How curious that today, the day after I first propose the idea to myself of giving up this experiment early, would be the most profound day yet. (It happens to be my most social day yet, as well.) Whether it was the being surrounded by strangers and being unable to speak, or the mass amounts of walking, or the circumstances beyond my control which affected my emotional state, or the small amount of coffee I drank to the detriment of my New Year’s Resolution for the month – what is clear is that today I have regained my inner monologue, the one I seem to have misplaced for more than six months, the one I perhaps misplaced along with my “self” when I finally latched upon a lover. Hello, there, inner monologue, it is so nice to see you for an extended period of time, gushing, as you used to, when stirred up by whatever ridiculousness life doth throweth your/my way. When stirred up, this inner monologue repeats sentences it declares divine over and over in my mind, until finally I have the chance to set them to paper. What I am left with is a close approximation to those words formed at the moment of creation –but who am I kidding; the repeat messenger loses efficacy over time, forgets what he set out to do, becomes lost in the flurry of other words which snowstorm upon him furiously. But so it goes.

Today I became frustrated upon discovery that I, in my folly, somehow destroyed a large section of the REDEFINE website. And with my confessed nubbery at properly updating, backing up, and restoring data, I have little concept as to why the things that are broken are in fact broken, and as every fucking developer knows, backtracking without revision control may be the world’s greatest bitch, a true slog through a terrain called “fucking waste of time.” So, though I am now vastly improved upon my older self in terms of archiving my projects, the truth is that I am still a piece of shit in this regard (and I say this without especially intense degrees of self-loathing, though it may sound like such; it is simply true) which will make my task tomorrow absolute hell. Made all the worse, really, by the fact that the fucking internet in my house is displaced; the router we paid $100 dollars for merely two days ago decided to give up its ghost the day after it was purchased from its former master. Some kind of allegiance, you router, you guy.

But anyway, back to destroying my own website. Ah, yes. I fumed and fumed and got kicked out of the coffee shop I initially went to, Backspace, and cursed myself for going there although I knew instinctually that I would get kicked out before the desired time – as I do every time I go there these days, since I only seem to do so during concert days. Internet-homeless, I decided to head to the downtown Stumptown, which is usually also a gamble, with too few seats and limited plugs. I lucked out, but this time, I desired not to talk to anyone, so bothered I was, and I instead bought coffee – since the system allows for the purchase of coffee without one’s speaking to anyone, without one’s need to write notes explaining an incapacity to speak. And anyway, coffee is cheaper most of the time, a primary annoyance that has made me want to resume drinking it rather than tea, even though it makes me feel like shit, or at least buying it and sitting with it just to save a few nickels and dimes… but that solution is just too ridiculous.

Where was I. Without being able to talk, I internalized my frustration, which is something I have learned to be good at ever since I was a kid. But I learned today to internalize in a Buddhist way, I suppose. I subscribe to many Buddhist beliefs already; I am pretty good at letting go and living in the now now now present moment, I believe – but today, I swallowed and internalized to another level. Freaking out, breakdown-impending, and then realizing… who gives a shit. Who gives a fucking shit. One more day of broken images will not kill anyone if it hasn’t killed anyone yet. And besides, there isn’t much I can do about the situation in the immediate, lacking internet and brain and all, and worrying fixes nothing at all. With such calmness in my possession, I soon moved onto the work I needed to do for University of Washington while simultaneously downloading the files I needed to restore the REDEFINE website properly, at some later point, and worked on articles that I hope to publish tomorrow. I ignored looming shadow overlord crisis A and moved on to solutions B and C, and it felt great. Not that there isn’t perhaps a cyst growing somewhere inside my body because of ignoring overlord A, but at least this kind of separation and categorization lets the living, active mind move on and become productive when circumstances are simply not adjustable at the present time. It sounds pretty good to me. (The cyst is unsure.)

Now to recap on some of today’s social interactions. Today was Research Club Brunch, and as such, I saw many new faces and many old faces. Old faces mostly instantly understood my project and were receptive. Some were better at charades than others, with Ezra reigning as fucking king over all others and with Nim coming in at second – but there were some skeptical strangers, to be sure. I count two supportive strangers, who asked questions, but let’s talk about the skeptical ones, because they’re slightly more interesting.

Today was yet another time that I heard someone be shocked that I was doing a “vow of silence” but could still communicate via writing. These humans are absolutely incredulous that writing would be allowed when… wait… isn’t it fucking called a “vow of silence”? Come on, people! I don’t know how the Buddhists or Catholics practice it or whether they write or not, but you know, I don’t care! I think if I didn’t at least write, I might literally explode. I think I would undoubtedly learn more without writing as an outlet – that or I would go absolutely mad – but it is simply not in my interests. And I am not ascetic, and I have shit to do and businesses to run, I’m not about to give everything up in my life to take a bloody vow of silence. It seems to people who wouldn’t dare attempt the same project themselves judge plain ol’ silence as much too easy. Oh no, they say, you must give up all other forms of communication as well… but humph, I dare them to attempt that for themselves! Or to even just give up speech! Skeptical friends! Reign in your skepticism!

One lady was sure to ask if I found myself attracting more attention because of my silence. She said it almost bitingly. On the contrary, woman. I believe this sort of self-alienation leads to isolation by inconvenience; no one likes to play charades when they are put on the spot. No one cares enough, really, to play 20 questions with a mute. Trust me. Very few people take the time to give you more of the time of day when the conversation is one-sided. Seated at a table today, surrounded by strangers who knew of the situation, I was a source of interest for only about ten minutes. Text-based communication and minor charade-based communication lasted for about two lines per person. Beyond that initial curiosity, no one really attempted to speak to me again. They had nothing more to say, and didn’t really feel that curious about asking me more. And I don’t blame them, but it’s proof that speechlessness does not attract more attention. At least, not in the long run. Perhaps in the short run, in the shiny, “Ooh look, piece of candy!” kind of way, it does – but certainly not in the, “Oh really? Tell me more!” kind of way. And really, we all know the latter is the only one worth any kind of a damn. The candy-discovery route is temporary, a small talk piece of bullshit, a fleeting verbal glance. Suck it, me! And suck it, skeptics! No one cares!

I wonder as I’m writing this – more appropriately, I wondered as I was chopping garlic and am still currently wondering as I am writing this – if Henry Miller was constantly caffeinated, or if he was eternally doped up on something or other. I am currently reading Tropic of Capricorn, as I have been off and on, and the parts that are brilliant in that book are absolutely mind-blowingly genius genius genius. But the parts that suck really suck. But I just don’t know how the dude can write whole pages without a paragraph break and often without even any kind of continuity between sentence to sentence. I’m sure there’s continuity in his brain, somewhere, but I guess what I’m supposing is that dude must have been on some drugs. (This will need a little bit of research to ascertain, to be ascertained perhaps tomorrow, when I have internet again, when I can post this again.)

