There is a distinct sense in which I, as a very poor non-college educated person with physical disabilities do not even have the ability or cash flow to stop what I'm doing to think about what kinds of problems are being treated within these groups as extremely important. Wife has to do mother's dialysis every single night (as in my wife and I haven't been able to go anywhere more than 20 miles away or for more than a couple hours in a year or someone dies), none of the people working on existential risk are going to come over and help, no matter how hard Andres may be working on a cure to kidney stones or Nick Bostrom may be working on AI risk. To come even closer, there might not even *be* labs on the west coast (I see y'all bay area stanford folks) if a wildfire gets a little extra or collides with our bizarrely expanding midwest tornado season. The burning house parable is real shit and only got realer when Mao dropped it again. Now obviously, death is not the conundrum it appears to be when viewed through some OI lenses, maybe mother would clearly be better off if she just let go, perhaps simulation theory is true some way and we are all fine metaphysically, chinese medi-nanobots made swoop in and help any day now, perhaps a law will be passed that guarantees assistance for her.....but tell her that? Tell my black friend who's brother just got shot by the cops (but we are in a rural area so no protests or news coverage) that kidney stones are more important, and you'll be lucky to leave not bleeding....tell my sister that cluster headaches are more important to solve than her daughter's condition and the same fate may befall you....even very gentle NI/Buddhist concepts frequently only serve to emotionally harm people who live in the burning house. Where is the ethics of this in modern consciousness research? How long before enough health care workers burn out on covid work and outreach that one of you gets drafted to drop the psychedelics for a minute and strap on some scrubs because you still have the ability to think somewhat clearly, and how does that affect one's research or mentality? I dropped working on a book re: rescue of classic mysticism toward modern neuro that I'd spent 4 years on several years ago because I literally have to work with my hands or else now...this research is collecting dust, what if something in there was important...how do you talk me down from setting it on fire to warm the (metaphorically burning) house? For all this maybe shit-talking, I am actually curious to know what people who are fully immersed in, frankly, concepts that are utterly science fiction to most people, are doing to help not the reg folks, the average, or whatever, but the lowest? Do kidney stones or cluster headaches really account for the most pain in the world (or is it a kind of privilege to see physical pain as the most important?), and what kind of privilege is it to be able to remain utterly unpolitical right now, on the ground in meatspace? Apologies for the aggro, and apologies to QRI for singling out some of their projects (I only grabbed from what I had readily available mentally in terms of seeing it often on this forum) but I can't even see the slate star scene as anything other than an impediment now after Alexander openly advocates "scientific racism" and eugenics adjacent ideals, while being cash-flowy enpugh to be able to self fund research grants...what happens when someone from this group decides positive valence is important enough to start manipulating and medically intervening on negative valence against the will of the subject and how close might that come to Huxleyan fascism? I have family members that are anti-vax because legally credentialled doctors and scientists performed experiments on them without their consent, they may have killed a couple people with their ignorance. How do I tell them to come off that a little for the common good, especially now that it is too late to solve for the guilt and shame it will create? I realise this is an intense way to engage in this conversation and probably unproductive for some of you but it is killing me even watching this (imo very important) work unfold sometimes and seeing it bend over and over toward specific zones that I find hyper-individualistic (the solving of a single individual pain/pleasure axis as opposed to the kinds of structurally and politically heavyweight mass-objects that affect the lives of thousands simultaneously, in ways that do not correspond with lived experience for any but the most intelligent). Honestly the afrofuturists are doing work light years beyond this while also critiquing science, racism, scientific racism, while also doing work at CERN AND running an urban housing legal aid charity in philadelphia. When's the crossover? When is the BATTLE? Yknow? Am I crazy?
Black Noise Generator
Thursday, December 16, 2021
Wednesday, April 28, 2021
My Green Un-Queen
Refusing crowns, always, because something else, somewhere else, somewhen else deserves it more.
