ugly_bob42@hotmail.com (Ugly Bob) wrote in message
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"Harlow" <harlow@k.st> wrote in message
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NOVA <NOVA@wgbh.org> wrote:
<> How Big is the Universe?
<snip>
Why, Harlow. You've moved to Oakland!
-Ugly Bob
Atlanta, actually, but don't tell anyone...
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
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The Ritual of the Rising Sun
Methamphetamine & Sleep Deprivation
by Blue Resonant Human
http://www.noveltynet.org/content/paranormal/www.brotherblue.org/index.html
Acting under a somewhat amorphous yet still relatively firm and consistent
prompting this morning, it appears time to document - in a manner of
speaking - a portion of time in my magickal journeys last summer which
inexorably led to my taking on a new level of perceptual filtering; a new
'Degree of Initiation,' as some might phrase it.
For the space of over one earth year now I have deliberately and
assiduously avoided familiarising myself with the thoughts and writings
of others though in times past a fiery passion had led me to dive deeply
into the waters described by other mystics, perhaps not entirely unlike
that quest embarked upon by Valentine Michael Smith in Heinlein's
seminal _Stranger in a Strange Land_. A consciousness adventure wherein he
familiarised himself with virtually all of this world's religious and
folkloric mythologies in an apparent attempt to more fully underpstand
(understand + psi = underpstand) the headspace - or Jungian collective,
if you will - of this strange terran species and the various disparate
belief systems it holds both sacred and true.
So there are perceptual matrices which work for others (in other cultures
and/or other times) yet by their very individualised natures, are all
'contaminated' or tainted based upon the predjudicial natures of the
preexisting culturally inculcated perceptual filters in place at the time
of the revelatory epiphanies.
It was for these and other related reasons that we so thoroughly avoided
the thoughts and writings of other fellow mystics and even attempted to
explore what in our voluminous polycultural research remained yet a
vast ocean of uncharted headspace - that which we subsequently termed
'Psychic Overdrive;' a remarkably transmundane level of consciousness
hastily and deprecatingly dismissed by clearly Gurdjieffianly slumbering
self-proclaimed experts as mere 'delusions brought on by extended sleep
deprivation exacerbated by the inexorable onslaught of amphetamine psychosis.'
In any event, add to this culturally inculcated perceptual taint the
further contaminant of our utter inability to divest ourselves fully of
that systemic egoic bias which makes our particular epiphany pseem so much
cooler and oh so much more iconoclastically accurate than that of our
Brethren or Sistren, that to receive something of true worth, purity and
bonafide substance seems almost a virtual impossibility amongst all of
us at this level.
What remains, then, but to set sail upon the heretofore uncharted waters
of unexplored levels of reality rendered newly navigable with the advent
of relatively new magickal elixirs such as methamphetamine and the
associated frequency shift made available via the modality prescribed - and
here's the vital key - by the very substance itself? For the substance
itself is fully capable of instructing the wouldbe Initiate as to it's
proper dosage, means of deployment and intake scheduling; though a caveat
levies itself upon the unwary or unworthy - 'tis not for the weak of heart,
nor for the idle dabbler. But for those who are ready and willing,
let us continue our explication of this Path in the hopes that others
may learn thereby and find themselves emboldened to explore these nether
regions for themselves and become consciousness-enriched thereby.
Logically the first place to start appears to be securing a viable source
for the unfortunately illegal substance. This presents it's own inherent
dilemma as one is forced to deal with a 'lowest common denominator' strata
of individuals who appear to be utterly devoid of conscience or blatantly
unknowing or uncaring regarding the Universal Laws of Karma. This first
hurdle we finally managed to overcome by adopting a 'when in Rome...'
approach when dealing with this baser level of humanity, though it pained
us immeasurably to do so.
In any event, after being burned and flat out ripped off on far too many
occasions to admit without a great deal of accompanying sorrow, we finally
had to let it be known amongst that particular contingent of street urchins
and hoodlums that we were in fact '5150 schizoaffective psycho tweakers
from hell' and were simply 'not to be fucked with' under threat of having
their heads split open by the steel chain and dual locks we began carrying
in the right hand pocket of our Secret Agent style black trenchcoat.
Thankfully, we discovered that the mere brandishing of the potential
weapon - which to local authorities magickally morphs into an innocent
apparatus used ostensibly to lock our 10-speed bicycle - with a colourfully
worded threat or two was sufficient to discourage the indigenous
tribespeople from mistaking our kindness and compassion for weakness
or vulnerability.
