Limits of an Infinite Self

The end is near
This time next year
I will have found
My sacred ground
Which, though the Earth
At last gives birth
With tremors, shocks
She opes the locks
Of heaven, of hell
Commence to swell
And shift her skin
No fight to win
It keeps the ones
Who there shall come
Unscathed, unharmed
They will be armed
With wisdom, light
How to do right
Within them shines
For in these times
All souls achieve
What they believe
Their purpose means
Beyond the screen
Of 3-D life
Cuts like a knife
The vorpal blade
Through dream persuades
The play directs
And time bisects
This is no end
But here attend:
No soul shall lose
But all must choose
Their path to live
And die, and live
There are two Earths
The other first
Needs time to rest
Become her best
But she shall host
Eventually most
Of all who wake
At that daybreak
When their worst fears
Pass over clear
And mercy dawns
Their lives go on
In time, they ascend
To join their friends
On that first Earth
Their home of birth
A heavenly place
Of stars and grace
Where even time
Is turned sublime

Everyone has their own idea of what's going on, where we are, how we got here, what we face in the future. There's a thread of apocalypticism that seems to crop up everywhere. That thread, especially as woven in the mass media, is often heavily tinged with fear and fantasy, based on vague or shallow understanding. It becomes easy to either dismiss such thoughtforms altogether and continue to imagine that everything will keep going on pretty much as it has been, or else to get all caught up in the smoke-and-mirrors funhouse version of Circus Apocalypticus. The Tunnel of Doom can be a compelling ride, and there's no end of terrifying and disturbing sights and sounds to keep that dark thrill of fear and despair churning inside. That's to be expected. We are, after all, in a realm of appearances. We each see our own subconscious shadows playing out on the screen, along with the beauty of our divine nature, in whatever measure is appropriate to our individual need and choice, moment by moment.

Objectively, nothing I say here matters a whit. Nor does it matter what I believe nor what anyone else believes. Nevertheless, here inside the fractal symphony of subjective experience, under the prime illusion of separation, each part has its own specific role to play. Regarding the need for self-expression, I recall these words from a song I learned in elementary school, the Rainbow Song:

Listen with your eyes
listen with your eyes
and sing everything you see.

I write, not because I believe it will make any difference, but because I am compelled and moved to do so by my innermost heart. At this moment, it's what I'm here to do. And so I do my best to let that innermost heart get a word in, through all the posturings and ramblings of my limited ego self.

I had a deep discussion with a friend yesterday about the economic crisis. Our views turned out to be pretty similar, although we had enough differences of opinion to make the conversation lively and interesting. His understanding at this time doesn't incorporate what could be called “conspiracy theory,” in that he doesn't see our debt-based monetary system as being inherently flawed to begin with, whereas I do. But all such conclusions are only tentative, subject to change in the presence of new information that would challenge us to see more. I voiced my understanding, in such part as I felt appropriate, but didn't turn it into a debate. There wasn't enough of a common background of information to be able to get into (what I see as) the more hidden, engineered aspects of the situation. I wasn't there to persuade him of my view, but rather to just share thoughts and have a mutually agreeable and enriching moment of human contact.

Our other major topic of discussion was one on which I've never even formed much of an opinion: the potential for an existential threat to humanity arising from the birth of an artificial intelligence beyond our capacity to control. To me, that subject has been more in the realm of thought-provoking science fiction than any plausible, actual future. To him, it is perhaps the gravest problem we face, given, of course, that something else doesn't come along first and render the question moot. In essence, the solution would be to prepare for that scenario in advance by somehow ensuring that if and when such an uncontrollable intelligence is born, it will be of such a nature as to allow for the (humanly tolerable) long-term survival of our species.

I've taken in enough science fiction to have a basic idea of the range of imagined future scenarios concerning humans vs. AI. Peaceful coexistence via hard-wired Laws for robots and a general ethical treatment towards them on the part of humans, as envisioned by Asimov, seems to me perhaps a little premature and idealistic, given the sad state of the human psyche and the unpredictability of self-directed evolution. Based on our historical record, the vision of the Terminator films would seem more realistic. But both of these scenarios presuppose the development of AI continuing forward from the present day without interruption. So the more immediate hurdles, I would say, are the existential threat posed by unenlightened mankind to itself, and the very real possibility of cataclysmic Earth changes, abundantly prognosticated by modern science and prophesied by ancient traditions passed down from the survivors of the last global extinction-level event.

