had theories A through J about what 'caused my ghost bugs: a for allergies b for brain tumor c for chemical exposure d for demonic possession e for extremely sensitive skin f and g set aside for the future expandability of the theories H FOR HEGEL BOOKS I for I don't know and J for Jesus, who wore only a crown of thorns and mine is the full body version.

H for Hegel books, how reading can 'cause actual physical manifestation of symptoms, happened the minute I got it and will happen in a few minutes when I explain it, a mental experiment communicable in words that physically alters the chemicals of the brain drastically. This I used to think was dangerous to communicate. Then I tried a few times, to explain it to people who told me they were philosophy students, I figured that'd be the type to understand, but I got no recognition, these rather sane college students didn't really understand the vision, the trick, the mental effect, maybe you gotta be a little crazy to be able to let it happen, like Hegel walking around sniffing the snuff, whatever that was, I think it was kinda like coke, legal in Prussia (Germany) at the time.

Maybe it's genetic, I'm German. So maybe this resonates with me more than other people anyway.

Got this not from deep deep inside the Hegel literature described best I thought as "phantasmagoria", amazing schizotypal stuff, some of it available on the web and in the bookstores everywhere, well that stuff is great and reinforces the project of kenosis, remaps it onto infinitely different fields of knowledge, but I got this delusion/hallucination/belief out of the preface to the phenomenology of spirit, meant to be the gateway to Hegel's thought, the preface itself considered a classic of German literature. I don't know German but the translation is the most amazing use of English I've ever seen, the long twisty sentence structure rarely approached by anyone.

Spent ten years with that crazy stuff as my main psychosis hobby, this was before the internet itself was available. I worked in the city, spent an hour each way on the subway, had a seat, so I read the little photocopied books, I paid ten cents per four pages for those books and bought them little by little out of the New York City public library in Manhattan at 42nd street, in the stacks deep below Bryant park, where they do the fashion shows every year and free movies once a week. Ten years where for the main two hours of the day - my commute - I went floridly psychotic with Hegel for a guide.

This was in the preface to the phenomenology. I was in a second floor apartment in queens with a small triangular patio I liked sitting out on, right above a noisy highway that was annoying to try to sleep near, it never stops! But that night there was a very clear and close full moon in clear view of that patio, above the din of the traffic.

And on my mind that psychotic night I had Hegel's introduction of his basic schema, which can be called kenosis, a word I got deep inside Hegel, it was the esoteric philosophy word from Greek for how Jesus became divine, how god got "inside" Jesus, how god "emptied himself" like a fish tank "into" the physical person of Jesus. Got that in the Hegel book the philosophy of religion, which was well described as a re-mytholization of Christianity, he twisted it into an unrecognizable and very Greek version of religion, with yet a trinity and the name Jesus and the bible itself carried along, "aufgehoben" or "cancelled and simultaneously lifted up" into this re-mythologized, re-revealed religion, with Hegel almost going for prophet here - the official philosopher of Prussia seat was a mystical yearning of his.

Kenosis is what Hegel brings to the table as he then proceeds to study and reclassify every sphere of knowledge available to him at his time. Some of his books are better than others. The philosophy of right is the book that most influenced me in life, made me join the cult of Sittlikheit, or Ethical Life. Taught me all kinds of principles I learned to use as my own, like no man shall be altogether sacrificed on the altar of right, because he is someone's brother father husband son. Taught me about roman law and how it evolved to my own day, made me appreciate politics and the world news in a new and different way, he romanticized napoleon as a schizophrenic would mythologize his rock and roll hero or something, Napoleon was leading all of world history, the spirit, the Geist, from his horse's back, magus of time. Hegel could really be a crazy guy sometimes.

So I can be a crazy guy too. Hegel wrote the Philosophy of Religion, the Philosophy of Nature, the Philosophy of Mind, the Philosophy of History, and the Phenomenology of Spirit. He never quite got around to the Philosophy of Madness; and so this book is my grandiose delusion, my Hegelian attempt to weave my own spell over today's science and systems of knowledge, with cucurbitaceous sentence structure and the phantasmagoric presentation style, my own weltanschauung, phantasmagoric wunderkammer.

The mechanics of kenosis are what I want to try to explain. It's a simple mind experiment, a "gedanken", that I performed that night, and maybe philosophy students aren't the ones to be doing astral projection, maybe it's the schizophrenics who can do this. Astral projection in a little purple how to book from my mother's basement was something else I was reading and getting into at the time. This is what I bring to the table, combining Hegel's clearly mapped kenotic "spilling out" of the fish tank of self into a separate tank, (you know, while you're cleaning the tank you put the whole set of fish in a stand by tank, maybe not as pretty and eventually to be sacrificed,) well, that's where I intend to be going with this. I also bring to the table the introduction of kenotic projection to the new much larger distances available to modern day astrophysics - I keep an eye on the field of cosmic cartography, the project to map all of heaven out as far as our most outlandish telescopes can see. And this is a new level of sorcery never before available to mankind; this is what I want to explain here.

So the mechanics of kenosis are three stages.

Stage one we are "essence", not really thinking too much just hungry tired horny etc, essence, on the inside, looking out, presumably looking out from inside this flesh, this place we think we are inside ever since early infancy, we can move our own fingers and toes so we must be in there, can't move the desk or mommy so must not be in there. Basic infantile logic. So we are infantile, just essence, as stage one of this, just here, within ourselves.

Stage two gets interesting, we start to look out, not just at the object of our hunger or lust but out at... ourselves. Now I don't remember how "far" Hegel was positing the essence's vision of itself was from itself, but I decided somehow that the more distance, the more intense and interesting the effect might be. And I'd been practicing basic astral projection already - come outside your body, do basic exercises for control practice, then go fly out in space to other planets and walk around. That itself is a trip, so I think it could have been my original idea to introduce distance between stage one and two of kenosis, and I remember writing that the greater the distance between stage one and two, the brighter the light that shines. This is how I learned to reach in and shine a bright light out of my mind that can beam to the ends of the universe and see and know everything, a light much brighter that the human organism was meant to hold, I think, and the light also surprised me in that it lit up the microscopic world all around me that the subconscious was supposed to withhold from us, the crawling hotel room, the demons all around us, it's not pretty.

So stage two, that night on the little triangular patio, was me looking at the moon, and on the moon I decided to place my vision of myself, for this experiment. First time I ever did it. I sat there, looking at the moon, picturing myself there, right there in a little triangular patio with a little green book and a drink on the table, up there in the middle of nowhere on the bright white moon. Maybe I loose people at this point, the college students I mean. Maybe I never explained to them about the astral projection aspect to this.

So if you can do that, see yourself over there on the moon, just 'cause that hallucination more or less, and focus on it for a little while, THAT is stage two.

And so here's stage three. Stage three, the "real" you right here on earth, above the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, the essence, well, the "essence spills out", so this is a leap of thought, so the you right here with you the essence on the inside, this you is now that you, you just kind of imagine for a moment that the vision you were looking at on the moon is now this stuff right here. So it's like your hallucination got suddenly allot more vivid, 'cause now its perception not hallucination. A moment ago you were trying to see yourself on the clear white palate of the moon, and you were tiny in the field of vision, no matter how well you did in the hallucinating.

But suddenly it's all quite clear and life size. This is a mind experiment, a bracketing, a temporary suspension of disbelief, so that I temporarily believe that I am that me that I was just looking at on the moon, here I am, on the moon, I can take a sip of my drink, I can look at my hands, my arms, look at that I went to the moon and now I am there, have perception. I begin to look more closely at every little detail of my environment, 'cause, hell, this is the MOON!

And the hallucination that happened that first night, that never quite happened again, was I could see light, a hallucination of light emitting from my body, it was at the joints, I was standing there on the triangular patio "on the moon" bending my arms back and forth at the different joints 'cause I couldn't believe the light coming out of my body.

But I continued to do the experiment, not just to the moon but out to the other planets, the sun, the center of the galaxy (and the well mapped neighborhood around the black hole, like the molecular cloud Sagittarius B2, the "large molecule heimat", or homeland, there that's a German term but it didn't come from Hegel books it came from some astrophysics article years ago. I proceeded to other galaxies, other larger galaxy clusters, then the fateful trips to "redshift space", so far away it's in the past. Kenotic projection outside of time. that is a gateway to madness. And to this day, the practice of this mind experiment 'causes a burst of ghost bugs.

That night wasn't really my first, I had stumbled on this phenomena once early in grammar school, and registered the shock but didn't know how else to use it at the time. I'd been in my catholic school classroom, front row desk, daydreaming as always, for an extended period. Don't remember much of those daydreams of course - oh the girl I had a crush on or the pen and pencil as rocket ships, is what I remember ruminating about \- but that day I remember that I was shocked by the kenotic spilling, as I sat there in class but drifted far away, in my vision I was walking home, doing stuff there, then walking to school, walking up the stairs, walking into the classroom and sitting down in my front row short guy seat, and then I realized - BOOM - I really am here, in my vision, here in the front row seat, that was weird. I swear I first noticed the kenotic effect that day.

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Chapter 26) Demon mind – madness as portal to the demon world

Some say spirit world exists -lots of religions do - but the psychiatrist stakes his dignity and his life on the bet that it doesn't; the cold cave dwelling version of the homo sapiens, they've staked a claim of superiority over mankind, and their domination depends on the denial of the subconscious, the spirit world, the world of dreams.

They are not just ignorant and need to have this explained; they forcefully and stubbornly have to deny, clinging to their views to maintain their own power and control in their own mind and world. They aren't just going to listen to a schizophrenia patient, and let the patient open up vistas that usurp their cold rational power of domination.

It's similar to the patriarchal leanings of the Catholic church, they cling to the power they have staked a claim to, and burn Joan of Arc at the stake; women, I've noticed, instinctively rely on the magic of nature as a defense against the domination of those patriarchal religions the same way I as a schizophrenic struggle against the domination of the psychiatrist's enterprise, accepting as real a spirit world that my psychiatrist has no control over, that frightens his sense of self with the possibility of its existence, and so he has to deny it as forcefully as possible, and the revelation we continually try to bring to him is frightening and frustrating for him, as he faces what all psychiatrists must admit it their Waterloo, in schizophrenia.

But if you choose to entertain the alternative possibilities, the field of shamanism is one framework that can offer a map of the spirit world. I've been mapping it myself for years now. And I feel I have an understanding of demon mind.

First, it's a hive mind, immortal .Bugs work together, die all the time, but the hive exists as a powerful and thoughtful entity. Initially abducted by these aliens at a very young age, I thought they might be able to teach me something useful or magical, I used to say demons are nothing to be afraid of, just infinite knowledge. But now, when I lay down to sleep, out of me roll forth millions of dark invisible bugs that crawl all over me and feed on me, it's maddening, in my mind I scream and go flying through the window, in reality I just sit there and try to take, it, coming close to a heart attack it feels like sometimes, the pressure just building, the horror of being eaten alive, by bugs that crawl out from my own mind whenever it tries to relax. So now I want the demons to go away, but after a lifetime of attracting them and working with them, it's no wonder I'm so infested.

Probably gonna be the end of me, the doctors say they can't help, and how long can a person go on suffering like this? Anyway I've been able to map alot about the immortal hive mind of the demon world, and can explain some of it. It's the religion of evil, that's how it differs from hanging out with humans. An "anti-humanism", a kind of metaphysical form of misanthropy. The point is to rot and to torture and ultimately destroy humanity, in a non-stop war between species (I've identified the demon world as the sentience of the hive mind of the fungus); it is irrational and maniacal, there's no feeling for humanity other than inspired hatred, no sense of morals or guilt, the point is simply to destroy, and they work together very enthusiastically at it. Fascinating imagination, that massive demon mind, you can spend years just watching the hallucinations constantly hint at untold understandings of nature and the magic of the spirit world. I regret that I have spent so much time infiltrating their word, because I have become so infested it's impossible to get any rest, I've living on a couple of hours a night for the past year or more, deteriorating constantly, extremely torturous, this has to be nearing the end one way or another, but unfortunately I can't figure out how the story ends, so it keeps on going. I am trying to get away from it.

I began life pushed hard by an ex Jesuit priest for a father, to become a white magic spiritualist, a new Jesuit priest, educated in the catholic grade school/high school and university, expected to swing the pendulum over the yin yang symbol far into the white region. I blame that push for the inevitable resulting swing of the pendulum to the dark side.

Learned evil inside out. I can tell stories using what I think of as the demon hive mind, can become the spokesman for the evil will of the demon;

I practiced the Catholic religion for a while. After growing up in religious schools and church every Sunday I thought I knew it all, and I had my father's last breviary, from 1965 year before I was born. It's the prayers and readings the priest ritually does every few hours of every day, laid out like a bible, with much the same content. Did a year, living as a stay-at-home uncle, with my brother in law the stay-at-home dad whose real thrill in life was the two hours of bible study he'd teach every week. We did a year, co-teaching, coming up with the psychotic presentations we'd make little by little all week reading the lives of the saints, fasting, taking cold showers while reciting psalms, a couple of wanna be Opus Dei characters.

That was a few years ago. I quit monotheism right after that experience. I'm red magic, a pendulum hung straight down the middle of the yin yang symbol, not white magic or black magic. Problem I had with that extreme white magic of Jesus, was that it takes my well-balanced pendulum and pulls it way over to the side, and that's interesting and all, conversations with angels in cathedrals is what the listening to voices evolved to that year, but then one day I was walking on a long road in the sun for a few hours. Going out to buy a tire for the bicycle, out in rural Massachusetts. Well, I got bored and came outside of my body for a while. Went into the forest that my body was walking beside. I met the devil in that forest, and he told me I had to kill my brother in law, sister, and all their little kids. I said fine, they'll go to sleep tonight and I'll slaughter them one by one. But the demon said no, can't do it in there, they have to be lured out into the forest, and then I'm to kill each one, eat the heart, travel to the other world, and regurgitate the heart for the demon. The demon also gave me a sentence I was to recite as soon as I get back, to each family member. It was to destroy their souls and make them sick. Fortunately I can't remember the whole sentence, but it went, I'm the (blank blank blank), self-creation, you better sit down for a long long time.

Went home, laid the sentence down. First on my sister, who ran out of the house crying, to what I later learned was her church. She was pregnant with her third kid. Her cat at home, he went nuts and started peeing the floor and acting freaky. Then the husband came home, I told him the whole story, shot the sentence at him, he turned really angry, shouting, pointing, ran out of the house to find his wife. The 2 and 3 year olds stayed on the floor, whimpering quietly, until my sister had taken them away with her to the church. That weekend, I decided to get out of there, left while they were at church on Sunday, never came back, never talked to them again. I'm not going to implement the project I was given, but it would be inappropriate for me to interact with that family anymore. So I lost my sister and her family. A clear case of my schizophrenia causing isolation. I blame the swing of the pendulum, and now that I'm a fairly harmless red magic demon again, I don't let myself go too wildly into one direction or the other.

My problem with Christianity, honestly, is that Jesus is no red magic prophet, he's discriminating, leaving out the demons, leaving out the people who don't follow the rules - the word catholic is said to mean all inclusive but watching my brother in law and his world, it's all about exclusivity, who's gonna be saved, who's more godly, who is respectable and dignified by the religion, and those who aren't, keep them away, look down on them. Abort the demons. Hey my native Aztec religion predates monotheism, the Jesus and the devil are brothers, working together to further humanity's progress. Like in Taoism, which is what I read these days for grounding, reversing the manic insanity, they don't leave out the demons, they integrate them into the religion, integrate everything, truly catholic I guess. In the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus gave away the demonic one sided track he was on, when he said, father, don't save all the people, the hell with them, but those that believed in me, just save them!". That's the exclusivity that people complain about, I dropped out when my brother in law and my sister got way too involved with selling their house and going to see how much bigger and nicer a house they were going to be moving to. That is what those Catholics were all about.

I am kinda lonely. I work quietly in a cubicle all day, computer engineering, then by myself in the hotel at night. I got a wife and a family I'd love to spend time with, but the constant bugs crawling on me have me so psychopathic, I just get to wanting to kill everybody and burn everything down. It seems like the right thing to do given my situation. So I isolate myself and stay under a rock.

If I weren't suffering I'd have a great life, I have a few friends who can deal with my mind, I have a great second wife, magical American super wife, if only I could get the bugs off me. That's why I requested a lobotomy, 'cause the chemical lobotomies I've undergone never last, the bugs come right back, or never leave during the dizziness in the first place, which makes the torture worse.

Most of the people really don't want to have to deal with me, though. It's a small portion of America that can deal well with a floridly psychotic individual. Many complain they're going crazy listening to me. One roommate said shut up I have to put so much extra energy into listening to the bizarre stuff you say, I can't take it. Or, 'Mukky, they're simple folk, take it easy on them' (my old boss about his employees).

I remember back then that brother in law, he said Mukky, we want to deal with you, we want to talk to you, we want to integrate with you, but it isn't true, they may mean it but they mean on THEIR terms, they do NOT want to be with me with the mind I have decided to maintain, Mr. Red Magic Wizard, not a monotheist taught to worship god but a Taoist taught to be a god. Only I'm not a one sided god, I'm like the Aztec brothers Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca, I would explain to my children why I WANT them to sin, to follow Tezcatlipoca and pluck the flowers in the magic garden, hungry and crazy, I would explain that the reason they are to walk out into sin is to develop themselves, and then I want them to return to the Quetzalcoatl philosophical outlook, all magic and beauty and infinity, redeemed, but farm better for the roundabout path they've taken in and learned on. But c'mon you Christians, you want it both ways, it seems disingenuous, you are proud of your worldly accomplishments, but then discard all the thinking and behaviors that led to that magnificent structure you love. The evil in the hearts and motivations and actions of all those who built the beautiful world you live in. It's like the vegetarians, living in a body built over millennia from eating other animals, they cast the behavior away for a part of one generation, to be superior, to be one sided. It's madness.

For a while I loved it, and was saying that all schizophrenic people should try it, that the Catholic Church was "by schizophrenics, for schizophrenics". Curiously, I had an idea while watching "Terminator 3". Man against machine. Man creates machine but then machine gets carried away and threatens to takeover, and we of course all root for mankind to win the battle. Our human brains have a reptilian core, then a mammalian cortex that surrounds it. What came first? The core! Then should we be rooting in any way for the cortex to take over, against the core? Wouldn't that be like machines taking over man? Core vs. Cortex. The core came first, it should be the cortex for the core; machines for man. The word "catholic" means all inclusive. But they exclude demons (not to mention other people's dissenting ways of life, though that doesn't apply to me). Should they be "exorcizing" demons? "Destroying" demons? "Aborting" demons (as they say Judas did)? What came first, demons or religion? Core or cortex? Man or machine? Shouldn't it be, then, religion for the demons, rather than trying to kick the ladder out from under itself? This "call" to "heaven" that my brother in law speaks of, why is this something we should listen to? Maybe it's like we're all pine trees, in a field, and a lumberjack comes along and "calls" several of the trees, to "give up" their roots in the soil, the underworld, and fly away to a "better place" where all the other trees that have been disappearing from the field have already gone? We are from the earth, this is our home, and I'm not going anywhere. I love the human world, and I love the demon world, these are all creatures in the same situation, all in need of help. No one should be excluded in true perfection. My experience of devout Catholicism taught me that Jesus is powerful magic, a powerful shaman, but how fair is it? How one-sided? Kill the demons? Abort them? Exorcize them? They are part of the everything! And a truly magical, beatific jet can 'hold high the broken bowl' and bring enlightenment to all, demons included. The bible progresses like a beautiful dream, but I think it leaves out realities so fundamental that it is as if you got up in the morning and planned your week without allowing for food or sleep. The need for these things would gradually creep in and obstruct the fulfillment of the original plan. And so I think it is with the demons, controversial and unpleasant as this idea may be. So do you "exorcize" the hunger and the sleepiness? Fight it and pray for it to go? Wouldn't it be more effective to allocate it its proper place in the creation of the initial plan?

