Posts Tagged ‘göttliche invasion’

Future People

Saturday, April 5th, 2014

[Kroka Pola]

[Kroka Pola]

There was that one tweet that did it, I told him.

‘Future People’ it read, I said.

No one looked. Nothing.

Not even the mask of someone showing a blank.

I went on.

[Old Boy]

[Old Boy]

[924 Gilman Street]

[924 Gilman Street]

[Dog Starz]

[Next Exit]

staLLion

Monday, February 10th, 2014

T.N.T RIDE (New at Disneyworld, Book Now)

T.N.T RIDE (New at Disneyworld, Book Now)

(gets under your skin)

(gets under your skin)

St Arion

C Horse

C Horse

(9i6)

(9i6)

Pop Sickle

Pop Sickle

Tor-CH Bear ER

Tor-CH Bear ER

(Shoved Aside)

(Shoved Aside)

Letter to Claudia Bush, July 24, 1974

[4:74]

Dear Claudia,

Claudia! Another letter! Guess what about!

I forgot – how could I? – to relate to you a dream I had the other night; see, the purpose of relating it is to show how many myth elements from Antiquity can, with a little effort, be disclosed.

I’m with a bunch of people in an elevator. There is, oddly, an elevator operator (we don’t have those in real life ever anymore, at least where I’ve been living the last 20 years); he’s a small man, with olive skin and black curly short hair and large eyes, the way people are depicted in the Roman mosaics. He’s wearing a brown cop uniform and is in complete charge. To his right, by the modern extremely heavy doors of the elevator is what looks like a pile of spaghetti with tomato sauce; sticking down into it is a fork. The elevator stops and I step forward to leave, but before you leave, what you have to do is extricate the fork from the pile of spaghetti, which I begin to do. But I discover it’s a three pronged trident, not a fork, and it isn’t spaghetti it is a pile of reddish yarn. As I pull, threads come with the trident.

The cop at once begins in the most commanding and frightening authority-type voice to explain that the prongs of the trident must be brought free without breaking a strand of the thread; he speaks to all in the elevator. He shows me how to extricate the trident without breaking the strands, and then he begins in his firm commanding voice to recite rhymed verse. At this I know him to be that cop, the only one; he is the most awesome of them all, and we all fall totally silent and listen with humble, almost religious, respect to his verse. Then he touches the button which opens the door. As I step through the now open portal I see the man behind me stoop down and start attempting to extricate the trident without breaking the strands twined around its prongs.

Then the next night I heard the woman singing the rhymed couplet about “You must put your slippers on / To walk toward the dawn,” with the full choir behind her, again and again and again. I said to Tessa after the elevator dream, “I guess I’m going to have to listen to some of her prophetic couplets.” And so I did.

In the elevator dream I see these Classical Myth elements:

The authority figure in charge of the “vessel” is the psychopomp, the guide of the souls who leads them across (the Styx, etc.) to the Other Side. Charon is very strict. The thread, which may be Arachne’s or Ariadne’s, must not be broken. If it is Ariadne’s, then the trident is the sword she gave to Theseus along with the thread to guide him out of the Labyrinth; if he broke it, his life was over. (If the trident is that of Poseidon then it is evident where we are in the dream: I quote from Gods and Heroes of the Greeks, p.12: “…they cast lots and Zeus got heaven, Poseidon the sea and Hades the underworld.”) Both Poseidon and Hades appear then in the dream of the elevator, which is far down in the “lower floors, with darkness outside, as with the basement level,” and the trident. I see three myths right there, with the trident sticking into the “strands which must not be broken”, and then the guide who recites verse indicates that we are in the presence of prophecy, of an oracle. Also, the spaghetti tells us we’re in that part of the world. Plus the olive-colored skin and the eyes of the “cop”.

I looked the citations up just now; and there is another thing which is startling, I mean beyond how many myth-sources unknown to me seem involved.

The morning after I had this dream I received a letter from my friend Philip Jose Farmer, in which he wrote:

…You’re among the most imaginative of men, Phil. Have you tried to use that imagination to figure a way out of the situation?…Think in other categories, as Ouspensky said; use your unconventional mind as if it were a powerful tool which it indeed is. You’re in the labyrinth, but your Ariadne’s thread is your imagination.