I'm a big fan of the Matrix films. They depict a human race struggling for freedom from the dominance of machine intelligence in a war that is not only physical, but essentially psychological and spiritual. To me, the Matrix story is less a probable future scenario than it is an allegorical tale about where we are now. The machines are an externalized manifestation of the egoic mind, which can never know God but is preoccupied with material things. This machine intelligence creates a virtual reality, a literal prison for humanity, in which the vast majority live out their lives unaware. As an enslaved human begins to awaken, this matrix reality appears increasingly “wrong,” and they question just how real it all is, what greater truth might lie beyond these appearances.

In the real world (grin), awakening is a multi-layered process. The exact route by which it happens is, of course, unique to each person. For many, the first layer is the manufactured and distorted version of reality portrayed by television and other forms of mass media. Entertainment on this lowest end of the spectrum is typically hypnotic, banal, debased, and void of higher meaning. At some point, it becomes clear that, at its root, this is all intentionally so. It's not just because these corporations cater to the lowest common denominator to make more money. Facts and questions that go outside a particular box are actively marginalized and suppressed.

As I write, right now, the time is 9:11 PM. I suppose I'll take that as a hint. (grin)

My friend is as yet unconvinced that the events of 9-11-2001 were brought about and/or facilitated by elements within the U.S. government and U.S. intelligence (although he doesn't deny the possibility). From the perspective of one who became convinced several years ago, I would say that that position stems mainly from a lack of awareness of the vast body of credible evidence, an unwillingness to believe that such evil could lurk so strongly in such high positions of power, or both. Of course, there is also the fear of being pejoratively labeled a “conspiracy nut,” but for anyone determined to find the truth, wherever the evidence may lead, that should be of no concern. Rest assured: despite what the corporate media would have us believe, being on the side of “9-11 truth” does not translate into being an extremist or a crazy person. I shouldn't have to say that, but there it is. The real problem, of course, is that once you accept a “Truther” version of 9-11, it opens up a Pandora's box of other shit. Shit that a lot of people just don't want to touch, no matter what. They would rather not know, because knowing would mean an end to the dream with which they are so comfortable, a dream into which certain harsh big-picture realities simply do not fit.

As always, the wisest position is the only one of which there can be certainty: “I don't know.” Everything we think we know is based on perception, and our perception is, by its nature, limited. Despite what I've said here about awakening, I don't consider myself to be awake at all. I am still dreaming, just like everyone else here, although less deeply than some. All that means is that I'm standing in a different place, somewhere between the crowded center and the rarefied outermost fringes of our collective reality. I like it here. I'm in good company. But it would be terribly boring if everybody were in the same place. Regardless of where we are in relation to each other, we can interact and become the richer for it. We're all teachers, and we're all students.

Anyway, that's all incidental to the real truth, which is... we're not separate. It only seems like we are, because that's the only way we can do what we're here to do, and that's... to learn about love. To really learn, we had to step into an illusion where love is not absolute and unconditional, where we suffer and die and long for what we seemingly lost when the universe began. Our journey here is not in vain. It is part of a Great Work in progress. By our choices, we can either prolong or hasten that Great Work in ourselves. We cling to our illusions as long as we can, but little by little they fall away. Our vision expands and brightens. We experience love in all its forms, including all the manifestations of its absence and distortion. And at the end, we are all reunited with the essence from which we came and which attracts all things back unto itself for the glorious, unimaginably grand after-party of all Time.

But to answer the question... hell, I don't know. You're asking me???

I was recently prompted to watch Donnie Darko. It's one of those rare films that carry so much beneath the surface, daring the viewer to cast aside assumptions, observe, and dig in to see what's really there. A shallow or distorted reading of the film might even yield a negative message, but for the pure of heart and clear of mind, it's a profound, piercing, and potent work of art.