It is as if the universe itself, made up of brilliant balls of light and vast swaths of darkness as well as the ultimately dark 'black holes', decided to pray only for light. Beautiful suns would light up, and at first it would seem like wonderful magic, but something about this is not right. Darkness, even black holes, are an integral part of this universe we are so graciously presented with. Could it be this universe is our truest "bible", revealing unimaginable beauty and power, as an infinite guide and even a role-model - the human spirit as a microcosm of the universe, which contains within it two opposites, and uses it's very being as a unification of these opposites? "

After that experience with my sister and brother in law in Massachusetts, I came up with this little story; Connections to human feelings? This is written without that! This is written by the demonic mind:

Billerica is a small, sleepy New England town, 26 miles northwest of Boston, a bedroom community full of quiet, friendly working class people who commute to Boston; there's a newly renovated catholic church, and just across the street a newly renovated park for the many kids in the town. The church was usually relatively empty during mass, although a few times a year they would have events that involve the kids, and all the parents and relatives come, and pack the church. On one such Sunday morning, I set my plan into action. I quietly walked around and locked the doors in the back of the church, then the two side doors, during the mass. When the consecration of the Eucharist came, and the whole church was quiet, their attention fixed on the round host that the priest was holding up, (the sacred point where they say the bread becomes the body of Christ), I pulled out an automatic machine gun from under my coat, and yelled "Jesus is a demon!!!" and fired, first at the priest, watching his head explode, then firing through the panicked screams in a circle at everyone, tossing grenades into the crowds that were growing by the locked doors, and setting off pre-planted bombs in the corner vestibules that ended up partially collapsing the church roof. Ultimately, none inside the church survived. The only witnesses were the handful of parents and young kids across the street at the playground, who stood transfixed as the first exiting bullets shattered the stained glass windows, then the explosions and collapsing structure had them turn and run like it was another nine-eleven. The town's two on-duty police cars arrived several minutes after the roof collapsed, and there was nothing for them to do but watch the dust settle. But as I had finished the clips in my two automatic weapons, and was pretty convinced I had achieved the total destruction that Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold had only dreamed of, I stood in the center of the church and began to rise up into the air, spinning slightly as I rose, and I escaped through a small hole in the roof, just as it was collapsing. Absolutely none witnessed the miraculous escape. Moments later, I came back down out of the sky, arriving on Golgotha, the mountain peak where Jesus' crucifixion was currently taking place. It is said that here the skull of Adam was buried, and here that the blood of the dying Jesus was to consecrate that skull as it fell to the ground. But it hadn't all happened yet. Apparently I had gotten there just as the crucifixion was beginning. And I was way out of scale, like the green giant compared to the three crosses and the surrounding Romans. I immediately reached down and ripped Jesus from the cross, and he looked up at me as he began to run away, down the hill and back toward Jerusalem, looking scared. In the distance I could see the great city, but it suddenly became a blur as a huge wave seemed to be coming out of it and moving toward the running Jesus, and toward Golgotha. Jesus kept running toward the city, and in moments was overtaken by the wave, and then the wave got closer, I could see that it was huge, at least 90 feet high, like a tidal wave, but it wasn't made of water, and it wasn't quite sand, it was.... The largest hoard of maniacal horrific demons I'd ever seen! And then the wave vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and I could see Jerusalem again, but Jesus was gone. My vision went black. Then an amazing thing happened. I 'woke up', appearing in the landscape of a dream I must have had twenty years ago, and hadn't remembered even the morning after it happened, had never glimpsed it again till now, but all of a sudden it was all clear, as if it had just happened. I was amazed, and wondered if there were other 'dream places' here - and then I saw a huge landscape, made up of hundreds of different scenes, all dreams I suddenly remembered I'd had over the course of my life, some from distant childhood, but most I had never remembered until now. And never, even during those dreams, had I seen the entire picture together, until now. It was all clear, all the different dream episodes made sense as never before: this was all an elaborate prison, and I was only one of millions of inhabitants, prisoners, and there were guards, and there was one warden, huge, like a giant, and very powerful, all-seeing; and I knew who it was, so I stood up tall and yelled again: "Jesus is a demon!" I was thrown back into my cell-area, not actually enclosed except by filth, miserable crowds who were mostly family members from my demon family that I somewhat recognized, and I had a blanket on me that was covered with red things that looked like leeches, and they were biting and stinging me, causing quite a distressing discomfort. Several characters around me were also suffering from something similar, though I could tell I was at the center, and was experiencing the lion's share of the bites and stings. "what are you doing ?!? You're making it worse for everyone, why don't you just sit down and shut up!!", my neighbor said, but I just kept rolling around on the ground, swatting the bites and stings. When a few others started joining in their chastising of me for getting us all in trouble, I got up and addressed my demon family members: "we're all in jail, and Jesus is the warden, a powerful and evil demon. This is an example of god being hijacked by demons, I told you it could be done!" they quieted down and began to listen. I continued, "his lies separate everything! He takes a hostile and antagonistic stance toward demons, separates humanity into two halves, the better to conquer us! Jesus and his other creation, Satan, the two 'sons of man', tearing the human spirit asunder, so that we cannot walk hand in hand, but will rip ourselves apart, in every way. Look at what they're doing to us... They tell us 'here are all the mechanisms of modernity, but you have no insight or wisdom as to how to implement it'; or 'here's radiant, humanist wisdom, but it's hopeless to try to govern modernity with it.'; or 'here's Christian culture, here's Islamic culture, and there's only room enough for one of you'; or 'here are men, they're from mars, and here are women, they're from Venus'; or 'here's black magic, attack the light, here's white magic, resist the black', they give us songs to sing with slogans like 'we'll keep on fighting till the end, no time for losers, we are the champions'; when humanity finally comes to an end, we won't all go down together; rather it'll be precisely when we've completely torn ourselves in two, that we'll truly come to an end." "Look at that bible; he didn't even cover his tracks! When he commanded the demons to get out of some poor 'sinner', some of the people watching, who understood demon technology, said 'he must be a demon, for look how the demons obey him', and what was his reply? It was 'a house divided cannot stand, so how could I be a demon if I'm fighting with other demons?' look, its irony, he's playing with us, he knows we can't stand divided, and he knows that demons typically attack other demons, and he wants everything for himself. It's a typical demon-type lie!" "Look at what he offers 'his people', those who are willing to bow down to him, worship him, sacrifice to him - he offers them comfort, happiness, material success... This is eudemonism, it's in the dictionary, judging what's good by what's most comfortable, by what's 'nice', and that's typical demon technology. He's good at it too. If you want to be a simple eudemon, your best bet is to worship Jesus." "But attack him, and see what happens - he fights back, and he employs large scale versions of our typical demon technology (but before you do, you better make sure your ready... I'm right now sustaining the heaviest demon blows to my stomach and immune system that I've ever experienced, and I'm lucky I built up to this slowly, over the decades, by my play fighting with all of you!" )"so what's he up to, who is this out of control uber-demon? I've seen it, I know what he's doing. He wants to steal your darkness, your core, (as opposed to your cortex, which he intends to leave you with, though he intends you to have it hollowed out, having taken your solid dark infinite core and left you with a light, 'contrite' core.) What's he want with our cores? I have learned that demons are energy, and that energy can become matter by passing through a Higgs field, which is generated at the core of each astral body and springs up through the ground of each planet. And there are plenty of free and beautiful planets, but why is earth so desolate, compared to the three other earths that we demons know? Well my friends, I've charted earth's Higgs field, and I went with a team of underground creatures called hyperthermobarophiles, and when we came to the underground spring, we found him! Jesus! He's sitting on it!!! And he's getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger....." "But not to worry, my friends. We can survive. Why? Those of us who have double-souls, one human and one demon, we will make it. We have life, Jesus does not!!!!!

A creature that wants to stay sane is a creature that wants to stay in the cage, and so I don't know if it's laziness or not, I don't really understand why they stay in the cage. I just know I must be free. I didn't trust my parents to raise me, so I raised myself in the library - in 19th century transcendental idealist Germany, and in pre-conquest Mexico Aztec religion: Nagualism. The Aztecs say we're not on this earth for long, and we're not here to "get" anything, only to maintain a "wise face and a firm heart" (not here to seek comfort - they expect only hardship out of life on earth); and Hegel and his 19th century German realm say that the most important thing isn't comfort, it's..... Freedom. I call it "irrational centrifugality", pushing out from the center like a centrifuge and not willing to listen to reason (otherwise they could lure the tiger back into the circus with a juicy steak and a promise to stop shooting bullets at him if he behaves himself - the modern "social contract") if you're not going to develop saint-like, mystical, shamanic powers in order to see for yourself (which is the way modern society likes it, so they can control you and tell you what to think) then I guess you might as well pick something old and revered that will get you somewhere in the world (though a line in a new Megadeth album goes "chosen over heaven, earth will have been for them - all along, only - another region of hell"); anyway, I can't help it, I'm the type to go see for himself. (like the typical 1% of the community - the shamanic type); in computer programming, which I don't do, I wouldn't trust myself; I'd hire an expert, like the "Jesus" of computer programming. But then the downside is I really don't know what he's doing or what else might be an option. In matters of spirituality, I've decided to become an expert and made the "leap of faith" to trust my own ideas, even as they rotate dialectically. I learned how to do that from Hegel, the dialectician. It drives most adults crazy though, even though 2 year olds take to it naturally. It's not the safest bet; but I guess because my mom would always yell at me and tell me I was a "mistake"; I got the idea it doesn't matter what I do with my life, I shouldn't "waste" it just doing a normal life, I already have seen that on earth before, so I should just run into the direction everyone else runs away from, just to see what happens, like I'm an experiment. Born into Catholicism and raised by an ex-priest and in catholic school virtually all my childhood, I learned that side of it, then I went to see what else in history across the world. I find the pluralistic universe fascinating, but I have the extensive philosophical and shamanic training to cope with the heavy load of thought work, plus I'm schizotypal so I can't help thinking intensely about these things in between all the moments of the day, when other "normal" people say they aren't thinking anything, just full of feeling s for each other, I guess.

Some say the idea of demons all around you seems to be a "dark" spirituality. I don't find it to be - the universe all together is not dark, and it is not light, it is both, extremely powerful lights - quasars, hyper luminous infrared galaxies (HRLIG's), gamma ray bursting hypernovae, this is the light. And it's surrounded by vast swaths of dark, and surrounded more closely by heavy "blankets of crushing dark matter"; it's all beauty. Light for the sake of darkness, darkness for the sake of light. Go get squeezed by the heavy dark and you light up brighter, like a quasar among regular galaxies. The truth isn't dark, its yin & yang. Like the Malayan tapir. Red magic, all -inclusive.

And Jesus made a very powerful, and very revealing, prayer in the olive garden of Gesemede on the night before his crucifixion. Look it up in the bible it's great but it goes something like "I'm not asking you to save everybody father, not all the people, just those who believed in me, the ones who cooperated..." (& the hell with the rest). So Jesus is no red magician. No tapir. No "Lao Tzu". No "yin yang symbol". He's a one- sided warrior. Pray to him and join in the Christian mysteries and he'll give you what you want - even material gifts. He'll bury you in darkness and make you say "thank you!" - But confront him, attack him, as a shaman, and he'll fight you just like a demon, he'll use demon technology.

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Chapter 27) Genetics and social hierarchy

As far as 'causes of schizophrenia, I know I've seen some information that it is the members of society that are least included, most ostracized; I think they discovered that if a bunch of native Africans are in their home village, there isn't much schizophrenia, but when they become immigrants in Europe, and don't get included in most of the society, are regarded as outsiders, with prejudice, pushed into tough life situations, that this seems to increase the likelihood of schizophrenia.

Knowing my own personal history this would hold true, it was stressful social situations very early on and this weird, kinda inward looking personality I've developed is somewhat in reaction to that harsh initial environment. I was the smallest kid in my school, pushed to go a year early by my parents, and I was the child of two skinny intellectuals in a catholic school for the Italian Mafioso's kids, in the Bronx, New York.

I had a theory about this a long time ago, while watching a half hour cartoon about the little girl who grew up to be our lady of Lourdes. The half hour catholic special was about the life of this saint, and how she had been teased by the whole community as a little girl. She then went off in to the grotto by herself and Mary mother of god appeared to her, told her to build a shrine and that shrine heals people magically to this day, so the story went. My brother in law trying to teach his kids didn't like my take on the meaning of the story, but he couldn't really deny it. I said the little girl stole everybody's magic, by letting them all stupidly tease her. Lisa Simpson on the Simpsons, I once saw acting out the role, the kids tease her for being an intellectual with stupid remarks and she repeats the stupid remark ironically, walking by resignedly, I remember that move and that feeling, too, and my impression later in life is that the kids made fun of won out on that equation, sacrificing momentary "belonging" with the stupid crowd for an unusually large helping of "magic", the teased kid going off into the corner and becoming magical, after "stealing" the regular doses of magic from the unsuspecting surrounding population.

We also know schizophrenia involves changes to the genes, mutations, (though they've recently said there are millions of different mutations that lead to it).

So the article in the New York Times about monkeys, social status, and gene plasticity, makes alot of sense and rings true.

Turns out all the monkeys start out with the same genes, but the dominant monkey and the socially inferior monkeys have different expressions of those genes, and if social status changes, the gene expression changes.

We discuss alternative treatments like nutrition, even the alternative conceptualizing of schizophrenia as some mystical shamanism or something. But I've never heard discussion of social cures, other than from the shamans, who are doing exactly that, taking a member of society who is lost and excluded and setting him up in a new role to be revered by the society, the shaman/shaman's apprentice.

Sounds like we could alter our gene expression by becoming more accepted and dominant in the culture, and therefore alter the schizophrenia symptoms?

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/10/science/changes-in-social-status-seen-in-monkeys-genes.html

At the end of "the soloist", Jamie Foxx a schizophrenic, his "mental state and well-being as precarious now as the day we met", he friend played by Robert Downey Jr. says "some say the simple act of being one's friend can change their brain chemistry"; and at the end of the movie of a "girl interrupted" I watched right before that one, the point of the movie I think was how the crazy girl - borderline personality disorder - was slipping off into insanity while socially disconnected in her regular life, and by integrating with the gang at the mental hospital she became integrated in to a society and her "brain chemistry" changed, she wasn't such a crazy girl anymore;

Even loneliness affects gene expression, apparently: "loneliness burrows deep": In a study where older adults who were lonely gave blood, it turned out the loneliness affected the genes that were expressed; (http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/05/is-facebook-making-us-lonely/8930/)

OLGA KHARITIDI, MD, wrote "Spirits of Trauma"; it's her second book, I now have her first and it's in the queue with a medium to high priority. She is a Russian psychiatrist who went to Siberia to study with a very powerful shaman, and learned and taught something that I've never heard from any other shamanic culture, and I have totally integrated into my "teaching", my "psychosis", my "culture two", my "tapir ology": she said the demons, the spirits the shaman uses as helper spirits, that he has to first subdue, are "spirits of trauma", both his own trauma, but also the trauma of his ancestors (I think they gave some number like 10 generations, but that might be kind of arbitrary), but then they said a powerful shaman can actually collect the spirits of trauma from other people, the people he ministers to, and make those "demons" his own, and train them and control them. And the tapir is a "demon eater" who does exactly this, as far as I can tell it's the same technology, and this is what I study from him, how to eat, and digest, huge quantities of demons, not just the occasional few that the average community healer does, but to absorb like a black hole at the center of a galaxy cluster, the vast majority of all the demons on the continent, to absorb at the "Eddington limit" as they say in astrophysics, as Lance Armstrong our country's most powerful biker absorbs thousands of calories a day and burns exactly the same amount, absorbing demons and producing a "cooling flow", which in this complex analogy would be a flow of perfection and magic out onto the surrounding community. Not that I claim to be as good at the job as the tapirs, but that is what I'm trying to do here.

And I don't remember if it was Olga's book or my own ideas while watching the discovery channel or something, but the human genome has been analyzed, you know, and they say that a small piece of our DNA makes up everything they can see ‐ bones, blood, meat, the entire human being according to "science". They say the vast majority of our genome is "junk DNA", bits and pieces that are similar to the pieces of the main part, just sitting there "for no reason". Scientists are as silly as a snowflake at the center of a cloud who thinks that he is separate from the cloud, the cloud is something to ignore, say doesn't exist, get rid of, and when the evidence appears that he is actually the precipitate at the center of this "enemy" or "unreality", he just says that must be his "junk DNA" that has nothing to do with anything.

It may very well have been Olga's shaman though that told her that these "spirits of trauma", these demons, that the shaman collects, are the objects on the junk DNA. Going on this theory, I am attempting to add to my genome, by eating other people's demons. I have noticed an ability to transmit demons between schizophrenics. I read the book called "into the half‐light", and acquired some demons. Suspending disbelief and going with this theory, the patients in the schizophrenia ward who talk to each other enthusiastically about their demons in the demon world are sharing demons, they are multiplying, more efficiently than if we each just paired off and had kids. Which is why I love talking to schizophrenics, either all over the internet, to transmit and multiply, to collect whatever I can, and I can acquire them reading. I once went to a used bookstore in Haight‐Ashbury, eventually had a long talk with the expansively‐minded woman who has run the store for 35 years, and ultimately told her I was here to "eat demons", to collect the spirits in the books, and that what I was looking for was not books on shamanism, because I am a shaman already and can do that on my own, and not exactly books on psychiatry, but the MEMOIRS OF SCHIZOPHRENICS, because in these there is almost always "tapir‐food", or demon dreams, and that the other way to get what I am looking for is the mind of the average two year‐old, but they don't write books.

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Chapter 28) Close the curtain, get behind it

The castle of longevity was buried deep in the ground and it took a while to find it on the expedition through hell. ("The big branches are heavy; roll them forward", the song went as we marched). There were a couple of mice there that had lived a very long time, and as they were all out of ideas for ways to waste time, they jumped into the mystery cauldron of saints of specific purpose, recipe for glory streamin from the hard drive, it involved water, and fire; believe the flower of nothing that powers the rose petal forest; he eats the onset and washes it down with glory. The store is closed, the cats can't see, the plumber goes, the cats are free, listen for the bell, you're drinking from my well, and when they sign in at the circus, that will be victory on the territory. Government's back, up the stack, gobbling up the track. Broken clicks, that's how you'll find it, close the curtain, get behind it.

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Chapter 29) Asleep versus Awake

Like a caterpillar and a butterfly sharing a single genome, there is one "node" but there are two "modes" - there is the thing we call the human being, a single "node", more or less interconnected with other nodes, and the nodes treat each other as constant presences and single coherent personalities, with presumably a single will and a single direction.

But I see a pair of modes, usually opposing each other in terms of will, direction, spirit. When my sister told me, while struggling with thermodynamics in college, that she thought she might be schizophrenic, she only meant she thought she had different personalities. I told her, 'relax, as long as you know it's all the same person, you've got a broad personality with multiple aspects, and you can control it'. And she does fine these days, 8 kids, still an aeronautical engineer, the little craziness she has swept under the rug of her professionalism and motherhood.

The job I'm at has me developing a course on "Green business" and it has me thinking, this is the will only of the conscious mind, the choice to be "green", but I think it goes against our nature, our sleeping selves, whose will is to consume and grow, irrespective of the surrounding cloud of environment.

The conscious zeitgeist has decided we are too destructive, but it's a losing battle ''cause the sleeping self is more powerful. I see a very similar phenomenon with the concept of "dieting". The body has no "eyes", no "mind", so dieters, who've decided they had something to gain from others if they "lose weight", try to avoid food, skipping a few meals. The sleeping self doesn't understand the complex cortical knowledge that there is an ultimately positive purpose to the starvation, it just knows there is no food. So when the dieter, after skipping a few meals, eats a little salad, the sleeping body clings to any molecule it can find, seeing as there's this "drought" apparently, and the conscious self is foiled by the sleeping self, and ends up gaining even more weight while eating cottage cheese and drinking diet soda. The field of economics, and more precisely econometrics, reveal the work and nature of the "sleeping" self - the oil and resources consumed, the growth of the population, the warming of the planet under the weight of the heavy industry.

The United States of America, guided by the late Ben Franklin, enters a yearly cycle of daylight savings. But the humans haven't adjusted, we sleep much later on the weekend in the winter and begrudge the dark and early mornings while we trudge to work half asleep. An article in the New York Times this last time around suggests this leads to negative health effects, as we lose even more sleep and stumble in the dark.

So it is almost a war, then, between the sleeping self, that wants to simply eat and grow and burn resources blindly , and the conscious self, who feels free to re-invent it"self" whenever the thoughtful immune system thinks there might be an evolutionary and competitive advantage to be had. It wants to "diet", "go green", and maybe "rock and roll all night and party every day" too, or just figure out the meaning of the universe around him, and -here's where the source of the psychosis slips in \- it is also, vaguely, aware of the opposing will within it"self", the one that needs more sleep, needs to eat more bland healthy foods, and needs to lay off the caffeine, basically.

And in this "war" between the "selves", there is, because we do all our communicating when awake, a bias to the impression of who's right to win the war. Most people - awake at the time - go around saying that we sleep so that we can wake up, indeed they explicitly wonder, on scientific discovery-channel type stuff, what evolutionary "reason" there could be for our awake selves to "have to go to" sleep, as if it was quite clear what our appropriate and superior "mode" was, and where our efforts should be directed.

But there is the opposing opinion, less mainstream, that the "main mode", the "original nature" of the person, is the sleeping self. The sleeping gorilla had grown a powerful immune system, and as a result, woke up, studied the situation, "wrapped his mind around it", enveloping it in perspicuity, all to secure a better place to sleep, thought being an extension of the immune system. The sleeping self must be what the Taoists are focusing on when they say things like "see as if not seeing, hear as if not hearing", senses being a liability, perception an affliction, something to avoid, counter-intuitive, of course, to the awake side, which holds a bias against ideas like this, sensing the doom of its own sophrosyne.