I think I mentioned a more recent dream about double domed men with rather golden skin – huge egg-shaped craniums, very fierce and formidable and decisive, with an enormous yearbook type book “which you can’t get right now because it’s not available.” Last night, with sudden fear, I broke through the memory block about that dream; in it one of those double domed golden skinned men opened a huge cyclops eye which at once, as with the cyclops sibyl, shoved his regular two eyes aside. He wasn’t looking at me, thank god, but it so scared me that when I woke up I couldn’t remember that. Last night when I did remember, the image from the dream was so vivid that I thought, I actually thought, that maybe I hadn’t dreamed it, I had actually seen a cyclops such as this during the day, in reality. Only by a priori reasoning, that this was not possible, did I deduce it therefore had to have been in the dream.

In a frenzy of hysteria I told Tessa that I believed that these were not people I was seeing. Not people like us talking to me in my sleep and healing and educating me, but another race entirely (you know, like the saucer people talk about: “a superior race from Outer Space, Immortal and All-Knowing, Who Guide Us”). But then, as I relate in my other letter (there’s always another letter) of this date I tell how last night I was disappointed to be shown that it’s only Asklepios and friends, and they’re all human. So acute terror gave way to keen disappointment.

I’m sure that Asklepios and friends are concerned that I not freak. This must be a perpetual risk in matters of this kind, where they surface and start curing and guiding and improving a person. The person, understandably, goes bananas and climbs the drapes, hiding up there with eyes bugged out like grapes. First of all it interferes with the therapy, but worse than that it defeats the entire purpose of it, which is to make the person balanced, sound and sane, rational and calm and in harmony and proportion within and with the outside world, so he can take anything. If he can’t take the healing, then we have a sad irony; the therapy to make him sane causes him to go insane.

These last experiences at night, first the rhymed couplet about “You have to put your slippers on / To walk toward the Dawn”, is a very complex but effective way of reassuring me. The voice was quiet and somewhat motherly, and familiar. (In the dream I thought it was Olivia Newton-John, and who could be scared of her?) Also, my associations which have filtered through after absorbing the couplet are in a similar vein. “You have to put your slippers on” is what your mama says to you before you and the other little children sit down around her in a circle, at night before you go to bed, to hear the story she is going to tell you; it suggests safety and also the peace and quiet, the alpha state you get into, before she starts her soothing tale. And of course it’s soothing, dummy, because you’re going to bed and no mama would tell you anything scary before you went to bed. Another association that comes to me is that you, as that little child about to hear the soothing tale, put your slippers on – not to walk anywhere; slippers aren’t for walking – but to keep your feet warm, which could be deciphered as, “You must not have cold feet,” which again deciphered means, “Don’t be scared; you must not be scared or you can’t walk toward the Dawn,” which itself is a metaphor for “moving toward enlightenment,” quite evidently. It’s a riddle. As kids would have no trouble interpreting; it’s really very easy, for a riddle.

The Nice Lady: What’s meant by (and she recites the couplet)?
Children (all together excitedly): I know! I know!
[The Nice Lady]: Sit around and be quiet and listen and you’ll learn something!

I’m sure of this, Claudia. They, Asklepios and his gang, were aware I was getting freaked (I do a lot of that, but it’s understandable, probably happens often) and set about calming me down. […]

Yesterday I asked Tessa what she thought was going on. “They’re disclosing the Mysteries to you,” she said. “The Elysian Mysteries.” Since the EMs were based on secret rituals to Demeter, then maybe Tessa is right. My sibyl is a chthonic deity: Demeter, for instance.

Love,

Phil

(La Croix)

(La Croix)

Sing a Song of Sirius

Saturday, January 19th, 2013

reuLL

El El

Mars River
REULL VALLIS
now points
to the
Dog Star
via Macleod.

uplink

uplink

terminall

Friday, October 26th, 2012

0688 Big D

0688 Big D

0689 Count Tree

0689 Count Tree

0690 Sign Post

0690 Sign Post

0691 Dream Deep

0691 Dream Deep

0692 Simple Pleasures

0692 Simple Pleasures

0693 Small Print

0693 Small Print

0694 Swimming Pools

0694 Swimming Pools

0695 Orange Countee

0695 Orange Countee

0696 Bridge X

0696 Bridge X

0697 Tante Emma

0697 Auntie Em

0698 Chromo Zone

0698 Chrono Zones

0699 Chromatic Chest

0699 Chromatic Chest

0700 Pinky

0700 Pinkey

0701 Look Up

0701 Look Up (Zebra)

0702 Strom Kaste

0702 Elec-tri-city

0703 North E

0703 North E

0704 Three Z

0704 Three Z

input key: _____

JUSTICE

JUSTICE

News From The Flood – # 3.1 Full Circle

Wednesday, March 16th, 2011

Stop The World, We Want To Get Off

Stop The World, We Want To Get Off

Super Ego III article continues here.