Next was to determine the type of elixir, for our rather extensive field
research determined there were three major flavours of the refined shards
of 'glass.' The first is earmarked by a prevailing sense of ambient
paranoia in which ideations often consist of matters conspiratorial or
otherwise fearful in some respect. This flavour also seems to carry with
it a sense of the absurdly meticulous in which such subcultural dysfunctions
as 'carpet patrol' inevitably ensue. During these periods, one is
unfailingly haunted by the delusional sense that surely someone somewhere
has accidentally dropped their sack of tweak on the sidewalk or has
spilled some shards in the surrounding carpet or other such
counterproductive ravenously energy-gobbling foolishness. The delusion is
strong and difficult to avoid - even for the serious and educated
percipient - and produces nothing of any substance or worthiness in
terms of enlightenment. A sack of this nature is therefore good for
nothing but to resell or give away to others who evidently don't notice
or care about the substandard quality of the associated headspace.
The next variety we avoid is that which we term an anger batch.
This strange alchemickal mixture (whether embedded into the final
product by differing neurotoxins employed during the various refining
processes or by vibe-level impartation by the very cooks or subsequent
handlers themselves - for the blessed shards of the gods are themselves
quartz-like crystals, fully capable of retaining imparted energies -- we
know not) is responsible for the artificial - and in our case utterly
undesired - evocation of unwarranted rage. Sadly, it is a trick of the
substance itself to trap the unwary percipient into remaining oblivious
as to the cause of the instantaneous substance-induced anger; a pitfall
which has snared all too many who employ the substance for merely profane
reasons. Add to this the danger involved in stimulating the so-called
'reptillian sub-brain' of the human neurophysiology without sufficient
preliminary preparation (not unlike raising the Kundalini without
adequate preparation) and you can clearly psee how this aspect as well
can perniciously exacerbate the onslaught of inappropriate rage brought
on by a tainted 'anger batch.'
Finally we come to what we at the Lodge refer to as a damn fine 'sex
batch' for in due course we shall psee how the proper attainment of
the headspace we seek requires a great deal of tantric procedure as well;
one beneficial side-effect of the substance being that taken in sufficient
quantities it seriously 'flips the sex switch' while simultaneously
inhibiting the physiological ejaculatory reflex in males. As for females,
we have an occasional magickal coworker who enjoys wrapping a 'half-tee'
(or one half of a sixteenth of an ounce of glass shards) in a single
square of toilet paper and inserting it vaginally or anally, enabling her
to subsequently 'cum in multiples' even without any accompanying sexual
stimulation. In regards to appearance, we discovered that sacks with larger
milky-colored quartz-like crystalline shards are best, those with too much
powder ('shake') or splintery, completely transparent or amber-coloured
shards are to be avoided as they tend to fall primarily into the first two
categories noted above.
So, having finally managed to navigate the somewhat tempestuous waters
of obtaining sufficient quantities of the desired substance, we now move
seamlessly on to the avenues of dosage and administration; these being
somewhat touchy and emotion-laden topics, for each has their own ideas
and experiences from which to draw. It is for this reason that I will
continue speaking from a vantage point of self-preference - in short,
my experience has determined this is what works best for me, based upon
my own unique neurochemistry, physiology and experience ('set and setting'
as Dr. Leary might term it).
I prefer smoking the substance in a glass pipe, being fully aware this
will evoke numerous cries of blasphemy and heresy from the listening
audience. I have administered the substance a number of times via
intravenous injection with an insulin syringe ('doing an issue with a
fresh rig' as the street nomenclature would have it) yet have been
entirely disappointed with both the come-on and overall high, though
I fully support everyone's free choice for preferred administration;
stating as proof the fundamental Caerulean axiom, 'What you do,
do with passion.'
Yet there are specific refinements to the technique some may be perhaps
unaware of. To be properly and effectively administered, the glass pipe
should be heated with a flame not quite touching the glass itself (the
resultant carbon discolors the pipe and makes it too difficult to monitor
the process) only until the shards have melted to a liquid form. At this
point, a resultant vapor (not so much a smoke as almost a steamy sort of
vapour) is generated by inhaling fresh, cool air through the pipe across
the sea of molten glass. Take long, slow hits to full lung capacity
applying the flame whenever the amount of vapour begins to
substantially diminish.