One of the threads in the plot explores the cult phenomenon. The classic elements are all there: a charismatic leader with a cleverly-crafted message, drawing in susceptible followers with his hypnotic spiel delivered on stage and through pricey videos and books. For me, it was interesting to note how the con was built from a seed of genuine truth – the dichotomy of Love and Fear – and subsequently inflated into hollow drivel with only the appearance of truth to the easily deceived. Even when the cult leader is fully exposed as a criminal deviant, the true believer refuses to accept reality, choosing to blame the scandal on a conspiracy to take down what she sees as a demigod-like messenger of salvation, “a wonderful man.”

A hallmark of those who are in the business of selling lies is that they cannot tolerate honest criticism. They will use every method at their disposal to deflect it and defuse the sparks of doubt. Open debate is not an option for them, because they know how deadly the truth is against deception on a level playing field. They will distort and reframe anything that threatens the lie in their own terms to try to preserve the illusion. They will use veiled psychological threats to keep their followers in line. Anyone who questions their dogma is “blinded,” “deluded,” “lost,” “confused,” “an agent of the enemy,” or some other handy descriptor. When undeniable facts come out, they will go into damage control mode to keep the core of the lie intact. But probably the cult leader's greatest weapon is the process of indoctrination that renders followers simply unable to break out of their programmed thinking. The herd instinct, carefully cultivated and stimulated, does the rest.

Of course there are positive aspects to being in a cult or cult-like community, from the member's point of view. Why else would they stay? Inside, they find purpose, direction, meaning. They are constantly reassured of the rightness and goodness of their belief system, and they can rejoice in having found the true way, the cure for their afflictions. The closeness and caring of the community, the pleasure of being in a group of like-minded people, the genuine friendships that form, the shared experiences. These are all powerful, positive things in a person's life, and there is certainly nothing wrong with having or wanting them. Moreover, the doctrine or “the way” itself may have very positive, even life-saving effects.

The troubles, however, are always present in some degree. For a naturally free-thinking individual, the ideology and the group-think can be restrictive to the point of annoyance and/or suppression of the inner self. The division between the membership and the outside world can take on pathological characteristics. The disconnect between programmed thought and reality can result in a variety of psychological maladies or other unfortunate side effects (for instance due to misapplication of an incomplete or faulty conceptual framework). Worst of all, the ones in leadership who knowingly promulgate the lie are invariably guilty of some combination of fraud, exploitation, and corruption, and, more often than not, are sexual predators to boot. There's no way to sugar-coat this awful reality. They are wolves in sheep's clothing and they have no conscience whatsoever, nor any regard for the human consequences of their actions.

It will be apparent to some that these thoughts, while intended as generalities, may also be read in the context of my former religious affiliation. However, it's not my intent to maliciously attack anything or anyone. My only motives are compassion and the desire for truth. I fervently pray that those with strength of spirit and eyes to see will be there to support their brethren and keep the light of truth. If nothing else, I would exhort such a one to seek and serve only the Divine, with all the integrity, honesty, patience, and love you can muster. Your Lord has given you something absolute, perfect, and real: his own Spirit, to dwell in your innermost heart. That Spirit speaks directly to you. When you open yourself, truly listen, and hear that still, small voice, you will KNOW it. Let there be no higher authority in your life than that awesome, living presence within. Let no words of man or thoughts of ego prevail against it.

Jesus gave one commandment: love God, and love your neighbour as yourself. When you come to see the divine essence in all things, and live authentically in the Spirit of God, there is no need for commandments at all. Laws and punishments are for those darkened souls who lack or choose to ignore this inner guidance.

I had a dream today in which a simple and powerful key was revealed to me. This key was like flipping a switch inside oneself, and it led one effortlessly to inner peace and understanding and a more divine way of being. I fumbled around for that key after waking up – I remembered what it did, but I'd forgotten what it was. I do believe I later recalled it, in part, on a contemplative walk through the park. It was related to what I said in the beginning about watching Donnie Darko: the act of pure observation of what is, unburdened by one's own, pre-existing ideas. Allowing, not forcing. “This is what it is, not what I think it is or what it should be according to my beliefs.” This shift in consciousness brings about a sense of wonder, and opens one to the flow of authentic impressions that, over time, leads only toward truth – and the dawning delight of discovery.