I've been contemplating the "see as if not seeing, hear as if not hearing" for a while now, and noticed that I started looking into the darkness, ignoring the world around me, instead populating a much wider scope or dimension, but the scope varied based on the activity of the waking self. I noticed that exercise - like a 25 minute bike ride or a quick run with the old dog - expands the size of the dark dimension I sense that I am "in", and also, conversely, that watching TV or listening to Anita O'Day on CD, 'causes the "dark" room to contract, to be oppressed by the outer movement.

I think that people with stressed minds encounter this opposition of wills or personalities, and with the light of their suffering, they invent a newer way of seeing, integrating the unseen sleeping will, appearing as the collective unconscious, or the "demon world". But most people don't like that, and that's the plight of the schizophrenic patient. It sure is interesting to observe though.

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Chapter 30) Shiny girl

Shiny girl eats (looks healthy), buys (looks sharp), smiles (looks happy), sits (looks calm), like a dog with a shiny coat. All around the mall, a tarmac stamps down across a dry wilderness, adding shades of brown to the trees that hover above; in place of the richness of agriculture, a region is set aside for the opposite of agriculture.

The inspiration - colorful beads exploding, mall shops in all colors and shapes like a bunch of multicolored prayers - is useful to calm the infinite turbulence in the flow, and thankful for the inspiration, we seek to re-inspire. Santa Claus flows into San Francisco on Christmas eve - the inspiration, the calm, the reflection; Santa flows into Christmas time. And anti-time, marching in one continuous column from my portal, harmonizes into time as flow. Flow is anti-time revealing itself, and we root for the dampening of the turbulence.

What we have to offer each other and share with each other is "way"- we can't force our "morals" on the world. Quiet mystery radiates. The storehouse of way collects at the center of the still pool and becomes the watering hole for the community of spirits. Matter is the pool at the center of an invisible precipitation, of "qi" to matter, energy to matter, breath to matter. The phase transition follows the rules, crystallizes into the honeycomb structure all around, the quantum fuzziness resolving into the classical on/off, yes/no, true/false, there/not there. But alliances of matter, like ourselves, are free within the crystals, with a will free to configure the inevitable crystallization - spirit that knows itself as spirit. So though I am definitely going to appear in this room in the next minute, I decide on the details, the precise location, the accessories, the countenance. First, spirit into matter, then, the spirit awakens. Within the matter, the will continues to "drip", reconfiguring, idealizing itself.

But "free" within the crystal, "he had a habit"; there is a second level of phase transition, after qi to matter, of being to habit, but this second "rule" can be broken. since the year 1020, mono-theism - a habit - entered the Slavic Kingdom and swept through the lands, through history and time, as did many other habits of human culture, like "eddies" in a flowing current, that form and grow strong through their own persistence, by the side of the flow, providing a richness in complexity but ultimately degrading the power of flow, until they are broken up, and ultimately re-form elsewhere downstream. "Eddy-busting" is the radiation of quiet mystery in the war against time; in behavior, it involves simply doing something else, something different - smile, dream.

These eddies being busted serve a purpose in the flow: "vortex shedding", where a flow encountering resistance offloads the pressure by spawning "vortices", which, when they become stationary features in the flow - habitual- are the "eddies". Therefore, point at something else, (pressure's gotta go somewhere, relieve the stress).Slow it down. The luminous, beautiful flow, the numinous supercurrent, listens, knows itself as spirit, eliminates eddies, responds only lightly to the surrounding pressure, breaks the wisp, evades inspection by time. Nice and silent as a boulder against the breakers, an abandoned circus wagon reveals the world's mystery.

At the center of the galaxy, "Sagittarius A star", our centrally located "black hole" - a massive compact object - is surrounded by smaller "black holes", that have gathered up some of the material in the time-garden, a bunch of massive stars, and have dragged them almost to the central down-the-drain, the hidden depths of the central pool that everything in our galaxy, ourselves included, emanate from. After stars the size of the sun, there are more massive stars, and then stellar mass black holes (dozens of suns worth of "mass", or "depth of eddy"), then Intermediate mass black holes, like those coming down to surround Sagittarius A star, then one central "Supermassive Black hole", central creature, who does not "radiate" like a simple star, but performs "ambipolar diffusion", releasing energy and material from jets intermittently, like a little quasar, sacred messages that hold all the black holes together in a net-like structure.

Jets are a fundamental ingredient in the star formation process, and jets sure do come out of supermassive black holes as well, so what is the nature of these "flashes"?

Like the flashes of X-Ray binaries (stellar mass black holes and friends) that surround Sagittarius A star, cars slow down and make a left, sunlight glinting on the windows and beaming at me in patterned flashes, and I dream into the flash, where vortices are shed instantly. Materiality is the vortex of the unseen numinous flow, spirit world the more graceful and forward moving flow, and by capturing enough of the supercurrent, we can "hypernova" back into the spirit world, catatonic schizophrenia the outward flag of a massive quasar busting up any surrounding vortex and blasting a massive quasar jet into the unseen spirit world.

Silent, booming crackles flow up and out from the bushes across the street, sparking invisible flashes just above the hedge, real cars stopping and crossing each other subliminally before the whole imaginary scene. Deep inside one of the moments in that scene, deep inside the flash, the central pool mass dampens the surrounding flow, and promotes the velocity dispersion -the freedom -of the system.

****

Chapter 31) Tapirology

Have I talked yet about the Malayan tapir? Black and white like a 700 pound yin-yang symbol, hasn't evolved for the past 70 million years, the ancient relative of the horse and rhino.

I say this thing is a shaman, and more powerful than most human shamans I've met. When I was leaving New York for good I went to spend some time with the Bronx zoo tapir, and it's always an amazing and life changing experience. He flashed his red eye at me, with a look that goes straight to your soul, a glance that knows you through to the core of your spirit, and loves you immensely. I'm not sexually attracted to the thing, but it's the closest thing to being in love for that moment.

And he teaches! He hasn't evolved for 70 million years, because he holds it in - that's what he teaches.

The first encounter - love at first split second - was at the zoo in Omaha, Nebraska, at the center of the US; largest indoor jungle in the world. I saw two tapirs, and I sensed something special instantly, the way they moved, the look in their eyes.....

I went back to Omaha, meaning to take a day for the zoo, then got lazy. All of a sudden a strong message came to me, a plea to keep my promise and go to the zoo. I got up and went, and breathed magic measured breath on the tapirs to wake them up and they responded to the magic, got up and did a dance including one standing on hind legs in the water looking right up at me, and both of them tossing their head up and trunk up periodically, a message from the heart of the universe, a prayer from the heart of god, a prayer for prayer, a prayer that as it goes out in every size and shape and color out into the universe it is us, and our actions and thoughts, and the tapir at the sacred center is casting a plea for a more sacred dispensation, an imperative to fight against destruction and for renewal.

I met a Japanese girl at a party, and told her I had been to the zoo earlier that day. She asked "by yourself?" thinking, "how odd!" But I said yeah, it's a mile from home and I have a yearly pass, so it's my backyard. She then asked "so what's your favorite animal?" and I knew the word tapir means almost nothing to anyone, so I pulled a picture out of my wallet. She said "oh! That's what we call in china the "dream eater" - the legend is that if a child has a bad dream they just call the dream eater (the Malayan tapir) and he will eat up all the bad dreams.

So others think there's something special about this animal.

So then I went to the Bronx tapir to see if he could eat dreams. Sure enough! Eats them and shows you in your mind whole worlds of dreams that you never had yet that connect to yours. Then he explains, (through his eyes, through his behavior, through the weirdly slow movements) that yes, he eats dreams, which means he eats demons, just like I do! But he points out that you don't just eat everything, you have to digest it! He digests it with extraordinarily graceful ritualistic life-oriented moves carried out with exquisite control and calm - climb down into the water, spin in a slow circle creating a little whirlpool, climb back out, nibble on a leaf that's high up, nibble at one down low, walk around casting powerful knowing glances at admirers....

I read that "trials of the visionary mind" about a cosmic center, a spiritual center, where the core of the mind resides; for some it is in religion, in Jesus. And I realized mine is in the tapir in the jungle. And isn't that crazy?!?

Someone said I shouldn't put so much power in an animal. And I entertain the idea that I just had a psyche ready to learn things and just projected them on some poor unsuspecting zoo animal, that all this learning and love just takes place in my mind, and I'm insanely projecting this.

I maintain both theories as always but the thing is for hours or days I truly believe in the tapir. Maybe I have reached a true psychosis!

It was a few days away, I was prepared to end the world, with my 60-day long ritual device used to 'cause a timequake from between the midnights of all 60 days on the device. I had myself worked up to believe something was gonna happen, though friends just kept pointing out they didn't believe in my psychosis. I went to the San Francisco zoo a few days ahead, to see my spiritual leader, the tapir, Goober, who works there. I told him what I was up to.

Goober urged me not to do it. He pleaded with me. Most magical creature on the planet, and he WAS believing my psychosis. He said please, please, do not end time. Continue to live inside of time, slowly and calmly, as I do, because time is a demon, and we tapirs are demon eaters, as are you, c, and time, digested properly is GRACE! '

And I thought about what he said, and it was over my head, but I have alot of respect for the tapir's wisdom. And so we let time happen.

I think only half the people in science are even willing attribute consciousness or subjectivity to the animals. I have an old black lab, going grey now, and a young turtle dove, I pay close attention to my pets, these aren't schizophrenic but I have had pets that were. It's not about what they "say", but about the suffering and the odd behavior and stress. Only man has this level of language center developed, so we are the only species that's gonna give you word salad.

I practice shamanism and talk to the animals all the time, though it's mostly listening, and it's just like talking to schizophrenia patients when I talk to the animals at the zoo, pretty much same situation, confined to captivity and being fed drugs. Still, there are some amazing schizotypal philosophers at the zoos, something not to be missed.

Yeah, it's the stress, I had a bird in here 6 months ago that was as extreme a case of bird schizophrenia you could have; it was because I got this pair of doves, and they seemed so happy to be doing their favorite thing, breeding new birds. I let them grow five birds till I started swapping out the eggs with fake eggs. One bird we gave to a family friend, and one to my wife's coworker. The other three went to the teenagers upstairs. It was just a novelty though. Within a few months, the birds were making too much noise and the kids were abandoning them to the living room, so five birds all together in the living room is a bad thing, turns out. Initially aware we had alot of birds, I figured they are spread throughout the house, and in California, a few blocks from the Hayward fault that's overdue, I called them early warning earthquake detectors, and put them in every room.

But the kids complain that they talked to each other, they knew each other were around. And when they all landed in the living room, the yelling was ridiculous - 'hey, those are my people, don't look at them like that, don't talk to them", "YOUR people? those are my people, watch me talk to them how I feel like", so the environment was stressful, and these poor birds, two were brother and sister and kept each other company, and my two are the parents, but the fifth was in a cage by himself, and going through heat or something, he'd get so lonely, pace the cage, throw himself up against the bars, and it was Christmas time so I had a couple of plastic ornament birds, I put them in there and he fell in love and was constantly cuddling and talking to the plastic birds. That was his case of schizophrenia.

It all ended well though, we called Micacoo, a subsidiary of Mickaboo the parrot rescuers, and they rescue king pigeons and turtle doves. They came and took them away to an aviary with other doves and pigeons, as my wife sang for weeks "mickacoo, mickacoo, gonna take all three a you!", and then it was just the original pair, much more sane. Then I read that the ghost bugs on me might be bird mites. I set the turtle doves free outside, as Mickacoo was now full, no longer accepting birds. Well Sarah the mom left for good, her eggs were always chocolate and her mate had been abusing her for it. But after a few hours her mate, Peter Bird, came back, hopped into his cage and refused to come out. So now I give him a shower once a day and try and keep the bird mites off of him. His wife showed up a week later, after a rainstorm, looking beat up. She had another call, too, the call of the mourning doves, so she had gone Comanche, no use trying to bring her back now.

I shower my bird every day and put his cage outside then bring him back in, and he's all by himself now. I worry that after I leave for work and he's stuck inside by himself all day, he too will develop some schizophrenia features. I had a bird like this for 26 years, and when I'd go away for a week for work, he'd pluck his feathers. It's a well-known psychiatric problem, in birds: ghost bugs.

And the polar bear at the Bronx zoo has a therapist, 'cause he exhibits such bizarre behavior, walks forward, stops, walks backward. I think he's just trying to entertain his public.

Trees, I talk to them too. Not as insane! After nine eleven, I was an out-of-work IT guy and took a job in a white suit and breathing mask cleaning up the world financial center towers, across the street from the world trade center; I noticed of course the anger in the entire population, they wanted to start that war with Afghanistan just as soon as humanly possible, every untouched and unharmed human in full homicidal outrage. I also noticed that several magnificent hundreds of year old trees were destroyed in the collapse of the trade center. And as I was forced to drive my mom up the winding Hutchison river pkwy to Boston, because she was afraid to fly or take the train because of the new "terrorism", all those trees along the parkway were standing alot taller than their human counterparts, as I drifted off an spoke with them, no anger, no desire to kill trees in Afghanistan. As I looked down on Dayton Ohio from the plane yesterday, full of trees, I thought well, humans have to be more homicidal, 'cause we are not as well established on the planet as trees, and our only big skill for getting as dominant as we are is our ability to work together in big packs, and that involves keeping track of friend versus enemy, and being homicidal toward the enemy at least in times of war.

But I guess if you remove the eyes, ears, and speech abilities, a eukaryote loses alot of its risk for schizophrenia, which was just what the Taoists always taught, this "senses" stuff is for the birds, see no evil hear no evil do no evil, have no schizophrenia.

The pineal gland was thought to be the third eye of the ancients, when I was researching hallucinogen use and ethnography. In shamanism, the third eye is explicitly developed. I'm so practiced I sit out on the porch in the sun, drink my Lee Shan oolong tea, and close my eyes as the pineal gland hallucinates wildly, launched by the gentle poison of the hot tea hitting my metabolism.

The tapir, I have no explanation for, just assumed it was the ancientness of the creature - hasn't evolved in 70 million years, they say - but there's nothing like it for spirit world interaction. As a traveling instructor, I visit all the zoos. I soon learned all tapirs respond to magic, and most are friendly and beneficent, but the old female tapir in the San Diego zoo is evil, full of demons; but always, if you go outside your body and pet a tapir, the tapir will respond to you. Then, looking into the eye of the tapir who is trying to get your attention, there is an entire world in there, worth staring at for hours, the effect is calming but the show is amazing.

My bird is supernatural in unexplainable ways, it's not just one or two things, its daily for decades, just think about the bird and he will respond. The Mayan shamans all had their own bird, the "itzam-ne", who would accompany the spirit of the shaman to the spirit world. I use my turtle dove the same way.

Birds and dogs are known to form the deepest bonds with humans, and I once read of the scientific experiment where you put a camera on the bird and dog at home, and give the owner a beeper, and send them to work. At a random time, page the beeper and the person will get up and start heading home. Check the camera at home, no matter how irregular the pager signal, when the owner gets in the car and starts heading home, the bird and the dog know it.

The third eye scares the power structures, a hive full of humans who can see out in to the spirit world and develop relationships there can easily get out of hand, but I think even if you don't serve processed food to calcify the third eye, only about one percent of the population even want to go there, much less actually are capable of persisting effortlessly like an escaped circus tiger by the crystal pool at the top of the mountain.

The zoo/circus is an analogy for our situation in industrialized society - "everyone complains about industrial disease"; and the ideal reaction of a life form to this environment is a tiger, full and hale, completely ignoring the circus around him as unreal, but still holding the weight of a collar around his neck - it's an old Aztec stone sculpture in all the books, leader of my take on how ideally to deal with the circus.

It involves a wide open, uncalcified pineal gland, recommended by jack la lane who said 'if man made it don't touch it', and by the Okinawa diet, who propose the 70 vegetable 30 bean diet, with lots of omega three fatty acids, or the line in Taoist poetry that suggests a person can develop magical powers by eating 5 times a day, all raw vegetables. I asked the keepers at the San Francisco zoo about Goober, the Baird's tapir who lives there and eats the dreams of the surrounding society, and they said he had some problems with allergies back when he was eating gluten, but he's doing much better on raw veggies. I also eliminated gluten, and live on a mix of 40 vegetables and fruits mixed up in a powerful blender, I chug that mix three or four times a day, along with some oatmeal and some beans, healthy, magical diet that gets positively set on fire when I drop a little oolong tea onto the metabolism sugar burner to create my hyperideative hypo glycemia. Diet is important for the mind, the stomach is the "second brain", and digestion is the opposite of intense thought, so the body can't be involved in digesting meat all the time, and can't be full all the time, and can't have sharp swings in blood sugar level, for the really interesting hallucinating and perceptions to take place.

Our circus is surrounded by a cage of "others", first, the hostile security forces, fully in control and arrayed in battle formation against the central infinite, then further outside in concentric circles, the hostile spirit world.

Though schizophrenia and shamanism are similar, I think there's more to schizophrenia than the ability to see visions in the pineal gland. Schizophrenia is a combination of seeing through the third eye while having bad nutrition, in a negative environment, with a lack of shamanism training, training that prepares you for the spirit world you just landed in.

It seems there is a struggle for something more, born out of an early struggle for existence, the need to be something more than just 'normal', the need to be magical, in order to survive or overcome the current squalor of poverty or a bad situation. The first time I realized this I was looking into the bulging eyes of a crazy guy who happened to be Ashkenazi Jewish, the most mutant genome among humans, so I used to listen to this person's rants and look into his eyes and figure out what the mutation was, and it always seemed he, as well as several other similar crazy characters, wanted something greater - what it was I could never explain - but it was like they were wizards working feverishly to restore their great powers of the universe, who cared little about consensual reality other than how to expertly manipulate it. When I think about it, it includes me, we all want something more than to be normal, want some kind of special power, and what the psychiatrist is trying to do is lower our expectations or goals, to just be a functioning member of society, stop killing yourself going or wizard of the universe, and get yourself together for your boring job.

The decision, at least for me, to go toward schizophrenia was made early in life, as a decision to become magical. A little kid hears a bunch of bible stories, then when it's time to create a personality for himself, he doggishly he goes for the king-of-the-universe model, while the psychiatrist's vision is only objective, to be a functioning member of society, keep yourself presentable, etc, and the only concern at all for our subjectivity is that we are not miserable enough to get mad and kill everybody, but other than that the construction of mental subjectivity is left entirely to the spirit world.

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Chapter 32) The Idiot

I know I am different. Ever since I was 5 years old, my parents told me I was "crazy", and an "idiot". What they neglected to point out was that that is a GOOD thing, as I realized reading Dostoyevsky's "The Idiot" - the idiot was the pure and mystical minded soul who gave his life as a sacrifice to his beautiful and simple dream. That's a role I would like to have in life, and to some extent, I do.

Is this a "disease"? Should I be compelled against my will to be calm all the time, and not to think up my "psychoses"? I don't see why. I can act sane enough to hold a job and maintain a simple life for myself. Now if I start actually confusing my dream life with the waking life, we're all in trouble, and please, give me the meds, or for that matter take me off the streets and put me out of my misery. The Christian bible says "thou shalt not suffer a witch to live", well.....

"I am a witch. And I dream the wildest dreams; wicked prophesies nobody could interpret....." (Megadeth, 2007)

Anyway, I watched the movie "Seven" last night. Serial killer. Kills 7 people who committed the 7 deadly sins. Good movie, twisty thriller. Anyway, end of the movie, almost the last line, Morgan Freeman quotes Milton: "It's a fine world, and well worth fighting for." And may I add the quote from the middle of the movie, where again the character played by Morgan Freeman goes "I understand apathy, I understand it's easier to drown your suffering in drugs, but love is work, love is something you give...."

Both quotes are my defense of my "demon world". I live in both the human AND the demon world. The humans don't like that. And someday they'll ambush me and kill me, it's how all shamans end (thou shall not suffer a witch to live) but I made it to 46 so far and honestly, society has no defense against me. I can act completely schizophrenic, let the "demons out", but then when the cops come I can act completely sane and get away, unless I feel like getting 5150'd, then I say crazy stuff with alot of energy, they threaten to taze me, and 5150 me.

So if I wanted to be the worst terrorist the world had ever seen, like my mom is afraid will happen, then I could simply do it. There is no ethics or humanity or god to stop me. I reserve the right to kill everybody, but I am also in a cult, the highest cult on earth, the cult of Sittlickheit, or "Ethical Life", initiated in 19th century Germany by Hegel, so it's unlikely I'll actually kill anybody. I'm no humanist.

So I can see the reason the society in general would prefer I take meds, but I continue to fight, because I feel my demon world is so much more expansive than what the human world offers.

One analogy of mine is that I am like a dinosaur living in a world of mice. I make my little finger walk around on the ground disguised as another mouse, but I get bored, and occasionally get up and say "I'm a DINOSAUR" and roar threateningly at the mice. But I try not to hurt them. What should they do, destroy the potential threat of a dinosaur, force him into the blindness that the rest are afflicted with?