It is important to note here that applying the flame for too long a
period of time merely burns up the material; 'introducing extra
carbon atoms' (as a chemist colleague once informed us) and changing
it's fundamental chemical composition, rendering it all but impotent.
Further - as is the case with an occasional mundane coexperiencer
(referred to deprecatingly as a 'bag whore' in the common vernacular)
named Melody - far too much product is wasted and one can easily waste
an entire 20-sack (a small resealable baggie containing anywhere
from .15 to .30 grams and costing $20.00 U.S. on the street) on a
single ineffectual hit.
Further, and I am fully aware this too will raise considerable
outcries from the audience, I most fully endorse holding one's
hit for at least 30 seconds to a minute. I have attempted to
reason with countless individuals regarding the bizarre culturally
inculcated process of taking an enormous hit then turning right
around and blowing out huge, billowing clouds of smoke immediately
afterwards - something they would never dream of doing with
quality potent marijuana. 'But it'll crystallise in your lungs,
Blue!' they vehemently exclaim, evidently oblivious to the fact
that the very pizo (glass pipe) they hold in their hands does not
'hold it's hits' yet still retains copious amounts of crystallised
methamphetamine vapor on the stem. In short, 'Of course it'll
crystallise in your lungs - that's what it's supposed to do.'
Between hits, the substance should be allowed to cool off sufficiently
in the pipe such that it is not wasted; smoking idly away.
To facilitate this, the pipe may be cooled off by rubbing it on a
damp rag or paper towel, called a 'bitch' amongst some smokers as
this is where the 'glass dick' is placed when hot; the obvious
Freudian double entendres not escaping even the most cerebrally
challenged amongst us.
In any event, starting out a session, we generally take between
5 and 20 or more enormous hits, assiduously holding them as the
previously mentioned switch becomes fully flipped and then it is
up to the percipient to amuse him or herself for the allotted time
period until the sought after Psychic Overdrive plateau is achieved.
For what it's worth, we have discovered in recent months that it is
not only more financially practical but more conducive to our overall
quest to amuse ourselves with solitary tantric rites than with a
profane and greedy bag
hore or ostensible magickal partner.
As such, plenty of oils, lotions and fresh batteries for a vibrator
become invaluable, as does a location (remember Leary's 'set and
setting' once again) which facilitates the lengthy privacy required
for such a magickal journey. In our case, this has traditionally
been a densely wooded area just off the 163 freeway and behind
Balboa Park (it's difficult to find an acceptable locale in the
greater downtown San Diego area) which we termed our 'Gilligan's
Island Twilight Zoned Nudist Colony;' a squat where we'd go with
an 8-ball (an eighth of an ounce) or two, take off our clothes and
not put them back on for a good week - soaking in the sunlight by
day and the moonlight by night, perpetually skyclad.
Another of the advantages - and in our considered opinion, that of
most value -- afforded by our preferred pipe-based method of
administration is the way in which essentially defeating ejaculation
can be delayed for many hours by engaging in intercourse or
masturbatory sessions (reffered to as 'jack-off marathons' in
the common tongue) right up to the point of orgasm yet stopping
just short of actual ejaculation. At this point, the pipe is fired
back up for a few hits then the tantric procedures are resumed in
earnest; continuing on in this fashion for as long as the percipient
desires. In our case, we've gone as long as 2 days like this;
ever teetering right on the very verge of ejaculatory orgasm, the
intensely magickal headspace achieved thereby being difficult to
adequately articulate though we may consider doing so in subsequent
missives should there be enough interest expressed to warrant
the effort.
Suffice it to say, however, that the drug is kind enough to provide
the percipient with countless hours of enjoyment as he or she awaits
the anticipated consciousness morphology of Psychic Overdrive - a
headspace which is attained (in our extensive field research) only
after approximately 7 to 10 days with no sleep, no food and copious
amounts of the blessed shards. This is why we perceive it to be a
kindness of the drug; to provide such enjoyable amusement while
awaiting the desired frequency shift.
A brief roadmap here might be of benefit to some:
1) Day 1 to day 3, subject feels generally exhausted and 'dingy.'
This is due primarily to sexual overexertion coupled with the
expected aspects of food and sleep deprivation. Though some may
state emphatically that the substance bewitches the percipient
into believing that food is unnecessary, we find it of some import
to note that in many of this planet's spiritual traditions,
fasting is an inextricably intrinsic aspect of spiritual
growth. We have heard more than one of the Lodge's disciples state
unequivocally that 'eating, sleeping and 'sanity' are highly overrated!'