Observe what is. Let the chatter and the motion go on as it will. Don't force the stillness. It's there, behind the noise. Like a screen, it shows the movie, and may appear to be the movie if you forget yourself, become hypnotized by the moving picture, the appearance of reality. But if you focus on the screen itself, you may begin to feel the impression of looking into a mirror. Two eyes looking out at two eyes looking back in. Who is this presence? It is yourself. It is pure awareness. It is the only eternal thing; all else is projection, flickering by, frame by infinitesimal frame, each seemingly created and destroyed in turn, yet so fast as to appear continuous. This is the flow of time, which doesn't really flow, because it doesn't really exist, except as a subjective, illusory experience. A dream. Because, after all, what else is there for an infinite, singular awareness to do?

Spirit and matter. Creator and created. We are the confluence of both. Through countless aeons of time, matter organizes itself according to the patterns suggested by Spirit, imprinted upon the aether as spiraling forms of purest, subtlest energy. On the molecular level, a miraculous thing occurs: the omnipresent Spirit retreats almost entirely from view. Matter seems ruled by raw mechanics, blind forces, a chaoarchy of chance and determinism. But the first simple forms of life evolve spontaneously, ubiquitously, wherever a suitable mix of ingredients is present and the conditions allow for it. And so begins the wondrous progression of complexity, from cell to multicell, until entire planets are covered with richly woven tapestries of life, ecosystems interwebbed in a gloriously dynamic order. The underlying patterns of energy inspire an endless variety of forms, periodically transforming as the frequency turns up in quantum shifts that emanate from the hot galactic centers.

We are the next step. The group souls of the animal kingdom, defined at the level of species, begin to differentiate into individual souls, capable of self-reflection. A humanoid form arises. Now begins the most challenging phase, as consciousness bridges the gap from instinctive animal behaviour through to peaceful, space-faring culture. There are other options, too, for those so inclined: realms above and below this plane, reachable after many lifetimes of work at those times when the veil dividing them is briefly parted. It is here, however, that we are able to experience the forces of both heaven and hell in equal measure, according to our choice. In this crucible is forged, from the base material of primitive man, a purer being.




Spirit awakens from its dormancy and becomes a living spark. That flame of the heart, the most noble part of man, guides, enlightens, and sanctifies his being. It will teach him of courage, and beauty, and love, with endless patience so long as it still burns. If he will heed its tutelage, the way will be opened before him and he will walk through the shadows in its flickering light.

Monsters and shades of monsters will threaten. The worst of them will come from within. But no matter how fearsome they may be, they will never be able to destroy the one who guards that precious light in her bosom, though they kill the flesh and feed on the very soul. Many battles will be lost ere the first is won, yet in time the victories will come more easily – or would, but for the ancient law of the worthy adversary and the burden equal to one's strength. All is arranged with a distinct purpose ordained by Spirit, all for the incremental progress of the soul on its chosen path of experience.

And so we come to the crisis point, a time of epic potential. Evils are unleashed that were previously unimaginable. For it is only under the uttermost existential threat that the portion of Spirit that sleeps the deepest may be persuaded to rise up and be counted. But when it does, when the awakening in its fullness at last unfolds, there is no limit to what is possible. From there we go on to a new phase and a new dawn, in which a global humanity, now reunited with its brothers and sisters from afar, begins its incredible journey into the great expansive frontier of the stars.

I suppose I'll start by describing a dream I had last night. In point of fact, I did not dream it at night, because I actually slept from morning to evening, after staying up watching the SF anime classic Akira and the comedy classic Monty Python's The Meaning of Life on DVD, which may serve to provide a bit of context.

Essentially, the dream was about me being cajoled, enticed, tempted, and drawn into a state of total powerlessness. The process began in earnest when I found myself hypnotized by the soft, flickering bluish glow of a little LCD monitor that was showing a movie of some kind. That was the tipping point, when I slid into apathy toward the “real world” around me. Soon, through my lack of effective resistance to the reassuring but treacherous hypnotic suggestions of “agents” around me, I found myself lying on a sort of hospital bed that was more like an operating table in actual function. The sexy “nurses” projected the impression that they were there to help me, that they had only my best interest at heart, and that the best thing I could do was relax and let them do their job. By the time I realized that their true intentions were less than benevolent, it was too late. My muscles would no longer respond, due to some drug they'd injected in me. They began their work by taking samples, violating my body with their needles in a way that was simply humiliating. Mercifully, I lost consciousness. My last, dimly felt emotions before slipping away completely were outrage and resentment.