I am sacrificed to my dreams, an "idiot". The world could use a few, if you ask me. I can understand the mutation of "maturity" and sober minded "rationalistic" thinking. But only as a mutation for the few who have to protect us all. Why should EVERY SINGLE HUMAN have to be so rationalistic; I'd prefer to be in the group of sacred, protected, life-long infants, who dream up the wild connections between the things that the "adults" don't have the mental energy to think about. The veins of the leaves anastomosing in various ways so as to create a reticulated plexus of veins of unequal size.

I have little connection to people or their world. I spend days and nights at a time in the demon world, journeying outside my body. Because I can.

The demons, apparently, can't "read" our material. They have to wait till humans read it, and then ask humans what it meant. Things like the newspaper they can get from anybody, but there are things that the demons can't get anybody else to read, like astrophysics articles, and they offer me a deal: they tell me what topics interest them, and I do the research and the presentation in the demon world; I am paid well for things that I can get them almost exclusively. I am paid strictly in barter, knowledge for knowledge. They teach me things far outside the scope of man and his science. And by the way, that "science" is on the wrong track, you'll NEVER find the demon world with principles like that.

I only emulate humans to get access to material resources. I don't need much, but I take my food and shelter from the human world on a "do what you can take what you need" basis. It's no fun, kind of boring.

While awake I see only what people see, none of the demons that surround the people. But, I'm "recording" the demons part.

So when I get home, I pop in the "drum tape" \- a drum beating steadily at a certain rate for 20 minutes. Eyes closed, I come out of my body, walk to a hole in the ground in the nearby mountains, and go down the hole, meet my spirit guide, a boar named "happy". And we go to the shaman's castle, and we watch what I recorded during the day, with all the surrounding supernatural detail. The next day I can make decisions based on what I've seen and what I know.

If I'm out in the world, I can switch the vision to see it all live, but it makes me terribly dysfunctional, kind of catatonic. It's overwhelming, the pool of sight and sound.

I take greyhound busses overnight, seat myself in the middle in the aisle, wait till everybody's asleep at midnight, and drink oolong tea and pop in the drum tape headphones, come out of my body, go out and talk to demons. The demons are clearly made of a different light than humans, and I've never had a hard time distinguishing. Again, if I ever do, I'm getting out of here.

I'm also aware that a male over 40 years of age is in danger of losing his schizophrenia of natural 'causes. I saw it happening 7 years ago. I moved in with my sister and brother in law and their kids, and lived a normal family life for a year, and the psychoses were going away. But the world had nothing to offer that could come close to the stimulation that the "demon movies" I watch every night.

I read once that schizophrenia patients have more dopamine receptors. Maybe that's it. And they cry out for stimulation. And I find the meds I need in the expansiveness of the demon world.

I remember the brother in law saying to me "but the humans want to deal with you", but that never rang true. When I give it a try, diving into the human world, through that case of staying with my sister and her husband and kids for instance, it's never been satisfying. Maybe the people want me to deal with them and they with me, but only on their own terms. As soon as they get to know me, and I explain my "psychoses" or "beliefs", they want me to stop. I had a girlfriend who made me sign a contract that said I will not talk about "red shift space, Sagittarius A Star, or tigers escaping from circuses". She hated the fact that I would discuss these things in public, like on a subway, and everyone in the car would get silent and listen to me, like I'm teaching a class, and I just get into it, but she was embarrassed;

So I figure loneliness is the human condition, we're all separate individuals, and linking up with another one is kind of like a drug, you feel better but then when it's gone you feel much worse. The people who fell down the hole of human knowledge, they think that's all there is, but they don't look that happy. They seem confused and depressed. I love humans. I'm half human. But from a distance. I need more. The human concept of the personality just doesn't have enough magic in it; magic - the difference between mankind in his reason and mankind in his perfection. The demons give me the intellectual stimulation I need.

Typical human design has the right brain for emotion, and the left brain for math. A NY Times article years ago pointed out that if you get "stuck" in one hemisphere or another, the super-simple fix is to pour cold water drops into the opposite ear. If you're an accountant and can't break out of the left hemisphere, cold water in the right ear; or, if your all emotional and can't think straight, water in the left ear.

I did the experiment on the way back up the New York City hill, walking back from the diner where I'd eater lunch and read the paper, back to work, at a computer job I had (before they fired me and had the FBI escort me out in leg shackles, simply for walking around faking acting depressed, because they were afraid I'd kill everybody like the columbine kids, all over the newspapers at the time, enough for me to emulate their presentation style - but I've killed nobody)

Anyway the experiment was to see if one of your hemispheres is damaged, put water in each one and see how you feel. I put the water in the left ear, activating the left hemisphere, and felt normal. I tried the right ear and felt depressed. Totally replicatable experiment.

My mom had issues with men, and being a male, I was treated as an evil monster from the beginning. So it's understandable that my emotional brain got stunted at two years old.

So I think I decided to build a new copy of the right brain, by commandeering the left brain. I can't do math. I can't compare the value of two numbers. I don't really know how much money I have - enough for a few weeks at least, is all I really want to know. I can count, but I get depressed, because then I have to let the damaged 2 year old depressed right brain be the personality. But if I shut down math, I can run a fake "personality", designed by me over the course of my lifetime, acts just like a human and passes for it, unless you actually have to LIVE with me full time, (I can't keep it up 24 hours a day) - and the thing about the fake personality is it is very blunted in terms of feeling. Love has little effect on me. It can, there's a glimmer of feeling, and if I want to seem human I can manually amplify it, but my ex-wife always hated the fact that I could turn off feeling and be "cold", on command. I can't be manipulated.

At 5 I remember the first time my parents told me I was insane. They tried to manipulate me into some behavior with a material possession. I refused. They said "but don't you want (it) ?", and I remember explaining: "Of course I WANT it, but I don't WANT myself to want it". They were beaten, and simply said I was "crazy", and that's when I learned that "crazy" means other people don't understand, but makes perfect sense on the inside. (I felt vindicated only 15 years later when I saw the same 'want yourself to want it" concept within self-sacrificial religions and philosophies.)

So I speculate that the regular humans are enjoying something I'll never know, some kind of warm overwhelming emotion that makes them want to love and be loved and belong to a community. They say they feel sorry for me, alone, isolated, in my demon world, but I've really never felt whatever it is they are feeling, so my situation is normal for me. I don't consider myself superior, just different. I'm inferior at human feeling. I'm superior to most, I think, in my ability to span the "worlds" - upper lower and middle (this one).
I get a bit of enjoyment in this world. My high point is understanding. I realized recently, what my life goals have always been. When I heard Dave Mustaine say he thinks he's done with his goals, I thought, bad answer, and when I heard Robin Williams say he hasn't achieved his goal, as far as acting, yet, I thought, 'better answer'. Then I wondered if I had any "goals", and I realized I did, and do, and they are all about my quality of understanding.

Twenty five years ago I always said my goal was to "become magical". I feel I have long since established myself as a magical being. (got fired from New Horizons training center in NY City after a year and a half, ostensibly and officially for "performing biblical miracles onsite" - I was doing the one with the fishes and the loaves, making as many student books as I needed by not looking in the box I was pulling them from, even though there weren't enough)

When I moved to California, I told everybody I'm a shaman, I have two bodies, the physical one I leave at home wrapped in burlap under my bed, and the "shaman's empty scarecrow", which looks just like me, but has nothing inside, therefore there's no "kill-site", and that's the one I USUALLY bring to work (but sometimes I bring my physical body) - and I told people I was at war with gravity and time.

Now that I have successfully vanquished gravity, (a few years ago, along with the head of physics at the University of Sarajevo), I am struggling with time. My only remaining life goal: eradicate the phenomenon of time.

And so this is all really about walking around - by myself - in a non-ordinary model of the universe, one completely inconditionate (not conditioned by anything, most importantly not by gravity or time). And that's what I'm getting close to achieving. It was, partially, my choice.

I guess I want to argue for the dignity of a different point of view, a different way of being in the world. Granted it's an "infantile" way of being in the world. And it's indulgent.

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Chapter 33) Risk

I asked a psychiatrist what "risk" there was to my continuing to nurture and build my own "psychoses", as a patient with schizotypal personality disorder. He said I might go on a spending spree and hurt my family; well, I have a family now and I do fine. I work one or two weeks a month and the money is enough for me to live on. And I eat well. The doctor also said I was at "risk" to start alot of things and not finish them. Well, I can see this in myself, I certainly start alot of things. If I want to /I can finish them. Projects for work, certainly. I DO read alot of books, all concurrently, and sometimes don't get back to one for months. I am in the middle of thirty books most of the time, carry two or three around per day. And some I never finish. But again, I do when I want to.

I mean, I understand how some people are grateful for the meds, and grateful to be "normal". I feel bad for the protagonist of schizophrenia memoirs when they want so badly to be normal, and then regress into their symptoms. But my question is why should everyone be forced to be normal? You imply I'll be homeless and broke, a burden on society, but not me, not yet, not intended. I don't believe in retirement, I believe in the lions in Africa's retirement plan - if you can't work, they gang up and eat you.

So if I learn to "groom" my madness, act and speak normally in public, maintain my own living requirements, bathe daily, keep up on human world details, then why is it so bad for me to continue to enjoy my delusions? Like a little kid, in my room by myself. I know this isn't for everybody, but I really don't know why it's so important that I be the same as everyone else.

My "problem" is ghost bugs. They crawl on me waking me up and they are invisible. And that's what brought me to the world of psychiatry. I eventually learned to control ghost bugs as allergies, after having tried seroquel. I liked the zombifying effect of seroquel. When a cop drove by, I didn't become enraged or think up death scenarios. I figure that's what it's like to be normal. But here was my objection: the side effect. tardive dyskinesia. But more than that:

I may be a little unbalanced compare to normal. The seroquel didn't produce "balance" though. It suppressed. Pushed down on the force. Making it push harder upward. Eventually, quitting cold turkey, the original force went flying, too high, to the level of true schizophrenia. But here's the amazing thing: when it settled down again, it went back to its original point, just a little "high". Right back where it used to be. It remembered. So ever since then, I figure that's where it belongs. It's not unbalanced; it's different from the "norm". I'm a bit mutant. Like any mutant, maybe a little for the better, and a little for the worse. But I'll take me just the way I am, from now on. Is that really so bad ????

Suffering. Sacrifice. Apparently concepts completely foreign to the new world order of psychiatry and mankind. I am not promoting other's suffering, but I am offering my own. I choose sacrifice, suffering. I do not take orders or suggestions from eudaemons, which are humans who judge the good based on comfort. "My head is bloodied but unbowed"; this is hell, but it's also heaven. It's the wide open capacity to experience the intensity of both.

It's like the 82 year old guy who shot at a raccoon on his back porch this past 4th of July, then pounded nails and bolts into the entrance to under his house, where there was a litter of baby raccoons, trapped to "suffer". Oh the luminosity born of suffering. Oh, the magic. Anyway, what was this 82 year old guy trying to say to the world with this grand act, other than "I was FORCED to lock this part of me away long ago, forced to conform, and now I have this house, and I'm all proud of it. And that raccoon symbolizes a wild nature inside of me that was long since killed, and yet there is another one and he's still getting away with it! I'm infuriated! I'm sent into a crisis, 'was this thing in me I killed actually beautiful? A living thing?' and to resolve the crisis: SHOOT the RACOON! With certainty and conviction! However, the raccoon just ran away. The babies died though.

And yeah, the psychiatrist did list those items as what the risk is to my "schizotypal personality disorder", specifically the risk to not taking the meds he put out on his desk. I've been having this conversation for a long time. I'm actually soliciting for what other possible risks there might be. Here's a coincidence, after boldly posting the other day I was arrested and put in a psychiatric hospital against my will. I tried to behave myself, and got out the same day, but the psychiatrist did say 'looks like you have a problem dealing with cops'. Good point. There's a risk. I can handle that one - see, I always get out in a day or two. What else? (One website with a chart about schizotypal disorder says "when the authority figures arrive, the cognitive slippage begins.")

I'm not the scientologist that says YOU shouldn't take meds, but I offer another vision, look at me, willing to sacrifice, willing to suffer, yes look what I loose, but look what I gain. And if you don't see it, I can't help you and I have nothing to offer you. There could be other people like me, kind of schizophrenic but kind of magical. Hey, I'm like Howard stern - if you don't want to see freaky ideas, don't read if it says "Onderdonk". Meanwhile, this 26-years-in-the-making psychosis of mine, that's not hurting anybody, is on display in the circus of ideas.

I was reading the lives of the saints. I noticed the little girl was laughed at and teased, and she just let it happen, and eventually she saw 'our lady of Lourdes', and I wondered if the physics of what had just happened was that she had just 'stolen the magic' from all the kids who teased her, and stored it up, and became magical, a compassionate healer.

So our culture has rejected suffering and sacrifice, for the most part. The USA has this line about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, I think this misleads people greatly, like they hear this and they forget they ever heard the phrase 'yin and yang'.

I have Taoist documentation that tells people how to become what some psychiatrists call schizophrenic. They call it something else, but they basically say suffer. They say there's really no limit to what you can learn, it's based on how much you are willing to suffer.

Most people choose comfort. That's always been the case. John Nash recently made a presentation to the effect that maybe it is a positive thing for our species to set aside 1 percent and 'mutate'/ (suffer/ sacrifice), listen to the voices, see the visions, and integrate a new reality for the rest of the species.

****

Chapter 34) Ben Franklin

I've been contemplating the physics of Santa Claus; that's definitely odd behavior, so he gets my attention. Santa Claus SAYS he comes from the north pole; I'm thinking that's the way he puts it for little kids, but first, we know there's nothing at the north pole but a little ice, there are expeditions on discovery channel all the time and they never encounter him, but if Santa resides outside of time, he uses a portal to get in and out of time, and these portals are typically at the center of stars. Could it be Santa Claus is cryptically admitting to opening a portal at the center of the earth? That would make sense, and he'd probably pop out at the poles when he needed too, and would probably be restricted to certain astral configurations, like once a year. More to my point, this would mean Santa is a hero of anti-time.

I have had the theory/understanding for years that absolutely no one else can get behind - that the overactive imagination and the overactive immune system are the same thing; that dreams are the immune system, thinking, and that's why they are so important, and that's why they respond to stress;

So I don't know why I dream the green giraffe, not sure where that fits in, but anyway, there it is, maybe it's important.

I also have maintained for some time the opposite of gravity is what pushes us down, that there's no mystical force in the ground pulling us; indeed, the theoretical "graviton" cannot seem to be found by our "scientists";

I saw the smiling crescent moon, and the fact that I could tell it was a smile, that you can tell what a smile is on your loved one's face, is an antigravity concept. The depressed face is pushed down upon by the "hyperclock", or "ytivarg", while the radiating personality beams - upward - and 'causes a smile, like the crescent moon above my fava bean farm.

Now Santa's been around a while. I used to watch Rudolf the red nosed reindeer and frosty back when I was little, and even my parents had heard of Santa Claus, even the people in the black and white movies had heard of him. And he was old even back then. So obviously we can say he's gotten into the "Longetivity wine", like my other anti time hero Lu DongBin. And if Santa's into longevity, these are the inklings of anti-time, that eventually build into a marching column of "Santa-flow".

And hey, longetivity, that's also about the immune system - (see how it all comes together? that's the nature of psychosis!)

Starbucks, the New York Times, like fires lighting up the damp cold morning - fires of terrorism, of politics, of explosive passionate creativity, wars safely confined in boxes of newsprint corralled by the black by-lines, and I am still for the first time since waking, as I stare into the fires and smile" ("smiled with their eyes and listened dreamily" was a line I'd just read in my Robert Walser crazy-guy essays.)

A round table, a teapot full of exhausted mountain oolong tea leaves, a paper cup with a little cold water, and a book on the outskirts of the ritual, skating in and out of time, as I gargle with anti-time and sit in the center, a hot cup of yellow tea and two hands, bridging the gap to the mind that becomes peculiarly intoxicated, as I become the asterism, PKS-2125, master of the circus of time encryption.

In 2002 the scientists discovered "Dehydrotumologic acid in poria cocos". Lu DongBin called it longetivity wine a long time ago, hundreds of years ago, and probably, still calls it that to this day, Taoist immortal still in his 700 year seat.

****

Chapter 35) Opening up the mind

"It's all in your mind" never worked for me, my mom's favorite line for dealing with my madness, because that doesn't help; mind, I thought, was a black box, we had no understanding of the mechanics in there.

That's still true in official science: no theory of brain-mind - how the physical brain works and creates our experience of mind. I enjoy watching the scientists, lost though they are doomed to forever be, they teach me discoveries of the MRI machines and X-rays, like the "second brain" in the gut, in between the stomach lining is a whole second brain, at the center of the head-brain there's an ancient structure tying us to our fears and desires, but at the center of the second, gut-brain, there's...IT DEPENDS!!! -nothing, just emptiness, just leads to the mechanics of the stomach eating itself, its own amino acids, that's a pathology all to itself, so then there's filling it with juice and fruit and vegetables, or meat and wine, or pure poison tea and coffee, and all kinds of different minds, or speeds on the engine, that will develop of this oily protagonist in the engine.

Reciprocally, I have been thinking of the mind as my fireplace, the wood that is crackling in the too-high fire is my body, my amino acids, my neurons, that are being burned up with the mental activity I drive as I over think various topics, the more psychotic and beautiful, the more the fire rages, and when the logs are down to ashes and it's still cold in here, that's depression, we know how to light the fire but there's no more wood \- don't worry it'll grow back just takes longer and longer the older you get - and then there's the more common situation where the fireplace is full of green wood and leaves, and there's barely a spark in the pit, and it won't catch. I can teach people how to make it burn, but crazy as I am, I can't do a good controlled burn, I just know how to make it rage, fully manic, floridly psychotic, so I caution people who see my high energy 135 pound frame and ask me about diet advice. I tell them I teach how to become very skinny while also totally insane! That actually got my boss the sales director to stop drinking my Lee Shan oolong tea, mental poison and stimulant like LSD but still legal in California, he used to love the "kick" but stopped drinking it, saying that the magical tea is only for "communists".

Years ago Mark Knopfler on Dire Straits came up with the line "you run every red light on memory lane", took that brain mind theory - really just analogy to be developed - and said ok, the average mind is a bunch of streets, narrow like Oakland here, and lots of stop signs and speed bumps; and I've used sugar and general dopamine to flood the place with a military surge like 200,000 soldiers in Iraq, complete with tanks, and earth movers, we plow whole new streets, widen everything, and let the raging river of lava that is the dopamine and glucose flood like a tsunami, and the fire breaks out on all the shores, the fires of a febrile imagination, and the language center of the human male gets overheated, and then a portal between the worlds opens, as always, and through it pour the little demons that go about painting the hallucinations before your hypnagogic eyes and then running away!!!

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Chapter 36) What would it look like?

What would the new world look like, if you were gonna start your own, what's that religion where they come around and knock on your door and you go to their temple and you end up getting your own planet? I forget. But all my life since way before I ever heard of that religion, all the while I was a little kid growing up learning about the world, I figured eventually I'd be the only one and I'd have to re teach all this stuff. I was paying careful attention to the inventions of man, so I could reproduce my favorites in the new world. That's why I try to learn as much as possible about this one. I was planning on remembering my favorite rock and roll songs, and in the new world I would say I wrote them. I'd bring over the road bike, but not the mountain bike, I'll just wait for them to re-invent that non sense on the new world.

As a god, I'd do alot the same actually. And I couldn't predict the flora and fauna that will bloom on my world, it's gonna be like putting 40 vegetables in the blender, you never know what color it's gonna be. But I know my fauna would be always changing, mystical, always graceful, elaborate, beautiful, and evil.

Yes, I would be like the integrated gods of the Aztecs and the Taoists, good and evil mixed together, agakokakological. As the devil portion, I want my children to go out and sin, to learn and grown stronger and more beautiful, then I'd recall my children into the holy grace at the end.

I'd set the entire universe all around them as their bible. And that's the catch, I can't leave them in the bliss of Eden, I'll have to let the world get as evil and stupid as it is now, so that they could get to the part where they invent the Chandra and Hubble space telescopes, and the big one up on Mt. Keck (Fishing in flushing puts the kick in the keck kat); the evil in their world, as devil I would downright foster it.

Because this crazy world brings us the space telescopes, which penetrate red shift space, quasars brought down to earth, something we shamans never had access to before in the history of humanity.

A secret department, in heaven, I stumbled in on it, and it's full of the worst of the worst from hell. They don't want you to know, but most of those in the department always knew. It's the department of heresiarchs. I guess it figures whoever set up heaven would be somewhat "interested" in what's going on "down there", what can they really do, what can some of these specimens actually come up with? And it is one of the most beautiful departments of heaven I've ever seen.

("It's one thing to follow a heresy, quite another to be the Heresiarch!")

Heresiarchs are the people who invent the heresies we love to live in.