I’ve been obsessed with fish sauce and those Cambodian noodles I’d previously mentioned. Suck it, vegetarianism! Upon rediscovery of fish sauce I just need to have it! That being said, there is vegetarian fish sauce, and I actually imagine I should just do that – but the nearby supermarket didn’t have it, so next time – as I think it might actually be better. Real fish sauce is just ever slightly too fishy, go figure. But fuck man, toast some garlic and it is just sooooooooo good. I hardly believe it’s truly truly fish anyway; it’s probably the dregs that no one would eat anyway. It’s like the mechanically-separated chicken of fish. I’m merely guessing. Isn’t that stuff brewed underground? Anyway.

I suppose I will spend the remainder of my evening – as I am feeling adequately literarily awesome – editing my stupid book to try and level out the voice of it, which fluctuates from really awesome emo to really loving emo to really scientifically recollective. The variations of emo are by far the best, as they are much more composed immediately and in the moment. The variations of recollective are way less interesting, read a bit more like an essay, and need updating, stat, before the book can ever go one to greater and greener New Age pastures…

But before that, one last point. As I was walking downtown to Research Club, a random man stopped me. (Hey, that reminds me that another man, I swear, a giant huge black crack head dude – or at least he was on something – said to me last night, “Hey baby, want a cigarette?” followed by, “Want a coffee? I got money.” Yeah, baby.) I had talked to this particular dude before, perhaps on the same stretch of road, too – I can’t be sure. He stopped and asked me where I was going. I pointed downtown and started walking away. Then he asked me what my name was and I stopped and turned around and put my hands up in true “I don’t know” fashion. And he looked super confused and was like, “Are you deaf?” and I made the same motion, to which he responded, “Why don’t you try talking normal?” and I just kind of shrugged again and walked away. Fun interactions! I remember his teeth, though. That’s why I know I’ve met him.

Oh yes and the worst thing. I woke up this morning to the WORST dream. Because I had earlier woken up to the worst things: a story of sickness about Troy’s roommate puking and feeling horrible; a graphically loud sex session with Troy’s ex that I really, really, really, really fucking did not need to hear. I am the worst at sex and visualizations. This was pretty horrible. Nightmare fodder. Big time. Fuck. The end.

My noodles are totally delicious.

currently writing this at twilight cafe, a “charming” bar on powell’s and around 12th. perhaps “charming” is not the word most people would choose but it is “real” in the worst of (musical guest and accompaniment) ways, which i actually respect. i don’t know if this is what most bars in this here fine country are like but it is most certainly punctuated by musical guests that grace the (worst) album covers we receive, the kinda thing i listen to two notes of then press delete on instantly. ah, so this is where they go.

there are at least, from this vatnage point, three patron (saints) standing at sympathetic — or possibly even real — attention. there is also a guitarist in the band who consistently ends every song with some meadly notes that are not at all impressive — but their inclusion is incredibly amusing. also they evidently sell ladies underpants (the band, not the bar.) selling line: “guys, if you have any ladies in your lives…” reminds me of when dear old nathan, oh lovely nathan, got me some kind of red hots or some other cinnamon candy underpants (red, yellow string?). snap.

(now updated in the present, which is 12:29am…)

not listening to ssaliva’s “drugged out quest”, though not wholly sure what i think of it, though it is interesting right now…

i have tipped my book this evening into a bunch of ketchup. it is reeking of ketchup presentlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

sample notes from the bar i took (troy’s in italics):

beer selection is pup
that’s good! and? the napkin
HAS A MAZE

anyway not much more to say.
think i might quit the vow of silence early because i don’t really think i’m learning that much.
we’ll see, though; tomorrow is a fairly social day.

this is the second time this has happened in the past two months (the last being in december, when i discovered the shamanic mysteries of egypt book). this time, instead of two dreams — one about alchemy and one about egypt — it is one dream, very vivid, about magnetism and magic. i would like to make it clear that i have NEVER dreamed about magic, and i don’t think i’ve ever dreamed about magnetism, either. here is the dream below, and none of the dream interpretations of any of the symbols made a single lick of sense:

In a giant room. There are magical performances going on and the last girl is “up.” I am with Troy. The room is cluttered full of items. Her performance INSANELY, with some announcement (or maybe even psychic message or maybe literal message over loudspeaker) that says that this lady’s dance is to combat male-ness – or something along those lines, anyway. It begins with her at the center, pop-and-locking, while a bunch of dudes try and fight her. She is wearing a crop top and baggy pants, like Aaliyah with bad early ‘90s fashion. There is a slow-motion dance move she is doing, and it looks like there is an invisible sphere around her that the enemies cannot penetrate, though I think that’s just an illusion initially. Soon, though, the magic seems to become real and all these crazy objects and happenings begin to happen, and Troy and I are sitting facing it “head-on,” as though she were on a stage in front of us and we are exactly centered in the back of the room watching her… and we begin to wonder aloud how these things are happening and I begin wondering internally if it is only because of our perspective that this magic looks like magic or if it is actually magic. We also wonder if she is making the performance happen. it looks like a three-dimensional animation or rendering or something, not real life; all of the components look rather polished. At this point, many items are magnetized on the ground, and they all begin moving around in a path that she determines – a really complicated path, where every item has their own individual arc and story, like God commanding the lives of each person. At one point, I am on the far side of the room (well actually, I’ve moved diagonally, towards the “front right corner”) and I am near these balloons that she is guiding around on her “magnetic track.” The fascinating thing is that though these objects have a controlled route that they are set on – which magical lady determines – they are also free to be controlled by the other people in the room (again, like God). I find myself drawn to the white balloons, though there are many objects in the room. I hit over and over again one balloon in particular, but find that it always goes back to where it wanted to be and I find this so amusing I giggle. I also hit around a really small white pebble as I’m moving from the front right of the stage to the center middle, where the performer is. But soon, she crumples, and Taraka from Prince Rama emerges from I don’t know where, with really tender energy, and goes to see if she is alright. She is not responsive, and Taraka (or someone) is told to call the performer’s mother. And slowly, everything in the room becomes less magnetized, and it dawns on me that she WAS really controlling everything…

the book it led me to is this book (the book was seriously calling to me). published in 1801, it is a work by francis barrett, called the magus: a complete system of occult philosophy. (the left-most book cover, though i like the other ones much better. but i guess this one did its deed just fine…)

“The Magus is one of the primary sources for the study of ceremonial magic, and for a long time was one of the rarest and most sought after of the 19th century grimoires. Barretts’ magnum opus embodies deep knowledge of Alchemy, Astrology, and the Kabbalah, and has been cited by the Golden Dawn and other occult and esoteric movements as source material. Written in 1801 in the middle of the ‘Age of Reason’, sandwiched between Newton and Darwin, this was possibly the last epoch that a work like this could be composed.” (Quote from sacred-texts.com)

what is most fucked up about finding this book, though, is that i flipped seriously right up to a chapter on magnetism, and was flipped so fast that i closed the book and had to open it again and again flipped right to that page. but not only a chapter, but fuck, man, a sub-section — the eighth one, in magnetism — that started off in its introductory paragraph about dreams and magic. dude. like what???!! and it was very, very adamant that the magicianess was a magicianess — a female…

here are some sample excerpts… the text is hard to read as fuck, both in font and just in content…

CHAP. VIII.
OF THE MAGICAL POWER, &c.