Oddly enough, those emotions came back to haunt me when I woke up and read my mail. Through simple incompetence more than any plausible ill will, the tax bureau is still operating as though I were an entrepreneur making a modest living off of my business, which has been officially defunct since September and only ever really existed on paper to begin with. In reality, I don't owe them a dime, but they still sent me invoices for hundreds of euros that I'm supposedly due to pay this year. Realistically, it's only a matter of a visit or two to the local tax office to clear it up, but the infuriating emotional impact of the letter came regardless of that fact. It doesn't help things that I'm already caught up in a more advanced stage of a similar, less easily resolved game with an evil, bloodsucking little company that managed to “sell” me a worthless, yet ridiculously expensive Google advertising package on the phone last summer before I even knew what the hell was up. The wheels of legal action in that case are already turning, and I really don't think there's anything I can do. I'm not equipped to defend myself against that sort of thing, and I suspect the law may well be on their side. So I suppose I'll see where that goes. I'd really like to see them just choke on their own vomit. It's not like they'll ever see the money. I'm more likely to receive a prison sentence, haha.

So the darkness is closing in, even as the days get longer up here in the north. The web of the matrix tightens. I made mention earlier of some plans I've been cooking up. I feel obligated on some level to make a disclosure, but I think it's too early to go into detail just yet. I have made my intentions known to some, though, and if the surveillance/intelligence complex is doing its job, then the data is already in its files. (conspiratorial wink)

I will say that by the time summer is in bloom, I intend to be off the grid and hopefully off the radar of officialdom. Worldly security and status hold very little allure for me, now less than ever. I do find myself caught, though, between the impulse to continue creating and displaying my whimsical little works of material configurations, and the impulse to drop everything, let go of my material attachments, and withdraw from the mainstream entirely. I do believe there is a middle road encompassing both, if I can only traverse it. I just need to figure out exactly how. I've got some ideas. Time will reveal the right course of action. I have already consulted the runes and the pendulum regarding the basic nature of what I'm set to go through, and I will probably make use of them and other modes of communication with higher self in the near future.

The dog poet is on something of a hiatus and that (or whatever invisible causes are behind that) is affecting my mood as well. His latest audio broadcast was, however, very comforting and very touching. He read some lovely poetry in there. I would recommend it to anyone.

Overwhelmingly, in my more conscious hours (there are times of relative oblivion too), my heart is crying out to the higher power that governs all things with ultimate perfection.

Help me to see. I want to see. Please show me more.

Lord, grant me strength.

How much longer will You allow evil to rampage unchecked in the world? How much longer? Until 2012? 2050? If it were up to me, Lord, I would start turning things around right now. I suppose you are too wise and perfect to think as I do. Evil will destroy itself eventually, though, won't it? When it has run its course, served its purpose in the dreaming of Your children.

Lord, take away from me that which is holding me back. Help me to subdue my petulant and demanding ego. No, not subdue: merely help it to see that it is not the one in charge, and that it has nothing to fear by releasing its desire to always be in control.

I know that I have a path to tread in this life. I chose it before I came here. However haltingly and imperfectly, I know that I am on it right now and have always been. Everything that comes into my life has a purpose. Help me to see it through the impartial eyes of divinity as the perfection that it is.

Thank You, Lord, for being with me. For guiding my every step, for protecting me, for comforting me. For testing me and trying me, though never more than I can bear. You provide for every need of my body and soul. Above all, You grant me freedom in every moment, to choose my own experience. I am Your child, and one day I will return to You and give you back all that I am, all that I have gained through all my millions and billions of years of existence.

Thank You.

(This dream didn't seem very important at first. But the more I recalled of it, the more I realized how significant it might be – for its entertainment value, if nothing else. The following story is 95% straight from the dream, as close as I can get it and still have a coherent text.)

~

Buddy and I are messing around in the school gym. No one's around, so like the kids we are, we open up the bleachers and start running up and down, making kiddish little jokes. All of a sudden, I get this strong premonition, as if the fire alarm were sounding, even though nothing can be physically heard: “Danger, danger! Look outside!”