Placing crowns, gently, on the lowliest green, on the highest matriarch, on friends and lovers, willy nilly, on lamps, and limbs, and carcasses of forgotten hunts, on cruel animals and orange loverboys alike, secure in the knowledge that as Confucius said, the superior person is distressed by their lack of ability, and is not distressed by men not knowing them. The superior man does not seek to elevate the self but seeks to elevate all else above the self.
My green un-queen, secure in the knowledge that all heavens await the soul that seeks to elevate all natural creation above works of men and Progress and Economy and Capital.
My green unqueen, who hitched hesitates and halts at every.
Of a brutal end.
My green unqueen. May all browns and coyotes and pigs bow to your unholy power of creative destruction. May weeds scurry from your trowel, may weeds scrurry TO your trowel, safe in the knowledge that their lives will not be in vain, composted nightly to steal every inch back from this that would colonise our rightful hearth home Heath.
I replace our farmhouse in my dreams with a darker dream: a farmhouse with stone catacombs beneath, eons of family remains tucked away, with baubles and relics and Indiana Jones-level traps and tricks to destroy the thief that would lay claim to knowledge they did not work for, toil for, break stones and soil for, crushing highways and trucks and buffoon goon stooge neighbors beneath our resistance to a Future without Nature.
I have big dreams for the hedge apple society. I need you to be strong, and to look to the horizon, not the past. To the moon, not the sun. To the righteous war, not a false peace made ever false by offering us four walls and a ceiling to put our Arms Down.
I believe in you, my Unqueen, unclean floors as a delightful reminder of a life we saved, I believe in you my Unqueen, six months of anxiety and tears and tension about how to interact with a lost child discovering how badly life can be for someone unsure of themselves means six months of gestation toward an August Birth, of someone that has chosen an identity and is Ready to Rock. Years of your nervously accommodating and learning their boundaries, pays off in a lifetime where they care when someone is anxious, and seek to not make it worse at the very least. We are moving toward the Dream, my Unqueen, my Green Bean, my Evergreen Hallloween.
Saturday, October 31, 2020
Loving you is like loving the dead
Two years ago today I ate a bunch of mushrooms, dressed up in a skeleton costume, pretended to be dead, and asked my girlfriend to do a fake wake for me as a lark. She did such an incredible job I sat up out of my coffin and asked her to marry me. Last year, when Halloween ended up being so cold the facility we were to have our wedding at closed and refunded our money, we had a three day scramble to make our 2 bedroom tiny yard home hospitable and spooky enough to handle 40 family members at zero degrees. It was hard, haphazard, scary in a social anxiety & family nostalgia/pain sense, and then she walked out onto our altar space and it took my breath away and obliterated what little doubt I had left about us, and all the fears I’d been too bad of a person if I could have earned my way to that moment with her. I make missteps galore and I know I do hurtful things still and she gently corrects and comforts me and teaches me how to be there for her in better ways by relentlessly demonstrating being present for those around her. We ugly cry into each other instead of outward now, we ritually guide our past and future selves into better collusion with our now selves. On a stormed tossed sea far from ports, we learned it’s a ghost ship and we are our captain and our crew and other ships fear and tremble when they see our green lights through the fog because they know we are coming for them with a love for a death that is a love beyond death, and a growing intensity of mission for a monomaniacal vision of courageous self-sacrifice to our collective tombwomb. She taught me how to care about things in a way that having a child couldn’t teach me, in a way that is teaching my child how badly I want to learn how to care. What parts of fear and dreams and hope and hate are proper and what parts are pathological, how to tease apart the ways in which love and sex and intimacy where accidentally knitted together badly for both of us. It hurts for weeks now when I cause her to feel shame, even when it was infinitesimal for her. I am filled to bursting for weeks now when she bestows upon me a momentary blast of full eye contact. I just woke her up with sobbing about how much I am thankful for her entire existence and even right now she is leveling up my feelings for her and loving the hurt parts and the evil out of me.