“Therefore the knowledge and power magical, and that faculty in man which acteth only per nutum (and also) sleeps since the knowledge of the apple was eaten and as long as this knowledge (which is of the flesh and blood, gross and material, belonging to the external man and darkness) flourishes, the more noble magical power is lying dormant.

But because to sleep this outward or sensual knowledge is sometimes dormant, hence it is that our dreams are sometimes prophetical, and God himself is therefore nearer unto man in dreams, through that effect, viz. when the more inward magic of the soul being uninterrupted by the flesh, diffuses itself on every side into the understanding; even as when it sinks itself into the inferior powers thereof it safely leads those who walk in their sleep by moving or conducting them, whither those that were awake could not surmount or climb.

Therefore we establish this point, viz. that there is inherent in the soul a certain magical virtue given to her by God, naturally proper and belonging to her, in asmuch as we are his image and engravement; and in this respect she acts also in a peculiar manner, i.e. spiritually on an object at a distance, and that more powerfully than by any corporeal assistance; for seeing the soul is the principal part of the body, therefore all action belonging to her is spiritual, magical, and of the greatest validity…

High and sacred is the force of the microcosmical spirit, which, as is evident in pregnant women, stamps upon the young the image and properties of a thing desired, as we have before instanced in a cherry, which, without the trunk of a tree, brings forth a true cherry, that is flesh and blood, enobled with the properties and power of the more inward or real cherry, by the conception of the imagination alone; from whence are two necessary consequences.

First, that all the spirits, and as it were the essences of all things, lie hid in us, and are born and brought forth only by the working, power, and phantasy of the microcosm.

The second is, that the soul, in conceiving, generates a certain idea of the thing conceived; the which, as it before lay hid unknown, like fire in a flint, so by the stirring up of the phantasy there is produced a certain real idea, which is not a naked quality, but something like a substance, hanging in suspence between a body and a spirit, that is the soul.

That middle being is so spiritual, that it is not plainly exempted from a corporeal condition, since the actions of the soul are limited on the body, and the inferior orders of faculties depending upon it, yet so corporeal that it may be inclosed by dimensions, the which we have also related to be only proper to a feminal being. This ideal entity, therefore, when it falls out of the invisible and intellectual world of the microcosm, it puts on a body, and then it is first enclosed by the limitation of place and numbers.

The object of the understanding is in itself a naked and pure essence, not an accident, by the consent of practical, that is, mystical divines; therefore this Proteus or transferable essence, the understanding doth, as it were, put on and clothe itself, with this conceived essence.

But because every body, whether external or internal, hath its making in its own proper image, the understanding knows and discerns not, the will loves and wills not, the memory recollects not, but by images or likenesses: the understanding therefore puts on this same image of its object; and because the soul is the pure simple form of the body, which turns itself about to ever member, therefore the acting understanding cannot have two images at once, but first one and then the other. He, who is wholly the life, created all things and hath said, nothing is to be expected as dead out of his hand. Likewise nothing can come to our view wherein himself is not clearly apparent or present; for it is said, “the spirit of the Lord hath filled the whole globe of the earth:” and, again, “that he containeth or comprehendeth all things,” therefore there is nothing in being, no creature but what possesses a certain degree of divine fire and life, yet lying dormant or unexcited, til stirred up by the art, power, and operation of man.

—

CHAP. IX
OF THE EXCITING OR STIRRING UP THE MAGICAL VIRTUE.

Every magical virtue therefore stands in need of an excitement, by which a certain spiritual vapour is stirred up, by reason whereof the phantasy which profoundly sleeps is awakened, and there begins an action of the corporeal spirit, as a medium, which is that of Magnetism, and is excited by a foregoing touch.

There is a magical virtue, being as it were abstracted from the body, which is wrought by the stirring up of the power of the soul, from whence there are made most potent procreations, and most famous impressions, and strong effects, so that nature is on every side a magicianness, and acts by her own phantasy; and by how much the more spiritual her phantasy is, so much the more powerful it is, therefore the denomination of magic is truly proportional or concordant…

But the magical virtue of the exhales spiritual vapour, or subtil spirits sent from the body, which before lay in potentia, or by way of possibility only, is either excited by a more strong imagination, the magician making use of the blood as a medium, and establishing his kindled entity thereon, or by the ascending phantasy of the weapon salve, the exciteress of the property lying in the blood; else by a foregoing appointment or disposition of the blood unto corruption, viz. whereby the elements are disposed unto a separation, and the effences (which cannot putrify) and the effential phantasies, which lay hid in the properties come forth into action.

There is therefore a certain formal property separated from sympathetical and abtruse qualities; because the motive phantasy of these qualities do not directly fly unto a local motion, but only to an alterative motion of the object. Now it is sufficient that (if a man happens to receive many wounds on his body) blood be had only from one of these wounds, and from this one the rest are cured also, because that blood keeps a concordant harmony with the spirit of the whole, and draws forth from the fame the offensive quality communicated, not only to the lips of the wound, but to the whole man, for from one wound only the whole man is liable to grow feverish.

Therefore the outchased blood being received on the weapon is introduced into the magnetic unguent.

For the phantasy of the blood, being otherwise as yet drowsy and slow to action, being stirred up by the virtue of the magnetic unguent, and there finding the balfamic virtue of it, desires the quality induced into it, to be bestowed on itself throughout, and from thence by a spiritual magnetism to draw out all the strange tincture of the wound, which, seeing it cannot fitly enough effect by itself, it implores the aid of the moss, blood, fat and mummy, which are conjoined together into such a balsam, which not but by its own phantasy becomes also medicinal, magnetical, and is also a tractor of all the strange qualities out of the body, whole fresh blood, abounding with spirit, is carried unto it, whether it shall be that of a man or any other living creature. The phantasy therefore is a returner, or reducible andecstatical, from part of the blood that is fresh and newly brought unto the unguent; but the magnetic attraction began in the blood is perfected by the medicinal virtue of the unguent; not that the unguent draws the infirmity of the wound unto itself, but it alters the blood newly brought unto it, in its spirit, and makes it medicinal, and stirs up the power thereof: from thence it contracts a certain medicinal virtue, which returns upon its whole body to correct the spirit of the blood throughout the whole man. Now, to manifest a great mystery, viz. to shew that in man there is placed a great efficacy whereby he may be able only by his beck, (as we before mentioned) nod or phantasy, to act out of himself, or to imprint a virtue, a certain influence which afterwards perseveres, or constantly subsists by itself, and acts upon objects at a very great distance; by which only mystery, those things which we have spoken (relative to ideal entity conveyed in a spiritual jewel, and departing far from home to execute its offices, concerning the magnetism of all things begotten in the imagination of man, as in that which is proper to every thing, and also concerning the magical superiority of men over all other bodies,) will plainly and conspicuously appear.

—

CHAP. X.
OF THE MAGICAL VIRTUE OF THE SOUL, AND THE MEDIUM BY WHICH IT ACTS.

… man hath a power of acting, per nutum, or by his nod, or of moving any object remotely placed; it has also been sufficiently confirmed by the fame natural example, that this efficacy was also given unto men by God.