Like alot of people in America burn fossil fuels to get around and then their government gets into wars in order to secure more fossil fuels, meanwhile I've been walking around America asking why they drive cars and nobody has any idea, they all do it because all the other ones do it. Those are just the people following the heresy, and just for driving a car you don't get into that department of heaven.

But if you are the guy or the demon who came up with that crazy idea in the first place, then you are not just following a heresy, you are the architect of the heresy, the "Heresiarch", and for that demon there is a special place in heaven.

If you shoot people you begin to earn your room in hell, but if you invented the gun, you go so deep into hell's inner reaches that you squirm right up the chimney into the secret department of heaven, reserved for the heresiarchs.

If you just figure there's gravity 'cause you saw schoolhouse rock in the 70's, you just follow the heresy, but if it's 1666 and you are sitting under the apple tree, and demons are attacking you with apples, and you declare a new fundamental force in the universe, deep in the ground, to be pulling these apples down at you, and call it gravity, well, that earns you a special place in heaven's department of heresiarchs.

Me, I'm looking to hole myself up in the room in that department of heaven where everybody refuses to interact with time, the "anti time" coalition, one of the most dangerous in all the heavens.

When we follow the heresies of our day without question, and practice not-knowing, we can become healthy, strong, and beautiful. But when we reject the culture, the tribe around us, to go deeper and get a better explanation, one without "gravity" or "time", or "fossil fuel burning", well, it's not healthy, it's the other option we have in life, the option to be healthy and "belong", versus the option to "understand" on your own, and be considered "crazy" by the surrounding tribe, who you necessarily have to leave behind.

When we explain the mysteries of the universe around us in ways are unlike the explanations of the tribe around us, we become "mystagogues", or "hierophants", describing mysteries, and wherever you are when you perform the hierophant/mystagogue role, it's a "scene of hierophany", and at every scene of hierophany, a hole opens up between the worlds, a hole through which we can crawl and meet the demon world, a door through which the shadow people can spill into our realm, a hole through which our gods can look down on us and inform us of their otherworldly minds.

Mites don't function as single mites, it's not me against this or that mite, and that's why it's not really wrong, in any religion, for me to clean the mites and parasites and yeast infestations all over me, I'm not killing "mites" or "yeast itself", I'm shaving the hair of a really big creature that spans the planet, appropriately, yeast and mites that function not as cells but as a mob, a massive shadow presence that stalks me in my hotel room, a predator who resides in a dimension so different from mine that it is almost as different as the demon world, and if the dreams and visions I've been having for the past 26 years are the life and times of those mites and yeasts from the mite and yeast and demon world, they sure are wild. And evil.

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Chapter 37) Ytivarg

YTIVARG ! It's pretty straight forward, and it's getting common. An article in last July 13th's New York Times had "Is Gravity Real?" as the cover story on the science times (must have been a Tuesday). Way before that I'd seen comments in science articles like "why are we still using the word "gravity" in a scientific discussion?" vestige of Newton's mysticism. It's no big deal, I just use this as the introduction to the fact that I'm crazy. I had a job last year in a big glass tower, a sales engineer selling desktop virtualization and writing statements of work, and my partner was a real capitalist, a sales director whose focus was a three million dollar quarter, or some nonsense. He wanted to get to know me better (I was just acting normal, but it's obvious there's something else underneath, my "normal" personality really has almost no material, so they know it must be in a different personality). So the guy gets me to go out on an overnight trip with him, that was normal, and a few drinks with dinner is normal. But then he forces me in to a night cap and buys more and more. 9 glasses of wine, and I'm no drinker, so he then asks me what is going on in my head. I don't want to scare the guy, and start with scenes from the demon world; I was trying to hold on to the job. But I knew I had to give him something. I told him I don't believe in gravity, explained to him for a drunken half hour. The next day he says things like "do you remember you drew the universe on the back of a napkin?", and would go on telling people that "mukky doesn't believe in gravity, but he can back it up!" That guy was a jerk though, capitalist sales guy, what do you expect from that type? They all said "we thought you were gonna be great at this mukky, till we realized you don't like money". Anyway, here's my presentation, as sensibly rendered as possible:

It's become my hobby to walk around in a non-ordinary model of the universe. What I mean by that is that I like to think deeply about nature, about the mountains around me and how they rose up, etc., and I have particularly enjoyed reversing the concept of gravity for myself. I like to walk around in an understanding of the universe around me that makes more sense than the one I inherited, and does not include the concept of gravity.

Gravity's only been around as a concept since 1666 so it's not like it's critical to the development of mankind or anything, and it's not like it's really that obvious. There is no real scientific explanation for the theory of gravity. The invisible, mystical force pulling us down has never been found. The hypothetical "graviton" still comes up missing.

I understand consensual reality, where the invisible force of gravity is inside the earth and pulling us down. It's become a widely accepted theory, but over the last few decades it has taken some heavy hits, and isn't really looking like much of a theory anymore.

I remember having the theory of gravity explained to me as a child, by a cartoon, and in the first grade science books. In the cartoon, (I think this is "schoolhouse rock" from 1970's Saturday morning American TV), a person on the leaning tower of Pisa drops, simultaneously, a bowling ball and a marble. Counter-intuitively, the two things hit the ground at the same time. Immediately I had a problem with this theory.

I watched as I grew up with popular science articles pointing out the mysteries of the age. Many had to do with reconciling the theory of gravity with all the other visions of how things really worked, which all made better sense. When I was growing up all the world theories and ideas and mysticisms that were based on space had been based on what people could see back in their time, either with their eyes or with primitive telescopes to see faint light.

Today we have sent radio telescopes into orbit to look at objects too far away to be sending light, and then there are the X-Ray satellites, and gamma ray satellites, showing us not only the stars in our own Milky Way galaxy, which is what all the other ages were looking at, but rather a scale that diminishes this galaxy, our ancestor's "universe", as a piece of sand in a huge web of light stretching out like a vine into the darkness of space.

First, they came up with dark matter, about 20 years ago. It was the force that had to be holding the galaxy together from the outside, pushing down, pushing "inward". Meanwhile, I knew intuitively the earth was pushing the grass up.

So I began to wonder if maybe there's no mysterious force inside the earth pulling us DOWN- it's pushing us UP, but we're standing in the DARK MATTER RAIN - like a bullet-rain in a heavy metal song, and that's what pushes us down. And the dark matter-rain comes and goes in terms of intensity, with 4 peaks every year corresponding vaguely with the equinoxes.

They can't find the dark matter particles in science, and they have alot of detecting experiments. So I went through 20 years, speculating on the dark matter rain vs. gravity. In cosmology, there are several problems with the theory of gravity, so they're always looking for something that makes more sense.

Hegel said in 19th century Germany's "philosophy of science" that all theories ought to be accompanied by a Vorstellung - pictorial thinking. It ought to be explainable as an image, not just math, or it doesn't pass the test of the intuition. Gravity failed that test for me.

Finally, a few years ago, a peer review physics website published a paper, by the head of the department of Physics for the university of Sarajevo. This paper was great. I can paste a link. But let me explain first the value. He was quite megalomaniacal in his presentation, teaching about things he couldn't possibly know. But I integrated his beautiful vision with my "dark matter rain", and the work of another wonderer on "gravimotion.com", to the point where I am certainly walking in a universe model where there is no such thing as gravity, this has been a pleasure I've been taking in life.

He starts off the paper talking about earthquakes and the SpringTide. He says he proves that all the earthquakes happen within 3 days of either the full or the new moon. (the megalomaniacal part is when he says he can now predict any future earthquake anywhere, only if we give him "gravimometers" installed all over the earth, the sun, and underground all over as many other planets in the solar system as possible, in order to get the most precision.)

Because his reasoning for this phenomenon that he has pulled out of these statistical records of earthquakes, is (like my anti-gravity concept), that there is no mystical force in the earth pulling down, (he explicitly mentions that Newton was a mystic and the concept of gravity is a vestige of that), but that in fact the "molecules" "around here" are part of us, and together we push outward, The earth, and behind it the sun, are OUR mass, in the eyes of: EVERYTHING THAT SURROUNDS THE SOLAR SYSTEM, OUT TO THE LIMITS (and as far as limits, he gets megalomaniacal again: he says the universe is surrounded by the hyperverse which is surrounded by the omniverse, but let's just speculate out the limits of a finite sphere and call it the universe, for the sake of simplicity).

Intuitively many people look up at an empty dark sky, knowing about a couple of planets they've heard of and seen pointed to very far away, and think how could that little far away bit of stuff have any weight or effect upon me way down here, and how could that effect be transmitted as a "force" across all this "empty space"?

But if you look at the ever increasing size of the "visible" universe in the new wavelengths we can see this generation, (X-Ray, radio, gamma-ray), you see billions of galaxies, all connected in a giant web, and it becomes much easier to imagine the pressure bearing down upon us.

And what pushes down on us, then, is every other molecule of mass in the direction "up" - the zone of the "upturned phosphors", as the 4th century Taoist referred to the stars, as the sun and moon's "phosphors" were pointed up at the stars, not down at us, and so the stars were the land of the upturned phosphors); so the concept of "dark matter" is no longer necessary, it's simply all the other matter, radiating, as all matter does.

Anyway, he said: 'imagine a man standing on the surface of the earth. Now draw an inverted cone, like a dunce cap but upside down, beginning at the crown of his head, opening out and up, to the "limit", whatever that is. Out here there are other galaxies, other black holes, billions of stars. That's why earth is round, he says. We are being pushed in upon from all sides. As humans, we're protected by the field of the earth, but if we were all alone, all the way out there, without an earth, we'd turn round from the pressure too!

Then here's the thing about the moon and the springtide: If it's a dark matter-rain of pressure from a "hyperclock" as he calls it, spinning around above us, then when the moon in this "hyperclock" gets directly above us, as a full moon, we are shadowed, we have an umbrella, and it's not quite as intense a wave of dark matter rain. So the molecules that push "Up" can go farther: the volcanoes erupt and the earth splits and the mountains rise and the werewolves look up and howl. And after three days the moon moves out of place and the dark-matter rain comes crashing back down.

http://arxiv.org/ftp/physics/papers/0612/0612177.pdf

The Greeks had an explanation for why the moon stayed up in the sky, rather than "falling to earth" or into the sun. They called the force "quintessence". After looking at the law of attraction as a push and not a pull, the word "ytivarg", (gravity spelled backwards), began to seem more appropriate for the "force", or the "effect" that I am speculating on.

The "hyperclock" in the article is the term for all the matter radiating down upon us, as we radiate outward in opposition, the flowering earth pushing upward. This is the "opposite" force, so that ytivarg, as an effect, does indeed have an opposing force, one that we tend to root for as the force of life, of light, of reaching outward and upward, of escaping from under the pressure. And in this vision it is the hyperclock that radiates the pressure down on us.

After science proposed and then settled on and accepted the concept of dark matter, an invisible force pushing in on us, they had to propose another mystery force called dark energy, which was used to explain the observed fact that all galaxies in the great net are flying apart faster and faster as the whole thing gets bigger and bigger, the opposite of what they'd expect if there was a force of gravity in the material, holding it all together. So the dark matter is proposed as pushing down on everything, then the dark energy pushing everything apart; these forces are purely speculative, and their nature has never been demonstrated, only their supposed effect. With ytivarg we have an explanation for what is pushing down on us, as well as the explanation for what the more of the matter there is, the faster it flies apart - because it all radiates.

The solar system was what Newton was contemplating when he proposed gravity, and it makes sense just as well as ytivarg within the radius of about half the solar system.

The central sun parentally radiates in time, the calm fusion bang that frankens the stein, and has all forms of life on earth para-radiating springtime out into space, and the grand effects of ytivarg are kept at bay as in a child's nursery, but outside the radius of Saturn, the nursery effect fades, and the ytivarg of the universe begins to press down.

The "Pioneer anomaly" is a current mystery in science that can be explained by ytivarg. Decades ago NASA sent up two unmanned spaceships that could be propelled outward on a one way trip to the edges of the solar system and possibly beyond. Every several years we see pictures of Saturn or Uranus as Pioneer 1 or 2 passes by on its way outward, out past the traditional solar effects that we are used to.

NASA expected the force of gravity in the massive Sun to be a significant force that would hold the Pioneer spaceship back at first and gradually fade as the spaceship got farther away, and the Sun gradually faded to a tiny star in the distance. But the opposite has occurred, according to all the data. The Pioneer spacecraft is getting slower instead of faster, and this is the "Pioneer anomaly", but if the ytivarg is pushing in on us and we are only protected by the radiating Sun pushing outward, then of course the spaceship would suffer increasing effects of the ytivarg as it moved farther and farther from "home".

Our new space based telescopes have brought to light the phenomenon of "Gamma ray bursts". At first built by the US to make sure Russia wasn't testing nuclear bombs on the moon, the satellite telescopes instead found quasi-periodic "bursts" in the sky that would fade in a signature way, and initially these were assumed to be coming from within our galaxy, because the light was so bright.

But expanding "surveys" of gamma ray bursts soon proved they were coming from all directions of the sky, not just the galactic plane, where they would have been confined if they had been merely exploding stars in our own galaxy. And soon enough co-incidental detections of bursts with detectable "red-shifts" made it clear we were looking at massive explosions taking place halfway across the universe, in every direction all around us. The quasi-periodic nature of these bursts - about one a day - is not clearly explainable by any known structure or force, as the size of the known universe know spans such distance that it is almost 11 billion years across, for light to travel at the speed of light, so even though light cannot get from one end to the other for 11 billion years, there appears to be synchronization within this entire structure.

One explanation for this could be a single external force, pushing inward on the hyperclock, the author's "multiverse", and as it pushes inward on the massive object uniformly, causing a collapse into crystal logic of an originally less dense mist, and causing the cracks on all sides as the pressure increases. The opposite of the ytivarg, the light of quasars and the light of life, radiate upward and outward like tigers escaping from the circus of increasing heat and high pressure.

Some say they don't care about how things are out past Saturn in the rest of the "known universe", and they don't care if it's a push or a pull, it's all the same. But I think there is a subtle difference, in that in my vision, everything is radiant, and in the prevailing vision, it all "sucks". And that is the motivation of this little essay, to raise our spirits against the ytivarg by seeing the interconnected world around us as a cradle of radiating light, of which we can be a part.

Though of course they never print my stuff, I typed this up as a reply to the New York Times article last July 13, referenced here:

http://digg.com/news/science/Is_Gravity_Real_A_Scientist_Takes_On_Newton

Newton is a demon, and I don't mean fig;

I mean Isaac. He set up the math and nobody else could do it, ensconced himself at the top level of authority of learning, and declared the force of gravity to exist, building his calculus around it, a witchcraft that persists in all my neighbor's minds, to this day, without any basis in science and despite all of science's collected evidence to the contrary, yeah, Newton is witchcraft. 'cause in 1666 he says the apple fell to his head from out of the sky; and that was the apple that devil fed mankind, again, another eve in the garden of Eden; and mankind's powerhouse of modern liberation from that kind of darkness - science and reason - is powerless in the laughing face of a society just told that gravity doesn't exist on the front page of the science times. What was that demon up to? Simple, the religion of evil; demons practice it, I know 'cause I went undercover, and now I expose them; the harm: man sinks in to depression. Everything "sucks". I escaped from the yoke of Newton's mysticism, via some powerful witchcraft of my own, RED magic, (beats the BLACK stuff every time, WHITE too!) My private world radiates, radiates "quiet mystery", pure grace. Mankind knows it's precious, but it doesn't know its worth. A great light shines out from beneath our feet!

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Chapter 38) Cover & Title

I had moved to California, I had again let the electricity bill go, and the power was turned off. I bought a gym membership nearby for showering, bought candles, and developed a psychosis about Ben Franklin, to explain away my lifestyle to the people around me. Elissa my girlfirend from New York around the time I left, was writing on how it was "uncivilized". Our last few emails had the subject line "wagging my red‐shift tail". I thought this was a clever concept I had come up with, though the email sounds kind of mean, in the midst of one more rant on not needing a mate in my life: "Elissa, I just disagree that there's 'nothing we can do about it'; I raised myself in 19th century Germany, where the most important thing was NOT to be "comfortable", or even to "conform", but rather, the most important thing was...FREEDOM! So to say there's "nothing we can do about" a minor social dilemma like a particular species on a particular planet using currency and hypertrophying the currency to the point where it "matters", as people around here tend to, it just sounds like a challenge. And it's a significant challenge in modern day America, but I am doing better than ever in my life these days living almost free from money and money concerns. Just rent, and the money for rent comes out of one room at work and goes into another room just down the hall. The rest is cash in my pocket right from the office in the back, and then food is available all around the local area for the cash. I don't have to know how much cash there is, as long as I always work at least every other week, there's always enough for food and rent, and the occasional books and CD's. Some people ‐ shamans, particularly ‐ find it less important, or not important at all, to conform to the society around them. So if they don't copy the behavior around them, where do shamans go to get their behavior? Tapir's, Black‐holes, other shamans and world religious leaders. Surveys that span many species over many centuries, or even astrophysics surveys with long "red‐shift tails" ‐ meaning the survey spans farther into the past. I'm a creature with a long tail ‐ a long "red‐shift tail", because my "survey" spans all the way to red‐shift space. And I'm a creature with a "redshift tale", I put together a PowerPoint presentation on Sagittarius A star and the new discoveries about him, and about other powerful black holes and quasars, and their place and meaning in the universe, according to the unique theories that goober the Tapir and I have put together recently. I like to wag my tail to express my enthusiasm, I was disappointed when I was born without a tail, through no fault of my own but rather of my ancestors who obviously ate their tails off with their excess nervous energy, leaving me with no way, in the early years, to express my intense enthusiasm at the beauty of the world, or for that matter to propel myself forward, as a sperm cell does with HIS tail. So now I have educated myself BACK to having a tail. I have a REDSHIFT TAIL / TALE. And I'm waggin' it!

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Chapter 39) What's wrong with human Knowledge?

It's not like I don't appreciate human knowledge. Yet I go around making that comment all the time, about the test tube of human knowledge, (changed from "hole" when a friend started asking if I meant "whole" of human knowledge), and here is the point, there's alot of stuff, stuff I am interested in, and stuff I think would have been important for mankind's development to have been interested in, and that stuff isn't ever going to be discovered in that test tube. Congratulations to man, figuring out what he has so far, and becoming the top predatory species, honestly, congratulations dude. But let's not blow this out of proportion; you're a killer, not a god. What you know is how to chop stuff up and describe it, how to manipulate the world around you, and that's what all the creatures were trying to do, which is why I say congratulations. But I guess I'm no humanist, I do not see the case for human superiority, or for the level of comfort that mankind demands and considers a "right" today. The stuff I'm interested in, what is it? The unseen, the imaginary friends of my nieces and nephews, the spirit world of shamanism, the cloud of witnesses of Catholicism, heaven itself for that matter if we're going down that route, what I'm interested in is the king and the queen of the sun sitting at its center, and the tea they are brewing there, "dark-enigma"; Shamanism teaches me some of what I want to know, as do the demons of the spirit world, and the schizophrenics of this world. Science, for its part, says there's an invisible force in the ground holding us down, but offers no proof! In the 50's, thought by now we'd extract nutrition from food and we'd be eating pills. Meanwhile they are still selling calcium supplements for millions of dollars a year, and they just figured out that stuff doesn't work; like most nutrients, you have to get it the natural way. They sell resveratrol in extract form, but it's known that you have to drink the wine, pinot noir, from a region where the grape struggled for its existence. Because there is still mystery; we don't know what we're eating, we are interacting with spiritual creatures. Tao, I'm taught, never misses a thought, responds to every thought everywhere all the time. Communication can take place, if you are on good terms with the spirit world, without needing a cell phone and a satellite, and the insistence of "western" science on their own way is offensive to this point of view. It's why the Arabs put up such a fight, I think, fighting for the dignity of a world without the test tube of human knowledge, and honestly, on that I'm with them. No roadside bomb making for me, but I'm rooting for the good guys, the spiritualists, in this battle for our species' direction. (Honestly I don't think those guys should fight us, I think they already won by not falling down the hole, and they should just walk away and consider the western world animals in a zoo, and propose to build a fence around us. That would be taking the moral high ground, and would piss off the animals, but also maybe teach and inspire some.)

I go around trying to say this quickly and pithily, a sound bite in the midst of technical classes I teach, but I discovered a master saying it better, and going farther! For my part, I'm taking the guidance of some Taoist samizdats/encyclicals/tractates I read, the "statutes of mystery metropolis", where the guidance is to become what we would call in American society "floridly psychotic"; the vision of the Tao Te Ching is not hard working people driving to work and growing the economy, but simple people, uneducated, never leaving their village, just cooking and farming, being happy and full, and dreaming of the Taoist immortals. They give me the direction that I repeat in my little presentation about science and reason being toys for the toy box. They say "pursue inner nature and destiny, and search for mystery and wonder". And what's going on around me, industrial culture, strikes me as a mistake compared to the vision I've been shown by these eastern poets. (My German/Mexican genome gives me bias, as my Mexican genome is a subset of the Chinese genome, and so these concepts resonate with me in a way they do not seem to with most of my American California peers.)