Friday, June 22, 2018
close to the mirror
Saturday, April 14, 2018
Yamantaka: Endless Emanation, Endless Liberation essay intro
order to awaken to his enlightened nature, the ascetic found a remote cave in Tibet and began his
practice. 49 years and 11 months and 29 days later, a group of cattle thieves entered the cave and
began to butcher the water buffalo they had stolen. Noticing the yogi in the cave, they beheaded him
as well lest he be able to identify the men to the authorities. Frustrated and enraged at dying so close
to the completion of his objective, his corpse rose and attached the water buffalo’s head to his body
and killed the men and drank their blood, becoming the Judge of the Nine Hells, Yama Lord of Death.
Yama, unsatisfied by such momentary retribution as is possible in a world before death and the
Buddha’s teachings of Nirvana and disembarking from the wheel of rebirth had disseminated, went
on a murderous rampage in the surrounding country, killing indiscriminately and threatening all of
Tibet. In desperation, followers of the Buddha-dharma appealed to the Great Bodhisattva, Manjushri, for
help. Approaching the abode of Yama at the mouth of hell, Manjushri confronted the buffalo-headed god
who called out to Manjushri a challenge: “What sorcery could this frail being possibly bring to bear against
the Lord of the Underworld?” In reply, Manjushri disappeared. Believing the scene to be at a close,
Yama retired to his throne. As Yama sat, the skies darkened. Manjushri, combatting Death with its mirror
image multiplied , had assumed a colossal buffalo-headed form with 48 arms, 16 legs, 13 faces, blazing
with the Wisdom Fire. This entity fell from the sky, flattening a different building of Yama’s palace with
each of its 16 feet, and crushing Yama on his throne under its erect penis,
//throne submerged in funeral birth - Moss, The Coral of Chaos//
Thursday, February 1, 2018
inhale inhale you're the victim
graduating to hard drugs in high school found me sitting in a basement with a few friends, fellow
burnouts, stoners...what had appeared in the dimness to be a paper bag assumed to contain strong
drink made its way around the rotation but when it was handed to me it felt empty. I peered inside
and the intense smell of gasoline assaulted my face, fumes rising from a soaked wad of paper towels
at the bottom.
in order to keep normality at bay, and I was to prove no different. Our main weed guy was busted
several days earlier and we were as dry as a bone. Being 15 with no income does not make it
easy to acquire alcohol. We had yet to become aware of the thriving crystal meth scene lurking
behind every curtain in our town (though that would come hard and fast later). A group of older kids a
year earlier had taught my friends how to huff paint from a breadbag, and they reveled in the ease
with which they could get profoundly stoned using things commonly found in any garage. I looked
at the bag for a second and in retrospect it is my experience that at that moment of truth for anyone
that goes with such a chemical approach there is an extremely short list of thoughts that go through
one’s mind, and they’re all terrible, empty, lonely, lost thoughts. One hit from the bag is enough to
diagnose someone with depression, anxiety, trauma.
to feel anything that was not my normal feelings or to feel nothing, to feel literally any deviation
at all. Breathe deep, molecules begin to buzz, time ceases to exist. Who knows how much was
actually inhaled that night, considering the trip lasts around 10 minutes but we were tripping all
night and into the next day without sleep. Blink once and it is 8 pm, blink again and it is 6:45 pm,
blink again and it’s noon the next day, erratically time travelling. Full blown apocalyptic end-times
hallucinations, gods, angels, and speaking in tongues. Multiple high speed oscillations between
life and death that I wouldn’t recognize as “ego death” until psychedelics years later. Elves, aliens,
insects, alien elvish insects. Ghosts and demons. Ultradimensional conversations with mutating
starling-swarms of disembodied voices. Complete dissociation while my body was still active and
interacting with the world. Extremely negative interactions.