As every magical faculty lies dormant, and has need of excitement, or stirring up; which is always true, if the object whereon it is to act is not nearly disposed, if its internal phantasy doth not wholly confirm to the impression of the agent, or also if the patient be equal in stregth, or superior to the agent therein.

But on the contrary, where the object is plainly and nearly disposed, as steel is, for the receiving of magnetism, then the patient without much stirring up, the alone phantasy of the more outward man being drawn out to the work and bound up to any suitable mean, yields to the magnetism.

Therefore we repeat, the magician must always make use of a medium; for then the words or forms of sacraments do always operate, because from the work performed. But the reason why exorcisms, conjurations, charms, incantations, &c. do sometimes fail of their desired effect, is because the unexcited mind, or spirit of the exorcist, renders the words dull or ineffectual.

Therefore no man can be a happy or successful magician, but him who knows how to stir up the magical virtue of his soul, or can do it practically without science.

And there can be no nearer medium of magnetism, than human blood with human blood.

And no sympathetic remedies, magnetical or attractive, but from the idea or phantasy of the operator impressing upon it a virtue and efficacy from the excited power of his own soul.

And now to bring our Magnetic Treatise to a total conclusion, we have to say, that whoever, through ignorance or obstinacy, will say there is no validity or reason, or reality in the science of magnetism, proves himself unworthy the sacred name of philosopher, because he condemns what he knows nothing at all about.

For those who will give themselves the leisure to examine the truth of those things which we have taught, will not find their expectation deceived, therefore, will not condemn…

We therefore, who have the like humanity, contain blood and spirit of a co-like unity; and the action of the blood is merely spiritual. Therefore, in Genesis, it is not called by the etymology of blood, but is made remarkable by the name of a red spirit.

Therefore, let those who would attain knowledge in these things, and be perfect in what we have set before them, constantly meditate and desire that the First Cause and Archetype of all thing would graciously and mercifully illuminate their minds; without which, they grope in darkness and uncertainty, and are subject to the delusions of impure spirits and devils, who are only to be put to flight by putting on the whole armour of God, in whom we all live, move, breathe, and have our being.

END OF MAGNETISM.

anyway, now sitting in powell’s. what else happened today! i planned out my fucked up schedule for the upcoming months. going to be in seattle for the 5th through the 7th (going to break my vow of silence on the 5th, unfortunately), have a business meeting on the 6th (wherein a really amazing opportunity, potentially, presented itself, and we’ll see where that goes), give a speech about redefine on the 26th for research club, spend the rest of the following week in seattle, then leave for sxsw tour on the evening of march 5th. it is all going to be a whirlwind! and i plan to spend the last week and a half of march in california, so i can attend to business, and things, and such.

we will see what happens with the rest. what else happened today…………………… flaked on watching a movie — a really awesome 3d dance movie — that i had wanted to watch and ended up in powell’s instead. this madness turned out to be positive…

ran into darcy on the way. she is from the building i used to volunteer at. she was super excited to see me and was lining up at a church nearby to get a free dinner meal. she called me down and said hi, but i felt bad because i was vow of silencing and unable to talk to her. i typed her a message on my phone to tell her i was doing a vow of silence, and she was like, oh, okay, and said bye, and was smiley, but i don’t know that she understood it wholly. hopefully she was not bummed. it was nice to see her, though… i don’t usually come downtown too often, but pretty much almost every time i come downtown i see her. it’s actually quite incredible. and in different places, too.

not sure what else there is to say. nothing comes to mind. until tomorrow.

oh real quick…
number of times i’ve fucked up today: 3?
number of times i fucked up yesterday: 3?

certainly better than the previous 12.

Osiris, similar to how I saw him, though I had thought he was: a) blue; b) facing the other direction.

The lady — the more powerful presence — looked quite similar to these pictures of Nefertari. The sleeves, in particular, seem to be of note, as she seems to be the only Queen and only Goddess with an outfit like that, and I very distinctly remember it being “square” similar to this. But I don’t know what the significance is… she isn’t a god, but a Queen of Ramesses II.

Quick summary of Osiris, which is partially what serves to confuse me more… taken from Wikipedia…

Osiris ( /oʊˈsaɪərɨs/; Ancient Greek: Ὄσιρις, also Usiris; the Egyptian language name is variously transliterated Asar, Asari, Aser, Ausar, Ausir, Wesir, Usir, Usire or Ausare) is an Egyptian god, usually identified as the god of the afterlife, the underworld and the dead. He is classically depicted as a green-skinned man with a pharaoh’s beard, partially mummy-wrapped at the legs, wearing a distinctive crown with two large ostrich feathers at either side, and holding a symbolic crook and flail.
Osiris is at times considered the oldest son of the Earth god Geb,[1] and the sky goddess Nut, as well as being brother and husband of Isis, with Horus being considered his posthumously begotten son.[1] He is also associated with the epithet Khenti-Amentiu, which means “Foremost of the Westerners” — a reference to his kingship in the land of the dead.[2] As ruler of the dead, Osiris is also sometimes called “king of the living”, since the Ancient Egyptians considered the blessed dead “the living ones”.[3]
Osiris is first attested in the middle of the Fifth dynasty of Egypt, although it is likely that he is worshipped much earlier;[4] the term Khenti-Amentiu dates to at least the first dynasty, also as a pharaonic title. Most information we have on the myths of Osiris is derived from allusions contained in the Pyramid Texts at the end of the Fifth Dynasty, later New Kingdom source documents such as the Shabaka Stone and the Contending of Horus and Seth, and, much later, in narrative style from the writings of Greek authors including Plutarch[5] and Diodorus Siculus.[6]
Osiris is not only a merciful judge of the dead in the afterlife, but also the underworld agency that granted all life, including sprouting vegetation and the fertile flooding of the Nile River. He is described as the “Lord of love”,[7] “He Who is Permanently Benign and Youthful”[8] and the “Lord of Silence”.[9] The Kings of Egypt were associated with Osiris in death — as Osiris rose from the dead they would, in union with him, inherit eternal life through a process of imitative magic. By the New Kingdom all people, not just pharaohs, were believed to be associated with Osiris at death if they incurred the costs of the assimilation rituals.[10]
Through the hope of new life after death Osiris began to be associated with the cycles observed in nature, in particular vegetation and the annual flooding of the Nile, through his links with Orion and Sirius at the start of the new year.[8] Osiris was widely worshiped as Lord of the Dead until the suppression of the Egyptian religion during the Christian era.[11][12]

fuck, i am so confused. anyway, this is day two of my vow of silence. it’s 6:00pm and i’m listening to sechskies. i have messed up twice today, one time of which was when i said, “what the fuck” after doing my egypt meditation. the other time was when i woke up this morning and, i think, also said, “what the fuck” because my neck was killing me for the second day in a row and that shit usually never happens. glad to say i haven’t fucked up since, though, even considering i went out for quite a row. i got slightly confused earlier and thought that i had lost my cellphone at stumptown (had to write them a little note to ask, and also had a funny interaction with an old man who was sitting at the table i had been sitting at and thought i was looking for a wall outlet and pointed me in the other direction, but i couldn’t properly charade to him what i was doing so it was just a lot of funny gestures between the two of us and him probably thinking i was a dummy). but the phone wasn’t there, as it was wrapped up in my blankets at home, so whatever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i was thinking it was quite funny that i would lose my main source of communication while i was not speaking. it would have actually been kinda a fun experiment (fun/frustrating, i’m sure).