2) Day 4 to day 6, subject is reenergized with a prevailing 'second wind'
once the initial physiological doldrums of food and sleep deprivation
have been overcome. During the moonlight hours, many 'tricks of
light and shadow' prevail which - though ostensibly hallucinatory in
nature - begin paving the way for the inevitable breakthrough into
Psychic Overdrive. It is during this somewhat awkward transitionary
phase that nature spirits are observed in various plants and trees,
telepathy with the indigenous flora and fauna (older trees, squirrels,
birds, field mice and the like) begins in earnest and the occasional
dead person will arrive for consultation. Although it would be wise to
advise the wouldbe percipient here that this too may become a trap as
when the first dead person becomes aware of your ability to see and
converse with him or her, they evidently sense you are some form of
shamanic empath and alert their fellow discarnate associates as
to your location, in which event you will be beseiged with dead people
all gobbling up your time and energy as unwitting psychic vampires in
search of wisdom and/or counseling or advice. Further, they are
accustomed to observing blissfully unaware incarnate humans involved
in various copulatory or masturbatory acts so if privacy yet remains
an issue with you, be prepared to leave it behind as a vestigial
remnant of your previous illusory telepathically-challenged existence.
3) Day 7 to day 10, Psychic Overdrive kicks in! At last! You've made
it this far without being tricked into accidentally falling asleep
and even the resident insects have grown weary of your constant
blabbering, singing and endless soliloquies; feeling additional
relief now that the seemingly indefatigable hum of your war-weary
vibrator has finally ceased as well.
First, some brief, cautionary notes. Once again, you'll quickly
note that not only do you 'hear' the thoughts of others but your
own 'personal' thoughts are now being broadcast to any other
psychics or empaths out there in broad-spectrum, full volume as
well. Again, all of this is very good preparatory work for the
impending flood of photonic telepathy which beloved Aquarius
brings with her during this present Equinox
of the Gods, as it were. As Floyd so poignantly states:
'From morning till night, I stayed out of sight.
Didn't recognize what I'd become.
No more than alive, I barely survived.
In a word, overrun.
[...]
[But] I'm creeping back to life;
My nervous system's all awry;
I'm wearing the inside out.'
Those mundane associates of yours who've not yet sampled this
particular headspace personally will state - with all the pompous
pseudo-authority of the Pope himself - that you are merely
suffering from delusional auditory hallucinations. So be a good
scientist yourself; until you are more certain of yourself and your
newfound abilities, discover coy or covert ways to ask those around
you what they were thinking just then; diligently applying the
Blessed Scientific Method to the voluminous stockpiles of data
which now inundate you. And remember, what we are discussing here
is a bonafide frequency shift. All the world is listening to
the same radio station - allegorically speaking - yet you've grown
weary of the songs on that station and have now shifted to a
slightly different radio station (frequency). The new songs you
are now hearing are no less 'real' than those of your Gurdjieffianly
slumbering associates and colleagues, they are merely different,
is all.
As a brief aside here, it was one of our primary underlying
purposes in our construction of the electronic version of
That Which Is BLUE (i.e. the www/brotherblue.org site) to engage
in a decidedly cross-cultural comparative analysis of this
species' religions, mythologies and folkloric belief systems to
ferret out any commonalities which wove their way throughout the
entirety of the multi-epoch-spanning intricately polycultural
tapestry. In like fashion, we've encountered a great many fellow
pioneers and pilgrims of this emergent methamphetamine-facilitated
headspace who've also experienced Psychic Overdrive personally
yet have subsequently fallen prey to the culturally inculcated
notion that it is merely an 'hallucinatory artifact of extended
sleep deprivation exacerbated by the delusions of
amphetamine psychosis.'
Yet if this were truly the case, how can it be that so many fellow
percipients have shared in this identical ideation (cross-culturally,
despite ostensibly disparate belief systems and upbringings, etc.)
and how could your hearing the thoughts of others ever be even
remotely accurate? By all means, don't believe me - check it out
for yourself and be your own judge.