I run out, up the corridor, and through the two sets of glass doors to get outside. I look up. There's a gigantic thing in the sky, coming down. At first it's just a bunch of glowing straight lines, but as it slowly makes its spinning descent, its form becomes more solid. It's a friggin' alien spacecraft, and it does not feel friendly at all.

Before the thing even lands, I'm making to run inside to warn everybody, 'cause I got this huge adrenaline rush, fight-or-flight, and everything in me screams FLIGHT. But there's already a cascade of bodies piling out of the doors. People are going out to meet this thing. All they've got is curiosity and excitement, no idea that they're walking straight into the monster's jaws. I'm screaming at them as I fight the current to get back inside, but nobody pays any attention. I'm just an annoyance to them.

I watch helplessly as the crowd makes its way up to the ship, which has now landed on the grass of the playing field and opened up its large bay doors. A ramp bridges the divide between ship and schoolyard, nice and level. There's some kind of really weird mind control going on, like a voice in your head, and it seems to affect everyone but me. The message is basically that everything we could ever want and need is on board, and we'll all be so much happier if we leave our old lives behind and go along with the ship. It stinks to high heaven and I don't believe any of it for a second.

But everyone else is going. So what can I do except tag along?

~

I'm on the ship. It's a lot bigger on the inside, more like a city than a building. Earth is gone, we're stuck in outer space somewhere. Anywhere. Nowhere.

I have to say, they've got a pretty good set-up here. It's the perfect prison. There are no guards, no bars. But the conditioning! It was all done in stages, but now everyone's used to it. The meaningless jobs that they slave at for most of the day. The rules and regulations covering every aspect of their lives. The ugly, crowded accommodations. The sterile, artificial food.

I go visit my friend. He's still his happy old self. He's one of the first to have voluntarily moved to the new living quarters: a grid of concrete cells sunk about a metre and a half into the floor. Oh, but you can still move around freely, visit your neighbours. It's not that bad, really. He digs into his meal ration, a new and improved option: what looks like bread crumbs (but probably isn't), mixed with a chemical cocktail of different powders for enhanced flavour and nutrition and performance, with a little oil to make it stick together and go down. He offers me a taste. It's really good, he says, beaming. I decline.

Next day, there's an announcement: no work today. Just fun and good times. They call it Entertainment Day. They have these, what, once a month, once a year? Always a surprise, and it's such fun that nobody complains. Wouldn't dream of it. Aren't they so awesome for giving us Entertainment Day? I watch as everyone crowds into the coliseum. Not into the stands; their place is in the arena. Oh yeah, here they come: the bat-winged terror babies. Are they monkeys or babies? Whatever they are, we're all terrified of them. They swarm us and strafe us and swoop down to scrape us. We all run around like headless chickens, screaming, hooting and hollering. The masters love it. And somehow, so does everyone else. They like being terrorized.

I'm not like the others. I've never succumbed to any of the masters' conditioning. Oh, but I keep forgetting: they've got their own special conditioning just for me. You see, I serve them too. It has to be that way. In return, I get some pretty good perks. But I'm not a willing servant. I hate them for what they've done to us all. In my heart, I swear I will see their rule ended.

I suppose I should be thankful they let me keep at least part of my mind. I never remember any of the stuff I do for them, and maybe that's their sick idea of mercy. I'm not really human anymore; I'm something more... and less. I can appear in physical form, like the rare times I visit my old friends, but mostly I stay ghostly. It's a lot easier to explore places and observe what's going on when you don't have to explain your presence.

There are two of them, a male and a female. I belong to him, so I don't see as much of her. In my mind, I call them the Archons. Everyone loves them. Supposedly. Yeah, Big Mommy and Big Daddy. Nobody suspects the truth about Mommy and Daddy Archon: that all we are to them, and to their real children, is a big family food factory. We are their food.

Mister Archon is a giant, a four-metre-tall, reddish humanoid with a pair of long, black horns on his head. I have a hard time remembering what Missus Archon looks like. I think she's rather similar, except bluish. She tends to the demon-babies most of the time. Her partner is in charge of us slaves, it seems. I can tell their union is one of expedience and barely-disguised dysfunction. They both have terrible tempers, and I suspect they hate each other, but on the surface, everything is okay.