Notes are lengthy, and confused. Screenshots were scattered to the winds, overnight. Updates will appear here throughout the day.

<3

So, where were we? Re [Thinking] Cap:

  • LL is laying out on a beach somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle.
  • CK is loosening up considerably, through Ego Ignition.
  • GG is a few steps further down the line, having had the fun and is now just left with the debt.
  • Mr + Mrs Maury Stokis are happy with their prize, en route to Colombia, South America.
  • Perry White is unhappy with
  • Jimmy Olsen the alchemist, who transformed "exclusive pictures of the biggest chemical factory fire in history" into a Broken Leg and twelve rolls of melted film.
  • Lana Lang & Son Ricky are over the moon, though, as
  • Superman has sent an autograph, with love.

Righto. The players are on their marks. Pedals to the metal – Silver Car Time!

Strap in and let’s hit 88mph together.

It’s 1983 right now and we’re back up in the clouds, the Ivory Tower at Webscoe Industries.

GG is between a rock and a hard place, due to his ego-driven mistake; a big, fast, loud, Red Car. Suitably chastised, this lovable-man-on-the-street-who-just-can’t-get-a-break has no choice but to go along with the Webster Siblings and their evil plan to control the Coffee commodity price.

GG is confused. How?

Vera Webster takes the reins.

"The Weather…Vulcan is the weather satellite our government put in orbit to monitor the weather -"
[Vera Webster – SuperEgo, Condescending]

"BUT…if someone were to re-program it, it could do much more…"
[Ross Webster – CEO, Conspiring]

"It could MAKE weather -"
[Vera Webster – SuperEgo, Closing]

"Storms…and floods –"
[Ross Webster – CEO, Whispering]

"Blizzards! Heatwaves!"
[Vera Webster – CEO, Dreaming]

"H-H-How do you do that?"
[Gus Gorman – Pawn, Petrified]

"Like everything else in the 20th Century, Gus…you push buttons."
[Ross Webster – CEO, Convinced]

Phone Home @ Smallville Grocery

Phone Home @ Smallville Grocery

The template is set and GG is now fully owned by the corporation. Ross Webster – CEO makes his instructions clear. There can be no slip-ups, no paper-trails. No connections back to the company!

He must hack the satellite from the middle of nowhere, somewhere he has never been before.

And with that, August Gorman is packed off to Smallville, where Webscoe Industries has another wholly-owned subsidiary, Wheat King. The same company that produces the machines to harvest corn in and around the Tri-State Area. It is here that GG will hack the mainframe and gain access to the satellite telemetry system after sneaking in under cover of darkness.

But there’s a problem, in the form of Super Jock, Brad Wilson, now enjoying tenure as a Night Watchman at the Smallville Wheat King building. Luckily, our boy GG remains a man of resources and has the right tools for the job.

GG informs Super Jock of a rushed order, an overnight emergency, a flat tire on the highway and a missed flight. Telephone calls at 4AM and angry bosses. If this special order doesn’t get installed tonight, there will be hell to pay. Brad isn’t trying to hear any of that noise though – he has more pressing concerns in a gargantuan hangover and a shitty life.

And lo, like an angel sent from Heaven, GG opens his suitcase to answer Brad’s prayers.

Helio Gus, Would You Like To Play A Game?

Helio Gus, Would You Like To Play A Game?

Our boy is buzzed in and this unlikely pair set about an evening of heavy drinking.

You’ll note the interesting selection of names on some of the bottles, especially Booth’s London Dry Gin.

Exotic cocktails a-flow as August Gorman finally succeeds in getting the security guard to pass out. With one long, final pour, GG empties a bottle of vodka into Brad’s glass, which is immediately slugged. Our ex-football star definitively succumbs, tipping, and falls head over heels out of his chair.

GG leaps up, triumphant.

Triumphantly drunk. Weaving, he makes his way to the server room, entering a broom cupboard as he goes. Finally, destination reached, our lovable rogue sets about hacking the system. There’s a catch though – two keys plus two short arms and a useless foot do not a Satellite Hack make.

Again, despite titanic blood alcohol levels, our man has a plan and the system has been accessed. We are now treated to a montage of chaotic scenes as Drunk Gus works his way through the computer. We see how ATM machines are re-programmed to spit endless streams of paper, a shot of the Bloomingdales billing facility printing erroneous envelopes and the resultant marital strife.

Fat Fingers & Flash Crashes?

Fat Fingers & Flash Crashes?

We cut to a bird’s-eye view of a regular morning in Metropolis, as cars and pedestrians battle each other for turf. Traffic signals switch back and forth as GG’s fingers brush keys.