when troy and i first got to stumptown this morning, i had wanted to buy a flourless cookie (they are soooooo good at stumptown) and had pointed at it for troy to order it, and he was just like, “i was thinking of getting this,” and pointed to some other pastry, and very much not on purpose i let out this crazy squeal and the barista at stumptown definitely gave me the weirdest look and only half-addressed me for the rest of the conversation. ha. it was… interesting.

i was also saying this morning that danny was telling us yesterday that william burroughs or someone did a vow of silence for a year, and then when he started speaking again, just rattled off one super profound poem. i told troy that because there was so much going on in my head that i couldn’t say — i write stuff down sometimes, but when you’re on a walk, or with other people, writing takes too long and is ignored and inappropriate — that i bet when i talk again i’ll have some shit to say. i dunno. maybe. it’s funny because i have to give a speech a week after i stop being silent about redefine, and the future of it, and such. but yeah, after i had “said” this william burroughs thing to troy, he had just gotten to a part in thus spoke zarathustra where zarathustra had come out of a 7-day coma or something and was massively enlightened by the end of it. a funny coincidence, considering he probably read less than a dozen pages while i was sitting next to him (and also, this page occurred within ten minutes of my mentioning the william burroughs thing).

but yeah, other than that, just went grocery shopping today and shit, and no one was really any the wiser. i will report more about the rest of the day if there is anything to report… for dinner, i’m making this cambodian fried rice noodles with pickled carrot and daikon!! STOKED!!! also already made this chipotle salsa which was ooookay. tomorrow i’m going to try making some chipotle peanut butter cookies (or brownies?), vegan basil pesto, and chipotle banana bread. chipotle’s the ingredient of the moment; it can’t be helped…

wait, real funnily: osiris is the lord of love… and the lord of silence. haha!!

I must have fucked up almost a dozen times yesterday with talking. Some of the moments I remembered:
- Mini-conversation with a homeless guy selling a newspaper;
- Dammit to myself after I couldn’t figure out some video stuff;
- Hello to Shawn after he came home late at night.

It’s hard. I’m not sure if there’s anything else profound to say right now… just a couple things.

In the afternoon, I met up with Danny and his mom and Gina at Tao Of Tea. Gina and I split a really intensely sweetened roobois chai (I mean, roobois is already kinda sweet; sweetening it with COCONUT SUGAR????? seems highly unnecessary, to me…) Anyway. Danny’s mom is from Santa Fe, and she is a psychic medium, which is kinda awesome. Rad lady, can definitely see the connection. She also kept calling me Van, which was simultaneously kinda funny and unbearable. More on the funny side, though, and Danny had to be like, “Don’t worry, she calls me Chris sometimes.” (Chris being his brother). His mom was funny, though, she was like, “You’re already kind of quiet, aren’t you, Van? So maybe being silent is a cop-out? Maybe you should have to speak all the time, instead!” It’s a good point. I think, though, what I’m learning from this is to be more expressive with my body, which, for me, is, I think, a really good thing because I’m not so good at that. (That was a lot of commas in one sentence.) (Also, it is really easy to write “vow of silence” as “cow of silence” and I almost did just that )

At night, I mostly hung with Troy and he had to bear the weight of the ridiculousness. He is perhaps the most horrible person at charades ever!! He said he has only played two times in his life or something, and man, does it show hahhahah. But it’s funny — after a couple hours, he started charading stuff out just because I was doing it. This is also nice because I am mailing a letter to Jonny tomorrow, and I can tell him I’m doing this! This is swell!!!

Watched a Buster Keaton movie for halfsies last night. That shit is totally fucking awesome! I have never seen Charlie Chaplin films, either, but I definitely want to do it now… anyway, more later.

beginning tomorrow morning, when i awake, i will no longer be speaking, for an entire month, until february 22nd.

why am i doing this, why am i doing this, why am i doing this? the inevitable question.

there are a few reasons, but most simply, i’ve been wanting to do it for more than a year now, since i met jonny and he was taking a vow of silence. jonny is in florida now — he moved there — and we have exchanged a message each, and i’m popping one in the mail tomorrow. it’s funny; i had vaguely liked him (mostly cause he is kind of the most attractive dude ever) but anyway, lots of stuff happened, and then i wrote him about all the things that happened, and he told me he had just always assumed i had had a boyfriend though he had never explicitly met a boyfriend of mine. i found that completely bizarre, and don’t really understand why he would think such a thing… but anyway…

as for reasons!

on the more personal end:

{1} i’m curious if i can even do it. it is going to require an intennnnnse amount of self-control, and i’m not *entirely* sure if i have that kind of self-control. it’s interesting, actually, i don’t usually feel like speaking all that much, in general, and very rarely around big groups of people… but now that speaking is actually “at stake,” i keep getting these urges to speak! it’s insane! i woke up this morning and the first thing i wanted to do was talk, but i didn’t even have anything i really wanted to talk about… it was just the act of doing it, now at stake, that called for itself to be exercised, trying to assert to me that yes, indeed, it would be missed!!!!!!!!!

{2} i kind of have a problem, in general, with people speaking too much. i wonder if this practice will make me more tolerant of people who speak a lot, or if it will be the opposite.

{3} i would say it would grow my listening abilities, but i honestly think i’m pretty good at listening, already…

on a more external level:

{1} i’m curious how this will change people’s reactions to me.

{2} i wonder if this will make people consider how much they talk.

{3} i wonder if people who spend a lot of time with me will spend less time with me.

{4} ?????? there are a bunch more; i just can’t think of them right now really!

but yeah. if i do make it, it should be interesting. as far as i am concerned, it’s like an altered mind state… but absolutely free, which is just wonderful!