crate of actual dynamite near an abandoned railroad line that was a half mile from the
house when he was like 9. In my fried state I believed he’d told us he had the dynamite
right then and was going to blow up the house, me, the school, I was growing more and more
paranoid and frantic that it would be up to me to prevent a terrorist attack. It was later related
to me that out of nowhere I began attacking one of the others and yelling disconnected
gibberish, fought my way upstairs where the parents were sleeping while yelling about a bomb,
let both dogs out of the house into the woods and tried to start the adults’ car (it was a manual
transmission so luckily I couldn’t)....somehow none of this woke anyone, and around 2 that
morning a friend brough us some weed and I calmed down a little, though everything was
mostly blur and glitch. The next morning we left (driving, with milk jug full of gas to huff in the
car) and it had snowed a little. We took a curve too fast and swerved into the other lane badly
and then fishtailed almost off the road, right as a cop car went by….it had its lights flashing,
was going very fast the other way and did not stop for us….another mile up the road and the
driver blew through a stop sign and nearly hit a small child, screeching to a halt so close to him
that we couldn’t see him over the hood. The kid was sitting with his legs a foot underneath the
car, eyeballs an inch from the bumper. Driver tells the kid to never speak a word of this or we’ll
run him over for real next time and picks him up and plants him on the sidewalk and we drove off…..
weirder and more stressful. Was probably huffing gas, paint, or ether once or twice a week for
maybe 6 months, and continued to occasionally use computer duster for another 6 months as we’d
convinced ourselves it was cleaner, whether or not that is the case...I began to think about how to
express some of the stranger chemical experiences recently after a discussion about putting
together a book about bad trips. I’ve had more than my fair share, and a lot of them involve
drugs that aren’t anywhere near psychedelics, unknown research chems, chems that are typically
incredible harmful to humans and not intended to be anywhere near our insides...I guess I feel it
necessary to record these experiences and experiments for several as-yet-unknown reasons.
Thought what better place to store these particular ramblings than here, where no one reads?
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Furthering Negative Limitations (notes)
fightback against this loss (which is not dangerous or problematic on its own, but only relative to certain
mental outlooks that privilege the Self as Center).
empty frame of reference OR the pathological addition of new data to a frame that is in the process of
being emptied or broken) generates new identity-frames that temporally extend the experience of
dissociation. This can be extended toward a limit where, when we reach a point at which “bare” identity
is generated out of “nothing”, every glimpse of a frameless state autogenerates a new frame that
emerges directly into a state of autodeconstruction. This oscillation prevents a “clean” experience of
the frameless void-state/mors mystica, and prolonged exposure to this oscillation can generate
extreme anxiety, depression, various and sundry negative or painful brain states (this can resemble
tinnitus - depending on certain environmental factors, you can actually *hear* the oscillation).
frameless space, leading to a state in which the identity only remains insofar as it is connected to loss
or pain or whatever is removing the frames - i.e. a negative bias against frame-removal will result in
the pain of breaking frames, fear of lost frames, grasping at new frames, etc; while a positive bias
toward frame-removal will experience negativity in the sense of being unable to speed up the removal
without generating new frames, fear of being unable to prevent the generation of new frames,
grasping at nothingness, etc.
For its affirmations. For its negations. For its interrogations.
For its exclamations. For its imperations. Same flat tone. You were once.
You were never. Were you ever? Oh never to have been! Be again. Same flat tone...
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Thornscape: Disidentification and Warding at the Limit of Negative Identity
Thursday, May 25, 2017
Panpsychism: a low-quality high-metabolic-cost note
There is a meaningful sense in which the many worlds interpretation is in fact the quantum theory with zero assumptions or conserved attributes...every other theory is in some regards Everett's math adjusted to conform to certain qualities of the "real world" that the designers of whatever theory don't wish to lose. I believe this lack of assumptions, this Occam's physics, to be isomorphic to the way panpsychism of some as yet un-formalized variant is the theory of consciousness with minimal assumptions and conservations. It answers maximum questions while treating adjusting the rules to account for certain expectations as a violation, regardless of how we feel about the necessity or lack thereof of certain components of our picture of reality.
QED=semper aliquid ex nihilo
Galen Strawson makes an interesting point in the linked article, that we must actually practice thinking process physics else we slide toward object dualism.