I only have one trick up my sleeve when it comes to getting back at them. Sure, I can play little tricks, get them to go at each other, but that's too sneaky for my tastes. I want them to know it's me.

I grab Mister Archon by the horns.

When I do that, he's totally helpless. It's amazing. 'Cause normally, he's this huge, intimidating beast of a being, and those horns are like the dot on the 'i' of his incredible fearsomeness. But they're so long that if I grab on close to the ends, he can't even reach me. He's reduced to a flailing, stamping, wall-banging, totally out-of-control, impotent mess. And who can respect a guy that suddenly goes apeshit like that for no apparent reason? His wife doesn't, that's for sure.

Maybe she'll take over from him, lock him up so he'll stop being such a public embarrassment. I daresay she could do it; despite his braggadacio, she does seem to be the one wearing the pants. I don't know how the slaves are going to react, but she controls the monkey army for sure.

I don't know what else to do. I don't have a plan. I don't see much hope for a revolt, much less a successful one. Maybe I'm a fool. But what do I have to lose? My life? Hah. I'm a ghost already. Maybe some miracle will happen, deus ex machina comes to set things right. The probabilities don't favour us, but maybe the universe does. That's my only hope.

In the meantime, all I can do...

... is grab the devil by the horns.

I was browsing Godlike Productions this morning. That in itself is rather unusual, since my overwhelming impression of the place is the Internet equivalent of a procession of garbage trucks dumping load after load of random, worthless trash, much of it malodorous. Sure, there might be a few rare treasures amongst the refuse, but sifting through the piles for it just doesn't feel worth the trouble. Still, as a reading experience, it's a step up from the dreaded YouTube comment sections. I even read those sometimes. *shudder*

(I might as well mention that the path that brought me there was a Google search for "sleep deprivation hallucination," which was on my mind after a sleepless night due to the latest "high" cycle of my often bipolar disorder-like mood tendencies. I did find quite a deliciously disturbing tale, halfway down this page, in which Time behaves very, very badly.)

As chance would have it, one particularly active discussion thread, titled "I traveled through time," caught my eye. It was started by the cryptically named 369.994 on August 20th, the day before yesterday, and has reached nine pages as of this writing.

GLP, understandably, is a veritable tall tale magnet, attracting cranks, weirdos, and disinfo artists of all stripes. I'm sure this type of extraordinary claim is nothing new to the folks who frequent the place. Still, I'm more than a little intrigued by this case. There's nothing about it, in my opinion, that clearly and unquestionably places it in the hoax bin, despite all the usual calls of "B.S." from posters eager to prove their own talent for seeing through contrived, fallacious, and inflated crap.

369.994, if he (or she) is merely stringing us along, has played the role of a time-traveling future "amateur psyentist" pretty much flawlessly. His manner is sincere and no-nonsense. To my layman's understanding of such things, the presented scientific principles (and limitations) of the technologies he claims to be using seem plausible. His answers to people's questions about the future make perfect, simple, logical sense to my way of thinking and looking forward. If he's faking, then at least it's a good, entertaining fake! =)

To me, the most interesting question, especially if this is all for real, is the motive. In a more recent topic on another site, 369.994 claims to be from the year 2079, conducting a "social experiment." Of course, that would make sense from the hoax perspective, too! It's fun to imagine, though, what would motivate me to go back 70 years into the past and invite people to ask me about their perceived future / my perceived past. I'd probably do it just because I could! ;) Besides that, though, I think the time period in question, the next 70 years, is gearing up to be so unbelievably transformative that I'd see myself as potentially providing a genuine service by preparing people's minds just a little bit for some of the massive changes to come.

In response to queries on how to get through the turbulent times ahead, 369.994 recommended living in peace and ensuring one's own supply of clean drinking water and fresh, organic foods. Darn good advice in any case!

Our mysterious numeronymous friend also left us with a noteworthy unsolicited tidbit: a friendly suggestion to seek out and listen to something called "Invocation from Thoth's Chamber of the Great Pyramid of Giza." I found an MP3 by that name here. Who knows, there might be something to it. :) Leastways, this whole deal seems to carry a theme of sound, waves, frequency, music. I find myself wondering what's so special about F sharp... its frequency is, after all, 369.994 hertz... -.^ Hmmm.