———————————————————————————————————–

IN OTHER NEWS.

i found someone’s check on the side of the street the other day and mailed it back to the guy whose address was on it. got this back today…

(the top picture also features this awesome cow glass roxanne bought me for christmas. the cow on the handle, man. it’s all about the cow on handle.)

also, more generally, i got a message from someone named daniel. i think it was after he found my social experiments website. i’m not going to copy and paste the whole note, but partially…

i made a new bookmark folder for you. its called ‘fun’. thanks for that. i’ve now added fuckyouverymuch.dk to it which is simple but neat and is kinda the same category but totally not.

pretty awesome. i love random emailssssssssssssss! it is also simultaneous madness and awesomeness that you can hold onto all of your email now in such a concrete manner……………………!

what else. i met up with gabe downtown to try and pitch him an art show, but unfortunately they’re full-up for the year (unless i plan a one-off event rather than an installation). but whatever. i guess i will just make the thing myself and get it installed somewhere after i make it. hopefully i don’t go insane making it and?? storing it in my house?!!!!??!!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?! i need a studio! except i’m too fucking poor!

the oregon jung society has this awesome ass lecture series coming up. february’s events are these, and i wrote them about getting a press pass, because with the way the influences on redefine are turning out, relating that information back to arts with an article seems like a great idea…

February 17 and 18, 2012: Jane Zich
Exploring the Visual Language of the Unconscious
The realm of psyche is immeasurably great and filled with living reality. -C.G. Jung
In her lecture, Jane Zich will explore the “living reality” of the psyche as evidenced in the visual language of the unconscious that emerges in depth psychotherapy, dreams,
films, and extended active imagination processes. She will use paintings from her Vision Journey series — an image-mediated dialogue with the unconscious that has spanned seven years — to illustrate how recurrent cycles and shifts in imagery suggest a purposefulness in the visual language of the unconscious that can promote and support an “I-Thou” attitude of partnership between ego consciousness and the unconscious. Specific psychological tasks that seem required for specific stages or types of imagery will be described, as well as impasses that tend to result when those tasks are avoided or incompletely met. Dr. Zich will illustrate the role of “orienting intentions” in navigating extended dialogues with the unconscious, and will refer to image stages and related tasks for ego consciousness that can be seen in C.G. Jung’s Red Book, in cultural contexts, and in societal impasses. Time for discussion will follow.

Workshop: Opening the Gift This workshop is designed to foster an experiential exploration of the material presented in Friday’s lecture. After choosing a personal “orienting intention” for the workshop, everyone will select a wrapped gift. Before unwrapping the gift, we will take time to explore our expectations, thoughts, feelings, intuitions, sensory impressions, and attitudes stirred by this “unknown other,” symbolized by the wrapped gift. Then, as we each unwrap our gift, we will have a chance to observe our approach to discovering the “other,” including the ways our expectations around the anticipated (wrapped) gift have influenced our experience of the actual (unwrapped) gift. Through drawing, painting, collage-making, and clay-molding, we will explore the visual language of the unconscious, our personal pacing, inner resources, and rituals for honoring what is meaningful to us in such dialogues with the unconscious. Participants’ experiences will be discussed and amplified in terms of Jungian concepts and depth work as applicable to creative projects, psychotherapy, and personal growth.

UNFORTUNATELY they won’t be able to give me tickets to the workshop cause they said it has a max limit of 35 and it will probably be filled up by members, buuuuuuuuuut, whatever. i’m excited just to go to the lecture and see what that creates in my brain.

anyway.
for the last bit i’m just going to post some images of the art i’m working on. i’m tired of writing, for now. i’m sure i will be doing SHIT TONS of it in the next silent month. jesus christ. oh yeah also i went to a naturopathic doctor for an annual checkup and regular checkup today. thought it would be different from a regular doctor, but it was pretty much the same considering there’s nothing -really- wrong with me and all it is is similar measurements and stuff that you will do at a regular doctor. but i will be doing blood work after my vow of silence, so hopefully that will be more interesting (but again, probably the same haha).

oh man i keep finding new things to write about. there was a pie night the other night at gina’s, in celebration of national pie day (no shit). sara made a lemon-egg pie, and jesus christ, that shit was so godamn awesome. here were my contributions. imagine them the size of little muffins ^__^

banana chipotle lime!!!!!!

chipotle cajun yam!!!!!!

so fun to make mini pies! SO FUN!!! i think i might do them all the time. it should also be noted that this was my crust recipe… so fucking easy and so good, and what’s more! did not stick to pan!!!! sourced from meatless monday. i just mixed it with my hands, though. fuck food processors! ain’t no yuppie! jokes… i wish i had a food processor 8[

3 CUPS ALL-PURPOSE FLOUR
1 1/2 TEASPOONS KOSHER SALT
1 TEASPOON BAKING POWDER
1/2 CUP VEGETABLE SHORTENING (CAN BE REPLACED WITH BUTTER IN ADDITION TO AMOUNT BELOW)
1/4 POUND COLD UNSALTED BUTTER, DICED
1/2 TO 2/3 CUP ICE WATER
EGG WASH: 1 EGG BEATEN WITH 1 TABLESPOON WATER
FLAKED SEA SALT AND CRACKED BLACK PEPPER

For the Pastry: Using a food processor, combine the flour, salt, and baking powder. Add the shortening and butter, and mix quickly with your fingers until each piece is coated with flour. Pulse 10 times, or until the fat is the size of peas. With the motor running, add the ice water; process only enough to moisten the dough and have it just come together. Dump the dough out onto a floured board, and knead it quickly into a ball. Wrap the dough in plastic, and let it to rest in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

okay, last thing for real. here’s where i’m going with art. 3-d sculptures.

only, the new round will look like this — all hand-drawn…!!!!! source material from me. source. just you wait, dudes. i’m going to force this year to be a big art year!

i feel quite good about it. it’s been a minute sinec i’ve done video stuff but yeaaaaaaaaah i love it i love it i love it i love it.

it’s kind of obnoxious.
i’m in love, but still, i’m not over it.

before rose moved, she gave me his copy of henry miller’s the tropic of capricorn.

i hadn’t finished it before i finished my book, but there was a section that made it into the opening prologue of my book…

Everything that happens, when it has significance, is in the nature of a contradiction. Until the one for whom this is written came along I imagined that somewhere outside, in life, as they say, lay the solution to all things. I thought, when I came upon her, that I was seizing hold of life, seizing hold of something which I could bite into. Instead I lost hold of life completely. I reached out for something to attach myself to — and I found nothing. But in reaching out, in the effort to grasp, to attach myself, left high and dry as I was, I nevertheless found something I had not looked for — myself. I found that what I had desired all my life was not to live — if what others are doing is called living — but to express myself. I realized that I had never the least interest in living, but only in this which I am doing now, something which is parallel to life, of it at the same time, and beyond it.

and just now, this…

He was continually talking about himself and his relation to the world about, a quality which created the unfortunate impression that he was simply a blatant egotist… To come into is presence gave me the sensation of being undressed, or rather peeled, for it was much more than mere nakedness which he demanded of the person he was talking to. In talking to me he addressed himself to a me whose existence I had only dimly suspected, the me, for example, which emerged when, suddenly, reading a book, I realized that I had been dreaming. Few books had this faculty of putting me into a trance, this trance of utter lucidity in which, unknown to oneself, one makes the deepest resolutions. Roy Hamilton’s conversation partook of this quality. It made me more than ever alert, preternaturally alert, without at the same time crumbling the fabric of dream. He was appealing in other words, to the m of the self, to the being who would eventually outgrow the naked personality, the synthetic individuality leave me truly alone and solitary in order to work out my own proper destiny.