The master I discovered was no regular humanist in the test tube of human knowledge. His name is Musil. I just discovered his monumental 2000 page novel "the man without qualities", he spent 20 years writing it, told his wife he was gonna win the Nobel prize, didn't, but there are some classic chapters in there, and though I'm not done, one chapter stands out, for it elaborates passionately on the rarely presented theme above.

In the amazing chapter 72 of "the man without qualities", science is compared to evil, a man smiling into his beard, making believe this is all about being nice to humans, to help them, all the while taking over the province that previously belonged to hunters and butchers, cutting everything up to take control of it, a chapter that agrees with me that it all started around the 1600's, madness go locked down, kicked out, and science came out to take over, no longer discussing what the nature of reality was, but merely describing how it moves and how to count it, break it down into components and take power over the environment. Thing is the only thing you can take power over is the little hole of human knowledge, and c'mon, that's not what life is about, is it?

Up here with the trees and the schizophrenics and the shamans and the two year olds, pursuing "mystery and wonder", reality can be many different things. It seems to me the problem is that the mode of transportation for most people is the automobile, the economy depends on it, I see the look in the eye of the capitalist industrialist when I ride a bicycle. And if they're gonna be drivin, they're gonna have to be sober-minded, and if we're gonna build dense cities for industry, these people are gonna have to learn to be docile, eat from a can and stay still in a dirty hovel, and not complain, and we need drugs to put down the ones who do complain.

It seems to me "maturity", i.e. "science and reason", is a mutation that is only a useful adaptation for a small minority, to watch over us and be our keepers, be our parents, and the rest of us, we take the bus, just strap us in to the car seat, and we dream, floridly psychotic, and we chop up the world around us, and we find new ways, you never know, in the mystery and wonder. And once you never know, you can lead the world, the Taoists say.

I realize my attitude here is not one that many assent to easily. I got it out of eastern mysticism, this is the west, I don't expect much resonance, just like to show how crazy I can be, and I've been listening to live versions of Dire Straits "industrial disease" on you tube, hey, "sociologists invent words that mean industrial disease!" And there's no industrial disease in the us, they don't want us thinking like that, nothing in the DSM IV, but in Japan, it's eastern culture, and they admit it, they call it "americanitis", and MTM is the cure - morita therapy method, it's a matter of dropping out and meditating and doing manual labor calmly for a while, till you get back to sitting at a computer, getting another case of industrial disease!

And another big reason I don't side with science: my ghost bug condition. 26 years ago I went to doctors and asked what science had to offer a sufferer with invisible bugs all over his body. It's 26 years later, and I still have to fight, two days ago I had to declare I was ready to take hostages before I got a bottle of seroquel, and it didn't help, got me to pass out for four hours in the infestation but when I woke up I was so bitten up it was like having poison ivy all day. But the DSM IV says mite infestation is all in your head, bird mites dot org says it's real, they found it with the pest control people, and it's insidious. So science, specifically medicine, hasn't done right by me. I'm suicidal about my condition most of the day most days. I keep pulling the punches, but survival is getting tricky and challenging. I spend my whole day suffering and working to prepare so I can get a few hours' sleep and then continue suffering.

And to assent to this kind of point of view, you gotta get past sacrificing people. I'm Aztec, by race, so it comes naturally to me, and I'm half demon, we kill and kill for sport, in the demon world, so sacrificing humans always seemed appropriate to me, they are not on the endangered species list, or even threatened. Oh, make no mistake, the dragons of King Arthur legend stalk and abound, but the dragon slayer got them broken down to microscopic components, so now one dragon equals a hundred billion dust mites and bird mites attacking, relentlessly, demonically, as they can attack and be killed and come back magically to keep fighting, like the demons in the demon world, like the jinn who combat American forces in Iraq and Afghanistan, blowing themselves up in suicide bombings again and again, demon technology.

Yes, once you get past sacrificing humans, you can accept sacrificing their comfort and their way of life. Relax, I'm not in politics or law enforcement, and I know I read way too many philosophy books, so don't worry about my anti-humanist, floridly psychotic point of view, I'm not hurting anybody. Like the girl who decides she wants to go silent and live homeless and live in a dream world of her own brilliant creation, causing her family to post on the web about an intervention and forced hospitalization and meds, so that she join her other less amazing family members in industrial society, I dropped out of my engineering stuff, just sitting back, telling my delusions about Linux to a room full of engineers, and all the rest of the time I maintain my floridly psychotic condition, and I don't see what the problem is. I do NOT have a driver's license, and I am not allowed to own a firearm after some stay in a psych hospital had me sign something, so let me walk around with my books in the tea shops of San Francisco, dreaming wildly. No harm done.

And science, let me just finish by saying, is schizophrenic by definition. Science insists on a certain coldness and hardness for the "facts" it is willing to consider, and you have to be a scientifically considerable fact to be in the "test tube of human knowledge", you can't be the voices in someone's schizophrenia, or beauty, or anything like that, so anyway, that coldness and hardness of the cold hard facts is a demand that the experiment be replica table by other people, other consciousnesses, in separate times and places. And that if we cannot "see" something with our eyes, or feel it with one of the five senses and have it show up on an already-invented type of meter, well, then it just isn't cold and hard enough for the test tube of things being considered in human knowledge. But, on the other hand, we know cats and birds have different eyes than we do, and can see things we cannot. I was told if I insist on one explanation for my ghost bugs, that I am crazy, or schizophrenic, but if I have multiple "theories", then I'm just a kid with odd ideas, capacious mind willing to entertain just about anything, yet, there science goes insisting that only what has been verified so far is real, all else is non-sense, that's why I say they are by definition insane, they are not willing to entertain the possibilities that are obviously available to interpretation. They've got no scientific explanation for the phenomenon of life. The study of the human body is all based on the study of dead bodies under a microscope; they have no understanding of the body in motion. There is no theory of brain mind, or how the brain gives rise to the mind, or they won't write one down anyway but I see it implicitly in their Alzheimer's experiments, experiments that often go horribly wrong and unaccording to plan, so much for the unspeakable theories of brain mind floating around; worse than no explanation, they have something to say about the motion of bodies, they've had this to say since 1666 courtesy of Newton the mystic: they say there's this invisible force in the ground, holding us down. But now that we can see out in to redshift space, the astrophysics and cosmic cartography of the past 30 years' golden ages are showing us that it's really ytivarg, not gravity, a push, not a pull, no force in the ground, but an overall pressure from every direction pushing down, and it spins, slowly, the hyper clock, and the astrologists have been tracking it for hundreds of years. Astrologists, now there are curious humans not willing to go down the hole of human knowledge, even if everybody laughs when they advise Mrs. Ronald Reagan on when and where and what. Us schizophrenics and shamans, by the way, ought not to mess with astrology, or the I Ching, we get to wanting to consult it for when we should take our next breath, it gets crazy, so I don't, but I do speculate on the hyperclock, as the phases of the moon slide, as the earthquakes and tsunamis fly, tiger circumambulating the medicine altar, searching for transformations.

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Chapter 40) The Dopamine Tree, hotel "Monkey Shine"

Last year, I brought my wife and went to the psychiatric crisis unit, said give me a lobotomy, whatever it takes, I was 45 and a half exactly and I couldn't run this anymore, take it away, do whatever you want but get the bugs off of me. They sent me home with the latest drug to try, orap, a cure worse than the disease, without being a cure! So all they showed me is they can't help me and they have a bad attitude and a closed mind. They say I have been 'very sick for a long time', as an explanation why none of their drugs work; they all suck, they all make me tired, but none of them get the bugs off me, so I just get mad. I walked away from them because they have shown time and time again they cannot help and they are more than willing to make it much worse. At 45 and a half I had made all the calls for help I could, and I had become thoroughly convinced mankind is completely helpless to help me with my condition, and if it were cancer or AIDS, I'd at least be made comfortable in a hospice, but for my last few days I am going to go live in a hotel more than halfway across the country from my loved ones to do IT work fulltime, gotta make a living, 'cause in this world the bugs all over me are invisible.

Tree branches, leaves like many rooms in a luxurious green hotel, the tree hotel of my mind, my subjectivity, and it's been my hobby to grow and take care of this tree, but due to a severe parasitic infestation, I am forced to stay inside a small room at the center of the hotel, little closet with a water heater in it, and it's the only place I can sleep; out in the rest of the hotel, there's been a problem for a long time, and now the parasites own the place. I had been quite attached to my tree early in life, protected it from tree trimmers that periodically offered their services, and let them call me guilty of sprawl as every day involved a new blueprint, a new workforce, and another addition onto the compound; I just got done this past two weeks adding three new 26 story apartment projects onto the original castle and cabins; now I'm contemplating abandoning the property entirely, due to gremlins in the manic attic.

We've been controlling the universe from that compound, and we're making waves, no doubt about it, the ship's in a hell of a storm; we're constantly using heartbeats, running around boarding up windows as meteors hit the most unlikely and remote rooms, it's like playing a world star at tennis, impossible.

Back in the old days I'd had the exterminators in a few times, way back when the problem was beginning to show itself. The exorcist was dramatic but effective - for a short time. In a few months the place had been repopulated, largely through the efforts of the exorcist's crew, who encouraged "angel" population, drawing on the catholic cathedrals in the area, for guidance and communication, a temporary crew to come in and fix up the place after the college frat demons were finally summarily evicted; well that was like a corporation hiring a bunch of young employees out of college, and thinking they just hired a bunch of angels, 'send one angel down the tunnel, into the darkness', and they misappropriate funds right away.

They say I'm not grounded, but I'm just like the tree, pointing upward and out at every direction in the sky, and balancing that by pointing out in every direction into the demon world below with my roots, but I admit I rock and sway alot more than the surrounding forest, not because I lack my roots, but because I have termites, termites of the mind.

Elevators seek the surface. We built that house, we can't go back. Flood it with SSRI's, then launch missiles that start avalanches on the weakened structure, (then better council the next population of beaver demons not to tunnel through everything so ferociously!)

The "dopamine tree", we used to call it - they call these rooms I build on to the house every weekend "dopamine receptors", because demons usually take up residence in them, and they then have to be fed and listened to. But with misbehaving demons running amuck, the rooms have been neglected - they'd order room service fifty times and let that junk pile up in the corners - and the place had become infested, smells like New York City, and now it's time to burn your wicked garden to the ground, yeah!

I remember at night we used to get all the demons worked up, turn on all the lights across the compound, and the place would glisten like a Christmas tree, hypnotic in the sharp cold night air.

I'd look down on my body back on earth from there, from the castle turrets; I'd look down on the whole zoo and see my body, my faithful follower. On the mystery drive down the tunnel to the heart, the glorious tunnel in the tree that leads to the root, secret tunnel at the center of the catatonic compound.

I then access the empty scarecrow I left behind through the sun, or through the eyes of the people sitting on the porch across the street eating corn, and I blow down on it to purify it, make it holy, I tune it to the cycles, And I can go to a section of the compound where I can feed the scarecrow and animate it, and in a special room the scarecrow sits in, out from the buffalo head on the wall, my head pops out and I blow on it, then a snake head comes out and touches it with the forked tongue, to grant it spirit.

When the compound reached a certain size it was dubbed 'monkey shine' as it was the point where the monkey's residence in his own mind 'causes him to begin to shine, or self-immolate, the scale and motion of the house around him pulling the monkey out of himself, spread thinner and thinner, first into clouds, then into finer mist, but outside the monkey becomes rather catatonic, as he is unable or unlikely to concentrate himself within his mansion into any one eddy so as to create a personality, but just tends to spread out into a finer mist within the mansion, becoming super-vulnerable to blood-feeding demons on the inside and out.

Yes, burn that wicked garden to the ground; crash a plane into the top with severe behavior restrictions - nobody allowed above the first floor! - and flood most of the basement lower levels with SSRI's; cut off my future, erase my past \- remove my redshift tail; pop a tent for your future, dig a neat little nook for your past, and there's nothing for the insects to infest. How do you pull that off? Just go sit in the insane asylum.

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Chapter 41) The Meaning of Life

Something I get confused about myself all the time - the meaning of life, the point, the Way, what I should be doing, what I should be working on: because from time to time, day to day, moment to moment, it shifts - there's not one meaning of life, or even one path for effective action, but it's more typically dialectical, it is two opposing directions, alternating in an almost mystical rhythm; different stages, with different strategies.

For instance, the directive, from an old death metal song, to "Try to get inside, NOT through", "seize it as it opens up before you!" (- Entombed, "Wolverine Blues"), was my standard reason for not wearing sunglasses, opting for the richness of perception over tunneling gently through and ignoring the too-bright light. On the other hand, I read the Statutes of Mystery Metropolis, precepts suggested for all beings to keep in order to "cross the ocean of mundane realms", to try to get through, not inside, in other words. And I get confused about which principle I'm diving into, not exactly wondering whether or not to wear sunglasses, but for instance on Saturday morning, when the battle of visions for the weekend begins, excited visions of "stuff to do" on one side, versus the wisdom of the sleeping dog, and the Taoist vision that leads to that- casting off the mind's "excitement" and "stuff to do", to feel the calm weight of the universe on blood and mind, as the palm tree sways gently above my head.

Of course it comes down to a dialectic, like the dialectic between objectivity - cleaning the house, taking a shower, going to work - versus subjectivity - coming home, sitting in an easy chair, drinking wine, watching TV; individuality and dreaminess go in and out of style during the progression of our lives, alternating with a mechanistic, controlled form of sacrificing that subjectivity for the purpose of securing food and shelter, presumably, and so we learn limits to our subjectivity, as well as the limits to order - few of us take order to the level of the old-maid's room or the horse guard's stable, we don't typically let ourselves freeze into a moonscape of perfect order; we feel the need to re-assert individuality and subjectivity after some point in the gradual freezing.

This reassertion is not always planned, but more of an unplanned eruption, which we may just go with, or oppose with an imposition of order, trying to "get ahead" with self-denial. And so if we find ourselves rooting for the self-denial character, do we pledge infinite quiet and order for our own lives? Or how do we know when to spend the Way, to let it loose, perform spontaneous action? The sage is supposed to tell us, and I guess that's Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Great Pumpkin, and whatever other cartoon characters come out and tell us the time to celebrate has arrived, (if our regular human leaders can't come up with anything BUT 'go ahead and celebrate' all the time, with their "pursuit of happiness" and all);

The sage says there is a container out of which all kind of mysteries arise - the invisibility of demons, for instance, is said to arise from this wondrous container, along with the way more mundane overnight growth observable in plants, and even ourselves. They say some things are cyclical and can be predicted with a calendar; other things are "spontaneous", with no way to predict, and that these things must come from a wondrous container, the receptacle of stillness, which is what everybody is doing all night when all the spontaneous growth occurs - think of the mushrooms.

Different guides go to different lengths on when to spontaneously jump out of the receptacle of stillness and celebrate, or on how much, or even if ever to celebrate, in some ways. Some Taoist sects disallow the enjoyment of music; on the other hand, Protestantism is pretty liberal as far as enjoying the material world goes, just give the 10 percent to the church and whatever with the other 90; so when I was not only fasting in a Christian home, but trying to eat stuff without making it palatable, so as to not be able to enjoy any eating, my Christian brother in law objected, insisted God wanted me to "enjoy" the food. That's where I get confused a little.

And when I get confused I look to the heavens, not with a regular telescope, 'cause that just shows you the visible light, mostly stars in our own galaxy. No, I use the radio and X-Ray space-based telescopes available to us, like the Chandra and the Hubble spacecrafts, peering into "redshift" space, coming to us on wavelengths outside visible light. Yes it is this new world, only available to humanity over the past 25 year golden age of astrophysics, that I take for my bible, the book of red magic, of light and dark working together, the agakokakological world of yin and yang.

Oh how interesting humanity could become, if they would take this new geometry of nature as their blueprint! Let's no longer stare at all the little stars in our galaxy, but now think much bigger, with a galaxy representing a person. Our galaxy is a little quiescent thing spinning with a partner - "Alpha Centauri", or "M31", and a bunch of smaller galaxies surrounding us, all the seeds in the center of a cucumber, and our slice is kinda thin, but there are bigger galaxy clusters, the nearest super cluster to us being the Virgo Cluster, and at the center of a cluster like that there is one clear leader, the large central galaxy shines a bright light, two jets of light, out from the center. The central galaxy in great clusters teaches me how to align myself with the people around me, I try to be that central shaman, shining out to onto the community with seen and unseen light, pharmacist at the center of the circular apothecary, harmonizing and regulating the circulation, raising and lowering the energies, to adjust them, resolving stagnancies and removing obstructions, breaking the darkness and getting rid of evils, responding to wrongdoers repentances, ferrying those who lost their way, safeguarding pregnancies and births, curing illnesses, nourishing roots, making the good weather return, making human beings be born and grow up, refining and ferrying ghosts and spirits, untying the hundreds of knots and giving blessings, supplementing the energies, assisting the righteous, and perfecting reality, summoning peace, extending blessings for the world - a heavenly doctor of important duties.

So there's the relativism of the dialectic of objectivity and subjectivity in life - is it "Das Tun Aller und Jeder" - the "doings of all and each", we are responsible for in our universal life, or is "drinking a man's own business", as the character on Gunsmoke insisted yesterday, just wanting to ramble on in mystery and wonder. And yes, I get confused within the relativism, but then I am even more confused when I see a particular character at a particular task, and cast aside my relativism, seeing that this character is obviously doing the "right" thing, and what I get confused about is how I know that.

A quasar jet has direction, we root for it to go straight and as long as possible, and it usually eventually ends in what is called a "radio lobe", a crash, and explosion. It's like in football, the guy gets the ball and runs halfway across the TV screen with it, and we root for him to keep going in that clear direction, and then it almost always ends in a tackle, a "crash", a "radio lobe", or even if he gets to the end zone, he typically gives it a radio lobe anyway, and crashes the ball on the ground, radio lobe disintegrating in the mist of his victory dance.

So the jet has a direction, to go straight out, kenotic jet out of the body and into the spirit, quasar jet of kenosis that tunnels through the dark, crosses the mundane realms, beatific jet that minimizes the crash, doesn't get tackled, doesn't spike the ball, just stops running, sits down, and relaxes into a meditative gaze, jet beaming out in infinite enlightenment.

Should the jet try to get inside, not through? Entrain the ambient medium, as they say? Or "suffer" heavy metal enrichment, as the capitalists are always wont to do? Well, it does in the initial crash, stars lighting up on the shockwave front. A fun analogy for me, these two jets from the quasar heart and the "working surface" where the jet crash is beginning, where the lobe is being inflated from, is like the stuff I work on in my life. I adopted a "7 part working surface", where I took the "equation of state" for a galaxy - continuity, momentum, pressure, magnetic field, density, velocity, and velocity dispersion (this last is the measure of how much it deviates from the surrounding flow that controls the neighbors), and these are all the things a creature can focus on as he improves and extends his life force. And then after the initial working surface is blasted for a while, the jet progresses, breaks on through to the other side - after the quenching, the synaptic event - leaving the working surface behind, and moving on to the next working surface, farther out - the hero stain in the treasure rain!

And as the jet makes this break for it, there is a dramatic effect on the world it leaves behind: at first, the single direction of the numinous jet is refuted by the turbulent nature of the radio lobe, the cosmic cloud of life and all its tangents, but when the jet moves on, the lobe it let behind becomes re-righted, like a world at the end of the book of revelation, like the people of a god who let his people be led by the devil for a spell, so that they would develop a more complex and beautiful "radio lobe", chaotic and unholy as far as the singleness of direction, but later to be re-justified, forgiven, now-educated prodigal son taken in, reconciled into the heart of god, jet of kenosis from life into the mystical kingdom of god, and so all the vectors in the radio lobe, going in every direction, get all of a sudden lined up, and point in one direction - the vertical component!

And so the absolute reappears after the time of relativism - the vertical component is clearly the guide. How beautiful, when the character in the lobe displays a being filled with the vertical component! The vertical component, like an inverted waterfall or thunderstorm on the inside of everything that lines up in the component - dozing on horseback, smoke from tea fires rises to the moon, a free tiger's eyes glisten with the mountain pool in the clear air near the peak; abandoned, the pure stream flows through the empty forest; while sleeping, lakes and oceans begin to boil. A mafic intrusion drives caldera unrest - uplift in the elliptical ring of the volcanic caldera. The inverted pail, full of water from the inverted storm, the storm of irrationality, the storm of sacrifice, springs leaks - "it's enough for today" - Water flows out for all, the disappearing mist of personality and action, and the storm rages on. The inverted waterfall drenches the stone plaza (at 5 Penn Plaza where I used to work, steam rising from artwork on the plaza), the storm of perfection has a direction that transcends everything; the inverted storm, the deep moon, The gun remains too wet to use in the storm of enlightenment. Filled by the storm of irrationality, they perform the religious action of ethical life. The inverted storm holds high the broken bowl - depth of the stillness, break of the wisp; the smashing thunderstorm of dissipation celebrates accumulation (the accumulation of time, the storm of sacrifice); the storm is present in the self-possessed act, otherwise it holds still, mass-dampening against the oncoming dark wind. The storm rises and the planet shines.