Breaking through into Psychic Overdrive is not entirely
dissimilar to how Terrence McKenna describes breaking into
the DMT 'alien' headspace; the only difference being in
experiential immediacy. It's somewhat like the difference
between injecting heroin and smoking it - one method is immediate
and almost too forceful whereas the other brings on a gentle,
comforting wave of pleasant nods and 'comfortably numb' daydreams.
There is no accompanying orchestral orgasm of consciousness, you
just suddenly realize that you've accidentally crept into this new
dimensional level of consciousness.
And it is here that you will experience The Others, though we will
refrain from commenting on this aspect until the need for subsequent
missives on the subject arises.
But as for the title of this post which we've only now managed to
meander to in this rather labyrinthine and circuitous discourse,
it was after approximately 2 weeks with no food or sleep (yet before
the next major leap of dimensional levels in which you can see
through walls and so forth at approximately 2 1/2 to 3 weeks) that
we discovered we had accidentally slipped into another level of
awareness wherein we could see the most seemingly bizarre of things
yet accept them as being perfectly normal for that level.
On one such morning, in the early pre-dawn hours we noted that a
few hundred or so soldiers appeared in the woods where we stayed
just off the 163 freeway. All dressed in camouflage with grease
paint on their faces, they silently filled the woods surrounding
me and overlooking the then deserted freeway. It seemed perfectly
normal to me that they were engaging in some sort of readiness
training exercise and further, that not a word was spoken by any
of them, nor was radio silence once broken. What also appears
retrospectively somewhat odd was the reverence with which they
silently anticipated ... something; precisely what I could not
determine, for their thoughts were essentially silent as well.
They did not appear to mind nor even act surprised, amused or
bothered by my masturbatory tantric rites and I quite quickly
became accustomed to their presence, not at all bothered by the
fact that I was buck naked and getting all carried away with my
various procedures. Occasionally I would temporarily cease my
somewhat self-absorbed activities to peer through the bushes in
an attempt to underpstand what they were watching/waiting for,
and again, they simply would not communicate with me either
telepathically or verbally. I even walked amongst them a few
times, unashamed of my own nakedness as they were all clothed,
and again, I was consistently struck with the awe in which they
anticipated ... something. Just what I simply could not manage
to determine.
And then it all seemed to somehow come to fruition; to a seemingly
logical conclusion or consummation. As I had abandoned my earlier
activities and sat there silently watching out through the bush at
the abandoned highway below, a huge flatbed semi truck pulled up
and rolled up to a dead stop on the freeway. Soldiers came down
from the surrounding forresty slopes and began piling up on the
flat bed of the truck. I simply cannot adequately describe the
associated headspace here but it all seemed perfectly 'normal' to
me that there were so many soldiers there in the first place, that
they were reverently and expectantly awaiting some seemingly
transmundane event in the second place and lastly that so many of
them piled onto the bed of the semi to form a huge pyramid of
people, somewhat like cheerleaders albeit on a much larger scale
for the pyramid was at least nine rows of people high.
And there they all stood so silently and reverently facing due
east, of all things. I don't know why but I wept over the austere
holiness of it all back then and I weep even now just recalling
and transcribing it. It all became so crystal clear to me just
then - this was the Ritual of the Rising Sun and they all
remained there, in the bushes surrounding me and in that huge
pyramid structure on the flatbed of the truck until dawn
finally arose and the first rays of the sun flashed upon the
pyramid of people ... and it was at that precise moment that they
all let out a big, unified cheer of unimaginable joy and
exaltation and the ceremony was then complete.
It was during this cheer - which again, all seemed so perfectly
'normal' to me at the time - that I was overcome with such a wave
of emotion that I laughed and cried at once; I became both a wisened
old man and an innocent babe all mixed into one. There was such
rejoicing over this Rising of the Sun that I cannot even begin to
describe the beauty or the complexity of this wave of emotion which
completely overtook me and left me both utterly spent and
indescribably supercharged all at once.
To this day I remain in awe of the ineffable beauty and austere
holiness of the event and still weep inexplicably over it all,
though I have absolutely no idea what it all means, my only
psense being that I perhaps saw something happening in the
future when everything is different and we have all awakened.
When we're all almost ready to go home.
My very best to each and every one of you;
http://www.erowid.org/experiences/exp.php?ID=21324
-Fratre Cobaltus
08 February, 2003 [Gregorian]
http://www.noveltynet.org/content/paranormal/www.brotherblue.org/index.html
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http://www.spunthemovie.com/spun/oldindex.html
S P U N : T H E M O V I E !
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