Our talk was like a secret language in the midst of which the others went to sleep or faded away like ghosts… Hamilton opened my eyes and gave me new values, and though later I was able to lose the vision which he had bequeathed me nevertheless I could never again see the world, or my friends, as I had seen them prior to his coming. Hamilton altered me profoundly, as only a rare book, a rare personality, a rare experience, can alter one. For the first time in my life I understood what it was to experience a vital friendship and not to feel enslaved or attached because of the experience. Never, after we parted, did I feel the need of his actual presence; he had given himself completely and I possessed him without being possessed. It was the first, clean, whole experience of friendship, and it was never duplicated by any other friend. He was the symbol personified and consequently entirely satisfactory, hence no longer necessary to me. He himself understood this thoroughly. Perhaps it was the fact of having no father that pushed him alone road toward the discovery of the self, which is the final process of identification with the world and the realization consequently of the uselessness of ties.

i need to learn the latter bit… i’m so self-actualized lately, but fuck, to realize with a start that i’m not really over it????????????????????????????????

obnoxious. really, really obnoxious.

i just realized just now that our 6-month anniversary just passed, and we didn’t make a deal of it! ah, well. also, unrelated: their next record is going to totally rule…

i am reminded of this because i am going through my things and i’ve found some notices… three “talk to us” signs, one that says, “i want to encourage cross-disciplinary collabz.” (from new york and the whole wall street protest), and lastly, this poem. this is from when i was volunteering at helen swindell’s. i am a bit regretful that i went on my travels and then just stopped going there altogether. i had many people who i felt bonded to, but it just became a matter of whether i wanted to sacrifice my personal time for it. it’s selfish. and i feel bad, now. maybe sometime soon i will be able to start it up again, but at the heart of it was that, while i enjoyed my time there very much, there ended up being like three volunteers at any given time, and it felt unnecessary. i will say, though, at the time, that i felt like i had more real conversation with the residents there… ah, i’m sad. there are a few people i namely miss, which are:

- darcy, a lesbian lady who got stabbed and got her stomach ripped open to the point that they were hanging out;
- chris, the guy with whom i co-wrote the poem below… dude was always happy and encouraging smiles, and was really metaphysical and cosmic and out there and wanted to be some sort of counselor;
- ____, who i often discussed matters of space with;
- j___, who had formerly lived in hawaii and japan for a long time, and would always say konichiwa to me and minor japanese phrases (he knew i wasn’t japanese but knew that i knew some…) and took the only photo of myself at helen swindell’s that there is, and he had me draw an image for him or something which he kept;
- john, who always was teasing and giving shit and looked — strange to say — typically veteran-y, and always wore a cap! man, he gave so much shit, and was always saying how i was a trouble-maker…
- ____, who i somehow forget the face of now, which is crazy…! but he was definitely one that i enjoyed speaking with most… i had referenced him before, as i had discussed many things related to psychedelia and time-space with him…

it was just so interesting… all of them were so interesting, such remnants of the ’60s… i wish i could commit more. maybe soon when the weather is warmer…

here’s the joint poem i wrote with chris:

i can’t wait for the weather to get warmer again; i should really do “talk to us” again… i hadn’t written about this, but there were definitely girls (2) at the wall st. protest who had “talk to us” signs, and i directed them to my website and told them it was something that i did. i should really update i love social experiments with my new data…

anyway, in other news. pretty much been busy planning our sxsw show. here’s my initial teaser flyer for it…

gina and i spent the afternoon today holed up at pied cow, basically just writing letters. the primary aim was to write to caroline casey, the lady who gave us the venusian love ritual that we practiced, but i ended up writing back to a lot of people. it felt good to write, and kinda maddening to realize that man, do the hands get tired easy, simply because that stuff never happens anymore

i have a lot to write about. i was mulling over today that after sxsw — since i am touring with swahili — that i think i want to spend some time traveling or staying in california… since tour is two weeks+, it would be nice to be able to sublet out my room for that month and save that money. but i don’t know yet where i would go; the only place i kinda wanna go is new mexico, but last time, that become rather uncomfortable, so who knows… and i’m trying to save up money for spain and portugal in july, and i guess burning man in august, so it seems unlikely that i’ll be able to do all of the traveling that i actually wanna do. blOorg. i suppose if some cheap ass plane tickets to go to some south american country pop up between now and april, that that might need to be what happens. if not, probably a train or bus from reno to the bay area post-sxsw, for a couple weeks of mad work action. i don’t know, i don’t know, i don’t know.

i was discussing these plans and desires yesterday with troy, and he was apologizing for being a boyfriend that doesn’t have the money to travel. i told him it was fine; i don’t realistically expect anyone to be able to keep up with me in terms of traveling money and time. it doesn’t bother me… i just –need– to nomad life it, though… it’s already been way too long (like half a year… well i suppose it was only since october, so like, 5 months)… but i’m already feeling a bit mad and need to go somewhere really bad! and i guess i have been to california a couple times in that duration, but it’s not the same. the desire to travel is incessant, it’s crazy… :L but yeah, he was surprised that it didn’t bother me that he couldn’t afford to travel and said i am repeatedly “the first” but to me it’s just… it’s fine, because it’s realistic that other people can’t??? i dunno.

anyway…

we went to tao of tea tonight and drank this pine-smoked black tea. dude, it was so amazing. but it caffeinated me to the point of insanity! i’ve boycotted coffee and i feel wayyyy better, but it makes me feel nuts to drink hugely caffeinated stuff now. interesting.

ah, so much to do. i can’t decide WHAT to do. there’s just too much.

i gotta get to recording snippets from this:

it maybe seems a bit ridiculous, but this book “came to me” through a series of dreams, and like we all know, i really trust dreams. the first dream told me that i needed to look into learning about alchemy; it wasn’t so overt, but it was just the notion that i woke up thinking. i don’t remember anything else from the dream. a few days later, i was dream-land told that i should look into egypt. again, i don’t really know anything about it. that was when sherry was in town, though, and i took her to powell’s that day. i looked in the alchemy section — there barely is one — and there was ONE book about egypt. i saw it and thought it was totally incredibly ridiculous and could barely believe that THAT was the book i would “need” to read, but seriously, there was nothing else even remotely calling to me. so i was like, well, fuck, here it is.

what this book is is a series of meditations and visualizations that basically take you to deconstructing and rebuilding yourself. i had originally given myself a loose deadline of “finishing this” project by the end of april, but it has since changed, since troy asked me last week if i wanted to go to portland evolver meeting. legitimately, the evolver meeting we went to was totally fucking whack. however… coming up:

> Wednesday, February 22nd — Linda Star Wolf Evolver talk on “Visionary Shamanism”

linda star wolf is one of the authors of the egyptian shamanism book. it is WAY too much of a coincidence that she is coming, so i’m definitely going to: 1) record all of the meditations by the end of this month, preferably by the 23rd; 2) at least start to do the meditations, and ideally finish them, by february 22nd, so that i can talk to her about them.

i dunno what it’s going to yield. we will see. when sherry was here on my birthday, she was TOTALLY engrossed in that book and spent the whole of the evening almost reading it. yet, while she seems to find those things fascinating, i think she’s scared of them; i bought carl jung’s man and his symbols for her for christmas, and, as far as i know, she hasn’t delved into it yet. i think she’s kind of scared, and i asked her if that was the case, and she said yes. i think that books like that stir up the unconscious in a scary way, but i think sherry is totally ripe for it. i am sending her my book on monday. i sincerely hope that the book plants the seed that will cause her to read jung’s man and his symbols… i dunno what the fuck kind of “work” i am doing, but whatever it is, it feel really, important.