A circus tiger ending circuses, stopping the spinning eddies of time, of interest, of thought, of being; eddies in the flow of the cloud serpent are the "habits" in our way, and as I was using the product "soil buster" to break up the hard clay for the fava bean farm, I thought of eddie-bustin', the radiating of quiet mystery in the war against time; the original purpose the eddy in the flow serves: vortex-shedding, or the release of energy from the oncoming flow. therefore, point at something else, as a reaction to the pressure, in behavior, just do something else, smile, dream, spirit that knows itself as spirit and creates itself as spirit. It's time, our enemy, seeing & eating the matter/energy that we are as a universe. So slow it down: the luminous, beatific flow, listens to know itself as spirit, eliminates eddies, responds only lightly to the oncoming pressure - the break of the wisp - "the way he evades all inspection", "has all he needs", "how glad I am", "your whereabouts are incomprehensible to me, might your public appearances have become, of late, almost somewhat too rare?", "be nice and silent as a boulder against breakers"; an empty circus wagon rotting in the desert, symbolizing the meaning of life.

The vertical component observes, the vertical component works hard, has energy. The vertical component smiles. The vertical component bifurcates into the midday sun, builds vertically, enemy of gravity (ytivarg); The vertical component climbs to the top of the mountain. The vertical component sets the tiger free. The smashing thunderstorm of dissipation rises, celebrating the accumulation of time. Binding spells begin to break. Like a butteroil tiger, leaping in from redshift space, bursts of star formation on the turbulent shockwave front at first are what they are, and later in time, a dark heart grows enlightened. Calmer, farther, a radio lobe goes quiet; a tiger's leap becomes a magical flight. aware of the storm, full of irrational stillness, irrational action, replacing the convection of passions in the radio lobe with the straight flow of the storm of sacrifice, furthering the quasar jet like a tiger dodging bullets; no crash, no radio lobe. Repose of the ideality, the restful, clear stream. Purpose of the quasar nucleus, final aim of the dark heart: striking outward infinitely in enlightenment. Full of irrationality, the dark heart leaps to enlightenment, act of magic; irrational, the magic storm of perfection and sacrifice is free to rage, glowing with stillness against the dark. The storm of dreams dissipates in the mist like a fish out of water. Calm, irrational, magic, the mist can be shamanic.

The escaping circus tiger leaps forward in two directions; a dark heart leaps forward, two paws - objectivity and subjectivity - held still in mystery. The universal phronomos leads the circus to freedom. The storm's mist dissipates in the turbulent field, but is intermittently quiescent, hence the rhythm in the magic action, barring the turbulent field with the irrationality of spiritual practice.

The inner storm dampens the cylinder that used to shake and crash in the dark wind. Ecstatically oriented irrational action: the sparkle in the mist. As a circus tiger breaks free, dodging bullets and running up the mountain, the dogs and horses turn back, ytivarg recedes, and the calm mist rises. The tiger smiles as he bifurcates in the oncoming wind, leaving a blueprint for future bifurcations in his footprints, step by careful step. Reaching the top of the mountain of mystery metropolis, a tiger holds himself still in a prayer to the light against the supergravity. The crystal stream pools in the dustless garden. New rivers explode smoothly from the soaking plain. The garden sits on the end of the crystal jet, calm in the dark wind. Headlights shine on the train of enlightenment.

Quiet mystery radiates, and the storehouse of way collects at the center of the still pool and becomes the watering hole for the community of spirits.

The unobstructed numinous supercurrent quantum tunnels through the dark, miracle quasar jet of kenosis to the heavenly garden, beacon of god's heart in the night wind, protecting against the instability of the working surface; a prayer goes out from the central heart and takes on a million different shapes, colors, and trajectories; the prayer from the magic heart dismantles the circus; (creatures who can kill become creatures who can still); a prayer to calm the fossil turbulence, pinning vortices in the Past, a prayer for calm, grace, wisdom, and a prayer to leave the working surface behind! Set the tigers free and let the rooster crow!

Crisp with energy and determination, determining Heaven, a tiger walks away in a spectacular escape, through the breakout conduit from the tiger reservoir. What's on the other side? The shining world! The shine of the oncoming headlights, the shine of a gaze at dawn, the gaze of a lion, the shine of life - flowers bloom, the shine of spirit, the shine of a dark tiger leaping forward, the dissipation of the shine - I snap my fingers in lamentation, the shine of wisdom, the shine from the fire of sacrifice, the shining dream, with kaleidoscopic brightness, the shine of enlightenment.

Hold it still. Reverse it. Running backward, freedom pushing out in every direction, maintaining separation. The strength of the Zen, the depth of the stillness, the break of the wisp, like the sun in the solar system, irrational in the heat and fire of devotion, irrational action and irrational stillness for the irrational good: magic in the dark heart.

A big enough wind blows through the internal working surfaces, the shocks left behind, eddies of self-reflection; cleansed, pure, subjectivity pools in the quiet cloud. Universal subjectivity - the stress we feel is universal stress, the resilience we feel is the universal core, numinous jet pushing out on the working surface of time. Balanced, C'han stillness masters poison dragons, and the only obstacle to balance: turbulent pools, vortices, in the lake of subjectivity.

A quasar, at the center of the galaxy cluster, like a shaman at the center of an American city, generates the vertical component, and everything is in line with the furthering of the numinous jet from the dark heart of irrationality. There is usually just one quasar at the center of the community of galaxies, and the leader prosecutes the war of mystery, commander in chief of mystery metropolis, leader of the war of mystery, kicking ass, and taking no prisoners.

The Astrophysicists...

Questions pierce the clouds,  
come back as qualitative anecdotes  
seeping through the storm,  
land in waiting pools,  
lined in waiting sequence around the Earth like a bracelet,  
and the emptiness can barely contain it's enthusiasm.

Like the bow of an ice breaker ship,  
they penetrate new worlds;  
the driver of the ship,  
pilot of the mystery guidance,  
leads captives out of a hole into clarity.  
Oppressive forces await the glow,  
but are doubly inhibited on a track of kindness and calm.  
Time is a sleeping game,  
the pieces of the puzzle held far apart;  
ducks collect the information,  
translate it into energy,  
and head for the next lake and another piece of the puzzle,  
the addresses of marshes carved into photons of light.  
In the weird roughness of the wild forever,  
wings like razors slice dark orange skies.  
There's a huge need and it's got to be fulfilled now,  
as the orange glow quickly fades to black.

The river of night flowed,  
oranges teeming in the darkness,  
as we set our sights on a single supermassive black hole  
and it hummed it's silent thoughts into our receivers.

The garden inside your eyes produces luminous thoughts,  
like lyrics shot out of golden cannons  
that ricochet as the tea of emotion spirals

....Escape...

Into our proper roles we go,  
and lightning follows, seeking sunshiny depths.  
Efferent passageways beam,  
subtle calculations click with simplicity.  
Colors are lining up again  
and maybe this time they'll come to an agreement and a starting point.  
The nine-page magic wand was cancelled;  
all we have is lackadaisical candle talk battling in the shadows  
and some orator you've seen before.

A person's life is a key, picking a lock,  
sublime melody and precision tones orchestrating the unlocking.  
Home, rectitude, understanding,  
overcome the gravity, restore the eccentricity, unlock the prayer.  
Quiet and paper-thin,  
the work of eccentricity against the gravity,  
the well-developed key goes undercover  
and acts like the door's still locked,  
but his hair blows from the wind outside  
and he helps a striped elephant escape  
into the spirit world through a keyhole.

...Into the Strawberry Sky

Infusing wonder into surrounding fields of hurt and loneliness,  
a boy sections his life into the part he can see, and everyone understands,  
and the other part, the interesting part.

On a limitless day on the Columbian sand,  
a rocket-propelled butterfly sweeps across the waves,  
and the boy leaves a scarecrow behind while he escapes,  
falling out of his own century.  
Dogs talk and fish fly outside the mind,  
in a curious departure from a hemisphere.

He walks up a mountain like a big cat under oddly lit storm clouds,  
and disappears into a hole.  
Within the cave he circles a burnt-out fireplace, contemplating his mission,  
and seven bells chime;  
then he disappears again,  
this time into redshift space  
– farther away than outer space,  
more perfect because it's in the past,  
before the universe suffered heavy metal enrichment,  
before the angels fell.

While the remote-controlled scarecrow he left behind,  
named 'already-gone', wins awards for butteroil grace,  
ideals frozen in an equinox wait their turn  
with excitement splayed across a countdown.  
When the moment hits, carefully placed corrective cables  
come snapping back, and a child returns home,  
unsuspected density of experience beaming from his shoulders.

The glorious storm allows all to continue  
to walk upon the graceful land with hearts and minds,  
fearless in the unknown splendor of the darkness,  
looking for the sensational formula to set the world alight;  
look down the tunnel into the heart  
and rescue the lost secrets stranded there;  
at the center of the heavy dark, crystal purpose prepares for perfect light.

****

Chapter 42) Angela

American women, I've been railing against them for at least a decade. I'd stand up at the end of my five day instructor led classes and tell them all their wives or girlfriends would eventually be leaving them, they look to us, I said, the way we look to the jobs that employ us: 'I've done a good job, now where's my raise, and oh, now I have to go, they're offering better over there'. Had myself a wife in New York City, up from Mississippi, sweet girl, at least that's the side I married, but then there's the 'sex in the city' type that says I'm not making enough or doing enough of the opening car doors or whatever. Yeah I'm no good at that romantic imagination, and I've heard a girl explicitly say that the guy misses the flowers or the opening the car door on the first date one and it's over; I'd never pass those tests, I'm no seducer of women, except the woman I really decide to sit down and make mine, and it was a rare decision for me to make, typical sensitive kid. Went through that early marriage from about 25 to 35, as it flew apart like all the other marriages of people at that age. At the time I chalked every argument up to "competition over resources", played the silly "no wife of mine is gonna work" line from Fred Flintstone and Ralph Kramden on the Honeymooners, typical 1950s American household sitcoms, and that was a bad idea, the girl gets bored, lonely, depressed, over-dependent on me coming home, and wanted to talk about finance right away; I remember I hated it so much I told her we'd go once a quarter to the New York botanical Gardens in the Bronx, a 35 dollar cab ride or whatever ridiculous busses and transfers to get there, kinda difficult, but we'd go and then pay admission to the indoor plant arboretum -love the jungle spirit in there of course but I was going for the shape, you know like any good European city New York had its arboretum the shape of the white house or something, with the dome in the middle and the two wings - and I told Mary from now on I'd only discuss finance once a quarter in the "Specially Designated Exotic Financial Discussion Hall", and we did that a couple of times, but of course she couldn't stick to it, her therapist I'm told laughed and laughed at the idea. Anyway that's how that marriage went, that and she was the typical American who wanted to get rich and consume, and I chose the ideal of Lay Man Pang, who was married and had two kids (I never had kids, Mary thought I had to have a million dollars in the bank first), and when they each "found the way", they took all their possessions and put them on a raft, sent it to the center of the lake and sank it, so as not to obscure the enlightenment of the poor by giving it to them. And the "hoarder" that Mary was - we didn't have that term at the time but she was - didn't agree with the Spartan self-sacrificing part I played, much like, apparently, Leo Tolstoy and his wife at the end of their lives in "The Last Station", I read that book and a bunch of essays and apparently there is a movie, and a few months ago, at my all-you-can-eat days-nights-weekends never-miss-an-opportunity sales job at MTM in San Francisco, I was saying I was more advanced than Tolstoy, having lived that life ten years ago and now living in communist America but sitting in a glass tower among capitalists in meetings focused on 3 million dollars gross profit for the quarter, "it's all about the numbers", we're "coin-operated", yeah, I was the communist at the top of sales, me and the sales director leading the whole region, travel every week for day trips to LA and Seattle, trouble was the overnights where he took me out drinking and found out things like that I don't believe in gravity. Yeah, I was more advanced than Tolstoy, putting up with the capitalist facade. But it didn't last, should have known, everyone around me did, and after 6 months I was fired, supposedly for my reaction in a meeting when they discussed my wife - the new great superwife - putting a threatening message on my boss's Facebook page (I said "you see why I married her?"), and that is the story of my wife saving me from myself, getting me out of MTM Technologies and into MTM the therapy (Morita Therapy Management, the Japanese cure for "Americanitis"), which I've been practicing more explicitly than ever lately, though this essay is an obvious break from that monotony, possibly rich with the MTM buildup in the mind.

Looking back, as all of us who got married in the 20's got divorced in the 30's, I think it was more that we males and females were afraid of eachother. And when I flew out to California from New York 6 years ago I was adamantly against relationships, so that I would wait for the right one, or not at all was preferable to the bad one of the typical type I'd been in and seen around me. And what most of the guys my age were going through with women was not making relationships look appealing, either. I think they tend to be afraid of eachother because they are different. At first they argue, in their twenties, because the guy is annoyed that the girl doesn't do all his guy activities on the weekend as enthusiastically as he does, and the girl is annoyed probably of something similar. And then because they don't understand eachother's minds, they are afraid of eachother, afraid of where the other one would lead if left to lead the pair. That is what terrifies the younger couples.

Angela and I are not afraid of eachother. We met on the in the internet, when I guess one fall I got lonely and decided to start looking at profiles. The first website I found was more like a prostitution ring, ("what's your fantasy"), so the next one was more "I'm a nice Christian girl", and I told Angela her profile stood out, short and simple, when she said she just wanted to be real and talk about life as it goes by and not to play games. On every item on the website we checked out for compatibility, just different race, she's black, grew up here in Oakland California, single mom for 16 years at the time with three kids, one 16 at the time and two twins 15 at the time. Time flies, the twins just turned 19.

About 6 months before I met Angela, a woman who cut my hair a few times, gone now every time I go check once in a while, mystic character from another dimension, I'd think she was a hallucination but my hair did get shorter every time I saw her, she said to me while I was so anti-women and anti-relationship for a few years, was waiting for the women to turn 60, I said, expecting some plasticity of mind, while until then I said they think they have something here to be nervous about and that fear has just got them thinking so carefully and predictably that I'm not really interested in talking to them, yet, I've thoroughly discussed human's needs for comfort and security and am kinda tired of that topic, and this lady told me about her romance, she said she met her second husband when he was 41, and I was realizing that it was the second marriages that sounded appealing at all, not anybody's first, and she said when she met him he had one foot in the grave but she found him and saved him and they love eachother and it's ten years later, I don't know maybe there was more to the story it sounded really sweet and magical at the time, she really was like a hallucination, she was in her 50's and had that plasticity of mind - I was told to expect that in birds when they get old, not women, but noticed it with my mom - and anyway, 6 months later, Angela and I met, and started talking and then going out for dinners, and I thought maybe this won't work, different cultures, what about her teenage kids, it never goes well in the movies, but the kids asked me to come see a football game they were playing in. And after a month of dating we two cautious sensitive kids who had been staying away from this kind of thing kinda married eachother while walking back from a steak dinner, with "I promise not to hurt your heart" kind of things. I had asked her, as I was falling in love with her over the dinners, if it wasn't silly to be romantic at this age, as many people cynically maintain, and she said 'no' without missing a beat, which is my excuse for being silly and romantic. I don't have the imagination to think it up but I like to play it out. When we told the kids we were going to get married, they were in the back of the car one morning while we were both in the front, and Anthony, the oldest, who needs to learn to add more commas, to, sentences, like this, well not that many, Anthony responded ' to tell you the truth I've been praying for this', and he made the cake for our wedding, and several since for family stuff with lots of offers for cake for pay, but like me he's good at alot of things and can't listen to everybody who tells him he ought to spend his life doing something he happens to be good at. You gotta filter.

And Angela isn't the typical American woman I'd been complaining about. Thought I wanted a sweet little girl from Japan, though I knew to keep her over there, cause over here it takes 6 months to get corrupted by the American wives, seen it happen, and another friend, my age, out here, gets a different little Phillipino girl every two years till this time he married her and had a kid, I go over there and all kids love me, my sister says I should be a professional clown, speaking of career advice you just can't take, but that isn't the same thing as a marriage, it is a little girl not a peer, he orders her around and yells at her, and has no partner, no real companion.

In Angela I have those things, Angela, unlike the crazy girls from my past I thought I was looking for, has a head one quarter size bigger than mine and I thought mine beat everybody's, and she puts all her mental effort, with her Oakland-Louisiana upbringing, into "sense", and very little into the "non-sense" that I do, which is what I need, I live in communist America but I realized after losing all my possessions a couple of times around here I'd need a smart and strong capitalist layer surrounding my communist America, if I'm to survive any longer. Smart and strong and independent, single mom, doing senior clinical trials coordinator by day and university of phoenix business degree by night and almost finished, a few more months on this the working-way-too-hard phase of our lives, that, it turns out, is just what I needed.

I told her, early on, maybe a couple of weeks in, 'you have to be thinking, 'this is great, but what's the catch?' well, the catch, anyone from my past will certainly tell you, is I'm crazy, but I don't see why it should get in the way or be a problem.' I was just telling her I should have added the thing about extreme ghost bug flare-ups every 12 years, but I thought I had that under control, under watch of nutrition and life style management. It just got away from me, tough to keep that up all the time. And she has a pretty good understanding, says I certainly am crazy, but 'in a good way', one day there was something on the news about time magazine and she said 'you can do something about that, you're the enemy of time', and she did once point out that the story of goldilocks and the three bears, where goldilocks ate the porridge in the three bowls, she said when she was young she had been hungry so she went on inside the TV and ate the porridge in the three bears bowls before goldilocks ever got there, and came back out of the TV and just let goldilocks get all the blame when the bears came home.

And recently she texted me and said "I'm changing my name, it's not Angela anymore, just Gela, it's just one of those days"; when we went to get my haircut later that day I said "I'm Jell-O, and this is my wife, Gell-A", and that haircut lady laughed loudly.

My wife usually deals with me pretty well, amazingly understanding my point, then twisting it back toward common sense. Yesterday I caught her unaware though and stumped even her, the way I tend to stump the psychiatrists when cornered. I've been researching madness again, and it's a very absorbing psychosis, my developing theory of "madness", in response to a bunch of French books "history of madness" last time, this time it's "writing and madness" translated from 1975 French in the years following "history of madness", and it always gets me thinking, comparing my own understanding, which I'm always working on, looking at myself, I swear there's something with me, usually they call it "schizotypal personality disorder", more often just "crazy", and I look into my own mind all the time, but I also read, and as much as I can, my favorite genre the memoirs of schizophrenics, my all-time favorite the book written by Daniel Schreber from the depth of his psychosis, much like mine, and he was the son of Doctor Schreber, a theorist in 19th century Germany about how to raise kids; I'm the kid of Gloria, who was a teacher she says, not a mother, and she read Doctor Spock's book on how to raise kids, and doctor Spock's kid went crazy and killed himself too, so at least I know how to overcome myself and stay alive, and married, and working, and I can look in at my own madness. But usually I just go off for days or weeks, silent, reading, and walking, but talking to no one; now married, I'm trying to do it like a 9 to 5 job; but if my wife tries to talk to me during my work at home, it's too weird, she knows something's wrong but I can't explain, just that I'm thinking, but it's deeper than that, thinking so deep I can't interact, anyway I'm learning to put it away at 4 or 5 every afternoon and hang out and be normal, and so that's what's going on with me. About to go back into it for a few hours, I just remembered the two questions that caught her speechless last night:

1) why did they corral the animals and put them in the zoo instead of just leaving them in the forest?  
2) why is the giant cockroach larger than the rhino ?

****

Chapter 43) Motivation

My wife is three more 5 week classes away from her business degree, and most of the courses were boring, like the corporate laws and loopholes for mergers, but there were a couple of psych classes - critical thinking was the first, and now "motivation".

The motivation book was kinda boring for what I was thinking the topic could be; turns out what I was thinking was "inspiration", not motivation per se, in fact after a few chapters it seemed like not only did they have no idea why we do what we do, but they had no idea on how to get us to think otherwise. Oh they did, they had methods to get the majority to come on along, but I take myself as an example, and I know others like myself, and as a way to get someone like me under some kind of control, they've got nothin, no way to motivate me if I don't want to be motivated to do something. And I realized, besides the fact that I am interested in finding as well as providing inspiration, I think motivation is wrong, trying to get people to do things they don't want to do, either by strong arming them, or as this book suggests, sitting down to listen to them on why they don't want to do it. But none of that gets the kids to do their dishes. And with me, they always say I "enjoy my delusions way too much", and in school, they knew I could do better but always only managed a "C", (if I got an A on one test I'd skip the next and take the F, as it all washed out to a C, and what possible motivation could there be for doing better, I always thought, and twenty five years later, I'm motivated to get a business going, and find a musician friend my own age still refusing to put in that kind of effort.