Red lights flash, coloured buttons blink on and off, tapes whirr and bi-i-ig machines hum into life, take control, make changes.

Chaos, the world now out of order.

Drunk Gus hiccups, and finally locates the Vulcan Satellite interface.

Meanwhile, down in Colombia, South America, Mr + Mrs Maury Stokis have arrived at an idyllic mountain village, replete with white stucco church and local market.

Basket-weaving women sit in the sun and happily offer their creations, animals scatter and zip around on dusty paths, children play, laughing and we see a wedding is taking place here today.

Love is all around.

Profits For Killers

Profits For Killers

Yes, the simple life does indeed seem lazily perfect, as we travel with Mr + Mrs Maury Stokis through the picturesque Colombian village.

Inside the church the other happy couple are completing their vows as our husband and wife from the Big Apricot enter.

At this very moment, outside, a street vendor notices a change in the weather – as suddenly, inexplicably, raindrops arrive. Our basket-weaving ladies know when to call it a day, shutting up shop and dashing through the flash storm for Home.

Inside the church, candles are being extinguished as strong gusts sweep down the aisle. The foundations begin to shake. Masonry and tile crashes down from above as the frescoed ceiling piece fragments, then shatters, showering the wedding couple and their guests in bricks and dusty rubble. Screams are muffled by the crashes outside.

We hear horrific, unnatural sounds as we see trees wrenched out at their roots, before being tossed about by the wind like toothpicks on a dark afternoon.

More Screams. More Darkness.

Cut to the NEWS.

"CHAOS! HA-HAAH! If I laugh any harder I’ll split my sides!"
[Ross Webster – CEO, Skiing]

Ice King upon his Throne

Ice King upon his Throne

Back in Metropolis, the perpetrators are amassed at the foot of Ross Webster – CEO’s personal ski slope, built up on top of his personal penthouse.

Here we see a log cabin, a veritable chalet, adrift with snow, sitting pretty up in the clouds above the sprawling summer heat of the city below.

"Poor little Colombia…’The most awesome display of natural power ever seen’ – HAHA!"
[Ross Webster – CEO, Quoting]

"Bubba, do you realise what we’re on to?"
[Vera Webster – Super Ego, Rising]

"Do I? Haha! Every time a drunk sobers up, he’ll be drinking Webster Coffee!"
[Ross Webster – CEO, Strutting]

"Why stop at coffee? A cup of coffee gets the world off to work in the morning…but what keeps the world working?"
[Vera Webster – Super Ego, Rising]

""
[Lorelei Ambrosia – Psychic Nutritionist, Thinking]

Looks are exchanged. Super Ego is taking control. Ross Webster – CEO is intoxicated by the power in his hands.

Today, the Coffee. Tomorrow, the Oil! is the bestial chant emanating from this gruesome twosome, embarking on a despotic fantasy with frightening speed.

It is with thanks, then, that our lovable-man-on-the-street August Gorman arrives, in high-spirits despite the hangover for what he has done. A happy Gus is reporting the startling fact that life struggles on down in Colombia, South America – agricultural destruction and financial ruin has been averted!

The Lousy Do-Gooder Ruined It!

The Lousy Do-Gooder Ruined It!

We learn that Superman happened to fly by in the nick of time, saving the day. No real surprise there, for acts such as this quite simply constitute his job description. Regaling the others with an impromptu flying show of his own as he summarises what they missed, GG once again incurs the wrath of his employer.

Ross Webster – CEO is roaring. The perfect plan, dashed! Inconsolable, he cannot understand how failure has so unwelcomely crashed this party. Furious, Ross Webster – CEO knows what must be done. But how?

Indeed, it is no easy task. Can a Solution to the Superman Situation even exist on this earth, he ponders?

Vera Webster – Super Ego is of no help this time, however, merely asserting conventional weaponry to be a moot point.

Supposed Dumb Blonde Lorelei Ambrosia – a character whom we know in private enjoys challenging the work of Immanuel Kant as opposed to giggling – drops the S-Bomb.

To wit: Superman Our Saviour is allegedly afflicted by one and only one weakness – Kryptonite.

Ross Webster – CEO is a man reborn. Yes, yes, yes! Use the satellite to get a reading on Kryptonite’s particle elements, of course! Aflame with ambition once more, The Man barks orders.

An Intense Heat Fusion

An Intense Heat Fusion

GG is to immediately liaise with the Webscoe Industries R&D division once the satellite has located the remnants of Krypton.