last couple notes, again relating to literature: evolver’s kent had mentioned this book >>>

and that is exactly the kind of mapping work i want to start doing. synopsis:

From a philosopher whose magisterial history of Western thought was praised by Joseph Campbell and Huston Smith comes a brilliant new book that traces the connection between cosmic cycles and archetypal patterns of human experience. Drawing on years of research and on thinkers from Plato to Jung, Richard Tarnas explores the planetary correlations of epochal events like the French Revolution, the two world wars, and September 11. Whether read as astrology updated for the quantum age or as a contemporary classic of spirituality, Cosmos and Psyche is a work of immense sophistication, deep learning, and lasting importance.

i can’t wait i can’t wait! i can’t wait!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

blahblahblah. what else. man, there’s so much. but seriously, all i wanna do is write books.

but i just recently finally dropped the $45 to buy this fucking book that changed my life (i originally read it from shawn but the book is SUPER fragile and i can’t look at his anymore, especially since it was from his grandfather, and the binding is really fragile… and this book is fucking IMPOSSIBLE to find… it’s ridiculous):

i am definitely wanting to use it as a primer for how to solve the social problems of the world. tis going to require a shit ton of research and effort, but like i said… all i seriously want to do now is write books… sample from ends and means (that has made it into my book):

In the contemporary world there are two classes of bad plans — the plans invented and put into practice by men who do not accept our ideal postulates, and the plans invented and put into practice by the men who accept them, but imagine that the ends proposed by the prophets can be achieved by wicked or unsuitable means. Hell is paved with good intentions, and it is probable that plans made by well-meaning people of the second class may have results no less disastrous than plans made by the evil-intentioned people of the first class. Which only shows, yet once more, how right the Buddha was in classing unawareness and stupidity among the deadly sins.

i can’t wait i can’t wait i can’t wait. i woke up this morning and all i could think was:

LIFE IS GREAT. THANKS, UNIVERSE.

this year, i uploaded my movel to the website to see if what i had written for in all things, patterns. would put me past the point of novel completion. it did not! but whatever! fuck those deadlines because good work need not be rushed (i am saying this to myself). in any case, though, i’ve sent out half of the copies i’ve intended to send out and have in fact made some edits on my own since then. however. i am waiting to do more. perhaps some distance will help, as it always does, but in the meantime, i’ve decided to look at some advice given by nanowrimo (that’s the abbreviation, which is really quite an awesome abbreviation, if i do say so myself) and see what sticks as potentially useful for me…

because i am apparently bored? (though not really?) i am going to strike out the advice i think sucks and bold the advice i think is rad. or something.

>>>

“Thirteen Tips On Revision:
1. Put the book aside and listen, for the first time, to your insecurities. Do not pay attention to what they say but to where they are pointing. They are wrong that you need to burn down the house but they might be right about starting in the basement.
2. Approach the manuscript ruthlessly, like it is a beloved and difficult friend who has asked to hear what they’re doing wrong. The misdeeds do not cancel out the love, nor vice versa.
4. Cut short and cut long. Change a limp image and discover the entire needs to be cut. Polish a flabby scene and learn it needs to be deleted. If everyone stays on the lifeboat it will sink and no one will be saved. There are hardly any novels that are too short.
5. Stand and pace. Feel the liberation of having dragged hobbled furniture from your room to lay out on the sidewalk for someone else’s benefit.
6. This is the third draft of this set of tips. Hopefully they are now more useful to the reader.”
–Lemony Snicket, author of A Series of Unfortunate Events

“Do not spend a single second making your prose readable until you’re absolutely, positively sure that you have your story locked down. This is the single most important bit of advice I have, and I ignore it all the time and have wasted years of my revising life because of it. The impulse to snappy-up dialogue and make sentences eloquent is almost irresistible at every point in the revision process. The sadness comes when we spend six months transforming our first three chapters into Pulitzer-worthy gems, only to realize that none of those chapters will actually end up in our novels because they don’t work with the ending. Think of your second draft as a house that you’re building. You need to pour the foundation, frame the walls, and get a reasonably waterproof roof over your head before you start to think about putting art up on the walls and installing the basement bowling alley and aviary.”
–Chris Baty, founder of NaNoWriMo and author of No Plot? No Problem!

“The first step toward a productive revision is to read your manuscript as a reader not an editor. Just curl up and read it, and make two lists. One is the parts that don’t work–a character so dull you can barely remember his name, parts you were tempted to skip (or sleep through!) The second list is for things you did like, because that’s important, too. At the end, if that first list looks too daunting, read the second and remind yourself of all the parts that worked—all the great stuff that deserves an equally great novel.
Once you have the list, copy the file under a new name, so you’ve always got a copy of the original.
Now, it’s time to get ruthless.
If a scene/page/paragraph doesn’t move the plot along, cut it. If possible, don’t re-read it, because you’re going to find lines and bits of character in it that you love, and that’ll make you start thinking “maybe it’s not so bad after all…”
Trust that initial reader instinct. Cut it and save it in another file—that’ll help with the pain of the loss, knowing you still have that scene should you ever decide you need it back.
If a character doesn’t add to the book, cut him out. If you loved him, save his parts for another book. If you REALLY loved him, give him a more meaningful role so he can stay.
If some part of the plot doesn’t work, brainstorm a list of three alternate routes to achieve that goal (different paths, different character motivations, etc). Pick the one that will provide the most conflict or “emotional bang for your buck.”
Remember—be ruthless. Don’t ever think about how many hours you put into writing a part you’re cutting out. Think of how much better you’ll feel knowing you did your best—however hard it was—to make this novel shine.”
–Kelley Armstrong, author of the Otherworld series

“The worst thing you can do when your novel is complete it to slap it into an envelope, or an e-mail, and send it off to a publisher. I don’t care how good you are, a novel is never completely clean and ready to go on the first run through. It’s a good idea to step away from it, work on something else, play with your dog, and introduce yourself to the family you haven’t seen much of since you typed that first page. Do not believe that because you put 50, 60, or even 100,000 words down on paper (or the screen) that it means you are ready for the best-seller list. It means that you’ve reached the end of stage one. You do not want to see the response you will get if you send that thing off sight unseen.”
–David Niall Wilson, author of the NaNo-novels Vintage Soul and The Mote in Andrea’s Eye

WAIT SIDE NOTE I THINK I JUST DECIDED THAT I SHOULD STOP BOLDING STUFF CAUSE OTHERWISE MOST OF IT IS GOING TO GET BOLDED…

SO ONWARDS, CHRISTIAN (NOT CHRISTIAN) SOLDIER…

wait and then i just realized that was all of them. ahahhahahahahahhaa,

anyway, life is good.
life is too good.
i thank my great greebus.
i’m looking forward to the future.
i feel pretty alright.

here’s a screen shot of the sopa/pipa protest i arranged yesterday with other music publications and such.
not everyone was that sympathetic in doing something “jointly” but whatever.
some people were, and that’s what matters.