He says he was influenced by the Aesop's fable where the grasshopper acted out that way and always got away with it. Myself, I had a roman catholic Jesuit priest reading me the bible and the dead sea scrolls, and my favorite characters were Jesus and Satan, the magical guys doing summersaults all over the regular people, as far as I could tell from those early dramatic readings I got as the first born son. And my dad gave me well thought out essays, with why what I did was considered wrong, why they were concerned, what some other options would be, etc. I don't remember if that ever helped, but I did appreciate it more than the frantic screaming from the madwoman who was my mom.

So I learned a few things in the motivation book, like how giving rewards actually decreases motivation, 'cause now they're only doing it for rewards, and I see this in capitalism all the time, everybody sitting around not working, because nobody will pay, not because they can't do the work. What an obstacle, it always seems, this "capitalism" and "property ownership" this particular species has come up with.

They suggested rewards like money, but I've subverted that one completely, walking into any job saying I won't discuss and don't care about money, just keep the food and shelter coming. And when I was first called insane, as a little kid, my parents were trying some basic "don't you want it?" kind of "motivation, to get me to do something I was refusing to do. And I replied "of course I want it, but I don't want myself to want it, so there's nothing you can do". And they said I was insane, but decades later I was vindicated when I saw that type of idea in various religious stories. And they also made me realize that "insane" wasn't crazy at all, but something that nobody on the outside understands.

Recently a guy I do mentoring for asked another friend what onderdonk's motivation" was, then they decided there wasn't any. Kind of. There's "wu-wei", an important Taoist concept that means "not for the purpose of something". But I get something out of mentoring, it just isn't capitalist type motivation. All my life I find wu wei hard to pull off. A week ago I walked several miles to Starbucks and back with an empty water bottle in hand. My favorite air. Practicing irrationality, or, wu-wei? Hard to tell. But it's wanting to be not understood, irrationalism is. A line from "vision of disorder" - yes very old metal but it's what I grew up on - "psychoanalytical ways will never ever succeed to find a way into our brains and motives, now, our thoughts are invaded, our lives rejected, and we have fought for conformity???". Just to make sure nobody can figure out my motivation and use it against me, the purpose of mystery.

Oh to a large extent the study of motivation is just the study of health, hale humans feeling strong and confident, willful, and so full of motivation for whatever. I drink oolong tea, and go out on whims that look like insanity, like meth it helps subvert all motivation by stealing it out for ourselves, super energetic and we can point it in any direction we want, (or want ourselves to want) to.

Come to think of it that's how we religious leaders produce inspiration, its magic, we want ourselves to be magic, and there it goes! And we religious leaders get this passed down on the genome, father to son priest to priest, shaman to shaman.

Of course there's the motivation to be different, to drive on the other side of the road, or use ice in our drinks in America, there's that of course. Fear is a big motivator of course, before you get out to the "want yourself to want" level, where there is no fear of death and so we can go off and be shamans.

A hair dresser lady once told me, outside the scope of science, that the stronger sperm makes the more motivated babies.

All the people I run this by seem to assent: motivation is accomplished in the very early years, like JC and the Aesop's fable, me and the bible stories, it's not exactly what you're told, it's what you're exposed to and decide to take as your role model. Daniel Schreber, an author who wrote about his schizophrenia, was the child of Dr Schreber who'd invented the "Shreber device", it was a torture device, meant for raising children to be strong and smart, like the gymnasiums of ancient Greece that Hegel held up as the model for education programs. In my time, it was Dr. Spock writing the books on how to raise kids, and my parents subscribed to that. And so they motivated us by repetitive beatings into the odd characters we have become, me and 19th century Germany, and who knows whatever other kids who do this kind of thing. I used to say decades ago that I would not know how to make another one of me, realizing how unique I was, then I saw Hegel and Goethe, and several other characters who lived in their time, and they were all alot like me, so I thought maybe somebody had figured it out systematically, and sure enough, it was Dr. Schreber, whose son lived in an asylum for decades until he died, or Dr. Spock, whose son committed suicide, or me, raised by the parents who studied Dr. Spock, well, I'm OK I guess. But weird. I think it's the wildness of the images presented in the early years, personal choice based on genetics, on what "reverberates in the soul" when you choose what you want to like, along with lots of torture, or at least a mom who yells about stuff, I used to bring this up in all the classes I was teaching, how we all had harder upbringings, but we made it farther in life.

Hegel used a "change of perspective", showed a lofty outlook and explained how to achieve it. The Taoist tractates and encyclicals I read go into lots of lofty experiments, for the sake of figuring out the universe. They lay out rules and say IF you are interested in becoming holy and living forever, etc, then here are some rules you'll need to follow in order to get there. That's helpful, not motivation, though if it reverberates with you, the writings are full of motivational logic. The writer Ge Hong, nephew of a great wandering Taoist magician, hypnotized people to die and leave smelly corpses, from consuming the odd pneumas they were sent out to find. Motivation by change of perspective, that and superstition / speculative reasoning - either because someone else said so or because you've just been noticing some mysterious possible connection where something you do can change has some other effect that not everyone can realize (this is a common thing in schizophrenia).

Love is of course a big motivator, Romeo in love with Juliet to the point where what he does is informed by their love, and without it he couldn't do any of the things he is doing.

What about the mountain lions, in the movie Mt Kilimanjaro, the big cats found way above the frost line, in the snow. What was the motivation, the movie left us asking, curiosity? Really did kill the cat!

Think of why people exercise, why they go all elaborate on vacations, and that's where you'll find motivation. But nothing to change it in others against their will. All we can do is inspire others, leave them to do what they want to with it. We can offer a plan or map, and that's what they are looking for, not "motivation".

But the one think I kept thinking about on motivation, is the story "the wolves in the walls". There are wolves in the walls, and they finally come out and the people flee. And then... the wolves dress up like the people, and pantomime how the people lived, in wild wild overly motivated behavior that the original people never had. What was THAT? It's celebrating victory over a different species that you don't respect, and moving in to the newly won territory. Happens in old war movies. Or like when they say, in an old song, "like a jailbird just out of the clink", that's also a special level of motivation. Or even when we went walking last weekend and my wife noticed someone else walking around in a similar pink track outfit. She said now she could do anything she wanted, and proceeded to act kinda crazy, irrational, off and on, while we were in the vicinity of this other "heifer"; that's something I love about her, her playful irrationalities.

"He and his neighbors had spent weeks inside their houses, he said, trying to keep trips outside as infrequent as possible because they feared Colonel Qaddafi's security forces. But on Sunday night, they all reunited in a triumphant block party that lasted all night." from the New York Times war stories today; (like the wolves in the walls, motivation when the wolves come out of the walls and it's all over).

Competition, with other people, another motivator. Like the stars, they call it a feedback mechanism that cuts off growth at about the same point on all stars in the cluster. That's star motivation. And why does the star go alight in the first place? a big motivation for people too: pressure. The pressure all around that people mistakenly call "gravity" and they think it's in the ground, but the stars know better. A big fish in a little pond is way less motivated than if he got into the ocean.

Jesus, Buddha, they all inspired, not motivated slaves in labor. I got mine from Hegel, the philosophy of right, to be free and strong and ethical, the cult of ethical life. It was a great book, spent years with it. Not sure exactly how he ended up having more influence on me, by far, compared to the live society all around me in modern day American cities, but I think it was perspective, a compelling perspective that seemed transcendental and majestic, and when he showed how magical it was to be ethical, it became irresistible and satisfying, the cult of "Sittlickheit", or "Ethical Life", to be strong, free, and ethical, not for the purpose of something.

Planning, setting goals, saying prayers in the morning as this goes on; and if there's too much incongruousness, like a sudden broken angle or sudden lottery winning, as good and bad surprises cost huge amounts of mental energy to remap reality - the goals to something more appropriate for the new situation. Others try to set their standard - just as easy to marry and fall in love with a rich man as a poor one. Or "never gonna get me no trade, never gonna be like papa, workin for the boss every night and day". Then age messes with these goals, reality sets in. irrationality helps it keep taking off into the mystery and wonder of a new day, new chance.

There's monkey see monkey do monkey believe monkey act crazy monkey not too skeptical. When Lance Armstrong bikes the Tour de France and makes the front page of all the New York City newspapers, it "inspires" me, and I bike harder and sweat more. And that's what Hegel taught me, that our "universal" action is the property of all, "das tun aller und jeder", the doings of all and each. We act for each other.

Buddha said "look around you; except for action for the purpose of sacrifice, all men are constrained to action. Therefore, act "not for the sake of something", or "for no reason"."

A shaman once told me all creatures are energy, and all energy just wants to go home. ET phone home. But no.

Because there are parasites and mites in our world and in our minds, making us eat junk and think stupid games all day, via moldy ham and cheese sandwiches eaten in the middle of the night. Motivated by mites into madness. Mites have had a lot to do with the evolution of mankind, they call themselves "the genome completing optimist, grand central excitement that presides over the calm implosion of the night sky". They think they own and farm us. They possess people, like demons in the movies do, into pushing their movement, toward us eating the grains, filling up on the infested sodas and juices, getting infested. They are done in by garlic, so BAM, that's the end of the parasites, with a look on their face like Satan's when you just came out of the exorcism, shocked and awed, mouth agape, eyes bulging. Like Elmo.

Mites practice the religion of evil, and some are disturbed enough by their world that they carry out crimes against humanity, why? Motivated by the mites on the mind, to eat and destroy yourself and others. The motives of parasites, the countenance of the characters on boxes of cereal, even the original Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse are overly excited, looks like the midst of a psychotic break. And that's what we like, the release in to the psychotic, for restorative purposes.

Some people get so full of parasites and so following of their ways in the mind, that they start to cling to money more than ethics, which, for a human being in a human community, makes no sense.

And the mites we know act up on the full and new moon, as we know the crazy people, and the wolves, also come out when infested with the mites. They really get to your soul, they get deep in there, drivin the tank when at its worst. But there's always coming back and taking back the temple, kicking the parasites out; so eat garlic, get the mites out, and go act not for the purpose of something?

The Taoists had a parable passed down about the mysterious receptacle of stillness. They said some things happen predictably, like the sun and the moon and the earth's seasons, but other things are mysterious, no clear telling what the "motivation" was. The mushrooms that pop up overnight, why? Motivated how? The life that grows while sleeping still. The monks who figured out they should be still, be a temple.

The theoretical "progenote" who gave rise to the Achaea, Bacteria, and Eukaryotes - plants and animals- had a motive, it seems, from his MO that he left behind. It was to go everywhere, bifurcate forever, fractally, into every environment and every expanse of time. The original purpose.

****

Chapter 44) Epilogue

It's so interesting reading from schizophrenic memoirs for me. Reality remembers itself, just struggling for material survival full time and limiting consciousness to that is, well, limiting.

There's so much more. A species of ape with a fungal infection that 'causes the head to swell and the body to atrophy. They call themselves humans and they eat indigestible stuff, the consciousness of the culture has a big chip on its shoulder, a superiority complex, laughable because this is the only species that has cut itself off from the hive mind of the fungal infection that is mind.

So these creatures, massively infected with bugs but not gaining any magic because the conscious culture closes it off. I get how they get led down that path. Brain fog. The indigestible stuff they've been taught is sustenance, it disables them. They can be led anywhere, straight into self-destruction often. They explicitly explain their reasoning when they are young girls, just facing the dawn of maturity: they know the dreaminess of the floridly psychotic, but they see that it won't get them power, get them the profits that they are greedy for on a hundred different paths. They see the world of milk and honey, rich tastes for their tongues, rich splendors for the eyes and ears, rich pleasures to fulfill, it's like they say "I am aware of the magic of human irrationality and dreaminess, I've been a soul swimming in it for centuries, but right now there's a bonanza of materiality to be had, maybe this is the end, like "a farewell to kings", we are living better than the kings of the middle ages, all the food and wine and riches at our disposal, it can't last, we're here now, and that line in the constitution about "the pursuit of happiness" misleads any one with the slightest brain fog into the dark depths of fungal infection, being led by demons in to hell. Their motto - it's a heathen creed -"drink it all before it's dry".

Philosophy and religion teach people to make the opposite choice, "all these heaven measures", in order to "cross the ocean of mundane reality". The Aztec religion, my native, says we are here just for short time, on earth, there's nothing to "get", just say hello to the local gods, maintain a wise face and a firm heart. The end. Nothing about the pursuit of happiness.

Dangers arise, if you plunge in to the deep unconscious. Oh the first time you close your eyes and gaze upon the great prison, filled with all your dreams that at the time you had forgotten, now you gaze upon all the dreams and delusions you've ever had, different cells in a giant prison, cells not blocked by bars but only walled off with the junk, the detritus of the spirit. Imprisoned in dreams and delusions, that all work together in a massive prison complex.

That's the subconscious, and it's only the schizophrenia who even peek at it, who go there, brave madness, and learn. Often the learning leads to losing everything in the material world, casting aside your "life" as the worldly-minded camarilla know it, and leaving consensual reality behind.

Most don't go 'cause they want to belong in the culture, want to understand only what everybody else already understands, and forget everything unreal, leave the subconscious door closed.

Good move, if you want peace and comfort, and to belong, but bad move if you prefer to understand. They are mutually exclusive. So I brave the red seas of madness, go where no man has gone before, to the depths of the prison, to interact with all other species on the bug hive mind, we schizophrenia we go there, discover that all thoughts really can be heard, if you access the hive mind of the fungal infection that is prophetic consciousness.

Out of the torture I withstand, and the isolation I feel, I get myself focused to write these essays, meant to carry forward great balls of molten lava, the hot raw madness that the schizophrenic mind can generate. It's cathartic, actually. I read all day, essays similar in style and length to mine, on aldaily.com and nyt.com, on this and other schizophrenia websites, and once a week or so I develop a unique idea or answer based on what I'd read. The essay you responded to was a reply to a question posted in a different schizophrenia forum, actually, and when someone asks a question like that, and I feel I have a unique psychotic answer with lots of inter connecting ideas in my head, ("the veins of the leaves anastimosing in various ways so as to form a reticulated plexus of veins of unequal size"; "sicut castrorum acies ordinata – (his armamentarium arrayed for battle)" \- I realize as I sit in the hot bath or bundled up sitting on the commuter bus, febrile and floridly psychotic, and when I realize I have a complex idea, when I realize I've developed a new level of perspicacity, I take a deep breath and see if I can match it in perspicuity; I'm a communications specialist, at my job I am the senior engineer to take in the most complex problems, solve them, then explain them clearly and simply to the rest of the team. Same skill I practice here, so much more fun on the topics of madness than on the mundane details of somebody's Microsoft/Citrix server.

So I sit down and knock out a little essay, and when it's about madness it's almost like an attack, a show of rebelliousness, oppositional defiance disorder - if you notice, all my essays defend madness as an alternative to sanity and paint schizophrenia sufferers as competitors to mainstream humanity, private unreality a superior competitor to consensual reality. It's rebelliousness, hatefulness I throw at the society that kicked me to the curb, is frightened by me, doesn't know what to do about me. I sit on a cold stone floor in an empty room, eat only raw cold vegetables, my subconscious so open and merged in to my massive consciousness, that I can feel the mites on my skin, the yeast growing in the gut, and the parasites in the American food. So I learned to keep my madness but jettison the torturous itching, by sleeping on a sheet of tin raised up on crates above a cold empty linoleum floor, to eat only raw vegetables full time, mostly brussel sprouts-radishes-onions and a couple of cloves of garlic a day, and then I can be mad as a hatter without itching, for the most part, still itch but get 6 hours sleep so guess I fixed it; 9 months ago, didn't know about the strict diet yet, was pacing all night in the bathroom and hitting my head on the wall to get enough of a concussion to get one hour sleep in the bath tub, moldy old house infested with mange and bird mites, dead animals rotting under the rotted out wooden house frame, holes and rotten mold everywhere. Then I go asking for help at the hospital and they detain me, incarcerate me for madness, which doesn't help my itching in any way, nor do any of the psychotropic meds they push. I try to explain about the garlic cure, they just look at me sternly and take notes, tell me science has nothing else to offer, and that I should stop coming here asking for help or they're gonna call the cops. They say the drugs don't work anymore 'cause I've been "very sick for a very very long time". I was told by a psychiatrist in Ohio that my "subconscious sounds like it's trying to kill me", that's not helpful treatment. Same guy says "Mukky, I don't think you're insane, I think you have an unusual connection to the subconscious, and that could be a curse or a miracle, and the only one who'd ever be able to figure that out is gonna be you." Been incarcerated several times for going to ask for medical help. The frustration at the situation, the horror of the crawling skin, the wink wink nudge nudge at Kaiser, telling me suicide by cop is the service available to me in this society for a health issue like this, not the lobotomy or the mercy killing I beg for. That's what I'm really thinking about.

And now that I'm sitting here writing, there WAS an interesting concept in an article today, the purpose of art, specifically literature - whether it was simply to mirror reality, a "simple mimesis", or rather, as apparently Walter Benjamin said, it was to raise up reality by offering unreality that shows the hidden possibilities, the unfamiliar options among the familiar world we know; he also said literature is a "disruptive force", "Benjamin shows how art can disrupt history. He thinks that all art has an inherent revolutionary potential and that poetry can be used to 'establish a realm of freedom'." (http://www.spiked-online.com/index.php/site/reviewofbooks_article/12299/)

I heard it said somewhere that when a schizophrenic comes up with a new word, a new twisty phrase, (which is the greatest pleasure), that we feel we have ripped a hole in space and time. That, and Walter Benjamin's "realm of freedom", are what I am trying to create, and it's actually very satisfying.

And I once wrote of another explanation for what I'm doing here, other than practicing psychotic writing styles; there was a movie, with Robin Williams really young, I always forget the title, but it starts out in the rain in a tunnel in traffic and his wife dies. She was a painter of weird imaginary landscapes. He intended to go find her and bring her back, or something like that, the whole plot of the movie. With just a little bit of movie magic animation, he finds himself pulled into her surreal landscapes, and then wandering around in there he finds her. And they live out the rest of their lives in those imaginary worlds. And I said that, that is what I'm doing, I'm like the wife making the paintings; by essays that conjure the unreal, I'm making my bed so I can lie in it, I'm designing my schizophrenia mind, organizing my "material"; I really should stop, but it's a hobby, I keep coming back to it.

***~~~***

Vagaries fantastic, a form of play, we pack up the marvels and we cart them out today! At the end of the table, a wine-filled glass, and George is the hero stain in the treasure rain. He tips his top hat and says, "that'll be quite enough!", and in the open blue terrarium, we have a scene....

Ideas are carved and turned over on the fire of reality, and the bad ones break but the juicy ones roar in the BBQ pit; all confusion and longing has gone over into free ranging wild things, but here on the elaborately roasted cliffs the glorious times have arrived, and a madman travels with a second suit toward the center for mystical excellence.

George CAN do something - he's making calls and breaking doors down, leaving candles and a little change; ignorant rainbows shed their glassy din and "round and round" is newness and giving hope on the night of extraordinary relief in the mind of a diamond.

Arrested and on trial, they gather together in the rain and forget were they've been; brushing up against a caged superstar, George seeks the sparkle of myth as he rides, twisting through the corkscrew glare of a green traffic light.

"One fact I want to go over is that time doesn't speak, it cries!"

George leads his legion, all spider motion and catatonia, marching with clear tails (tempered for 42,000 years with invisibility) and on the roads of resellers craving action, they all look into the hallucination candle, a wide scroll opening, and on top, little creatures dancing...

The march and the music spread into tomorrow, and everyone stops suddenly behind George.

"You are energy. But you've been spilled outside of form, and you need to get back home."

Applause.

"On this remote mountain cliff, for the next few moments only, a field will rise up from within the mountain. It will rise up from out of the ground, and it will stretch up to 40 feet high at some points. But this isn't just any field, this is the HIGGS field!"

Stares. Silence.

"This is the long-sought after field where ideas can pass through and become reality. Anything can happen here, but of course such power could easily be abused, even by accident, and so there are gatekeepers who will guard the field, and they tend to only let the best proposals through. But the gatekeepers can be charmed - you saw what I was able to do for your families back in the city - they came out and became money and flames in the night."

Energy can become ideas and ideas can become real.

The perfect noon sun spreads her arms downward to form a temple of which she is the head, and everything below sparkles in a single light, the bluer luminosity of the demons left powerless and frozen like stone. It is here the demons were brought, to show them their true usefulness.

Sun and air blasting forgetfulness into a dungeon of crime, meaning finally comes, and longing is lost, and questions are lost, ground down into forgiveness; the demons were each shown the heaven inside themselves; each one smiled and closed his eye, then tilted his head back as a curtain of calm came down over him, and he saw that evil, calmed down, is beauty, as dozens of fumaroles appeared out of nowhere that afternoon by a cliff wall not far from the mountain peak.

But their cages of stone will crack again, and to ride without help is to wither on the ocean, so the trees find their leaves, and the shamans their spirit guides, hewn from blue rock and kindness.

###

\- mukkyonderdonkey@hotmail.com