Analysis of cosmic dust to be performed, particle elements to be identified and reconstruction to take place. Once complete, Gus must deliver this synthetically-simulated green stuff to the Man of Steel personally.

It is at this point in time – delegated the primary action item of Killing Superman – that Gus feels renegotiating his contract is a fair call. A bad move however, when dealing with angry elitists.

"Gus, if there is anything I hate…it’s greed."
[Ross Webster – CEO, Fuming]

Having been subsequently reminded of the concept of Federal Prison, a reluctant, heavy-shouldered August Gorman slopes off to do his master’s bidding. Literally.

Finally, a short scene at The Daily Planet shows us Mr + Mrs Maury Stokis have returned from their vacation, and they are most displeased.

Maury, especially so, given the neck brace he wears. Threatening litigation and turning the air blue with curses, Maury wants satisfaction. Perry White is unable to give it to him.

"But it wasn’t our fault! It was an Act of God!"
[Perry White – Explaining]

"…in a church?"
[Mrs Stokis – Unbelieving]

Back with August Gorman, we realise there is just one small problem concerning this latest task.

How can one possibly expect to get close to the Superman?

Supe Is My Best Friend, He'll Be There!

Supe Is My Best Friend, He'll Be There!

The unbiased, professional guardian of the planet is not exactly listed in the Yellow Pages. And given his role, a set agenda / daily schedule is most probably not available through his secretary. As luck would have it for our seemingly charmed GG though, there is now another way.

The new, upgraded version of Clark Kent – who as we now know is not afraid to combine Black with Yellow to look after numero uno / himself – exposes a chink in Superman’s normally impenetrable defense.

CK’s desire to have causes him to mix business with pleasure. We saw him risk his secret-identity at the Bowling Alley when he "sneezed" to help Ricky pick up his spare.

He is materialising, becoming just another flawed, desire-driven, normal human being.

So it’s really no surprise upon arriving in Smallville that we find our hero putting in a personal appearance at Ricky’s birthday party.

CK! You dog, you.

In Smallville once again, it seems Lana Lang has quite the popular boy in Son Ricky. Thanks to the Caped Crusader, this young man’s birthday has been transformed into a gala event.

The whole town is here, wearing their Sunday Best, laughing in the sunshine and clapping every now and again. The stage is set not only to honour Superman with the Key to the City, but also just to say "Thanks!" for saving the birthday boy Ricky from a grisly end at the hands of a Wheat King combine harvester. It is at this moment that a bottle green Jeep surges through the crowd, military insignia on display as General Gus hops out with authority. He strides up the steps and immediately opens his mouth.

"I just came in directly from the Pentagon…and you better believe, there’s a damn good reason that I did. Because G-a-w-w-dd has given us one of the greatest gifts…in the world! CHEMICALS! Now you people, you like to go sit in Church on Sunday don’tcha?"
[General Gorman, Orator]

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

"uh, Yeah…"
[Crowd, Weak]

"You LIKE to sit and watch the SUPERBOWL, RIGHT?"
[General Gorman, Marching]

"Yeah!"
[Crowd, Stronger]

"Sit on what?! You sit on…MOLDED. PLASTIC. SEATS. Molded, to your WELL-FED behinds!
Now I don’t have to tell yuh, that ‘Merica leads the world in High Grade Plastics! We cannot afford a Chemical Plastics GAP!"
[General Gorman, Preaching]

"No!"
[Crowd, Agreeing]

The speech continues for some time, as progressively perplexed looks plaster the faces of the other dignitaries.

Finally, General Gorman wraps up the tirade and approaches Superman to thank him on behalf of the President. You see, if the Man of Steel had not put out that mysteriously sudden fire at the Chemical Plant, we would be looking down the wrong end of a serious gap in molded plastics.

CK Embraces the Placebo Effect

CK Embraces the Placebo Effect

Superman is presented with the chunky green crystal by a visibly nervous General Gorman. It seems to have no immediate effect as the Caped Crusader returns to his seat, puzzled yet polite. We cut to a shot of beastly Vera Webster, who is clearly not surprised by yet another Gorman Blunder. As the nervous GG looks on, our hero simply returns a smile and repeats his thanks.

Cut to the Black and Yellow Telephone Box fixed to the wall outside the Hotel Gateway, and we really do begin to feel sorry for August Gorman as he phones HQ.

Unsurprisingly, on the other end of the line, Ross Webster – CEO is unsympathetic.

Dropping the phone, we feel neither the Richard Nixon nor the Henry Kissinger photograph on Ross Webster – CEO’s mantelpiece are capable of cheering him up at this point.

Concludes March 17th.